#while having plausible allies

[alatariel-galadriel]

⭐️

Alright alright alright SO one of my favorite lines in Calefaction isn’t exactly the prettiest when it comes to prose, but I love it nevertheless:  “He wants to file this all away and never think about it again, and he doesn’t ever, ever want to let go.”

That line was my breakthrough for the story. See, Calefaction got stuck in Writer’s Block Hell for ages because the difficult thing about writing an Itafushi story hinging on a conversation about feelings is getting Megumi to talk. He flat-out won’t. He’s allergic to it. He’d rather die.

So in order to have talk about feelings be a legitimate story beat, I had to figure out why he wouldn’t just ice out and avoid the conversation completely. I was honest-to-god drawing flowcharts to try and figure this one out, and then I wrote that line—he doesn’t want to let go—and it all sort of clicked.

Because that’s what kickstarted the tragedy of the two of them, isn’t it? Megumi can’t let Yuuji go, even within minutes of meeting him. He’s the one who advocates for Gojo to spare Yuuji’s life, even though it goes against his morals, because he can’t walk away from this dumbass he just met. Yuuji’s the one he makes exceptions for, over and over again, so while talking about his feelings is unbearable, the alternative just isn’t an option for him.

From there, it was pretty easy to weave that thread throughout the rest of the story, and everything fell into place. The this-is-unbearable-but-the-alternative-is-worse motivation had the potential to be angsty but honestly just made his internal monologue an so much fun. His inner voice is so dry and logical that mixing in Dramatic Teenage Angst™  is hilarious to me specifically. For that exact reason, my second favorite section is “His face burns like he’s a middle-schooler with a stupid crush and honestly. Just shoot him now. Put him down like a sick dog. End his misery,” especially since this kid graduated middle school less than a year ago. It's wonderful.

Overall, this story was so much fun to write and I had a lot of fun answering this. Thanks for the ask!!

#calefaction got rewritten so many times #i struggled with it a lot until I put the aspec framing on it #and you might be like 'hey wait a second Ally isn't that what the whole story is about. like the entire thing' #and the answer to that is yes and I am a dumbass #see I wrote this based off of what I thought was a very specific personal experience #and then I squinted for a minute and said 'hey. wait a second.' #which is quite possibly the funniest way to lose plausible deniability when questioning your sexuality (or lack thereof) #in my personal opinion #ALSO i think this story from Yuuji's perspective is really funny in comparison to Megumi's #like you know that one audio clip that alternates between that super intense audio and '🎵i'm spinning like a ballerina🎵' #yeah that's them #yuuji's straight vibing/happy to be here while megumi is silently having the Crisis of his Life #whispers from the ally

[boleynqueenes]

19. Give us a small teaser from one of your WIPs.

The royal visit to Wolf Hall was, then, the most constant and closest proximity in which Jane had ever observed the King, for by the time she served the Queen he did not take pastime in her chambers any longer, and by the time she served her usurper, he did not leave the Boleyn circle for anything save statecraft, and the Seymours were rarely invited inside either. Although she rarely observed him alone…but paired. They would oft not deign to descend upon the household save for the occasional meal, only if ever and whenever weather nor natural night did not lend towards the comfort of viands outdoors; both sweat-dappled, gliding in from far afield as they stripped off their hawking gloves. Jane marked the days, each more insufferable than the last, each ended by peals of laughter ricocheting down the hall by evening, and worse, much later, peals of moans pierced her sleep. He did not seek her out at Wolf Hall. That would be how it would have gone was this some chanson, some Arthurian tale, but no, he did not even notice her, especially, at Wolf Hall, not with the Marquess dazzling him at every turn. He merely granted her the selfsame, detached courtesy he gave the rest of her family for hosting.

#anon #fic ask meme #im a huge bitch -- freckle from caleb gallo.jpeg #NT previews #i have to craft and form a plausible psychological blueprint for all this #which is basically that...progress was some form of renewed honeymoon/ vacation bcus while they're alternately promoting reform and #strengthening the ties of support with their allies and sporting and traveling from place to place #even gaining support...as chapuys was aghast but required to report #they are united #but once they're back at court all the same pressures and expectations come to the fore again #and then the cracks in their relationship start to show again #and their shared intimacy diminishes once they are back in 'routine' again #the constant audience + the constant pressure; again #actually their progress seems to have been fairly joyous so i've never liked how it's fictionally depicted #they were gaining supporters and norris remarked that the king had never in his life #'signed so few documents' ahr5gwrfshdfawegrifhuzc #a) speaking to perhaps how the reputation of henry as someone that left all that to wolsey has been overstated #(when i do my wolsey flashbacks i plan on depicting them as more collaborative; the best wolsey biographies depict this) #b) anne was recorded as being pregnant like...very soon after this progress? #i choose to believe it was because they were too busy fucking #tl; dr i don't actually believe jane seymour was in any way a threat at this time; only later #i feel like the visit has been endowed with significance just bcus we do know what happened later #even tho henry taking a mistress during his wife's pregnancies was pretty much de rigeur #not a new thing. #*to wolsey and to cromwell too; i should say #*psychological/emotional blueprint; i should say also

[zvaigzdelasas]

[NewYorkTimes is Private US Media]

Over the past month, we’ve watched an astonishing, high-stakes global drama play out in The Hague. A group of countries from the poorer, less powerful bloc some call the global south, led by South Africa, dragged the government of Israel and, by extension, its rich, powerful allies into the top court of the Western rules-based order and accused Israel of prosecuting a brutal war in Gaza that is “genocidal in character.”

The responses to this presentation from the leading nations of that order were quick and blunt.

“Completely unjustified and wrong,” said a statement from Rishi Sunak, Britain’s prime minister.

“Meritless, counterproductive and completely without any basis in fact whatsoever,” said John Kirby, a spokesman for the United States National Security Council.

“The accusation has no basis in fact,” a German government spokesman said, adding that Germany opposed the “political instrumentalization” of the genocide statute.

But on Friday, that court had its say, issuing a sober and careful provisional ruling that doubled as a rebuke to those dismissals. In granting provisional measures, the court affirmed that some of South Africa’s allegations were plausible and called on Israel to take immediate steps to protect civilians, increase the amount of humanitarian aid and punish officials who engaged in violent and incendiary speech. The court stopped short of calling for a cease-fire, but it granted South Africa’s request for provisional measures to prevent further civilian death. For the most part, the court ruled in favor of the global south.[...]

The court was not asked to rule on whether Israel had in fact committed genocide, a matter that is likely to take years to adjudicate. Whatever the eventual outcome of the case, it sets up an epic battle over the meaning and values of the so-called rules-based order. If these rules don’t apply when powerful countries don’t want them to, are they rules at all?

“As long as those who make rules enforce them against others while believing that they and their allies are above those rules, the international governance system is in trouble,” Thuli Madonsela, one of South Africa’s leading legal minds and an architect of its post-apartheid Constitution, told me. “We say these rules are the rules when Russia invades Ukraine or when the Rohingya are being massacred by Myanmar, but if it’s now Israel butchering Palestinians, depriving them of food, displacing them en masse, then the rules don’t apply and whoever tries to apply the rules is antisemitic? It is really putting those rules in jeopardy.”[...]

The military campaign has “wreaked more destruction than the razing of Syria’s Aleppo between 2012 and 2016, Ukraine’s Mariupol or, proportionally, the Allied bombing of Germany in World War II,” the report quoted researchers as saying. The researchers, hardly some raving left-wing activists, are experts cited in one of the most respected news organizations in the world, The Associated Press.[...]

The International Court of Justice issued a nonbinding opinion in 2004 that the security barriers Israel was erecting in the West Bank violated international law, but that ruling has had no effect. The walls still stand.[...]

Indeed, what is a rules-based system if the rules apply only selectively and if seeking to apply them to certain countries is viewed as self-evidently prejudiced? To put it more simply, is there no venue in the international system to which the stateless people of Palestine and their allies and friends can go to seek redress amid the slaughter in Gaza? And if not, what are they to do?

For the cause of Palestinian statehood, every alternative to violence has been virtually snuffed out, in part because Israel’s allies have helped to discredit them. The most recent example is the boycott, divestment and sanctions movement that has, in many places, been successfully tarred as antisemitic or even banned altogether. Efforts to use the United Nations Security Council have drawn U.S. vetoes for decades. Is seeking redress at the appropriate venue for alleged violations of international law also antisemitic, as Israel’s defense minister said on Friday? Does no law apply to Israel? Are there no limits to what it may do to defend itself?[...]

The Biden administration has made the shoring up of the international rules-based order a centerpiece of its foreign policy but, unsurprisingly, has struggled to live up to that aspiration.[...]

Occasionally straying from your principles because circumstances require it is very different from being seen to have no principles at all, and that is precisely how much of the global south has come to regard the United States.

It seems especially shortsighted in these times that the Biden administration elected to wave away the carefully documented case prepared by South Africa. One of the biggest threats to the rules-based international order is the growing consensus in the poor world that the rich world will apply those rules selectively, at its discretion, when it suits the powerful nations that make up the global north, such as when Russia invaded Ukraine.[...]

As far as the rules-based order is concerned, when it comes to crimes like genocide and ethnic cleansing, it simply does not matter who started it. [...] The best way to shore up the rules-based order is to be seen, in word and deed, as committing to the institutions and moral commitments of that order.

28 Jan 24

[yaksha-lover]

I know there’s a lot of debate about whether Malleus could ever actually be with someone like Yuu, considering he is a fae and prince, but the more I think about it the more it feels plausible. While there’s most likely never going to be any canon romances in the game, I think it’s an interesting discussion. Keep in mind this is just my opinion!

We know about the fae-human war that occurred in Briar Valley before Malleus was born (the one that Lilia fought in). Lilia has talked before about wanting there to be peace and understanding between humans and fae.

Well, what would be a better way to do this than uniting the two groups through a royal marriage between a human and a fae? Irl, this kind of marriage does have historical precedent. This union allows both parties to come together and witness specifically the ruler of their nation forgo any prejudice for the other group by sharing this deeply personal relationship.

Even though a lot of fae may look down upon humans and vice versa (probably similar attitudes to Sebek), if the King of Briar Valley were to marry a human, it would facilitate both political and social change amongst both groups. Families and relationships like Sebek’s parents (human-fae) would probably become much more common and socially-acceptable

Furthermore, the next royal heir would be of both fae and human descent, making them more appealing to both parties (aside from those who would remain prejudiced against half-fae like Sebek).

Lilia speaks of how a constant inability to compromise led to such conflict as the war. Marriage is pretty much the ultimate compromise to tie the two groups together. There will be incentive for both human and fae to support the royals of Briar Valley. The political change would hopefully be having everyone be allies, of this being the thing that makes them actually sit down and have political discussions instead of going straight to war. This would hopefully only facilitate more compromise and unity between the two factions, with them being able to support each other with resources and trade, for example.

The catch is that some of these benefits would likely only apply if the human Malleus married was chosen by the humans in Briar Valley who previously fought against the crown/fae. This is difficult because (as of now) we don’t have much knowledge of any such powerful (human) political opponent groups, or if they even exist after the war.

I think it would still generally be beneficial for him to marry a human (probably one of another kingdom I suppose is another solution). Marrying Yuu specifically may be difficult because of them being of ‘low-birth’ in the eyes of snobbish royals (it seems like Briar Valley is still a feudalist society) and being magicless, but I’m not sure those things are deal breakers.

Another problem that arises is the difference in lifespan, but (and this might be cope) but I like to think the Draconia family would have access to something that would make extending an otherwise healthy person’s life possible (whether magic, magical artifacts, etc.).

I honestly doubt Malleus’ grandmother would really deny him the choice of who he marries after everything that’s happened in his life. Also just like…realistically, who’s going to stop him? Malleus will be King and he also has his magic to back him up, so it’s not like any advisors can say no and his grandmother doesn’t have any other family members so she can’t threaten to disinherit him.

Plus, I don’t think there’s evidence to say that he would necessarily be forced to have a very specifically arranged marriage with any other kingdoms right now. I doubt Malleus is down to marry any of the other powerful royals or families (Leona, Kalim, etc.).

So it’s not really like he’s necessarily making a fatal mistake in ruling by not gaining an essential alliance through marriage. Sure, he probably couldn’t marry just anyone, but I think there is a case to be made for him marrying a human (and perhaps Yuu in some alternate timeline where twst is a dating sim).

#tldr i can’t cope with malleyuu not being possible #i need to hang on to this crumb of hope #twst #twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #malleyuu #malleus x reader #malleus draconia x reader #twst theory

[kaizokuou-ni-naru]

Hello! Kind of a weird meta question that may be too early to call, but what are your thoughts on Vegapunk? For some reason, I can’t seem to get a good grasp on how to feel about them. Normally, I am all aboard with each arcs’ respective “ally” character - but I just can’t seem to fully get behind Vegapunk.

the important thing to understand here, i think, is that vegapunk is not meant to be an unambiguously good character. he’s not! he’s a brilliant and complicated man with many flaws whose inventions, while well-meaning, have done immense harm to the world! and i think it would be a mistake to assume that the story expects you to view him as entirely good just because he is, at present, an ally of the strawhats.

egghead arc is, in large part, about the collateral damage of vegapunk’s brilliance. this is demonstrated to us both on the worldwide scale (his creation of war machines) and on the interpersonal scale (what happened to kuma). i don’t think it’s a coincidence that we’re shown the catastrophic destruction of lulusia by one of vegapunk’s creations right at the beginning of the arc.

vegapunk is the smartest man in the world, but correspondingly we’ve been shown he’s also selfish, overconfident, and doesn’t consider consequences. until things reach a head in egghead arc, he’s unwilling to go against the government in any but the most plausibly-deniable of ways, even as his creations are used to commit atrocious acts of violence.

and it’s not as though he was forced into government service with no other options available- he’s obviously subject to coercion by the elder stars, but he also declines dragon’s offer to join the revolutionary army explicitly because the government pays better, even while standing in the ruins of ohara. like, it is noteworthy that vegapunk’s personified greed is an antagonistic force in this arc.

vegapunk is a character trying to make amends by the time of egghead arc- by helping bonney, by investigating the void century- and like i said, it’s clear that his intentions have always been to help the world; but that doesn’t absolve him of responsibility for all the damage he’s done, either.

additionally, i would say that the designated ‘ally’ character for this arc, if there is one, is bonney, not vegapunk. her role as the emotional core of this arc is quite similar to law’s in dressrosa. vegapunk’s narrative role is, i think, somewhat more complicated than that.

#one piece #not japanese #jonny answers #opmeta #character meta #opspoilers #vegapunk #arc: egghead island

[sayruq]

In the early hours of April 7th the Israel Defence Forces’ (idf) 98th Division withdrew from Khan Younis, the second-largest city in Gaza, exactly six months after Hamas’s attack of October 7th. Israel had the sympathy and broad support of much of the West when it sent its army to war with Hamas. Half a year later, much of Gaza lies in ruins. Over 33,000 Palestinians have been killed, according to the Gazan health ministry. The uprooted civilian population faces famine. Israel has lost the battle for global public opinion. Even its closest allies, including America, are considering whether to limit arms shipments. Much of the criticism centres on Israel’s armed forces. Even after its devastating failure to prevent the massacres of October 7th, the idf has remained the most cherished institution in Israeli society. Holding fast to the vision of the idf as both effective and moral is essential to Israelis’ image of themselves. But it is now accused of two catastrophic failures. First, that it has not achieved its military objectives in Gaza. Second, that it has acted immorally and broken the laws of war. The implications for both the idf and Israel are profound.

Major-General Noam Tibon is a retired corps commander who on October 7th rushed to his son’s kibbutz near Gaza, single-handedly extricating his young family while Hamas was on the rampage. In hindsight, he says, the idf should have gone into Rafah first. He believes his former colleagues were “under the illusion that going first into Gaza City would break Hamas psychologically, by taking their symbols of government”. But, he argues, “all the talk of dismantling their brigades and battalions is rubbish. They remain a fundamentalist movement which doesn’t need commanders to fight until death.” The lack of enforcement of even these looser rules of engagement has been such that accusations that Israel has broken the laws of war are plausible. “The standing orders don’t matter in the field,” says one veteran reserve officer who has mostly been in Gaza since October. “Just about any battalion commander can decide that whoever moves in his sector is a terrorist or that buildings should be destroyed because they could have been used by Hamas.” “The only limit to the number of buildings we blew up was the time we had inside Gaza,” says one sapper in a combat-engineering battalion. “If you find a Kalashnikov or even Hamas literature in an apartment, it’s enough to incriminate the building.” Other officers reported a breakdown of discipline in their units, with multiple cases of looting. “I think everyone in our platoon took a coffee set,” said one sergeant. Soldiers have filmed themselves vandalising Palestinian property and, in some cases, put those videos online. On February 20th the idf’s chief of staff published a public letter to all soldiers warning them to use force only where necessary, “to distinguish between a terrorist and who is not, not to take anything which isn’t ours—a souvenir or weaponry—and not to film vengeance videos.” Four months into the war, this was too little, too late. “He should have acted much sooner to root this out,” says one battalion commander. The idf’s third failure is its role in Israel’s obstruction—until an angry phone call between President Joe Biden and Mr Netanyahu on April 4th—of aid efforts to Gazans. Officers have mainly blamed the politicians for this. But some acknowledge that even without a political directive, the army, which is arguably an occupying force in Gaza now, should have assumed this responsibility from the planning stage. Instead it acted only when the humanitarian situation became critical. That does not bode well for the future. The war in Gaza is not over. Israel’s next step is unclear. Mr Netanyahu says that a date has been set for an incursion into Rafah, Hamas’s last major stronghold (in private, Israeli generals deny this).

