#and i really liked the idea of tamlin sharing part of her name

[goforth-ladymidnight]

A Mother Always Knows

For Tamlin Week 2024, Day 1: Heir of Spring

@tamlinweek

Summary: Rosalin, Lady of the Spring Court, gives birth to her third son and discovers that the High Mother has chosen him to be the future High Lord of the Spring Court.

Rating: Teen and up

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.8k

Read on AO3, or read on below:

“It’s a boy,” the faerie midwife announced proudly, before swaddling the squalling babe up and delivering him gently into the arms of his mother. “He has a fine set of lungs indeed,” she said over his wailing cries, and there was an amused twinkle in her eyes when she added, “Just like his father.” She chuckled fondly when the babe settled in. “The wee little beastie.”

Lady Rosalin gave her a grateful, though tired smile, then turned her attention to her newborn son. His face was still swollen and red from crying, but he had a tuft of hair that would turn out to be as soft and pale as thistledown. Time would tell if he inherited her blue eyes or his father’s green ones. He had a fine appetite already, though, and latched quickly to her breast. As he drank, she stroked his downy cheek and gently rocked him. While she had hoped for a girl, she could not help but fall in love with her newest little boy.

She had already given Magnus two sons, Angus and Fergus. Twins. Births among High Fae nobility were already a rarity, but to bear twins that lived past infancy was a miracle. Or a curse, though she would never dare say so.

For only one son could inherit the High Lord’s mantle, while the other would have to serve him in a lesser capacity. As would the third, one day. She did not look forward to that day, when she would lose her husband and be forced to witness one son challenge the other for his title. The magic of the Cauldron always chose the Heir, but few were willing to accept the High Mother’s will, let alone their own mother’s. If she had her way, she would choose the eldest and be done with it, but Fergus was only five minutes younger than his brother. It was hardly fair. And now they had another brother to contend with, no matter how young and innocent.

Such was the nature of the Spring Court, ruthless and fierce despite its inherent beauty.

Rosalin sighed and let her head fall back against the pillows as the servants helped the midwife take away the bloody linens and clean up the room, preparing for the High Lord’s arrival. No doubt he was already being informed of a successful delivery and was on his way to see her.

She turned her head to look at the bouquet of roses by her bedside. Her mate had had them delivered the day before, freshly cut from the garden he had planted for her. He knew that she would be missing them, and had included a single rose of every color in the bouquet. She smiled. For all his fierce, overprotective habits, he did love her.

Her vision was beginning to turn double as she drifted off, then she lifted her head with a start.

She wasn’t seeing double. There were now two roses of every color blossoming in the vase. Her mouth fell open as she realized that new roses were budding and blooming right before her eyes. She glanced around, but the midwife and the servants didn’t seem to notice. As quickly and as carefully as she could, she shifted the baby to the other breast. He let out a small growl at the interruption before latching on again in earnest.

The sound should have made her laugh—the wee little beastie—but it only made her want to weep.

Did the midwife know…? No. She couldn’t know. Not when Rosalin herself didn’t know. At least, not yet.

With her heart in her throat, she reached out and carefully turned the cut-crystal vase to see if her suspicions were correct.

Her heart sunk to the depths of her aching womb as she saw what she had not hoped to see.

One half of the bouquet had continued to bloom, while the other half had not.

Only the roses closest to her had grown despite being cut from the bushes outside.

No… Only the roses closest to the baby.

Her son.

The High Lord’s son.

The true Heir of Spring.

She made sure no one was looking, then, with a pained groan, shoved the vase off the table.

The crystal shattered, and the roses scattered.

And her innocent child began to cry.

The servants swarmed around her, fretting as she tried to soothe her squalling babe.

“It’s all right. It’s all right,” she told them as well as her newborn.

She hoped it would be. By keeping his secret, she could keep him a little longer.

If anyone found out that the High Mother had chosen the third born son as the Heir of Spring, he wouldn’t live to see another sunrise.

Such was the nature of the Spring Court.

After all, her husband had once had a brother, too.

As if the noise had summoned him, which it probably had, he appeared in the doorway like a thunderclap.

