#Nesta: too busy to dump Cassian mostly here to watch the show

[flowerflamestars]

Rust snippet

“Morrigan wearing the funeral perfume?”

  His face, his half a silently inhaled swallow, answered for him.

  Nesta tipped her head, expression bordering on playful. Sharp. “Every pillow you’ve ever owned smell like death?”

  It was the drink. Exhaustion. The small bastion against seeping, destructive bitterness that apparently lived in the curve of Nesta’s mouth. Azriel planted his elbow on the bar and let himself lean in.

  No lilies. No- Nesta Archeron, close enough to touch, smelled fantastic. A whole warm swarth of expensive composition that had probably been brandished Azriel’s way before: spice, musk, vetiver, amber- something to sink right into.

  “Cassian still talk in his sleep?”

  No change. Not even a waver. Perfectly lined eyes like deep water, a fathom hiding that fucking riptide Azriel was sure existed.

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  If he couldn’t stir up the current.

  “You two, not?”

   “What, sex?” She took a long sip of her drink, lips briefly glistening, berry shining on bloody darkness. “You can say it. Yes. I don’t sleep over. How precisely Rhys hooked in my sister and this became family dinner, I’ll never understand.”

  Heat, flooded Azriel’s body, there and gone. “He’s been telling everyone his girlfriend is coming.”

  Liquid, low- liquid fire unfurling warmer than simple alcohol flush or fervent argument, lingering, a twist that caught in Azriel’s chest, pure fucking trouble- Nesta laughed aloud.

[theillyrianhalfbreed-blog]

A second chance - part 1

The hallways echoed with the laughter and chatter of students as Feyre hurried towards the lecture hall. It was her first day at the Night Court Campus of Prythian University and while everyone else in her year knew the place like the back of their hand, Feyre had already gotten lost, twice. There were seven campus’s situated around the country of Prythian, the most disreputable of which being the Night Court, she had originally been accepted into the Spring Court Campus, on the other side of the country, a year before but after a recent break up with the boyfriend she still had nightmares about she had requested a transfer.

Tamlin, her ex, had locked her up, he locked her in the house while he went to a party and both Lucien and Ianthe refused to let her out. So she had requested a transfer, and she was given the Night court as her only other option, on the far side of the country. She had been accepted due to her artistic talents, something the Night Court valued highly, apparently.

Feyre hurried towards her English class, a subject she hated but unfortunately had to take. Walking into the hall she wandered up to the back, dumping her bag and pulling out a notebook and pen, she noticed quite a few students pulling out expensive looking laptops, when she had lived with Tamlin, he refused to let her get a job, claiming he could provide for everything she needed and it would be a waste of her time, so she had very little money, most of which she had used to move here. Her sister Nesta had helped, Nesta had moved to Velaris, the city The Night Court was situated in, months ago, having hated the people at the Spring Court, but Feyre definitely could not afford a laptop, she had managed to get a job at a local cafe, but that started this afternoon and would defiantly not pay for a brand-new laptop if she wanted to keep the small amount of food that was on the table.

She was staying in the provided dorms, but was yet to meet her roommate. The name on the information sheet had read Morrigan Sidra, but she was yet to show up, Feyre had arrived in her dorm two days ago and still hadn't fully unpacked, not that there was much to unpack. She had spent the days wandering the city of Velaris, particularly the artist’s quarter, fondly named The rainbow.

A cheerful 'Hello' snapped Feyre back to the present. In front of her was a golden haired woman, with a broad smile and a sparkle in her stunningly blue eyes.

“Um, Hi.”  Feyre replied, caught slightly off guard by the gorgeous woman’s arrival. The golden haired beauty just smiled wider, dropping her bag and extending her hand,

“I'm Morrigan, but you are under no obligation to ever call me that, call me Mor instead. Don’t worry about not having a computer, they’re over rated anyway, pen and paper are much more fun.”

Feyre was taken aback by the statement, processing everything until one particular detail snagged her attention, “You’re Morrigan, as in Morrigan Sidra my mysteriously absent roommate?”