#yemen #jerusalem #tel aviv #current events #palestine #free palestine #gaza #free gaza #news on gaza #palestine news #news update #war news #war on gaza #palestinian resistance #fuck the idf

[yan-lorkai]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: Mutual request for this hc with Lilia and Riddle. Babytrap, Malleus + Leona being infertile. @yasminzys hope you like it!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Yandere content, Infertility and talk about pregnancy/children, killing, kidnapping and cheating.

Lilia has lived a long time, seen a lot, so when you try again and again to conceive a baby and nothing works, he knows. He knows that there is a possibility that you or he, or both, are infertile, so Lilia shares his suspicions with you and together you go to the doctor to have these suspicions confirmed.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ He raised Malleus and Silver, he had the full experience of being a father twice in a row and he wanted you to have the same experience, he wanted your love to be able to conceive a child, but this it is not possible because he is infertile. He is infertile and even for someone as old as he is, this news is still a surprise and not a good one.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Depending on the underlying cause of the problem, his infertility can be treated, so Lilia prefers to undergo treatment. For you and the thought of having a little bat with you. But… No matter how much time passes, your relationship begins to deteriorate with nothing being able to restore that beautiful feeling. And he knows that it doesn't matter if he brings you flowers or if he brings you chocolates, you won't feel what you felt before. A dream was stolen from you and all he can do is be sorry.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Which doesn't mean he can understand how you had the courage to send letters to another man while all this time you've been dodging his kisses and hugs. He has seen a lot of betrayal in his long life, especially allies betraying each other in war, perhaps even he was betrayed once, but without a doubt your betrayal is the only one that was able to pierce his heart so deeply.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Your poor lover? Dead. Your destiny? A cabin in an enchanted forest to never let you get away. And his heart? Trying to patch himself up as he hugs your struggling figure. Adultery once was punishable with death so you're very lucky that he loves you very much.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Honestly, I believe that Riddle doesn't really want to be a father, not while his mother's words and actions are still so present in his mind and haunt him often. If he tried to get you pregnant before it was only because, once again, he decided to listen to her and because he realized that you wanted it too so he didn't want to deny you the experience.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ 'Eventually,' he tells himself after all the times you have sex. 'it will eventually work out.'

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ But no matter how hard you try, it doesn't work. The child you want so much is never conceived, so the only plausible explanation is the one most terrible for you; one of you is infertile. Riddle is quick to assuage your fears and offer comfort as you go to the doctor to share your concerns. Tests are done, the results announced as an omen of death.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Riddle is the infertile one, the cause of your deep sadness and the destroyer of your dreams of having a family. He can see it all in your eyes as tears fall from them and you force yourself to tell him it's okay. He knows what a lie looks like, he knows because living with his mother taught him to lie. And you're doing it now and he can't blame you.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ If a treatment option is viable, he wants to try it. If there is nothing that can be done then he will discuss with you the option of adopting a child. Riddle closes his eyes to every letter you write, to every correspondence exchanged, he hopes that his words and actions reach your heart and that you don't love him less for it since it's something he has no control over, nonetheless, your love waned. And there's another man on your mind now. Another man he chases away.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ He's not someone who gets his own hands dirty, but you force him to. You forces him to kill the other man and he forces you to watch every single thing he does. And then he takes you back home because you're a happy family and family stays together whether you want it or not.

#twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland #twst #twst lilia #twst lilia vanrouge #twst riddle #twst riddle rosehearts #yandere lilia #yandere lilia vanrouge #yandere riddle #yandere riddle rosehearts #yandere x reader #tw yandere #riddle x yuu #riddle x mc #riddle x reader #lilia x mc #lilia x yuu #lilia x reader

[lillified]

do the characters, both autobots and decepticons, know primus is essentially their planet or do they view it as a myth? do they see primus as a god or worship him?

hey! that’s a very good question, which leads into the topic of:

Religion

There are several different accounts of the exact details of Cybertronian history, and that is down to several factors: decades of major conflict, information control, the hostile reign of the Quintessons, attempted eradication of language, and many other individual issues to boot. One idea especially in contention is creation.

The account which has dominated discussion for the majority of modern history is one of a divine creator, Primus. The thirteen original Primes, considered to be the first Cybertronians, recall an immense being, Primus, being the source of all life. Many accounts (including Alpha Trion himself) take this literally, depicting Primus as a sort of deity. In this version of events, all elements of Cybertronian history, including the Primes themselves, take on a very mystical quality.

Though the religious angle is the popular one, a different version of the narrative gained interest into the later stages of the Zeta era, especially in scientific circles. Cybertron is not actually a “planet” in the scientific sense of the term—in reality, it is a mass of rock, metal, and space debris encasing a massive “superorganism,” a planet-sized living thing on which the Cybertronians are comparatively microscopic. It is from this organism that all Energon is extracted, and, as far as science is aware, this organism is the only naturally occurring source of it that exists. Its death would inevitably mean the death of all Cybertronian life, in time.

Nobody is in debate about the existence of this organism: what makes it controversial is the speculation surrounding it. Recently, a wave of scientific questioning has posited an evolutionary link between this organism and all life on Cybertron, suggesting that, in one way or another, the superorganism is the last recorded ancestor. The theory suggests that Titans, a class of life on Cybertron, are the closest relatives of the Cybertronians, establishing a direct link to the planet’s modern inhabitants.

Albeit plausible, this theory is extremely controversial in religious circles. Many modern fields of science have named the planetary being the “Primus superorganism,” which, in the minds of many, is sacrilegious. Titans being related to modern Cybertronians would undermine many of the proposed ideas of divine destiny and significance spread throughout history. The Titans themselves are “monstrous” in appearance and behavior, and the idea of Cybertron’s forefather being something so unrecognizable is an existential prospect. In the modern day, these opposing clades of belief, called “divine truthers” and “Titan originalists” clash mercilessly.

While a breadth of modern knowledge supports the latter conclusion, it does beg the question: if this is true, why do so many, including original Primes themselves, dispute the idea? The answer may also lie in history. Alpha Trion fought on the side of Prima in the First War, a devastating conflict which split the original Primes and their people down the middle. Following the defeat of Megatronus and their allies, it was in Prima’s favor to control all accounts of history, writing them to be in his favor as the destined winner of this conflict. Even following his death, and, eventually, the reign of the Quintessons, this reasoning stuck around, finding new life as a way to hold up pre-Quintesson era Cybertron as a wonderful, utopian society. Alpha Trion was not a stranger to omitting and adjusting his accounts of history to make his place in it less controversial. Still, though, there is a very real chance we will never know whether he believes what he says.

#transformers #ask #text post #text #lore #maccadam #sci-fi

[whydidoth]

As someone who frankly watches too much hbomberguy, I was fairly startled by the tone he adopted in his latest video in regard to his own sexuality. He has been openly bisexual, coming out (as far as I’m aware) on his channel five years ago in a video on adaptations of HP Lovecraft, but his bisexuality overall hasn’t been particularly present. Even in instances like discussing the queerbaiting of Sherlock or the ability in Fallout to officially play as a bisexual character, he tends to approach the topics in such a way that if you didn’t already know his sexuality, you’d probably just assume he was a good ally. Genuinely, I would not be surprised if casual viewers of his channel had had no idea. I saw someone else suggest that he centered his own bisexuality so much at the start in order to dissuade accusations of him targeting Somerton for being gay. While I think this is certainly plausible, on a pure narrative level, I can’t help but see this most recent video as a book ends to his one on Lovecraft.

In that video, he talks about the value of adaptation and how adaptation at its best doesn’t recreate the work but is a response in concert with it. He speaks very personally about how the film Cthulu embodied the deep, crawling horror of being an outsider in a way that he resented as a kid. As a queer adult, he came back to find not only catharsis but also that it understood the essence of Lovecraft and of his own experience in a way he had been unable to when he was younger.

In his video on plagiarism, he emphasizes how the harm extends past the simple act of stealing someone else’s work, and how plagiarism goes on to suppress genuine dialogue among new voices with new ideas. In some regard, this is a direct response to his original thesis, and the response is one of despair. We are without adaptation. We are without queer voices and narratives.

This shouldn’t be where things end, and I don’t think he would have bothered uploading this video if he had seen no hope for things going differently in the future. I know it’s fun to revel in the scandal of this call-out, but ultimately, we’re witnessing a tragedy. In addition to supporting and giving small creators a shot, I think we should also take this as a chance to be less hesitant about promoting and sharing our own stories.

I have a youtube channel that’s been sitting in the corner collecting dust for a year now, but I’m going to try picking it up again. I’ll be putting a link to both hbomberguy’s video on Lovecraft and my own channel in the notes, and I would encourage everyone to similarly shamelessly self-promote in the comments—literally everything from soundcloud to twitch to personal blogs, go nuts. Let’s all make sure the future is over-saturated with authentic, marginalized voices, yeah?

#hbomberguy #james somerton #also though on a lighter note seeing people whove never watched him before writing posts where he gets referred to as Harris is really funny #bc like thats what he calls himself as a joke in his videos. that it's just funny to say harris bomberguy #but like his name is just harry #bomberguy is also not his last name for those wondering

[not-terezi-pyrope]

When I think reflectively about it, I realize that pretty much nothing has damaged my outlook on the world and hope for the future more than the recognition over the past few years that the seeming majority opinion is that automation is bad and meaningfully transforming our economy is a lost cause, to the extent that the working class will actively and aggressively lobby against technological improvements (even beyond the example of AI/ML...)

I don't agree with this assessment and have argued against it lots, but it's clear that I'm in a small minority among my political allies (i.e., leftists, who recognize that there is a problem with our current lives in the first place). Just a few years ago I was naive enough to assume that "automation leads to less work allows us to collectively downsize the workforce and socialize human needs while increasing abundance" was an obvious and noncontroversial progression.

Now even I'm doubting if we'll ever get there, and that's despite trying my damnedest to argue from a position of optimism. Because the fact is that if nobody believes we can make change then change won't happen, and the recognition that that's a plausible future has made me noticeably more cynical and misanthropic. I don't think that society is a lost cause, but the way that leftist orthodoxy is becoming capitalist realism and scapegoating of the technology sector is driving me there fast.

I can't stop thinking that the potential for a better future I see out there is beautiful, but I can sure as hell get more angry and callous as people refuse to reach out for what's there to be taken. Honestly if we do fail to make the leap then maybe that is proof positive of a fatal flaw in humanity.

I recognize that the issue most people are struggling with is the short term labour market disruption from things like automation, but honestly I don't believe that "dismantling capitalism first" is really a feasible option, society only responds to extant pressure and sometimes I am just like, "the best and maybe only way to make change is to create the conditions where it is intolerable not to follow the path of least resistance, by making the impact of not doing that tangible". Maybe an interim period where a bunch of people lose jobs is worth that, revolution has never exactly been easy. Or maybe I'm just being callous, but my point is that it's harder not to be these days. I thought this would all be so much easier before it came to the point of it.

I hope I don't become doompilled past the point of no return. I need to believe there's a better way for the world to be. I need to believe that we can improve people's lives more than we might damage them in the attempt.

I need to believe we can not re-elect the fucking Tories this year for once.

#not-terezi-speaks #politics

[zvaigzdelasas]

With a history of short-term governments in Nepal’s 15 years of democratic progression, the current reconfiguration is no surprise, and it will be no surprise if the Maoists get back again with the Nepali Congress in months and years to come.

Power sharing, political discontent, ideological differences, underperformance, and pressure to restore Nepal to a Hindu state – a long list of reasons reportedly forced the Maoists to sever ties with the Nepali Congress. While the Nepali Congress expected the Maoist leader and current prime minister, Pushpa Kamal Dahal (also known by his nom de guerre, Prachanda) to leave the alliance, it did not expect an overnight turnaround. [...]

Dahal reportedly conveyed to the Nepali Congress chair, former Prime Minister Sher Bahadur Deuba, that external pressure forced him to join hands with CPN-UML and form a new government.

If this assertion is true, China emerges as a plausible factor, given its historical inclination toward forging alliances with leftist parties in Nepal. This notion gains credence in light of China’s past efforts, such as its unsuccessful attempt in 2020 to mediate the conflict between Oli and Dahal.

On the other hand, India has enjoyed a comfortable working relationship with the Nepali Congress and the Maoists. Although Maoists were a challenging party for New Delhi to get along with when Dahal first gained the prime minister’s seat in 2008, the two have come a long way in working together. However, the CPN-UML has advocated closer ties with the northern neighbor China; Beijing suits both their ideological requirements and their ultra-nationalistic outlook – which is primarily anti-India. [...]

India faces challenges in aligning with the Left Alliance for two key reasons. First, the energy trade between Nepal and India has grown crucial over the past couple of years. However, India strictly purchases power generated through its own investments in Nepal, refusing any power produced with Chinese involvement. With the CPN-UML now in government, Nepal may seek alterations in this arrangement despite the benefits of power trade in reducing its trade deficit with India.

Second, India stands to lose the smooth cooperation it enjoyed with the recently dissolved Maoist-Congress coalition. During the dissolved government, the Nepali Congress held the Foreign Ministry, fostering a favorable equation for India. Just last month, Foreign Minister N.P. Saud visited India for the 9th Raisina Dialogue, engaging with top Indian officials, including his counterpart, S. Jaishankar.

As concerns arise for India regarding the Left Alliance, there is also potential for shifts in the partnership between Nepal and the United States, a significant development ally. Particularly, there may be a slowdown in the implementation of the Millennium Challenge Corporation (MCC) projects. Despite facing domestic and Chinese opposition, the Nepali Parliament finally approved a $500 million MCC grant from the United States in 2022, following a five-year delay.

China perceives the MCC as a component of the U.S.-led Indo-Pacific strategy, countering its BRI. Hence Beijing aims to increase Chinese loans and subsidies to Nepal to enhance its influence.

To conclude, the re-emergence of Nepal’s Left Alliance signals a shift in power dynamics, impacting domestic politics and regional geopolitics. With China’s influence growing, Nepal’s foreign policy may tilt further toward Beijing, challenging India’s interests. This shift poses challenges for India, particularly in trade and diplomatic relations, while also affecting Nepal’s partnerships with other key players like the United States.

[[The Author,] Dr. Rishi Gupta is the assistant director of the Asia Society Policy Institute, Delhi]

6 Mar 24

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

Theory: Eldred is not Cardan's father

Listen. I don’t know if anyone has said this before, but I’ve been mulling this over for a while now, so I’m going to throw it to the void before The Stolen Heir comes out, for posterity.

Buckle up, folks and Folk. I’m monologuing.

(PLEASE DO NOT INCLUDE TSH SPOILERS IN THE COMMENTS/REBLOGS/TAGS AS I HAVE NOT READ IT, AND WILL NOT BE ABLE TO READ IT UNTIL 8th JAN 2023!)

A big caveat of this theory is that I have basically no solid evidence for this apart from a few faint dots vaguely connected through a strange fog. But I am nothing if not someone who will scrounge around in the dirt for answers. So let’s get some filth under our fingernails.

(I promise it will maybe make sense. Eventually)

I. EPISTOLARY SEMANTICS

Much of this theory centres around the note Jude steals for Dain from Hollow Hall in The Cruel Prince. It reads:

“I know the provenance of the blusher mushroom that you ask after, but what you do with it must not be tied to me. After this, I consider my debt paid. Let my name be stricken from your lips.” (TCP, p.115)

There are so many layers to this note, but I’ll start on the surface level before digging deeper.

When Jude gives the note to Dain, he reads it, then says, “So he’s blackmailing Queen Orlagh” (TCP, p.123). During a first read, one would think Dain is implying that Balekin is blackmailing Orlagh, since Jude stole the note from Balekin’s study, and that Orlagh is the one who wrote the letter to the eldest Greenbriar child.

And no one questions it, because Jude even makes this supposition herself.

But my question is this: Why would Balekin be blackmailing Orlagh? We learn in The Wicked King that they are very much allies, and as far as I’m aware, blackmailing isn’t something you typically do to your allies.

My other question is: Why do we assume that Orlagh is the one that wrote the letter? Because Dain said so? We know him to be unreliable at best, manipulator at worst.

During a second read, one might realise that Dain is in fact being tricky here. He knows exactly who and what this note is referring to. But he’s deliberately trying to lead the Court of Shadows to the wrong conclusion, because the right one would reveal his guilt, as shown in the latter part of The Cruel Prince when Jude figures out Dain poisoned Liriope with blusher mushroom.

