#IT'S IANTHE APOLOGISM HOURS OVER HERE

[liesmyth]

Great, I won't be anon, I’ll be the weirdo who's reblogging all your shit bc I need to connect with others as deep in this fandom as I am

Can we have a moment to acknowledge and mourn for how Ianthe is constantly everyone's second favorite? No one likes her best except arguably Coronabeth, who spends their childhood using her to cover her own shortcomings. Babs is obedient to her first, but he clearly is simping for Corona. Her own parents are like, Corona is cuter so she’s gonna rule the Third, but she can’t do necromancy so could you please fake it for her? She gets to the Mithraem and Harrow is like, thanks for the help with the lobotomy but I prefer a corpse in a takeout box and some ginger I can’t remember. 

She throws out all the stops and lets Augustine die to save daddy Jod and this is her chance!!! someone will love her best by default!!! And what happens? Jod chases down his estranged dead daughter and gives her Indestructible Bod, proving that he could’ve regrown Ianthe's full arm this whole time and just like, didn't. 

She’s got to care. She’s got to feel some kind of way she is the 1% skim milk in every single one of her relationships

DON'T BE ANON I love talking about my best worst girl.

Also! This is inch resting because I go back and forth all the time on whether Corona and Ianthe's parents know of their ruse. "Dad wanted a matched set"... did their parents actually SAID that, or were they just very clear in their expectations (down to giving the twins the same House arithmonym, something that's actually rare among siblings as per Taz) and the girls picked up on it?

Because I can't imagine possibly staking the future of my House on a six-year old, and her ability to convincingly fake necromancy for her sister for the rest of her life and wanting to live in her shadow. If it had gotten out the consequences would've been pretty Bad for the whole House, and it just strikes me as the kind of stupid AND brilliant scheme that children would come up with.

Anyway back to HER, Prince Ianthe Naberius! Ianthe has Rancid vibes but she DESERVES LOVE AND AFFECTION and also posters of her face. She just needs a friend... hugs... maybe to consume some sugar. Maybe that'd fix her.

[artbyblastweave]

Gideon the Ninth, Chapter 17

Alright, I’m done procrastinating on this. Before I start, some brief metacommentary on the skull mascots for each of the houses, which I only recently bothered to scrutinize;

First House skull is very big.

Second House Skull has a centurion's helmet.

Third House has jewels in the eyes;

Fourth has laurels- that was a military thing in ancient Rome, right?

Fifth has some kind of wavy crown thing. I bothered to check this in the first place because I thought it was going to be flat-out removed from the section header as an evolving credits thing.

Sixth has scrolls between the teeth; no surprise, they eat lots of books as children

Seventh has a rose jutting out the eye sockets (Hakahani disease AU!)

Eighth is blindfolded;

Ninth has absolutely nothing. Less, even. No lower jaw.

Okay, onto CSI: Canaan House:

"In the early hours of the morning, even Palamedes admitted defeat." EVEN Palamedes. Delightfully concise phrasing. This establishes from the start that we’re in the midst of the first group study session this rock has seen. It reinforces that Palamedes is first among equals in his headstrong sherlockishness. He could be the protagonist of this. You could rewrite this to do that.

“The early hunger of ghosts.” So ghosts are vampiric. Are vampires Vampiric? Are there vampires? Can Vampires be made to be, using necromancy?

Christ. The Fourthlings. This is another example of something that was funny until it wasn't funny. They had, like, a bit going with the Fifth, a back-and-fourth; their dialogue was almost exclusively rendered a punchline. Now they're voiceless on an entirely different axis. Shoo out the clowns. Rosencratz and whatshisface.

Taking note here that Gideon is capable of identifying what she refers to as the “minute” signs of Harrow’s exhaustion. She’s paid that much attention to her mannerisms in the past, despite their ostensible enemyhood. This book does such interesting things conveying the depths of their familiarity with each other while also being a story about how they barely know each other.

There is no way it's an accident that Coronabeth and Ianthe didn't bother to dress. Only solace of the night indeed. This is a power play. On the opposite side of the spectrum we have the “painfully useful” Sixth. See, when Palamedes shows up to work in his PJs, that's the opposite of a mind game. That's a mark of sincerity.

He apologizes to Abigail as he steps over the body. Jesus.

Palamedes gives his bedrobe to Dulcinea. Those two had a thing. They were the protagonists of a John Green type novel some time before the start of this book.

Palamedes and Harrow, once both cognizant and faced with a problem, are on the same wavelength. There was, somewhere out there, a place where Harrow would have fit in immaculately.

What should I read into Camilla’s overprotectiveness of Palamedes? Gideon’s narration makes her hovering sound unwarranted, but Gideon’s narration also set us up to think that Ortus was much more of a wet blanket than he wound up being. She’s not the greatest at assessing the personal circumstances underlying idiosycratic behaviors. Is Sixth House the terminal exaggeration of “Publish or Perish?” 

Not to harp too hard on this scene, but "Gideon had to stare pretty hard at skimpy nighties to get over that one." Best way to cap off the reveal of how Third House necromancy works; also a pretty good explanation of why they go out of their way to keep up appearances otherwise. This is not a faction that could get away with being both cannibalistic AND ugly; they've browsed Tumblr. They know that as long as you're alluring you can eat a few fingers. As a treat.

Dulcinea's not allowed to get involved in the investigation. The Seventh sent a Necromancer who isn’t allowed to get involved in hardcore necromantic exertions? Something weird is going on.

And NOW the Eighth House show up, having taken the time that nobody else did to get fully kitted out. And they specialize in spirit magic.

Silas is a soul siphoner. And Harrow knows this- despite someone else’s exclamation in this sequence indicating that soul siphoning isn’t a widely known technique. Know your enemy.

Oh my god. That's why his Nephew looks older than him, isn't it?

Silas was probably expecting this to be a big-damn-heroes fix; instead he (predictably) nearly kills Dulcinea and finally causes someone to throw a punch, tensions being what they are. Making a note here that Colum seems to not give a shit that his Uncle has been laid out and held at swordpoint; a direct side effect of the siphon, or an indirect one in the sense that he's not gonna lift a finger to help his charge if not expressly ordered? Like Artemis Fowl if Butler thought his charge was a little shit and kept trying to rules-lawyer a permissible way to let him die.

A schoolyard fight broken up only by the arrival of Teacher, who is, for the first time, AFRAID. And demonstrating a coherent and involved necromantic knowledge; nobody was supposed to be allowed to die in this section of the facility, because something very, very bad happens if you leave a dead body down there. He's giving actual, actionable suggestions. He is telling people that they are wrong. Absolutely wrong. Everything is absolutely wrong.

[owl127]

Coffee & Scones Sequence

The people have spoken! Here's more soft harrianthe for all of us harrianthe lovers Read on Ao3

Ianthe did not apologize with words.

Either incapable or unwilling, the woman would never articulate a clear apology. As if her jaw were sewn shut with pride, Ianthe would never say simple words like "I’m sorry." She would, though, show signs of penitence. It was a step-by-step process of behavior changes that Harrow had only started to desiccate, slowly learning the complex theorems of Ianthe’s mind. Harrow had learned to take notice of the scratches on Ianthe’s wrists, the dark bags under her eyes, and, more minutely, how she touched Harrow. In internal agony, Ianthe would be harsher on herself and softer with Harrow, to a point. Often, that line of softness was no more than a smudge. But Harrow was nothing if not disciplined, and she urged herself to comprehend the quiet lion that was Ianthe Tridentarius, breaking the complex problem into swallowable chunks of truth.

Like the Ianthe Tridentarius’ Tri-Phase Apologizing Process, copyright Dr. Harrowhark Nonagesimus.  

The drive from the Tridentarii Estate had been quiet, since phase one was usually sulking silence. Ianthe’s fingers held tight on the leather of the steering wheel, her knuckles as white as the instances of bared teeth earlier in the night. Harrow tried to start a conversation by saying that she was okay, but Ianthe’s jaw bulged with tension. So Harrow rested her head against the window and enjoyed the heated seats to nap for the couple hours drive. She woke up with Ianthe opening her door in the apartment’s garage. Ianthe offered her hand, and Harrow took it. She felt the warmth of a large palm on her lower back as they walked to the elevator, Ianthe’s heels clicking on the concrete floor.

Harrow let Ianthe guide her. She allowed Ianthe to keep that towering, possessive presence over her, knowing that in truth, it was what Ianthe needed. Harrow, dark and petite, was the anchor for the storm in Ianthe’s mind, a weight that settled heavy and warm in her chest.

The humming of the elevator cables did not cover Ianthe’s escalating breathing as they rose to the penthouse. Harrow felt fingers slowly grasp the back of her dress, tendons straining with contained strength. She took a step closer to Ianthe and laid her head on her shoulder, their sides touching as much as Harrow’s frame would allow. Upon the contact, Ianthe took a long, satisfying breath, and the grip on Harrow’s dress softened. Ianthe kept Harrow close as they walked to the door, opening it quickly. It shut without a sound behind them.

Harrow expected the hug as soon as the door closed, and she lifted her neck to offer the protection Ianthe craved. It must be hilarious how they looked, Harrow thought. Ianthe, in her six-foot glory of paleness (plus heels), folded over the tiny blur that was Harrow, burying her nose on Harrow’s neck, and staying there for a long, peaceful moment. On her tiptoes, Harrow caressed the exposed nape under Ianthe’s bun and threaded her fingers through the tight knot until it gave. Blond, unbound hair covered their faces as Ianthe snuggled closer, her arms pulling Harrow into the emptiness inside herself.

"Bed?" Harrow suggested, not making any moves to fulfill her promise. She felt Ianthe’s nod and the deep breath she took until she finally pulled back, her red-rimmed eyes avoiding Harrow’s concerned gaze.

They saw Camilla’s dress tossed on the couch along with Corona’s heels. Corona had left earlier than Ianthe, as usual, and seemed to be dealing with the aftermath of the Tridentarii Thanksgiving dinner in a similar fashion.

As Ianthe didn’t move, Harrow finally took pity on her. She interlaced their fingers and guided her graceful giant to the bedroom. As soon as the door closed, Harrow felt Ianthe’s arms pulling her by the hips and spun in place right before Ianthe leaned in for a hungry kiss.

Phase two, then.

The kiss bruised and tasted like wine. Harrow grasped at the lean muscles on Ianthe’s shoulder, showing her consent, her way of saying, "It’s okay to use me." Ianthe kissed and kissed, kicking off her heels and lifting Harrow over the vanity in rushed moves. Makeup pencils and perfume bottles hit the floor, and Harrow smiled into the kiss, an engraved memory resurfacing of their first time together.

But now, there was no softness. Not until phase three, at least.

Harrow tasted copper, and Ianthe pulled back, their breaths mixing into gasps for air. Ianthe saw the cut on Harrow’s lips and licked the brimming blood slowly. She looked at Harrow with the first signs of pain in her arched browns, but Harrow held her cheeks with small, firm hands.

"Ianthe, it’s okay. I can take it," Harrow said, her tongue sweeping a new drop of blood from her lips. It stung, but it stung good, and she pulled Ianthe for another harsh kiss. Ianthe’s hand burned on her thighs as she lifted Harrow’s dress, her nails leaving red trails on exposed skin. Harrow hissed into her neck, teeth bared to claim her own bruises. She spread herself open, inviting Ianthe into a black hole that would swallow all her sorrows.

"You tell me"—Ianthe fit awkwardly between Harrow’s legs, both of them all angles and elbows, but she stepped in until their fronts met—"You tell me if I hurt you," Ianthe breathed on the soft skin of Harrow’s throat, already blooming with florid marks. "Harry."

"You never hurt me," Harrow promised, sucking on Ianthe’s earlobe. The diamond there bruised her tongue. Ianthe breathed out in audible relief, their foreheads touching, her fingers sharp on Harrow’s hips. "Ianthe," she pleaded, coaxing violet to meet her. One of the bedside lamps was on, and it threw shadows on Ianthe’s face, like a sidelight on a forgotten blank canvas. "Ianthe, look at me." Ianthe blinked slowly. "You’re not him," Harrow said with an unusually deep tone. Something caught in the back of Ianthe’s throat, either a whine or a sob, but she swallowed it back. Vulnerability was something for phase three anyway. "You’ll never be like him."

"Can I?" Ianthe asked in a raspy voice, already halfway down Harrow’s body to kneel. Harrow answered by placing both hands on Ianthe’s hair, drawing her in. With her height, her head was at perfect level with Harrow’s knees, which spread further in a clear invitation. Ianthe’s nails traced the path left by Harrow’s underwear down her legs, erupting the skin in goosebumps. Harrow scooched closer to the edge, sliding down the polished wood to meet Ianthe’s mouth.

There would be no teasing. No games of building up tension, muffled laughs on reddened skin, confessions blurring into moans—that was not what they needed that night.

Harrow hissed at the teeth on her inner thigh. It didn’t hurt, at least not in a bad way. She would have the marks for days, and she craved them. Ianthe's nose buried into her dark curls, teasing her clit into hardness with a long press of skin on wet skin. Her tongue darted out, starving, and she licked Harrow with a harsh first pass, enticing more wetness into her mouth. Ianthe moaned at that first taste, licking again and once more with a precise tongue. Harrow bit her lip, nails digging into pale hair. Ianthe pulled her closer by the back of her knees, more makeup hitting the ground as Harrow obeyed, one hand flying to the vanity's mirror behind her to hold herself steady. The stain of her hand would stay there for days.

"Slow," Harrow pleaded, unprepared for the relentless tongue. Harrow was small and tight in every way, requiring patience from her lover. She heard the deep breath Ianthe took of pure Harrow, her tongue a tiny bit less aggressive as she teased and tasted her. Ianthe focused on her task, as she usually did diligently, taking pleasure in her feast of Harrow. Teeth came back, and Harrow bit a finger to cover a moan. Ianthe pulled her hand away, a broken whine escaping Harrow’s mouth.

Ianthe was up so fast that she almost hit Harrow’s chin on her way up. She picked up Harrow in a blur of a discarded dress and a protest squeak. Harrow’s naked back hit the mattress with Ianthe above her, kissing her with a mouth full of blood, wine, and Harrow. Ianthe’s weight settled between her legs, her larger hips grinding down, until Harrow, wet and warm, gave her more space.

"The strap?" Ianthe asked above Harrow’s breasts, leaning in to suck on a peaked nipple. Harrow grunted, her blunt nails scratching Ianthe’s jaw. The moan Ianthe released over her skin was loud and obscene.

"The purple one," Harrow instructed, and Ianthe nodded, her tongue circling Harrow’s nipple one last time before she rose from the bed. Ianthe’s dress also hit the floor, a navy puddle next to Harrow’s black. Ianthe’s back was shrouded in darkness, the usual freckled map Harrow loved to trace hidden away from the light. Harrow never doubted it was still there, though, silently waiting for dawn.

Ianthe emerged from her closet holding the requested toy, a double-headed dildo that Harrow thought was close to being a favorite. With one knee on the bed, Ianthe unceremoniously tried to insert the base end inside herself, grunting with the effort. Harrow scrambled to her knees to take the toy from her trembling hands.

"Stop." Harrow kissed Ianthe’s fingers and leaned in to kiss the mountain of her hip bone. "Let me." Under her messy hair, Harrow found Ianthe’s eyes and held them. She watched them widen when she sucked on the blunt end of the toy, coating it with the leftovers of Ianthe’s kiss and more of herself. Ianthe watched, swallowed dryly, and crawled onto the bed, kneeling while Harrow opened her mouth wider to fit more of the toy. "Let me," Harrow repeated when Ianthe reached for the dildo. Harrow raised an eyebrow, valiantly defying Ianthe’s frown. After a beat, Ianthe consented, her posterior muscles contracting as she rose to her knees and spread herself to Harrow.

Harrow’s fingers found her wet, but not much—not enough for what she had attempted to do. Ianthe had wanted the ungreased friction, the tear, and the pain. But Harrow preferred if she were the one giving her what she craved. While Ianthe had been blunt and harsh, Harrow leaned to lick a path for the toy, to incite wetness, to comfort. She pretended she didn’t hear the shuddering breaths as she slipped the toy inside, safe and warm and snug, kissing Ianthe’s hips and belly and watching her abs quiver. Harrow tugged on the protuberant end between Ianthe's legs, checking her work, feeling Ianthe tremble with the touch. Ianthe sat down on her haunches and placed a long finger under Harrow’s chin. She kissed her on the cheek, soft and innocent. Thank you, Harrow understood. 

"Suck it," Ianthe whispered as she leaned back to give Harrow space. Harrow’s mouth salivated at the order, and she nodded, her head bobbing fast and eager. The elongated end was harder to fit in Harrow’s mouth compared to the base, but Harrow always tried, delighting in the way Ianthe watched from above. The pain in the violet eyes had started to fade, replaced by untamed desire.

Ianthe could hide a lot of her feelings, but she failed miserably at hiding love.

Harrow swallowed around the purple length, humming when Ianthe started to pump her hips slightly. Ianthe moaned unabashedly, one hand tangling in Harrow’s hair. Harrow placed one palm on Ianthe’s thighs, scratching the skin there; the other cupped the base of the dildo and pumped, knowing Ianthe would feel the pressure. She was pleased with Ianthe’s gasp, the tightness of her fingers on Harrow’s hair, and the minute thrust of her hips. Ianthe was ready, and by god, so was Harrow.