Mor grinned, “Yup that’s me. You must be Feyre, Feyre Archeron. Great to meet you, I’ve been excited about having a new roommate, my roommate last year was Amren, and she is never there, I swear she turned up once, turned around and refused to step foot in the room ever again. Anyway, my cousin’s helping me move in this afternoon after classes so you won’t be lonely anymore, I haven’t seen you around, where are you from?”

Slowly warming up to Mor’s friendly personality, Feyre replied with, “I’m from the Spring Campus actually but I requested a transfer when I broke up with my boyfriend and everyone I thought was my friend decided they no longer wanted anything to do with me, other than taunt me. I got in on a scholarship for art.”

Mor grimaced, “Ouch, that’s rough. Why’d you two break up?”

Feyre should have been prepared for the question, having known it would probably come up, but she couldn’t help the panic that rose as the wave of memories came flooding back to her, the sound of glass shattering under Tamlin’s fist, the shouting over another shattered object subject to his fury. The quiet sobs in the dead of night, the pain as her heart shattered in her chest the first time he hit her, the bruises she would try so hard to cover up, the disgust crawling like bugs over her skin the first time he took without her consent. The false I love you’s whispered to a darkened room to avoid a flying fist. The locked doors and long lost friends, having to beg her estranged sisters for help, the fear of what would happen if she was refused, the tear stained letter of requesting a transfer sent in the dead of night.

Morrigan watched as Feyre drew into herself, and a pang of guilt flew briefly through her as she watched pain and fear flash in Feyre’s eyes, her eyes flicked down to the still fading bruises that encircled Feyre’s wrists. Not knowing what to say to the too-thin woman beside her Mor sat down, pulling out her books, for-going her laptop, if only to make Feyre a little more comfortable.

Desperately trying to change the subject she asked, “Do you want to sit together at lunch, my cousin would be there as well as two of his friends, they can be a bit of a handful but you have my full permission to punch them in the face if they get too annoying, my cousin included, it would be nice to have another girl around as well as Amren. I mean Amren’s alright but she’s a bit quiet, and a lot scary. She mostly just threatens Cassian and complains to Rhys but we all threaten Cassian at some point in the hour, and Rhys is the only one willing to hear her out on her list of complaints and not so diplomatic solutions.”

She felt a rush of relief as Feyre’s eyes cleared of pain and a small smirk played on Feyre’s lips. “Are you saying,” Feyre asked. “That you would like me to have lunch with a whiny idiot that everybody threatens, a scary short ass that complains endlessly, a mysterious unmentioned character, your ever patient cousin and you? Because if so then yes, I would love to.”

Feyre watched as the bubbly spirited woman burst into a full blown grin, Mor’s eyes dancing with no small amount of mirth. “I was scared you were going to reject me for a minute there. And yes you are correct about Cassian and Amren, though never call Amren ‘a scary short ass that complains endlessly’ to her face if you want your guts to remain inside your body and you like your head attached to your shoulders. As for Rhys and Azriel, well you can figure them out when you meet them.”

As Mor finished speaking, the entire hall fell into silence as the professor walked into the room. Mrs Weaver apparently. Mor winked at Feyre as she picked up her pen and the lecture began.

The lecture finally finished and it had been every bit as tedious as Feyre had expected. Gathering her stuff and shoving it in her bag, she checked her timetable. Visual Arts, than lunch. She glanced up at Morrigan, who was trying very hard to shove all her books into her bag with her bag ripping open. “Where should I meet you for lunch? If the offer to eat with you is still out there.”

Mor looked up stunned, “Damn, I had totally forgot we had another class, I’m already starving.” She huffed dramatically and shouldered the exploding bag. “Meet us on the oval, near the goals. What do you have next?”

Feyre grinned “Visual Arts, What about you?”

Mor sighed, “I have Business, I don’t know what I was doing when I signed up for it, worst subject ever! Any way the decision is long forgotten now so I have to live with the consequences. Life sucks like that.”

