#OKAY FINE WHERE DID RHYSAND'S MONEY COME FROM THEM????

[praetorqueenreyna]

It's wild how Tamlin gets so much shit for bringing back the Tithe (which is literally just. feudalism.) after his kingdom has been decimated from the past 50 years.

But there's never any alternative explanation for how the High Lords in other Courts are able to maintain their lavish lifestyles.

Like. Okay fine, Feyre can criticize Tamlin for having his subjects pay taxes. What are the alternatives? How does Rhysand purchase his five mansions and hire the staff to maintain them? How does Rhysand buy expensive clothing, food, and weapons for himself and the IC? Mor goes out drinking and partying every night, who fronts the bill?

And HONESTLY normally I wouldn't care because these are fluffy fantasy books, I never would EXPECT serious worldbuilding from them. But THE AUTHOR BROUGHT IT UP! If you're going to criticize one character for doing something a certain way, there need to be viable alternatives.

[azrielslightintheshadows]

Could you possibly do a fluffy Rhys x reader where reader has always been kinda independent and has never really experienced someone wanting to help take care of them and spoil them until Rhys came along?

Let me take care of you.

Rhysand x f!Reader.

Warnings; swearing.

Masterlist.

I hope this is how you imagined this!

Growing up as the middle child of your family you had no choice but do anything alone. Your father was always spending time with your older sister, caring for her and making sure that she had everything she wished for. Your mother on the other hand was always babying your younger sister. When you were eight years old you learned how to make snacks when you got hungry, how to make your bed and how to wash your clothes. You always played with your older sister's damaged toys and wore her old clothes since your parents never bothered to buy new ones for you. It wasn’t that they didn’t have the money, when your younger sister was born your mother filled her room with several toys and clothes. As you grew up you started working at a bookstore and after a while you managed to save enough money to move to your own place. Your parents never tried to get in touch with you and even though it hurt, you continued your life like they never existed.

One evening as you were closing the bookstore a handsome male approached you. He was dressed casually but you could still see how elegant he was even in his loose clothes. “Excuse me do you know where the store owner is?” his deep voice sent shivers down your spine. You looked at him and almost gasped when you noticed his violet eyes. The High Lord.

“Uhm probably at his house.” You replied.

“Oh, did he say something about a book? He told me to come today to pick it up.” He spoke.

“No he didn’t mention it.” You started unlocking again “Come in maybe he left it somewhere.”

He nodded and followed you inside. “Thank you for doing this.”

“No problem” you smiled and checked the counter and the drawers.

“What’s the title of the book?” you shouted from under the counter.

“Beasts of Prythian” he answered, and your breath hitched.

“No its not here. Maybe he forgot?” you said softly “I can write it down and ask him again tomorrow.” “Oh okay. Thank you” he smiled and as you stared at his sharp face and those violet eyes that shined under the light of the stars the bond snapped.

That was how you met your mate, the High Lord of the Night Court -Rhysand.

He came the next day and asked you on a date and now a year later you are packing your things to move in his house.

You glanced at your apartment for one last time thinking about the life you are leaving behind and how much Rhysand changed it.

On your first date he appeared at your door with a bouquet of red roses making your heart skip a beat. No one had ever gifted you something and you had to use most of your power to hold back the tears of happiness.

“This is for me?” you had asked softly.

“Well I’m not planning to take someone else on a date and even though I’m amazing I don’t usually buy myself flowers” he had rolled his eyes with a playful smirk.

“You arrogant High Lord” you had snorted.

He took you to a nice restaurant and when the waitress guided you to the table, he pulled a chair back and waited for you to sit. You hadn’t realized that he was waiting for you, so you pulled the chair across him and sat down. He stared at you, and you furrowed your eyebrows.

“Oh you pulled the chair for me?” you had asked him.

“Its okay” he had replied with a tight smile.

“I can get up and come sit there if you want.” You mumbled scared that you offended him. “No no its fine I’ll just sit here.”

That night he escorted you back home and left.

Your thoughts kept running to the times he did something like that.

When he came to your house with a bottle of wine, and you spent the night cooking and talking. He kept insisting to help you make dinner and afterwards he made the dessert alone, making your heart swell as he offered you a plate with a feline smile.

When he found out you were having nightmares and asked Madja to make a tea that would help you sleep peacefully. You had looked at him like he had grown a second head when he gave it to you.

When he bought you a gown for solstice after he invited you to meet his family. You had offered to repay him, but he shook his head.

“Let me spoil you my love” he had said, and tears streamed down your face.

The next day you used your savings to buy him a nice quill.

“So you will think about me when you work.” You had said and he chuckled.

“I always think about you.”

Rhysand practically gave you everything you wanted, if you stared at an item for more than five seconds the next day he would come to your house and give it to you.

At some point you felt so bad, like you were using him, so you stopped looking at the store windows. Even then Rhysand would get you the most amazing stuff.

“I saw it and I immediately thought of you.”

“Oh come on this screams y/n”

“I dreamed of you in this, you will look amazing. I can’t imagine another female wearing it.”

“This was made for you”.

And always you would furrow your eyebrows.

“Rhys you’re spending all your money on me. I don’t need more clothes or at this point anything.”

“Let me take care of you.”

You gave up and bought a second closet because your old one was full.

It wasn’t only the things he bought you though. Rhysand could always understand your mood. If you were happy, he would immediately take you to Rita’s or for a stroll in the city. Sometimes he would even arrange game nights with his family.

If you were sad though he would make you dinner and spend the day cuddling you, and telling you that everything is going to be alright.

One day one of your coworkers was being rude to you. You had decided to ignore him until your shift ended and then put him in his place. Rhysand came to pick you up and overheard you coworker saying. “Being the High Lord’s whore doesn’t make you better than us.” You had opened your mouth to tell him off when he knelt in pain, holding his head with both his hands and crying. Rhys strolled in with his hands in his pocket and a cold expression.

“Say that again” he had growled.

Your coworker couldn’t speak.

“Rhys its okay I can handle this” you had said.

“No!” he snarled “say that again”.

When he didn’t reply Rhysand crushed his memories and pulled you out of the store.

“I don’t need you to fight my battles Rhys. I’ve been doing it my whole life.” You had screamed.

“This means nothing. It’s finally time for someone else to take care of you. Your parents may have been useless but I’m not! You’re my fucking Queen.” He had screamed back, his dark power trembling the whole city.

That night you cried in his arms, letting all the trauma out and accepting the new life he was offering you.

“Ready?” your mate asked as he hugged you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “I think so.” You sighed and stared at the open door of your apartment from the outside.

“Let’s go then.” He said and closed your door. You smiled thinking how fitting it was for him to close the door of your past life.

“I love you” you softly said.

“I love you too.” He replied and grabbed your bags.

Hope you enjoyed this!

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Twenty-Three

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: so yeah this isn’t my best work bc i havent been feeling great lately but i hope you guys can stay patient with me until i get my shit together. we’re almost to the end🤞

***

Sitting crammed between Elain and Feyre on the gray couch in Lana’s office, Nesta has to cross her legs prettily and pretend she doesn’t want to peel out of her skin right there. She doesn’t know what she was thinking when she invited her sisters to one of her therapy sessions, but she’s assuming it would be considered rude to kick them out now.

“Who wants to speak first?” Lana’s bob swings as she looks at each of them. The office is ice cold today, and Feyre and Elain’s presence doesn’t help the chill in the air.

Nesta crosses her arms before she can be asked to speak. “No, thank you,” she says. She knows everyone probably expects better from her, but no way in hell is she going to be the first to open up in front of this crowd. “Feyre,” she turns to her youngest sister instead, “why don’t you say something?”

“Actually, why don’t you set the example, Nesta?” Lana gives her a look, making her cheeks redden with irritation.

“Fine,” Nesta grumbles. She clears her throat. “As you can see, I have made moves to reconnect with my sisters. I invited them here because I hoped that therapy would bring us closer and also make them more… tolerable.”

Elain coughs, “Bitch.”

Nesta smiles tightly. “Elain could especially use this, I think.”

Lana is already frowning. She never frowns this early into a session. “We’ll start with an easy question, then. What’s been on your mind lately, Nesta?”

Nesta purses her lips, pretending to think. “Nothing important. I’m looking at jobs for the summer. I think Azriel keeps sneaking money into my purse, and it’s starting to become more than a little condescending. I caught up with some friends from school, and I was polite enough to pay for lunch.” She mentions off to the side to Elain, “Lucien was there, too.”

“Why would I care?” Elain sneers. She spies Lana’s disapproving look and lowers her head demurely. “Sorry,” she murmurs.

“That’s alright,” Lana says. “Why don’t you go next?”

“Me?” Elain’s head snaps up, and Nesta holds in her snicker.

“Start by describing your relationship with Nesta. I heard you two used to be very close.” Lana uncaps her pen, preparing to write.

Elain flushes lightly and folds her hands. “That was when we were children. The only thing keeping us together was that we shared a home. When we stopped living in the same place, some of us had no problem leaving others in the dust.”

“You can use my name,” Nesta rolls her eyes, “I’m right here.”

From the corner of her vision, Feyre cringes.

“Are you saying you feel abandoned by Nesta?” Lana continues probing.

Elain’s answering silence tells more than enough. Therapy must actually be paying off, though, because Nesta only thinks about interrupting and defending herself for a second before shaking it off. Her mind focuses on the word abandonment instead.

Lana is focusing on the same thing, because she leans closer and says, “Being abandoned bothers you?”

“I never said that,” Elain says indignantly.

“It would bother most people.”

Nesta watches Elain sigh and blink her big doe eyes at Lana. She’s always been able to use those eyes on anybody for anything. “I just don’t understand why I’m the villain for expecting a little loyalty,” Elain says sweetly. “Especially when you take a look at this face.” She cups her round cheeks. “You know psychology. How could you abandon this face?”

Nesta’s jaw hangs open. “Are we still talking about me?” She remembers Cassian telling her the story behind Azriel ghosting Elain, and a pang of guilt and pity hits her. She still hasn’t talked with Elain about why Azriel left Velaris, and she knows she won’t be able to decide whether to spare Az or not until she does.

“So that’s my turn,” Elain finishes up. “Feyre can go next.”

Lana is writing something sharply on her notepad, but she nods coolly. “Feyre, how would you describe your relationship with your sisters?”

“Oh, we don’t have time for all of that,” Feyre laughs awkwardly and waves a hand.

Nesta agrees, but the look Lana gives Feyre tells her that yes, they do have time.

Gulping, Feyre glances around. “Well, I was born last, so I guess that made me the outsider of the family. I never had much in common with my sisters, but now that we’re older I… hoped that we would grow past that.”

Translation: she hoped that once she found her happy ending in Rhysand’s arms, poor little Nesta and Elain would happily assimilate into her new community of wealthy friends, putting the cherry on top of her perfect life. And while Elain did that exact thing, it’s always bothered Feyre that Nesta won’t do the same.

Feyre continues, “I admit I’m not the best at understanding Nesta. Elain and I get along fine now, but Nesta…” Feyre meets her eyes. “It’s like nothing we do is enough for her, but for some reason I can’t stop trying.”

“Whose fault is that?” Nesta mutters.

“You want her approval,” Lana hums, taking notes.

“Is that what it is?” Feyre looks away.

Nesta refrains from saying yes, that’s exactly what it is, and it’s not my problem if you keep looking for something I can’t give.

“What are your feelings about that, Nesta?” Lana turns her focus to her. “Remember that this is a safe space.”

It really isn’t, not with two siblings holding long term grudges against Nesta. But once and for all, she’s going to set the record straight. “I spent most of my life being a bad sister.” Nesta’s voice is apathetic, straightforward. “I let Feyre take the burden of providing for us even though I was the oldest, and I didn’t know how to be anything other than cruel to my family. So once I had the means to do so, I cut everyone off for all of our sakes. I still don’t regret it, because being a stranger is better than being a bad sister.”

In that way, Nesta is a bit like her mother. Nesta was angry after her death, but she knows she would have been even angrier if Magdalene Archeron had lived and continued to be a disappointing parent. In that way, both of them are wise for leaving their families when they did.

“Or you could just be a good sister,” Elain interrupts with a drawl.

Nesta smirks bitterly at her. “I’d rather die.”

Feyre takes in a breath. “Why? Why are you like that with us?” She blinks furiously, and Nesta can see the simmer of her emotions. “It was okay when we thought you hated everybody, but you don’t. You only hate me and Elain.”

Nesta looks to Lana for help, but her therapist is sitting this one out. She sighs through her nose. “I don’t hate you,” she says, even though they might never understand. The next line comes with great difficulty. “I’ve loved you since before I even knew what love was. But I don’t like you very much, Feyre, and you don’t like me, either. Please stop trying to change that.”

When she finally meets Feyre’s eyes, though, they’re glimmering with tears. “How can I stop trying to change that?” Feyre whispers. “How can I give up on us like that?”

For Nesta to give Feyre and Elain the relationship they want from her would require nothing but lies on her part. And as much as she wishes she was capable of lying about this, she can’t do it.

Looking away and down at her hands, Nesta mutters, “It’s not fun for me either, but it’s how I am. I can’t be easy or friendly with you. I hate watching you try to make me be easy or friendly.”

Nobody says anything to that, but when Nesta looks up again Lana gives her a remote nod that Feyre and Elain don’t catch. Thank you for your vulnerability, it says.

“You said something interesting, Nesta,” Lana breaks the silence. “Did you see your sisters as your responsibility to raise?”

Nesta shrugs. “I was the oldest,” she repeats.

“Your father was the oldest.”

“He wouldn’t do shit even if you held a gun to his head, so I was up next.” Though Nesta hadn’t done shit either. Neither had Elain, but the rules have always been different for her. Elain redeems herself to others by handing out sunny smiles and pretending to have the intelligence of a fawn.

Lana stares at Nesta until Nesta’s skin starts to heat. “What?” she says defensively.

Ignoring the other two women in the room, Lana leans forward. “You told me once early into our relationship that part of the reason you left Tennessee was to get away from your sisters. You said you were heartbroken when they ended up following you here.”

Nesta doesn’t breathe or look to see her sisters’ reactions.

“Now I’m going to ask: did you really want to get away from your sisters, or did you want to escape the feeling of failing them?”

Nesta doesn’t know how to answer, because to her they might as well be the same thing. Having Feyre and Elain around is like having a weight tied to her chest. The lingering guilt every time Feyre is in a room, her existence screaming I’m the reason you’re still alive. Elain’s constant expectations of unconditional support and loyalty, whether it’s reciprocated or not. It’s all so heavy. And it all goes back to the fact that the three of them were once just helpless children.

If she couldn’t take care of her sisters, how is she supposed to take care of any child, ever?

Nesta releases a weary sigh. “You’re going to bring this up the next time we have the baby talk, aren’t you?”

Lana’s eyes sparkle. “Don’t get ahead of yourself just yet.” But Nesta can see from where she sits that her therapist’s notepad is covered in bullet points.

***

“I need to use the bathroom.” Feyre is hopping back and forth on her feet once the session is over. “You guys head down to the parking lot without me.” She exits in a rush, leaving the two sisters alone. Nesta hisses in frustration, nearly chasing after Feyre so she won’t have to face the inevitable awkward conversation with Elain.

By the end of the session, it was Elain that broke and pleaded with Nesta, “Don’t do everything we want, then. Just keep doing better, the way you’ve already been doing. I’ll be happy with just that.”

Nesta was surprised that Elain had even noticed her efforts, but she retorted, “And how do you plan to do better?”

To which Elain twirled her hair and murmured something halfheartedly about, “I might be more open to taking criticism or whatever.”

Though it was the absolute bare minimum, it was still a relief for Nesta to hear Elain admit that she has flaws worth criticizing.

Now, Nesta clutches the straps of her purse and turns for the stairwell leading to the parking lot. Elain follows without comment.

Inside the stairwell, Nesta asks, “Have you spoken to Azriel since he left Velaris?”

Elain looks surprised at the sudden question, and doesn’t remember to be guarded when she answers, “No. Why?”

Nesta shrugs, her heels thumping loudly on the linoleum stairs. “Because I know what happened between you two. I know why he left.”

Elain halts midstep, grabbing Nesta’s arm and turning to face her with wide eyes. “What do you mean, you know? He told you?”

“He told Cassian, and Cassian told me.” Nesta hardly cares that she’s being a poor friend to Azriel by spilling all this to Elain, and continues, “If I had known he was such a coward, I would have kicked him out of our place a long time ago… but I figured I would get your input on it first.”

She’s never seen Elain look so genuinely pleading before. “Get my input on what?” Elain breathes. “What did he say about me? Was it something I did?”

At that torn face that borders on heartbroken, Nesta decides that she’ll do more than kick Azriel out of the cabin. She’ll kick him off the whole mountain.

She shoves Elain’s back to get Elain detached from her and moving down the stairs again, and as they walk, Nesta spills everything she knows. She tells Elain about Rhysand’s talent of shoving his nose into places it doesn’t belong, and how one conversation with him managed to convince Azriel to ditch Elain for good. She tells her about how instead of having a straightforward conversation with Elain, Azriel chose to leave the city and hide out in the mountains like a pussy. She might sound blunt, but Elain needs blunt. She needs to know the unfiltered truth of things.

By the time they reach the floor where their cars are parked, Elain is silent. “Did he really say that?” she finally asks quietly. “He said he wants me to hate him?”

“That’s what I heard.” After a moment, Nesta feels the need to add, “You should hate him, though. He fucked up bad.”

When Elain continues strolling for their cars without replying, concern bites at Nesta. “You are mad at him, right? And mad at Rhysand? You’re not going to forgive them, right?”

“I’m not a total pushover,” Elain snaps. She stares at the cement ground as they walk. “I’m just… more disappointed than anything else. He gave up so easily.” She chuckles without humor. “It sounds like he was looking for an excuse to get away from me.”

Nesta frowns. “I don’t think he would’ve spent so long moping around our house if he wanted to leave you.” Though they can never truly know what Azriel was thinking or feeling until he grows a pair and talks to Elain. Still, she shudders at having to defend him.

“I take it he doesn’t mope anymore?” Elain says.

Nesta doesn’t know how to answer that truthfully. She knows there’s more to Azriel than he lets her and Cassian see, and she knows he’s gotten better at keeping his feelings to himself. So she says, “It looks like he’s doing better, but I really don’t know.” They reach Elain’s car.

“Were you in love with him?” Nesta suddenly asks. Or worse, is she still in love with him?

Elain digs around for her keys in her purse. “You know how I am. Of course I was.”

“Not anymore, though?”

Elain looks up, keys now in hand. “It’s hard to still feel love for someone I haven’t talked to in two months.”

Then it wasn’t real love. Nesta is relieved, even though it doesn’t change the fact that Elain is hurting either way.

Elain jabs her keys at Nesta and says sharply, “Don’t you dare punish him for what he did. That’s for me to decide on.”

Nesta’s brow creases in refusal. “I’ll do what I need to do, and you do you.” She’ll have to be careful with her plotting, though, considering Azriel is Cassian’s brother.

“No.” Elain surprises Nesta with the force in her tone. “He’s your roommate and your friend. Keep treating him like it.”

Elain makes it sound easier than it is, and Nesta wants to argue until she sees Feyre heading down the parking lot toward them. “Fine,” she grumbles halfheartedly.

Elain gives her one final long look, not of threat but something else. “Thank you—for inviting us today.” That’s all she says before getting in the driver’s seat of her little red car. At the same time, Feyre catches up to them.

“Where are you parked?” Feyre pants as she approaches Nesta. She sounds a bit out of breath, like she ran to get here before Nesta could drive off alone.

Nesta points down the lot to where her scrappy old car is waiting for her, and Feyre straightens up with a grim smile. “I’ll walk you.”

Nesta knows that arguing isn’t worth it, so she allows Feyre to trail her the rest of the way to her car. Once they reach the old thing, Nesta gives a curt goodbye and heads straight for the driver’s door. Before she can touch the handle, Feyre attacks her from behind with a hug.

“Get off me, freak!” Nesta tries to jostle her way out of Feyre’s arms. She tries being nice to her sisters one time and this is what she gets—

Feyre only squeezes her tighter. “You don’t have to hug back. Just let me love you my way.”

Nesta squirms for another second before stilling. Swallowing tightly, she stares at the reflection of herself and Feyre in the car door window. One of her hands goes to where Feyre’s hands are clasped around her stomach, and she stands there without moving. She can’t remember the last time she shared affection with a family member like this, but it must have been before their mother died.

The warmth at Nesta’s back doesn’t leave, like Feyre is trying to pour all her understanding into the hug. Silently saying, I’m finally starting to get it.

In a way, Nesta is starting to get it, too. After all, how do sisters with such a complicated history begin to forgive each other?

Not by apologizing, but by doing better in the future.