"Harry," Ianthe pleaded, and Harrow pulled back, mouth on fire, and laid back to welcome Ianthe between her legs. It seemed to be Ianthe’s favorite place. Her fingers found Harrow first, stretching and filling her to the knuckles. Harrow felt the dildo start to vibrate against her leg and salivated all over again as if it were still inside her mouth.

"I want you inside," Harrow said, biting her stinging lip. Ianthe’s eyes were half-lidded, focused on her fingers. "All of you," Harrow completed, thrusting up to meet Ianthe and bumping on the vibrating dildo. Ianthe nodded, huffing a long breath.

"From behind?" 

"No. I want to see you," Harrow requested, pulling Ianthe closer by her backside. She would not let Ianthe hide like this.

Most of Ianthe’s weight was on her own forearms, but Harrow loved the feeling of being enveloped by her lover. She guided Ianthe inside, and their hips met in a long, slow push, evoking a shared gasp. Everywhere was Ianthe: over Harrow, on Harrow, inside Harrow. She felt the biceps next to her head bulge with tension as Ianthe started to move. She pressed forward with slow, shallow thrusts, increasing the tempo with the escalation of Harrow’s moans.

"It’s alright," Harrow said when wide eyes met hers. "I can take it."

Ianthe set her jaw, a drop of sweat gathering under her chin. "Harry."

"I love everything you have to offer me, Ianthe," Harrow managed between thrusts, her hips rising to meet Ianthe’s. "You’re perfect." Ianthe slowed their pace, taking a long, deep breath. She adjusted her arms, using her elbows as support and her toes to dig into the mattress for balance. She looked at Harrow, mouth agape, waiting. You ready? Harrow read on her face and nodded.

Oh, Harrow craved that part.

It started as it always did, with a staccato of pushes and pulls and the vibration hitting Harrow deep and well. But it continued to increase in momentum, in pace, and in need, and Ianthe’s hips met hers in harsh thrusts, and Harrow stopped being able to follow, surrendering like a ragdoll to the intrinsic pleasure of being devoured.

Above her, her lion roared.

In her own world, Ianthe’s breath wetted Harrow’s neck, where she had hidden to concentrate and focus. Eyes screwed shut, Ianthe fucked Harrow well past the point of soreness, again and again, their moans rising in the dim bedroom.

Harrow never really expected to come when Ianthe used her body like that; her focus was solely on making Ianthe forget about her father’s words, his venom promises to the daughter he chose to inherit his corrupted empire. However, the orgasm sneaked up on her without pause or permission, a tightness growing in Harrow’s belly as Ianthe’s teeth left another mark on her shoulder.

"Fuck," Harrow breathed, and sharp, hungry eyes met her and recognized it, and Ianthe increased her speed, and Harrow wanted it to wait; she needed to see Ianthe reach it first. She wanted to—"Fuck, fuck, fuck"—Harrow’s abs jumped in contractions, the moan on her throat raspy over Ianthe’s collarbone, a stuttered confession of Ianthe’s name.

And Ianthe didn’t stop.

She continued to pump her hips as Harrow trashed and came, and the vibrations inside Harrow were almost too much—she would have to ask Ianthe to stop—but then Ianthe froze, mid-thrust, deep inside, calves bulging in her quest for oblivion. Her breathing rattled on Harrow’s cheek, shallow and fast, and Harrow licked a new trail of sweat on Ianthe’s neck. Ianthe stood there, suspended, frozen, pursuing something unreachable by herself. Once more, Harrow knew when she needed it most.

"I got you," she whispered on a pulsing jugular. "I got you, my love."

Ianthe came silently and violently, her hips jutting without a pattern or rhythm as she grinded herself over Harrow.

It took a long minute for Ianthe to stop shaking. She grunted, pulling out with a moan and freeing herself from the dildo with another. It fell to the side of the bed with a wet thud. Ianthe resumed her position over Harrow, her full weight pinning her down. Harrow liked the soothing pressure.

It was another minute before Ianthe started shaking again, but now with sobs.

And that was phase three.

Harrow held her through the wracking sobs—the ugly crying that reduced her lion to a scared kitten. Ianthe, always powerful and aloof, found Harrow a safe place to feel. Even if it took a hard fucking to get there—and Harrow would feel that tomorrow. 

"You’re so much better than they ever were," Harrow promised, the icy stare of Macbeth Tridentarius a sight she would never forget. "Ianthe." She kissed anything she could reach: a shaking shoulder, a gritted jaw, a wet cheek. "You’re perfect."

Ianthe held her by the shoulders, their bodies fitting as one. Harrow’s hands kept touching Ianthe, caressing her hair, scratching her back. "You’re perfect," she repeated, to which Ianthe cried harder. 

I’m sorry you had to see that, Harrow understood. I’m sorry for what they said to you. I’m sorry I exposed you to that.

"It wasn’t your fault," Harrow said, and she meant it. Behind Ianthe’s back, her thumb toyed with her ring, still getting used to the weight of it on her finger. "I love you."

Ianthe took a long, stuttering breath until it finally evened out, and she asked in a tired voice, "Are you sure you want to marry me?"

Harrow snuggled closer to her fiancée, their chests syncing in a long breath as Ianthe calmed down. "I was the one asking, remember?"

Ianthe rolled over, her arm pulling Harrow to lay on her chest. "That you did." She kissed the top of Harrow’s head. "And I have a veto for your maids of honor."

"Gideon will be my maid of honor, Ianthe. Get over it."

"You can veto one of mine if you wish."

"I said get over it."

[epochofbelief]

Breath Control Chapter Two

here’s chapter two... unfortunately had to repost these first three chapters bc Tumblr deleted them or something!! 

TWO

“Feyre. Have you done any work for the past hour we have been sitting here?” 

Elain’s voice barely managed to penetrate my thoughts. I looked down at my textbook and shook my head. I had very bad cases of a hangover and a sour stomach. And embarrassment. And a broken heart. 

Thriving.

“Will you please just talk to me?” 

I’d met Elain at the library an hour ago, both of us planning to get some serious homework done before the week got started. I’d managed to tell Elain a little of what had happened last night but she hadn’t pried until now. 

“I don’t think I can talk about it.”

She huffed out a breath. “Feyre. If anyone knows what it feels like to have a broken heart, it would be me. So maybe I could help if you’d just talk to me.”

That’s right. Elain’s ex-boyfriend, Grayson, had broken up with her unexpectedly over the summer. Elain, positive he would be the man she married, and subsequently being denied admissions to the nursing schools she was trying to get into for grad school, had been in bad shape for a couple of months. I wasn’t sure if she was really okay now, or if she was just better at hiding it. She’d attended Mortal University for her undergraduate degree and had wanted to stay there for her masters--and hadn’t gotten in. Luckily she’d applied to Prythian’s school and had been accepted, but it wasn’t where she had wanted to end up at all. Away from her friends and our father, she’d started nursing school at the same time I’d started my sophomore year and I was pretty sure I was her only friend. 

Looked like she was my only friend, too. 

I sighed. Then explained. Tamlin and Ianthe all over each other. My public humiliation. And Rhys, unexpectedly driving me home and taking care of me, which was probably the most unexplainable part of the entire night. I hated it, but Tamlin’s behavior had hurt me but not surprised me. I’d barely said two words to Rhys the entire time I’d been at Prythian. We had a big swim team, about sixty people strong. Rhys and his friends--Cassian, Amren, Azriel, and Mor--were all in the middle distance group. Tamlin and Ianthe were sprinters. I swam distance, for the most part. The different training groups and large numbers made it difficult to bond with every single team member, so I didn’t know Rhys or his group at all. 

“Are you talking about Rhysand Night? That boy is hot.”

I did a double-take. That was a very brazen statement coming from Elain. “When have you ever even seen him?”

She raised her eyebrows. “I’ve been to your swim meets, you know. It’s easy to tell who has the best body and face from the stands.”

I groaned. “He saw me puke, Elain! I drunkenly poured my heart out to him. He must think I’m some kind of idiot. And now I am friendless on the team. Friendless. Especially after Rhys tells all his friends how pathetic I am.” I leaned over and put my face on my textbook. “I should quit now and cut my losses.”

Elain whacked me on the arm. “You most certainly will not quit! That beautiful boy was just--”

“Feyre?” 

I stilled. If I hadn’t recognized that voice last night, I definitely did now. Positive my cheeks were a flaming red, I slowly sat up. 

“Hey, Rhys,” I said meekly, my hand coming up in a very awkward wave. I shoved it back down.

“You ladies talking about beautiful boys? Surely no one around here, right?” He asked smoothly, folding his arms and leaning against a bookshelf.

Thank God Elain blushed for me. “Nobody you’d know.” 

He raised his brows and I prayed he hadn’t heard anything else. “Hey, I was going to text you. . . Then I realized I didn’t have your number. You left your wallet in my car last night… I didn’t find it until this morning. It’s in my backpack. I can go grab it and bring it to you.” 

I couldn’t believe I hadn’t even realized it was gone. “No, no, I’ll come with you. You don’t have to make another trip.” And ignoring his protests I jumped up and took off through the shelves. For some reason, I didn’t want him anywhere near Elain when she was casually throwing about the word “beautiful.” I scoffed. He wasn’t that attractive.

I was halfway through the stacks when I realized I didn’t actually know where I was going. “Uh…” 

“All my friends are over there. Are you sure you don’t want me to just grab it for you and bring it to you here?” 

I stopped in my tracks. I had the feeling he knew I wasn’t in the mood to speak to anyone right now. A mood I had been in for the past few months, but. . . I blew out a breath.  “Um. Yeah. Thank you.”

He squeezed past me, and for a moment I found myself so close to him I could feel his body heat as he turned and sidestepped through the narrow space between me and the shelves. I could have sworn he was holding his breath as he passed, and I had to crane my neck to see his face. Our eyes met. I shivered.

Then he was gone. I blew out another breath and slumped against the shelf behind me. What was wrong with me? I’d been broken up with Tamlin for less than twenty-four hours and I was already noticing other guys. Disgusted with myself, I stared at the titles across from me. 

Rhys was back in less than a minute, my wallet in his outstretched hand. I took it from him, taking extra care not to brush his hand with mine. “Thanks.” 

I made to turn around and return to the safety of Elain’s aura when he reached out and brushed my shoulder. “Are you doing okay? You know, after everything?”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Rhys. You already made sure I got home okay.”

He crossed his arms. “Yeah but I’d kind of be an asshole if I didn’t at least check in. Now tell me. Are you okay?”

His gaze didn’t falter from mine as he looked at me. His gorgeous face was serious. He was really asking. He wanted a genuine answer. Good or bad, he wanted to know. 

“No.” 

And when I turned around, he let me go.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Elain and I spent six hours in the library and I skipped out on the girls’ team dinner, claiming I had homework. I spent the evening locked in my room, dreading the inevitable moment when I ran into Ianthe, who was, after all, my roommate. Bitch, I muttered under my breath. 

It was eight o’clock and I had no plans for the rest of my evening, so I changed into my pajamas and flopped on the bed. Fully prepared to spend the night binging a TV show, I retrieved ice cream from my fridge and got under the covers. An hour into The Witcher, I got a text.

Rhysand Night: You’re going to practice in the morning, right?

I frowned. He was clearly texting the wrong person. And how did he have my number?

I opened the text and discovered that he had texted his phone from mine last night… 

Me: I was planning on it

Rhysand Night: Just checking. I know you may not feel like going right now, but I don’t want to see you getting in trouble

Being a part of a college level swim team meant twenty hours of training a week. Practice at 5:30 in the morning most weekdays and again in the afternoon. I didn’t know why Rhys felt the need to check on me--missing practice meant getting chewed out by the head coach. If you missed more than one practice, you got suspended. No way would I blatantly take that risk.

Me: I’ll be there

I shut off my phone and went to bed.

----------------

I barely dragged myself out of practice the next morning. And the morning after that. And the morning after that. For two weeks after Halloween, I ignored Ianthe as much as humanly possible. She made no attempt to apologize. Tamlin had even kept his distance. I showed up at practice, swam (albeit poorly), went to class, went to practice, and went home. I was reaching new levels of anti-social. Elain was busy with study groups and classes and Nesta wouldn’t be in town for another week. She worked as a flight attendant and split her time between our father's and her and Elain’s shared place.

I just couldn’t bring myself to do anything besides school and swim. The fact that I had wasted a year of my life on Tamlin Spring was tearing me apart from the inside out. And breaking up with him had made me realize all of the things I had wasted my life on for the past year. Why was I pursuing a degree in exercise science when I loved literature and art? Why had I put all my effort into one friendship with a bitch who had stabbed me in the back at her first opportunity? I had no other friends on the swim team I had chosen during my recruitment process, thinking it was the “place for me.” I was in the wrong place, had chosen the wrong people, and was aiming for the wrong future. The worst part was, it was all my fault. My blindness had seeped into every part of my life and I barely knew who I was without my overbearing boyfriend and the friend who had steered me around for my entire college experience.

On Thursday morning, over a week and a half after the Halloween party, Coach King texted me to meet him in his office after my classes for the day were over. I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since. An impromptu meeting with Coach King usually implied a fate worse than death. At this point, I deserved anything he had to say to me. My grades had fallen in the past few weeks (I had failed a test on Monday and two quizzes since then) and my training had continued to worsen. 

My suspicions proved correct when I arrived for the meeting and Coach King started explaining the reason he had called me to his office. He mentioned my grades and my training and the fact that I had barely spoken or shown any signs of life at practice for days. He wanted to know what was wrong. He wanted to know what he could do to help. But mostly, he wanted me to fix it--fast. Then he told me he was moving me to the middle distance training group.

“Wh--what?!”

Moving training groups in the middle of the year was unheard of. Potentially season-ending. If he was moving me from distance to middle distance, he was most likely saying I wouldn’t travel or compete for the rest of the year. It took time to adjust to a new training regimen. 

I tried to protest, but he told me he had made his decision and felt I was more cut out for middle distance events anyway. The adjustment wouldn’t be too drastic. And he wanted me to take the rest of the week off and start fresh on Monday. 

That’s the thing about college athletics. Coaches can be great coaches. They can get a team from nothing to something quick if they know what they’re doing. Some can even do that and help their swimmers develop as people, too. But for most coaches, when it came down to it, weakness was weakness, no matter the reason. And I was currently the weakest link on the team. Coach King had to do something about it and this was apparently the best he could come up with.

I mumbled something to Coach King about seeing the sports psychologist and trying harder at the new practices. I felt certain he had vague ideas about the couples on the team, so he probably knew about my Tamlin situation. I didn’t feel the need to mention it to him. I left his office and made it all the way down the five flights of stairs and out the back entrance into the cloudy, chilly afternoon before I allowed myself to cry. 

I had messed up my life so royally that I had no idea how to fix it. I wouldn’t be surprised if Coach King kicked me off the team in a matter of weeks. We had a travel meet coming up, and I felt certain that I wouldn’t make the cut. I’d be stuck at Prythian U while all my teammates that I had developed no relationship with would travel. 

Head down, I was rushing to my car as my tears fell when I ran headfirst into a warm body. 

“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry--”

“We have to stop meeting like--Feyre.”

“Rhys.” I kept my eyes on the crack in the parking lot pavement at my feet.

“Are you okay?”

“You’ve got to stop asking me that question! I know you don’t care! Let me deal with this by myself.” I made to push past him but he followed me to my car anyways. 

“Feyre. I do care. I’m your teammate. And it doesn’t seem like anybody else on the team is lining up to ask how you’re doing, so I’m here to do that. I want to help you.” Something in his voice made me pause, but I couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Just fuck off. You don’t even know me.”

He threw up his hands as I struggled to unlock my extremely old Volkswagen with the key fob. My tears and anger were making it very hard to open the door.

“For God’s sake, Feyre! Would you stop being so damn difficult and let someone help you? You’ve been a ghost at practice these past few weeks and Coach King just told me you were moving to my training group.”

I unlocked my car and wrenched it open. “Leave me alone.”

Rhys grabbed my car door and refused to let me close it. I glared at his stupid, gorgeous, violet eyes. “I bet you like this. An excuse to just give up, get yourself kicked off the team. Much easier than having to face Tamlin at practice everyday, much easier than having to make new friends.”

I narrowed my eyes. And slapped him across the face. 

He touched his cheek. A spark of satisfaction lit up against the confusion and depression that lived within my gut. I had surprised him. And shut him up.

“Wow. I guess I deserved that. But you know I’m right.”

And the fact was, I did. He had said out loud what was going on deep inside me, what I was dangerously close to giving in to. I was shocked someone I barely knew could even begin to fathom what was going on so deep within my brain that I had yet to admit it to myself.  But most of all, I was angry. Angry that this boy thought he had some sort of right to me pouring out my heart to him or at the very least accepting his help. He wasn’t a captain. He had no jurisdiction over me. 

“Fine! You’re right! Are you happy now?” I wanted to wipe the smug look off his face. I cast around for something, anything to make him understand even a little bit what I was feeling. “Any other accusations you want to spit at me to make me hate myself more than I already do?” 

His smirk fell. Satisfied once more, I thought he’d let me leave, but he held fast to my car door. 

“Tell me what to do to help you. Tell me and I’ll do it.”

I blinked. I thought he would yell at me some more. I hadn’t expected such an open offer, more raw and entreating than anything Tamlin had ever said to me.

 I hated that my year with Tamlin had made me think that a guy treating me nicely was a rare commodity. I deserved to be treated with more kindness than Tamlin had ever bestowed on me. I knew that, and yet--I didn’t know how to accept that kindness anymore. I was now so deeply confused about myself, my team, and Rhys that I merely stood there, staring at Rhys without really seeing him, and contemplating the nature of my existence for the past year. 