Rosalin cradled the baby against her breast and prayed that Magnus wouldn’t notice how the roses he had picked for her had doubled since their son was born. No such sign had appeared when the twins were born, even though there should have been, but the magic knew better. She knew better.

A mother always knows.

“What happened?” he demanded, stalking closer. Although he was normally quite handsome, even for a High Fae, with his long brown hair and sun-bronzed skin, he was terrifying now. His green eyes flashed, and his claws and teeth were already long and gleaming as he searched for the threat to his mate and newborn child.

The servants fell back, trembling as they swept into deep curtsies at his approach. Only Oona, the midwife, stood by Rosalin’s bedside, staring the High Lord down.

“A vase broke, Your Lordship,” she said firmly over the baby’s cries. “It was an accident. Nothing more.” When the High Lord stood there, growling skeptically at the mess on the floor, she added, “So, unless you plan on cutting the mischievous sprite responsible into ribbons, I suggest you put those claws away before you hurt someone.”

If Oona hadn’t been the one to deliver the High Lord himself, she might have felt his claws for her audacity, and borne the scars forever to prove it.

Magnus growled again, but he curled his claws into his fists to hide them. “Is that what happened?” he asked his wife roughly.

Rosalin quickly nodded, although her heart was still beating fiercely. “The vase slipped. That’s all.”

In the tense silence that followed, the baby hiccuped then snuffled against her shoulder. Rosalin gently patted his tiny back. It had been a long day for both of them.

Magnus’s fierce demeanor softened as he silently waved a hand over the shattered mess. The crystal vase reformed itself on the table, but the fallen roses remained scattered on the floor.

“Fresh roses from the garden,” he told the servants. When they bowed their heads and stood to carry out his command, he continued in a much gentler voice as he looked at his mate, “And make them red, for my Rose.”

She breathed a sigh of relief, and gave him a warm, glad smile. Their son’s secret was safe, at least for a little while.

Magnus stepped over the fallen roses to sit beside her on the bed. When he lifted his chin to kiss her, there was no sign of his claws. “And how are you, my Rose?” he asked, tenderly stroking the sweaty curls from her brow.

Tears filled her eyes at his gentleness. If only he could be this gentle with their sons. “As well as can be expected,” she said softly, then shifted the baby away from her shoulder so that Magnus could see him. “Look. Isn’t he beautiful?”

Magnus frowned, but he reached out a finger to stroke the baby’s rounded cheek. “He’s so small,” he murmured.

Oona spoke up before Rosalin could object. “He will grow, as you did, my Lord,” the midwife said, then gave the royal couple a short curtsy when Magnus turned his annoyed frown on her. “I will go and speak to the nursemaid, my Lady,” she said, ignoring the High Lord. “Then you and the child must get some rest.”

“Thank you, Oona,” Rosalin said before the High Lord could scold her. She was only doing her duty, after all.

When the servants had gone and left them alone, Magnus at last reached for the baby, and Rosalin reluctantly handed him over.

His secret is safe, she reminded herself as she watched her mate’s spring green eyes sweep over the face of his future heir.

“Another son,” Magnus said quietly, even though no one else was around to hear.

“Are you disappointed?” she asked, hoping that the answer would be No. Their child was less than an hour old, and didn’t need to grow up under the shadow of his father’s disapproval.

Magnus sighed. “Only for your sake,” he replied, giving her a tight smile. “I know how much you wanted a daughter. Someday, I shall give you one.”

Rosalin let out a weary chuckle, despite herself. “Someday,” she agreed, decorously sliding the collar of her shift back into place. “For now, I am content with you, and Angus, and Fergus, and now our newest little one.”

Magnus’s frown softened as he chuckled. “You are so easy to please, my love,” he said, then kissed her again. He might have lingered had the baby not let out a small gurgle and began to squirm in his father’s arms. Magnus pulled away and addressed his son at last. “I suppose you shall need a name, as well, little one,” he remarked.

“What about Tam?” Rosalin offered.

“Tam?” Magnus repeated, clearly surprised that she had come up with a name so quickly.

She smiled shyly. “After my father, Tamhas,” she reminded him. “You did say I might use his name one day.”