***

On her way home, Nesta remembers at the last minute to stop by Gwyn’s apartment to pick up one of her sweaters. She doesn’t know when Gwyn started raiding her closet like it was a free mall, but she has a school event next week and doesn’t plan on letting her nicest clothes rot at Gwyn’s forever.

Nesta enters using the key beneath the doormat, knowing Gwyn is at work and won’t mind her stopping by. She scans the living and dining areas for a glimpse of brown cashmere, but only finds scattered books and a disorganized mess. Her fingers twitch with the urge to stop and tidy up the place, but she continues hunting for the sweater. Gwyn promised it would be waiting in plain sight for her.

Realizing the scatter-brained girl probably forgot to put the sweater out for her, Nesta pauses in the hallway leading to Gwyn’s bedroom and bites her lip. She doesn’t know if bedrooms are off limits or not, considering how often Gwyn and Emerie have barged into hers, but she knows she doesn’t want to make a second trip here just for a sweater.

Without giving it further thought, she strides into Gwyn’s room—

And yelps to find Gwyn on the bed.

Except she isn’t alone, and there’s definitely another body under the dark green blanket with her, and whoever it is definitely has their head between her legs.

Nesta spins away at the same time she hears Gwyn’s cry of surprise. She braces one hand against the doorjamb and presses the other to her freezing cold face, not having any words for what she just saw.

“Nesta?” Gwyn calls from behind her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Um, have you seen my sweater? It’s the expensive one.” She’ll just grab it and leave. Or maybe she’ll just leave—yes, that sounds like a good idea.

“Nesta?” a new, deeper voice repeats.

Gwyn hisses, and Nesta freezes because she recognizes that voice. She wants to be wrong so badly, but she has to whirl back around to confirm for herself.

“Azriel?”

***

a/n: i decided to cut this chapter short and add an extra one to flesh out my silly little gwynriel subplot. so if there’s anything specific or random you wanna see happen in the next chapter tell me bc i might have space for prompts!!

tagging: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @wannawriteyouabook a favor: @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara @lanyjoy-13 @frosted-crackers @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad @dontgetsalmonella @champanheandluxxury @togreblog @arinbelle @ladygabrielli1997 @meridainthedisneyland @moodymelanist @pixieelea

[rhysismydaddy]

After Midnight pt. 1 (Feysand)

Synopsis: After a tumultuous, heartbreaking relationship, Feyre Archeron turns to online dating for a break from normalcy. Or rather, to Velaris Nighttime Ventures, the most exclusive, high-dollar escort system around. She needs to ease back in to intimacy, so this seems like the perfect idea. But what happens when her escort turns out to be someone she can’t get out of her head? Someone who seems to understand and appreciate everything about her? 

My many disclaimers: Stole a line in here from The Hating Game. And one from ACOTAR obviously. And the story line is loosely based off of The Kiss Quotient. Basically, I’m a fraud.

__________________________________________________________

~Feyre~

If I told any of my friends I’m about to hire a hooker, they’d laugh themselves silly. 

And, to be honest, the idea is a little ridiculous to me, too. 

I’ve never had a problem getting a date in my life. Brownish blondeish hair, blue-gray eyes, and an athletic build give me slightly above average looks. A lucrative job makes me financially sound and independent. A lifetime with two sisters gave me a sense of humor. 

I’ve dated prom kings, nerds, and everything in between. I’m completely normal. 

Or at least I used to be. 

After everything that happened last year, I don’t know if that’s true anymore. 

My therapist tells me constantly it’s okay that my last relationship changed me. And the multiple degrees on her pretty green wall tell me she knows what she’s talking about and that she’s completely correct. 

Even if... even if it doesn’t feel okay. 

Even if I can hardly stand looking in a mirror or being hugged or someone giving me a compliment. 

Even if I haven’t felt like myself in so long, I don’t even know if I’d recognize it if i did. 

Because while I used to love putting makeup on, choosing a dress, and going out, the thought now fills me with so much dread it makes me nauseous. 

What if I just make the same mistake as last time? 

My sister's told me my whole life to guard my heart, but I always laughed it off and  said she was being cynical. And what do I have to prove it? Trust issues and a standing appointment Dr. Motley. 

Men don’t deserve my trust. At least not right now. 

But... it’s time to move on in the physical sense. 

And since running the risk of taking home the wrong man scares me shitless, I’ll start with someone who can’t reject me, can’t make me feel worthless. 

Someone who won’t develop feelings for me or get attached and demanding. Someone... who won’t mind giving me control. 

A hooker. 

Or escort, like the Velaris Nighttime Ventures website says as I scroll through pages and pages of profiles. 

Gods, this is more stressful than my first gallery opening. 

All the profiles include is a picture, probably-fake name, height, an age, and a simple sentence about them. 

It feels creepily similar to online shopping. And there are so, so many options. How the heck am I going to choose one? 

Scrolling down further, my eyes roam over men of every skin tone, age, and height. I don’t have any real preference, but decide I need to have a few ground rules, otherwise this will take forever. 

Age? I’m twenty-seven and don’t have an interest in being a cougar, so I set the range from twenty-eight to thirty-five. 

Height? At 5′6, I’m not exactly tall, but I’ve always found men who were more attractive, so I shrug and put the minimum at six feet. 

Pressing enter, I watch the website sort, then look at the number of men left. Thirty. Not bad. 

Scrolling through slowly, I realize it’s kind of like a yearbook for an all male college or something.

A college full of really sexy men. 

I pause on a few, but something about them make her keep going. I want the complete opposite of my ex, so any with features like him get eliminated. 

Eventually, I get to the last row, feeling a little dejected. 

But then I see him. 

His eyes seemed to pierce through the screen, and once I see him, I can’t look away. Without another thought, I click on the profile. 

The name under the picture reads Rhysand. No last name, probably for privacy purposes. He’s a few years older than me. And tall--6′3 tall. But that isn’t what draws me closer. It’s the sentence he’d written. 

To the stars that listened -- and the dreams that are answered. 

My fingers ignore the rational part of my brain and click the button to book an appointment, and before I know it, I’m looking at a confirmation page. 

For tonight at midnight. 

Oh gods.

~Rhysand~

After working at the bar for a few hours, I head back to my shitty apartment to get ready for tonight’s appointment. 

Someone has booked me for an “evening of adventure and pleasure” as the confirmation email tells me. 

Wonderful. 

All I know is her name: Feyre. It doesn’t sound like an old-lady name, so there’s that. 

Those are the worst. It feels like fucking someone’s grandmother. Not that I’d know, exactly. And I mean sure, most of my clients are older. But there’s older, and then there’s old. Fine line between the two, let me tell you. 

Most of the people who hire me are in their forties, trapped in miserable marriages, and desperate for a decent lay. They’re also filthy rich, because I’m not cheap in the slightest. 

It’s why I’d agreed to this shit in the first place. 

Yeah, I have to psych myself up and sleep with a random lady, but the pay is killer. And the more money I make, the quicker I can stop. 

So I shower and go through my pre-appointment routine, trying not to think about what’s become of my life. 

There weren’t any special requests on the appointment, but the meet was set for a swanky hotel downtown, so I put on a dark suit and white dress shirt. My hair doesn’t need much work, so I leave, figuring I’ll get there early. 

The drive over’s quick, and soon I’m walking inside and sitting at the bar. She has my picture, but I don’t have a clue what she looks like, so she’ll have to come find me. 

After a few minutes, someone settles next to me, and I turn around with an expectant smile. 

But when I see who it is, I stop. And hating myself more than I thought possible, I tell the woman, “Sorry, I’m waiting for someone.”

Which really fucking sucks, because she’s beautiful as hell. 

Smooth skin, dark blonde hair, blue eyes, and kiss-me lips kind of beautiful. 

She gives me a strange look, then says words I’d never expect from someone like her. “I’m Feyre. I’m the... client.”

The way she cringes on the word tells me it’s her first time doing something like this, and the thought makes me a little too happy. 

I know I should say something to comfort her, but all I can think is... she’s definitely no grandma. 

~Feyre~

He keeps staring at me for a few more moments, then smiles and says, “Sorry. You’re not what I was expecting.”

I nod, then realize I have no idea what to say. Or do. Fuck, this is weird. “Do you want a drink?”

Rhysand shakes his head, then says, “Feel free, though.”

That’s the first good idea I’ve heard all day. After ordering from the bartender, I turn to the man next to me and smile sheepishly. “I don’t really know how this works. It’s my first time with... this.”

“I figured.” He’s turned toward me, one arm braced on the bar. “You can have your drink, and we’ll go upstairs when you’re ready.”

A nervous laugh ebbs out of me, and I blush. “Okay.”

Gods, am I really going through with this? 

I mean sure, he’s hotter than all hell, but he’s a prostitute. 

Would you rather invite a random man home with you? the bitch that lives in my brain asks with a knowing smile. 

I ignore her as a drink’s set in front of me, finding it helps a little. The man next to me just watches, face a mixture of confusion and amusement. 

Somehow, the photo didn’t do him justice. He’s ridiculously attractive, with dark hair, almost violet eyes, and tan skin. There’s a hint of stubble on his strong jaw, surrounding the sensual mouth that’s currently smirking at me. 

I’m definitely attracted to him, but this is still weird. 

“So, why are you doing this?” he asks as I drink. “If you don’t mind.”

I’m sure as hell not telling him the truth, so I say, "I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours.”

Rhysand smiles, and it only makes him more attractive. “Fair point.”

Then he looks me up and down, raises his dark brows, and asks, “Ready?”

Not in the fucking slightest. “Sure.”

By the time we reach the elevator, I’m practically shaking. Telling myself that I can do this--that it’s what I want, for gods sake--doesn’t really help. But I don’t say a word as we glide up, then walk to the room I’ve rented for tonight. 

When we get inside, I avoid looking at the bed as I turn to him. 

Rhysand smoothly takes off his suit jacket, then leans against the wall and crosses his ankles. “You seem nervous.”

He certainly doesn’t. Every move he makes is smooth and easy, like he’s so comfortable in his body he doesn’t ever get nervous or self-conscious. 

Must be nice. 

“I do?” It’s a deflection, and we both know it. 

“You’re shaking like a wet dog.” My nose wrinkles at the analogy, and he grins. “A very cute wet dog.”

I told myself I’d be alright, but now that I’m alone with him, I realize I’ve told absolutely no one where I am tonight. And if things go wrong... I start pacing. “I’m, uh... it’s just... nothing. Let’s do this thing.”

I should write sonnets. 

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t say a word as he walks to sit on the edge of the bed. Feeling like the biggest idiot in the world, I sit next to him. 

“Why don’t we just take things slow?” 

Thank the gods. I nod. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, using manners I definitely hadn’t expected but much appreciate. 

I nod again, trying to keep my hands from shaking. 

Rhysand raises a hand, but I swallow and push down the flare of panic as he cups my jaw and tilts my face to his. Then he leans in--keeping his word and going very slowly--and I brace myself as his lips brush against mine.

My body doesn’t exactly know how to feel when they touch. On the one hand, a very handsome man is kissing me. On the other... a man is kissing me. 

I ignore the second thought and kiss him back. 

His lips are silky soft against mine, slowly urging them open, and then his tongue is in my mouth, caressing mine. Everything’s slow and sensual and practiced. 

And even though it’s a picture-perfect moment, it feels like that scene in the movie where the dumb blonde goes down the dark hallway while the entire theater screams at her to run. 

Oh gods oh gods oh gods. 

My brain’s playing me a repeat of the last year on fast forward, and I press my eyes closed to try and block it out. 

I’m fine. 

Rhysand leans into me, and then I’m on my back with him hovering above me, still kissing me. His surprisingly muscled frame is heavy against me, pressing me down into the soft sheets, and his elbows are by my head.

Nothing’s wrong. 

Everything’s wrong. 

I take a quick moment to remind myself that if this had happened a year ago, I’d probably have wrapped myself around him and let him do whatever he wanted. 

But the past twelve months weren’t just a bad dream. And the band-aid protecting the stupid, naive girl I used to be from the harsh realities of the world has been ripped off and torn to bits. 

And suddenly, I can’t breathe. 

His head snaps up immediately, and violet eyes gaze down at me, full of concern. A weak hand comes up to press against his chest, and he sits up immediately. “Feyre? Are you okay?”

I shake my head and practically roll off the bed onto the floor. It’s completely undignified, but I don’t care. My lungs are on fire, my throat tight with the tears I’m barely holding back. 

I have to get away from him; I have to get some space. 

My back hits the wall, and I curl into myself, pressing my forehead against my knees. 

Breathe, Feyre, breathe. 

The silence in the room is broken only by my gasps, and I focus on the sound, letting it remind me that I’m here, that I made it out. 

I don’t let myself think about the other person in the room. It’s just me, and I’m fine. I made it out. 

There’s scratchy carpet under my legs, a wall behind my back, and more than enough air in the room. 

Eventually, my brain catches up with the obvious, allowing oxygen to fill my chest. I’m gulping down breath after breath until my heart rate finally starts slowing down, and it’s only when my head stops feeling fuzzy do I open my eyes. 

Rhysand sits on the bed, beautiful eyes wide, watching me. 

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. Gods, he’s probably uncomfortable beyond belief. “I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s not your fault,” I say, cutting him off and shaking my head. I know I should get off the floor, but my legs feel like jello, and I don’t want to crawl around again. “I, um...”

The words to explain the panic don’t come easy, but he stays silent, giving me time. 

And because I’m a coward who still can’t admit what happened to me, I repeat the words my therapist suggested I try. 

“I have problems with intimacy.” It’s hardly a whisper, but I know he hears it. “And, um... I thought it would be easier with someone like you.” I flinch at my own words and try to make it sound less offensive. “I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay, Feyre. I understand.”

Tears burn the edges of my eyes, but I force them down and steady my voice. “You can go. There’s money on the desk.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not leaving you like this. Unless I’m the reason.”

“No, it’s not you,” I assure him. “You’re great. I just have a hard time relaxing with- I mean around-”

“Men,” he finishes quietly. 

And even though I didn’t tell him, he looks like he can read the words off my face. Rhysand doesn’t say another word, but his eyes are understanding and calm. 

He extends a hand, the silent invitation clear, and for some reason, it makes me smile as I slowly get to my feet, using the wall to support me.

Walking over, he takes my hand in is, and I notice how rough his palms are. Before I can wonder what he does to get such big callouses, he takes my other hand and places them on his shoulders. 

“You’re in control. There are no expectations with me.” The words wash over me, settling in, and my heart slows down a bit. “If you want to kiss and call it a night, we can. It’s up to you.”

For some reason, hearing that he doesn’t care helps. It’s the reason why I chose this, I guess. I’m the client, and I’m in control. 

Finally feeling calm, I slowly run my hands over his shoulders, down his arms. He’s heavily muscled, but it’s smooth and lean, not bulky. From a physical life, not from hours spent in a gym.

I can see the faint lines of tattoos beneath the shirt, but I don’t move to unbutton it. 

His eyes stay on me, and I meet them as my hands drift to his face. The stubble I’d noticed earlier is rough against my fingers as I trace his jaw, then the strong slope of his eyebrows. 

It’s been a year since I touched a man. Longer since I did so this... leisurely. 

My hands find their way into his dark hair, and I smile at how soft it is. His head tilts back a little and his eyes drift close. I don’t know if he’s putting on a show or actually enjoying this, but he seems calm at least. 

And I think... I think this could work. 

Working on my intimacy issues with him could help fix me, maybe even get me ready for a real relationship. 

So I lean in slowly and press my mouth to his. 

Like he said, I’m in control. While earlier had felt like being kissed, this feels like kissing. I move my mouth slowly over his, tracing the curve of his lower lip softly. 

He really is a beautiful man. 

And patient, too. He’s extremely patient while I take my time learning the shape of his mouth, then the angle of his jaw. He stays still, eyes closed, letting me explore. 

I slowly drift back to his mouth, and when he eases his lips open, I meet his tongue with mine. It’s slow and light and just enough to make me want more. 

My breath comes shorter, but it isn’t in panic.

Taking his hands from the bed beside him, I place them on my hips. His fingers flex, but they stay exactly where I put them, even as I wrap my arms around his neck and press a little closer to him. 

We’re still just kissing, but I feel it in my entire body, all the way to my toes. 

I pull back and take a deep breath, not knowing how to put what I want into words without embarrassing myself. Bright violet eyes meet mine as Rhysand runs his tongue across his lower lip. “Just say it.”

How can he read my face so well after just an hour of knowing me? 

“Lean back,” I say, my face warm with a blush. “But don’t turn us over. I can’t... I feel trapped.”

Rhysand just nods, gripping my hips tighter, then lays down with me on top of him. My chest is against his, my legs resting in between his. It’s the closest I’ve been to someone in a long time, and I wait for the panic to set in, but none comes. 

“You okay?”

A small part of me wishes he wouldn’t be so damn understanding and nice. It’s making me feel so incredibly stupid, even as it warms my heart. 

I nod, then put my head down against his chest. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Why?”

Looking back up, I meet his eyes hesitantly. “You’re probably so weirded out by me. Paying you just to come make out like teenagers.”

He smiles, and it makes some of the nerves untangle. “Silly woman. I could kiss you all night. You have the most delicious mouth.” He leans in and kisses me, as if to prove it, then makes a deep humming sound. 

“That’s absurd,” I mutter, even though I feel a lot less anxious now. 

Rhysand shakes his head, then says, “You taste like fucking candy.” His arms loosely wrap around my waist. “Tilt your head to the side and I’ll prove it.”

I do, and his mouth meets my neck, slowly but in a way that makes it feel like I’m being devoured. Tingles shoot down my body as he sweeps my hair off my neck to get better access, and a soft moan escapes me as he sucks on the spot between my shoulder and neck. 

He pulls away enough to say, “You have a really sexy moan, too.”

My face goes scarlet, and he grins up at me, then we’re kissing again. Gods, the man can kiss. He’s letting me control everything, but it’s obvious he’s good at what he does.

Even though I’m almost delirious with lust--something I haven’t felt in a long, long time--I know this is enough for tonight. I’ve already had one panic attack, and I don’t want to push myself too hard. 

So I pull back and tell him, “You can go. I don’t think... this is good for tonight, I think.”

“I feel like you’re not getting your money’s worth if I leave now,” he says, and if I could’ve sworn I hear a hint of sadness in his tone.

I shrug, not telling him the money for tonight was nothing to worry about. Instead, I just slide off him and stand up, straightening my shirt. “It’s was more than okay. Seriously. Thank you for being so understanding.”

Rhysand rises fluidly and grabs his jacket, then turns to me. Before he can speak, I say, “I actually wanted to talk to you about another appointment.”

After an awkward pause, he says quietly, “I don’t really do... repeats.”

“Oh.” There’s no way to hide the disappointment in my voice. 

I’d thought that I’d be able to work with him slowly. Build on what we did tonight. The thought of having to find a different man and explain why I’m so emotionally stunted... shit. 

What if I freak out again, in front of someone new?

Gods, no wonder he doesn’t want to come back. He’s already had to deal with an hour of my trauma. Who would ever sign up to do it again? I’m damaged goods.

“It’s not you, I promise. I’ve just had a few clients get sort of... attached. So I made a policy to not meet with women more than once.” He sounds nice and apologetic, and it grates my nerves a little. 

Rejection is rejection no matter how you look at it. 

And no matter how fucked up I am, I don’t need anyone’s pity.

But, like a big girl, I smile and nod. “I get it. It’s fine. I’ll find someone else. Your money is on the table.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Find someone else? What do you mean?”

My eyebrows fly up at how shocked he sounds. He just saw firsthand how not okay I am, and he’s surprised? 

“I mean that I’ll find someone else. I have intimacy issues, and I need to work on them. I understand completely that you’re uncomfortable with that, and I’ll find someone who isn’t.”

There’s a flicker in his jaw. “And you’re planning on using the website for this someone?”

“It’s really none of your concern.”

“Feyre, there are some not so great people on there. You shouldn’t use-”

My patience snaps. “You have absolutely no right to lecture me. You don’t want the job, I will find someone else, since it’s such a goddamn burden. Now thank you very much for tonight, but you’re community service is done. You can go.”

There are too many emotions on his face to process them all, but I definitely register shock. 

“I promise it isn’t about you, okay? You’re great. Hell, I’d want to sleep with you even if I wasn’t getting paid. But I have a policy, and-”

“Like I said, I understand. You can go now.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t use the site to find another guy.”

There’s something about the command in his voice that grabs every last thread I’m hanging by and rips them free. I march over to him and jab a finger into his chest. “Do not tell me what to do. Ever.”

Rhysand eyes narrow, but it isn’t in anger. It’s like he’s looking at a puzzle, and he just figured out the piece he’d thought would fit won’t. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

I remove the finger-gun from his chest, but he doesn’t make any move to leave. Instead, he catches me completely off guard by saying, “I’ll do four more appointments.”