The way Dain is able to lead us off track without lying is through implication alone. This is why he’s not specific about who is blackmailing Orlagh. He just says someone is (a likely statement, considering Orlagh’s title) and that someone might be a man (plausible enough).

Thus, the sentence “He’s blackmailing Orlagh” can still be a perceived truth, and we are only ascribing it to the note because it is the closest context.

But we find out later that Dain’s statement has nothing to do with the note, since the note is about Liriope’s poisoning.

After having read TCP [redacted] times, one might begin to think: Is Orlagh even the sender of this correspondence? And if not, who is? And what does the note mean if we’re giving it a different context/sender?

For this, we have to peruse the parts of the sentences written in the note.

A. “Provenance”

For me, this phrase has always seemed a bit strange when referring to blusher mushrooms.

The word “provenance”, as most people recognise it, is used to describe the place from which a particular thing or subset of things comes from (i.e. the provenance of “Champagne” is Champagne, France, and the provenance of “Iranian rugs” is Iran, etc.).

So when we put it in the context of blusher mushrooms, as the note does, it seems to be saying there is a particular place where one can find blusher mushrooms, and the recipient is trying to acquire them for one reason or another.

But Jude, when first dabbling in mithridatism, describes picking blusher mushroom in the palace gardens (p.148-150, TCP). So if Balekin was planning on acquiring the poison, he needn’t look farther than the palace itself.

Which says, to me, that acquiring blusher mushroom for his own purposes wasn’t the subject of Balekin’s original inquiry, since it is common enough for a seventeen-year-old girl to find on her walk to school.

Additionally, the sender says “the provenance of the blusher mushroom”, when “the provenance of blusher mushroom” would be more grammatically correct if the sender was indeed informing Balekin about where he could get the poison.

Implying that they are referring to a single specific blusher mushroom. Perhaps, the very one which poisoned Liriope.

Which means, “provenance”, as it is used in the note, could be referring to the less common definition: “record of ownership”.

My guess is, Balekin asked the sender of the note if they knew who killed Liriope with blusher mushroom. The sender, wanting to remain cryptic in case the message was intercepted, phrased their confirmation so only the person who knew the full context of the message would be able to understand it.

Leading me to believe the sender may be saying, “I know who owned/used the blusher mushroom that you’re asking about”.

B. “It”

Here’s another tricky thing about English grammar: sometimes the subject that “it” refers to can be a group of things.

We might assume right off the bat that “What you do with it” means “What you do with the blusher mushroom”. But, given the previous specification, our sender might actually just mean “What you do with this information must not be tied back to me.”

Essentially, “Don’t tell anyone I told you this but I know who Liriope’s murderer is.”

C. “Let my name be stricken from your lips.”

To me, this last sentence of the note wreaks of faerie bargain.

The sender mentioned they had a debt to pay Balekin, and after divulging who poisoned Liriope, they would consider that debt paid.

But why not just leave the message at that? They already basically said, “Don’t tell anyone I told you this”, so this sentence seems redundant if not included for an ulterior purpose.

It could be a dramatic sign off. More likely, though, it’s a final clause of some bargain made previous to this message. Such as, “You owe me. Tell me who poisoned Liriope and I’ll never speak your name again.”

Either way, it sounds like the sender does not want to be tied to Balekin in any way (understandable tbh).