Rhys, appearing to come to the conclusion that I had nothing to say in response to his entreaty, cleared his throat. “I know there’s a team party this weekend, as per usual. But my friends and I are going to hang out ourselves and stay sober since we have a meet the weekend after. I want you to come. In fact, I insist.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but he kept talking. “If you don’t show, I’ll tell the captains you haven’t actually been sick or studying during the past two team meetings you’ve missed. I’ll text you the address. Come. Please. We won’t talk about Tamlin or anything difficult. Plus, you should probably meet your new training group.”

That was right. Rhys and all his friends were in the middle distance group. I’d be subject to all of them starting Monday. 

And because I couldn’t think of any excuse, because I couldn’t have the captains knowing the concrete truth about my absences, because maybe somewhere deep within me desired help, I agreed.

[ma-lemons]

home (march 29- modern au)

@itallartandgames had an idea: Oscar being the cook of the two and that he combs his fingers through Ruby’s hair when she falls asleep. This idea was given to me a while ago, but I decided it would be nice for the first day. they also gave me the idea for “Freckles” as a nickname. it’s cute.

—————————————————————

“I’m baaaaaaaack!” her voice echoed in the house.

Oscar’s heart raced when he heard the cheery voice of his beloved through the walls. She was finally back.

He slipped his feet into his fuzzy slippers and left the kitchen to see if she needed help with her bags.

Halfway to the living room, Ruby attacked him in a hug.

“Guh,” Oscar sputtered, stumbling a little. His fiancée’s arms were flung around his torso, squeezing him as hard as she could. In the midst of her bear hug, Oscar got a whiff of the maple-scent that was always present at Ruby’s father’s house.

“I missed you,” she murmured, leaning into his hair. Once Oscar recovered from his shock, he hugged her back. “Missed you too, Rubes.”

Oscar’s long-ish locks tickled her chin and she giggled as they seperated. Oscar took note of her luggage.

“You want me to take that for you? I was going to start dinner, but I got so caught up watching something that time slipped past me,” he apologized.

“Don’t worry, Oscar,” Ruby yawned, kicking her boots off. “I can wait. I kinda want to watch that cop show anyway.” She twisted herself back to him and grasped his wrist lightly. “I missed you,” she repeated, brushing a kiss onto his cheek.

“I missed you more,” he murmured back. He missed her soft touch, her warm hands, the warmest part of her. Ruby shooed him away, and he retreated into the kitchen, which left her alone to her luggage.

She had visited her sister and her father. Yang was visiting home with her wife Blake, and their young daughter Ianthe. Ruby’s heart always swelled holding her chubby niece’s hand. Yang and Blake were good moms, as Ruby had predicted they would be.

She pulled her two bags down the hall, to the room she shared with Oscar. Placing them against the wall, she thought of children. Her dad had jokingly asked her when she and Oscar would have kids, and Ruby had laughed it off. They hadn’t talked about it yet, so she would cross that bridge when they got there. For now, she and Oscar were content with just being around Ianthe and Nora and Ren’s kids.

Stretching comfortably before the mirror, she shucked off her sweater, leaving her in a camisole. She tied it around her waist and left the room. As much as she loved her dad’s place, she was beyond relieved to be back home with Oscar. She had missed him and his reassuring words. She faced the beige-ish walls of their room. This was home. The one they had created together.

In the end, she had chosen Oscar. She questioned herself, who she liked, who she didn’t like, whether she liked anyone at all—and eventually decided it was time for her to make up her mind. And even though it took her ages to see it, Oscar had been waiting for her from the very beginning.

Smiling to herself, she left their room and headed to the living room. Flopping on the couch, she flipped through channels until she found the cop show Yang had gotten her hooked on.

As the bright colors flashed across the screen and the funky music played, Ruby began to get whiffs of whatever her fiancé was making her. It was bound to be delicious. He was an amazing cook—the better of the two—and Ruby would eat anything he made anyway.

She nestled herself into the couch and yawned. The trip back was exhausting, but she didn’t want to fall asleep before actually getting to spend time with Oscar.

Spices hit her nose and her mouth practically watered.

“Whatever you’re making smells good, Freckles,” Ruby called over the blaring noises of the television. She had a knowing smile growing on her face.

“Please stop calling me Freckles, love. And thank you,” he replied.

Ruby’s proud expression quickly changed. She blushed, squeezing the pillow in her arms. She’d never admit it, but Oscar calling her love was one of her favorite things in the world. It made her feel so... special. Her heart went pitter-patter but she tried her hardest to focus on the screen, where the cop was making a bad pun.

Oscar sprinkled pepper across the salmon filets. Ruby actually wasn’t a big fan of fish, as she didn’t eat it a lot as a kid, but she liked salmon. Especially with Oscar’s Spanish rice. He decided to keep it simple this time.

He heard his love’s padded footsteps enter the living room and smiled to himself when she turned on the police comedy. Most of the jokes went over his head, but he thought it was a good show overall. Ruby was more of a comedy person, Oscar loved dramas. One genre they could agree on, however, was rom-coms. All they needed was a box of tissues and blankets, and their night would be complete.

“Whatever you’re making smells good, Freckles,” she called to him.

Oscar knew better. There’s no way Ruby wouldn’t recognize the distinct smell of one of her favorite meals. But that nickname. It always got to him. He wasn’t a fan, admittedly, but he grew more tolerant over the years, finally putting up with the goddamn name Ruby had called him, even before they started to date.

“Please stop calling me Freckles, love. And thank you,” he sighed, flipping the salmon over.

At least she was home. The place they shared together was quiet without her. He’d have to spend hours staring at peeling wallpaper or their pictures in the hallway.

He sighed dreamily. Plating the salmon, he whispered a thank you to the skies for Ruby, the girl he had liked for so long, being at his side.

Oscar dropped two forks onto the seperate plates and shuffled over to the next room over.

“Dinner’s ready,” he smiled warmly, placing the plates on the coffee table. “You want water? Or iced tea?”

“Water, please. Oscar—this looks so good, thank you,” Ruby murmured, her wide eyes fixed on the plates.

He soon returned with two glasses of ice water and he slumped down into the couch next to her.

“Thank you for the food.”

“Anything for you, love,” he smiled back at her.

Gah! Stop, heart! Control yourself! Ruby willed herself not to blush or say something stupid.

“What episode is this?” he asked, nodding towards the TV.

“The vacation special.”

“Ah.”

The two ate their food quietly, save for the moments where Ruby would laugh or they’d idly chatter.

“This was soooo good,” Ruby murmured, scooting closed to him. Oscar grinned, ruffling her hair. Ruby’s skin brushed up against his, sending shivers down his spine.

“I missed your cooking. I love Dad’s, but I think you’re taking his place,” she whispered, looking up to meet his eyes.

“I don’t think Tai would be very happy to hear those words, love,” he rumbled in amusement.

“Nah, he’d get over it,” she smiled back. A sleepy look settled over her face, and a yawn escaped her lips.

“You must be very tired,” he noted.

“No, no... I’m fine. Actually let me take care of these dishes.” Ruby left Oscar’s side and grabbed the plates. He suddenly missed her warmth and wanted it back.

“Rubes, come sit down, I’ll get to them later,” he insisted.

“You cooked, so I’ll clean.” She didn’t hesitate to grab the plates before Oscar could, and hurried into the kitchen.

“Thank you!” he called from the sofa.

“Of course!”

She returned a few moments later, just as Oscar was getting comfy.

“I don’t remember this part,” Oscar notes as she sat down. It was the scene where the workaholic female cop had a hard time relaxing on her vacation.

“Oh, yeah, this is a two-part special. This first part’s tonight and the next one’s tomorrow. We only ever watched the second part together,” Ruby replied, her eyes glued to the TV.

Oscar made a noise in understanding.

His fiancée settled in next to him. She yawned again, little tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

“Come here, you,” Oscar said softly, gently taking her head into his lap. She stretched out the rest of her body, then curled herself up.

“Mhm, thank you,” she whispered to him. She loved when he did this.

The show was almost over, but Oscar wasn’t paying any attention to it. He reached his hand for Ruby’s hair, and ran his hands through it. Tentatively, at first. When she didn’t protest, he took that as permission to keep going. Gently, running through the ends. Black strands with the red highlights at the end. A unique look, but Ruby was all sorts of unique.

“This feels really nice...”

Her voice was getting smaller, and Oscar knew that she’d be asleep any moment from now.

“Go to sleep, love.”

“I’m actually... not as tired as you think. In fact,” she stopped, flipping her body so that she was laying on her back, and her face was parallel to his, “Let me tell you about my day.”

“Alright,” he resigned.

“Well, Ianthe says she misses you. She made me promise to drag you along with me next time I visit,” Ruby laughed. It wasn’t like her usual, overdramatic and hysterical laughter that he had gotten so used to. It was richer, quieter.

Oscar would remember to bring Ianthe something. His niece was fond of plants and always wanted to learn about a new one every time they met.

“I’ll bring her something next time. We’ll go together,” he replied.

“Yeah, she’d like that. Everyone else says hi too. And... Yang dragged me and Blake out to see bridesmaids dresses.” She added the last sentence hurriedly.

“Oh?”

Ruby twiddled her fingers, and sucked in a large breath before letting it go.

“Yeah... I told her that even though we’re engaged, we weren’t really looking at anything yet.” Her eyes wandered to meet his, and he blinked twice.

Oscar thought for a moment. “Maybe we should. I mean, we have a date already.”

“Yeah... two years from now,” Ruby snickered. “You proposed to me knowing fully well that we wouldn’t get to have a ceremony for a long time.”

“Well... I couldn’t wait. I wanted to be with you,” he teased.

“Ah, stop!” Ruby cried, slapping her hands onto her face. It was growing hot. She was definitely blushing. Maybe he couldn’t see it in the dark?

“You’re blushing, love.”

“Shut up!”

“Anyway... we can start doing real planning right now. I don’t mind, but I already live with you, it’s like being married,” he shrugged.

Ruby’s heart went from its small, rhythmic beats, to intense pounding.

“Yeah. It is,” she swallowed.

“Well, either way, I’m glad you enjoyed your trip. I’m even happier you’re home, though.”

Home.

“I am too.”

Soon after that, they both fell silent. Oscar hadn’t stopped finger-combing her hair, even for a moment. It felt so relaxing and so... nice...

Soon enough, Ruby had fallen asleep, her soft snores like a baby’s. It was weird. She was usually a really loud snorer. Her cop show had ended and now a firefighter drama had started in its place.

Ruby, although she wasn’t heavy, was starting to weigh on him a little. But she was adorable, so he chose to stay quiet and enjoy it. Besides, she must’ve been really exhausted.

A yawn of his own, mellow, left his mouth.

Staring back at Ruby’s face, he could see how her flushed cheeks were fading, and how her mouth was still slightly open. Her head began to tilt to the side.

Oscar leaned down and pressed his lips to her warm forehead. In a bit, he’d probably carry her to bed, if he didn’t fall asleep himself before then.

@rwbyrosegardenweek

[secretlynestaarcheron]

Chapter Nine + Ten

Reposted Chapter Nine because I wanted them together, it would have bothered to have two by themselves haha. Enjoy! 

Also I think @sjm-things asked on the last post but I deleted it before answering but yes, feyre and rhysand will meet! I outlined the story and I hope to have 25-30 chapters so it may take awhile but they will forever be endgame!

tagged: @sjm-things  @justgiu12 @blxckbeaks @justabunchoffandoms @swagbookmaster @my-fan-side @heyitsrhysand

Chapter Nine: Nesta 

Ianthe walks in with a new pep in her step and her hands full of binders, “Good morning ladies!” she says cheerfully, dropping the binders on the table in the center where Vanserra and Tara were sitting. They look taken aback as Tara reaches forward to grab one as if it was an unfamiliar object to her. 

“We have a big day ahead of us, I can’t believe the King threw this at us so late,” Ianthe replies, grabbing a few binders and putting some on each table. She places two at Nesta’s and she reaches forward to grab one, flipping it open to see that it was full of color patterns and floral arrangements and gown designs. 

“The King’s family will be coming in late tonight and we will be having an outdoor picnic themed get together tomorrow,” Ianthe replies, excitedly, she was practically beaming. “You will each pick a design for a gown your maids make for you, we must have the best for our guests!” 

Nesta frowns, she wasn’t the best sewer but she couldn’t imagine designing and making a gown fit for a future queen by the next day. She looks up at Rita to see if she was feeling as overwhelmed as she was but Rita seemed nervous as she fidgeted in her seat. “Are you okay?” Nesta asks. 

Rita nods but she doesn’t look like her usual spunky self. Nesta decides not to push her and looks over at Ianthe who had finished handing out the binders. “You’ll each partner up with one another and work on one aspect of the party,” 

Rita stands up, moving over to Ianthe quickly, she whispers something to her before leaving the room in a rush. Ianthe turns to Nesta, “Looks like flowers are all on you, be careful the King’s sister in law has allergies!” she exclaims, dropping a couple magazines on the table before moving to the next one. 

“Wait, what does that mean? What type of allergies?” Nesta calls after Ianthe but she either doesn't hear her or doesn’t care to answer. Nesta slumps in her chair, feeling very overwhelmed and all she had to do was pick flowers. “Alright ladies, you have to have your choice by 6pm tonight when we come together for dancing lessons,” Ianthe says, cheerfully, “And you all are dismissed!” 

Nesta rubs her temples, how was she going to find hypoallergenic flowers? She takes her stack of binders and decides to head out to the gardens for some inspiration. She moves down the stone stairs towards the rose bush maze, Elain would love to see it. Her movements were restricted by the large binders and tight bodice. 

She takes the last step, looking around on where she would want to sit down and begin working. Across the garden there were a couple of guards working on combat, Cassian and a girl stood watching at them. He glances up catching her eye, he says something to the girl before moving across the garden in long strides. 

“You aren’t supposed to be out here,” Cassian says as soon as he’s close enough for her to hear. 

“Hello to you too, Officer Cassian,” she retorts, blowing a strain of hair out of her face, “I have to pick the flower arrangements for the party and thought I could get some inspiration from the garden.” 

“The King’s sister in law is allergic to almost all flowers,” Cassian replies drily, “And its Captain.” 

She rolls her eyes, “This is a disaster, I am going to cause someone to go into allergic shock. What if she dies, is that considered treason? Maybe I shouldn’t even have a flower display at all, but that makes me lose those little competition.” 

He reaches forward to grab the binders from her hand, she’s thankful, she didn’t realize how out of shape she had gotten over the past two days with all the heavy foods. She felt slow and out of breath a lot easier now that she wasn’t living off a piece of bread a day and running around town. 

“You can’t tell anyone I told you about this,” he retorts, beginning to move down the trail towards the garden. She quickly catches up having to take a couple steps for one of his. “I am sure that no one is supposed to help you with this challenge but seeing how I don’t really want to see any of you thrown in prison for killing a member of the royal court.” 

She chuckles, “Come on, I won’t tell anyone if you just admit I am the favorite,” she replies, a new edge to her voice that she regrets immediately. She wasn’t trying to flirt, she didn’t even think she was flirty, but he was close to the prince and who knows what he will say to him. 

He shakes his head and says, “I don’t think it matters who I like and don’t like.” She raises an eyebrow questionably at his back but stops when he brings her to a small nook off the edge of roses that were full of different kinds of flowers. 

“These were planted for the King’s sister in law,” Cassian explains, “she loves flowers, so as a welcoming gift the queen had this garden installed for her so she could enjoy it.” 

Nesta feels relieved, “If only my sister was here, she would be able to name them all in a heartbeat,” Nesta replies, looking around the small garden. There weren’t a lot of vibrant colored flowers, but she didn’t mind she could make something beautiful out of them. 

“Well, since your sister isn’t here, you can head to the libraries and take out the book The History of the Royal Palace Gardens, it’ll have an eleclopedia of every plant in the garden, including these,” Cassian says. 

She feels a surge of excitement run through her. “Thank you,” she says sincerely, turning to face him, “I really appreciate your help even if you despise all of us.” She means it as a joke, but there is some truth behind it. 

He chuckles, “He’s my best friend, of course I am going to be protective of him. You didn’t hear it from me but he’s pretty naive about all things related to girls,” he retorts. 

She can’t help but laugh at that. “I definitely figured that out already,” she replies, thinking about the conversations she has already had with him and what the girls have said about their dates. It was a comforting thought that although he looked to be a stuck up businessman through the television he was still just a twenty-something year old who was trying to make his way through the chaos of his life. 

“I’ve been trying to help him,” Cassian admits and she’s not sure why he's being so honest with her. Maybe they were on their way to being friends. 

She purses her lips as she turns away from the flowers to look at him, “Ah, so the infamous Captain Cassian has a player streak, interesting,” she hums. 

“The truth would come out eventually,” Cassian replies with a shrug, “All the time I have in between rebel attacks I use to swoon the ladies of Prythian.” 

Nesta gringes, “Oh Stars, maybe you shouldn’t be helping him. Swoon the ladies,” she pretends to shiver, “No wonder he’s suffers from being unable to sweet talk if he has a teacher like you.” 

“You haven’t even heard the best of it,” Cassian retorts, before nodding down to her binders and adding, “I wish I could stay and chat but I actually have a job to do. I’ll have a guard drop these off at your room.” 

“Thank you!” she calls after him as he exits the small enclosure of flowers. Nesta twirls a little before sitting down on the bench in the center of the enclosure thinking about how much trouble she would get into if she acted upon the feelings she felt when she was with him. 