Magnus’s brow furrowed as he pursed his lips, remembering. “So I did,” he conceded, though gruffly. “Although I had hoped for another little Rosalin…” He sighed and handed the squirming baby back. “I suppose it can’t be helped now.”

Rosalin smiled sadly as she nestled the baby in the crook of her arm. “He will make you proud, Magnus. I promise.”

The High Lord of Spring looked into his young son’s face. “Tam,” he repeated softly. “Tam-lin.” He smiled at her surprised expression. “After his mother.”

Rosalin beamed. “Tamlin,” she repeated as the baby cooed and reached for her. “I like it.”

Tamlin’s tiny fingers barely wrapped around one of her own, but his grip was strong.

It was then that she knew that he would live, and live a long time.

He might even inherit the High Lord’s mantle without bloodshed.

Tamlin. Her Tamlin. Future High Lord and Heir of the Spring Court. He would be a fine ruler someday. She could feel it.

A mother always knows.

[salmonthestoryteller]

Shannara Chronicles

So I finished both seasons of the Shannara Chronicles. Love season 1, mixed feelings on season 2.  Spoilers ahead!

I did grow up reading the books, but it’s been forever since I read them. So overall that didn’t affect most of my opinions on the show.  My one exception is I love Flick, and was unhappy about his lack of screen time or mention in season 1. I was super salty about Eventine not being the one to tell Wil that Flick fought in the war.

I was watching the episode going:  “Wow, Eventine, you hear the name Ohmsford and don’t even ask about the man who went behind enemy lines to save your sorry ass during the war?? Wth, dude. Not cool.”

So I actually did appreciate getting more Flick in season 2, and Wil finally learning his uncle had fought in the war. The scenes between Bandon and Flick were well done, and even his death worked for me.  Because Flick fought a war to stop the Warlock Lord, watched his beloved brother lose his mind after that war, and there was no way he wasn’t going to do everything in his power to prevent his return.

I will also say, I do feel that Bandon should have said “Flick was right”, not “Allanon was right” in his final scene. Not just because I’m a Flick fangirl, either. Flick was the last person to try to reach out to Bandon emotionally. I also would have accepted “Wil was right.”  Because Wil was his friend in season one, so if he’s going to think about who he should have listened to in the end, it should have been the people who did try their best to help him and show they cared.  And the facts are, Allanon never showed Bandon he truly cared.  He admitted himself that this situation existed because he pushed Bandon too hard and didn’t think of what was best for him.  Because he treated him like a tool to use and not a person.  So I’m not fond of them giving Allanon that moment. It’s understandable Bandon wouldn’t want to listen to Allanon. But he should have listened to Wil and/or Flick.  And that’s what he should have said when facing the truth.

I actually ended up liking Eretia/Wil/Amberle in season one. It starts out and you're like - oh, god another love triangle. And by the time they’re reaching Safehold, you're like - holy shit. Not a love triangle. This is totally poly, and I’m down for it. Of course, then Amberle becomes a tree, so… But I felt like it was still addressed in season 2.  Wil is jealous that Amberle talked to Eretia and didn’t talk to him, Eretia calls out Mareth on her feelings for Wil while admitting she knows what it’s like to love him.  The year apart has led Wil and Eretia on different paths and to different people, but they don’t write off their history, or their shared love of Amberle.

Okay, just insert all the squeeing about the Eretria/Lyria romance in season 2 here. Because it’s gorgeous.  Their fights are understandable, but not for a moment do you not think they aren’t in love through every moment of it. I just wish they’d let Eretia keep Lyria’s ring.  It’s made more than obvious she will return to her, so why have her return the ring?  I am so disappointed in that choice.

On the flipside, what the heck was with the Ander/Catania romance in season 2?  It made no sense.  It did nothing for the plot. Let’s be serious here. Given that Catania was with Bandon in season 1 - is the very reason he is on the loose - and is probably a little traumatized over her boyfriend turning evil, and the love of Ander’s life - Diane, the woman he pined over for ten years, remember her? - just died last year, the idea that they suddenly fell so madly in love Ander would consider giving up a marriage of alliance for Catania is ridiculous.