***This line is important for later, so remember this.***

~~~

So, after these specifications have been made, the note reads:

“I know who owned/used the blusher mushroom to poison Liriope, but what you do with this information must not be traced back to me. After this, I consider my debt paid. As per our bargain, you’re not to speak of me again.”

II. THE SENDER OF THE LETTER

There are many people who could’ve sent this letter. So let’s narrow it down.

Since the letter is in Balekin’s study, we could surmise that it is something Balekin has written and plans on sending. But Jude describes it as being written in “an elegant, feminine hand” (TCP, p.115).

Which doesn’t necessarily rule Balekin out as the sender, but I’m thinking it is much more likely he is the recipient, and that the sender is a woman.

The sender also knows who killed Liriope, so they probably know why Liriope was poisoned, as well. Meaning, they would have had to have ties to her—whether in proximity or in intimacy.

Oriana mentions in TCP that she and Liriope were close friends. She also tells Jude that she knew about Liriope and Dain’s affair.

However, in this same conversation, Jude asks Oriana if she knew Dain was the one who poisoned Liriope, and this is her response:

“Oriana shakes her head. ‘Not for a long time. It could have been another of Eldred’s lovers. Or Balekin—there were rumours he was the one responsible. I even wondered if it could have been Eldred, if he had poisoned her for dallying with his son. But then Madoc discovered Dain had obtained the blusher mushroom. He insisted I never let Oak be anywhere near the prince.’ ”(TCP, pp. 294-295)

Since faeries cannot lie, the truth must be that Oriana is not the one that knew who poisoned Liriope.

And since the letter is left unsigned, Dain attributes its origins to the Queen of the Undersea.

Here’s why I don’t think Orlagh sent this message:

Orlagh is seen in cahoots with Balekin plenty throughout the series. Yet, the sender of this message implies they want nothing to do with the eldest prince, and furthermore explicitly tells Balekin to never speak their name again. If Orlagh were the sender of this note, we would not have much of the scenes which take place in the Undersea during Jude’s kidnapping in The Wicked King.

Orlagh is the Queen of the Undersea. Why would she know or care about the details of a murder of one of the High King of Elfhame’s lovers?

Orlagh also has no ties to Liriope, or Dain for that matter, so why would Balekin go to Orlagh for information regarding Liriope’s murder?

But do you know who does have ties to Liriope, who might also have reason not to want Balekin to speak their name ever again?

Lady Asha.

So how exactly does Lady Asha have ties to Liriope?

It is common knowledge that they were both lovers of the High King. Asha could’ve known of Liriope’s affair with Dain because of their proximity at court. She was also known for being a lover of gossip and secrets. It’s not too surprising that she might know of Liriope’s secret.

But how does Lady Asha know that Dain specifically poisoned Liriope? And why might she want to sever her ties with Balekin?

Let me back track for a moment.

III. EMERALDS FOR HEIRS?

In the prologue of The Queen of Nothing, Lady Asha receives a heavy necklace of emeralds for her “contribution to the Greenbriar line”.

In The Cruel Prince, when Jude is dressing in Liriope’s clothes for the party at Locke’s estate, Locke offers her his mother’s jewels, specifically a heavy necklace made of emeralds (TCP, p. 168).

At first, when I noticed this connection, I thought emeralds must be Eldred’s standard gift given to any mother who births a Greenbriar heir.

But if you recall, Locke wasn’t born to Eldred, and Liriope would have had to receive the necklace while she was still alive, meaning Oak had not yet been born.

It is significant that both of these women have necklaces of emeralds, for the meaning of emeralds—amongst loyalty, love, and strength—is truth.

“A revealer of truths, emerald reputedly could cut through all illusions and spells, including the truth or falsity of a lover’s oath.” (International Gem Society)

Indeed, it’s curious that the only other person known to possess a string of emeralds similar to the one Lady Asha receives in QON, is Liriope.

Liriope, who, to common knowledge, never had a royal child with the High King. Liriope, who, through the events of TCP, we know to have been having an affair with Dain while still in the High King’s favour.

Liriope, who, like Lady Asha, met an unfortunate fate.

If emeralds represent the falsity of a lover’s oath, and Liriope possessed such a necklace before her passing, it could be that the emeralds Asha received were less a gift as much as they were a warning.

One that Asha was either too arrogant or too oblivious to figure out when she first received them, but that she might've pieces together after Liriope's death.

IV. PUNISHMENT BY PROXY

In the prologue of Queen of Nothing, the narrator informs us that Cardan’s punishment for “killing” a mortal man was that his mother was locked in the Tower of Forgetting.

It’s unsurprising that a mother should shoulder the blame for the crimes of her royal son, but this seems like a steep price to pay for the death of someone only tangentially related to the High King’s concerns.

It wasn’t even a lover of Eldred’s own who was killed. It was the lover of his lover/seneschal.

Incarcerating Asha because her son allegedly killed the lover of the High King’s lover feels like an overreaction. Why not simply cast Asha from the court? Or send her to the mortal lands?

Unless…

The High King suspected (or knew) that Lady Asha had committed some other serious offense against him, but had no sufficient evidence to lock her away. Or perhaps he did not want to risk the humiliation that would ensue if everyone at court found out that Lady Asha had been dallying with his son at the same time as she was his own lover.

And, to give her what he thought she deserved without inciting speculation from the court, used the excuse of Cardan killing the mortal to finally serve justice.

Furthermore, we know Cardan and his mother were not close. We know Asha did not raise Cardan as normal mothers do. Why is sending Cardan’s mother to prison a punishment to him?

Other than a small blot on his reputation (upon which, there are many, much larger blots), Asha’s punishment by proxy largely shouldn’t effect Cardan.

It seems as if Cardan’s true punishment was being virtually disowned by his father, and banished from living in the Palace of Elfhame.

Meaning, Asha’s punishment wasn’t really Cardan’s, but her own.

V. THE DEBT

In the letter Jude stole from Balekin’s desk, a “debt”, which has been paid through the information provided, is mentioned. If Asha sent this letter, what debt could she possibly owe Balekin?

Well, for starters, he did raise her son when no one else would.

Though, it’s unclear to me when in the timeline Asha wrote the letter and when she was imprisoned, if this is the aforementioned debt, Asha would’ve had to have written the letter after she’d been sent to the Tower of Forgetting. Because her being sent to the Tower was the catalyst for Balekin raising Cardan.

This debt also begs the question: Why would Balekin offer to raise Cardan?

Surely having Lady Asha, an incarcerated ex-lover of the High King, in his debt isn’t so valuable as the immense responsibility of raising a child he has no obligation to.

Which points to a motive that indicates perhaps Balekin does have an obligation to this child.

When Madoc kills Eva and Justin in the prologue of TCP, he takes Jude and Taryn in, claiming it as his “duty” after he rendered them parentless. We know the fae value their honour, and so even someone as opprobrius as Balekin might be subject to upholding duty in the face of a faerie child’s mother being sent to prison.

But as we know, he did not cause Lady Asha’s detainment (Dain did). So where is this sudden sense of duty coming from? None of the other Greenbriar siblings seemed to have the same moral inclination.

Balekin taking Cardan in could be purely out of selfish motives. Such as, being able to shape Cardan to his will, which he might then use in a potential coup.

But it could be that, through everything, Balekin has an inkling of an idea that Cardan might not be his brother, but his son.

There is another debt which is possible in relation to the letter if it was sent prior to Lady Asha’s imprisonment. But for this, we must consider why Lady Asha would want her name to be stricken from Balekin’s lips in the first place.

The most obvious answer to this which I could think of is that Lady Asha knows she has committed treason by sleeping with Balekin, the High King’s son, and claiming their child as one of the High King’s own, staking her place at court as higher than is deserved, while also playing the High King for a fool.

So the debt could simply be that Lady Asha, seeing what happened to Liriope and knowing what happens to lovers of the High King after being found adulterous, wanted Balekin to never be able to speak of their affair ever again.

Balekin, not being of the sort to do things for other people without a price, might have said that he’d agree to this if she offered him information that he wanted. After she gave it to him, their bargain would be complete, and Balekin would henceforth never be able to speak Lady Asha’s name.

Regardless of which debt is the truth, indeed, I do believe we do not hear Balekin utter Asha’s name once throughout the course of the series. Despite the fact that it is almost certain they knew each other before.

VI. PRIOR ENTANGLEMENT

How do we know that Asha and Balekin knew each other well enough to be sending letters like this back and forth to each other, if we are not yet certain that they had an affair?

In the prologue of TCP, Madoc states that he didn’t believe it when Balekin told him his wife and child were not dead, but living in the mortal world. This indicates that Balekin had knowledge of how Eva faked her death.

Now, we could owe this to the presence of spies at court. It’s likely that Balekin has his own hoard of spies, as do most of the prominent figures in Eflhame.

Or we could consider that perhaps Lady Asha, who is the other person confirmed to have known that Eva faked her death (TWK, p.129), was Balekin’s informant on this matter.

After receiving this information, he was then able to pass it on to Madoc in order to gain his trust (with the ulterior motive that Madoc might trust him enough to help him with his coup).

But then, we must also consider why Lady Asha would tell the eldest prince of her friend’s plan in the first place.

One thought I had was that perhaps Balekin, having a slew of mortal servants under his roof, was the person who offered Eva the unidentifiable mortals left in Madoc’s house as “proof” of their death.

He’d have to have motive to do this, however. Which indicates he either had some sort of attachment to Asha, who was trying to help her friend escape Faerie, or Balekin valued the knowledge of their plan enough to help them carry it out.

Another less complicated motive for Lady Asha telling Balekin of Eva’s escape would be that Asha and Balekin had a history of being in cahoots with one another, which would point to a connection deeper than a passing acquaintanceship due to proximity at court.

VII. AN UNCANNY LIKENESS

It is a truth in The Folk of the Air series that children look very much like their biological parents.

Oak, biological son of Dain, looks an awful lot like Dain:

Oak is described as having deer legs, little horns on his head, and brown hair with streaks of gold.

Dain, in turn, is described as having deer legs, little horns, and golden curls.

This striking resemblance is what initially got me thinking on Cardan’s parentage. And it is further backed by the many other child-parent resemblances in the series:

Vivi is described as having inherited her father’s golden cat eyes and fur-tipped ears.

Locke has obviously inherited his mother’s “sunrise hair”.

And it could be argued that Oak inherited Liriope’s “starlit eyes”, as his are an amber-gold colour that might resemble an old star.

Lady Asha even states that Jude resembles both Eva and Justin greatly (TCP, p.129).

And in kind, Jude thinks that Lady Asha and Cardan look very alike, though she does not admit to this out loud.

These likenesses do not necessarily indicate anything other than a pattern, which could be total coincidence. But it does mean that we could reasonably conclude that faeries, as with humans, often take on characteristics of their parents.

Balekin is described as having black hair, pale skin, and silver eyes.

Cardan’s description in the series is quite similar:

He is said to have black curls, pale skin, and metallic-rimmed black irises.

When we compare that to Eldred’s description—golden hair and bronze owl-like eyes—it doesn’t seem like Cardan inherited many traits from the High King at all.

Now, this could be because Lady Asha’s characteristics were more dominant in Cardan’s inherited genes.

She is described as being pale, with raven hair, and black eyes. She also clearly passed her tail on to her son.

But the similarities between Cardan and Balekin go beyond the obvious. When Jude is hiding under a chair in Balekin’s study, she notices the following:

“In two strides, Balekin is in front of his brother. They look so alike standing close. Same inky hair, matching sneers, devouring eyes.” (TCP, p.119)

Indeed, this resemblance is echoed across the series. In The Wicked King, when Jude goes to visit Balekin in the Tower of Forgetting, she states:

“As I ascend, I glance back at Balekin’s face, severe in the green torchlight. He resembles Cardan too much for my comfort.” (TWK, p. 26)

And again, in the Undersea, when Balekin comes to interrogate her, Jude thinks:

“They have the same black hair. The same cheekbones.” (TWK, p. 240)

There is also the matter of Cardan’s name, which bears resemblance to Balekin’s physicality.

Balekin is described as having thorns on his forearms. Cardan is a name which is derived from Cardon, which means thistle. Thistles are a prickly flower that grow from stems of thorns.

We know Holly Black is very intentional with her descriptions and words. My question is, why would she go out of her way to draw these physical comparisons, to echo the sentiment that the two are strikingly similar, if Cardan and Balekin were merely brothers?

She could have said that Cardan, being raised in Balekin's household for much of his formative years, was moulded to adopt his brother's mannerisms and propensity for cruelty. She could have said the way that they talk, walk, carry themselves, etc. were extremely reminiscent of one another, and we as readers would've gotten the point: that Jude thinks Cardan and Balekin are alike in many ways.

But this isn't what Holly Black does. Which leads me to believe there is something else to the constant parallels she chooses to include.

VIII. IN CONCLUSION

I’m aware this entire post reads like a conspiracy theory. So to those of you who stuck it out this far, congratulations and welcome to the circus.

I’ll be the first to admit that it is a big reach to say that this is fact rather than the speculation that it is. There are a lot of holes, which I can only hope might be filled in the coming duology.

That being said, this theory brings many questions to light.

How would Balekin know of Eva’s escape without having a more intimate relationship with her friend than previously thought?

Why would Lady Asha want her name stricken from Balekin’s lips so desperately as to make a bargain with him?

How could Lady Asha possibly be indebted to Balekin?

Why would Liriope and Asha be the only two characters with heavy necklaces of emeralds on their person if it didn’t mean they shared a similar history with the High King?

Why would Holly Black continuously compare Balekin and Cardan, indirectly pointing out that neither look much like their father or other siblings, but look undeniably like each other, if not to draw a deeper connection between the two?

And finally, and perhaps most importantly, if Lady Asha’s dalliance with Eldred was so brief—as is confirmed by Oriana in chapter 12 of QON— how did she come to be pregnant by him? We know faerie menstrual cycles don’t happen as often as mortals’.

Is this as simple as good luck, or does it speak to an affair no one knew was happening?

–Em 🖤🗡

more theories & analysis

#this is. complete speculation ngl gvskdjsk #i have a whole conspiracy theory red string board for this one though #tfota #jurdan #cardan greenbriar #jude duarte #balekin greenbriar #lady asha #the folk of the air #jurdannet #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #queen of nothing #holly black #judecardan #how the king of elfhame learned to hate stories #tfota meta #tfota analysis #my analysis

[tieflingkisser]

“I Have Lost Everything”: In Federal Court, Palestinians Accuse Biden of Complicity in Genocide

Bolstered by a momentous ICJ ruling, Palestinians, including Americans, gave three hours of testimony against the Biden administration.

In a momentous day for the quest to keep Israel and its allies accountable for its brutal war on Gaza, members of leading Palestinian human rights groups, residents of Gaza, and Palestinian Americans argued in a U.S. District Court on Friday that the Biden administration should halt its financial and military support for Israel and uphold its obligations to prevent genocide. The arguments came in a lawsuitOpens in a new tab that the Center for Constitutional Rights, or CCR, filed in November against President Joe Biden, Secretary of State Antony Blinken, and Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin, charging them with complicity and failure to prevent the “unfolding genocide” in the occupied strip. Testifying either in person at the Oakland, California, courthouse or remotely from Palestine, the plaintiffs spoke for nearly three hours about the deliberate devastation wrought by Israel in the aftermath of the October 7 Hamas attacks.  The hearing commenced hours after the International Court of Justice in The Hague found that it’s plausible that Israel has committed acts of genocide in Gaza, in a case brought by South Africa. While the United Nations court fell short of ordering an immediate ceasefire, a panel of judges delivered a historic set of rulings and denied Israel’s request to dismiss the case. A final resolution in that case is expected to take years. Lawyers involved with the lawsuit playing out in federal court said that the ICJ ruling bolsters their case. Their lawsuit argues that Biden, Blinken, and Austin are liable under U.S. lawOpens in a new tab for failing to uphold their obligation to prevent genocide in Gaza. In Oakland, dozens of people lined up outside the courthouse hours before the hearing on Friday, according to organizers on the ground, while the Zoom stream reached its capacity of 1,000 people tuning in.

#free palestine #palestine #usa #us politics #news

[just-late-roman-republic-things]

Avenues of female political influence in late republican Rome:

Senior women frequently acted as advisors to their brothers, husbands, children, and occasionally even parents. Servilia is known to have had a strong influence over her brother Cato even in his adulthood, Fulvia was a key agent and confidante for each of her husbands, and even Tullia sometimes sent letters telling her father Cicero what she thought he should do.

Women had their own social networks in parallel to men. They visited each other for social engagements, religious observances, scoping out marital prospects for themselves or their children, and passed along letters and information. Aristocratic women like Servilia could often visit politicians' households more easily than their male relatives could, and female clients would often prefer to approach their patron's wife than the patron himself. Women could also be patrons with client networks in their own right.

Women could act as negotiators, spies, and go-betweens. Mark Antony's mother negotiated with Sextus Pompey on Antony's behalf; Servilia pulled strings to get Brutus and Cassius' provinces reassigned. Men often relied on their female relatives to tactfully sound out alliances, gauge public opinion, or collect intelligence while the man could maintain plausible deniability.

Women could canvass or intercede on behalf of relatives. Although being too publicly active was considered embarrassing, it was quite proper for a mother, wife, sister or daughter to talk to the family's allies, clients, and other politicians to get benefits for her kin. They could help male relatives get elected, taken off proscription lists, or get his legislation more support.

Women were probably consulted on most marriage alliances, and thus on political alliances via marriage. Mothers, grandmothers and aunts in particular were often involved, thanks to their extensive social networks and opportunity to assess potential spouses. Although brides usually didn't get much say in their first marriage, they usually had more choice in second and third marriages.

Women's social connections were especially important due to Rome's barebones civil infrastructure. Compared to modern states, republican Rome had very few magistrates or civil servants. There were also few "social services" in the modern sense. People relied on family connections and the patron-client system in order to meet their needs, respond to emergencies, and get things done. Having more friends in as many places as possible was necessary for political survival; you couldn't afford to sequester your women.

When men went overseas to govern provinces or serve in the legions, it was often their female relatives who managed estates in their absence, advocated for their interests in Rome, and kept them updated on political events. This was especially important in the late republic, when wives didn't normally follow their husbands to the provinces. A wife was expected to be a representative for her husband and point of contact for his allies. Mothers, sisters and aunts may do the same.

Property and power went hand in hand. Wealthier women had more social and political influence. Changes in marriage and inheritance law resulted in more women owning property in their own right during the late republic. Unless a will was written otherwise, by default sons and daughters inherited equal shares of an estate. Sine manu marriage enabled women to become legally independent at earlier ages, take back their dowries after divorce, and avoid being completely under their husbands' authority.

Although women couldn't vote or run for office, and were expected to use their influence in private homes instead of the public square, there's no doubt that aristocratic women like Servilia, Fulvia and Aurelia played major parts in building alliances, furthering their families' careers, defusing conflicts, and sometimes starting new ones. A particularly well-connected woman like Servilia could exert more weight in the Senate than most senators.