~*~

She stayed in her room the rest of the day, channeling her inner Elain has she thought up the perfect boutiques for the party. An array of weigela sonic blooms, chinese evergreen, and  bamboo palm. They weren’t colorful and vibrant as most of the flower arrangements at the special occasions were but she thought they’d do. 

She even had time to flip through the dress inspiration magazines Ianthe had handed out and pick out a few designs she liked. As if on cue Beatrice and Hanna entered the room cheerfully talking they stopped when they saw Nesta sitting on her bed and curtseyed. “Apologies, we didn’t realize you were in here, m’lady,” Beatrice replies quietly. 

“Its okay, I enjoyed the laughter, reminded me of home,” Nesta replies with a shrug, “I’ve been trying to find a dress I love for the party tomorrow.” 

Beatrice and Hanna look at each before coming over quickly to go through the magazines with her, pointing out different dresses and what they could do differently. She felt like she was back home packing with her sisters. 

It feels like they talk for hours, Beatrice pointing out everything they can do and Hanna sketching designs. There’s a sharp knock on the door and then Prince Rhysand walks in, Beatrice and Hanna stand up quickly. 

“I came to escort you to Ianthe’s impromptu dance class,” Prince Rhysand says to Nesta. 

Nesta chuckles, “More like Ianthe’s impromptu pain and misery boot camp,” Nesta retorts, pushing herself off the bed and moving towards him. She takes his extended arm, waving goodbye to her maids, before exiting the room with Rhysand.

“You aren’t a fan of dancing?” Rhysand asks quizzically. 

She bites her lips instinctively, but stops herself, he wanted to know about her home. He wanted to know what she went through and she needed to tell him even if it seemed dumb so he would know. “As a four, I wasn’t invited to many parties and there was rarely any dancing, as a seven. Well, no one can afford to have a party let alone have the time.”

Rhysand purses his lips in thought, “That’s a shame, so that means no one has done this before-,” he replies, moving quickly as he pushes her away before twirling her back towards him. 

She lets out a noise of surprise before chuckling as he tries to dip her. “See,” he says, “You’re a natural.” 

“I appreciate your support, but I am more scared of being taught a box step for the first time by Ianthe with every other girl in this competition and off duty guard watching me fail miserably,” Nesta replies, realizing what she was actually scared of. 

He steps, turning to face her, “Then I’ll teach you.” 

She raises an eyebrow, facing him, “We don’t have much time,” she replies, glancing down the hall where she could already hear the music playing. 

“Then I’ll be quick,” he replies, taking her hand and placing her empty hand on her shoulder. “Ready?” 

She nods unwillingly, as he steps forward making her take a step back. “Look at you already getting it, now to the left.” 

They go through it a couple of times before he begins to add the side stepping making them move in a circle. “Stop watching your feet,” he says. She looks up at him sheepishly, “I am trying not to break an ankle or step on your feet,” she counters. “I am sure I have to go home I break the prince.” 

Someone clears their throat and they both stop looking down the hall to see Cassian standing there. “Sorry to interrupt, your majesty, but your father would like to see you,” Cassian says, turning away as if to give the two privacy. 

“Good luck there, I’ll see you tomorrow for the party,” Rhysand says. 

“Unless I break an ankle in there,” she retorts with a chuckle as she waved goodbye to Rhysand and nodded towards Cassian who barely looked at her before disappearing into the ballroom where lessons had already begun. 

The sun was barely peeking through the windows when Nesta was awoken by her maids. “We finished it! Just in time!” Hanna exclaims, hooking the hanger onto her wardrobe and unzipping the garment bag. Nesta sits up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, as Beatrice moves over to the curtain and opens them allowing the light to pour in. 

Nesta gasps, whipping the covers off of herself and taking the few steps of the dress, she took in the emerald color that was simple in the bodice but pushed out by her waist with a cascade of little flowers running down to the hem. “Its beautiful,” Nesta says in awe, the color would have looked beautiful with Feyre hair and gorgeous against Elain’s skin. She couldn’t wait to write to her sisters about it. “This is incredible, more than I could have ever asked for.”

“It was our pleasure, Lady Nesta,” Beatrice replies softly while Hanna nods along eagerly. 

Nesta can’t help but pull them into a hug. “I am so glad I was paired with the two of you,” she replies. 

Beatrice pulls away first clapping her hands together to get them all to focus. “Okay, we have a lot to do, let’s start with a bath,” she replies. Nesta spends the rest of the morning being pampered by them until she is dressed and ready to go. 

“You look beautiful, Lady Nesta,” Hanna says behind Nesta reflection as Nesta turns to take herself in. She never thought she would get to wear something so extravagant before. There’s a knock on the door and then a guard yells, “The Queen and Ianthe have requested to see the girls before the party begins.” 

Beatrice squeezes her shoulder and yells “Good luck!” as Nesta exits the room. 

The guard escorts her down the hall toward the women’s room where all the selected girls were filing in. “Ladies, I am so proud of the work you have done to make this a success,” Ianthe says, before turning to the queen. 

The Queen smiles in thanks, “I am very excited to welcome the Kings family in the palace, it’s been a long time since they have visited. I hope you will treat them all with the utmost of respect and welcome them as if they were your own family,” she says looking over all of them. 

It was hard for Nesta to believe that she came from the caste seven, she was so respected and held herself tall. Nesta wonders if she was always like that or if she learned it through being the Queen. 

“There will be many guests out there that you do not know. I expect you all to be on your best behavior,” the Queen says, “and of course, enjoy your hard work.” 

The girls clap at that as they follow the queen out the doors and towards the white tent that was sent up in the middle of an open field. There were chairs and tables lined up by the shade next to a game of croquet. 

The girls made their way into the tent to begin introductions, she stayed behind wanting to enjoy the sun against her skin before being forced into small talk. 

A group of young boys walked by her talking loudly. One of them ran straight into her. He pauses, glancing her up and down. She feels uneasy under his stare, when he gets to her face he smirks. Lifting his half empty glass up to her, “Mind getting me refill, doll face?” He asks. 

She grimaces, thinking back to her tavern days that seemed so long ago. She wanted to snap at him, to tell him to get his own drink but the presence of someone standing next to her. She turns to see Cassian with his arms crossed. 

“She’s one of the selected, Tamlin. Most of the girls here are, you would do well to remember that,” Cassian snickers. The two eye each other before Tamlin chuckles as he leaves. 

Cassian runs a hand through his hair as he turns to face her, “That's Tamlin, Rhysands cousin,” Cassian explains, “He’s also the worst person I have ever met. Are you okay?” 

Nesta chuckles, “Yes, trust me, I have been treated worse than that before.” 

He looks at her with a weird expression that she can’t quite grasp. “I am sorry to hear that, Lady Nesta,” he replies and she wonders why he’s being so formal but as she turns and sees Ianthe making her way towards her she understands why. 

“Enjoy the party, your flower arrangements look beautiful-,” he pauses as if he wants to say more but he shuts his mouth, gives her a curt nod, and then walks away. 

She doesn’t have much time to dwell on what he was going to say because Ianthe grabs her elbow and pulls her into the tent to socialize.

Chapter Ten: Cassian 

Cassian hits the bag with more anger than he realized, he was mad at the king, made that he had to deal with Tamlin again, and mad about feeling mad about stumbling into Nesta and Rhysand dancing in the hall. 

Nesta was in a competition to fight for his best friend's heart, just because they had a couple conversations didn’t mean that she was going to leave the competition, he didn’t even know if he wanted her too. He just knew he had some weird connection with her. 

Sweat dropped down his back as he glanced down at his watch, he had an early morning and should probably get some sleep. He slips in his jacket leaving it unbutton since he doubted he would run into anyone from the training room to his room. 

The cold air sent a shiver down his back as he locked the door behind him and began to move across the guards towards the palace. He couldn't wait to shower and go to bed, the day had been long and exhausting. 

He pauses when he passes the Rose hedges when he hears sniffling, he glances towards the palace before moving towards the nose. Inside the small cove dedicated to the Kings sister in law was Nesta seated on the bench. 

She was still wearing her dress from the picnic, her hair no longer in the braids from earlier but cascading down her back as she sniffled into her hands. 

He steps forward, a crack from a branch quickly catching her attention. She turns, wiping her tears as she stands, he tries to mutter an apology but she beats him to it. “I am sorry, I know I shouldn’t be out here,” she says and he can hear the sadness in her voice. 

“It’s okay,” He says, stepping into the enclosure, noticing how her eyes shine in the moonlight. “Are you alright?” 

She turns away embarrassed, maybe he should have pretended that he didn’t hear her just scold her for being out and let her be but he knew that she would be in his thoughts if he left her. 

“I think the homesickness is finally kicking in,” Nesta explains with a slight shrug of her shoulders. She's still looking everywhere but him. “I just keep thinking about how much they would love to be here and how selfish I am for being here without them.” 

He furrows his brow, “How are you being selfish?” he asks, sitting down on the bench. She follows suit a second later. “I don’t think I need to explain where I came from, I think blatantly obvious that I am out of place here. I would go hungry for days so my sisters could have plenty and here I could ring a bell and a maid would bring me a tray of expensive treats,” she rants, standing back up and crossing her arms, “I know so many girls more worthy than I am of this opportunity, why do I deserve to have such luxury as all of this when I know there are fives, sixs, sevens, and eight choosing between their electricity or food.” 

He frowns, it was a luxury in her mind to be able to eat, whereas most people thought a luxury was a private jet or multiple cars. He doesn’t know what to say to her, his mother passed away when he was young and he didn’t have any siblings, he didn’t know how to be comforting. 

“You shouldn’t have to feel worthy to eat, it’s a human necessity,” he begins as she gives him a soft smile. “They didn’t just pick your picture because they thought you were pretty, they saw something in you that made them think you could be a good queen. The fact that you have experienced it and are so passionate about improving is what would make you a great queen.” 

She chuckles to herself as if she knew something he didn’t about her being a future queen. “Thank you,” she replies sincerely looking over at him as she sits down again. “I really appreciate you talking with me, I know you’re probably busy.” 

He shrugs, he didn’t mind talking with her if he was being honest and it worried him. “Anytime, but we should probably head inside. It’s late and who knows what Ianthe will put you through tomorrow.” 

They walk in a comfortable silence back towards the palace, a new air between them. When they went their separate ways he can’t help but feel like something is missing with her absent presents beside him. He falters as he hears noises coming from the opposite side of his room. 

He moves to open his own bedroom door brushing it off as something is falling but before he can step into his room he hears hushed whispers and then silence. Turning back to face the door across from him he furrowed his brow, the room across from his was just a storage closet that was hardly used. 

He sighs, running a hand through his hair as a million thoughts crossed his mind of what he was going to see. Best case scenario a broom or something fell and worst, he had too many to choose from. He grabs the door handle twist and pushes it open fast enough that whoever was in there would be surprised. 

His eyes adjusted to the dark room but it was clear that there were two figures in the room. He reaches around the door, hitting the wall until the light comes on. A new recruit stood in the middle of the small space, his uniform jacket unbutton hanging off one shoulder, he pushed it up quickly. 

“Your name?” Cassian asks, his eyes flickering to the small figure behind him, he wonders if they really thought he couldn’t see her behind him. 

“Private Bronson,” He answers and Cassian can hear the nervousness in his voice.

Cassian cocked his head to the side, looking beyond Bronson. “And your name?” he asks. Bronson clears his throat, looking anywhere but Cassian, as he shifts to the side to allow Cassian to see one of the selected girls, Demetra, standing behind him sheepishly. She held her dress to her chest to cover herself. 

He looks away from her and back at Bronson, “Mind explaining to me what was happening in here?” he asks, raising an eyebrow quizzically. 

Bronson glances back at Cassian. “I think you know what was happening, Captain.” Cassian can’t help but hear the sound of defeat in his voice. “We didn’t mean for it to happen, we were both threes, when I was drafted we didn’t think that we would ever see each other again.” 

Cassian looks up at the ceiling, he couldn’t let them be put to death for treason when he had been finding himself wanting to be near one of the selected himself. “You’ll be reassigned to the borders,” Cassian says looking away from Bronson and towards Demetria, “And I would pack my bags if I were you. I am telling the prince you were caught gossiping about the other ladies. I am not sure what else he will do but I did not see anything so I will not say anything regarding what may or may not have been happening before I opened this door.” 

They nod quickly and he turns to leave making his way back to his room deciding to deal with all of it tomorrow. 

~*~

“So why did I receive word that one of my new recruits was being sent to border patrol? That’s basically a death sentence to a newbie like him,” Amren says, catching up with Cassian in the hallway, he had been on his way to talk to Rhysand about the girl. 

“Trust me, Amren. This was a mercy sentence for what he did,” Cassian retorts. 

Amren chuckles, “What exactly did he do to get on the captain's bad side that would make him deserve something worse than border patrol?” she asks, nudging his arm with her elbow. She meant well but he was in no mood for her jokes when he saw himself in the couple. 

“You don’t wanna know, Am, believe me,” he retorts. 

She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t question him on which he’s glad about. “Where are you headed?” Amren asks a harmless question in her mind but the fact that Cassian was going to tell Rhysand to kick a girl out it only made him more anxious. 

“I have to discuss one of the girls with the prince,” Cassian replies, turning the corner that leads to the royal family's wing. He hoped Rhysand would be here, he didn’t feel like tracking him around the castle or having to have this discussion near the fellow selected. 

“Oh, which one? There was one crying this morning no one could calm her down or the one who was caught trying to sneak through this very hall towards the prince’s room,” Amren asks, “Or maybe it’s the one in the green dress yesterday that you saved from Tamlin’s claws.” 

He rolls his eyes, “I didn’t save anyone from anything,” he retorts, before glancing back towards Amren, “Which one tried sneaking to the prince room? Why wasn’t I notified?” 

“You were too busy sending my troops away,” Amren replies, she laughs when he gives her a pointed look, “I think it was that girl Rita, I am sure she was just trying to get more moments with the prince, I think he’s planning on eliminating a few today.” 

“Good,” Cassian replies, at least it wouldn’t seem weird that this girl was being sent home by herself, It wouldn’t seem weird. “I want this to go as quick as possible.” 

“Just think, one of these ladies will be your queen,” she replies, shivering at the thought, “I hope there's a diamond hidden in all of this fluff.” 

He thinks back to his conversation with Nesta last night, how she felt selfish for being here, she would be a diamond. She could do so much for all the castes because she lived through it. He knew that if Rhysand picked her there would be change. 

He shook his head, pulling himself from the thought, he had to stop thinking about her. He pauses in front of Rhysand door and knocks. Rhysand opens it a second later, surprised to see them, “I’ll see you later Cas,” Amren says, continuing down the hall as Cassian turned to his friend to have a conversation he didn’t want to have. 

[iezzern-ao3]

Breath of a New Spring

Read on AO3

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas

Relationships: Briar/Tamlin (ACoTaR), Tamlin (ACoTaR)/Tarquin (ACoTaR)

Characters: Tamlin (ACoTaR), Original Male Character(s), Briar (ACoTaR), Tarquin (ACoTaR)

Additional Tags: Character Study, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Character Growth, Coming of Age, Survivor Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Forgiveness

Language: English

After the war, Tamlin is left to scramble in his guilt and unstable morals. It'll take a lot to take him back to the male he previously was, a lot more to make him believe in that male.

Read Chapter 1 of 5 under the cut

Tamlin walks awkwardly next to Neri Vanserra, trying to keep the tears from escaping his eyes. The battle is over. They’ve won. Sent Hybern back to its sad home. Soldiers are already celebrating, drunk and lustful. The hurt are being taken care of—Tamlin hasn’t seen Thesan rest for hours. And yet, Tamlin can’t bear to feel happy.

Victory has never tasted so much like defeat.

Tamlin has lost his court. Lost respect among his comrades. Lost any sense of self-respect. He can’t bear to rebuild it. Doesn’t deserve any kind of saving. So he walks next to Neri Vanserra and tries to not break.

“I appreciate what you did to Father, by the way,” Neri suddenly says, grinning, “I’ve never seen him so…weak”

Tamlin grins back, unsure of how to respond. Forcing Beron to join the fight was just a result of his own shame. A by-thought of scrambling his broken court and racing to the war. He’d burst into the Court, all anger and command, but he’d never been more tired in his life. Living had seemed more like a chore at that point. He would do what he needed to do. Then… Well, Tamlin had never been known for taking falls easily. People, if they didn’t understand, would not be surprised if he…

Neri’s hand lands on his shoulder. “Thank you,” he says and there is no doubt that he means it. His grip is tight, digging into Tamlin’s flesh. It feels sure. Real. Something to stay for. And Tamlin finds that he maybe can stay as the Spring Court’s Lord for a bit longer.

Neri grabs hold of some Autumn Court fae, orders him to do something Tamlin can’t hear. Because his own soldiers have set up camp close by. Are helping survivors and comforting the grieving. None of them have caught sight of him yet and he wants to hide. Gathering them to fight had been hard enough, watching them fight worse. He can’t look at them. Can’t let them look at him. He’s too ashamed. Of what he let Ianthe do to his men and his Court.

He sees all the other men he led into suffering and pain by letting Hybern into his Court. All the ones whose families were held hostage. All the ones who stayed in spite, to honour their oaths to him. All the ones who had known him since boyhood and watched him grow into a shameful male. He sees Mariam, that brave man who he had whipped because of Ianthe’s words. Feyre had stayed with him. Tamlin wished he had.