Rolling my eyes comes a little to easy. “Don’t do me any favors. I’m not your goddamn charity case.”

“No, because if you were, you’d probably be a little grateful.” Whatever retort I had planned dies in my throat. “But it’s not pity. I don’t want you getting hurt by some other guy from the site.”

There’s enough genuine concern in his voice for me to believe him. And the last thing I want is to put myself in danger. 

But I still ask if he’s serious, because to be honest, it sounds perfect. 

If I can fix myself in six appointments. 

That’s a pretty big if. 

“Yes, seriously. But I’m going to charge you more, and we can only meet here.”

I shrug because I sure as hell wasn’t about to invite him to my place. And unless he’s planning on charging enough to buy a house, it should be fine. “Okay.”

He glances at me, then down at himself, like he’s suddenly aware he’s still standing here. “Okay.”

And just like that, I’ve hired a hooker. 

____________________________________________________

Part 2 is here because I have no self-control. Let me know in the comments/my box if you want to be tagged :)

@trinitybailey2003 @zukos-simp @cursebreaker29 @sjmships @starrynightsbooks @lovemollywho @januarystears @perseusannabeth @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @savemesoon8 @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

[vidalinav]

tbh I feel so done with this series - and I only stayed because the Nesta book was coming in the first place. Like, I find it so interesting how people love to point out SJM her her thousands of problematic issues (as they should) but continue supporting her. It's ironic if you acknowledge the toxicity she promotes but spend money to get the book anyway. This is probably why I'm done with the series. Like do I still love Nesta very much? Yes! But I feel all the attention isn't going to make sjm change, instead give her the benefit of thinking people still obsess over her books

I don’t know how to respond to this. TBH. So I’ll try my best. But it is your right to leave the fandom, everyone grows out of content, or gets tired of certain things, or favors one character over another, gets disappointed. It’s chaos to get obsessed over a book series or a television show or whatever. I happen to really love chaos, so I’m really okay with this. I will complain about it loudly, but at the core I LOVE chaos.  

I generally like how SJM writes, and for the most part it’s not too bad, on a regular basis. It’s just with this book for some reason, things were just wayyy lower quality in specific areas. Which again I really hold against her editor and her friends who did not tell her that so many things were inaccurate to what she herself wrote or was just plain stupid. I don’t find her writing any more problematic than any other person’s writing. Personally I feel that every piece of media consumed is problematic at its core. All human beings are problematic and therefore anything that features them should probably portray a level of wth is going on? Of course, this doesn’t mean you should love it or want it or promote ideals that are wild or immoral, but just that it’s impossible to get around and very subjective to the nature of things. I really don’t think SJM is THAT bad, but she did make a book that could have been WAY better and I will stand by that claim. She’s a writer that needs growth as much as her characters, maybe needs different point of views to really show her where she can flourish. But again, the process of promoting, the instagram lives, the covers, the actual book makes it seem to me that it’s an institutional problem rather than one SJM herself is actively trying to do. So I feel for her if that’s the case. 

I also can’t say what will happen in the next book. So it could be actually really great, which would be sort of disappointing because Nesta’s arc deserved sooo much better. It could also be really shitty and at that point than you can be like (if you haven’t already) well this fucking sucks I can’t stay any longer, which maybe will happen. (Shrugs) I don’t know. I personally just don’t like waiting for anything. I’m very very impatient. So I hate that I don’t know what’s going to happen in respect to who the next POVs are. Because tbh if we knew that, it would be fairly easy to connect dots on how this is going down. It would be a relief but I’m also sure she might lose some fans with whatever she chooses. 

But I’m going to be completely honest and say I am here for Nesta. I want to see Nesta from every POV. I hope to god she still causes problems and is the character that is a main focus even if she’s not always in the light, even if she’s completely sweet and I don’t recognize her and she’s fully IC, I’ll take it! Because well I read the whole ACOTAR series, reading for Nesta in Feyre’s POV, and I thought it was fine. I wrote fanfiction for three years based on small snippets. SO, look I’ll die with this fandom who’s yelling blasphemy about Elriel or Elucien or Mor and Emerie, or Gwynriel, or Anti-Rhysands, Anti-ICs, Anti-Amrens, I’ll even chant yell louder, but instinctively I’m like take your fucking ships, your opinions, because as long as Nesta is featured in that book, I’m good to go. 

I’ll stay for my girl and that is the truth. 

[epochofbelief]

Breath Control, Chapter Six

An A Court of Mist and Fury College Swim Team AU

All characters belong to SJ Maas!

Feysand.

Warnings: mature content, cursing

Let me know if you want to be tagged:)

Enjoy! 

SIX

We pulled up outside the family house--an enormous, Colonial-style building, complete with six bedrooms, too many bathrooms to count, an enormous kitchen, and several living areas. My father had purchased it as soon as his business had started flourishing again in the middle of last year. I’d never understood why he’d bought such a large home for himself alone. I figured it was something about overtly displaying just how much wealth he’d regained to everyone in our home town. I didn’t concern myself with it too much; I’d never actually lived in the house anyway.

Nesta had for a few months before she’d moved down to Prythian to live near me and Elain. I’m pretty sure she’d lived on the opposite side of the house from my father to avoid running into him as much as possible until she’d saved enough money from her flight attendant job to get a place of her own. . . Out of the three of us, Nesta got along with my dad the least. 

Rhys charmed Elain instantly, asking her questions about her baking, her gardening, her nursing classes. He skillfully avoided all talk of significant others, for which I was grateful, and by the end of the car ride Elain was half in love with him.

Elain hopped out of the car as soon as she pulled onto the enormous bricked driveway. I remained inside with Rhys for a moment. I twisted around in the backseat to look at him. 

“Here is my final warning and disclaimer to you. I love Nesta, don’t get me wrong. But she will be a bitch to you. I don’t know how my father will act around. . .” I trailed off.

“Never brought a boy home, Feyre darling? I’ll try to pretend I’m not immensely flattered at the idea.”

Heat bloomed in my cheeks. “Of course I’ve brought boys home. You’re not that special.”

He rolled his eyes. “Come on, Archeron. Let’s go meet your family.” 

If I was being honest, his eagerness scared me a little.  I took a deep breath and followed him up the front walk, bags in tow. Elain burst into the house and I timidly followed her through the enormous entry way, painted a pleasant cream above the dark wood flooring. Past the staircase and to the right, we found my father and Nesta in the kitchen talking. 

More like arguing, They weren’t yelling, though, which was progress for those two.

“I don’t like you working as a flight attendant, Nesta. You got an engineering degree for a reason, you know.” 

“I don’t care. Working on planes is much more fun. I get to see new places during long layovers or overnight stays. So butt. Out. Dad.”

Elain cleared her throat. Realizing they now had company, they both shut up rather quickly. I was grateful. I wanted to spare Rhys from the family theatrics for as long as possible. Even if things had been better between all four of us for the past year or so. 

“Feyre!” My dad exclaimed, unusually perky. It was probably for Rhys’s benefit.  He moved to hug me and I acquiesced, glancing at Nesta out of the corner of my eye. She shrugged.

“And you must be Rhysand. I have to say, I was quite surprised when Feyre told me she was bringing a boy home for Thanksgiving dinner who wasn’t Tamlin.” My cheeks were absolutely flaming at this point. I decided to stare at my shoes. 

Also, how could he mention Tamlin? He didn’t know a thing about our relationship except that we were broken up and I never wanted to speak of it again. Oblivious to all the embarrassment he was currently causing me, my father extended his hand to Rhys.

Rhys gripped it tightly, his crutch wedged underneath his arm.  I was pleased to see that his grip was firm. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Yes.” My father had suddenly become quite solemn.  “And what are you majoring in, Rhysand?” 

Oh dear.

“International Relations, sir.” 

“And what do you plan to do with that?”

And God bless him, Rhys didn’t miss a beat. “My father is an Operations Manager for a large global company. I plan to follow in his footsteps to manage a large company, particularly--”

I decided that that was enough. “Okay, Dad! I’m going to give Rhys a house tour. What time’s dinner?”

My father gave Rhys a look as though their conversation wasn’t over as I grabbed his arm and hustled him out of the kitchen.  

I forced Rhys up the stairs. “Oh my god. What right does he have to give my friends the first-degree as soon as he meets them? He didn’t try to parent me in high school, so why start now? It’s not like you’re my--”

“Boyfriend?” He smirked. “It was fine, Feyre. I know what I plan to do with my degree.”

“You shouldn’t have to answer to him.”

“Relax,” he said as he followed me up the second flight of stairs. “By the end of this week, your father will love me.”

He met me at the top of the stairs, seeing as I’d stormed up them and he’d had to carefully ease his way up with his boot and crutches. Barely a hand’s breadth between us, he stood with his back to the stairs as I stared up at him. 

“Why waste your time trying to make such a good impression?” I couldn’t take my eyes away from his face. I realized suddenly just how much taller than me he was.

“Consider it a long term investment.”

“Why invest in that?”

He edged around me and set off down one of the hallways. “Show me the house, Feyre darling. Isn’t that what we came up here to do?”

I could think of other things. The thought coalesced inside my mind, unbidden. I was the only one who lived on the third floor of this house. Those things I was thinking of doing . . . wouldn’t be difficult to accomplish here.

Nope. No, no, no. Not an option. 

But as I followed Rhys down the corridor, I couldn’t help. . . wondering what it would be like. Kissing him, touching him, calling him mine. . . 

“Archeron! You coming? I don’t actually know where I’m going.”

I puffed out my cheeks. Shit.

We worked our way through all the bedrooms and living rooms on the second floor and finally made it to the staircase that led to my room, alone on the third floor. It was quite a spacious room, actually, with an amazing attached bathroom. What I didn’t realize was how Rhys would get up the extremely narrow staircase. Technically, the third floor had been something like the servants’ quarters a hundred years ago, now remodeled and modernized. But the fact remained that the staircase was much too narrow for Rhys to get up with his crutches. 

“You don’t have to see my room. I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think about it,” I said, glancing down at his foot.

He set his crutches against the wall. “I’m seeing your room, Feyre,” he said confidently.

I raised my eyebrows. “Well, okay then. Do you want to go first?”

“I can walk perfectly fine, Feyre. Chill.” 

“Boys,” I muttered under my breath. 

“What was that?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just get your ass up the stairs.”

“Bossy. I like a woman in charge.”

“Get your ass up the stairs, Rhysand!” 

He chuckled. And began his slow ascent. It wasn’t that he was weak, it was that his boot was big and clunky and he wasn’t technically supposed to put his weight on it very often, according to Madja. On the narrow staircase, maneuvering the boot would be difficult. But he made his way up, giving me an extremely convenient view of his ass through his jeans as he climbed. I followed him until we reached the top and then squeezed past him on the tiny landing.

“Prepare to be amazed. My father ensured I had the room of my dreams even though I’ve never truly lived here. Parental guilt for not really providing for me all through high school.” 

Rhys stood, arms crossed, waiting. 

I sighed. This felt strangely intimate. I’d never had a boy in my room before. I mean sure, Tamlin had visited my dorm a few times but because he was older we had almost always ended up at his place at night. And my room wasn’t really “lived in” seeing as I’d never lived in the house. But it was mine, and I’d gotten to choose all the decorations, all the pictures… everything. 

“Okay.” I turned the door handle and stepped briskly into my room, eager to get this over with. 

Rhys hobbled inside, his gaze floating over the white-covered, four poster bed pushed against the far wall, two large windows on either side. His gaze floated over the dark wood floors, covered by a gray rug under my bed and a pale blue one under the sitting area, complete with a fireplace, couch, and two arm plush grey armchairs. It floated over my bookshelf, filled with all the books I didn’t have room for in my townhouse back at school. And landed on the grey walls, covered with paintings.

Every one of them painted by me. 

There were landscapes, and abstracts, and a few canvases covered only with my favorite book or movie quotes.  

He stepped into the center of the room and halted, turning in place, staring at the paintings. “Did you paint all of these?”

I leaned against my door. “Yeah…” 

He kept looking. 

“That bad, huh?” 

He tore his gaze from the walls of my bedroom. “What? No. The exact opposite. This is--these are-- These are amazing, Feyre. I had no idea you were a painter.”

“I’ve sort of run out of time for it in college. Haven’t painted since. . .” I hadn’t really painted since Tamlin and I had gotten together. “Since the beginning of my freshman year. I miss it,” I said, and suddenly felt the urge to march downstairs and into the garage to retrieve all my old paint buckets, brushes, and the canvases that I knew were waiting for me. 

“Wow. I’d pay money for one of these. You have an incredible talent, Feyre.”  His eyes alighted on the painting hung above my fireplace. “Is that your mother?”

I nodded, smiling a little. “I painted it based off of a picture of her my dad has. She died before I really picked up the hobby. But that’s her.”

“She’s beautiful.”

I nodded and decided it was safe to enter the room. My paintings were a part of my soul. And I realized that if Rhys had looked at them and insulted them, or worse, just skated over their existence, I would have been crushed. Thank goodness he hadn’t. I collapsed onto my bed. I was suddenly exhausted from the morning practice that felt like it had been days ago and the following four hour drive spent with Rhys. He limped over and sat next to me as I stared up at the ceiling. 

“This is why you were so nervous to bring me up here?” He asked softly.

I nodded. 

“Anyone would be crazy not to be impressed by your art.”

“It was kind of a weird hobby to have in high school. I mostly kept it to myself. Not sure why the kids at my school thought painting in your spare time was weird.”

He was silent for a moment, as though debating what to say. Then-- “Well I, personally, find painting in your spare time to be hot.” 

I sat up, my face coming within inches of his. If I moved forward just a bit, my lips would meet his. 

“Incredibly hot,” he went on. 

It was almost as if my body was leaning forward of its own accord.

“In fact, it might be one of the hottest things I’ve ever heard.”

I rolled my eyes. “Now you’re just making things up.”

He smiled and I might have melted a little bit.

“Maybe.” I could feel his breath on my cheek. Minty. Was there anything about him that wasn’t perfect? 

I leaned closer. Consequences be damned. We were inches apart, so close my eyelids had fluttered closed, when--

“Feyre! Dinner!”

“Shit,” he whispered.

I swallowed. “We should go.”

He nodded. “Mmhm.”

I led him back across the landing and down the stairs. I’d reached the bottom step when he swore (again) and---

“Shit!” 

I almost felt him trip before he stumbled forward, and I whirled around, gripping his shoulders in an effort to steady him at the bottom of the stairs. His hands reached out and grabbed my waist as he regained his balance. 

“You good?” I asked, breathing more heavily than I should have been. Heat flared up and down my body from where his hands had set themselves around my middle. 

“Yeah. Sorry.” 

He still hadn’t let go. I didn’t want him to. 

“Dinner. We have to go eat dinner. Your father probably thinks I’m doing unspeakable things to you right now, Feyre darling.”

Heat flooded my cheeks again. “Right.” And shaking my head, I released his shoulders and as I walked down the stairs to the kitchen, I chided myself for my weakness, for the desire to kiss him that had been growing steadily all day, all week. 

------

Later that night, after a tense dinner with my father, I came downstairs after my shower to find Rhysand and my dad shouting at the television together. Prythian University’s men’s basketball team was on the screen, playing some school I’d never really heard of. Rhys and my father were berating the referees as I took a seat on the couch next to Rhys--a healthy two feet away from him.

Just to be sure.

“I didn’t realize either of you were so invested in college basketball…”

Rhys tore his eyes away from the screen to gape at me, openmouthed. “You go to Prythian and you don’t care about our basketball team? They were in the top four in the country last year.”

I shrugged. “I’m just not that into it.”

“I can’t believe I’m friends with you.” He placed a special emphasis on the word “friends.” I prayed my father didn’t notice his change of tone.

“Hey!”

My dad chimed in. “Can’t say I blame him, Feyre. Neglecting to educate you in team sports has been the biggest regret of my life.”

“Oh, please. You’re both making me feel like public enemy number one in my own house.” 

Rhys poked me in the side and I hissed, then settled back on the couch for the next hour as the pair of new-best-friends shouted and raged and cheered at the screen until, in double-overtime, Prythian won out. 

“Thank God that’s over,” I mumbled, although I was secretly happy Prythian had come out on top in the end.

“I’m dragging you to a basketball game when we get back to campus. Athletes get free tickets. You know that right?”

“Of course I know that.” Nevermind that I’d never used that particular advantage.

My dad stood up. “Well, kids, I’m headed to bed. Feyre, Rhys knows where his room is, right?” He gave me a look. Then bestowed another, different look, on Rhys.

“Yes, Dad. Good night.” I narrowed my eyes and he (thankfully) departed quickly. 

That left Rhys and me, alone in the dark living room. Nesta and Elain had gone off to bed hours ago.  An awkward silence ensued. 

“Well,” I stood. “I guess I should get to bed.”

Rhys followed suit. “Yep,” he said lamely. 

As he crutched after me toward the staircase, I spoke up, just to break the silence between us that hadn’t been there moments before. “I can’t believe how fast you charmed my father.”

He chuckled. “I hate to be so predictable, but I am a man and I do love televised sports.”

I sighed. “I’m not judging.”

We made it to the top of the stairs and I walked him to his room. He paused in the doorway. “I really am grateful though, despite your rather unfortunate lack of interest in sports. Grateful you invited me here.”

“What are teammates for?” I said, remembering what he’d asked me on that night a month ago. 

He smiled a little, as though remembering that night too. “Good night, Feyre.”

“Good night, Rhys.”

It was difficult to refrain from inviting him up to my room to… just to have him near me. But I made myself turn away from him and climb the narrow staircase to my solitary bedroom at the top of the house. 

I’d just crawled into bed when a text came through on my phone. I lunged for the nightstand, knocking my phone to the floor in the process. Relieved that no one had been around to witness such a display of grace and decorum, recognizing how obviously desperate I was for Rhys to text me, I reached down, scooped up my phone, and pulled up my messages.

Tamlin Spring: I heard you took Rhys home with you for Thanksgiving

All the air left my body. 

Tamlin Spring: You never took me home to meet your family. I didn’t realize you were such a slut. Did a year with me mean nothing to you?

Tamlin Spring: I would take you back--if you got on your knees in front of me and begged 

Tamlin Spring: You were only ever good on your knees, anyway

Now it felt as though all the blood had left my body too. 

I threw my phone against the room. I sat up in my bed, face in my hands. I should just ignore his messages and leave it alone. He had no right to comment on what I was doing. Who had even told him I’d invited Rhys home with me for Thanksgiving, anyway? Besides, it was just friends helping friends. Rhys being here didn’t mean anything. It certainly didn’t make me a slut.

But as my phone buzzed again, and then again, as I tried to shut my eyes and shut out what he’d said. . . I couldn’t stop rereading his texts inside my head. Was I just a slut? A traitor for having these feelings for Rhys so soon after ending things with Tamlin?

He would still take me back? Like that was going to happen. But. . . I remembered what he’d said when he’d kidnapped me and forced me to drink…. Something about just giving me space, as though he didn’t think we were actually broken up...

But if he was telling me I was a slut over a text… He’d probably spread that rumor to the rest of the team by now. Along with a story about how I was a cheater too. After I’d worked so hard to stay out of the drama and sexual intrigue so abundant on my swim team. Against my will, tears leaked from between my fingers.

My phone buzzed for a third time and I dragged myself out of bed to retrieve it. I was determined to silence it and cry myself to sleep, but instead of another text from Tamlin, three from Rhys popped up.

Rhys: What was that bang? 

Rhys: I’m in the room underneath yours, I think

Rhys: FEYRE ARE YOU ALIVE

As I read them, another popped up.

Rhys: Don’t make me come up there

I started typing my response, telling him I was fine and to go to bed when a soft knock sounded at my door. I padded over to it and pulled it open.

“How did you get up here so fast?” I whispered.

“Texted as I walked. Obviously.”

“Well you didn’t need to waste the trip. I threw my phone at the ground.”

“Your phone is enormous. The bang caused the elaborate chandelier over my bed to swing ominously. I feared for my life.” He was teasing me. But then the smile melted from his face as he noticed what I was wearing. 

A large grey t-shirt that came to rest mid-thigh. And nothing else. I didn’t even have it in me to blush, I was so intent on not letting him see the tears left on my face. He looked down only for a moment, though, before his gaze settled firmly above my neckline. 

“Thanks for checking on me, Rhys.” I turned to go.

Slut. The word echoed through my mind. I was sure to return to the team to find myself at the center of all the gossip. What would Cassian and Mor think? Would they believe the rumors? We hadn’t been friends for long. I’d barely interacted with Amren and Azriel at this point. They’d surely believe the rumors. 

Rhys caught my arm, taking a few steps farther into my room. “Feyre. What’s wrong? Why did you throw your phone at the floor?”

I had no idea why I gave up so easily, but I brandished my phone at him. He took it from me and I stared at the wall beside his head as he found the texts from Tamlin and read them. 