The system they lived in aligned their personal interests with those of their husbands, sons, and birth families, so most of our evidence shows women acting on behalf of men rather than pursuing personal agendas. These allegiances also ran along class lines: Servilia would have been far more interested in preserving her family's reputation, security and wealth than in the issues of poor or middle-class women.

In Roman politics, the personal was political. Parties and get-togethers were networking events. Weddings were for the families' joint prospects and goals as much as they were about the newlyweds. Friendships were expected to include reciprocal favors in business and politics. Your very house was both a symbol of yourself as a person, and your political hub, and your children would learn the system and make connections as much as home as in the forum.

This means that women, by necessity, were heavily involved in Roman politics. We have less documentation of their work than men's, since so much of it was unofficial and behind closed doors, but the republic depended on aristocratic women's skills, activities and relationships as much as on men's.

(Notes taken on Servilia and Her Family, by Susan Treggiari.)

#and of course the aristocratic women AND men depended on tons and tons of slaves! #behind every great man there is a great woman. and several thousand enslaved/underpaid workers. and probably some imperialism. #this is 50% notes to self so i can give female characters significant roles if i ever write a rome fic #servilia and her family #jlrrt reads #roman women #susan treggiari #jlrrt essays

[featherymalignancy]

CHAPTER TEN—In Vino Veritas: A Nessian Story

Summary: Nesta Archeron is convinced she has everything she wants: a law degree from an ivy, a prestigious job, a gorgeous boyfriend, and excellent taste in wine. However, when she wanders into her local wine vendor and meets a handsome stranger unafraid to play her quick-witted games, she begins to wonder if the life she’s built is really the one she wants.

Cash Kahukore worked his entire adolescent life to become a sommelier, ignoring the slurs his mixed heritage have always earned him as he fought his way to the top. However, after five years abroad buying for Michelin star restaurants and dealing with rich white assholes, he’s grown bored with his life. When a gorgeous lawyer comes in to his uncle’s shop one afternoon, he immediately recognizes a worthy opponent in her. Undaunted by her sharp tongue and possessive boyfriend, he’s determined to be her friend, and—as time goes on and their circumstances change—possibly something more.

Check out the In Vino Masterlist HERE

This a prequel to Navy Suits and Chelsea Boots that takes place three years before. If you love Elriel (and don’t mind finding out how this story ends) check it now.

Chapter 10, Pt. 1: Dom Perignon

Though Nesta had spent the better part of a week attempting to rationalize the feeling away, by Friday afternoon she could no longer deny it: she was nervous.  

Ordinarily, meeting new people didn’t scare Nesta. Winning over strangers was literally part of her job, after all, and her record in court suggested she was rather good at getting strangers to trust her. Compared to some of the juries Nesta had faced, meeting one of her boyfriend’s best friends should—in theory—have been a cakewalk. 

Except that Rhysand Sadeghi was no ordinary stranger, and Nesta couldn’t deny that he had several distressingly valid reasons for not liking her. Cash had never given her any details about his weekend with Azriel and Rhys in Vegas and Nesta had never asked, in large part because she selfishly didn’t want to know what ungenerous things he may of said about her while under the influence of alcohol and the pain she’d caused him.

Still, Rhys had seemed supportive enough when Cash and Nesta first went public with their relationship two months ago, which would have been enough to assuage the worst of Nesta’s fears about meeting him had she not also surmised from Cash’s many stories that the Sadeghi family prized loyalty above everything else, and that their good opinion, once lost, was difficult to regain. She wasn’t naive enough to think that a few flame emojis on an instagram post meant that Rhys genuinely approved of her. Despite Cash’s assurances to the contrary, Nesta could see Rhys’s current trip to the States for what it really was: a test.

When she’s suggested as much to Cash, he’d merely laughed, explaining that Rhys was coming to California to finalize an acquisition deal he’d been trying to close for months, and that he’d only decided to extend his trip and stay the weekend after Cash had suggested it.

It was a plausible enough story, Nesta supposed, and she might have even been tempted to accept it was true had Rhys been traveling alone.

 Except he wasn’t coming alone. 

Seemingly unsatisfied with the prospect of interrogating her one-on-one, Rhys had summoned what felt like a tribunal of Cash’s closest friends, including Mor and Azriel, despite the fact the former allegedly hating getting involved with the family’s real estate business and the latter lived over six hours away.

 Even Rowan was supposedly coming to their gathering this evening, and though Nesta might have otherwise been relieved to have him there as a potential ally, she felt she knew him well enough to understand that if Rowan was going to a nightclub, it was likely because Aelin was forcing him. Nesta had still yet to formally meet Aelin thanks to the latter's current AVP tournament schedule, and despite the role Nesta had played in saving Nehemiah from deportation, Aelin still remained very much a wildcard. 

As did Mor.

She’d been warm and perfectly friendly the first time Nesta met her, but things had admittedly been very different then. And now…

Nesta knew that Mor was one of Cash’s fiercest defenders, and she hadn’t deluded herself into thinking Mor would ever forgive her for what Nesta had put Cash through that night at Tonga Room, even if she didn’t know all the ugly details. 

Then again, maybe Mor would understand. From the little Cash had shared about her romantic history, Nesta had gathered that Mor had first-hand experience with abusive relationships. Perhaps if the opportunity presented itself this evening, Nesta could get Mor one-on-one. She knew that she had nothing to apologize for, but perhaps if she could explain her side of things, she and Mor could move past all the messiness and possibly start over. Maybe, with enough time and patience, they could even become... friends .

The idea filled Nesta with a dangerous sort of hope, and she found by the time that she got home to the townhouse she and Cash now shared that she was actually somewhat looking forward to seeing where the evening might take them. 

Kicking off her stilettos, Nesta gave her grandmother’s beloved bookcase an affectionate pat as she headed up the stairs to the main floor, calling for Cash as she did. 

“You still here, Mister?”

Yet another complication of the evening: Cash—who was in the final stage of interviews for the coveted North American brand manager position at Dom Pérignon—had been invited to a last-minute dinner with one of the company top executives, who’d flown in from Reims specifically for the meeting. Thrilled as Nesta was for Cash—particularly now that Devon was home and back running The Merchant full-time—she couldn’t help but be nervous for the two or so hours she’d be spending with his friends sans Cash. 

Nesta glanced at her watch and frowned. It was barely six o’clock, and the reservation wasn’t until nine-fifteen; surely he hadn’t left already. Checking her phone to ensure he hadn’t texted her, she made to call out again before hearing the rumble of his voice coming from the third floor. 

Abandoning her cell phone and purse on the dining room table, Nesta headed up the stairs, listening with increasing worry as Cash’s voice grew louder. 

He was in the study speaking to someone via video chat through the tv which had been mounted to the wall, and as Nesta drew closer, she heard an uncharacteristic bite in Cash’s tone that instantly had her good mood curdling to worry.

“If you didn’t want to come,” he was saying, voice harder than usual. “You could have at least been straight-up with me about it, instead of putting on this dog-and-pony show just to punish me—”

“Don’t be dramatic. I didn’t plan this, and I certainly didn’t do it to punish you.”

Nesta knew that voice—that lovely, posh accent, so much colder now than the first time she’d heard it. 

Mor.

And if she was on the phone, it meant she couldn’t be on a plane, and if she wasn’t on a plane, then that meant—

Nesta’s shame spiral was interrupted by the sound of Cash’s brittle laughter.

“Oh I see. To punish Nesta, then.”

Mor was silent for a moment, her voice softer but no less fierce when she finally said, “I’m not trying to punish her, either, but can you honestly tell me she wouldn’t deserve it if I was?”

Nesta’s heart sank, dragging her down with such brutal force that she had to lean against the wall to keep her balance. Every fear she’d had about meeting Cash’s friends came flooding back to the surface, and she felt the guilt she’d been trying to swallow these past months rising like bile in her throat, acrid enough to make her mouth water.

“I don’t have to justify myself to you and neither does she,” Cash said. “Jesus, what is your problem?” 

Mor gave a soft snort of disgust, her own patience seemingly frayed by Cash’s accusatory tone.

“Oh, so now I’m the villain? Even though she's the one who strung you along then broke your trust? Look, I get that she’s been through a lot and that you always want to see the best in people, but sometimes you’ve got to do the selfish thing and put yourself first.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Cash demanded.

“It means that having a shitty ex—even an abusive one—isn’t an excuse for treating others badly! I’ve known a million girls just like her, and I’ve seen how this story ends. She’s a taker, and if you let her, she will take and take and take from you until there’s nothing left.”

Mor’s words struck Nesta like a blow, driving straight to the fear that most often plagued her about her relationship: that she was selfish for still wanting Cash after everything she’d put him through, and that by continuing to be with him, she was proving she cared more for herself than she did him.

Six months ago, that one thought would have been enough to send Nesta spiraling into panic and self-doubt. Today—despite the pain—she managed to catch herself, rooting down in the knowledge that what she and Cash now had, they’d built together .

Cash—for his part—seemed equally as unwilling to allow the comment to find its mark.

“You don’t know her, though. You don’t know a goddamn thing about her, because if you did, you’d understand what an absolute dickhead you’re being right now.”

Mor gave a tight, almost-pained, sigh.

“I’m not saying this to hurt you. I’m telling you because I care about you and I’m worried.”

“Well you have a shitty way of showing it,” Cash snapped. “I love this girl, Mor! Does that really mean so little to you?”

It had apparently been the wrong thing to say, because when she finally spoke again, Mor’s voice had gone cold enough to burn.

“Do what you want, then,” she said flatly. “I’m not going to pretend I’m fine with this just because no one else has the bollocks to tell you the truth.”

There was a pause before Cash replied, voice softer but no less edged, “You’re way out of line right now; if you don’t want to admit it to me, I hope you can at least find the courage to admit it to yourself.”

“Fine,” Mor said. “Anything else?”

“Actually yes,” Cash said, a renewed bite in his tone. “While we’re on the subject of messing about in other people’s business, get off Az’s back . He’s never going to be able to open up enough to meet someone when he’s terrified you won’t approve of anyone he picks.”

Mor’s answering laugh was acerbic, and though Nesta didn’t know her well, the bitterness in her tone didn’t seem to suit the bright, kind women Nesta remembered meeting all those months ago.

“Why, so he can meet a girl like Nesta?” 

“You wanna lose me? Stay one more cruel thing about her, I fucking dare you.”

“Cash—”

“Goodbye Morrigan.”

Nesta listened as Cash ended the call before swearing to himself, the sound partially muffled as he presumably buried his head in his hands.

Nesta remained where she was, debating if she ought to just sneak back downstairs and pretend she hadn’t heard any of what had just been said. It would be easier for Cash if he could keep believing he’d managed to shield Nesta from the worst of Mor’s scorn.

Nesta’s mind was nearly made up when she recalled the look on Cash’s face as he’d begged her not to lie to him anymore, even in the service of protecting his feelings.

It was that promise which gave Nesta the courage to finally move, deliberately shuffling her bare feet along the rug in the hallway to alert him of her presence before pausing in the doorway.

Cash raised his head, his tender expression managing to slightly lessen the current ache in Nesta’s chest.

“Hi,” she said, leaning her head against the wall as she took him in.

“Hi,” he said, seeming to study her with the same intensity. “How much of that did you catch?”

She shrugged, not bothering to hide the truth of it in her eyes.

“Enough,” she admitted.

Cash swore softly before extending his arms to her.

“Can I hold you?”

That he’d asked—that he’d cared enough to seek her permission instead of simply reaching for her—soothed a part of Nesta she’d hadn’t realized was still healing.

Wordlessly she crossed to him, sinking into his lap and breathing in his inviting masculine scent. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers.

“Don’t be,” she said, fighting to keep the emotion out of her voice. “I understand.”

“No, please don’t do that,” he said. “Don’t internalize this.”

“She's not wrong, Cash.”

“Yes she is!” he said, his voice firm. Still, his touch remained gentle as he reached to cup her cheeks. “What happened at Tonga was between us , and we’ve moved past it! Besides—”

He let out a sigh.

“Look, this doesn’t excuse her behavior, but this isn’t about you. Mor’s got plenty of her own baggage she’s yet to fully square up with, and sometimes I think she chooses to get overly-invested in other people’s problems to avoid having to deal with her own.”

“I understand why she doesn’t care for me,” Nesta said. “If the situations were reversed, I’d likely feel the same way. I just—I don’t want you to lose friends because of me.”

“I haven’t lost anything,” Cash assured her. “Mor and I have been in much nastier fights than this before and we’ve always managed to patch things up. Besides, if she truly isn’t willing to give the woman I love a chance, she isn’t the friend I thought she was.”

Nesta nodded, desperate to take comfort in what he’d said about Mor and move on. Still, hearing the righteous venom Mor harbored had felt to Nesta the way she assumed opening that damned box had made Pandora feel, and now that the floodgates had been opened, she found there was one fear in particular she couldn’t shake. 

Unable to suppress the urge any longer, she finally asked, “And Aelin?”

“Aelin?” Cash asked, brows knitting. “What about her?”

“Please don’t play dumb,” Nesta said, hating the slight pleading in her voice. “I assume she hates me, too.”

Cash gave a wry smile that she couldn’t help but be slightly assuaged by. 

“On the contrary, Aelin has been picking out our wedding china since before we were even dating.”

Nesta huffed a laugh, and he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“And next to Rowan, Nehemiah is hands-down the most important person in Aelin’s life. Regardless of what she may have thought before, I guarantee that after what you did to help NeNe, you have a friend for life in Aelin.”

“I’m sorry,” Nesta said. “For causing all this. I didn’t—”

She broke off, and though Cash waited for her to finish, she realized after a beat she didn't actually know what to say.

“Nesta,” Cash said softly. “I love you. Nothing anyone else says will change my mind about that, and I am never going to let anyone tear you down, whether you think you deserve it or not.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” Nesta asked, tucking a strand of dark hair that had come loose behind his ear. 

Cash answering grin was soft and achingly lovely.

“Should I go alphabetically or chronologically?”

Nesta brushed his lips with the pads of her fingers, her own smile growing as well. It never ceased to amaze her how easily he could change her mood.

“Chronologically.”

“Okay,” Cash said, tugging her more fully into his lap so he could kiss her neck. “Then how about this morning in the shower?”

With similar schedules and a dual-head shower in the master bath, they showered together most mornings, a simple ritual that had nonetheless become one of Nesta’s favorites. 

Most days they merely shared the space in contented silence, focusing on their own tasks and only speaking to request the other fetch the shampoo or pass the body wash. However, when Nesta glanced over that morning just in time to watch Cash tip his head back to rinse his hair, water cascading down his toned back and over his gorgeously sculpted ass, she hadn’t been able to resist. Pushing him against the wall, she’d gotten on her knees and sucked him off until his eyes had rolled back in his head. 

They’d ended up staying in the shower until the water had gone tepid after that.

“That was mutual,” she reminded him. 

Cash grinned, leaning up to kiss her neck again.

“The sounds you make when I fuck your ass honestly make me feel like I’ve won the lottery,” he said against her skin.

“I know,” she said with a smirk, moving to slide off his lap. “You should probably start getting ready. You need to leave in an hour and a half.”

Cash was undeterred by her prudence. 

“That’s plenty of time,” he breathed, hitching up the pencil skirt she wore and toying with the waistband of her black silk thong. “Take these off and let me make you feel good.”

Nesta dug her nails into his toned shoulders, grinding against him almost involuntarily. 

“Here?” She asked, distracted by the fact he was already growing hard beneath her. 

“Study’s still on the list.”

It was a tempting offer, and though part of Nesta badly needed the distraction, the lingering guilt over what she’s wrought between Cash and Mor kept the worst of her selfish impulses in check.

“You went down on me in here last week,” she pointed out in deflection.

Cash, unsurprisingly, wasn’t deterred by this explanation.

“True,” he agreed. “But your sister called before I could make you come, so it doesn’t count,” he said, tugging her thong up until the fabric was roughly splitting her. “Don’t make me beg, gorgeous.”

She couldn’t hold back the groan when he gave another her thong coaxing tug, the material brushing against her unsheathed clit.

“I like when you beg,” she said, already growing breathless from his machinations. 

“What’s coincidence,” he said, leaning forward to nip at her ear. “I like when you beg, too.”

“I don’t beg,” she said, not quite ready to give up their little game despite her own growing anticipation for what was sure to follow.

Cash’s answering laugh was pure sin.

“Don’t tempt me to make a liar out of you, Nes. We both know that I could have you crawling on hands and knees for me if I wanted, and that you’d enjoy every sweet second of it.”

Nesta only smirked in response, sliding off his lap in a way that made him groan in pleasure. Slowly she retreated to the opposite wall before shucking the thong off from beneath her pencil skirt and kicking it to his feet in offering.  

Cash settled further into the plush velvet couch in answer, arms draped across the back and legs casually splayed. 

“Good girl. Now everything else,” he said in a silken command. 

She flashed him a tarty, ‘fuck-me’ smile. 

“Everything?”she repeated.

He studied her with a stark male appreciation that made her instantly wet, his gaze slithering  from her bare feet to the chignon still wound into her hair. 

“You can leave the earrings.”

“How generous,” she said, easing the hem of her silk blouse out from where it had been tucked into her skirt and beginning to unbutton it. 

Cash made a soft sound of appreciation as she finally slid the garment from her shoulders and tossed it onto a nearby club chair. 

His eyes glazed a bit as she reached behind her back to unfasten her bra next. When the clasp came free, she tossed the frilly scraps of evergreen lace into his lap. 

Though he hadn’t moved from his languid position on the couch, Nesta could clearly make out the consequence of her teasing as it pushed against the front of Cash’s trousers. 

“Don’t stop,” he urged, voice midnight soft now. 

Nesta obeyed, pulling the clip from her hair and giving it a soft shake before finally reaching for the zipper of her skirt. Cash was practically panting by the time Nesta began easing the garment down her thighs, and when she straightened to reveal her completely bare form, his eyes were dark with hunger. 

He surveyed her for a moment without comment, head slightly cocked as he admired her beneath the soft glow of the office’s recessed lighting. His gaze was like warm honey, sweetly clinging to every place on her body it touched. She felt her own desire coming alive under his unceasing attention, and she rubbed her legs together to ease the ache which had begun to throb between them. 

Sensing her impatience he finally rose, advancing on her with quiet intent before pushing her against the bookcase which had been built into the wall and kissing her. She moaned as he eased his tongue into her mouth, the soft material of his shirt brushing against her bare chest as he strung an arm around her waist and tugged her more fully into him.

She moaned again when his hand finally found its way between her thighs, but he only spared her a teasing stroke or two before coaxing her legs around his waist, carrying her to the center of the room and easing her onto the sheepskin rug.

She might have objected to being naked on the floor had the cleaning woman not been there the day before. Cash must have thought the same because he laughed; not at her, but in a way that told it safe to let go. 

“Relax for me, sweetheart,” he said, lips brushing a spot on her neck which instantly had her melting.

Noting the change, he huffed another soft laugh onto her skin, lightly grazing the same spot with his teeth before breathing, “good girl.”

Nesta wasn’t ashamed to admit what praise did for her in bed, but she had little time to revel in Cash’s words before he was easing his way down her body, lips brushing her ribs and the crease of her hip before his tongue lazily found its way directly between her legs.

She swore at the first contact, her fingers finding their way into the dark water of his hair and tugging as he applied a small amount of pressure just where she needed him.

She could still hear Mor’s venomous rebuke ringing in her ears, but the words grew fainter with each careful stroke of Cash’s tongue, her conscious mind yielding to pure sensation.

Despite the time constraint, Cash remained unhurried in his task, and Nesta was weak-kneed and covered in a thin sheen of sweat by the time release finally found her.

Cash pulled back slightly to survey her, a satisfied smirk tugging at his full mouth when he brushed a finger down her torso and she trembled in response. 