Mariam’s eyes suddenly snap to him, as if he’d sensed Tamlin stare on him. His eyes are unreadable. Tamlin wants to avert his gaze but can’t. Figures he has enough dignity left to meet the eyes of a male he hurt without cause. Mariam keeps staring; arms limp down his sides. He has his shirt off, probably has given it to someone who needs it more. Tamlin can glimpse welts over his shoulders—closed wounds that are still tainted slightly red. The sight of them does something to him. Brings a cold to his heart that he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“Excuse me,” he has half the mind to say to Neri. The male doesn’t seem to mind—doesn’t protest when Tamlin leaves him by himself. Tamlin starts making his way over to Mariam, aware of the unwanted attention it’ll bring him. His soldiers stop doing their tasks, hands pausing and feet hesitating. All seem to hold their breath. Mariam is still just staring.

Tamlin stops a small distance away from him, steeling himself to not look away. It is harder now that he’s caught his soldiers’ attention. “My Lord,” Mariam says with a tight tone, bows his head slightly. Mariam was from the continents—had never really settled into the Lording superiority system. Tamlin is shaking his own without even noticing, reaching out. “No,” he’s said far too quickly, “Don’t”

Mariam’s eyes widen, unsure, and Tamlin is reminded of a russet curl down over wide, brown eyes and a red blush high on sharp cheekbones. He itches to turn around and look at the male in the memory. They’d been so young. Innocent. Naïve, Tamlin’s father would say. In love, Tamlin’s mother would say. The memory aches in his chest.

“I think an apology is in order,” Tamlin says, surprised at how sure his voice sounds. Mariam’s eyes narrow and his arms crossed over his chest. There’s some murmuring around them. Tamlin swallows and thinks of how his father would roll in his grave if he knew what Tamlin was about to do.

He glances down for a second, and then kneels on the uneven ground. Someone drops something behind him. Tamlin feels his braided hair fall down over his shoulder as he lowers his head. “My Lord?” Mariam asks, his voice a hundred times more unsure than before.

“As I said, an apology”

Tamlin doesn’t recognize his own voice. His fingers are trembling where they’re resting on his own thigh, but, strangely, he doesn’t feel scared. He remembers the speeches he used to hold for his father, how mother’s eyes would sparkle with pride. How his father had looked partially worried and scared before he’d berated him. How he used to think for himself. Speak for himself. He opens his mouth and hopes that ability has just been dormant and not withered away completely.

“I will not say more,” he quietly explains; knows the wrong words will bring the wrong thoughts, “I fear there is nothing I can say to either excuse or justify my actions. I caused you pain when I should’ve protected you—as your High Lord there is no greater shame. I do not expect you to forgive me, and therefore will not request it of you. But the least you deserve is an apology”

Tamlin’s breathing heavily by the end of it, his mind reeling with the knowledge that his own voice has returned to him. Far too long those words that had come out of his mouth had been his father’s. What he’d learned from the only male he’d trusted for a long time.

There’s a touch to the crown of his head.

Tamlin swallows with it.

“I’ll admit, I hadn’t quite expected this, my Lord,” Mariam’s voice says, low, “But it is greatly appreciated”

Tamlin’s eyes rise again. Meet Mariam’s. The male has a slight smile on his lips, but it’s tainted with sadness and partway resentment. There’s angry muttering around them—courtiers and ladies insulted by Tamlin’s display. Tamlin finds he doesn’t care outside the looks of his men. His soldiers. They are the ones whom he would trust with his life. They are the ones who watched him grow. Who loved him. Before he turned into whatever he was now.

There’s approval in Mariam’s eyes. Some sort of trust and disbelief that Tamlin would even consider kneeling for a mere sentry-turned-soldier. It’s mirrored in the males around them; the ones with scars littering their bodies and blood haunting their eyes. Tamlin was always out of his element in a Court.

“My Lord,” Mariam says, and it sounds like so much more than a simple title, “Arise, now”

Read Chapter 2 of 5 HERE

[adastramumu]

“ no one ever asks the ocean to quiet her storm, so why do you keep apologizing for yours? ”

loreley ianthe hampton

(ALSO KNOWN AS PRINCESS LORELEY)

age: 26

pronouns: she/her

sexuality: pansexual

occupation: princess of the atlantic ocean

species: mermaid

faceclaim: rachel matthews

no tw below the cut somehow?? kinda alcohol tw and general grossness toward women tw but maybe not

Underwater, image was everything to the Hampton family. Loreley was no exception to that. For as long as she could remember, it had been drilled into her head to put her best foot forward both publicly and privately. There was no room for error or imperfection; not when so many eyes were on them. The middle child and only daughter, pressure came down on Loreley in a special way—her looks were held to a standard so much higher than her brothers’ by their overbearing mother. She’d learned the art of makeup and how to perfectly style her hair young. She rose before the sun every morning, spent hours on it all and never left her bedroom unprepared. Her looks were the closest thing she had to armour. Prim and proper and put together, it had been years since anyone had seen her with so much as a hair out of place. 

If Loreley’s looks were her shield, her words and her silence were her weapons. Sharp-tongued and quick-witted, snappy comebacks were always within reach when she was young, usually swiftly followed up by a rebuke from her parents or her older brother, Thatcher. She was best seen and not heard, nothing more than a decoration. The decorum required of a royal was hammered into her head over and over; locking up any shred of personality around her family was the only thing she could do. It still managed to escape at the worst time, a snide comment or harsh look here and there was enough to draw all eyes to her in the worst possible way. Every time, she felt obligated to strive further and try harder to shove herself into the expected mold that her older brother fit and her younger brother shunned so easily.

For the most part, the world above water was a mystery to her, a curiosity to be watched from a distance. She’d listen to stories eagerly, dream of visiting and escaping from the mess her family had become behind closed doors: the alcohol, the affairs, and all the rest of it. Her one act of rebellion, sneaking up to the college in Bellport and taking business classes—the closest she’d be able to come to a college education—had nearly ended in disaster when she’d been caught by Thatcher just a few credits shy of the degree and forced to drop out. Nowhere was safe underwater; there was always someone watching. Even on land, she’d never quite been able to shake the feeling that she needed to keep up the façade of perfection.

When Liddell had suddenly shown up, Loreley had no doubts what he parents were up to. It wasn’t the first time they’d tried to shove the two of them together—as Thatcher’s best friend and the son of their parents richest friends, she had no doubt it would be looked at as a match made in heaven. Money was integral to their image; rich in-laws would bring a new influx of cash that would be sure to keep their family going for a couple more generations. Loreley was sure Liddell had no opposition, not if he would get her in the deal. The thought made her skin crawl. Overhearing the conversation about checking in on Miles was the perfect opportunity to get away—so what if she’d had to barge into the room to offer her services? Anything to get as far away from her family as possible and put off what they clearly saw as the inevitable. Maybe while she was in Bellport, she’d be able to find a way to put an end to whatever her parents were planning for her, once and for all.

[bookaholic1012]

Prythian Magazine Part 13

A/N: Andromache makes in appearance. She is a part of Day Court because I feel like if she were fae, that would be the court she would be a part of. Feysand/Vamren/Andromor moments happen. The meeting will occur in the next chapter! Hope y'all enjoy!

Tagging: @sugarcoated44 @unicornbooks @ourbooksuniverse @ame233

If you want to be tagged or no longer want to be, let me know!

PM Masterlist  Writing Masterlist

“What in the hell are you two doing here?” Feyre demanded.

Elain revealed the issue with them on it. “When I was walking home, I saw this. I thought you two were still together, so I picked it up to read the article. What Tamlin said didn’t sound like you. Nesta and I went to Tamlin’s to find you, but you were gone. Tamlin told us you were in Night Court.”

“How did you find me?”

Nesta spoke up. “You always spoke about that friend of yours from the Night Court. It wasn’t hard to find where she lived considering her fame.”

“So, what? After years of shutting me out, you think you have a right to know what happened?”

“We’re your family, Feyre. We’re sisters.” Elain said as a means of explanation.

“Are you kidding me?” Feyre felt her temper rise. “Sisters? Family? You honestly have the nerve to call the three of us that? Where was my family when Mom died? When Dad was admitted to rehab? When I went out every single day since I was fourteen to find multiple jobs to support us? The both of you never lifted a finger; never asked once if I needed help. Nesta, you were nineteen, and you were eighteen, Elain! You were both fully capable of getting jobs to support the four of us!”

“We were busy with college.” Nesta argued, clenching and unclenching her jaw.

“And what? I had all the time in the world? I had shit to do! I also had school to focus on!” Feyre shouted.

“We’re sorry, Feyre.” Elain said.

“Sorry?” Shrieked Feyre. “I don’t need your fucking apologies! What I needed was for my sisters to be there for me. To help me!”

“Feyre, please let us in so we can talk.” Begged Elain.

“No. I don’t want to talk to you guys, let alone have you inside my-- Mor’s-- house.”

Hurt was evident in Elain’s eyes. “I know we made a mistake, Fey, but--”

“Don’t call me that.” Feyre snapped.

“Come on, Elain.” Nesta said, reaching for her sister’s arm. “It’s clear Feyre doesn’t want us here.”

“Feyre, please.” Whispered Elain.

“Good-bye.” Was all Feyre said before slamming the door shut.

She paced around the house, not bothering to wipe the tears rolling down her pale cheeks. Feyre had often wondered what would happen if she encountered her sisters; this was not at all what she thought.

What did I expect? She thought. Feyre knew she would confront them about all the years they let Feyre do the work, but she didn’t expect it to go this way. Yet, a weight seemed to be lifted off her shoulders. It felt good to yell at them, to express her thoughts.

A knock sounded at the door. Feyre hastily wiped the tears and rushed to the door.

“I told you guys to le-- oh, Rhys.”

“Hello, Feyre darling.” Rhys greeted, his violet eyes narrowing. “Are you crying? What happened?”

“I…”

“Sorry,” He interrupted. “That’s nosy. Don’t feel obligated to answer, just ignore that.”

Despite her mood, Feyre’s lips tugged upwards. “It’s alright. Do you want to come in?”

“Yes. I mean, I came to talk to you, but if you want to be alone I understand. I can just come back later, or never, or whenever you want to see me. Not that you have to of course, I just mean that if you don’t want company--” Rhysand rambled.

“Rhys! It’s okay. You can come in.” Feyre chuckled.

Rhys stepped in, keeping his head down. Feyre didn’t missed his colored cheeks, though.

“Awww. Is someone blushing?” She teased.

“W-what? N-no! I’m just hot.” Rhys sputtered.

“Sure.”

The pair sat down on the couch. A beat of silence passed before Rhys spoke again.

“Feyre… if you aren’t feeling alright, then maybe I should go. What I want to take to you about will probably upset you more.”

“Rhys, just tell me.”

Rhys took out his phone and pulled something up before showing Feyre. The picture on his phone felt like a punch to the gut. It was the same photo Elain showed her. The same one Amren brought to her. The one she looked at every night wondering: Why? Why did he do this? How could he?

I warm hand cupped her cheek, thumb wiping away tears she didn’t realize were falling.

“I’m so sorry, Feyre. I don’t want you to hurt more, but I thought you would want to know.”

“I do.”

“What?”

Feyre met Rhys’s worried gaze. “On my first day, Amren came into my dressing room. She showed me the magazine. I wanted to tell you guys, but didn’t know how.”

Rhys reached to pull Feyre into a hug but stopped short. “May I?” He asked.

Feyre nodded, extending her arms out to Rhys. He enveloped her in a warm, welcoming embrace.

“I don’t know why I still get upset. I mean, Amren said that there was a part of me that still loved Tamlin-- the one I used to love. I thought I would be over it by now.”

“It will likely take a while to get over the pain, Darling.”

They parted, but stayed close to one another.

“Will you stay here? I would actually like some company.”

“Of course, Feyre darling.”

“Varian? It’s Amren.”

“I know who it is, Amren. I have you in my contacts. Your name pops up when you call.” Varian explained, obvious amusement in his deep voice.

“Shut up.” Amren snapped.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Listen, Varian, what do you know about Anthony Hybern?” Amren inquired. Silence answered.

“You can talk now, you ass.” Amren said.

“Is that how you should treat your boyfriend?” Varian joked. “But I do know a lot about Hybern.”

“What?”

“Well, he is a shady businessman. He makes it his job to trick big companies into signing contracts that put them out of business. Hybern is also filthy rich, which makes it easy for him to buy people’s silence. The man also has contacts everywhere.”

“I know all that. Is there anything else you know?” She inquired.

“Ummm… oh! I overheard Tarquin talking about how Hybern is teaming up with the Spring Court Agency for something. I’m not sure what specifically is going on between the two. Sorry, babe.”

“No worries. I’ll find out.”

“You always do. I love you, Amren. Bye.” Varian said.

“Love you, too.” Amren answered before hanging up.

Amren sent out a group e-mail to the Inner Circle.

Group meeting. Tomorrow at noon. Bring Feyre and Lucien.

Amren was ticked off at how secretive the meeting between Hybern, Tamlin, and Ianthe. She knew one thing for sure though. Something horrible is going to happen. Something that may ruin the Night Court.

Azriel exited Tamlin’s mansion like shadows. In and out. He finished hooking up the microphones and video recorders in various places around his home, especially the office. He checked the black watch on his wrist: 4:57. A little more than an hour before the meeting would take place.

Azriel got into his sleek black Jaguar and drove far away, but still in range of the Bluetooth recorders. He pulled out his battered copy of The Lord of the Rings and settled in.

“When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced…”

Mor was stuck. She knew how she wanted the dress to look like, but she wasn’t sure how to do express it.

I need a break, She decided.

At that moment, her phone rang. She smiled at the screen before answering.

“Hey, Andromache!”

“Mor! Hi!” Andromache’s honey-like voice answered.

“What’s up?” Mor asked.

“Well, I finished up a fitting for the Day Court fashion show. Today was the last day for it and Helion just informed everyone that we have a vacation for the next week and a half, so I can come up to your place.”

“That’s awesome!” Mor exclaimed. “I can’t wait to see you again!”

“Same. I’ve missed you.”

“Me, too. It sucks we both work so much.” Mor sighed.

“Yeah, but at least we can see each other soon.”

“Do you want me to come down and pick you up? Or will you drive yourself?”

“I’ll drive up. I have to go now. I’ll talk to you later?”

“Yeah.” Mor said. “I love you.”

“And I you.”

The call ended leaving Mor feeling down. She wished their lives weren’t so busy. She missed when they first met in college and could hang out more often. This was her passion, though, and modeling was Andromache’s. If doing what they loved meant not spending much time together, then so be it.

The sound of knuckles rapping on a wooden door filled the silence.

“Come in.” Mor called.

Clotho appeared in the doorway with a note clutched in her hands.

“Hello, Clotho.” Mor smiled. Clotho nodded her head in greeting.

When Mor was starting out as a designer, she found Clotho being brutally attacked by a gang of males. She rescued her and helped her heal in whatever way she could. Clotho couldn’t speak afterwards and her hands were injured. Mor offered her a job so Clotho could provide for herself. She accepted a position as the secretary.

Clotho held out a note for Mor. After the attack, Clotho thankfully regained usage of her hands. Now, she communicates using writing.

Someone’s waiting for you in the lobby. was scrawled across the lined paper.

Mor got a sense of déjà vu. She remembered this situation from when Feyre and Lucien first came the week prior.

Mor thanked Clotho and practically ran out of her office. She was burning with curiosity. When Mor saw who was waiting for her, she came to a sudden halt.

“Andi!” She gasped.

Her girlfriend looked over. “Surprise!”

“Oh my god! What are you doing here?” Mor asked rushing over to embrace Andromache.

“I told you I was on vacation!” Andromache laughed.

“Yeah, but I thought you were coming later.” Said Mor.

“I didn’t want to waste any time, so I drove up as soon as Helion dismissed us.” Andromache explained, bending down to kiss Mor on her full lips.

Mor felt so relieved to be in her girlfriend’s arms. It felt right.

“So, do you need to work, or are you done for the day?” Andromache asked.

“I was just working on designs. I can finish them at home. Let me just run up and get my sketches.” Mor said, turning around to head to her office.

“I’m coming with you!” Andromache called, jogging to meet Mor.

Lucien sat on the wooden bench in Velaris Park. He didn’t know how far he walked nor how long he was gone for. All Lucien knew was that he needed to get fresh air.

When he used to live in Autumn Court, Lucien would walk to get out from the house where he was treated like dirt. It helped clear his mind. After the night he had, Lucien desperately needed a walk. He kept remembering conversations he and Cassian had.

“Why do you want to talk to me?” Lucien asked.

“We don’t really know each other.” Cassian explained. “It’s easier to talk about stuff to people who don’t really know you that well, and I have shit I need to get off my chest.”

Half of Lucien was honored Cassian came to confide in him. The other was telling him that Cassian only came to talk, not because he wanted to be with Lucien.

“Like what?” Lucien inquired.

“I was seeing this man, Christopher. No one knew about him. I’m not sure why, but recently I’ve been wanting to find someone to settle down with. I’m twenty-seven, Foxboy. I always thought I would’ve found someone by now; have a family with them.” He said.

“Did it not work out between you two?”  

“No. I didn’t feel anything for him and I’ve been dating him for two weeks. It seems short, but I thought I would’ve had some sort of feelings for him, ya know. I guess after years of sleeping with people only, I’m so used to that notion of not getting feelings for anyone, that I’m incapable of being in a loving relationship.”

Lucien didn’t know how to respond to that. He put a hand on Cassian’s shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze.