“What. An. Asshole,” he said through gritted teeth.

“It’s fine.”

He gave my phone back to me. “No, no it’s not. He needs to leave you the fuck alone. He’s not your boyfriend anymore.”

Now I really did turn away. “I don’t need the encouragement, Rhys. He’s right, yeah? I’m just a slut. Moving on way too quickly.”

He raced around to stand in front of me. “No. You are not a slut. Your relationship is over. You ended it the right way. And for good reason, too.  Nothing he just texted you has an ounce of truth to it. You should block him and forget about it.”

I didn’t say anything, just kept my eyes glued to the ground. I didn’t trust myself to look at him. I’d probably try to act on my “slutty tendencies” if I looked into his violet eyes. 

Two fingers hooked under my chin and pulled my face up to his. “Feyre. I promise you. You’re doing nothing wrong.” 

I couldn’t stop the fresh tears that escaped me. How had a few text messages from an asshole managed to upset me so much? Or maybe I was crying in relief that Rhys was so vehemently disagreeing with what Tamlin had sent. Either way, the tears kept coming as he looked at me. And then, slowly--so very slowly--he removed his fingers from my chin and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me toward him. 

I stood there for a moment as he held me, arms hanging uselessly at my sides. And then I hugged him back, my arms coming up and over his shoulders to wrap around his neck. I slid one hand into his soft black hair. “Thanks for coming for me,” I whispered. “And I don’t just mean tonight.” 

He huffed out a breath. “Anytime.” 

I didn’t let go for a long, long time. Until I realized…

“Where the hell is your boot?”

He pulled back, his hands still resting lightly on my waist. “Uh…”

“Rhysand Night!” I whacked his arm. “You walked up here without your boot! Don’t you want to heal?!” 

He put his hands on his hips. It was then that I noticed he wasn’t putting a whole lot of weight on his injured foot. “I heard a large thump and came up here prepared to defend you from a murderer or something, and this is how you thank me?”

I pushed him backward, forcing him to take a seat on my bed. “I can kill my own murderers, thank you very much. Now sit. I’m going to get your boot right now.”

But he reached out and grabbed my hand, pulling me roughly toward him so I stood between his legs. My hands came to rest on his shoulders to steady myself. “I’m trying to make sure you can train sooner rather than later, you know,” I managed to say, but the thrill at being so close to him like this was overriding nearly every other thought in my mind.

“I’m a big boy. I can handle it.” 

And then he kissed me. 

I was stunned for only a moment before my hands moved from his shoulders to thread through his silky black hair. His lips pressed against mine, so soft. His kiss was firm, neither too gentle nor too rough, and mere seconds passed before his tongue traced my lips and I opened my mouth, letting him in. 

His tongue swept in and he inched back on the bed, keeping his mouth firmly planted against mine, pulling me onto the bed after him. His size hit me again, then. I was so small compared to him. He removed his lips from mine and he eased me onto my back. Turning, he leaned over me and his mouth claimed mine again, this time slightly more eager, as his right hand moved from my hair, down my side, coming to rest at my waist. I kept one hand firmly entangled in his hair while the other ran down his chest. He was so damn muscular. 

I’d always been a sucker for swimmer’s bodies. 

He pulled away for a moment. “So…”

I let out an irritated squeak of protest, but he slipped a hand beneath my shirt and flattened it against my stomach. I shut up. 

“Earlier you said something about moving on too quickly.” His hand slid up a little bit.

“Hmm, I don’t recall…” I breathed, in a very futile attempt to hide how desperate I was for him to keep touching me, kissing me. More, more, more, I wanted.

His hand inched up, his thumb now caressing the skin just beneath my breasts. I was definitely not wearing a bra.

“What did you mean by that, Feyre darling?”

I tried desperately to suck down a breath as his hand slid up. . . 

“Aren’t you smart enough to figure that out yourself, Rhysand?”

“Rhysand? You cruel, beautiful thing.” 

His hand flattened against my breast and I lost all control as I pulled him down to kiss him again. 

He smiled against my lips, and the joy that flooded through my body as a result of his happiness was almost better than how good it felt to feel his hands on my body, his lips on mine, his weight against me. Almost… 

We stayed like that for quite a while, kissing, not going much farther, before he crawled under the covers, tucked me against him, and we fell asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

TAGS:))

@sleeping-and-books​  @musicalfae​

[hireath24]

Everything Wrong with ACOFAS: A Rant  Part Four

Disclaimer: This is the fourth and final part of this series and will continue from pages 151 to 229. Part one can be found here. Part two can be found here. Part three can be found here. These page numbers come from the UK paperback edition of A Court of Frost and Starlight. This is my own opinion of the book - the writing, the grammar, the characters, etc. I won’t be commenting on anything that may have been plagiarized or that has been ripped off from the history of other cultures as SJM has a tendency to do. However, if there is something you pick up on about these subjects, feel free to comment them and I will add them to the post with credit. If you disagree with my opinions, I’m sorry and hope you see the error in your ways.

Page 152: ‘...felt like a decadence.’ I’m sorry, felt like a decadence? That’s not how you use that word.

Page 153: Feyre is drawing Rhys in the nude and all I can think of is draw me like one of your french girls Jack. 

Page 154: Whilst I’m happy that SJM is showing everyone suffering from a hangover because of all the drinking they did in the previous chapter, I want to know why Feyre couldn’t just use her magic to get rid of hers. And everybody else’s. If she’s said that she could use her magic to remove the pain of grief, why can’t she do this? 

Page 155: The paragraphing in this book is so messed up. I’m going to type out this little bit exactly as it is printed in the book, look: ‘But two massive figures filled the archway of the dining room, and Rhys paused.

Azriel and Cassian, having crept up on cat-soft feet, were also wearing their Illyrian leathers.

And from their shit-eating grins, I knew this would not end well.’ What is this? It’s such a mess. 

Page 155: ‘Tradition indeed.’ 

Page 156: Everyone keeps going on about how wealthy the Night Court is and I still don’t understand where they’re getting their money from. Do the people of the Night Court have to pay tax? Does Rhys have an amount of money that he puts back into Velaris for the upkeep of it? And why is Feyre saying that ‘paperwork could wait’? Uh, no. No, it can’t. The people of her court can’t spend the Solstice like she is because their homes are wrecked, they’ve lost family members. Feyre abandons her duties as High Lady to fuck around with friends and we’re supposed to believe that she’s a decent ruler? I don’t think so.

Page 164: ‘What is.’

Page 165: So Rhys upset Tamlin when he went to go and yell at the poor sod over in Spring Court a few chapters back and it upset Tamlin so much that it made him throw out all of Lucien’s clothes because he ‘wishes to remain in solitude’? So, basically, this was all Rhys’s fault and he doesn’t face any consequences for it. 

Page 167: I’m so happy that Elain is making it very clear that she doesn’t want a mate, but I wish Feyre would stop going on about how good of a male Lucien is to her. And she says to Elain ‘You couldn’t say a single word to him’ as if it’s Elain’s job to make him feel comfortable? Elain wants nothing to do with him! Feyre needs to stop pressuring people. 

Page 167: ‘Solstice. It was Solstice.’ WHY

Page 168: Aaaaand they’re drinking again. Feyre abandoned her work for friends and alcohol. I’m not okay with it but I’m even less okay with how common and casual wine is used here. 

Page 169: ‘Tell me what.’ 

Page 171: ‘Illyrian babies indeed.’ 

Page 172: Do you remember a couple of years ago when high school AUs were all the rage in fanfiction? That is what this book reads like, only high school AUs managed to make me cry on a few occasions. 

Page 172: So it’s an ‘Illyrian custom’ for the heated shed, birchin, and a bunch of naked warriors ‘sitting in the steam, sweating’. But... Why? And can somebody please tell me what a birchin is? 

Page 178: One of the characters gets red sexy underwear as a present, which is fine. But in a kid’s book? No, no, no, no. No!! A twelve year old could be reading this! What the fuck? 

Page 179: ‘Against the onslaught of Nesta.’ Wow, SJM is really trying her hardest here to villainize Nesta. 

Page 184: ‘rare, vibrant paint from the continent.’ This line was just thrown in here without any explanation at all! Why is the paint rare? How did Azriel get it from the continent? Why is it only available on the continent? 

Page 193: These last couple of pages really did it for me with Cassian’s character. He follows Nesta home after she says she doesn’t want him to? He yells at her and tells her to ‘go somewhere else’ even though he knows she can’t? He reaches for her hand after she’s told him many, many times to leave her alone? This is creepy. This is stalker behavior. And if they get together (which we all know that they will), this is fucking borderline abuse. It’s controlling and toxic and unhealthy, which could be said about all of SJM’s romances but heigh ho. 

Page 194: What is ‘faelight’? 

Page 201: ‘Would it indeed be a gift for you?’ 

Page 201: Also, why is the mountains with the stars the Night Court’s symbol? What’s the history behind it? 

Page 201: Feyre’s toes have ‘curled’ three times in this book and I’m just thankful that the Fae can’t develop arthritis.

Page 202: I can’t... I can’t read this sex scene. I can’t do it. It’s too much. ‘My breasts turned achingly heavy.’ OH MY GOD. Not only is this a kid’s book but.... It’s also just disgusting. 

Page 202: ‘Brazen possessiveness.’ This can’t even be read as sex positivism  anymore. It’s violent, possessive smut. Did somebody say BDSM? (Wait, wait. BDSM requires consent and safe words.) Also, if you want to write about sex positively then talk a bit about protection? And consent? And making sure that everyone is comfortable? And for goodness sake, don’t add this to a kid’s book. I made a post that goes into more detail about this here.

Page 204: ‘How you let me do such naughty, terrible things to you.’ FUCKING WHAT?! DO I EVEN NEED TO EXPLAIN HOW BAD THIS IS?!??!

Page 205: ‘Undiluted, utter predator’ You cannot look me in the eye and tell me that this was SJM’s attempts at adding in some sex positivity. To be honest, I’m, starting to think that this whole book was just fan service. SJM knew that her readers wanted the wall scene and here we have a whole book dedicated to the build up of it. NOTHING HAPPENS IN THIS FUCKING BOOK!

Page 206: Rhysand just climaxed at a picture of his child. 

Page 209: It’s incredibly sweet that Rhys bought a house for Feyre. Really, no, it is. And the ‘build a nursery, Feyre’ is also sweet. But A) the money side of things needs explaining. B) Why does nobody want to be at the House of Wind and what’s the point of even having it if nobody uses it? C) Rhysand bought Feyre a house when many of his people are currently homeless due to the wars... Right. 

Page 211: At this point, Rhysand should just leave Tamlin alone. I don’t care what his intentions were. And seriously, is this the way that High Lords act with each other? There should be guards there, there should be people there to protect their own High Lord. There should be advisors and- What does the Fae government look like? What are the rules? Is there a jail? A judge? The High Lords act like spoiled, rich children. 

Page 214: ‘Alive. It was all alive.’

Page 214: Mor has an estate that sits on ‘three hundred pristine acres.’ I want to know the geography of the courts. Yes, I know, we have a map. But that’s all we have. I want to know about borders (and if there are physical borders that need to be guarded to stop people from coming in to separate courts). Is a passport thing or even papers required to travel between courts? Buckingham Palace has 39 acres of land, including what it sits on. Did SJM do any research? There are whole countries smaller than three hundred acres. 

Page 215: ‘She didn’t want to take his joy away from him. Anymore than she already did.’ Mor feels guilty about her sexuality because she won’t be with Azriel and, somehow, fans of the book are okay with that. 

Page 222: This may just be me being stupid but I’m confused about ‘Illyrian.’ Rhysand said their children would be Illyrians, Feyre calls him an Illyrian baby. They wear Illyrian leathers and follow Illyrian customs but here: ‘Some part of him was Illyrian still. Always would be. Even if he wished to forget it.’ What does this mean? I’m so confused. 

Page 222: Do you know what might be a better act of feminism then having girls train to fight? Having the boys of all the camps be allowed to leave. Being allowed to stop fighting and go and have families. 

And that’s it from me, folks! I’ve read this book twice now and my opinion hasn’t changed. It’s boring, problematic, addresses things very poorly. It’s too sexual, there’s too much talk about alcohol and sex. And it really did nothing at all. 

Thank you for joining me on this little series! It’s definitely been interesting. Again, if there’s anything that I’ve missed then tell me and I shall write it in. I may do this again with more of SJM’s books but it’s surprisingly time consuming. 

[secretlynestaarcheron]

A/N - sorry guys, I uploaded yesterday but on the wrong account! Quarantine is not being kind to me! Sorry for the delay! 

Tagged: @awesomelena555 @catwomancabella @overgrown-bat @sannelovesreading @candid-confetti @gendryaforthemasses @musicmaam @skychild29 @empress-ofbloodshed  @8emmy @thestarkswinter

Cold as Ice

SIX

Cassian groaned as the buzzing of his phone woke him up, he reached blindly, his hand hitting the cool metal as he slid open the phone and pressed it to his ear. “Hello?” he grumbles, rubbing his eyes and glancing over to see the time. 5 am. 

“Hey, is this Cassian?” 

Cassian sits up at that, worry spreading through his body, “Yeah, what’s up?” 

The femine voice on the other side of the phone sighs in relief, “I found your friend, tall and blonde? Morgan, I think? She’s had way too much to drink, I found her stumbling through the street.” 

Cassian rips off his covers, walking over to slip on his shoes, “Thank you for calling, where are you guys now?” he asks, he's glad to know that she's with someone that seems to be safety minded but he was still confused on why she was out drinking, she hadn’t gotten drunk in a long time. 

“Right outside of Velaris Bar,” she replies, “I am sorry to call so late, you were one of two people on her favorites list and I didn’t-,” 

“No, it's okay, I am glad she's safe with you. I’ll be there shortly, I am leaving now,” he says, running out the door and jumping into his jeep after hanging up. The streets are still quiet as he makes his way towards the bar, sure enough he sees a small brunette standing outside with Mor leaning against her. 

He quickly jumps out of the car, moving over towards his friend, “Hey, I am Cassian,” he says to clarify he was the right person, as he transitions Mor into his arms, “Thank you so much for everything.” 

The brunette smiles, “Yeah, of course, If I was in her position I would want someone to stay with me,” she replies, “She was really out of it, is she okay?” 

Cassian shakes his head, “I hope so,” he replies, “Do you need anything? Money to get home? A ride?” 

She shakes her head, “I actually live right there,” she says, pointing across the street, “Get home safe, I hope everything works out for the best for both of you.” 

Cassian smiles, turning to help Mor get into his car, she groans as he moves but doesn’t fight him on any of it. He buckles her in before running to the other side and hopping it, he looks over at her, her hair wild and her mascara smudged. “Wanna tell me why you decided to drink the night away?” 

She hums, digging her head into the chair and pulling her knees to her chest. He chuckles looking towards the road and driving back to his apartment. He carries her up the stairs, only slightly winded when he hits the fifth floor. He kicks his door open, moving towards his room quietly and sets her on his bed. 

He runs a hand through his hair, glancing around the room for his phone, he groans when he realizes he probably left it in the car. He sits on the side of the bed, yawning as he glances at the clock on his nightstand. He curses when he sees that it's 6:05, he was supposed to meet Nesta five minutes ago with coffee. 

“I am going to leave, you good just sleep for an hour?” Cassian asks, turning towards Mor who was staring up at the ceiling, she shrugs in response. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Cas,” she says, turning on her side to look at me. 

He glances at the clock, before shifting back and laying down next to her, he would explain it all to Nesta and she would understand, right? He shakes the thought, he couldn’t care about that right now, not when Mor was obviously going through something like this. “Did you go out with friends last night?” he asks. 

She shakes her head, resting it in his lap, “No,” she replies, covering her face with her hands, “It was stupid, I was stupid, I don’t know why I let myself feel like this again.” 

He runs a hand through her hair, comfortingly, Mor and him were best friends he knew how to handle her when she was stressed or upset. “Amara,” he concludes, “What happened with getting coffee?” 

Mor groans, rolling onto her back so she could look up at him, “That’s just it, we drank coffee and talked,” she replies, “No apology for ditching me, she didn’t even really give me an explanation. She just said she had been busy.” 

Cassian nods, letting her speak, “It’s stupid, she was like this when we were going out so I don’t know why I thought It would be any different,” she replies, “But of course, I couldn’t just think it was a bad idea myself one of my parents posh friends had to see me and tell them.” 

“Did they contact you?” Cassian asks, clenching his fists, he had many issues with her parents. 

“My dad,” she replies, “My mom refused to talk to me, which hurt worse than any word my father called me. Getting coffee with Amara was dumb mistake on my part, but that phone call-,” she chokes out a sob, wiping at her eyes, “I am sorry Cassian.” 

“Don’t be sorry, I’ll always be here to pick up the pieces,” he replies, smiling down at her as she curls into his sides. “You should really get some rest, we can talk about this more once you’ve slept at least five hours and had a greasy breakfast.” 

“You’re right,” she murmurs under her breath, wrapping her arm around his waist, trapping him in the bed with her. He glances over at the clock on the nightstand, 6:45 am, he slams his head down against the pillow careful not to shake her but still frustrated. 

He wakes up to Azriel clicking on the light, “You guys had a crazy night it seems,” He replies, chuckling softly, and turning to walk away. “Gotta get up, practice starts soon!” 

Cassian bolts up, Mor slipping off his lap who grunts at the movement. “Sorry Mor, I gotta go,” he says, looking over at the time. It was almost one in the afternoon. He had made Nesta wait for however long she decided to wait with no excuse for six hours. 

He quickly threw on some sweats and a jacket before following Azriel out to their cars. After jumping into his jeep he turns to grab his phone from the passenger side seat. He only had one missed call from Nesta and she didn’t even leave a voicemail. At least she did call. 

He presses the call button as he begins to drive home, clicking the speaker button and setting it on his dash. He taps his fingers on the steering wheel with every passing ring until he eventually gets her voicemail. 

He clears his throat, “Hey Nes..-ta, I am really sorry about this morning, something important came up and I’ll explain everything if you just call me back. Okay. Bye,” he says, hanging up, as he pulls into the rinks parking lot. 

He looks around as he walks in for the dirty blonde hair but she's nowhere to be found, just when he needs her to be hanging around the rink practicing she's not. He can’t even focus throughout practice because he feels so guilty ditching her this morning. 

Rhys skates next to him, “What up with you? The Spring Court game is tomorrow, get your head in the game.” 

Cassian shrugs, “Yeah, I know,” he retorts, skating back towards his position. Rhysand gives him a skeptical look, and Cassian shakes him off. “It's nothing, just a lot on my mind.” He was just starting to gain Nesta trust and then he ditched her, but he also was worried about Mor. She hadn’t been like this since highschool when her parents were talking about her getting into school with prestigious scholarships. 

“Just figure it out by tomorrow,” Rhysand retorts skating off towards his position. 

Cassian struggles through the rest of practice, trying to stay focused but failing miserabile. He would catch Rhysand eye occasionally who would just shake his head, even Azirel would give him side eyes that to some wouldn’t mean anything to anyone but to Cassian, he could see the disappointment behind his eyes. 

Cassian was quiet as they made their way into the locker room, he was quiet as they had their team meeting, he was quiet as he showered and changed. He silently grabbed his bag, moving past his teammates, out into the lounge. 

He glanced at his phone, he only had one missed text message from Mor letting him know that she went home and that she was okay. He throws his bag into his trunk, getting into his car he decided to stop by Mor’s apartment to make sure she was okay. 

“I am fine, Cassian,” Mor retorts as she opens the door to see him standing in the hallway. “You didn’t need to make a special trip just to visit me.”

Cassian chuckles, shaking his head at Mor, “Yeah, I did,” he replies, pushing past her and into her living room. “Whats up? How are you? Let's get down to the nitty gritty on why you decide to bar hop by yourself, you’re incredibly lucky that the girl found you and called me. Do you know what-,” 

“Yes, I know what could have happened to me,” Mor turns, crossing her arms, “but it's my life, and I am a mess, let me be.” 

Cassian groans, turning away from her to pace her living room, “Let me be she says, next time you decide to bar hop just invite me along to begin with so I don’t get a wake up call at 4am to get you,” he replies. 

Mor rolls her eyes, “I didn’t ask you to come pick me up in the middle of the night, you chose to do that all on your own,” she retorts before groaning, “Yes, I know that sounded dumb. I am very thankful that you woke up to come pick me up when I got too drunk to function, I’m working on my demons.” 

Cassian turns back towards her, stopping short when he sees Nesta standing in the doorway, he scratches the back of his neck. Mor raises an eyebrow before turning to see Nesta and scoffing, “I’ll leave you to it,” she says, turning towards Cassian, “I don’t approve, but I am thankful.” She moves towards her room, disappearing from sight. 