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he breathed, bending to kiss her.

“What time—” she began, but he cut her off with another kiss.

“It’s 7:15,” he said against her lips. “You still have plenty of time to get ready.”

However, when he attempted to pull back she dug her nails into his shoulders to keep him close. 

“Take your clothes off. I need you inside of me.”

His answering laugh skimmed across her bare skin like silk.

“As my lady commands.”

“Now, pleasant,” she said, pressing a teasing foot to the center of  his chest and nudging him back.

Cash laughed again before rising to his feet and beginning to undress. When he peeled off his shirt, her hand found its way between her legs almost of its own volition, moving lazily as she drank him in. 

“That’s it, gorgeous,” he said, hands at his belt buckle now. “keep going.”

“I’d rather have your fingers between my legs,” she admitted.

He chuckled.

“I wouldn’t. You know what watching you get yourself off does to me.”

“Maybe sometime you’ll let me watch you, Handsome.” 

They hadn’t experimented with mutual masturbation yet, but it was on Nesta’s list. 

By now Cash had shed his boxer briefs to reveal—unsurprisingly—that he was fully ready for her. 

“I could come just from the way you look at me,” he said, stroking himself as he once again knelt to join her. 

Before she could protest, he put his head between her thighs again, tongue focused solely on her clit as he continued working himself. When she felt herself begin to tip over the edge he pulled back, pressing a hand to the crease of her hip and sinking into her in a single motion. 

It was timed perfection she could only marvel at. In several quick thrusts the head of his cock scraped her g-spot just as her orgasm had been ready to fade, and she came hard.

“That’s it,” he said as she clenched around him, trembling. “Squeeze me, Nes.”

She panted as the sensations continued to ripple through her.

“How did you even—“

“Because I know this body even better than you do,” he said. “ Fuck , that was so hot to watch.”

“Ride me,” Nesta demanded in response. “Hard.”

“Flip over,” he said. 

She did, and he wasted no time in sinking inside of her again, one foot braced on the carpet for better leverage as he grabbed her hips.

“Keep touching yourself.”

“I’m not going to be able to come again,” she said. 

“We’ll see about that. Go on Lovely, do it for me.”

Her clit was still throbbing from his earlier machinations so Nesta kept her touch featherlight as he began to move. Instead of thrusting forward into her, Cash instead pulled her back onto him while Nesta rocked her weight in the opposite direction to create tension. It was a rhythm they’d discovered early on in their sexual odyssey, and the friction was blinding for both of them. 

The room filled with the sound of their bodies as they came together, and Nesta could feel the swing of Cash’s stones against her ass as he thrust, a depraved sensation that drove her out of her mind with want. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she demanded. 

“I’m thinking that if this rug wasn’t three grand, I’d be tempted to pull out and come all over you.”

“You’re close?” 

“Oh God , yes.”

Nesta couldn’t help but preen at that.

“Keep talking,” she demanded, always greedy for as much of him as she could get.

And Cash, God love him, was always just as eager to oblige. 

“Do you know why I like to go down on you right before we have sex?”

“Tell me.”

His thrusts increased in intensity, a sign he was close. 

“Because your gorgeous little cunt is so tight, I’m never sure if I’ll be able to last long enough to give you an orgasm.”

“You’ve given me tons of vaginal orgasms,” Nesta panted.

“Only through sheer power of will. Fuck , Nes.”

She threw her hips back into Cash’s a final time and he was a goner.

He kneaded her ass with a firm grip as he emptied himself inside her, and though Nesta felt herself going boneless as the pleasure Cash had thrust her into finally began to relax its hold. 

Fisting her hair, Cash coaxed her head back for a soft kiss before pulling out and slapping her ass. 

“Go jump in the shower, I’ll join you in a second.”

Nesta  rose to her feet, keeping her thighs neatly tucked to avoid making a mess of the carpet after all. Cash marked the gesture before rewarding it with a cocky, bone-melting smirk. The Nesta of a year ago would have snarled at him for the stark appreciation shining in his eyes; today she could only marvel that he seemed to find her as desirable as she found him.

A beat of comfortable silence passed as they remained drinking one another in, and when Nesta’s gaze finally met Cash’s again, it was to find his expression had faded to something almost reverent, though the hunger remained.

“I know it probably makes me a total caveman, but I never get tired of seeing you full of me like that.”

The admission was so stark and primal that Nesta felt her belly clenching pleasantly.

“Maybe it does,” she agreed. “But I’m too much of a junkie for that look you’re giving me to care.”

Cash laughed.

“She digs the caveman vibe; good to know.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, even as she laughed a little herself. 

“Don’t push it,” she said, turning to the door and slipping down the hall to the bathroom.

Despite his promise, Nesta more than halfway through her post-sex shower ritual by the time Cash joined her, his touch warming her skin in a way the water alone never could.

“Are you going to miss me while I’m at dinner?” He asked, kissing her neck.

“Of course,” she said, leaning in as he nipped playfully at her ear.

“How much?” 

“Enough that I’m still debating if I ought to call a bomb threat into Mastro’s so dinner will have to be postponed.”

Normally Cash would have simply laughed at that, but he must have heard something in Nesta’s tone, because he pulled away slightly so he could study her, a frown tugging at his sensuous lips.

“Are you seriously nervous about tonight, because you have no reason to be; everyone is going to love you.”

“Everyone except Mor, you mean.”

Cash’s frown deepened, though his gaze remained almost unbearably tender.

“Don’t worry about her.”

“How can I not?”

“Nes—“

“It’s fine,” she said, slipping past him to grab her towel. She turned, forcing a smile as she reassured him, “I’m fine.”

She left before he could push the issue, trying to focus on getting ready as a means of distraction from Mor’s voice still echoing on repeat in her head.

Cash, for his part, seemed to sense she didn’t want to be pushed, because she was nearly through drying her hair by the time he finally re-emerged, dressed in a burgundy sport coat and slacks, his own hair pulled back in his typical style.

He didn’t immediately speak, simply leaned against the doorframe and watched her as she finished her hair and moved onto her makeup. 

She allowed his silent assessment for as long as she could bear before glancing up at him in the mirror and snapping, “what?”

Her tone was slightly sharper than she would have liked, but she was still learning how to accept his concern without defensiveness.

“Do you want me to cancel dinner?”

At this she stopped what she was doing, turning from her vanity to face him fully.

“Are you insane?”

“Gabriel already told me last week that I’m Dom’s top choice. If that’s true, then they will understand—”

“I’m sure it is true!” she interrupted. “But how could you possibly think I’d let you take that risk? Especially over something so trivial.”

“Your emotional safety isn’t trivial,” he said quietly. “Not to me.”

She felt herself softening at that, especially as she noted the unbearable tenderness which had crept into his expression.

“I know that,” she said. “But you should know that I would never let you give up something this important for my sake.”

“Fair enough,” he said, but before she could revel in the knowledge he wouldn’t be risking his career over something as petty and inconsequential as her feelings, he added, “then don’t go tonight. You can meet my friends another time.”

Nesta couldn’t hold back the surprised laugh which slipped out, the sound brittle even to her ears.

“And how will that look? You can’t make it so I just decide to bail?”

“I don’t really give a shit how it looks. I only care that you are alright.”

“I am,” she assured him, and seeing that she’d yet to fully convince him, she added, “At least, I’m getting there. I know what tonight means to you, and that’s important to me! Besides, I want a chance to get to know your friends and for them to get to know me. I can’t do that if I spend the rest of our relationship casually hiding from them.”

Cash’s expression didn’t change, but Nesta could tell the idea pleased him, which only hardened her resolve to see things through.

“You’re sure?” He said.

“Seeing as we already know that my biggest detractor won’t be there, how bad can it be?” Nesta said, turning back and flashing him a sardonic smirk in the mirror.

“Too soon,” Cash said with a huffed laugh, coming over to kiss her cheek before adding more quietly, “I love you.”

In lieu of responding, she reached back to string a hand around his neck, scraping her nails along the nape in a gesture she knew soothed him.

They remained there for a long moment in comfortable silence before Cash gently extricated himself.

“I’ll let you finish getting ready,” he said. “I’m not leaving for another twenty minutes.”

Nesta nodded, leaning into him for another kiss on the cheek before attending to her makeup.

Cash was sitting at the kitchen island reviewing LVMH’s latest earning statement when Nesta finally emerged, the soft rustle of her sequined mini dress the only sound as Cash eyed her appreciatively.

“You like?” She asked, reaching the landing and giving a turn to show the open back and dangerously-short hem. “It’s new.”

“You look stunning,” he replied, eyes twinkling. “Though I would argue that has very little to do with the dress.”

She rolled her eyes even as she draped an arm over his shoulders and settled into his lap. She didn’t miss the way his gaze flitted to the forbidden stretch of thigh which was revealed as her skirt rode up to accommodate the new position.

“I assume LVMH is sending a car?”

Cash nodded, smoothing a hand down said thigh and causing Nesta’s skin to tingle.

“Should be here in five.”

She nodded, preparing to ask if he was ready for the meeting when he spoke first.

“Okay, last offer, hear me out.”

“Cash—” she began, attempting to stand up even as he coaxed her to remind where she was.

“I can tell Az we’ll just meet him at the club, then you can hang out here and wait for me and we can go toge—”

“Don’t do that, he’s probably already on his way,” Nesta cut in. “And I said I’ll be fine, so I will be. Just…stop, please.”

Cash opened his mouth as if he wanted to argue before his phone dinged, signaling his driver had arrived. 

“Go,” she said, sliding to her bare feet. “You don’t want to be late.”

After a final moment’s hesitation he did the same, straightening his slacks as she grabbed his sports coat from the back of a nearby stool and held it out for him.

He obliged her, slipping his arms through and shrugging it on as Nesta came around to adjust the collar. She sometimes forgot just how much taller he was than her when she wasn’t in her typical heels, and she had to rise to her tip-toes to kiss him.

“Go kill it,”she said against his lips. “You’ve earned this.”

He brushed his nose against hers in response, an affectionate gesture that still made butterflies dance in Nesta’s stomach every time. 

She could tell that Cash was fighting with the urge to offer her one final out on the evening’s festivities, but she was grateful when he chose to simply kiss her instead.

“Have fun with the boys,” he said. “I shouldn’t be more than an hour or two behind you.”

“Take you time,” she said firmly. “From everything you’ve shared, I don’t see Rhysand ending the party anytime before daybreak.”

“How very terrifying and true,” he said, eyes full of all the things still left unsaid as he grabbed his phone, blew her a kiss, and jogged down the stairs to the front door. 

Nesta felt some of the fight go out of her as she listened to the door open and shut, the telltale chime of the security system being re-armed echoing up a second later.

The plan to have Azriel meet them at the townhouse for drinks prior to joining up with Rhys and the rest of their cabal had been made before Cash had known he’d be entertaining the Dom execs, and though Nesta had been adamant that they needn’t change the plan simply because Cash wouldn’t be there, she couldn’t help but wonder at her own stubbornness as she waited nervously for Azriel to arrive.

On the one hand, Nesta’s initial interaction with Azriel had been entirely pleasant, and had left her with an adequate degree of certainty that—despite the Owen debacle—she and Az could get on just fine without Cash present to act as a buffer. 

However, Mor’s assessment earlier had challenged any confidence Nesta may have had when it came to Cash’s friends. Perhaps she’d been arrogant to think that Rhys and Aelin were the only one she had to be worried about winning over tonight, even with Mor temporarily out of the picture. After all, Rhys may have been Mor’s cousin, but it was clear to Nesta that Azriel and Mor had some kind of history.

Cash had never fully explained what—if anything—had gone down between them, but Nesta had always gotten the sense from his stories that Azriel had carried a torch for Mor at some point. It was only just occurring to Nesta that he very well still could. Perhaps all of Azriel’s seemingly meaningless flings were just a distraction from the girl he wanted but couldn’t have. 

And even if he didn’t have romantic feelings for her, it was clear that Mor’s opinion was incredibly important to Azriel.

What was it that Cash had said earlier?

 He’s never going to be able to open up enough to meet someone when he’s terrified you won’t approve of anyone he picks. 

If Mor voiced her concerns about Nesta to Cash, it was entirely possible (and indeed fairly probable) that she’d shared the same—or worse—with Azriel. And even if she hadn’t, what was to say that he hadn’t come to his own unfavorable conclusion about Nesta after the Vegas trip? She could only imagine what he’d heard and seen that weekend, and frankly she couldn’t blame him if he’d decided that he hated her, too.

Nesta’s heart rate kicked up as she considered the increasingly-grim possibilities. Perhaps she’d been too quick to reject Cash’s offer to send Azriel ahead. If she hadn’t—

Nesta’s phone chimed to signal a notification, and she’d been so deeply engrossed in her catastrophizing that the sound startled an undignified shriek out of her. Pressing a hand to her chest in an attempt to slow her hammering heart, she glanced down to see an alert from the Ring app signaling someone was at the door. 

Having no time left with which to ponder her potential evisceration, Nesta simply exhaled a steadying breath before heading down the stairs and disarming the security system.

Nesta felt some of her initial apprehension melt away as she pulled open the door to find that—far from the anger or aloofness she’d feared—Azriel was actually smiling, a modest bouquet of tulips tucked under one arm.

Much like the first time Nesta had met him, Azriel was in all black, from his silk bomber jacket to the well-tailored Japanese denim he wore, his designer boots—Prada, if Nesta had to guess—shined to perfection.

“For you,” Azriel said in greeting, extending the flowers, already neatly trimmed and arranged in a stylish vase, before flashing another soft smile. “I would normally have just brought a bottle of wine, but given what Cash has told me about your incredible palette, I didn’t want to embarrass myself by bringing something terrible.”

“These are lovely,” Nesta assured him. “Please, come in.”

Azriel gave a polite nod and stepped past her, waiting as she re-armed the door before following her up the stairs to the main living space. She thought to offer him a tour before remembering he’d already seen the place when Cash first moved in with her, so instead she opted for what she hoped was amiable silence as she set down the flowers on the island.

“Can I get you something to drink?” She asked, turning to the fridge in an effort to mask her unease. 

Despite Azriel’s warm greeting and the flowers he’d brought, Nesta felt her nerves lingering. However, not wanting to dwell on the stakes, she simply forged on.

“I have water, wine, beer, some of those disgusting hard seltzers....”

When Azriel still didn’t reply, she glanced up to see wry amusement sparkling in his eyes, brows slightly raised.

“I have two college-age sisters,” she explained. “Feyre in particular has terrible taste in beverages.”

Azriel huffed a polite laugh, though the slight flush in his cheeks told Nesta he’d been perhaps warned off making any comment about the youngest Archeron, even if it was friendly.

Smart man.

Instead he said, “If I asked for a shot of tequila, would you join me?”

Nesta smiled, retreating to the liquor cabinet and fetching a bottle of reposado and two rocks glasses. 

“I should have known,” she said, pouring the golden liquor into both glasses before raising one to him in a toast. “Cash said you’d be the one to watch out for; the knife in the dark.”

At this Azriel laughed outright, his impeccably straight teeth on display as he raised his own glass. It was a deep, rich sound, made all the more satisfying by the knowledge that it had been earned. 

“I’ve been to this club before,” he explained. “Trust me when I say it’s not a place you want to go sober.”

It surprised Nesta a little that Azriel—for whom a weekend in Ibiza had been a self-professed torture—was nevertheless familiar with some gaudy nightclub in a city almost 400 miles away from his own. 

She opened her mouth to say as much before remembering Cash’s sly remarks about Azriel’s dating life. It seemed a reasonable bet that the last time that Azriel had gone to Divinity, it hadn’t been for the shitty music or overpriced cocktails. 

Still, that wasn’t any of Nesta’s business, so she instead replied, “I will drink to that,” tapping his glass and throwing the shot back. It didn’t burn the way the cheap tequila she’d always drank in college had, instead warming her belly as it settled in her stomach. 

She poured them each a second measure of tequila—this one for sipping on—and gestured Azriel take a seat on one of the barstools studded around the large granite island. 

There was a measure of surprisingly comfortable silence as they both took a sip of their refreshed drinks, and Nesta cast around for something polite for them to talk about before the moment stretched too long. 

Nesta hadn’t forgotten the comments both Cash and Azriel himself had made about Azriel’s family, but unsure of where else to begin, she began carefully, “Cash mentioned you met in London. Are you from the UK originally?”

He didn’t have an accent, but that didn’t mean much. Perhaps he’d trained himself out of it as a means of transformation. If there was one thing that Nesta felt certain of in regards to Azriel Macar, it was that the man who stood before her today—hair impeccably styled and clothes tailored to perfection—was a facade crafted with the same artistry which had made him so successful as a designer. 

The real Azriel, Nesta sensed, was hidden somewhere beneath all the trappings of wealth and success, and for a reason she couldn’t fathom, the idea he felt the need to keep himself disguised made Nesta’s chest ache a bit. 

Azriel huffed a quiet, humorless laugh at the question, and Nesta wondered if—however innocuous—it had been the wrong one to ask. However, after another small sip of his drink, Azriel met her gaze, expression steady but guarded. 

“Hardly,” he said before glancing back down into his glass. “I grew up in Oklahoma.”

It had been the last thing Nesta had expected, and her struggle to master herself earned a laugh from Azriel, this one slightly easier. 

“You seem surprised,” he mused.

“I’m sorry,” she said, cheeks flushing a little. “I—”

“Don’t be,” Azriel said. “I’d have been offended if you hadn’t been. It’s a Hellhole.” He gave another humorless laugh. “Which is ironic considering churches practically outnumbered people in the town I grew up in.”

Not wanting to offend him by saying the wrong thing, Nesta settled for what felt like the safest option.

“I’ve never been to Oklahoma,” she offered. “The closest I’ve come is Dallas, and I can’t say I’m a huge fan of that, either.”

“Oh agreed,” Azriel said. “Though I wouldn’t say that in front of Rhys; you’ll break his bougie black heart. He loves Dallas.”

“For some reason that doesn’t surprise me,” Nesta admitted, and Azriel smiled.

“Then you’re a quick study.”

They fell into another comfortable silence as Nesta turned the comment over and over in his mind, debating the merits of voicing the question dangling on the tip of her tongue. The potential for blowback if she overstepped remained a clear and present danger, but Azriel’s relaxed demeanor emboldened her to take the risk.

“So…Rhysand,” she began, trying to keep her tone casual rather than anxious or over-eager. “Any tips?”

Azriel paused at this, his glass halfway to his mouth as he raised his eyebrows. Not as if he were offended by the question, but rather to indicate he hadn’t been expecting it. 

He took a sip of his drink in lieu of giving an immediate answer. Nesta wasn’t sure what to make of this stall tactic, but she resisted the urge to fill the silence, waiting instead for him to speak.

Finally he said, “Rhys is like skiing. Easy to learn but difficult to master. When I first met him, it took me all of ten minutes to decide I had him all figured out and that I fucking hated him. Now we’ve been best friends for almost five years, and he still finds ways to surprise the hell out of me on a regular basis. Still, chances are that even if you don’t want to like him, you still will. He’s inevitable in that way.”

“And what about the people he doesn’t like?” She asked carefully.

Azriel’s smile had grown soft and slightly more elusive, but he answered gamely, “I don’t think Rhys has ever met a female he didn’t like.” 

She didn’t know why she said it, but Nesta found herself blurting, “first time for everything, I suppose.”

It was more vulnerability than she’d wanted to show, and seeing the smile slip from Azriel’s face, she knew at once she’d said the wrong thing.

However, he didn’t immediately clap back like she feared he would, instead seeming almost...concerned.

“I know we don’t know each other that well,” he said after a beat, “but can I be...honest for a second?”

“Please,” Nesta said, despite the fact she wasn’t at all sure she was ready for whatever it was he had to say.

“I assume this has to do with Mor.”

It wasn’t a question, but it certainly answered any doubt Nesta had over whether Mor had voiced her dislike to the rest of the group.

“What makes you say that?” Nesta said, annoyed at herself for the tartness which had slid into her voice.

However, if her curt tone bothered Azriel, he didn’t show it. Instead he merely nodded, seeming to weigh his next statement before continuing on.