“I’ve seen you with your friends, Cassian. You are capable of loving. Maybe all you need is the right person.”

Cassian turned to lock eyes with Lucien. They looked into each other’s eyes for who knows how long. He could’ve sworn Cassian leaned forward a centimeter, but the moment was over in a blink of an eye.

Lucien snapped out the memory. He and Cassian stayed up for a long time after that, talking about anything or just enjoying each other’s company. At least, Lucien hoped Cassian enjoyed being with Lucien.

Lucien got up from the bench and started walking back to Mor’s place. As he headed back, Lucien kept his mind focused away from the feelings bubbling up inside him.

Feelings that have been dormant since Andras died.

Please let me know your thoughts! Updates weekly on Saturdays!

Much love,

bookaholic1012

[janelizziemarykittylydia-blog]

Shattered Glass Smiles

Note: This is my first fic I’m posting on tumblr! I hope you all enjoy (feedback always appreciated)! Hopefully this will end up being multi-chapter! :D

Find on ao3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11445327

Send me prompts!

Synopsis: In which the year is 1959, Feyre is engaged to Senator Tamlin Greene, and Rhysand is the head of a notorious mafia dynasty called the Night Court. 

Chapter 1: "Hide Your Bruises, Senator's Wife"

Sometimes I wondered what my life could have been—if there was ever a time, a place, where I did not go to sleep with a knife tucked beneath my pillow, a loaded gun on my bedside table.

Some people, I was told, kept books on their nightstands—candles, reading glasses; half-empty mugs of tea.

Rhys and I put our guns and knives on our nightstands. Burner phones tucked in the drawer, emergency first-aid kits open on the surface, half a dozen passports in a hidden compartment; cash for fifteen different countries in a miniature safe.

Maybe there was a life where I seldom did not sleep through the night, where I knew what it was to be happy and unafraid.

But that was not this life.

Rhysand handed me the gun that day, but I already knew how to shoot.

November 1959

Westhampton, New York

God, I hated these parties.

The car drew up to the curb, Hart's gloved hands twisting the wheel. "Here you are, Mr. Greene," he said, grinning at us in the rearview mirror.

Tamlin smiled at him. He'd donned his senator's smile tonight, polished and smooth: golden hair cropped and parted, teeth even and white, shoulders broad, chin dimpled. "Thank you," he said, checking his watch. "Pick us up at—eleven-thirty, say?"

"Better make it midnight," Lucien said, straightening the lapels of his jacket, immaculate as they already were.

I winced, though neither of them noticed. The idea of staying at this function until midnight was enough to set my teeth on edge, but—it was campaigning, I reminded myself. For Tamlin, for the next election.

"Midnight, then," Tamlin amended.

Hart nodded, easing out of the car to open the door for us. Tamlin stepped out onto the curling drive leading to the Hampton estate first, Lucien hot on his heels. I was last, grabbing fistfuls of my dress.

"Thank you, Hart," I said, offering him a weak smile.

He tipped his cap to me, cheeks a bit flushed, and shut the door with a snap, heading back for the wheel.

I paused for a moment, inhaling. The night air felt good on my skin, cold and bitter and brisk, full of November bite, grounded by the stars' faint, present glow.

A hand ghosted along my back, the faint scent of nighttime erased by the stronger, more pervasive aroma of Tamlin's cologne. "You look lovely tonight."

"You look rather handsome yourself," I said, tweaking his tie a bit. I hated this dress; it was sequined and glittering, cut high at the collarbone and long-sleeved; demure and flashy at the same time. But Tamlin liked me in it, had bought the dress for me, so I wore it.

"I know you don't like these sorts of things," he said as we started down the drive to the mansion. I could hear the murmur of voices and clink of glasses from here, the naked rosebushes and topiaries stark. "Though, of course, neither do I.”

"I'm to be a senator's wife, aren't I?" I said, looking down at the ring on my finger. Emerald, enormous—glaring. I let my hand drop. "If it's the price to pay for being with you, I'll gladly pay it."

Something softened in his gaze, and Lucien cleared his throat a few feet away. "We're here," he said, mounting the steps to the front door.

"Subtle," Tamlin said, shooting his friend a look.

"I strive," Lucien said, pressing the doorbell.

I adjusted the wrap around my shoulders, shivering a bit, and Tamlin's hand slid from the small of my back to the crook of my waist.

I couldn't quite hide my wince, though, at the small, faint bruises there, and his hand dropped immediately, his features going blank.

But before I could apologize, the door swung open—a butler, clad in a glossy black suit, smiling at us. "Hello," he said.

Lucien pulled the invitations out of his jacket. "Senator Greene," he said, jerking his head at Tamlin, "his fiancee, Feyre Archeron, and Lucien Vanserra."

"Of course," the butler said, admitting us inside. We shrugged off our coats, handing it to him. "Right this way."

We followed him through the hallways, all paneled with mahogany, the floors covered in thick, plush Persian carpets. It was dark inside the house, heavy and gothic, and I felt my chest tightening, the walls pressing in—

Lucien glanced back at me and slowed his steps a bit, coming to walk by my side with Tamlin ahead. "Breathe," he muttered.

I glared at him. "I'm trying my best," I snapped, careful to keep my voice low.

Lucien just looked at me again, but he didn't walk any faster. He stayed by my side as we eased our way into a large, opulent room full of other guests, all donned in silks and satins and pearls.

Campaigning. Next election.

I breathed out through my nose, and the butler disappeared, leaving me with the wolves. Jesus fuck, I hated these parties. I didn't think I could say that out loud, though.

The room was enormous, with long banquet tables piled with appetizers, servers walking around with hors d'oeuvres. Tamlin snagged three champagne glasses for us, and I took a healthy sip of mine, ignoring Lucien's reproving glower.

It was six-thirty. I could make it, what—six and a half hours? At least an hour or so would be occupied by eating. I could do that. I liked food.

Despite the fact that I hadn't had much of an appetite lately.

The owner of the house, Ianthe, came sashaying up to us, smiling brightly. "Tamlin, I'm so glad you could make it," she said, clasping his hands and kissing him once on each cheek. My shoulders eased—I liked Ianthe, a childhood friend of Tamlin's. She moored me during these parties, took the helm of conversations, guided me through the treacherous waters of socialite politics. She was an heiress herself, and a frequent visitor at Tamlin's penthouse on Park Avenue.

Lucien, on the other hand, went rigid, draining his champagne and moving past, muttering something about going to find more.

Tamlin frowned after Lucien, but he was distracted by Ianthe swooping in on me. I stiffened as her arms closed around me—as a cloud of golden hair enveloped me, the scent of hairspray overpowering, and fought not to thrash to get free—

She pulled back, smiling, and I forced myself to smile back. "You look gorgeous tonight," Ianthe said. "That dress is positively divine." She winked at me. "I helped Tam pick it out, you know."

"I... didn't," I said slowly, glancing at Tamlin.

"Ianthe helps me with these kinds of things all the time," Tamlin said, waving his hand. "I hardly know what to buy you most days."

I plastered a smile on my face, determined to keep it there—the senator's wife smile I'd been grooming for the past few months. "I suppose I have you to be grateful for, then."

She linked her arm through mine. "Tam, Governor Richards is right over there. I'm going to steal your adorable fiancee for myself."

Tamlin chuckled. "Have fun," he said, waving us off and heading over to a white-haired man in an appallingly beige suit in the corner.

"So, Feyre," said Ianthe. "How is the wedding planning?"

I shrugged. "You've done most of it," I said, tugging at my sleeve. "You probably know more than I do."

"No new surprises? Well, that's good." She paused to give an incline of her head to a woman in a plum-colored dress. "Weddings can be so tricky—especially for people like us."

"People like us?"

"People determined to do it right," she clarified. "There is a wrong way and a right way to have a wedding, Feyre, and those small, inexpensive affairs—" She sniffed. "That, my dear, is the wrong way."

I tucked a curl behind my ear. "Oh."

Ianthe paused, frowning slightly as she accepted a shrimp from a server. I shook my head, thanking the server, who smiled at me before walking off. "Where’s Lucien gone, anyhow?"

"Ah..." I trailed off. I couldn't say what I was thinking: that Lucien, for reasons unknown to me, despised Ianthe, and had likely fled when faced with the prospect of polite conversation with her. "The restroom?"

Just then, the doors to the room opened again, and the butler walked in—but this time, he wasn't smiling. In fact, he was rather pale.

"I think—" I started, but the butler was already coming our way.

"Excuse me, miss," the butler said to Ianthe, "but there's someone at the door, insisting rather loudly that he's come to see you. Several someones, as a matter of fact."

Ianthe took a sip from her champagne glass. "What are you standing there for? Send them in, Bron. We don’t want to be rude.”

"Not more guests," Bron said. A sheen of sweat glistened at his temples, and he glanced at me warily. "It—they're members of the Night Court. Here to see about a debt owed."

Crash.

The champagne flute slid, neatly, slickly, from Ianthe's fingers, shattering on the ground.

Conversation halted, and people turned to stare at Ianthe, who'd gone white as parchment paper.

"Who?" Ianthe hissed, grabbing onto Bron's wrist. "Which members of the Night Court?"

"Morrigan," Bron sputtered, wetting his lips. "And..."

"And who?"

"Ianthe," I murmured, noticing the blatantly curious stares. "Maybe—"

But at that moment, two shadowed shapes filled the doorway where Bron had stood just moments before, framed by mahogany and crystal, illuminated by light leaking from Tiffany stained-glass lamps.

One of them was unfamiliar to me. A woman, clad not in a dress but a pair of black silk pants and a glittering sweater cut to the navel, golden curls spilling out over her shoulders in a sea of cold sunshine.

But the other…

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Amethyst-eyed, dressed impeccably, grinning like a wolf in the sheep's den.

Which, I supposed, he was.

"Ianthe," he purred, sliding his hands in his pockets. "I've come to collect."

I forced myself to freeze—to still the breaths in my chest. I turned my head, slowly, letting my hair fall over my cheek, obscuring my profile from view.

"Rhysand," Tamlin growled, stepping forward from the corner.

"Hello, Tammie," Rhysand said, with a smile I remembered—a smile that blanketed a layer of ice over my still-beating heart.

I did not move. I did not speak.

Hopefully—hopefully, he wouldn’t notice me.

Please, God, don’t let him notice me.

“Rhysand,” Ianthe said, wetting her lips and forcing a smile upon her pasty cheeks. “I’m so glad you could make it.” She laughed, high and clear, and surrounding observers turned back to their chitchat and appetizers, shooting us curious glances.

“Ianthe,” he said pleasantly. “Nice party.”

Somehow, I didn’t think he believed it was a particularly nice party at all.

She inclined her head.

"Lovely curtains," Rhysand drawled, running his fingers along the edge of a heavy brocade curtain in a violent shade of yellow that was not, in fact, lovely at all.

"They're antique," said Ianthe.

"Hmm." Rhysand turned toward her, that implacable smile unmoving. "Do you want to do this with an audience, or can you direct me to a less..." He observed the room, lip curling. "Populated arena, so to speak."

"There's a parlor," Ianthe said quickly. She patted my elbow. "Feyre, dearest, I'll be right back. If you could just—"

But Rhysand had gone still, every muscle and bone in his body rippling with tension.

He’d noticed me, then. Ianthe had said my name.

"Feyre, is it?" he asked me quietly.

I met his gaze with as much courage as I could muster. "Hello."

Rhysand's lips peeled back—peeled back, as if he were a feral animal. I was reminded, absurdly, of a leopard I had seen prowling his cage in a zoo years ago, back and forth, back and forth, claws barely restrained.

"Were you going to say anything?" he asked. "I wonder."

"Don't bother," I replied, words tumbling out of my mouth. "I wasn't."

Something raced through my veins—a challenge. A beckoning. Fuck you, Rhysand, I thought, reveling, for a moment, in feeling larger than an ant tottering along the cracks in the sidewalk.

And then—

A hand closed on my elbow. Tightly. I snapped my lips shut to hide a wince.

"Enough," Tamlin rumbled in my ear. To Rhysand, he said, "Get away from her."

Rhysand's face didn't alter a millimeter. He didn't so much as glance at Tamlin. "Possessive, are we?"

Tamlin took a threatening step forward. "You—"

Lucien flicked his gaze between Tamlin and Rhysand, the color rapidly draining from his cheeks. He looked as if he'd swallowed an olive whole, pit and all.

"Goodbye, Feyre," Rhysand said. A muscle ticking in his jaw was the only sign he felt afflicted at all. "It's been a pleasure, as always."

"I wish I could say the same," I replied, Tamlin's hand taut and tight.

Rhysand didn't respond. Instead, he pivoted on his foot and strode from the room, the woman—Morrigan—beside him, just as icy and elegant. Rhysand loved his dramatics, I thought, something vile swirling and ebbing in my stomach.

"Ianthe," Tamlin said. "What the hell—"

"Not now." Ianthe's lips barely moved.

Tamlin growled, releasing me and shoving me backwards a step as he stalked over to Ianthe, demanding something in low, furious tones.

I needed—air. It was too hot in the room, stuffy enough that I felt bottled-in, caught in a box of glass, hands pressed to the panes, breath fogging—

I didn't look at Lucien, didn't speak to Tamlin, as I left the room abruptly, sequins scratching my ankles.

I wasn't stupid enough to take the hallway that Rhys and Mor had used, and I soon became lost in a matrix of corridors and flickering sconces. The house was medieval, dark wood and russet tones, pressing and suffocating and—

My hands met the polished slab of a door. Shoving it open, I expected to meet more damask and lacquer, but instead...

Fresh air, scented faintly with sea brine and pine. Cold and sharp enough to purge some sickness from my chest, clearing out my throat. I leaned down, propping my hands on my knees, and counted my breaths. One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four...

I scrabbled inside my handbag, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a matchbox, and lit up, inhaling smoke. The acrid scent of tobacco grounded me, reminded me where I stood. It made me think of Nesta, curled up in an armchair with a box of Camels at her side, and Elain, wrinkling her nose. Nest-aa, she'd whine. Put it out. They smell awful.

Rhysand. I hadn't expected to see him ever again—had thought I'd buried him in that cellar with the rest of my demons.

But like the rest of my demons, he'd risen from the dead, nipping at my heels and forcing me to take notice. I'm not gone, he seemed to say. And you can't forget me.

"Feyre?" A familiar voice—Lucien.

I didn't speak as he walked up to me, soles of his shoes scuffing on the pavement. "Are you—smoking?"

"What of it?" I said, blowing out a stream of gray smoke.

"I didn't know you smoked," he said. What he meant was that Tamlin preferred his women bereft of cigarettes—tobacco was a man's luxury, at least according to him; it was unseemly for women to smoke. He never stooped to Marlboros or Pall Malls, though, preferring instead expensive cigars.

"Surprise."

Lucien didn't say anything as he came to stand beside me. I knew he wanted me to ask about Tamlin, but I—wouldn't. Or perhaps couldn't. Either way.

"Can I have one?" he said at last.

I started, raising my brows. Wordlessly, I handed him a lit cig, watching him inhale in a smooth, practiced movement.

"I hate these parties," he said finally.

"So do I."

"You'll have to host them someday, you know," he said. "It'll be expected of a senator's wife."

Expected. Everyone, these days, seemed to expect things from me. It wasn't enough to wear my own smile, my own face, to speak the words that came from my own mouth. It wasn't enough to be me. Politics was a world of tailors, of taking in and letting out, adjusting and sewing and stitching back up until none of the original, fallible human beneath remained.

"Where's Tamlin?" I asked, breaking my initial pact.

"Inside," he said. "Mingling."

I took a drag, shivering a bit in the cold.

Lucien shrugged off his jacket. "Here," he said, handing it to me. "You look cold."

"Thank you," I said, shrugging it on one sleeve at a time. It was comically large on me, and I had to roll up the sleeves, but it was warm. I sat down on a rock as Lucien slouched against the trunk of a manicured tree, both of us lost with roaming thoughts and smoke.

He didn't ask if I was alright, how I felt about seeing Rhysand for so long, but that was fine. Lucien knew the answers, anyway.

"Let's stay out here for a little," I said.

Lucien nodded, and I peered up at the stars, counting them one-by-one, as I had when I was a little girl and had trouble falling asleep.

***

I didn't see Rhysand again before we left.

He, Morrigan, and Ianthe retired to some ostentatious front parlor. Ianthe reemerged midway through the party, white-lipped, and I heard the rumble of an expensive car announcing his departure.

Tamlin, predictably, was furious with Lucien and I. This is my career, he'd hissed, and you just walked off. Do either of you care?

I'd borne his rage with a bowed head and silence, just as I took all his tidal waves of anger. Most of them washed over me, leaving me battered but still intact. And if a piece of driftwood or two snagged my skin—well, it was a superficial wound.

When Bron handed me back my coat and I put my hand in the pocket, my fingers met crumpled paper.

Nothing had been in my pockets when I’d arrived at the party. Someone had left me a note.

I didn't dare to bring it out in front of Tamlin and Lucien. Instead, I waited for the relative security of my dressing room back at the penthouse before retrieving it, smoothing the paper out on my vanity.

Clear, graceful script. Simple words, though my blood still boiled—Rhysand knew I couldn't read, or was mostly-illiterate. It took me near twenty minutes to figure out the six-word message.

Don't forget our deal, Feyre darling.

Beneath was a phone number, and Rhysand’s name.