Not to mention that Catania is killed so quickly it barely matters that they’re together anyway.  On that note, why did we have to kill Catania exactly?  It felt so pointless to murder her. I really hate deaths that are just for drama and not for plot.  And before anyone says “they had to stop her from giving Eretia’s message to Ander”: So Edian had the chance to kidnap the woman the King of the Elves is supposed to be in love with to use as a hostage against him - which would make way more tactical sense - but chose to just kill her and offer a lame excuse even Ander didn’t believe?  With geniuses like this as spies and leaders, it’s a wonder The Crimson is succeeding at anything.

Sorry, but the whole Ander/Catania thing felt like it was there because

“Women and Men can’t be friends”

“We can’t have the only couple kissing in season 2 be w/w”

And nobody is ever gonna convince me those aren’t the backwards opinions that made the writers put them together in season 2, as opposed to just having her be a friend and advisor.  Ander could have hesitated over the marriage cuz he still isn’t over Diane’s death and Catania could have been like, “She’d understand.  She’d want you to put our people first.” And they could have kidnapped her instead of killing her and then that would explain her presence in the Crimson stronghold when Bandon took over, rather than having the Warlock Lord raise her from the dead.  Edian could still have given the excuse, “Catania left cuz she disapproved of the marriage.”  And Ander could still have frozen and been like, “Wait, what?  She encouraged me to accept the marriage.”  Almost nothing would have changed by them not being a romance and not killing Catania. (Twice at that.)

(They could also have also just… not killed Diane in season one.  Just saying…)

On the note of deaths that make no sense.  Let’s talk about having Ander survive the battle against Dagda Mor, witness the death of pretty much his entire family and the woman he loved, only to have him killed in season two by an antagonist who dies an episode later.  Purely for drama and audience pain. Not because it makes one spit of sense for the story.

Remember how Slanter only agrees to the alliance in season one because of Ander?  Because Ander was willing to let him out of the prison he’d been kept in.  To make the choice as a king that, despite Slanter killing the brother he loved so much, if he wanted this alliance - then he needed Slanter.  He also was willing to respect Slanter’s culture when they found the dead gnomes.  If Eventine had still been in charge, Slanter would have told him to go eff himself for asking for their help, but Ander had shown Slanter he had more depth and understanding and Slanter was willing to risk his people on him being the man he hoped he was.  The evolution of their alliance and tentative friendship was a great story.  And then they threw it away for what?

If they killed Ander so Eretia and Lyria could be together, first Ander already knew Lyria loved Eretia and this was strictly a political marriage so he wasn’t in the way in the first place. Second, they still didn’t end the season with them together, so what was the point?

The elven-gnome alliance exists for exactly two reasons and their names are Slanter and Ander.  It is not going to hold with Ander dead.  For that matter, the alliance with Leah will probably not hold with him dead either.  Lyria is the daughter of the woman responsible for the death of the last known (Cuz nobody knows about Mareth) member of the elven royal family. (Queen Tamlin is a fascinating and complex character, but the truth remains Ander is dead because of her machinations). In a world that has been set up as misogynistic from episode one (Amberle wasn’t supposed to run the Gauntlet because she was a girl ringing any bells?) there is no way Lyria would be able to keep the peace under these circumstances.  Not because she wouldn’t be a good queen, but because she was just handed a political nightmare.

That’s before considering that part of Ander’s story both in season one and the struggle with the Crimson in season 2 is because he had spent the last ten years avoiding his duties. He wasn’t taken seriously as king because of that. Um… Lyria has the same issue.  She literally was “missing” for the last year and has a history of running away. She’s going to have the same struggles Ander had in getting her people to put their faith in her, let alone other kingdom’s people.  Realistically, someone would rise up, seize the throne in Arborlon - probably go for Leah first before attacking the gnomes. Or possibly vice versa.  Even if Ander had lived, he and Lyria would have still had a giant mess on their hands - killing him only makes this “Yay, party, everyone’s going to stick to the alliance this time” ending feel super unrealistic.  Sigh.