“I usually try to stay out of the inter-group politicking because there are enough busy-bodies in this crew as it is, but I will say this: Mor is entitled to her opinion; don’t make the mistake of assuming it’s an opinion that everyone shares.” 

“I wouldn’t blame you or Rhysand if you didn’t like me,” she admitted, fighting the urge to grow defensive in her vulnerability.

Azriel only shrugged. 

“Like I said, it’s not my style to insert myself into other people’s business, but…” 

He paused for a second to meet her eye before quietly adding, “I saw what was done to that bookcase, Nesta. Mor didn’t.”

Nesta felt a lump swelling in her throat at the memory, Tomás’s screaming still echoing faintly in her ears.

“That’s probably more grace than I deserve, but thank you.”

Azriel nodded again, looking down into the swirling remains of his drink before adding, “And for what it’s worth, you should know that Cash has never said one ugly thing about you, even in Vegas. He had every opportunity to tear you to pieces that weekend, and he never did.”

“I think that says more about his character than mine,” Nesta admitted, “But I can’t deny it’s a relief to hear.”

“Cash may seem carefree, but I don’t think I need to tell you that everything he does, he does with intention. That includes the company he chooses to keep.”

There was a finality to the way Azriel said it, as if he’d finally exceeded his limit for getting mixed up in his friends’ personal lives and was hoping to change the subject. 

Nesta rewarded his tacit request by refilling both their glasses and saying, “So, as two people who don’t like clubs, any idea what we can expect from tonight?”

“A bloody nightmare,” Azriel said half under his breath, accepting his glass back from her and taking a healthy drink. “Rhys promised we wouldn’t have to be there all night, so I’m praying he can accomplish whatever required schmoozing quickly so we can fuck off to somewhere slightly less atrocious.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Nesta said, raising her glass in salutation and taking a generous swig.

The conversation flowed fairly effortlessly after that, shifting from the friend group to Azriel’s work. He’d seemed hesitant to discuss it at first, as if he were afraid he might bore her if he talked about himself or his own interests for more than a sentence or two. However, once she’d coaxed him into opening up slightly, no doubt aided in her effort by the tequila, she found they had no shortage of topics to discuss. 

Beyond his own work, Azriel was a walking encyclopedia on the history of modernist architecture and design, and he was effortless in his ability to recite fascinating anecdotes about the movement’s pioneers. The way his eyes lit up as he regaled her with a story about Frank Lloyd Wright reminded Nesta of the look Elain always wore when discussing the Papal intrigue of Quattrocento Rome, and she envisioned—not for the first time—how well those two would likely get on were they to ever meet.

Nesta was surprised when she glanced at the oven clock and realized it was nearly 11:30. Azriel must have seen it too, because he drained his glass and reached for his coat.

“I’ve unfortunately exhausted all my tactics for delaying the inevitable,” Azriel said, pulling up the Uber app on his phone and showing Nesta that their driver was six minutes away. “Shall we?”

It was nearing midnight by the time they reached the white lacquered doors of Divinity, a throng of club hopefuls already beginning to amass behind the velvet rope which snaked off to the right of the entrance.

It was only then that Nesta realized they’d never been given any instruction on how or where to find the others. However, Azriel seemed to know the drill, because he skirted the line and went to the bouncer guarding the other side of the rope, presumably the entrance for VIP guests.  It didn’t take more than the words “Rhysand Sadaghi” to get them through the rope and following a hostess to what she continued to remind them was the club’s “premiere suite”. 

The farther they traveled into the space, the louder the hypnotic bass became until they were skirting the massive dance floor en route to a private balcony fashioned to look like a giant cloud suspended in mid-air. Nesta swore as she picked her way up the narrow staircase leading to the box, praying none of the smarmy-looking douchebags below would think to look up. If they did, she was fairly sure they'd have a full view up her skirt through the translucent steps. 

Finally, they reached the landing, and Nesta permitted herself one last steadying breath before accepting Azriel’s hand to clear the final stair.

The suite seemed to be divided into two chambers separated by a silk curtain. The initial space was currently unoccupied, but through the partition in the silk, Nesta spotted a single figure lounging in a plush armchair as it if were a throne, a drink balanced lazily on a knee as he surveyed the crowd below. However, she had less than a second to study him before he took notice of their arrival, his arms outstretched as his mouth split into a breath-taking grin.

Rhysand Sadeghi was gorgeous almost beyond comprehension. The picture of elegance and obscene wealth, he was as tall as Azriel and just as well-built, with glittering azure eyes and a smile bright enough to dazzle even in the semi-darkness. 

On paper his beauty was profuse to the point of revulsion—his eyes too blue, his lips too full, his cheekbones too sharp. In short, Rhysand should have been too pretty to actually be attractive. But there was something so devilishly human in the arch of his dark brows and the curve of his smile that made him, hands-down, the most handsome man Nesta had ever met. 

But not, she noted with a swell of pleasant emotion, the most attractive. Rhysand may have been physical perfection, but he would never be more beautiful to her than Cash; no man would. 

Rhysand gave a cat-like smile as he approached, straightening the lapels of his Armani suit jacket as if he were preparing to step into a business meeting. The crisp shirt beneath had the first several buttons undone, and Nesta could see the making of what was clearly a very intricate chest piece tattoo peaking above the collar, the swirling lines matching the designs which covered the backs of each of his hands.

“Nesta,” he said in greeting, tone warm as if they were old friends. “Finally. I was starting to worry that Cash was hiding you from me.”

His English accent was clipped but smooth, a clear product of his education at Eton and Oxford. 

Nesta turned to allow him to brush a kiss on her cheek. 

“So you’re the philandering rake I’ve heard so much about,” she said as they pulled away. 

It was perhaps a somewhat risky thing to say considering how badly she wanted Cash’s friends to like her, but Rhysand’s answering smile indicated he enjoyed a good verbal spar.

“And you’re even more beautiful than Cash described,” he shot back easily. “Careful, I might be tempted to steal you for myself.”

Nesta hit him with an expression Cash had affectionately termed “Disney Villainess.”

“I don’t know if I’m expected to laugh in your face, or slap you across it.”

Rhys only tipped his head back and laughed as Azriel said from behind her, “A fairly common reaction to meeting him, I’d say.”

“Drink?” Rhys asked, gesturing to the various champagne buckets scattered around the space. “What can I get you?”

He was already pouring a whiskey for Azriel before patting his friend affectionately on the cheek, a gesture which Azriel swatted away. 

“No special friend with you tonight, brother? Cash said it’s been a proper revolving door since you moved to LA!”

“Oh fuck off,” Azriel said, tone light even as his cheeks pinked. “You’re just jealous.”

“Maybe I am,” Rhys said, shooting Nesta a wink. “Champagne, Nesta?”

“Please,” she said, noting the bottle of $500 Armand de Brignac nestled in the closest chiller. Being around this level of wealth was going to take some getting used to. She seemed to sense that Rhys was waiting for her to take a sip, so she did.

“It’s lovely,” she said. “Thank you.”

Rhys grinned. 

“I’m so pleased you like it. Cash says you have a palette for wine that’s destined to put the rest of us to shame.”

Just then another dark-haired man appeared from the darkness, bending to speak quietly in Rhys's ear. Nesta noted the radio at his belt and the gun at his hip, and the way his dark eyes shone with an alacrity which told her he was stone-cold sober. 

When the man straightened up, Rhys gestured to him with a smile. 

“This is my bodyguard, Adan. Donnie, this is Cash’s better half, if you can believe that.”

“Nice to meet you,” Adan said, voice thick with a French accent. “Welcome to the court of nightmares.”

Rhys’s crushing blue eyes glittered as he laughed. 

“Nightmares? Brother, this is a court of dreams! Algerians take everything too seriously,” He added with a smile. “Relax, Don.”

Adan rolled his eyes and snapped a retort in French, though his body language suggested he wasn’t actually bothered. Rhys only laughed in response before offering a rapid reply in the same language.

“Shall we, then?” Rhys said, ushering Nesta forward while keeping his hand a respectful distance from her low back.

“Your timing is impeccable as always, Az,” Rhys said, dropping onto one of the low couches with a lazy grace before kicking his feet up on the glass table. “Even five minutes earlier and you’d have been forced to make small talk with the owner. The man’s a complete knob.”

“Sorry to have missed him,” Azriel said wryly, appraising the space with a designer’s critical eye.

Rhys seemed to note Azriel’s assessment, because he gestured to their surroundings and asked, “So, what do you think?”

Azriel’s lip curled in disgust, the most expression Nesta had ever seen him show.

“It’s fucking horrendous.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Rhys said with a grin. “Wouldn’t buy this place if it were free.”

Azriel rolled his eyes, though there was no malice in the gesture.

“If that’s true, then what are we doing here?”

“You mean besides running up an obscene tab on the ownership’s dime? We’re celebrating.”

Az simply rolled his eyes again, but Nesta shrugged. 

“I’ll bite; celebrating what?

“The successful culmination of a well-deserved revenge plot.”

“I’m officially intrigued,” Nesta said, and Rhys flashed her a bone-melting smirk.

“I thought you might be,” he replied, drawing a cigar from his inside pocket before lighting it and settling back into his seat.

“Six months ago the prick who owned this place called me wanting to see if we’d be interested in going in with his group on a joint venture for a new property they wanted to open in Miami. They’ve been wanting to break into the market but didn’t have the contacts to do it, so they were hoping I could provide leverage. I said I’d consider it, but the financials didn’t pencil so I thanked him for the offer but told him we were going to pass.” 

Rhysand paused to take a casual sip of his drink before continuing on.

“A few days later he pocket dials me. I was getting ready to hang up when I realized he happened to be talking about me to a colleague. Didn’t catch the whole conversation, but considering the fact I stayed on the line long enough to hear him refer to me as a ‘towel-headed terrorist”, I think I got the gist.”

The champagne she’d been enjoying moments earlier turned immediately sour in Nesta’s mouth. It wasn’t always easy being a woman—particularly in a chauvinistic, ego-centric industry like hers—but even with all the wayward comments and veiled jabs she’d endured over the years, she couldn’t imagine what it must feel like to be on the receiving end of that kind of ugliness. Glancing between Rhys and Azriel, she could see in their expressions the same bleakness she sometimes glimpsed on Cash’s face, a stark reminder of the realities of racism they didn’t have the privilege of ignoring. It made Nesta want to hunt this hideous prick down and bury her stiletto into his jugular.

Azriel, for his part, only gave an unamused snort, gaze going cold. “He should meet my brother Tanner. Sounds like the two of them would get along great.”

“Indeed,” Rhysand said, his own smile razored. “I won’t bore you with the gory details, but the long and short of it is that while he’s been kissing my ass the last three days thinking I’m interested in investing in this dump, my lawyers have been finalizing a deal to buy the property across the street.”

“So you can rub what an asshole he is in his face for the rest of eternity?” Azriel asked.

Rhys opened his mouth to reply, but Nesta beat him to it.

“You wanted him to open his books,” she said, reading Rhys’s cold smile. “You needed to see his balance sheet so you’d know what it would take to put this place underwater.”

He nodded, grin widening.

“Turns out that in addition to being an ignorant piece of shit, dude’s also an idiot,” Rhys said, smoke slithering through his lips as he took another drag from his cigar. “His distributor’s been fleecing him on booze. I already have a supplier lined up who’s willing to sell to me at cost, which means I will be able to charge 30% less per drink while maintaining the same margin. This place will be lucky to last six months.”

At this his crushing gaze met Nesta’s, and she couldn't decide if he was seeking her approval or illustrating the power he had to destroy people who crossed him. The fear that it had been the latter had the instinct to go on the defensive flaring, but Nesta forced the urge down, merely raising her glass to him instead. 

“All’s well that ends well, then.”

“I wouldn’t start gloating just yet,” Azriel said. “It’s gonna take more than cheaper drinks to thin this herd.”

He gestured to the packed throng of revelers below.

Rhys remained unruffled.

“True, but when have you ever known me to not hedge my bets?”

“Let me guess: you’ve convinced some Kardashian sibling to come on opening weekend and lie to their billion followers about how great it is.”

“Kardashians? You’ve got to learn to dream bigger, Azzy!”

“We’re not going to play twenty questions with you about it,” Azriel shot back mildly. “So either tell us what you’ve got up your sleeve or I’m changing the subject. Cash won’t thank you for boring Nesta to death within the first twenty minutes.”

Rhys laughed, undimmed by Azriel’s slightly-acerbic wit. It made Nesta like Rhysand slightly more than she otherwise might have, knowing that his wasn't the sort of ego that was so large it had grown inflexible.

“Conn agreed to a two-week residency when the place opens,” Rhys explained instead. “ People are going to forget this joint even exists when they find out he’s performing at such an intimate venue.”

Azriel gave an appreciative chuckle, clearly understanding who that was and what it meant. Nesta, on the other hand, didn’t have the slightest clue. 

Part of her didn’t want to give Rhysand the satisfaction of asking in the event he’d only brought it up as a means of making her feel foolish for not knowing. However, a glance up at him showed that the chilly gleam in his eye from earlier had softened to pure amusement, and she decided to play nice by saying, “I admit I don’t frequent enough clubs to know what that means.”

“If we said the name ConMan, would that mean anything to you?” Azriel asked.

Actually it did. ConMan’s signature was blending classical movements by Mozart and Bach with modern electronic music, and though Nesta wasn’t usually one for house or EDM, she admittedly had more than one ConMan track on her gym playlist.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re friends with one of the most famous DJs in the world,” she said to Rhysand, and he laughed again

“Actually I met him through Cash. They grew up together in Hawai’i.”

Now it was Nesta who wanted to laugh. In all the stories Cash had told about his childhood friends, including the twins—Fen and Connall0—he’d failed to mention that one of them happened to have a Vegas residency. She loved that about him, that he wasn’t one to drop names or lord his impressive friends over her.

“I don’t know how you feel about house music,” Rhys continued, “But you should come see him spin. He’s incredible on stage. Watching him perform, you’d never guess what a massive homebody he actually is.”

“I don’t know how he does it,” Azriel added, the whiskey stones in his drink clinking as he rotated the contents with a practiced flick of his wrist. “If I were Connall, I would have faked my own death years ago.”

“I do love that the two biggest introverts I know both ended up being famous,” Rhys said with a grin.

Azriel rolled his eyes.

“I am not famous.”

Rhys only bubbled his lips.

“Bruv, you were featured in Vogue. Give it up already.”

Recognizing that Azriel was currently her closest ally in the fight to win over Cash’s friends, Nesta decided to throw him a bone and redirect the spotlight by asking, “How well do you two know the Hawai’i boys? They seem like a fun bunch.”

“Nah, they're all assholes,” a voice echoed from beyond the gauzy curtain.

They all turned at the intrusion, Rhys whistling appreciatively and rising to his feet as Rowan Whitethorn cleared the last of the stairs and emerged into the lounge.

“There he is,” Rhys said. “Nice hair, brother!” 

Rowan grinned as he ran a tattooed hand through the grey strands, which gleamed silver under the club’s sleek lights.

Rhys was right; it was quite different than Nesta had ever remembered it looking. Though he still wore it in an undercut, the sides were now almost to the skin and the top longer and more ostentatiously styled, making him look less clean-cut and more...dangerous.

Nesta didn’t have to wonder too long at the change. When she’d asked Cash why he  hadn’t been seeing as much of Rowan—worried that he was still avoiding his friends because of her—Cash had made a vague remark about Ro’s current caseload requiring him to work extra hours. Seeing Rowan now, she suspected that ‘extra hours’ had actually been a euphemism for working undercover. 

Rowan only smirked at Rhys’s assessment, their vibe easier than Nesta might have imagined. But then, that was the magic of Cash; he could bring anyone together.

“I’m trying something new,” Ro offered coyly.

“I like it,” Rhys said. 

Rowan's smile grew a little, green eyes flicking up to Rhys’s own dark hair, which was styled in a similar manner.

“I bet you do.”

“I can’t resist a bit of drama,” Rhys admitted before glancing behind Rowan. “No Ace tonight?”

Rowan's face fell slightly even as he accepted a drink from Rhys and smiled at Nesta and Azriel in greeting. 

“She and NeNe were playing in a tournament in Latvia until yesterday, and her flight out of Riga got canceled because of staffing shortages with the airlines. Don’t get me started.”

For her part, Nesta couldn’t decide if she should be disappointed or relieved. She hadn’t been lying all those months ago when she’d told Cash she liked Aelin already. But after Mor...Nesta wasn’t sure how much hope she could realistically harbor that Aelin would ever like her back. 

She was saved from her self-improvised spiral by Rowan, who’d finished greeting Azriel and turned his full attention on her.

“Nesta,” he said, brushing a soft kiss on her cheek the same way Rhys had. “Good to see you.”

His smile was full of meaning, and she found herself flushing a little.

“You don’t seem...surprised. To see me.”

Didn’t seem disappointed, she didn’t need to say. She could see in his eyes that he knew what she meant, and the way they softened at the corners told her that he was genuinely glad she was with Cash, even after all her mistakes.

“Can’t say I am,” he said, accepting a whiskey from Rhys with a nod. “I had faith you two would...figure it out when you were ready.”

“I’m sorry Aelin’s not here,” Nesta said, hesitating for only a second before admitting, “I was looking forward to finally getting to meet her.”

“She’s gutted to have missed it,” Rowan said. “If there was any way she could have been here, she would have.”

Rhys and Az traded a furtive glance at this, but before Nesta could worry at what it might mean, Rowan flashed a soft smile, the sincerity in it putting her at ease.

“It really is a shame she’s not here,” Rhys said as they resettled. “I like to think she would have really appreciated the unholy douchbaggery of this place.”

“That’s because she’s a godless hedonist,” Rowan said, expression neutral but tone full of affection. “Why do you think she likes hanging out with you so much?”

“You’re just lucky you met her first,” Rhys shot back easily.

Remembering how Rowan had reacted when Eris had dared to make a comment about Aelin, Nesta half expected Rowan to clap back. Instead, he only grinned, clearly at-ease with this dynamic.

“Please,” he said, taking another sip of his drink. “You two would tear each other apart.”

“Agreed,” Azriel said mildly. “She’d have your sensitive little ass in tears the first time you got into a disagreement.”

“Fuck you both,” Rhys said, grinning now too. 

Friends, Nesta realized. These three, despite all their perceived differences, were genuinely friends in their own right, even when Cash wasn’t around.

“Honestly, Sadeghi,” Rowan said, “I can’t wait to meet the girl you end up with. She's going to need the patience of a saint to deal with your…”

Rowan trailed off, head cocking towards the new song currently building in the space below. Nesta didn’t recognize it, but it was hypnotic and dark, admittedly a lot better than the manic-tempo shit they’d previously been playing.

Rowan remained on alert, listening intently, and finally Nesta asked, “Is everything alright?” 

“This is Ace and NeNe’s warmup track,”Rowan said, seeming almost dazed. “Connall made it for them specifically after Aelin complained women's sports don’t get the same pre-game hype.”

“How annoyingly true,” Rhys said with an almost-theatrical frown.

Despite his disapproving words, Nesta didn’t miss the undercurrent of self-satisfaction in Rhys’s tone.  Rowan clearly hadn’t missed it either, because his head instead snapped back to Rhys, his expression caught between confusion and excitement.

“Is this you?” He said, gesturing to the speakers.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Rhys said, blue eyes glittering with delight.

Rhys’s reaction, despite meaning absolutely nothing to Nesta, seemed to confirm something for Rowan, and he leapt to his feet.

“No way,” he said, a smile growing on his face now. “Even you couldn’t pull something like that off.”

Rhys pretended to buff his nails on his lapel.

“Couldn’t I, though?” He said with exaggerated self-importance before gesturing to the dance floor below with his eyes.

Rowan leapt up, running to the balcony to peer over it. Still unsure of what the fuck was going on, Nesta followed, reaching the balcony just as the beat dropped, everyone in the crowd seeming to pulse in time with the music. 

That was, everyone but three people, who were instead cutting a distinct path away from the stage and towards the roped-off stairs.

Even if Nesta had not recognized the gorgeous blonde leading the trio, Rowan’s reaction to seeing her would have been enough to tell her who it was.

Rowan was in motion at once, abandoning his drink on the nearby table and taking the stairs two at a time. He ignored the belch of fake fog which exploded around him as his foot reached the last stair, because by that time the blonde had noticed him as well, and in two long strides she was in his arms, the hem of her tight dress riding dangerously high as she wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him.