Cassian turns towards Nesta, who was walking into the room, shutting the door behind her. “Have a good day?” he asks weakly. 

She looks over at him as she tosses her backpack onto the ground, “Um, yeah I guess you could say that,” she replies, with a slight shrug, “Went to visit my father, went out to lunch with Armen, took an online exam, oh and ya know got stood up this morning.” 

He frowns, “Nes-,” he begins softly but she cuts him off, “I am not mad, I mean I was when it first happened but now I know that you did it to get Mor so we’re good.”

“Then let me take you out tomorrow,” he blurts out before he could even think about what he was saying. She pauses what she's doing a looks over at him, “You have a a game and I have a competition.”

He shrugs, winging what he says next, “My game isn’t until 9pm, and your competition doesn’t start until 7pm, which means you won’t have to be there until 3 to get your ten extra practices in.” 

She ponders what he says, “Okay.” 

“Okay?” Cassian replies in surprise, “Okay! Cool, I’ll pick you up around 10?” 

She chuckles, “With an Iced Caramel Macchiato, please. It’s the least you can do.”  

[joysbell]

A Mountain of Fire and Blood: Chapter 1

Nesta stood on the plush blue carpet in the formal business room, or whatever Feyre called it, of her sister’s river estate. She held a sac tightly in her arms, waiting for Feyre’s mate to winnow the three of them to the cabin Nesta was being banished to in the Illyrian mountains. The sac held her most important possessions and was rather heavy due to its contents being mostly books. Her nostrils flared. Where the hell was that prick her sister had married—his insufferable high lordness—that she refused to recognize had any control over her. No. Maybe her sister, Feyre, did. But certainly not that ass.

Her sister sat up straight in a nearby ornate chair. Her hands rested on her thighs, and Nesta admitted she looked slightly nervous. Good. Nesta hoped she was questioning her decision to kick her out of Velaris, to stop paying her rent, her tabs. Even if Nesta’s behavior was questionable, at best, her sister had dragged her into this life that she had never wanted to be a part of. Her sister and her damned mate. Nesta shot her sister a look of disgust. “Where is he?”

Feyre sat up a little straighter. “He’s coming.” She smoothed her dress and held her sister’s eyes. “Try to think about this differently, Nesta. It’s not a punishment.”

It wasn’t? Because it certainly felt like one. Her sister held all the power and had decided to press Nesta under her thumb, to move her wherever she pleased because she knew that Nesta had no other choice, no other option. Feyre did not agree with her lifestyle, which was laughable, because Nesta could count on more than one hand the terrible decisions Feyre had made—but she was safe from judgment, she was lucky, she was adored. She was High Lady of the Night Court.

Nesta spun away and remained silent. At least Feyre had shown up to carry out the sentence she had dealt. Elain was nowhere to be seen. Nesta imagined she was baking bread or tending to her gardens. Her beloved little sister had passed judgment on her, too. That hurt so much more than Feyre and her friend’s choice—that fact that Elain had agreed—they had probably held a vote. Nesta had stood by Elain while she had remained mute, lovesick, and utterly horror-shocked.

Perhaps Nesta had not always made the best choices. But did she really deserve this? They were throwing her away like garbage. To a relentlessly cold, unforgiving place. Maybe they thought it was perfect for her.

It was at that moment that Rhysand finally winnowed into the study. He wore his usual attire—black, intricate silver embellishments. He looked hard, void of the gentleness he saved for his circle. No. Absolutely none of that for her. Just repulsion. “Let’s go,” he said. Rhysand held out two hands, expectantly.

Nesta watched her sister rise, instantly more confident in the presence of her mate. Feyre lived well in her decision. “Okay,” Feyre said, grabbing Rhysand’s hand. When Nesta didn’t move, Feyre nudged her with her eyes, looking to her mate’s other hand. “Nesta.”

She could not remember the last time she had touched the High Lord, and did not want to feel that immense power, which she knew he would send through her, it would be ice in her veins. Bastard. She lunged forward, moving her sac to one arm, and roughly grabbed his hand. If he was going to be gruff, she would match him and more. There was nothing but liquid abhorrence behind her blue-gray eyes.

They instantly traveled.

Nesta felt slightly lightheaded, standing in the middle of a cabin. The walls, floors, and furniture were all varying types of wood. It was dark. The only light came from the fire in a nearby hearth, and those sounds immediately flooded her senses—crack, pop, snap. She almost dropped her bag.

The cabin became more illuminated as candles were suddenly lit. Nesta stood in an open space, next to a couch, some chairs, and a low table. The kitchen and front door, she noted, was to her left. There was a strong feeling to run toward the exit, into whatever lay outside. But her wine-stained slip shoes were not made for the snow she imagined she would meet.

Feyre spoke as she moved to the kitchen. “It’s cozy here.”

Nesta might have agreed under different circumstances. She dropped her bag beside her and sat down on the couch, not willing herself to look around any further. The healthy fire still sang a horrific song to her.

“Elain and I were here earlier cleaning up.” Feyre seemed to be making herself busy, adjusting things. “Elain gave you a couple plants,” she said, pointing around the room. “You will have to water them.”

Nesta seethed. She really didn’t care about her sister’s fucking plants. She was here. And she wanted to be left alone.

Rhysand moved to Feyre in the kitchen and muttered quietly, “I’ll tell Cassian to water them.”

Cassian. In the hours leading up to her arrival Nesta had put her thoughts on the Illyrian warrior on the back burner. She had been too busy pacing around her apartment, rushing to pack the items she had not the night before, when instead of preparing for today she had gone out to gamble and seek crooked company.

But yesterday morning Cassian had overseen her journey from apartment to river estate. And told her where she would be going when Feyre declared she no longer wanted Nesta in her precious city. You’re coming with me to the Illyrian Mountains, he’d said.

Cassian was probably here in these same mountains, right now. She couldn’t feel him, though, so he wasn’t in the proximity. His role in this plot was not clear yet, but his presence was going to make it even more agonizing. She did not need that brute checking on her, flashing his cocky grin at her. But she was in his domain.

Done with adjusting, Feyre piped up. “Cassian will come once a day, starting tomorrow.”

“I don’t want him to come, I don’t need him to come,” Nesta spit from her spot on the couch.

Rhysand slowly closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We need someone to make sure you’re not dead.” Feyre shot him a look and hit him, silently telling him to be quiet.

“Then send someone else” said Nesta.

Feyre moved closer to her sister. “It’s the most practical. He lives here. Otherwise, we’d need someone who could winnow. Rhysand, or Mor—”

Horrible options. Apparently, her sister was not going to leave Nesta alone to slowly decay here. It wasn’t a death sentence, but a prison.

At this moment, all Nesta wanted was for them to leave. She would say anything to make that happen. “Fine, send Cassian.”

Feyre nodded and changed the subject. “There’s food in the icebox, Elain made some bread, and there are books that she bought—”

“Just. Go.” Nesta lifted her head and glared at her sister and her mate. She would say nothing else.

Rhysand was silent and held out his hand. He did not need any more dismissal; but, Feyre seemed to slump. Her frown held more sadness than she had obviously prepared for.

Did she expect this to go any better?

“Okay,” Feyre said, much quieter than she usually spoke. “We’ll see you soon.” And then she grabbed her mate’s hand and they were gone.

Nesta was finally alone. She boiled inside. Left in the woods with no money, no booze, and no men. They had secured her inability to carry out the behavior they disapproved of so much.

Across the living room Nesta got lost for a moment in the fire’s flames. The colors mimicked the white-hot rage inside her. In an abrupt movement, Nesta moved from the couch to the small kitchen. Ripping open the cabinet underneath the sink she found a metal bucket. She filled it, standing at the sink, looking out the window. It was dark outside. A gust made the trees dance and the moon reflected off the snow.

When the bucket was full Nesta lifted it from the sink, moving toward her target. Crack, pop, snap… Swiftly, she dumped the bucket on the fire. It fizzled out with a hiss and smoke drifted across the room.

A/N: Hi. Nessian is my heart right now. I hope you like this :hug:

[illyrianwingspans]

Do Not Go Gentle: when the party’s over

Link to song: when the party’s over by Billie Eilish (ma queen)

Synopsis: Feyre says fuck it. 

TW: Emotional abuse, non-con near the end, brief mention of physical abuse, dark thoughts. Please, if you're sensitive to the topics, read with caution.

Ao3 Link

Chapter 11: when the party’s over

Relapses come slowly.

They don’t happen overnight: you don’t go to sleep one evening and wake up the next morning with your brain scrambled and fried with darkness and shadows. It doesn’t hit like a wave or a bullet or blunt impact.

Relapses are like parasites. They present themselves slowly, precisely, they’re smart—they know exactly what they’re doing. Relapses know your weaknesses, your Achilles’ heels, they know which strings and blocks to pull in order to make you unravel and come crashing down. But never, never are they fast. Never are they quick and dirty. They take their time and they enjoy it as they slowly suck the life out of you and you’re let with nothing but the shell of the person you once were.

As I stared at myself in the mirror that night, I wondered how I let myself get this far. I wondered why I didn’t just leave, why I didn’t pack my things, cash my cheques, take my money and run. What was it that kept me here? Why didn’t I just…go?

In the shower, I scrubbed at myself over and over again, trying to figure out how everything had gone so wrong so quickly. Was it me? Was it my mind, prone to these slips?

Was it the man who occupied my bed?

I didn’t know. I didn’t know.

Because no matter how much I racked my brain, no matter how many times I tried to untangle this knot, all I found were more questions. More dead ends. More thoughts, darker than the rest, that were threatening to destroy me altogether.

The mirror was fogged over with condensation. Good. I didn’t want to see the finger-sized bruises peppering my neck.

Because I knew they were there. They were blue and purple and gruesome, and I’d need to cover them up for the next week. Tamlin hadn’t tried to speak to me this morning as he got dressed for work, and I pretended to be asleep. Tonight would probably be another night of unbearable, stifling silence.

But I didn’t care. It felt like somebody had poured cement in my body over night, leaving me stiff and heavy, and my head was filled with this mind-numbing static that wouldn’t go away no matter how much cold water I splashed on my face.

Because another day of silence wasn’t anything new. This silence… it was all I had anymore.

And I found that I’d grown fond of it, and began to fear the noise.

Noise, like the chime of the elevator that had me scrambling to the closet to pull on a turtleneck sweater and some leggings. Starting my day off nude in front of Alis wasn’t necessarily a good thing. She was supposed to stop by at some point today to drop off some groceries, but I didn’t expect her to be so early.

“Hey Alis—” I croaked, voice rough, as I made my way to living room, only the person in the entrance wearing a black, crisp immaculate suit definitely wasn’t Alis.

Rhysand stood in front of me, hands in his pockets, smug amusement pulling the corners of his mouth into a smirk. “Feyre, darling. Looking lovely as ever. Really love what you’ve done with your hair.”

I blinked. Seeing him here was a shock, but honestly I wouldn’t really put it past him at this point.   Crossing my arms, I sighed. “How did you get in here?”

The smirk on his face paused for a moment as his eyes shifted around my face, then settled on my eyes. He shrugged. “You weren’t very subtle when you punched the code in. And Tamlin’s not very creative. Zero three twenty-one, first day of Spring.”

I stared at him pointedly, and the smug faded away. He took in my appearance—really searched my face and wandered my body. It would’ve felt predatory, even suggestive if his face wasn’t filled with concern and sorrow.

My face filled with heat once more, and I turned around, swallowing hard. “Why are you here, Rhys.” It sounded more bored than curious. I knew why he was here, and I didn’t want to hear a word he had to say.

I didn’t need to look over my shoulder to know he’d followed me and the scraping of the chair against the floors let me know he sat at the counter bar stool. For a few moments, he was silent as I got the espresso beans from the coffee counter and fired up the machine.

“I miss you making my morning coffee. Nobody makes an Americano quite like you.”

I didn’t say anything. He goaded, “Nothing? No, ‘Thank you Rhys, I’ve missed you too’. No ‘Go to hell, Rhys’. Or my favourite, ‘You’re a prick, Rhys’.”

I stilled and closed my eyes. “Get to the point.” I didn’t have time for his wit or sarcasm. I just wanted to be alone.

His eyes practically burned into my back. I paid him no heed, though, as I poured the milk into the stainless steel steaming cup. Rhys cleared his throat, then said, “I was worried about you. After everything that happened yesterday.”

The din from the street below filled in the silence between us as I tried to find something to say. “You couldn’t have called? Texted? Something a little less invasive?”

“I called you seven times. Both last night and this morning.”

I frowned. I hadn’t checked my phone at all, too preoccupied with…

Absentmindedly, my fingers brushed the collar of my turtleneck. “I’ve been away from my phone.”

“I knew there was a reasonable explanation. But I had to see you anyway. To make sure you were okay.”

The milk steamer whined and I winced, then said over the shrieking machine, “I’m fine. Happy? You can leave now.”

“Feyre.” He sounded hurt, like he was betrayed or something that I couldn’t trust him. “Please. I’ve been searching every possible lead to find the people trying to kill you. You know the police won’t know where to start, they have no clue what happened with Isaac and James.”

Hazel eyes flashed in my mind but I shoved them away.

The bullet yesterday was a blip. I knew I should’ve but I… I just didn’t care.

“I told you Rhys. Let the police handle it, they know what they’re doing.”

“They don’t because they don’t know where to begin. You’re not listed to have any known enemies. Say, I don’t know, people who were killed in an accident at a coffee shop.”

I whirled around to him, spoon still in my hand and pointing at him accusingly. “You’re a real prick, you know that Rhys?”

Rhys stared at me, spoon raised, looking like a madwoman, and grinned. “There’s the Feyre I know and love.”

But there was this…this distraught filling my chest. Like before an earthquake when you feel the ground beginning to tremble beneath you, so infinitesimally, but enough to let you know that the whole goddamn world is falling apart. The blood in my veins froze, then thawed and boiled over until I melted, angry tears in my eyes.

Because this one interaction was probably the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in the last three months. Even with the wedding, even with the absurdities I dealt with being attached to this whole mess, this one simple conversation was more stimulating than three months living what was supposed to be my perfect life.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” he murmured, and I looked up, realizing my cheeks were wet with tears. Rhys’s face was soft as his gaze met mine. And I could tell he knew.

The ring on my finger, though, Tamlin’s words in my ear, made me snap out of it. I wasn’t supposed to talk to Rhys. I wasn’t supposed to even be in the same room with him, lest I wanted to royally piss off my finacee.

And I really couldn’t afford more nights like the last.

“Please, just get out. Leave me alone.” My voice was guttered. There was no winning not for either of us. Though Rhys had been a good friend, one of my only friends, my loyalty was to Tamlin. To the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

The thought shook me to my core.

“Feyre—”

“Get out. Now.”

Rhys didn’t waste his time and slid out of the bar stool, feet swiftly carrying him to the front entrance. I followed behind him quietly, arms crossed in front of my chest as he straightened his jacket and cleared his throat.

“One thing, Feyre,” Rhys said quietly, defeat lining the droop of his shoulders.

“What?”

“It’s Cassian’s birthday tomorrow night. He’d really like it if you came. We’re going to Rita’s at seven.”

Tamlin would never let me go. And I was in no state to go to a night club, let alone with people I didn’t know, because surely there would be plenty more with them. But the kindness in his voice, the gentle, sincere manor with which he’d said it…

“I’ll think about it.”

***

I wanted to hurt him, I realized, as I sat in the bath, filled with bubbles so I couldn’t see my body. Alis had come and gone, the only other exciting part of my day—and I realized, stuck up here with nothing to do, that I wanted to hurt him. Like he hurt me.

Even if it would make things worse. Even if it was stupid, and I was being reckless, immature, infantile, I wanted to hurt him.

If that was going out with my friends, my true friends who had been there for me, then so be it.

Because honestly, at this point, I didn’t know if there was anything else left for me. Hope had flown out the window the second that I’d pulled that trigger. The second that the bullet had whizzed past my face.

The second he’d laid his hand on me.

And I knew, because every time I took a bath, I had to hold my sponge as tightly as possible to keep my fingers from reaching into the drawer beneath the sink and resorting back to my old ways.

***

That night, Tamlin bought me soup.

Soup, and flowers, and chocolates—and remorse. It was all over his face, I could tell when he saw me in the turtle neck, and his eyes had filled with shame. Something softened in me, and I let him pull me into his arms. I let him talk, talk about nothing and everything as we ate in bed together, and he put on my favourite movie.

I let him pull my body into the warmth of his. I let him touch me, intimate in a way we hadn’t been in a while.

I almost laughed when I realized after we’d both finished that he hadn’t taken off my shirt. That it was too painful to remind him of what’d he done, last night, not ten feet away from where we laid intertwined in each other.

So, no, there was no guilt the next day as I donned my warmest pair of dressy heels and a white, thin strapped dress I could layer beneath the black turtleneck I’d worn the day before. There was no guilt as I went out and bought a gift for Cassian using my secret debit card. And there was no guilt when I texted Tamlin saying I was going to Alis’s for her nephew’s birthday party. She wasn’t going to be at reception today, and I knew that tomorrow morning when she stopped by it wouldn’t be too hard to ask her to cover for me.

When seven o’clock came around, I was getting out of the Uber, my stomach in knots as I made my way to the hostess bar and asked, “Reservation for Cassian?”

“Right this way.”

The restaurant was food by day, shots by sundown, and I could see the dance floor in the distance, currently barren. I think I’d been here once, many moons ago in my college years, way before I’d met Tamlin. I also remember puking my guts out in the bathrooms, which only brought a small smile to my face.

It terrified me with each step we took closer to the table. Knowing Cassian, there were probably two dozen people there, maybe a few gym rats, or worse, mousy bimbos—

“Here you are,” the hostess said, and pointed to the table in the corner. Booth style, not too far off the dance floor, with only…

Five people. Five people sat around the circular booth, Rhys and Cassian included—both of whom were laughing heartily at something a gorgeous, jaw-dropping blonde woman who swirled a glass of red wine in her hands.

“Feyre!” It was Cassian who first spotted me, delight in his smile as he stood from where he was at the edge of the table. “You made it!” He slid out of his seat and made forward to wrap me in a hug. I couldn’t help but laugh as his arms squeezed me.

“Jeez, you really need to come back to the gym. You feel like a twig.” He said as he set me down. I punched him in the arm, which earned me whoop and a strangely terrifying smirk of approval from the other, smaller woman with black hair.

“A twig who hasn’t forgotten how to punch,” I said, before sliding into the table beside him. Across from me, looking as immaculate as always, Rhys grinned as he brought his drink to his lips.

“Everybody, this is Feyre Archeron. Feyre, this is Azriel, Morrigan and Amren. But feel free to refer to her as Tiny One.”

“Put a muzzle on it, Cassian. Lest you want spit in your food.” Amren, the asian woman with dark hair and grey, gleaming eyes looked as though she would rather be anywhere but here. She looked like she ate blood for breakfast.

The blonde one, Morrigan, said, “These two always go on and on about you. I’m so glad we could finally meet. Honestly, they’ve been hoarding you all to themselves.”

“For good reasons.” The last one, Azriel, said, voice low and rough like midnight. As I finally took in the dark hair, tanned skin and high cheek bones, I realized that I remembered him. I didn’t know where, but his face—it was like we’d seen each other just the other day.

“You look so familiar,” I said, and Azriel’s head tilted to the side. His face betrayed no emotion, and I could tell by his stiff demeanour that he wasn’t much of a talker. It was like shadows clung to him, like he preferred it that way, blending into the background.

He shrugged, the barest movement of his shoulders. Morrigan interjected, “I mean, he does look a lot like these two idiots.”

Rhys rolled his eyes. “Mor, that’s no way to speak to the person who signs your pay check.”

“Last time I checked, Mr. Noctis, we aren’t at work. And I may address my cousin however I please.”

My brows shot up as I looked from Mor to Rhys, from Mor’s round, rosy cheeks, fair skin and nearly bleach blonde hair to Rhys’s dark, tan features. I drawled, “Cousins?”

“In the loosest possible term biologically.” Cassian supplied. “Otherwise, they were basically attached at the hip as children. And now I’m stuck with her for every holiday and celebration against my will.”

“I can always return your gift, Cassian,” Mor said sweetly before taking a glass of wine. Then she looked to me and said, “Oh, we must get Feyre a drink. Pick your poison.”

I hadn’t drank in a long while. Usually just champagne or wine at Tamlin’s work events. But it’d been a long while since I had…

“Tequila?” Was the first word that left my mouth. I didn’t know what instinct made me say the most potent of liquors, but the knot in my chest was loosening with every smile and laugh shared around the table. Tonight, I wanted to let loose. I wanted to damn tomorrow and just do this one thing for myself.

For once, Tamlin’s voice wasn’t in the back of my head with a warning. And if that wasn’t a sign…

“Ooh, I like her. We can keep her. Make it two.” Amren said, a wicked smirk on her face. I didn’t know if it pleased me or horrified me.