In a lot of ways it would have made more sense to have the Crimson’s defeat be the end of season 2 and Bandon resurrect the Warlock Lord in the finale.  Not bring the Warlock Lord back for - what? 2 episodes and defeat him?  It made him look really weak by comparison to Dagda Mor, and that was a bit of a disappointment for me.  He’s the Warlock Lord. His defeat should have taken a whole season.  I guess considering we won’t get a season 3, I get why they made sure to wrap it up in season 2. At the same time though it feels rushed after the build up.

All and all, I still enjoyed the show a lot. And I would have come back for a third season if we’d gotten one.

[thegoddessofliterature]

A pretty long spoiler-filled reveiw of ACOMAF

-posted this reveiw on my goodreads around June and decided to share it now on Tumblr.

Reread this gem and love it even more than the first time. Of course, reading a good book for the first time is always special and you don't know any of the plot twists and turns. Not knowing what is gonna happen in a story is my favorite thing about reading. Sarah blew me away with her captivating writing style and amazing world building that left wanting more .The is the first book that made me cry and I don't easily cry in books which just proves my love for this book. Rhysand stole my heart. I just love him so much. I know most of you probably didn't like him in the first book but once you read this one you will change your mind. You can thank me later.

Moving on, let's dive straight into spoilers, if you adored this book as much as me. Most just me gushing over our precious bat boi.

Sarah did a great job at fooling me. Just like Feyre, I was blind to the red flags that displayed the unhealthy and toxic relationship between Feylin. Upon my second read, I could clearly see all the signs and read between the lines and kept thinking "why didn't I realize this sooner?''

I really liked the lesson that the author taught us about unhealthy and healthy relationships. You usually don't see the latter in most NA or even YA. And I despise Tamlin. He is everything that I hate in a man,controlling,abusive and anti feminist. I was so pissed at him for lying to Feyre that Rhys killed his family. The tool himself, had murdered Rhys family and I will never forgive him for that

Me to Tamlin “ I hope that burn..”

I could write a whole essay on professing my love for Rhysand but even that wouldn't be enough for me.

I LOVE HIM SO MUCH. He is no 1 on my fictional boyfriends list. No other male character can compare to him.

Just like Feyre, I wasn't expecting him to be the good guy. And, just as she was unaware of falling for him,I was too. I didn't even realize how attached I grew to Rhys until I got a spoiler that he was going to die. I legit got an ache in my heart and felt like crying. That's the beauty of books when a character feels real even they sadly aren't. Thankfully, he survived and if he didn't then I wouldn't have been able to forgive Sarah/

Why do I adore the Highlord of the Night Court?

He is so precious and a major feminist. He is humble and strong ( even when he has been through so much). My heart breaks for him. His story is too emotional for me to read without crying (on my second time reading). Not only did he lose his parents but his sister too. We never got to know how old she was but she was young. We never got to see his mother and baby sister. That makes my heart shatter in a million pieces but as if that wasn't enough, He didn't see his friends for 50 years. He was trapped under the mountain for so long and raped by that bitch and he endured it just to protect his city and family (the inner circle). As if he didn't have enough on his plate, he watched Feyre be taken away from him twice. He watched the girl he loved be in love with another man (his enemy who had killed his parents and sister) and yet he let her be happy (even if she was mate). After all of this torture and pain, he is still so kind and sweet and caring. He still think he isn't enough even though he sacrificed so much. He would rather put himself in torture than let something happen to Feyre or the Inner Circle.

And what I love most about him, is the freedom he gave Feyre. He isn't controlling like most men. He trusts Feyre and believes she can fight for herself but he will be there to protect if she needed him. Of course he cares for but isn't overprotective. Their relationship is so pure and healthy and I love it. I love how humble he is. Being the most Powerful HighLord of all the seven courts, you would expect him to be a rich snob but he is far from that.

I loved how much Feyre grew from that naive girl to a strong and badass woman. I could barely recognize her while rereading Acotar. It felt as there were two seperate girls in the two books. This is one of the best character development I have ever seen. My heart broke for what she went through. I could relate to her about some stuff minus the under the mountain scene (ofc). And I was so happy when she survived her depression and ptsd all because of Rhysand.