I considered ignoring it—and shelved that idea. Clearly, if Rhysand's visitation to Ianthe's party was any indication, he could call in his dues whether I called him or not. I had no idea what Ianthe owed him—I hadn't even known she had any sort of connection to Rhysand and his ilk—but it didn't matter. Big or small, Rhysand collected debts like some people collect stamps, or coins, or miniatures statuettes. And he did not forget them.

I tucked the message and the phone number into my jewelry box, slipping into bed beside Tamlin.

He rolled over, already asleep, and wrapped his arms around my waist, nestling his chin into the crook of my neck.

To be collected at a later date, Rhysand had said that day.

It seemed that later date had arrived.

[illyriantremors]

ACOMAF Part 2.1 The House of Wind: Chapters 14-27 (Rhys POV)

Chapter 14: Feyre’s First Visit to the Townhouse Chapter 15: Rhys Shows Feyre Velaris & Flies Her to Dinner Chapter 16: Feyre’s Dinner with the Inner Circle Chapter 17: Feyre’s Nightmare Chapter 18: The Bone Carver Chapter 19: After the Bone Carver Chapters 20-21: The Weaver & the Memory of Ianthe Chapters 22-24: The First Visit to the Mortal Realms & Meeting Nesta and Elain Chapters 25-27: Feyre trains with Rhys & the Attor Attacks

AN: Chapters 14-27 of ACOMAF from Rhys’s POV! Chapter 14 is pasted below while the remaining chapters linked above go to AO3. I’ve started work on the next set, but don’t have much yet. Enjoy!

Thank you, as always, to @kitashiwrites, who is my rock, my spirit animal, and my grammar instructor who makes this so much easier. Thank you for always instilling confidence in me when I feel like such utter crap about writing these. Your enthusiasm never ceases to amaze me!

Chapter 14

Summary: Rhys brings Feyre to Velaris after saving her from Tamlin's prison in the Spring Court. His inner circle crashes their brief landing in Rhys's townhouse, sending Feyre upstairs. Downstairs, Rhys chats with his family and learns about another temple raid from Azriel.

You Are Safe Here

"Welcome to my home.”

It was a damned miracle to watch Feyre survey my townhouse, the most private space I occupied. And here she was suddenly inside it.

The moment was so surreal, that I had to lean against the oak threshold separating us from the sitting room to keep myself steady. Feyre, despite what I could tell was a decent amount of surprise at where she’d landed and a considerable amount of concern for what she might find beyond these walls, didn’t miss a single detail. From the plush fabrics lining the furniture to the woven carpets and open windows, to worn bookcases and soft sounds from outside, she saw it all.

And I wondered if some part of her registered that she was really seeing a glimpse of me.

The palace she had spent two weeks in miles and miles away was easily representative of one half of me - the calculating, regal half that delighted in luxury without apology. But that portion was also who I was as a diplomat, the High Lord.

Here, I was home.

And she was still apprehensive.

“What is this place?” she asked and she sounded almost disbelieving, like any moment she might wake up.

“This is my house. Well, I have two homes in the city. One is for more... official business, but this is only for me and my family.”

Feyre kept a sharp eye as her gaze flicked immediately away from me and stared down the hallway behind her questioning. The house replied with a warm, open silence - an invitation of sorts.

“Nuala and Cerridwen are here,” I said. “But other than that, it’ll just be the two of us.”

I waited for her to say something, but her biting commentary never came. Mercifully, it wasn’t the silence I’d come to expect that cried out hatred upon my back when I left the room or slashed at my soul with cuts and sneers to keep me out. Feyre was simply frozen in time and space as she stilled to look at the walls. I only hoped it was more from shock than any actual discomfort. Being here - I needed her to be okay with it, with even just this one small part of me, the most honest and normal portion there was. And also, the most human - the most like her.

Too long a stretch of silence passed. I took a careful step towards her, ready to explain further, when a shock of sound slammed into the fogged glass of the atrium door that led outside. I didn’t have to look to know who was behind it.

“Hurry up, you lazy ass,” Cassian barked behind the glass. Feyre’s head whizzed to the sound. She looked exhausted just by the very idea she might have another guest to deal with let alone two more. I knew for Cassian to be here this early, he wouldn’t be alone.

“Two things, Feyre darling,” I said, interrupted by another pounding.

“If you’re going to pick a fight with him, do it after breakfast.”

Azriel.

Feyre’s brow peaked as if she could feel the shadows that cocooned my brother day and night even with a door between them. Knowing Azriel, he was likely experiencing something similar himself thanks to his smokey friends.

“I wasn’t the one who hauled me out of bed just now to fly down here,” Cassian said tartly before sneering at Az, “Busybody.”

The exchange was so brief, and yet, when Feyre slid her gaze to me at the end of it, it was hard not to laugh - to smile. Even if only a little bit.

The reality of the moment hit me then in full force. Feyre was little more than a handful of steps away from my brothers, my family, my city - people and places I thought she would never see except maybe on a battlefield or in a court room with sentinels from an entirely different court at her side.

And yet, here we were. Cassian complaining about being dragged out of bed at an ungodly hour like I knew he would, Azriel dutifully pushing him here to do it. And Feyre hadn’t even met them yet but she was so close to seeing them, seeing it all.

The thought made me rather... giddy inside.

But she was tired. The hollows under her eyes were a deepening purple and her shoulders sagged at her sides so that her back and neck slumped. One would have thought she’d never slept a day in her life, never mind the hours she’d spent in bed only thirty minutes ago.

“One,” I said, making sure to shirk off the smile threatening to break free so she could understand that she needn’t worry here, “no one - no one - but Mor and I are able to winnow directly inside this house. It is warded, shielded, and then warded some more. Only those I wish - and you wish - may enter. You are safe here; and safe anywhere in this city, for that matter. Velaris’s walls are well protected and have not been breached in five thousand years. No one with ill intent enters this city unless I allow it. So go where you wish, do what you wish, and see who you wish.”

Another pounding sounded at the door and again, it was an effort not to give in to Cassian’s inexhaustible ability to dig at me.

“Those two in the antechamber,” I continued, ready for the snide remark sure to follow, “might not be on that list of people you should bother knowing, if they keep banging on the door like children.”

I didn’t bother lowering my voice so they wouldn’t hear me outside, but I hadn’t raised it either, and all the same, Cassian still pounded relentlessly on the door and added, “You know we can hear you, prick.”

A little thrill went up my spine that I stood solidly firm over to hide it. They were so close - both halves of my life. So, so unbearably close that the anticipation of it was just as much a nuisance to lock down as a happiness to feel.

“Secondly,” I said casually, with just enough emphasis to piss Cass off and with any luck earn a long suffering sigh from Azriel, “in regard to the two bastards at my door, it’s up to you whether you want to meet them now, or head upstairs like a wise person, take a nap since you’re still looking a little peaky, and then change into city-appropriate clothing while I beat the hell out of one of them for talking to his High Lord like that.”

Feyre looked at me in bewilderment. Her shields were in perfect tact. I didn’t want to rifle through her head for every little emotion and thought, not at the cost of her personal space. But I would have been lying if I’d said it would not have been nice for this to have been one of those beautiful moments where she let me in on her mind’s turbulent seas to understand her better. What I would have given to know what she was thinking just then and here I was too scared out of my mind to ask while I waited for a decision, even as the adrenaline begged me to...

Her face appeared easy at first, some of those muscles in her tired body relaxed as she surveyed my face in a way I’d never seen from her before. And then it fell, miserably low and I thought she might yawn or fall over on the spot.

“Just come get me when they’re gone,” she finally said. It was an effort not to let my disappointment show. Part of me wanted everyone I loved to meet then and there and be done with it, but her peace was more important.

Then again, that peace might never be possible if Feyre found my family wasn’t one she could be a part of, if she found them too -

“You Illyrians are worse than cats yowling to be let in the back door.” Amren’s razor thin voice cut the silence between Feyre and I sharply. I heard the handle of the door jingle harshly as she tried it. “Really, Rhysand? You locked us out?”

Whatever was in Amren’s tone today was not one Feyre was ready to face apparently because she immediately dismissed herself without another word and made for the stairs where I knew Nuala and Cerridwen would be waiting to intercept her. I listened for her footsteps, waiting until she was well out of the danger zone, before I opened the door and my entryway was flooded by my hulking brothers and the short, blunt woman who somehow outsized them both.

Cassian clapped me on the back, shaking the chill off of him as he strode past me towards the warmer air. “Welcome home, bastard,” he said by way of greeting. “I sensed you were back. Mor filled me in, but I-”

Amren stepped directly into my path, cutting Cassian off with an annoyed glare. “Send your dogs out in the yard to play, Rhysand. You and I have matters to discuss.”

But while her displeasure had been directed at Cassian, it was Azriel who replied with that cold, deadly insistence, the only one who dared go toe-to-toe with Amren for my attention. When it came to political matters, at least.

“As do I,” Azriel said and there was no mistaking his meaning. Amren didn’t so much as move.

“We were here first,” Cassian said, much more casually than Az. “Wait your turn, Tiny Ancient One.”

Okay, maybe Azriel wasn’t the only one willing to play with Amren. The snarl that ripped from between her sharp teeth was low, but perfectly clear.

Mor startled me when she rounded the corner from the kitchen, a steaming cup of tea between her hands and wearing a lazy set of loose pants and a sweater that said she could have just woken up. I wondered whether she’d stayed the night here after forewarning Azriel of the last day’s events or if she’d met him this morning and winnowed in without bothering to change.

“Why is everyone here so early?” She said, still sleepy. “I thought we were meeting tonight at the House.”

Everyone stared at me waiting and for a second, seeing my house full of people with nothing but complaint while Feyre went through her own mini-hell adjusting upstairs was tiresome. “Trust me, there’s no party. Only a massacre, if Cassian doesn’t shut his mouth.”

Cass blew me off. “We’re hungry. Feed us. Someone told me there’d be breakfast.”

Az’s lips gave a tug as he chose a plush backless seat to lean over, ready as ever to get straight to business.

“Pathetic,” Amren said. Never one to be outdone, she took her own seat across from the shadowsinger. “You idiots are pathetic.”

“We know that’s true. But is there food?” Mor flashed that insatiable grin of hers that won the hearts of men and women up and down Prythian, but Cass cut across her with a derisive snort.

“You’re the one who just came from the kitchen,” he said.

“That was for tea,” she said raising her mug and shaking it faintly in his direction. “And you know I don’t cook.”

“Can’t cook, you mean,” Azriel said. Their eyes met across the room and held some kind of quiet, teasing exchange the rest of us were never privy to.

When the shadows informed him that Mor’s eyes weren’t the only attention he held, Azriel cleared his throat and spoke in that cool stoicism of his. “So what’s the plan?”

“Hold on, hold on,” Cassian said. “I’d like to know what prompted these oncoming plans before we actually get in to them. Some of us don’t have shadows and personal secretaries to inform us of every little movement Rhys makes.” He gestured between Azriel and Mor. It was Mor who replied.

“Some of us,” she said, staring pointedly at Cassian, “need to learn the value of minding their own business and a little patience. And I thought we were eating first?”

“By the Cauldron,” I said, snapping my fingers. The coffee table filled with fruit and muffins. Mor squealed, reaching for her preferred chocolate muffins, Cassian not far behind taking a fat pomegranate, their conflict temporarily forgotten. Amren eyed the food with clear disdain.

“Miserable though this is,” Amren said, “I too would like a full account of recent events and the plans to follow.” Amren gave me half a heartbeat before her eyes lifted slowly to the ceiling above us where Feyre undoubtedly stayed, hopefully fast asleep between the fresh sheets of her new bed.

Everyone followed suit and I sank in to a chair, taking a nut muffin for myself with a few bites, and then let the incident in the Spring Court unfold.

“So she stays here from now on,” Azriel asked. I nodded. “And you’re content to trust her with the knowledge of this city - with Velaris?”

“Obviously,” I said. “She’s here, isn’t she.”

“You know what I mean, Rhys.”

“Azriel isn’t wrong,” Amren said. “This is a considerable step, Rhysand.”

“One that hasn’t been weighed without a great deal of consideration, Amren,” I replied and she eyed me stonily. I didn’t appreciate the full use of my name.

Though I’d only taken a handful of seconds before acquiescing to Feyre’s request to join me here, there had never been a doubt in my mind that she could handle keeping this secret or even that she would if she chose to assume the burden of it. I trusted my mate with that secret - and so much more, really.

“Feyre is now in a period of transition,” I went on. “She has survived a great deal in her return to the Spring Court alone and it has cost her almost everything. For that and because of certain... understandings with her, she is to be afforded the rights of this court until such a time comes where she chooses to no longer be apart of it. And even then, her word is good that she will not betray us.” Azriel’s shadows tightened tensely around his body as if searching for the validity of my statement. “None of you have reason to doubt me on this.”

I didn’t need to add that that was final. “And now?” Azriel asked.

“You’ll meet her tonight and have your fun, and then tomorrow we work. So long as Feyre resides in Velaris, we know she is safe. But if she should leave this city, Tamlin is bound to have every sentinel and guard in his court trying to find her whether she wants it or not. And not just Tamlin.”

Mor shuddered and swallowed the bite of fruit she’d been chewing. “You think others will be looking for her? Our enemies?”

“And Tamlin’s.”

“Because of-”

“Amarantha? Yes. Anyone who sided with her and managed to get out of that mountain alive will almost undoubtedly be looking for her.” My mind flicked through the suspects, from the Attor to creatures of a much darker sort. “If they’ve allied with Hybern, then it’s almost a guarantee. Tamlin might be foolish enough to think no one will suspect Feyre of being more than just another High Fae noble, but I am not.”

“You think she is more than what she appears?” Cassian asked, genuinely intrigued - enough to stop chewing, at least.

“I already know she is, and will discuss it another time. For now...” I looked at Azriel. He had information, but his eyes narrowed, the shadows flickering over his face in a haze that told me to wait. “For now, eat your food and make my life a living hell like you always do.”

Cassian huffed a laugh and swiped another piece of fruit off the table, this time an orange. He threw a blueberry that stuck in Mor’s hair and I thought she might light his leathers on fire.

They stayed for most of the morning. For the most part, we chatted about strategies for keeping Feyre safe from the enemies who might try and snatch her if the time came for her to leave while at the same time scheming how to use that to our advantage if it was Hybern or one of his cronies behind any attacks. And then there was general conversation about the war itself, the Illyrian war-bands constantly harping at me from the North, the temples, Tamlin...

It was exhausting. As excited as I’d been having them arrive and share the same roof as my mate, part of me would rather have joined Feyre upstairs and taken a good, long nap away from the endless chatter about subjects hell bent on killing me.

Amren pulled me aside onto the outdoor patio midway through the discussion to give her own private report. She left as soon as it was over and Azriel took her place.

“Any news yet?” I asked. Azriel didn’t have to ask what I meant as he eyed the balcony to Feyre’s room just above us.

“Nothing,” he said. “Tamlin put the entire court on lock down almost as soon as he realized Feyre was missing. The gap was open for a short time and likely only because he wasn’t home when Mor got her out. I’m not sure he realized right away what had happened.”

“His wards are weak - even for him.” Something that was deeply unsettling. For a High Lord intent on protecting what was owed to him, he sure missed one hell of a show from Feyre for all her trouble should have alerted him to what was happening in his own home. An explosion like that... he should have met Mor and I at the gates.

“Keep an eye on the court,” I said. “Go back tomorrow yourself and see if you can’t get anything out of it. She’s only been here a day and Tamlin’s not going to let this go even if Feyre shows up and puts a knife in his heart herself.”

Azriel nodded. A cruel shadow twisted off his lips as if it spoke the order itself to whatever eyes and ears awaited him tomorrow in the Spring Court - that they should be watching. Azriel didn’t move.

“Spit it out,” I said.

“It’s happened again,” he said with that cold, unyielding blade of a voice he had.

I sighed. “Tell me.”

And I already knew what was coming.

His face cracked just the slightest, knowing the blow he was about to deal.

“There’s been another attack. Same as the rest - priestesses slain, the place ransacked, and something missing even if it’s not apparent what.”

Relentless, icy rage glittered in my veins. Had I not wanted to leave Feyre to possibly meet my little entourage for the first time alone, I would have shot straight up into the skies and flown until sundown.

“Where?” I asked instead.

But just as before, I already knew the answer. Knew the doom it spelt. Knew that another clue to the riddle I suspected I’d already solved was coming.

Azriel’s lips tightened into a hard line before he answered, his eyes cold and screaming with the same rage I felt.

“The Temple at Sangravah.”

Cesere...

Sangravah...

And countless others.

My mind flashed to the war room I’d shown Feyre, and the maps strewn with marks and figures.

War was coming.

Thanks for reading, folks! Hit the links up top to continue reading the next chapter.

[epochofbelief]

Breath Control, Chapter Two

an A Court of Mist and Fury College Swim Team AU

Primarily Feysand.

Will include Nessian and Elriel!

All characters belong to Sarah J Maas.

Please enjoy!

Chapter Two

“Feyre. Have you done any work for the past hour that we’ve been sitting here?” 

Elain’s voice barely managed to penetrate my thoughts. I looked down at my textbook and shook my head. I had very bad cases of a hangover and a sour stomach. And embarrassment. And a broken heart. 

Thriving.

“Will you please just talk to me?” 

I’d met Elain at the library an hour ago, both of us planning to get some serious homework done before the week got started. I’d managed to tell Elain a little of what had happened last night but she hadn’t pried until now. 

“I don’t think I can talk about it.”

She huffed out a breath. “Feyre. If anyone knows what it feels like to have a broken heart, it would be me. So maybe I could help if you’d just talk to me.”