Cassian jostled my shoulder and gleaned, “You’re gonna drink me under the table bringing the tequila out this early, Archeron.”

The waitress interrupted us, asking for our orders, and I quickly glanced at the menu and ordered the salmon and a salad, knowing I probably wouldn’t be able to finish half of it. And, just before she left, Rhys added, “We’ll also take a round of tequila.”

The evening passed by savoringly slowly, peppered with fine food, strong drinks and conversations that had me stifling my laughter. Cassian, Azriel and Rhys recounted the times they were in the Academy training together and the foolish things they’d pulled on each other—Azriel had stolen Cassian’s clothes and forced him to run buck-naked through the dormitory courtyard—and Mor told me of all the stupidities that came with working retail as a teenager. Amren offered quips and snide comments, and chatted quietly with Rhys about matters that seemed business-related, by the look of seriousness in Rhys’s eyes. His gaze flicked to me, catching me staring at him—I looked away quickly, but not before I saw the small grin on his face.

The meal, as the exorbitant prices promised, was delicious. And as I predicted, I only managed about two thirds of it before a wave of nausea and fullness ran over me and I had to resort to pushing food around the plate for the remainder of the meal. Rhys’s eyes narrowed as the waitress took away the plate, and I looked off towards the expanse of dance floor to conceal the blush flooding my cheeks.

There was cake—was, meaning Cassian ate most of it—then more drinks. Too many, because next thing I knew Mor was laughing and screaming at the top of her lungs against the din of the pounding music, trying to entice the table into dancing with her. Azriel and Cassian immediately stood, the both of them disappearing into the amassing crowd on the dance floor, whereas Amren headed over to the bar looking for something stronger, apparently (as if the other rounds weren’t enough to knock someone as tiny as her on their asses). It left Rhys and I remaining in the booth.

He pointed to the slice of cake sitting untouched before me. “You going to finish that?”

“Hm,” I snorted, “another bite wouldn’t hurt.” The chocolate mousse melted in my mouth and I sighed. Rhys was across from me in the semi-circle, and with the noise of the club, we’d have to shout at each other all night. So I stood, cake, fork and drink balancing precariously in my hands, and slid over until I was beside him.

He looked down at me and wondered, “Didn’t feel like dancing?”

“I’ve got two left feet.” I replied before taking another bite, my eyes wandering over his seated silhouette. Tonight he hadn’t worn his usual immaculate suit, but instead opted for a black silk-like button down and black jeans, tailored to the very inch. From beneath the collar of his neck, I could see the hint of a tattoo, and my brows shot up.

“You have a tattoo?”

His fingers tugged gently at the collar of his shirt. The movement sent a draft of something sweet in the air, like citrus and jasmine. A refreshing, comforting scent that had me leaning back against the plush leather. “It’s customary for people in my culture to get these tattoos.”

“Where are you from?” I wondered, fingers wandering over to my drink (though I knew full well I should’ve been slowing down).

“Illyria,” he answered, and pointed vaguely to the dancing crowd, “as are Cassian and Azriel. My mother was Illyrian and we were raised on the reserve. My father didn’t particularly like that, thought I should’ve been in the city with him, but my mother didn’t particularly care about what my father thought.”

Sipping from my drink, I nodded politely. I’d never been to the Illyrian reserve, which was an hour or so north of the city, though heard about it here and there in the news. Mainly about land disputes and rich assholes trying to buy it out. Now, looking at Rhys, the distinctive striking features made perfect sense.

“You can stare all you want. I consider it volunteer work, letting you gawk at me so openly.”

My cheeks heated and my mouth dropped open. I scoffed, “Gods, now I know why your only friends are your employees.”

“Keep your friends close and your payroll closer.” He gave me a wink, and I rolled my eyes. My gaze wandered off to the dance floor, where I could spot Mor in the distance flailing her arms—gracefully—and swaying from side to side in her bright red, skin tight dress. Cassian and Azriel were alongside her, though Cassian’s eyes were fixed on another woman who’d fallen into step with him, a slick, seductress smile on her face. Rhys shook his head at the sight, despite his cheeky grin, and I only laughed as I took another sip.

“Why aren’t you out there with them?”

At that, Rhys also took a long sip. He opened his mouth, closed it, then finally said, “I prefer your company far more to their sweaty…” he looked over, just in time to see the woman unabashedly grinding against Cassian, “‘dancing’.”

“Glad to know I rank a step above that.” My eyebrows raised emphatically, and Rhys’s face broke into a smile. I said, “Reminds me of my college days.”

“You went to college?”

“Prythian University,” I nodded, “two years only. I was part of a sorority for a while, though.”

His mouth fell open in surprise. “Oh, Feyre darling, you must tell.”

***

The rest of the night went…easy. I wasn’t worrying. There was no impending panic. There were no fears. Part of it had been the alcohol, yes—it’d loosened what’d been wound so tight for so long—but being here, being with people, laughing with friends… My mind, despite the haze of alcohol, felt clearer than it had in days.

Talking with Rhys was easier than breathing. It started with my college days, then to his studies abroad—peppered with some particularly interesting sexual experiences in foreign countries—then moved onto how he’d met his friends, which he assured me, were family first, employees secondly. Cassian had been abandoned in the Illyrian village, left to fend for himself in an inexistent, permanently drunk foster family, and Rhys could tell by the way the boy never had a lunch at school. CPS hadn’t gotten involved because of the abhorrence that was dealing within the torrid laws regarding indigenous communities, which meant Cassian was stuck. Rhys had found Cassian shivering in the cold at recess—his family hadn’t gotten him a winter jacket—and decided to bring him home to his mother. She’d been furious at first, but Cassian returned the next day, and the day after.

The same had been for Azriel, though the details were much more vague about the man cloaked in shadows. It was a gruesome tale, being an illegitimate son, constantly berated and beaten by his parents and older brothers. He’d gotten the gnarled, scarred hands because they thought a fun experiment would be to douse Azriel’s hands in gasoline and set them on fire. When Rhys came home with another stray, this time his mother didn’t even bother with fury. Only set to buying another cot to be squeezed in next to the two other boys.

Amren, though, met Rhys much later—in his college years, after the academy. She was an upperclassmen he’d met at a bar and tried to hook up with, to which she responded by humiliatingly laughing in his face. Rhys admitted he’d never felt more undignified than when Amren was doubled over in stitches at the thoughts of sleeping with him. Yet still, they’d become fast friends, and even faster business partners. Amren was the top of her class in law school, one of the smartest people he’d ever met, and as soon as he seized control of the company, his first order of business was hiring her as his second in command and chief legal officer.

The second order was to hire Morrigan—simply Mor—as his chief experience officer. Her and Rhys’s father had been the most invested in the company being the two major shareholders, though Rhys’s father shares made Keir’s, Mor’s father, look like pennies. Mor’s childhood had been a series of parental pressure, encouraging her to be wed off to exemplary, rich suitors Keir consistently tried to set her up with. She’d been engaged to marry one of them, Eris, son of Autumn Publishing’s CEO, not of her own volition. Rhys didn’t mention any specifics, only that it’d ended horribly, and Mor had never been the same since. But she was fiery, determined, and Rhys could only describe her as his best friend (though he made me promise to never mention that to her).

At some point, Mor had to come peel Rhys and I away from the booth—despite our vehement protests—and drag us onto the dance floor. The whole lot of us were jumping, screaming at the top of our lungs, and pounding back more liquor as the night sped along. I danced with everyone (Amren compromised by allowing us to dance near where she was seated by the bar), even Rhys, whose hands had been soft and warm as they wandered down the skin of my arms and shoulders. Cassian and I shimmied, Mor and I fake tangoed, even Azriel gave me a few twirls, not before it felt like the liquor was going to come straight back up, and I had to take a seat. The plush back of the booth seemed comfier than when I’d first sat down at the beginning of the night.

“Feyre?” Cassian asked. I opened my eyes, not having realized they were closed in the first place. Exhaustion had hidden just far enough away from me to have not noticed it drenching my bones. Beads of sweat had gathered on Cassian’s forehead from all the dancing. My tongue felt limp and heavy in my mouth, and the room felt as though it was spinning.

“Yes, my good sir?” I grinned sheepishly. Cassian’s mouth fell open in amused shock.

“You’re drunk,” he chortled.

“Pfft. Am not.”

“Are too,” he said, letting out another laugh. “Dear gods. What are we going to do with you?”

“Let me have some fun!” I whined, then knocked back the rest of my glass. My fingers groped at  my throat as if they could ease the fire slithering in my chest. It burned all the way down, like I knew it would burn on its way back up—but I wanted more. This excitement, this pleasure, no matter how clouded or distorted it was, was all I had anymore.

“Let’s slow down, there, you’ve had a lot tonight.” Cassian suggested as I tried to wrench myself up from the table to get more. My butt hit the cushioned seat once more, body bouncing slightly with the impact. It made me laugh.

A laugh that slowly melted away as I took in Cassian’s sombre gaze, trained on my mouth. No, not on my mouth, I realized, but lower. My neck.

My stomach dropped. The neckline must’ve shifted, already it’d barely covered them in the first place—

Cassian’s eyes were burning when they met mine, and it was like my head was dunked into ice cold water, and I was sober in the span of a heartbeat.

“Feyre,” he breathed, and it was like the rest of the club disappeared.

I didn’t waste another second. He’d already known too much, and by some sort of miracle had kept it to himself, but this—this would ruin Tamlin and I. Quickly, I scrambled to find my bag, and pulled out my phone to call an Uber.

Only to find twenty two missed calls, and over fifty text messages from Tamlin. The earth dropped out from underneath me. My chest collapsed as I realized how horribly, horribly wrong this had all gone.

I should have never stepped foot outside the apartment. I should’ve just grinned and bared it instead of creating this steaming shit storm raining down on me.

Cassian was shouting something over the music, and I couldn’t hear him as I pressed away from the booth, heading to the club’s side door entrance where the smoker’s were. A voice called out my name, and I turned around to look over my shoulder—

To bump face first into a hard, male chest, sending me nearly teetering to the floor. When I looked up, an apology already on my tongue, every nerve in my body jumped as my eyes met Tamlin’s golden emerald ones, boring into my soul like he would shred it apart with his bare hands.

“I didn’t know Alis’s nephew was turning twenty one,” Tamlin snipped coldly, his fingers tightening around my wrist to the point of teeth-clenching pain.

“Tamlin, please. Not here. Let’s go.”

“What did you think would happen, Feyre? That I’d sit idly by as my wife was out to a child’s birthday party until one in the morning?”

“Fiancée,” I corrected seethingly, my hand slithering between us and pressing against his stomach to get him to move. “Let’s leave.”

“Feyre!” A voice called once more, only it died out right behind me. I sighed, tears pricking the corners of my eyes as I turned to see Cassian standing there, his expression one of stone cold fury as he stared Tamlin down.

Tamlin, the picture of opposition, only laughed. “I see. Alright.” He looked at me, but inclined his head to Cassian. “You came for a quick fuck?”

My face flushed with shame. I couldn’t even look at Cassian. “Tamlin, stop.”

“No, I get it. I understand. I think I have to set the record straight, though.” The only warning I had was the clenching of his fist, and it was the only warning I needed. I acted on instinct and brusquely grabbed my fiancée by his right arm to hold him back. I hate that I knew it was his preferred hand to punch with.

Tamlin whirled on me, his eyes burning with rage. His hand clutched my jaw, fingertips pressing painfully into my cheeks, and I gasped as he pushed me into the wall perpendicular to the exit door. He growled, “Stay out of this. You’ve done enough already, you fucking—”

“Let go of her!” Cassian yelled, striding towards us like he was ready to slam Tamlin through the goddamned door.

Another figure appeared in the background, the same man who’d been outside the door who only uttered, “You two. Out. Now.” Pointing to both Tamlin and I, he signalled for us to step out. Even Cassian paused at the bouncer’s presence.

And behind the bounder stood Rhys, whose eyes were filled with contempt for the man beside me. He’d lowered his hands, thank the gods—I don’t know what Rhys would’ve done if he’d found us like that. Eviscerated Tamlin, most likely.

I just wanted to go home. I wanted the silence back.

“Let’s go, Feyre,” Tamlin said, laying his hand on my shoulder. I flinched at his touch.

We stepped out the door, and I didn’t look back, though I knew their eyes were burning through me.

***

“I told you to never speak to him again.”

I said nothing. It was true. I’d explicitly gone behind his back.

“He was being friendly, Tamlin.”

“You’re not friends. Rhysand is not your friend. How many times do I have to say it to you for you to finally understand?”

He’s more of a friend than you, I wanted to spit, but there was no fire left in me. It’d been strangled out the moment his hands had clenched around my throat, bereft of the oxygen needed to keep on.

“I know you went to see him before the wedding.”

I swallowed hard. I couldn’t even look at him from where I sat perched on the edge of the bed. “You’ve been following me again?”

“Because you’ve been disobeying me.”

Disobeying. The word sliced through me. Like I was no more than his pet.

“He’s the danger, Feyre. He was involved in the operation that nearly got you killed. The day after you went to see him, the day of our wedding, that sniper nearly killed you. Don’t you see it?”

I wanted to laugh. I wanted to draw a map of Tamlin’s ignorance, of all the ways he’d went wrong—I wanted to show him his shortcomings, how foolish he was not to see that he’d dug this grave himself.

But there was nothing left within me. Only a barren of wasteland bestrewed with the ruins of the person who’d crumbled into nothing.

“I’m sorry.” The words were broken jagged pieces I offered to him with bloody hands.

He didn’t respond. Only approached me slowly, carefully, then tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. I sighed and leaned into the palm of his hand. Then he was kissing me, pushing me back onto the bed.

Mine, mine, mine—I could see the word in his eyes, feel it with every thrust of his body from behind me, hands gripping my back and pinning me to the mattress. Protect, protect, protect. We both finished, and he rolled onto his side and fell fast asleep.

I curled onto my side, wondering if the tears would ever come. They didn’t. Only silent, dry sobs I tried to stifle with my pillow.

Because I wouldn’t dare shatter the silence I’d finally found at last.

[emeriethevalkyriegirl]

Cassian and the 3 diablos (A SJM fanfic) Chapter 11

Summary: It’s time for Cassian to make his choice. But will he choose the right one?

“So Cassian? What’s it gonna be?” Devlon smirked as Cassian slightly fidgeted with his sword.

This was the hardest decision he could ever make. He loved his home. Velaris was always his home. When he was born, his mother died during child birth. He never even got to know her name. His father abandoned him when he was 7 years old. Cassian had been on his own until he met Rhysand. They hated each other at first but thanks to Rhysand’s mother, they got along just fine. Over time, they met Azriel and they became a family including Morrigan. She was the mother that Cassian couldn’t have. After she pasted away, it was hard on all of them. Especially Cass. It was like he lost her all over again. So he became a bounty hunter. Hunting for anyone who would run from the law. It was how he made money.

After his mother’s death, Rhysand made 3 rubies that were the pieces of her heart. Because Devlon already has one of them, the heart is incomplete. Morrigan would be pissed without it and Rhysand might never recover. His family needs that crystal.

But do they?

Cassian could see from the corner of his eye, how the girls were silently crying. Even if they deserve a punishment, this won’t be it. Cassian had to make his decision. “Alright, I know what I want.”

Devlon chuckled. “I knew even an idiot like you would come to your senses.” he said as he handed him the ruby. Cassian gladly accepted it, placing the ruby in his pocket. “Now then,” Devlon said, bending down to the girls’ level. “Which one will be fed to the kelpies first?” The girls were about to run off, but Devlon felt a sharp pain on his neck. He didn’t have time to yell in anger because he was out cold.

Nesta and the others stared in confusion before turning to Cassian. He was smirking up a storm as he laughed in triumph. “Now whose the idiot?” he said to no one in particular. Cassian turned to the girls. “Come on, let’s get out of here before he wake up.”

Cassian and the diablos tip toed their way out of the gorge so as not to wake Devlon. Once they were out of there, Gwyn asked him what he did. “I kicked him right on his pressure point. He should be out cold for a while.” he explained at the girls hopped onto Philip the horse. Cassian climbed up last and trotted his horse out of the gorge. “So what happens now?” Nesta asked as Cassian took a look at the ruby to make sure it was real. It was. “Well now that we got the ruby, Morrigan will hold up to her promise and the 3 of you will be let go.” he replied as he turned around to see their reactions. They were not what he expected. “You’re not gonna take us back...are you?” Gwyn asked as the girls started to cry.

Cassian stopped his horse. “Woah woah woah hey it’s okay. Don’t cry, please.” Cassian tried to calm them down. Emerie and Nesta softly cried but Gwyn was starting to wail a bit. “Gwyn, please stop. What’s wrong?” he asked as Gwyn rubbed her eyes and sniffed a bit. “I don’t have a home. My home is gone.”

“My father doesn’t want me. He’ll cut off my wings if I went back.”

“My daddy doesn’t want me either.” They all started to ramble about their past as Cassian tried to catch everything they were saying. Cassian sighed, deeply wishing he had the power to to instantly make them happy. Kneeling down to their level, Cassian slowly scooped all 3 of them in his giant arms. “It’s okay. I know none of you wanna go back to where you were. I know it’s hard. It’s okay. It’s okay to feel this way. It was hard for me when my dad didn’t want me.”

“Y-Your daddy didn’t want you either?” Emerie asked as Cassian nodded trying to control his own tears that threaten to fall. “It’s hard for me to think about him and sometimes he pops up in my head whenever it can. Just know that they’re nothing but memories now. They can’t hurt you anymore.” he said rubbing their backs soothingly. The girls stopped crying and were actually half asleep in his arms. Nesta shook a bit and without thinking, wrapped her arms around his neck. “Stay...with...you.”

“What?”

“I wanna...stay with...you.” Nesta drifted off to sleep leaving Cassian shocked.

[dreamworld-1997]

A Story of Dreams and Deceit - Chapter 1

So I was rewatching Peaky Blinders just after rereading ACOMAF and an idea popped inside my head, the Inner Circle as a gang in the 20′s. Because of language barriers I couldn’t make them British (I can’t speak with a British accent, let alone write it - and I don’t  know any brit slang) so I decided to place them in New York. The beginning of this story is in 1919, before the Prohibition. 

Prompt: Feysand Gangster AU, 1919, New York

If it has any success, this story will be a multichapter fic.

Kalpana's Pub looked deserted. Light shone through the stained glass illuminating the room, specks of dust resided on the tables, noticeable only in the harsh daylight. There was a man hunched over near the bar, cleaning out shreds of glass from the floor. There was no one around to help him. The stench of cigars and alcohol told Feyre how different the place looked in the evening. "Hello, I'm here to apply for the position available." The man turned around to greet her but upon seeing her, his face fell. "The position has already been filled." Feyre didn't believe him for a second. "The job offer was filed in the newspaper yesterday." "Look Miss, I'm doing you a favor. You don't want to work here." "I've worked as a barmaid before, I even have references-" Feyre went to take out her papers but the owner interrupted her. "You're too pretty to work here. If someone wants you, I can't stop them." "I can fend for myself. I'm not looking for a guardian. I'm looking for a job." "I am the owner of this pub but the streets are ruled by the Orfeo gang. This pub is their meeting point of choice. Are you sure this is the type of crowd you want to mix in with?" Feyre nodded determined. The man shook his head silently. "Fair enough Miss-" "Archeron." "Alright, Miss Archeron, let's see if you can handle this establishment for a night."