And I got so attached to whole inner circle, as if they were my family too. And I love Mor more than Amren because I could relate to her too besides the fact how sweet and strong she was

The whole book was a pure joy to read but my favorite parts were Starfall, The Summer Court and Court of Nightmares.

Starfall: It was such a beautiful celebration. Unlike, the ones in the spring court despite its pretty name. I loved the idea of stars falling down from the sky. Everyone was at their happiest. It was also sad to read knowing this was the first Starfall Rhys had after Amrantha. The fact that she knew how much it meant to him and yet she made him service her without his consent and on purpose. My hatred is like a burning sun. Moving on, I squealed at the moment when Mor and Feyre were talking and then Rhys came up behind them. My heart burst of joy when Feyre heard his voice and turned around. He took her to the balcony for her to experience Starfall at its prettiest. They had their cute moments and it was the moment when they were falling in love but didn't admit it yet to each other. Rhys hadn't laughed like that in ages, pure and a real laugh like Feyre hadn't smiled filled with pure joy ever since she was turned into a fae.

Summer Court: I loved Tarquin too. And I enjoyed the feysand moments at the court. Their constant back and forth banter and flirting. That's where the famous quote " To all the stars who listen and the dreams that are answered came from.

Court of Nightmares: This scene was so sexy and made my cheeks turn a deep shade of red. I loved how Rhys gave Feyre a choice whether she wanted to join him and the play the part or stay at home. It was her own choice that made her say " I wanna do it" and yet Rhys still felt guilty. Even when it wasn't like he forced or anything. He would never do that. I enjoyed them teasing each other. I was captivated by Rhys beauty. I love the real Rhys but I lust for the "evil" Rhys, the mask that he wears to protect his loved ones.

And that ending, I wasn't expecting that. I feel bad for those who had to wait a year or more for the next book esp after that gripping yet lovely cliffhanger. I didn't had to since the whole serious was already out. It was emotional even when Feyre was pretending to be in Rhys control. They work well so together. Rhys understood her plan through that bond and he acted so well. ( he actually deserves an oscar for his great acting of a bad guy). Tears rolled down my cheeks when the bond snapped and Feyre fell down to her knees, screaming in pain. Even Rhys. Sara tricked us but I was so grateful for that. That chapter in Rhys pov (the only chapter) was so precious. I was shook when he declared that Feyre is his Highlady and equal and the bond was never broken. It was just the bargain. And I loved how cunning Feyre. She is so smart and badass. Pretending to be in love with Tamlin (her ex), only to take him down along with his court.

This book brings me pure joy and reading it for the second time gave me a different perspective. I noticed things I didn't before. This time, I knew about Rhy's backstory so it was more emotional than the first time. And I didn't think of this sooner but I have a theory that Jurain knew all along that Rhys wasn't Amrantha's whore but was raped by her (sobs and gets angry). Esp, when he mentioned that he was forced to watch everything that bitch did due to the ring she made out of his eye. And he was the only one who was shocked when Feyre was pretending to hate Rhys. He knew since he screamed "What?'' when she told the king to break the bond.

Damn, this is the longest review I have ever written. No regrets though.

If you have read this far, be sure to follow my goodreads for more reviews. Link in my bio.

[rosegoldannie]

I'm a sucker for Feysand, Elriel, and Elorcan so something starting with a fight between them? Idk like they're already together but something happens and one of them thinks they gonna end it or somthing. All angsty and such that ends with fluff because I dont want my heart broken that bad. That make sense and/or sound interesting?

Uh YES!

please send in any prompts you think of, this was sosososo fun! Sorry it took awhile, I just wanted to get it right.

Feyre glanced across their shared living room to see her boyfriend of two years typing away on his phone. As of late, this had become the norm; she would arrive home from work, and he would either be exactly as he was now, or in the middle of a call.

Whenever she asked what he was doing, he would give a half-answer, never really telling her much. At first, she had been unbothered, and assumed that he was speaking with clients from work. But after nearly three weeks of this, she had begun to grow somewhat hurt, resentful even.