“Nice work, brother,” Azriel said, extending his knuckles to a preening Rhysand. “Wasn’t sure you were going to be able to pull it off.”

By now Rowan and Aelin had finished their steamy reunion and were heading back up the stairs, Aelin tucked comfortably under Rowan’s muscled arm as they continued to grin at one another.

Finally Rowan turned back to Rhys, laughing a little.

“You sneaky bastard! All those questions about Ace not being here when you knew full well she was already on her way!”

“You know Aelin tears are my kryptonite,” Rhys said, winking at a beaming Aelin. “When she called me crying earlier saying her flight had been canceled, how could I leave her stranded, especially when I knew my father’s jet was sitting idle in London?”

It was then that Rhys finally came into greater focus for Nesta. If Cash was the group’s unifying thread, weaving all the disparate personalities into a single, tight-knit clan, then Rhys was its magic wand, trailing sparks through the air and achieving the seemingly impossible with a flick of the wrist. 

It would have been easy to attribute it to his extreme wealth, but watching him now, Nesta could see it was more than that. Yes, money had a way of making big problems seem small, but the finesse with which Rhys handled roadblocks told her that he was neither as frivolous nor as rash as he liked to pretend.

And he hadn’t just done it to prove he could, Nesta realized. He’d done it knowing what even one extra day together would mean for Aelin and Rowan, and so that Aelin wouldn’t have to miss out on this rare opportunity for them to spend time together as a group. It was clear watching them interact how much they all meant to one another, and how much they cherished any time they got to spend in one another’s company. More than friends, it was clear this group was more like a second family, even scattered as they were across the globe. And it was all because of Cash.

Nesta watched the joyous reunion unfold without comment, feeling so caught up in the moment that she’d nearly forgotten her own outsider status. It wasn’t until Aelin finished greeting the others that Nesta remembered herself at last, the same anxieties which had plagued her all week swelling with renewed urgency.

A quick glance over Aelin’s shoulder revealed wary expressions on both Rhys and Rowan’s faces, as if they too weren’t sure how this meeting would play out. 

It was only when Aelin’s stunning blue eyes fell on Nesta that the latter realized how badly she wanted this woman to like her, despite all the legitimate reasons Aelin—like Mor—had to dislike her.

To aate her even.

It was too late for all of that though, as Aelin was making her way over, her slinky gown glittering like molten gold under the lights. Nesta guessed that even barefoot Aelin must have been over six feet, but she towered close to Rowan’s height in her spindly heels, making Nesta feel positively minuscule in comparison. 

Still, she did her best to steel her nerves, unsure whether to extend her hand as she forced herself to meet Aelin’s gaze and say, “I’m Nesta.”

“I know,” Aelin said, not extending her hand either.

Unease sluiced through Nesta as she tried to decipher Aelin’s tone. However, before she could worry about what to do next, Aelin continued.

“I know we don’t really know each other, but…” she paused, glancing over her shoulder at Rowan before turning back to Nesta and continuing,  “Can I hug you?”

It wasn’t what Nesta had expected, but she nodded, extending her own arms with a slightly-strangled, “of course.”

Aelin pushed forward at once, pulling Nesta to her as if they’d been friends all their lives. It wasn’t the overly-tight embrace Nesta had feared, and she found herself immediately inundated by the fresh citrus scent of Aelin’s perfume.

When they pulled back, Nesta found Aelin smiling at her, no calculation or contempt on her face.

“I want to thank you again for what you did for Nehemiah,” she continued. “We were in a proper panic until you stepped in.”

“I was happy to help,” Nesta said, grateful for the warmth in Aelin’s tone, even if she wasn’t sure she deserved it. “I’m just glad it worked out.”

“It did. Thanks to you,” Aelin said, tone full of meaning. 

Nesta nodded and made to step away, terrified she might ruin the moment by saying the wrong thing. However, Aelin reached forward to grab her hand, giving a soft squeeze as she leaned forward, voice pitched low as she said, “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” Nesta admitted, pausing before adding, “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for a long time.”

“Me too,” Aelin said with a smile. “We all have.”

Nesta could barely contain what those words did to her—how they soothed all the jagged self-loathing she’d harbored over the last several months. Aelin seemed to read the lingering pain on Nesta’s face, because her own smile dimmed slightly.

“She’ll come around,” Aelin said simply. “Just give her time.”

Nesta didn’t need to ask who Aelin was referring to, but she nodded, grateful beyond measure for Aelin’s kindness.

Not wanting to monopolize Aelin’s attention, she turned back to the rest of the group, which now included two more men she didn’t know. 

Though they’d yet to be introduced, it was clear from their piercing blue eyes who they were. 

The Ashryvvers, Aelin’s maternal cousins.

The blonde was the first to notice Nesta, and his answering smile was deceptively mild as he nodded to her in greeting before leaning over to his cousin and whispering—perhaps a bit louder than he’d intended, “Ella está buena.”

Despite her parents’ insistence, Nesta’s Spanish had never been nearly as good as her Portuguese. However, it was certainly good enough to understand when a man was checking her out.

Flustered, Nesta tried to keep her expression neutral. It wasn’t that she was offended; she just wasn’t sure how to proceed without embarrassing Aelin’s cousin and possibly offending Aelin herself in the process.

Fortunately for Nesta, it seemed that Aelin had also overheard what had been said, and she reacted with no hesitation.

Quick as an adder, she slapped the blonde soundly upside the head and hissed, “That’s Cash’s girlfriend, you ignorant doorknob!” before flipping into smooth, clipped Spanish and adding, “Y ella habla portugués; puede entenderte. Sorry,” she said, turning back to Nesta with an apologetic smile. “You’d honestly think these two were raised in a barn. These are my cousins, Aedion and Galen.”

“Why am I being scolded?” Galen, the darker-hair one, asked. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it,” Aelin sniffed at him. “So you’re just as bad.”

Galen rolled his eyes in defeat and turned to make himself a drink, but Aedion only grinned, seemingly unruffled by Aelin’s rebuke as he extended his hand to Nesta.

“Lovely to meet you,” he said. “Cash is a lucky man.”

“Knock it off,” Aelin said, pushing his hand aside as she steered Nesta away. “She’s probably gotten enough of that from Rhys already.”

“Me?” Rhys said, laughing. “What did I do?”

“Plenty, I’m sure,” Aelin said, blowing him a kiss. “Besides, I thought you saved the worst of your shameless flirting for me!”

“Don’t encourage him,” Rowan said.

“Don’t get possessive,” Aelin lobbed back, flashing him a tarty smile over her shoulder. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”

“God, I’ve missed you,” Rhys said, grinning appreciatively at her.

“Then move to California already,” Aelin said, pouring herself a glass of champagne before topping off Nesta’s glass as well. “Then you can annoy Ro to your heart’s delight.”

“It’s tempting,” Rhys admitted. “But I wouldn’t want to encroach on Az’s hunting grounds.”

Azriel, who Nesta expected to clap back the way he usually did when someone brought up his love life, simply raised his glass in answer.

“Be my guest. You and I have very different taste in women.”

It was a testament, Nesta decided, to how comfortable Aelin’s arrival had made her, that she actually debated actually asking Azriel what his type might be. However, after a moment of consideration she decided not to push the issue, if only for fear of upsetting the delicate but promising balance she’d struck within the group.

She thought of how it had felt watching Cash meshing with her own friends, and she hoped he would be similarly pleased when he saw how easily she’d seemed to find her way with his. Because they’d all gone out of their way to accept her, even after what she’d put Cash through. Being here with them, it became dangerously easy, in fact, to imagine what a future amongst these people might look like for her. 

Before tonight, Nesta had been apprehensive to plan too far ahead where she and Cash were concerned, afraid to get her hopes up while things with his friends remained so much in the air. Hard as it had been, Nesta had promised herself when they’d started dating that she would never let herself come between Cash and the people who were most important to him, even if it someday meant making the difficult decision of letting him go so he wouldn’t be forced to choose.

She supposed she’d never forgiven herself enough to actually imagine they might accept her the same way Cash had. Sitting amongst them now, listening to them talk and laugh as if they didn’t all know how selfish and broken she’d been, her heart felt full in a way even she didn’t have words for.

“Boo, we’re out of champagne!” Aelin said, pulling Nesta from her reverie as she shook the empty bottle upside down and pouted in Rhys’s direction. “Please tell me we don’t have to flirt with the horrible owner to get more.”

“No champagne?” a familiar voice called, sending Nesta’s heart soaring into her throat. “What kind of shit party is this?”

Nesta leapt up in time to see Cash emerging from behind the gauzy curtain, a huge smile on his face. A cheer went up at his appearance, but he only had eyes for Nesta, stringing an arm around her waist as she approached and pulling her close.

“Miss me?” He asked, brushing his nose against hers as he grinned.

“A little,” she said, stroking a hand down his cheek. 

Before she could ask how the dinner went, Rhys interrupted with a laughing groan.

“Guess I’m going to have to order the expensive stuff, now that Kahukore is here.”

“No need,” Cash said, pulling a bottle from behind his back. “I brought my own.”

Nesta recognized the crest-shaped label and laughed.

“You got it?”

Cash grinned.

“They offered me the job on the spot. I fly to Paris next week to sign the papers. Here Sadeghi, this shit is bougie enough to get even your spoiled ass excited. Dom P3 Plentinude Brut, a gift from the personal wine cellar of Dom’s COO.”

“This beauty spends 20 years aging on its lees, and you want to share it with these animals?” Rhys asked.

“Good point,” Cash said. “We better open before I change my mind.”

Divesting the bottle of its cage with practiced ease, Cash held his thumb to the cork to keep it from accidentally popping off before offering the bottle to Nesta.

“Will you do the honors?”

She gently pushed the bottle back towards him.

“You’re better at it than I am,” she said.

“True,” he said, grin widening as she bared her teeth at him. “But I wouldn’t have gotten this job if you hadn’t pushed me to apply, so this one’s all you.”

“Nes-ta! Nes-ta! Nes-ta!” Aelin chanted, the others joining in until Nesta finally accepted the bottle from Cash, applying pressure to the cork before it finally came loose with an expert kiss of sound.

They all cheered again, Cash pouring a measure into the fresh glasses Rhys had produced before raising his own, Nesta still tucked comfortably into his side.

“Oscar Wilde once wrote, ‘pleasure without champagne is purely artificial.’ Since I’m not one to argue with the greats, I’ll simply say, here’s to genuine pleasure, friends!”

Another cheer went up as they all clinked glasses and took a sip, Nesta nearly moaning as it hit her tongue. It was even better than the bottle of Armand de Brignac they’d opened after Nesta’s trial, every carefully-cultivated flavor dialed to 11 by the lengthy aging process.

“What do you think?” Cash said quietly, studying her reaction with delight.

“Perfection.”

“Just like you, then,” he shot back easily.

Instead of sniping back like she normally would have, she merely smiled, leaning up to kiss him.

“I’m so proud of you,” she said quietly.

“Thank you,” he said. “For making me go tonight. It would have been a mistake not to.”

“No thanks necessary,”  she replied firmly. “Since there was no way I was going to let you miss it.”

“Things have been going...well here, I take it?”

She took a minute to compose herself, glancing down into her glass before meeting his eye again.

“The only thing that would have made it better would have been if you’d been here.”

He studied her face, seeming to relax as he read the calm contentment on hers.

“I’ve told you a million times; to know you is to love you, Nesta Archeron. Anyone who refuses to see that is truly blind.”

Nesta's heart stuttered a bit at that, both at the compliment and the reminder that there was still work to do when it came to repairing all the damage that had been done. Still, that was a problem for another day. Tonight, they were celebrating. 

xx 

It was Nesta’s phone which woke her the following morning, the annoyingly-bright chime alerting her there was someone at their front door. She turned over to wake Cash, intent on making him fetch whatever package had been dropped off so she could continue sleeping.

She was fairly certain she was going to be hungover for the next month after the bender they’d embarked on the night before, and she didn’t plan to get out of bed until she had to leave for work on Monday. Maybe not even then.

Blindly reaching for him, she found his side of the bed cool, and when she’d gathered the strength to open her eyes, she swore to find a note instead of the mass of naked man she’d been expecting.

Gone to the gym with Ro to sweat out the demons. Take the Advil I left you. <;3 

She swore again at realizing he wasn’t there, and a third time for good measure when the doorbell chimed again.

“Just leave whatever it is and go!” She yelled, even knowing there wasn’t a chance in hell the delivery person could actually hear her.

When the door chimed a third time, Nesta groaned and hauled herself to her feet, slugging down the Advil and nearly falling down the stairs in her attempt to reach the front door. 

Dredging up whatever decorum she could muster, she smoothed her rumpled hair and fought down the urge to snap at the overeager UPS driver who’d thought it was appropriate to ring the doorbell three times on a Saturday morn—

Nesta felt herself go pale as she wrenched open the door to find that it wasn’t a delivery at all. It was Mor, looking fresh as a daisy and distressingly composed when compared to what Nesta was sure she must have looked like. 

A beat of horrifyingly awkward silence reigned before Nesta regained her wits enough to say, “I’m sorry, Cash isn’t home right now.”

“Actually,” Mor said, “I came to see you.”

The panic must have shown somewhat on Nesta’s face, because before she could manage a reply, Mor pressed on.

“I would have been here sooner, but apparently Rhys lent the jet to Aelin, so I had to fly commercial.”

When Nesta still didn’t reply, Mor shifted slightly, the first sign of discomfort she’d allowed to show.

“I know it’s early for a social call, but I thought—would you like to come to breakfast? I know a great place in Portrero Hill. My treat, of course.”

Nesta, for all her usual composure and aplomb, remained speechless. When she finally opened her mouth, the only thing that came out was “Why?”

“I was hoping we could...talk,” Mor said. When Nesta made no move to reply, Mor continued, “I wanted to apologize for yesterday, and for us to hopefully...start over.”

After another hideous beat of silence Mor seemed to relent, nodding as she stepped back, gaze falling to her feet.

“But I understand if now is not a good time. I’ll just let you get back to—“

“No,” Nesta said finally, making up her mind. If Cash could forgive her for the mistakes she’d made and allow her to move on from them, the least she owed him was to offer Mor the same chance. “I’d like that. I just need to—” she glanced down at herself. “I could be ready in twenty minutes, if that works.”

“Yes!” Mor said, eyes lighting up. “Take your time, I’ll come back in an hour.”

Mor was already heading for the stairs, and Nesta considered the courage it had taken to extend this olive branch before deciding to extend one of her own.

“Would you like to wait here instead? I can make coffee.”

Mor’s smile went from edged hopefulness to soft relief.

“I’d love that.”

@that-golden-lyre @aspidenchantress @annedub @so-chill-mochill @verypaleninja @bookofmaas @katexrenee@mightymorphingayagenda @tswaney17 @keshavomit @subhuman-queer @123moiaussi @b00kworm @sezkins79 @marnz @wesupremeginger @toallthefandomsivelovedbefore @rhysanoodle @actuallyacotartrash @empress-ofbloodshed-writing @superspiritfestival @donnarosemary @regolithheart @kingdomofbrokenhearts @mariamuses @verifiefangirl-mainblog @awesomethreedragons @awesomelena555 @kayak34

#in vino veritas #nessian modern au #nessian #acotar x tog crossover #featherywrites

[odinsblog]

Executive summary

Since launching its brutal war of aggression against Ukraine in February 2022, the Russian Federation has been locked into a long and costly conflict. Russia has been diplomatically marginalized, subjected to sanctions, and shunned by most of the Western world. Many multinational companies have been forced by international pressure to shutter or sell their Russian operations, and profiting from cooperation with the Russian state is no longer considered acceptable. Russia has found itself in dire need of new allies and resources.

In this environment, the Kremlin-financed Private Military Company Wagner, or Wagner Group, has served as an increasingly important source of revenue for the Russian state. Founded in 2014 to support pro-Russian forces in Donbas, since then Wagner Group has evolved into a complex international network of private military contractors, disinformation campaign infrastruc-ture, and corporate front companies. It has deployed fighters, propaganda and disinformation campaigns, and financing as a proxy for the Russian state in numerous conflicts, from Syria and Libya to Mali, Central African Republic, and beyond

Wagner has most often been described as an independent mercenary group. This status has provided Russia with a thin veil of deniability, particularly in relation to the numerous plausible accusations of murder, rape, torture, and war crimes raised against Wagner fighters. But in reality, Wagner has always operated with the political and material backing of the Russian Federation to advance Russian state interests.

In Africa, Wagner has been deployed in a number of countries across the continent since 2017. In each country it enters, Wagner deploys military trainers, mercenary fighters, and propaganda experts to support anti-democratic regimes, drive instability, and commit human rights abuses. The mercenary group's ostensible provision of "security services" creates a framework for lucrative business contracts for the extraction of natural resources including diamonds, oil, timber, and especially gold.

This report focuses on the Kremlin's 'blood gold': Gold extracted from African countries and laundered into international markets that provides billions in revenue to the Russian state, thereby directly and indirectly financing Russia's war on Ukraine and global hybrid warfare infrastructure.

The Blood Gold Report's analysis suggests that Wagner and Russia have earned more than US$2.5 billion from blood gold since the full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022. The report focuses on the case studies of Wagner's blood gold operations in the Central African Republic, Sudan, and Mali. In each of these coun-tries, Russia profits from the blood gold trade in different ways:

In CAR, the mercenary group has been granted exclusive extractive rights for the Ndassima mine, the country's largest gold mine, in return for propping up President Touadera's authoritarian regime. Wagner's Ndassima operations are understood to produce US$290 million of gold annually, while local miners have been pushed aside or murdered by the mercenary group.

In Sudan, through control of a major refinery, Wagner has become the dominant buyer of unprocessed Sudanese gold as well as a major smuggler of processed gold. Russian military transporter flights laden with gold have been identified by Sudanese customs officials. While tracking Sudan's unreported gold market is near impossible, estimates suggest that almost Us$2 billion in gold is smuggled out of the country unreported every year, with 'the Russian Company' in prime position to take advantage.

In Mali, Wagner is paid a monthly retainer - estimated at US $10.8 million per month - to prop up a brutal military junta Meanwhile the junta is in turn dependent on a small number of Western mining companies for the revenue it needs to pay Wagner. Mining companies contributed more than 50% of all tax revenues to the Malian state for 2022. Barrick Gold Corporation, a Canadian listed company and Mali's single biggest tax contributor, paid US$206 million in the first half of 2023 alone.

The junta is increasing its financial demands on gold mining companies. Meanwhile, the four largest gold mining companies (weighted by tax contribution) continue to plan further investments in the country, despite the well-documented abuses of the military junta and growing influence of the Wagner Group.

Wagner's blood gold operations in CAR and Sudan have been subject to sanctions, and the Kremlin-backed mercenaries have developed increasingly complex smuggling routes and corporate subterfuge tactics to move blood gold out of these countries and convert this gold into cash.

In contrast, the Malian blood gold system enables Wagner to remain one degree removed from gold production. Instead, legitimate multinational mining companies convert gold into cash for the Malian military junta without triggering international sanctions.

To secure its position in a target country's political and natural resource extraction landscape, Wagner's African playbook consists of a four-pronged attack on the host country's civic institutions and civilian population - suppressing political opposition, spreading disinformation, silencing free media and terrorising civilians.

The ultimate objective of Wagner's playbook is to increase its clients' dependence on Wagner forces to stay in power, thereby securing a long-term revenue stream for the Kremlin and fostering authoritarianism and instability throughout the region as part of Russia's wider geopolitical strategy to distract and bog down the democratic West.

Since the death of Wagner's leader Yevgeny Prigozhin, the mercenary group has formally come under the control of the Russian State. Yet the Kremlin's focus on Africa, and its blood gold operations, show no signs of changing.

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