One month later

Feyre poured another glass of whiskey and passed it to the customer waiting on one of the bar stools. She smiled as soon as she saw who was coming in the pub. "Feyreee!!! It's time to celebrate! Give us the good stuff!" Cassian shoved the man aside from the stool generally considered his own. "And what are we celebrating exactly?" Feyre turned around to pick a bottle of irish whiskey from the top shelf. "Cass!" Azriel interrupted him and with a simple head gesture told his brother to join him in their private room. "Agh, duty awaits my fair maiden. Bring that bottle to the family room will you? Az's head will combust if I'm not stepping in there right behind him," and with those last words he departed. She let a gentle smile tug at her lips before she picked a chair to climb on. The top shelf was too high for her to reach. "The usual should suffice for the occasion, darling." The soft voice just behind her made goosebumps on her neck. She could feel him behind her. "I'm sorry, I thought you had cause for celebration. Top shelf whiskey had been requested." She stepped down and only too late did she realize the movement would bring her chest to chest with him. The lack of space between the pair drew a few stares. No one stood this close to Rhysand - no one except those he threatened, and his close family on occasion. Since it was a known fact she was only a mere barmaid, and the smile on his face showed they were definitely not enemies - it only made those eyes more curious. "I'm afraid my brother is a bit ahead the rest of us. There's no reason to celebrate...yet. Tomorrow night we hope to pop that top shelf stuff." "What's happening tomorrow?" Feyre asked even if she knew the chances of getting an actual answer out of him were slim. Still, she tried. Rhys little smile broadened at that. "We're going to the races, darling." Feyre scrunched her eyebrows in confusion. "Wear something nice. Red." His violet eyes sparkled. "I'm going?" "Of course." "I don't have a dress." This time Rhys looked confused. "Well, not a nice dress, that is. Definitely not a nice, red dress." She noticed the playful glint in her eyes was not missed. "I'll take care of that. Someone will drop it tomorrow morning with the money for your trouble." Rhys replied but his eyes were at the door of their family room, where Mor was waiting impatiently. "Oh, so this is business then." Feyre didn't let the disappointment sink in. But the sentiment had been transparent enough in her voice for Rhys to notice. "Feyre-" "Rhys!!!" His cousin shouted from across the bar. "Everyone's waiting! We do have other things to do than wait around for you to try and get under Feyre's skirts." Feyre looked struck at the menace in his cousin's words. "I'm sorry Feyre, it's not about you. I'm just a bit nervous for tomorrow." Mor tried to assure her. "It's okay." She tried to sound fine but she heard the forced tone in her own voice. "Feyre, why don't you go home early? Tomorrow will be a full day, you need your rest," Rhys proposed. "You're joining Rhys at the races?" Mor sounded genuinely enthused. She simply nodded, in response to both of them as she dropped her apron.

Feyre went to talk with George, her actual boss before leaving. "Mr. Orfeo sent me home." He looked worried. "Did you upset him? Feyre I warned you not to upset Mr. Orfeo, I cannot protect you-" "No, I did not upset him-" "Is he expecting trouble then?" "I don't think so..." "Then why would he send you home? Mr. Orfeo knows I need help tonight during the rush." Feyre was uncertain. Should she just ignore Rhys and stay to help or- "You go, if Mr. Orfeo told you to go, you go. I'll deal with it."

She stared at the painting in front of her, determined to forget the real reason for being in the museum. She imagined herself to be just an art enthusiast who came here for inspiration, or peace and quiet. Really, she imagined herself before...all of this. Before her mother's untimely death, her estrangement with her sisters, before- "Feyre, is something the matter?" The sentiment in his voice made her body go stiff. She'd forgotten about that. Amidst everything she had forgotten about it all. "No, I actually have good news." Feyre forced a smile on her lips. "Rhysand Orfeo has invited me to join him tomorrow at the races. From the excitement and agitation surrounding his family members it's something big. It's some important business and he trusts me enough to invite me along." "I knew you could do it Feyre. I knew you could gain his trust. But I didn't expect him to involve you personally in his business. You don't have to go, you can decline. There are other ways to attain the information we need." "Do not underestimate me, Commissioner Burnham." "I'm just worried." "I'll let you know how everything pans out." With that Feyre stood up and left.

Part 2

[hellas-himself]

Crack Ship Holidays

Friendsgiving Pt. 2 

Since it’s Rhysand’s birthday this week, y'all are getting two updates. ;)

.

.

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With my furniture gone, we eat pizza on the living room floor. Cassian pulls me onto his lap while I hold our plate. Aelin is lying on the floor with her head on Rowan’s lap and he’s purposely not feeding her pizza as she asked. Rhys and Lucien are sitting back against the wall and Rhys has his arm around Lucien’s shoulder. Mor might have shut off the flash but I can tell that she’s taking pictures of us all from where she sits on the kitchen counter, next to the box of white pizza Cassian ordered specifically for her. 

When the door unlocks, Az steps inside but Iliana rushes past her father and makes her way towards Cassian and I.

“So it’s true?! You’re gonna have a baby now!” she blurts out and Rowan nearly chokes on his food while Aelin howls.

“Hello to you, too,” I say as I set our plate down and hug her tight. She starts to laugh, especially when Cassian starts tickling her. Her laugh reminds me so much of Elain but that mischievous glint in her eyes is all Azriel.

“Daddy says you finally stopped being a…” She mouths a word that has Cassian glaring daggers at Az who raises his hands innocently.

“I said nothing.”

Iliana presses a kiss to Cassian’s cheek.

“It’s okay, tio. Mommy told him not to talk like that in front of me even if she agreed.”

My sister is blushing which makes Cassian laugh.

“It’s okay. They were both right,” he says as she sits next to him. “So thank you, Lia.”

“Me? What did I do?”

I lean in real close and whisper, “For helping your tio stop being a complete pendejo.”

I give her a wink, and our niece starts cackling. Cassian is feigning offense when I sit upright.

“I love you,” I say and he pinches my side, making me laugh.

“I hope it’s a boy,” Lia says haughtily. “I want to be the only girl.”

*

Cassian insists on carrying my box full of rolls of canvas, stretched canvas and brushes.

“Just get the door,” he says with a wink and I roll my eyes. I can hear Az and Iliana playing with Valo in the backyard. Everyone got here before we did; I handed in my keys to the landlord and Cassian broke the lease. I was still internally cringing from how much money he just spent. And yet, he has been grinning from ear to ear ever since.

Rowan and Aelin are setting up my bookshelf in the living room while Rhysand and Mor busy themselves with my closet. Lucien is in the kitchen putting away what little I had as I gave away everything I didn’t need.

“Shouldn’t we bring that to the garage?” I ask as he continues on towards the bedrooms.

“I don’t want you painting around weights and shit,” he replies as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “So I thought of something.”

“What?” I ask but he says nothing and stops in front of one of the guestrooms.

“Get that for me, will you?”

I roll my eyes and open the door. I have to remember how to breathe.

“Cas…”

The bed, the dresser, all of it was gone and replaced with a desk. An easel. With the curtains pulled aside, the light in the room was perfect.

“I have to set up the shelves in the closet but-”

I grab him by the collar of his shirt and kiss him. He smiles when I step back. I’m blushing.

“I can’t believe you.”

He grins and bring the box to the closet.

“I want you to have your own space,” he says and sets it down on the floor before turning to face me. “I have mine. Now you have yours.”

“Get over here,” I say and he smiles, closing the space between us.

*

I wake up at the sound of Cassian’s alarm going off. This isn’t the first time, but I still find myself smiling. Cassian is holding me against him and he hasn’t woken up yet. Carefully, I turn until I’m facing him and press a kiss to his cheek. His jaw. His neck and across his collar bone. I see him smile.

“Good morning,” I whisper.

“Good morning, bunny,” he whispers back and rolls onto his back, taking me with him. He reaches over and grabs his phone, tapping on the screen until the alarm stops. He opens his eyes and squints at the screen.

“What?”

“Mor.”

He shows me his phone. Morrigan_not_la_fey tagged you and bunny_darling in a post. I unlock his phone and open the post. I snort. The caption reads, ‘FUCKING FINALLY’. There are several pictures; the first is of Cassian and I last night on the sofa with Val sprawled across our laps, followed by one of us eating pizza with everyone else on the living room floor. Then one with Cas and I kissing in the bedroom with Rowan in the background disassembling the bookshelf and then Halloween night where he had lifted me up and she’d interrupted us.

“I love this,” I say with a laugh and set the phone down.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Was it really that obvious to everyone?” he asks and rubs the sleep from his eyes.

“To everyone but us, I guess.”

He smirks and grabs his phone. I am content to watch him no doubt replying to Mor but then I hear my phone go off. I raise a brow and begrudgingly slide off of Cassian to get to my phone. I laugh when I see Cassian’s request to update my relationship status.

“You’re silly,” I say and accept it. “Oh! Can I match our profile pictures?”

“To what?” he asks and shifts to lay beside me, putting an arm over my back. He slides his phone in front of me.

“This one. The one Mor took of us outside.”

“Okay,” he says with a yawn.

Both of our phones start going off as our friends and family begin commenting on the posts.

“Why don’t you sleep a little more? I’ll make coffee and wake you up when it’s done,” I say as I pry myself out of his hold. His response is incoherent.

Cassian had fallen asleep last night waiting for me to finish unpacking. But it was worth staying up so late. Everything was in its place; it didn’t look like I’d just moved in. The art room was a mess but it didn’t bother me. I had the entire day for that.

After I wash up and put up my hair, I put on Cassian’s shirt and basketball shorts and walk to the kitchen. I let Val out while I get the coffee going and I let myself look at my phone. Endless congratulations and like after like. Rhys and Mor reminding Lucien and Az that they won some bet they’d made months ago about when and how Cassian would ‘finally’ ask me to be his girlfriend. I felt ridiculous smiling while I read the messages and I was blushing while I looked at that picture of us. It was perfect.

Cassian of course, comes to the kitchen already showered and ready to go. I set his coffee down on the counter and pile pancakes on his plate. He looks surprised.

“I ate one,” I say. “You’re not going to die.”

He laughs and takes a seat.

“It’s been a while since anyone made me anything… Well, someone that wasn’t Rhys or Az.”

“Maybe I’ll start practicing and I’ll cook for you every day.”

“And deny myself the pleasure of how you react to my cooking?”

I laugh. “So, maybe not every day.”

Cassian holds out his arm, motioning for me to come closer. When I do, he holds me against him. I wrap my arms around his neck and lean into him.

“I don’t know how I waited this long,” he says softly. “This is… I’m just happy that you’re home with me.”

“I am, too.” I kiss his cheek. “I love you, Cassian.”

“I love you, bunny.”

*

For the zillionth time this evening, my phone blacks out while I read the stupid recipe I have been following for dinner. Cassian is working late today and I wanted to surprise him. For more reasons than this.

“Do you think daddy will like burnt chicken for dinner?” I ask Valo and sigh. The dog looks at me sideways and I laugh. “I’m kidding. This is going to be fine.”

After making the yogurt sauce and chopping up the onions and other things I’ll need as a topping, I get the marinated chicken onto the iron skillet. It smells like heaven. I preheat the oven and make to wash a few dishes when I hear my phone go off. Twice.

The first message is from Cassian- actually, it’s Az using Cassian’s phone to tell me Cas is almost finished. I reply with a quick thank you. The other is from Nesta. I regret opening it.

Halloween was nearly two weeks ago. When were you going to tell me about Cassian? During Christmas dinner?

I roll my eyes. I haven’t spent Christmas with our parents in years. Had zero intention of doing so this year. And no. I wasn’t planning on telling you anything for this very reason.

I set my phone down and wash half of the dishes before I go to flip the chicken on the skillet. I return to the sink and finish the dishes, then quickly clean my hands before setting the pita bread in the oven. I pour Val some food into his bowl and hear my phone go off again.

He was my boyfriend, Feyre. Mom and dad have been bothering me about it ever since Elain posted that picture of the two of you with Iliana. It was a cute picture from their date night last week; he and I were on the sofa with Iliana between us.  We had fallen asleep while she read from her Percy Jackson book to us and Elain had come to pick her up and found us just like that.  

Was. Years ago. Get over it.

How long has this been going on?  

I sigh. That’s honestly none of your business. I’m happy and so is he. That’s all that should matter to you. Tell mom and dad they can call me if it bothers them that much.

They don’t have your number.

Give it to them then. I hear the door unlock. I have dinner on the stove. Love you, Nes. Stop letting them get to you. Elain and I did- and we’re happier for it.

I am tempted to say more but, until Cassian knows- I refuse to tell anyone else. She’d probably find a way to spoil it, anyway.

“Honey, I’m home!” Cas shouts from the door- as he has done every night he comes home from work. I laugh at his attempt to sound like Ricky Ricardo.

“I’m in the kitchen!” I shout back. I hear the closet door opening and close, hear him kick off his boots.

“Did you order out?” he asks, his voice sounds much closer now.  

“Nope.”

I look at him from where I stand by the stove. He’s standing in the entry way.

“What’s this?”

I shrug. “Dinner. For my incredibly handsome and hardworking boyfriend.”

His stupid grin gives me butterflies.

“You cooked dinner?”

“I meant what I said.”

He comes to stand behind me and kisses my cheek before putting one hand on my waist. He tries to grab a piece of chicken from the skillet but I slap his hand away.

“Go wash up. Where do you want to eat?”

“So bossy,” he murmurs and kisses my neck. “You know, I wouldn’t mind that later on-”

I sigh. “Cassian…”

He laughs. “Alright, alright. Let’s sit at the dinner table.”

He slaps my ass before he runs off to change. When he comes back, I’m carrying plates to the dining room. He helps me bring everything to the table and after getting drinks, we sit to eat.

“The first time we had shawarma, was after homecoming, remember?” he asks.

“I think I have that picture somewhere. Rhys and Elain won homecoming king and queen which was hilarious, considering who they were dating at the time.”

“You and Grayson?”

“I didn’t date Rhys,” I say with a scowl.

Cassian laughs. “You were his rebound-”

I slap his arm. “Hey, better it was me than someone who’d break his heart. I don’t even remember her name, only that she had some college boyfriend driving her to school one morning and it pissed me off so much.”

“So much so that you kissed Rhys in the parking lot and lied about being his girlfriend for the rest of the year.”

“Best pretend boyfriend I ever had,” I say wistfully. Cassian rolls his eyes but I can see him trying not to smirk. “But listen, I wanted to tell you something.”

“Hm?”

“So… Briar called me at like… nine this morning. I have an interview at the school tomorrow.”

His eyes light up.

“Really?”

“Yeah… She says she doesn’t doubt I’ll get it.”

Cassian leans over in his seat and gives me a quick kiss.

“That’s amazing, bunny! We have to celebrate or something.”

I laugh as he sits back in his chair.

“We are,” I say and wave at the table. “I haven’t told anyone else. And I won’t, not until after the interview.”

He puts his hand over mine.

“God, I love you so much,” he says. “I’m so happy for you.”

“I love you, too, Cas. I can’t believe this is happening.”

He brings my hand to his lips and presses a kiss to my knuckles.

“What time is the interview?”

“Eight-thirty.”

“I’ll drive you,” he says. “Then we can have celebratory breakfast together.”

“And if they ask me to stay for the day?”

“Then I guess I’ll come back for celebratory lunch.”

“I like the sound of that,” I say and he winks.

“And what about dessert?” he asks and I look at him up and down and grin.

“I think I have an idea of what I want.”

*

With a wave goodbye to Briar, I step out of the school. I take a deep breath and clutch the strap of my bag with both hands in an attempt to stop them from trembling. The security guard gives me a nod and I return it. I’m relieved to see Cassian standing by his truck. He’s on his phone and he’s wearing sunglasses. To my absolute delight, he has his hair down. For a moment, I can remember him as he was in high school; the stupidly popular football player with long hair and the tattoos on his back, who drove a motorcycle and smoked cigarettes in the parking lot. Who, along with Rhys and Az, always looked out for me and my sisters. For Mor.  

“All we’re missing is a pack of cigarettes and I’m fourteen-year-old Feyre, trying to act like it was no big deal that Cassian Rodriguez is waiting for her in the parking lot,” I say when he notices me approach.

“Well, seventeen-year-old Cassian was all too happy to do it,” he says and immediately takes my hands and pulls me close. “Thank you for convincing that idiot to quit. I can’t believe I got away with so much shit.”

He kisses me and I playfully swat his arm.

“You’re a sweet talker,” I quip.

“So. How’d it go?” he asks and I sigh, shaking my hands. I don’t understand why I feel so nervous.

“I start on Monday,” I say softly. My stomach hurts. Cassian simply beams at me. He cups my face with his hands and kisses me.

“I fucking knew it!” He kisses me again. “God, I’m so happy for you, bunny!”

I laugh and hug him tight. After another kiss, Cassian walks me to the passenger’s side and opens the door. He lifts me up by the waist and sets me down. He doesn’t even bother hiding the grin on his face when his hands brush against my thighs as he steps away. I blush and wave him off. That was one story I wouldn’t tell Mor- ever. She’d never let me live it down.

“So what are the hours?” he asks as he gets into the driver’s seat. We talk about my salary and the schedule as he drives us to get breakfast.

“Is it weird that I’m kinda scared?” I ask quietly.

“No… You’ve been out of the game for a while.” A while. Leave it to Cassian to try to soften the edges. It had been years since I’d worked as a teacher. Tamlin had provided for everything until he left and if it weren’t for Cassian, I would have lost everything.

“At least now I’ll have health insurance,” I mutter and instinctively brush my fingers over my inner left arm. I barely feel it with my jacket on until I press on it. Cassian grimaces. “I can finally replace this stupid thing.”

“Stop it,” he whines. I laugh.

“Such a baby,” I say playfully. “If not for this we’d be pushing a stroller around.”

“Fair enough. Stop playing with it though, bunny. That’s gross.”

I stick my tongue out at him and he grins.

We have breakfast together at the café Mor and I had gone just two weeks before. I wait until Cassian is busy stuffing his face with French toast to text the group chat. Guess who’s the new art teacher at Aelin’s school? I hit send and then open the chat between Aelin and I. I GOT THE JOB.

Our phones begin to go off as our family starts to reply. Cassian reaches over to hold my hand and I sigh, meeting his gaze.

“You’ll be amazing,” he says to me. “You are amazing.”

“Thank you,” I say and feel myself blush.

I have a feeling I’m going to be blushing until the day I die because of him. And honestly, I’m completely fine with that. 

[pugovkaisafk]

Comments box

I’ve decided to do something different and instead of leaving notes on my Kobo, I’ll be leaving them here in this post, as I read through A Court of Mist and Fury. This book is longer and I’m sure full of details, so I don’t want to miss any.

Intro

- “Amarantha drawled, her deep red hair” There was an editing mistake in the first book that suddenly changed Amarantha’s red hair into black. I’m glad they didn’t this time

Chapter 1

- “I squeezed my fingers into a fist, blocking out that eye” Use gloves? I’m sure he would see through anyway, but at least it would be a short relief

Chapter 2

- “I don’t have the sentries to spare to escort you” But when she was merely a human and you needed her alive and well, she was barely under any protection?  - “Please - please just do this for me”

- “His equal. A union with Tamlin” Is this foreshadowing?  - ”[...] childless, and keen to enjoy the finest males the land has to offer” Ianthe is giving me such bad vibes for some reason, sneaky snake - ”Not that he particularly wants anything to do with me” That’s right, my boy Lucien. We would be totally friends bitching about Ianthe.  - “I’d wept with joy as I told him yes, yes, a thousand times yes” Proposal “offscreen”? This wedding is so NOT happening.

Chapter 3

- “Did he let you take me today so that I’d stop asking to help rebuild?” I feel like he threatened everyone so they would refuse. Yikes

Chapter 4

- “I’ve another hour before I need to sleep” I hope Ianthe chokes on air and dick. They are all treating Feyre like a newborn. - “A fitting end would have been me in a grave, burning in hell” Oh honey, don’t we all feel like that from time to time  - “Then you don’t know Rhysand very well at all” HELL YEAH, let these fools know.  - “No wonder Tamlin had laughed” Why would you even agree to wear that hideous dress? It’s your wedding! And Tamlin is such a tool, he doesn’t understand shit. - “And you sound like you’re going to your funeral” Because she is?! She can’t even run anywhere. Where would she go - “As inescapable as the vow I was about to make, binding me to him forever” BIG YIKES. MY ANXIETY. - “Hello, Feyre darling”  Boi, it’s about time!! I missed you

Chapter  5

- “You think I enjoy being awoken every night by visions of you puking?” BUT the most important question is.. did you snoop while they were fornicating? -”I barely saw my silk slipper as it flew through the air [...] and slammed into his head”

-”For this week? I want you to learn how to read.” / “No, thank you” You fucking walnut. You just had a trial that almost killed you because you couldn’t read

Chapter 6

- “Forgive me for being excited about having company for once” I already love Mor. So bubbly. - “Everyone else says you are” / “ And what do you think?” YES. Exactly. He helped you so much when he could have left you to rot in that prison. Like c’mon, at least play this “game” intelligently. 

Chapter 7

- “But you’re the only one I trust” She’s gonna tell everything the moment she goes back. Because of Tamlin, big dick, love of my life,  High Lord yadda yadda -”You are no one’s subject” *claps and nods* -”[...] and I don’t believe for one damn minute that you’re remotely fine with being a pretty trophy for someone who sat on his ass for nearly fifty years, then sat on his ass while you were shredded apart--” That’s what I’m saying!!! Tamlin was sitting all the time like a silent monk and only during the last day tried to contact her,  and only for fucking. Not even saying I’m sorry, run away... something. I knew men like that, damn leeches. Rhys, you are too good. I loved so much how he plunged towards Amarantha in the first book, screaming and trying so desperately.  - “You’ll probably ignore it, anyway. Sweep it under the rug, like everything else” This is so good. Like I’m only at the beginning of the book and already am sad because it’ll be soon over. I love mature and self-analyzing characters.  -”You trashed the study” / “I trashed half the house” Oh, fuck off into the sunset already.  -”This feels an awful lot like an interrogation” Imma about to slap the spring out of him -”You don’t need to train. I can guard you from whatever comes our way”

Chapter 8

- “Do not interrupt me” I get it. You've got a role to play as a High Lord, but sometimes being merciful gets you farther in life. Such a lack of compassion. Sarah J. Maas is pushing extra hard on the dislike button. - “Because this is how things are done here, and when you hand that gluttonous faerie the money she needs, it makes me [...] look weak” BITCH, Feyre starved for 8 years! Of course, she’s gonna help? Like do you even know who is your fiancè? All I’m hearing is me, never us.  - “Did I ask for your opinion?” Did I ask for you to appear in these books? 