Feyre smirked “Yeah, it does. See you for lunch, we can complain about our crappy life decisions over some food.”

Mor grinned “I knew I liked you for a reason, see you then!”

Feyre grinned back, before joining the stream of students pushing and shoving to get out of the hall.

Art was uneventful for Feyre as they were focusing on theory for the first day and wouldn't be painting anything till next week. There had been collective groans when that announcement was made.

As Feyre walked towards the oval, nerves started to flutter around inside her, there was a group of guys finishing up what looked to be rugby training, their coach yelling things at them that no one seemed to be paying attention to. She wandered past the stands dawdling slowly over to the goal posts, her eyes on the freshly mown grass. Thoughts started swirling inside her mind, what if they didn't like her, what if Mor made a mistake asking her to lunch with them.

She was scared of their judgement, she realised, because she wanted them to like her. Even though Mor had described Cassian as whiny and insufferable she had said it with a fondness in her eyes, though she had said Amren was quiet and scary there was awe in her face, and Feyre wanted to have that. She wanted the mischievous gleam that lit up Mor’s eyes when she referred to her cousin. Feyre wanted friends, and she had liked Mor.

Something hard collided with the back of her head and sent Feyre tumbling to the ground, forcefully dragging her back to reality, then into a swirling black oblivion.

She raised her head from where it had lain in the grass the thud of impact still resounding throughout it. The world was spinning and she thought she heard Mor call her name in the distance. She sensed more than saw a large figure dropping in to a crouch beside her, large hands coming to cradle the base of her skull. Her eyes blinked slowly open, the world dropping in and out of focus at a rapid pace. “Look at me Darling, that’s it open you’re eyes,” Feyre didn't know who was speaking, but the rich male timbre kept her grounded. “Look at me Darling.” The worry in his voice forced her to look up. As she looked up she found herself looking into the eyes of the most handsome male she had ever met.

Chapter Two- Unpublished

His eyes were an impossible shade of violet, flecks of pure silver taking the appearance of starlight and the frame created by his ebony lashes creating the perfect painting, the worry shimmering behind his beautiful eyes was replaced by relief as she slowly drew herself into a sitting position. Her hand subconsciously reaching around the back of her head to where she had been hit. Her eyes dropped to her bag, her books spilling out of it. A blush spread across her cheeks when she realised she still didn't know what had happened, she opened her mouth to ask when a highly amused voice cut her off, “Congratulations Rhys, you just knocked out the one person you were so adamant on impressing.” Two large shadows fell over her, and Feyre twisted up so she could see who the voice belonged to. It was a stunning male, with a shit eating grin and a cocky posture.   He grinned down at her, eyes sparkling with an infinite amount of mischief in them, “How’d you manage to befriend Mor in one English class and put up with her blabbering without thumping her over the head with one of those massive books of yours.” He says, nodding towards the books strewn around her now empty bag. Finally finding her voice she looked up at him, then to the silent male next to him, the more classical beautiful of the two and back to the ruggedly handsome one, “How has anyone put of with you for more than five minutes without physically trying to either kill or severely injure you?” The man let out a great booming laugh as a flustered Mor ran up to them, “If Cassian’s howling I hope it mans that Feyre told him to shut his fat mouth,” Rhys let out a breathy laugh behind Feyre, drawing her attention back to him and the featherlight grip he had on her fore arm. “Now, which of you do I need to kill for the near death of my new best friend?” Mor asked, appearing very serious. Cassian snorted “That would be Rhys.”

Mor focused her worst death glare at Rhys, and then drawled. “Do you have a reason for knocking my new friend and roommate out, other than the universally known fact of your overwhelming stupidity?”

Rhys simply smirked, getting up and brushing an invisible piece off dirt from his shirt, “It’s not my fault that Feyre darling here got in the way of the ball.”

Feyre’s eyebrows shot up, her incredulous expression magnified by her outraged statement, “It is most defiantly not my fault that you threw the ball at my head, you could’ve warned me.”