That’s right. Elain’s ex-boyfriend, Grayson, had broken up with her unexpectedly over the summer. Elain, positive he would be the man she married, and subsequently being denied admissions to the nursing schools she was trying to get into for grad school, had been in bad shape for a couple of months. I wasn’t sure if she was really okay now, or if she was just better at hiding it. She’d attended Mortal University for her undergraduate degree and had wanted to stay there for her masters--and hadn’t gotten in. Luckily she’d applied to Prythian’s school and had been accepted, but it wasn’t where she had wanted to end up at all. Away from her friends and our father, she’d started nursing school at the same time I’d started my sophomore year and I was pretty sure I was her only friend. 

Looked like she was my only friend, too. 

I sighed. Then explained. Tamlin and Ianthe all over each other. My public humiliation. And Rhys, unexpectedly driving me home and taking care of me, which was probably the most unexplainable part of the entire night. I hated it, but Tamlin’s behavior had hurt me but not surprised me. I’d barely said two words to Rhys the entire time I’d been at Prythian. We had a big swim team, about sixty people strong. Rhys and his friends--Cassian, Amren, Azriel, and Mor--were all in the middle distance group. Tamlin and Ianthe were sprinters. I swam distance, for the most part. The different training groups and large numbers made it difficult to bond with every single team member, so I didn’t know Rhys or his group at all. 

“Are you talking about Rhysand Night? That boy is hot.”

I did a double-take. That was a very brazen statement coming from Elain. “When have you ever even seen him?”

She raised her eyebrows. “I’ve been to your swim meets, you know. It’s easy to tell who has the best body and face from the stands.”

I groaned. “He saw me puke, Elain! I drunkenly poured my heart out to him. He must think I’m some kind of idiot. And now I am friendless on the team. Friendless. Especially after Rhys tells all his friends how pathetic I am.” I leaned over and put my face on my textbook. “I should quit now and cut my losses.”

Elain whacked me on the arm. “You most certainly will not quit! That beautiful boy was just--”

“Feyre?” 

I stilled. If I hadn’t recognized that voice last night, I definitely did now. Positive my cheeks were a flaming red, I slowly sat up. 

“Hey, Rhys,” I said meekly, my hand coming up in a very awkward wave. I shoved it back down.

“You ladies talking about beautiful boys? Surely no one around here, right?” He asked smoothly, folding his arms and leaning against a bookshelf.

Thank God Elain blushed for me. “Nobody you’d know.” 

He raised his brows and I prayed he hadn’t heard anything else. “Hey, I was going to text you. . . Then I realized I didn’t have your number. You left your wallet in my car last night… I didn’t find it until this morning. It’s in my backpack. I can go grab it and bring it to you.” 

I couldn’t believe I hadn’t even realized it was gone. “No, no, I’ll come with you. You don’t have to make another trip.” And ignoring his protests I jumped up and took off through the shelves. For some reason, I didn’t want him anywhere near Elain when she was casually throwing about the word “beautiful.” I scoffed. He wasn’t that attractive.

I was halfway through the stacks when I realized I didn’t actually know where I was going. “Uh…” 

“All my friends are over there. Are you sure you don’t want me to just grab it for you and bring it to you here?” 

I stopped in my tracks. I had the feeling he knew I wasn’t in the mood to speak to anyone right now. A mood I had been in for the past few months, but. . . I blew out a breath.  “Um. Yeah. Thank you.”

He squeezed past me, and for a moment I found myself so close to him I could feel his body heat as he turned and sidestepped through the narrow space between me and the shelves. I could have sworn he was holding his breath as he passed, and I had to crane my neck to see his face. Our eyes met. I shivered.

Then he was gone. I blew out another breath and slumped against the shelf behind me. What was wrong with me? I’d been broken up with Tamlin for less than twenty-four hours and I was already noticing other guys. Disgusted with myself, I stared at the titles across from me. 

Rhys was back in less than a minute, my wallet in his outstretched hand. I took it from him, taking extra care not to brush his hand with mine. “Thanks.” 

I made to turn around and return to the safety of Elain’s aura when he reached out and brushed my shoulder. “Are you doing okay? You know, after everything?”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Rhys. You already made sure I got home okay.”

He crossed his arms. “Yeah but I’d kind of be an asshole if I didn’t at least check in. Now tell me. Are you okay?”

His gaze didn’t falter from mine as he looked at me. His gorgeous face was serious. He was really asking. He wanted a genuine answer. Good or bad, he wanted to know. 

“No.” 

And when I turned around, he let me go.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Elain and I spent six hours in the library and I skipped out on the girls’ team dinner, claiming I had homework. I spent the evening locked in my room, dreading the inevitable moment when I ran into Ianthe, who was, after all, my roommate. Bitch, I muttered under my breath. 

It was eight o’clock and I had no plans for the rest of my evening, so I changed into my pajamas and flopped on the bed. Fully prepared to spend the night binging a TV show, I retrieved ice cream from my fridge and got under the covers. An hour into The Witcher, I got a text.

Rhysand Night: You’re going to practice in the morning, right?

I frowned. He was clearly texting the wrong person. And how did he have my number?

I opened the text and discovered that he had texted his phone from mine last night… 

Me: I was planning on it

Rhysand Night: Just checking. I know you may not feel like going right now, but I don’t want to see you getting in trouble

Being a part of a college level swim team meant twenty hours of training a week. Practice at 5:30 in the morning most weekdays and again in the afternoon. I didn’t know why Rhys felt the need to check on me--missing practice meant getting chewed out by the head coach. If you missed more than one practice, you got suspended. No way would I blatantly take that risk.

Me: I’ll be there

I shut off my phone and went to bed.

----------------

I barely dragged myself out of practice the next morning. And the morning after that. And the morning after that. For two weeks after Halloween, I ignored Ianthe as much as humanly possible. She made no attempt to apologize. Tamlin had even kept his distance. I showed up at practice, swam (albeit poorly), went to class, went to practice, and went home. I was reaching new levels of anti-social. Elain was busy with study groups and classes and Nesta wouldn’t be in town for another week. She worked as a flight attendant and split her time between our father's and her and Elain’s shared place.

I just couldn’t bring myself to do anything besides school and swim. The fact that I had wasted a year of my life on Tamlin Spring was tearing me apart from the inside out. And breaking up with him had made me realize all of the things I had wasted my life on for the past year. Why was I pursuing a degree in exercise science when I loved literature and art? Why had I put all my effort into one friendship with a bitch who had stabbed me in the back at her first opportunity? I had no other friends on the swim team I had chosen during my recruitment process, thinking it was the “place for me.” I was in the wrong place, had chosen the wrong people, and was aiming for the wrong future. The worst part was, it was all my fault. My blindness had seeped into every part of my life and I barely knew who I was without my overbearing boyfriend and the friend who had steered me around for my entire college experience.

On Thursday morning, over a week and a half after the Halloween party, Coach King texted me to meet him in his office after my classes for the day were over. I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since. An impromptu meeting with Coach King usually implied a fate worse than death. At this point, I deserved anything he had to say to me. My grades had fallen in the past few weeks (I had failed a test on Monday and two quizzes since then) and my training had continued to worsen. 

My suspicions proved correct when I arrived for the meeting and Coach King started explaining the reason he had called me to his office. He mentioned my grades and my training and the fact that I had barely spoken or shown any signs of life at practice for days. He wanted to know what was wrong. He wanted to know what he could do to help. But mostly, he wanted me to fix it--fast. Then he told me he was moving me to the middle distance training group.

“Wh--what?!”

Moving training groups in the middle of the year was unheard of. Potentially season-ending. If he was moving me from distance to middle distance, he was most likely saying I wouldn’t travel or compete for the rest of the year. It took time to adjust to a new training regimen. 

I tried to protest, but he told me he had made his decision and felt I was more cut out for middle distance events anyway. The adjustment wouldn’t be too drastic. And he wanted me to take the rest of the week off and start fresh on Monday. 

That’s the thing about college athletics. Coaches can be great coaches. They can get a team from nothing to something quick if they know what they’re doing. Some can even do that and help their swimmers develop as people, too. But for most coaches, when it came down to it, weakness was weakness, no matter the reason. And I was currently the weakest link on the team. Coach King had to do something about it and this was apparently the best he could come up with.

I mumbled something to Coach King about seeing the sports psychologist and trying harder at the new practices. I felt certain he had vague ideas about the couples on the team, so he probably knew about my Tamlin situation. I didn’t feel the need to mention it to him. I left his office and made it all the way down the five flights of stairs and out the back entrance into the cloudy, chilly afternoon before I allowed myself to cry. 

I had messed up my life so royally that I had no idea how to fix it. I wouldn’t be surprised if Coach King kicked me off the team in a matter of weeks. We had a travel meet coming up, and I felt certain that I wouldn’t make the cut. I’d be stuck at Prythian U while all my teammates that I had developed no relationship with would travel. 

Head down, I was rushing to my car as my tears fell when I ran headfirst into a warm body. 

“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry--”

“We have to stop meeting like--Feyre.”

“Rhys.” I kept my eyes on the crack in the parking lot pavement at my feet.

“Are you okay?”

“You’ve got to stop asking me that question! I know you don’t care! Let me deal with this by myself.” I made to push past him but he followed me to my car anyways. 

“Feyre. I do care. I’m your teammate. And it doesn’t seem like anybody else on the team is lining up to ask how you’re doing, so I’m here to do that. I want to help you.” Something in his voice made me pause, but I couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Just fuck off. You don’t even know me.”

He threw up his hands as I struggled to unlock my extremely old Volkswagen with the key fob. My tears and anger were making it very hard to open the door.

“For God’s sake, Feyre! Would you stop being so damn difficult and let someone help you? You’ve been a ghost at practice these past few weeks and Coach King just told me you were moving to my training group.”

I unlocked my car and wrenched it open. “Leave me alone.”

Rhys grabbed my car door and refused to let me close it. I glared at his stupid, gorgeous, violet eyes. “I bet you like this. An excuse to just give up, get yourself kicked off the team. Much easier than having to face Tamlin at practice everyday, much easier than having to make new friends.”

I narrowed my eyes. And slapped him across the face. 

He touched his cheek. A spark of satisfaction lit up against the confusion and depression that lived within my gut. I had surprised him. And shut him up.

“Wow. I guess I deserved that. But you know I’m right.”

And the fact was, I did. He had said out loud what was going on deep inside me, what I was dangerously close to giving in to. I was shocked someone I barely knew could even begin to fathom what was going on so deep within my brain that I had yet to admit it to myself.  But most of all, I was angry. Angry that this boy thought he had some sort of right to me pouring out my heart to him or at the very least accepting his help. He wasn’t a captain. He had no jurisdiction over me. 

“Fine! You’re right! Are you happy now?” I wanted to wipe the smug look off his face. I cast around for something, anything to make him understand even a little bit what I was feeling. “Any other accusations you want to spit at me to make me hate myself more than I already do?” 

His smirk fell. Satisfied once more, I thought he’d let me leave, but he held fast to my car door. 

“Tell me what to do to help you. Tell me and I’ll do it.”

I blinked. I thought he would yell at me some more. I hadn’t expected such an open offer, more raw and entreating than anything Tamlin had ever said to me.

 I hated that my year with Tamlin had made me think that a guy treating me nicely was a rare commodity. I deserved to be treated with more kindness than Tamlin had ever bestowed on me. I knew that, and yet--I didn’t know how to accept that kindness anymore. I was now so deeply confused about myself, my team, and Rhys that I merely stood there, staring at Rhys without really seeing him, and contemplating the nature of my existence for the past year. 

Rhys, appearing to come to the conclusion that I had nothing to say in response to his entreaty, cleared his throat. “I know there’s a team party this weekend, as per usual. But my friends and I are going to hang out ourselves and stay sober since we have a meet the weekend after. I want you to come. In fact, I insist.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but he kept talking. “If you don’t show, I’ll tell the captains you haven’t actually been sick or studying during the past two team meetings you’ve missed. I’ll text you the address. Come. Please. We won’t talk about Tamlin or anything difficult. Plus, you should probably meet your new training group.”

That was right. Rhys and all his friends were in the middle distance group. I’d be subject to all of them starting Monday. 

And because I couldn’t think of any excuse, because I couldn’t have the captains knowing the concrete truth about my absences, because maybe somewhere deep within me desired help, I agreed.

[bookaholic1012]

Prythian Magazine Part 10

Hey, everyone! This chapter is short, but I hope the ending will make up for it ;) If you haven’t heard, I will update on Saturdays from now on.

Tagging: @sugarcoated44 @unicornbooks @ourbooksuniverse

If you want to be tagged or no longer want to be tagged, let me know!

ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO SARAH J. MAAS

PM Masterlist  My Writing

Why Amren wanted me to find dirt on Tamlin in case of a media fall out, I had no idea. Since she told me what it was I was supposed to do, I contacted trusted informants I have in the Spring Court. When I wasn’t working, I would go down to Spring Court territory and try to find something. I did trust Amren to an extent. Despite her height, she was one frightening woman. She was also a very private and secretive one. I don’t fault her for that as I am a private person myself. I just find it difficult to trust her fully, especially because I haven’t known her for as long. One thing I know for a fact is, there is a good reason behind Amren’s decisions.

Tamlin’s life was incredibly dull. The only thing I found so far that has a chance of holding some merit would be the hours he spends at the Spring Court Modeling Agency Headquarters. I knew from prior snooping that as soon as Tamlin was done for the day, he would head home. Now, he left long after he was scheduled to be done.

The full moon illuminated the streets. I was driving back to Night Court when I received a call.

“Azriel?” The voice inquired.

“Yes?”

“Meet us at the designated location. We found something.”

“I’ll be there.” I replied before ending the call.

Yes! Tea will be spilt tonight. 

“Lucien?” I softly knocked on his door. All day I pondered how I should apologize. In the end, I decided to say what was on my mind.

“Come in.” He sounded dead inside.

The door creaked open as I stepped inside his room. He was staring at the white ceiling, unmoving. If it weren’t for the obvious signs of life, I would have thought him deceased.

“I wanted to apologize, Lucien. I let my emotions take over, and wasn’t thinking about I was saying. Never in a million years would I want to hurt you… but I did. I am so sorry, Lucien. I never should’ve said the cauldron-damned name. I didn’t mean to make you remember… the incident.”

“It’s fine.”

I felt my temper flare.

Fine, I bitterly thought, “It’s fine.” he says. What a stupid word. He isn’t fine.

“But it isn’t fine.” I say.

“It’s fine to me, Feyre.” Lucien insisted.

My hands fisted and I clenched my jaw. Why can’t he understand nothing is fine?

“No, it isn’t.” My voice rose a notch.

“Is.” He said.

“Isn’t.”

“Is.”

“Isn’t.”

“Is.”

“Isn’t.”

“Is.”

That’s when I saw Lucien’s lips twitch upwards.

“Lucien! Are you enjoying this?” I exclaimed, relieved he was showing some kind of emotion.

“Maybe.” He replied in a cheeky manner.

I let out a chuckle, and he did as well. I took that as a good sign, and walked to his bedside. He sat up, leaning against the wooden headboard, and held out his arms. I sat on his bed, accepting his invitation for a hug. Whenever we fought, we always hugged to indicate that the offended person was no longer upset with the other. It was something Lucien and Andras did, except they always ended up in bed. When I came along, though, they shared their little tradition with me, but changed it so we hugged.

I curled up against Lucien, a sudden wave a fatigue washing over me. We lay like for a while; me in a ball curled up against Lucien, and Lucien sitting up, his arm wrapped around my shoulders.

“I don’t hold it against you, Feyre.” Lucien’s warm, deep voice cut through the silence.

Huh? Ooooh….right.

“I’m still sorry.”

“I know you are, Fey, but I’m fine. Well, maybe not fine, but I am doing better than I was earlier.”

“You are?” I questioned.

“Yup. I dealt with it.” He answered.

“And how exactly did you deal with it?” I narrowed my eyes up at him.

Lucien avoided my gaze. “My own way.”

“Lucien!” I punched his shoulder lightly.

“What? My way works perfectly fine!” Lucien stated.

I let out a sigh. “Lucien, I know what your way entails. You bury everything instead of letting it out. I mean it when I tell you to talk to me. You do not need to worry about my well-being, okay? I can take care of myself.”

This time, it was his turn to let out a sigh. “I’ll tell you everything one day, Feyre, I promise. I just… I need time. Okay?”

“Okay.” I softly replied, resuming my comfortable state next to Lucien.

Ianthe is so much better than Feyre. I thought. Ianthe let me spoil her, whereas Feyre always insisted on paying for and doing her own things.

I don’t know why Feyre left me. Or that good-for-nothing Lucien. I apologized.

Part of me did wonder where the two went. I knew they weren’t stupid enough to go to the Vanserra’s for help. The Archeron household was out of question, too, since Feyre’s relationship with her sisters was rocky. So, where did they go?

A knock sounded on the solid oak double-doors in the entryway. I checked my watch.

Ianthe isn’t supposed to be here for another hour.

Maybe she came by early for another round. I allowed a smug smile to appear. I am amazing if I do say so myself.

Only, when I opened the door, I didn’t find Ianthe.

Standing on my doorstep were the two eldest Archeron sisters. Rage lit there eyes.

Crap.

So glad I got to the Archeron sisters’ appearance. Now, things can start rolling. Who called Azriel? What info does the person have? Please let me know your thoughts! Updates weekly on Saturday!

Much love,

bookaholic1012