Chapter 9

- “It was worse than a crown, actually. [...] A traveling painting kit” I.AM.WHEEZING. Tamlin is one of those people that buys you milk knowing that you are intolerant and gonna shit your pants off. Gets also offended in the process. Tamlin is one of those people that asks you something and a couple of days later goes over the same questions, leaving you to wonder if talking to the walls is more beneficial. - “I cried out, instinct taking over as his power blasted through the room” Hold on. HOLD ON. Let me read this shit again. ... Bruh.

Chapter 10

- “I’ll try to be better. [...] Today - let’s forget, let’s just move past it. Please” Nah uh. I’m gonna write it all down. You hairy pimple.  - “It was never the time for this conversation or that conversation”  If you feel like you have to walk on the eggshells with your lover, the one you are supposed to live with until your days are over, it’s time to reevaluate life and run to the next available galaxy. - “I already have everything I want” Sheeeit. I’m impressed. Rhysand: *breathes*  Me: YES, BEST BREATHING EVER.

Chapter 11

- “But it had filled my time - given me quiet, a steadfast company with those characters, who did not exist and never would, but somehow made me feel less...alone” The bookblr community sends its regards. Girl, I still remember my first fictional boyfriend. Don’t worry, it’s okay.

- “Bastard. Arrogant, presuming bastard” I  really dislike this word used as an insult. Sarah J. Maas overuses it.  It’s not even a funny one. - “The next morning, Tamlin was waiting in the shade of the gnarled, mighty oak tree in the garden” UGH. Reminds me of someone I used to “date”, that didn’t really respect my wishes and often called only to tell me he was bored. Was I a clown to him? Maybe. I had some great tricks indeed. Though I feel like that the biggest one, the “ sim sala bim I’m gonna disappear”, never really took off with him. 

[nomattertheoceans]

I made you a promise - chapter 14

Here’s chapter 14! I had a super busy day at work, and only now found enough peace to finish editing it and to post it. I hope my late night editing won’t be too bad!!

As always, thank you so much for reading and commenting, I love all of your feedback :)

@highladyofherondale @amazinginglyawesomeperson @illyrianbeauty

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Writing masterlist || On mobile

Rhys stood still for a few second, watching his sister as she watched him back. Then he seemed to shook himself and said as he moved away from the door:

“Lyra? What are you doing here? Come in.”

The girl stepped in, and as Feyre took her in under the light, there was absolutely no doubt that she was of Rhys’ blood. It wasn’t the brown skin, or the black hair, or even the peculiar eye color that gave it away. It was the way this girl stood and moved, it was the fierce light in her eyes and the similar dimple on her left cheek as she smiled shyly at her brother. Her eyes moved to meet Feyre’s and for a moment the three of them stood in the hall in an awkward silence before Rhys said: “Feyre, this is my little sister, Lyra. Lyra, this is Feyre.” He didn’t specify who or what she was to him, but she couldn’t blame him. For all their wonderful time together, they hadn’t really talked about calling themselves boyfriend and girlfriend, even though their relationship couldn’t really be described as anything else. Noticing Lyra’s wary look towards her, she advanced and said:

“Hi Lyra, it’s very nice to meet you.” The smile, and what Feyre hoped to be a friendly tone, seemed to work their magic on the teenager, who smiled back at her and extended her hand. Rhys then suggested moving into the living room and the girl tumbled down on the couch, her hands tucked between her knees, not moving. Rhys sat down beside her, and Feyre followed. The silence stretched out for what seemed like forever, and then Rhys started talking:

“Are you going to explain it, or am I supposed to guess?”

“Explain what?” His sister answered in a sharp voice.

“Oh I don’t know. The reason why you’re showing up at my house in the middle of the night, maybe?”

“What, I can’t come visit you now?”

“Of course you can, but you being alone in Velaris when you're supposed to be in Hewn with mom and dad is kind of alarming, I have to say. Do they even know you're here?”

Her silence was answer enough, and Rhys swore. “Shit Lyra, are you kidding me? I'm gonna call mom.”

“No please! I don't want them to know where I went.”

“Why? What the hell happened?” Feyre had never seen Rhys so tense before.

“I… I don't want to tell you.”

“Not telling me is not an option in this discussion, Lyra. What the hell do you think you're doing, leaving home alone and showing up here out of nowhere? You're fourteen!”

“Rhys…” her voice broke and tears started to roll down her cheeks. Feyre would have hugged her if Rhysand hadn't done it himself as seeing the distress in his sister. His voice was soft again when he spoke, his arms encircling her.

“Hey, calm down. I shouldn't have yelled, I’m sorry. You don't have to tell me what happened right now. But I'm gonna have to call mom, you know that, right? They're probably worried sick about you.”

Lyra nodded against his chest, incapable of forming coherent words between her sobs. Rhys was holding her against him and he continued: “You can sleep in the room across from mine if you want. I think some of your clothes are still in the closet from the last time you came. Wash up and I'll bring some tea in a minute, okay?”

She stayed in his arms a few more minutes, her sobs calming a bit, before getting up and walking towards the staircase. Once they heard the door click shut, Rhys exhaled loudly and sat back on the couch, his eyes closed and his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I'm sorry Feyre. I really didn't see that coming. I need to call my mom,” he said, getting his phone out.

“Do you want me to go home and leave you two alone? Your sister might prefer not to have a stranger around if she's not feeling good,” Feyre said as she watched him dial.

“You're not a stranger, and if you're okay with staying here, I really want you to stay, I would - hi mom. Yeah she's here.”

The voice at the other end of the line seemed frantic, and Rhys had difficulty talking over it. “Mom, she just got here like ten minutes ago, I couldn't have called you earlier. And what about the next time your teenage daughter goes missing, you give me a heads up? No, I can hear dad, tell him not to come tonight. I don't know what happened at home, but she doesn't want to see you guys.” He fell silent as the voice answered and closed his eyes in exasperation. “Shit. Well tell dad whenever he wants to be a jackass, maybe he can chose a better target than Lyra. Don't come down here, she's with me, she's safe. I'll get her back home on Sunday okay? You're welcome. Try and get some sleep.”

He hung up and got up from the couch to go to the kitchen and start the kettle. Feyre followed him, taking a mug from the shelf to prepare the tray. He watched her and as she turned to find a teabag, his arms found their place around her waist. He buried his face in her neck and whispered: “Thank you.” For a moment, they stayed in a tight embrace, her back pressed on his chest. Then Rhys said:

“My sister wants to spend next summer in the mountains, and my father doesn't want her to go because he doesn't think it's appropriate for a fourteen years old to be left there alone. He wants her to, I quote, “live properly until she's old enough to meet a nice boy and get married.” And that's not really the way my sister wants to live her life, she wants to work for Doctors without Borders. Going to the Illyrian camps is a way to escape my father’s expectations for a few months. They had a big argument today because my father told her he wanted to send her to a summer camp on the east coast, and so they talked again about her wanting to be a doctor, him wanting her to work with us until she gets married, the usual stuff. But according to my mother, it got particularly ugly. My sister got out of the house saying she would find a way out of the family if she couldn't live the way she wanted. My parents thought she'd gone to a friend's house nearby because she'd left without her cell, and they only started to worry when they went to get her for dinner and she wasn't there.”

The kettle signaled them the water was boiling, and Rhys let go of her. Feyre stood in the kitchen watching him.

“I don't know what to say, I'm sorry.”

He looked up from the tray and smiled: “Don't worry darling, there's not much to say, Lyra just needs to cool off this weekend, and my father needs to understand that he can't control her future. Let's go upstairs.”

They climbed the stairs together, and Rhys stopped between two doors. He nodded towards the door on the right and whispered:

“This is my room. Make yourself at home, there are fresh towels in the bathroom if you want to take a shower. I'll be there in a minute.” They kissed and he knocked on the door on the left. Feyre was inside his bedroom before it opened.

Rhysand’s bedroom was huge, with a king-size bed in the middle of the room, and antique furniture all around - a desk, a big dresser, a bookshelf. A door led to a bright bathroom where she found both shower and bathtub waiting for her. Realizing she hadn't brought night clothes with her - she had assumed they wouldn’t be necessary, she remembered with a low giggle -, she fished around and found a large white shirt to put on once she'd be out of the shower. She didn’t think Rhys would mind her borrowing it for one night.

He still wasn't back when she got out of the bathroom, so she turned off the lights and settled in his bed. She had been determined to wait for him, but exhaustion hit her and she fell asleep in minutes.

***

Rhysand entered the bedroom and sat on the bed. Lyra sat down beside him and took the hot mug between her hands. They sat for a while in silence, no sound but the small sips she took. At last she took her eyes away from the tea and looked up at him.

“What did mom say?”

“I convinced her to let you stay here until Sunday. But you're gonna need to go home eventually, Lyra.”

“I know, I only said I wanted out to piss off dad.”

He laughed at that. “Well I think you did a damn good job.”

She finished her tea and he took the mug from her, deposited it on the ground, and lay down on the bed. She did the same beside him and put her head on his shoulder.

“I don't understand why dad is so hard with me. I mean, I want to be a doctor, I'm not getting high on cocaine or something!”

“You know how he is, he always needs to control everything around him, and you're no different. You're too wild for him, too much like mom. But don't worry, he'll come to his senses eventually, when you arrive first of your class in med school.”

“I don't know, he's the one that's going to pay for my classes, and as he so kindly reminded me today, ‘he's not going to spend thousands of dollars on a hopeless career.’”

“He called med school ‘hopeless’!?”

“I think it was more the ‘Doctors without Borders’ bit that got him. You know, helping people without gaining something in return is not really a clear idea for dad.”

“Yeah I know. But he'll get around, I promise.”

She didn't answer, and said instead:

“Rhys, do you regret sometimes that you didn't get to chose your career? I mean, dad did to you what he wants to do to me now, and yet you seem okay with it.”

“I am okay with it, Lyra. I mean, maybe when I was your age I wouldn't have said the same, but my job allows me to help a lot of people, and that's what I've always wanted to do, so I'm fine with it. Besides, once dad retires and him and mom move to Europe, I'll be able to achieve my true goal with the company: sell all the actions and use the money to build a candy factory.”

Her laugh sounded in the air, and touched Rhysand into his very heart. He’d loved her so much since the day she was born, that making her laugh was always amazing to him, even after fourteen years. Her laugh lingered between them as she spoke again:

“Sometimes I don't understand how mom and dad ended up together. They're so different!”

“Opposites attract I guess. Love isn't really something that can be explained. I mean, I love you even when you're annoying, which is most of the time.”

“When was I ever annoying?” She asked, falsely offended.

“Oh I don't know, Miss ‘I barge in on my brother during a wonderful evening he was having with a beautiful woman’.”

She laughed. “I'm sorry I interrupted your night.”

“It's fine, you know I'm here whenever you need me.”

“So is she your girlfriend?” Her voice sounded eager.

To his dismay, Rhys felt his cheeks get warmer.

“I guess.”

“You guess?! You don't ‘guess’ this kind of things, she either is or she isn't!”

“Then I guess she is, yes.”

He felt her grin against his shoulder.

“She’s very pretty.”

“That she is. And really nice, I think you'll like her.”

“So do you love her?”

“Lyra, I met her like three weeks ago.”

“So?”

“So you don't fall in love with someone in three weeks.”

“I don't see why not.”

He chuckled and didn't answer. After a while, he felt her breathing calm down, and moved her under the covers.

He left her room and entered his own, finding all the lights out and Feyre tucked beneath the sheets. He undressed down to his undershorts, slowly moved just enough of the covers to slide beside her without waking her, and found her wearing nothing but her underpants and one of his tee-shirts. He smiled. So do you love her? As he grew closer to her and she nestled on his chest, he thought maybe three weeks wasn't too short a period to know the answer to that question.

***

Waking up slowly, Rhys reached out beside him to find Feyre in the bed, eager for her warmth against him. But the bed was empty. He opened his eyes to search the room, all lamps were still out, the only light coming from the sun outside. The events of last night came back to him as he got up to dress: the evening with Mor, Lyra’s sudden arrival and the quiet night snuggled against Feyre. He went into the hallway, and was greeted by laughter coming from downstairs.

Lyra was propped up on the kitchen counter, chatting, and Feyre was… cooking? Still wearing his white shirt, but having added a pair of jeans, she was bent over a frying pan and laughing as Lyra kept going:

“Oh and also there was the time I got Cassian to bring me to a concert with him even though I was supposed to be grounded.”

“And how did you manage that?”

“When Lyra wants something,” Rhys interrupted, “she's not afraid to lie to her own brothers to get it.”

They both turned and Lyra grinned at him:

“Or maybe I just have more charm than you do. I got Feyre to make me pancakes this morning, did she ever made you pancakes?”

He went up to Feyre as she was getting one of said pancakes out of the pan. “I'm afraid she never did. Maybe you do have more charms than I do,” he said to his sister, hearing Feyre chuckle beside him. “Lyra did you take a shower this morning?”

“Not yet.”

“Maybe you can go and we'll finish getting breakfast ready while you're gone.”

“But I don't wanna go now!”

“Oh well you can stay if you want, I mean if you don't mind some unrestrained displays of affection…” he encircled Feyre’s waist as he said it and Lyra quickly changed her mind, leaving the kitchen with a sound of disgust. As soon as she was gone, Rhys let his lips gently explore Feyre’s neck.

“Good morning,” he whispered, pressing against her.

“Good morning.”

“I missed you when I woke up.”

“I didn't want to bother you.” She took the last pancake out of the pan, turned off the cooker and turned around to meet his eyes.

“So tell me, how come you're making pancakes for my sister?”

“Oh I came down to make some tea and she was looking through your fridge in search for food. We talked a bit and one thing led to another, and now we're having pancakes. I'm not any good though so I hope they won't be too bad. She's right you know, I don't know how she got me into the kitchen, I hate to cook!”

He laughed. “Are you saying my baby sister has more charisma than I do?”

Her smile was wicked when she answered:

“You can still prove me otherwise.”

“Is that a challenge?

“Is it?”

Her voice was lower when she answered, and he bit his lip to keep from biting her neck. But when she kissed him, he took her in is arms and got her to sit on the kitchen counter, settling himself between her legs. He knew they couldn't go any farther than a kiss, but he couldn't stop himself from wanting more when she ground her hips against him.

“You're gonna be the death of me,” he groaned, but pushing against her nonetheless. She laughed in his mouth and let go of him. They stayed that way for a minute, breathing each other in and calming down their desire. Finally, Feyre spoke:

“Do you have oranges?”

“What?”

“Oranges. I thought we could make some orange juice to go with the pancakes and tea.”

“Right! Yeah I have some.”

[luxmaeastra]

@an-endless-saga continued from here.

She invited her to Autumn the next weekend. She took her to a small courtyard beginning to pace.

"Okay, you have posture down for the most part. You talk well for a fae."

She stilled and looked to her.

"What would you like to tackle first? History? Diplomacy? You're going to get a lot of conflicting stories on pretty much everything. My advice, stick to your court's version - give a little on the details if you must. But that's my main advice don't let others sway you. Choose your friends and allies carefully. Everything you do is monitored especially when in your own court."

She sighed and jumped onto the table to face her. Her legs swinging as she looked at her across from the room.

"That's my main advice. Know who you are so thoroughly that you can't be shaken by anyone and anything."

"How goes everything?"

Beron leaned against the wall, his clothes a little more casual. Zefera turned to him and tugged at his hand.

"Oh good you came."

"You asked me to."

He let Zefera tug him into the room. He leaned against the table she sat at. He watched her play with the signet ring on his finger as she spoke.

I was telling her to know herself and not be swayed by conflicting stories. Anything else?"

Beron hummed and looked to Feyre.

"You helped save Velaris so that's a good start in terms of gaining their trust. I'm sure they like you already. But if you want more things to do pick something specific. Court princes are trained to do everything, to delegate to those we trust - those you have courted our favor. Rhysand has his court - and they all have their roles. Ask for something specific to take on. Budgeting, decoration and planning for holidays. Do it well, and you'll get more and more freedom. Zefa asked to do the decorations and budgeting."

Zefera nodded and looked back at Feyre.

"We have a lot of common. My family were merchants in mining raw materials. They helped process it and ship it around the fae Territories. I still have a small fleet that does that. My father had all girls so he taught us how to manage money and do bookkeeping for him. I personally liked doing it more than my sisters did. The decorations wasn't something I wanted to do but it was expected. It would be the first step to show I had accepted my place in Autumn. Caelia does a much better at it than I ever did. But the budgeting I did behind closed doors, I gained no recognition for it not to anyone beyond Beron and one of his closest friends. My work was triple checked before it was shown. Annoying as that was in the beginning I am grateful for that cushion. Now when I run those financial meetings no one doubts my understanding of money."

She paused wanting to give her a minute to process, to ask questions. She looked to Beron.

"Where are the boys? I asked them to come here too."

Beron hummed, running his thumb over her index finger.

"Well Caelia and Markos are with little Aurora. Eris and Dain I'm not entirely sure. They probably dissapeared because you asked them darling."

Caelia had given birth a few days after Zefera had come to Dusk. It's why she'd asked Feyre to come a week after. They'd wanted time to make sure everything was alright with her. Caelia was fine, gifts had been pouring in from all corner of the fae courts.

The Old Kingdoms had personally asked them to be ambassadors for them. Markos and Caelia were discussing where to go. Morrigan was in Vallhan and while both had family there - Montesere made a little more sense. Zefera's family had a small cottage just outside the capital city. Montesere as a whole was a slower pace than Vallhan but they'd given no answer yet. They'd wait a month as was customary.

She sighed and jumped down from the table kissing Beron quickly on the cheek. She turned to Feyre.

"I'll be right back, clearly I need to wrangle my sons like they're toddlers."

Her hand slipped from Beron's shoulder and she went out the door. Beron looked out the window.

"I was surprised Keir told you anything about us. It's not as fun story as star crossed lovers forever seperated."

He gave a soft snort and shook his head.

"Wine? Cheese?"

There were only a few people who knew where she had gone, Feyre had opted to keep this her secret for now as she did not want to cause any concern in her family and friends. She knew there were some negative opinions of the Autumn Court, those who probably would have swayed her from coming if they knew. So, she only told a few, those who needed to know. She was a little nervous if she was honest, sitting in front of Zefera as she begun the lessons which she knew she was lacking. Honestly, she was at a lost to where she should begin, though she was thankful that her posture and how she spoke was acceptable.

“I think I am learning very quickly about conflicting stories.” She admitted. The stories she heard, the rumours that were told. She was learning quickly it was best to control the narrative, to not let herself get caught up in the rumours that circulated. There was always going to be things said, people would always comment on what they saw. She was taking in what she was saying when her attention was drawn to Beron, she hadn’t expected anyone else to be there – though this was his home, so she should have expected him to appear.

She also had not expected him to be one providing advise either, no what he said really was a lesson. The politics of a court was clear, even with Night. Everyone had their own role, their own tasks that they took on to relieve Rhysand. As much as she had been given her title and role, she hadn’t been given much else beyond that. For the most part she was left to walk the streets or paint if there was no threat lingering, threats…It seemed that was when she was brought into the fold. She really didn’t have a role beyond that, beyond just being the High Lady, and now a mother.

Feyre looked at Zefera as she spoke about having something in common, her story of her family being merchants made her smile. It was familiar but there were some differences. “I am grateful you shared with me your family roots, it is nice to know I am not the only one who came from such roots. However, I am not sure what I can ask to do at this point, when I came from the human side of things I was limited on what I could do. Hunting and ensure my family ate was the extent of my skills at that time, after my mother died when I was young and my father lost everything, we grew up in poverty. My sisters were hold enough to have received an education, I had been too young. Though I feel my mother preferred me uneducated so she could ensure I done as she said.”

She hadn’t meant to be as honest, but it was one of her downfalls. It had taken Rhysand a long time to get her to read, especially with his stupid little written notes – she loved them and kept them hidden away somewhere. Feyre looked up when Zefera mentioned about her sons, surprised that she was going to be meeting some of the brothers of Lucien. She watched as she left the room, leaving her with Beron.

“I was as surprised as you were, I had not really expected it but it is nice to hear the proper story and not what is gossiped.” She admitted.

“Wine would be fine, thank you.”