She had attempted to distract him, even going to far as to wear some new lingerie to bed, but he had been uninterested, and told her that he was tired, and didn't feel well. Feyre had been disappointed, but ultimately climbed into bed with him.

Turning back to her sketchbook, she continued working on her newest piece: A portrait of her boyfriend, as she had seen him these last few weeks -- almost exactly the same, but with a certain guardedness to his eyes. A closed-offness that concerned her. With the exception of his recent personality change, he was exactly as he had always been: loving and affectionate, constantly showering Feyre with praise and love. And while the logical part of her brain screamed that it was something else, a small, small part whispered that it was because Rhys had tired of her, that she wasn’t enough..

The longer that thought sat in her mind, bouncing around, the more velocity it gained, until it was the only thing she could hear above the roaring of her heartbeat. Not enough, not enough.

Before they had begun dating, Rhys had been somewhat of a womanizer. Always respectful, but also always seeking out a nighttime companion. Had she really expected him to give that up for-No.

No. Rhys loved her. Feyre knew he did. She also knew that he would never cheat on her. Not after Tamlin, therefore it must have been something else.

That stupid, wicked thought still rumbled. Not enough, not enough. Tired of you. 

The lead of her pencil snapped with a loud crack!

Feyre blinked in surprise, holding it up for inspection. Rhys glanced up, his gorgeous violet eyes meeting and holding hers. How she loved his eyes, the way they caught and reflected the light, that little spark of wicked humor that flared whenever he told a joke. The way they softened when he smiled, that shimmer of joy and life that was a balm to her weary, broken soul. Gods, she loved him. She would have happily spent eternity gazing into his eyes. Something seemed to shift in their swirling depths, as if he had come to a decision. He motioned to the setting sun now streaming in through their bay window. “Walk with me?” He murmured. His words sent a slight tremor of fear through her, but she forcefully shoved it back.

“Sure,” Feyre replied, tossing her sketchpad onto the table, and pulling on a hoodie.

Rhys gave her a smile. Not huge, but something.

~~~

The setting sun turned their city aflame in gold, as if it had been just pulled from a forge. It turned his normally tan skin alight, as if he glowed from within. Feyre fought the urge to ask if she could go back and grab her sketchpad.

Rhys was near silent as they walked, a noticeable sheen of sweat on his brow. A sickening feeling settled in her gut. He’s going to break up with me, Feyre thought, shoving her hands deeper into her pockets. 

Several times, they each tried to make conversation. It always failed, sending a jolt of sadness into her heart. It had never been this way between them before. They had always flowed seamlessly together, always anticipating what the other would say or do next, but completely surprised all the same.

Keeping a slight step ahead, he lead them to their favorite park, where they would sit together and watch the families, sometimes joking about how marriage was undesirable, or planning what they would name their children.

He stopped beside the fountain by which they always sat, and motioned for Feyre to take a seat. She did so, albeit suspiciously. Her fists clenched in her pockets, blue-grey eyes tracking his movements. Waiting.

Despite their relationship beginning as purely physical, those moments in the park with him had allowed her to simply imagine a future in which she was married. Rhys had resurrected a part of her that had perished years prior at Tamlin’s hand. And now she savored every second before he inadvertently destroyed that part of her.

“Alright,” He began, pacing back and forth. Feyre braced herself for the heartbreak to come. “Feyre, we’ve known each other for years, and I swear that you are the best thing that has ever happened to me.” A warm feeling spread through her, a shy grin on her lips, even as that blasted voice returned. But you are not enough. Not enough. Her grin vanished, but Rhys continued. “I-honestly, I don’t know where I would be without you.” He took several steps toward her, until Feyre had to lean her head back to see him, his voice lowering. Gods, did he not know how his words affected her? How every word was both a balm and a shiv to her broken and fragile heart?

 “You brought back a part of me that I was certain had died long ago. Feyre, you made me want to live.” An aching tightness began in her throat, spreading to her chest. Feyre clenched her eyes shut, waiting for the final blow. The blow which would shatter her soul, the soul they had worked so hard to mend. But you are not enough. “You made me become the person I never knew I could be. Without you… Without you, Feyre Archeron, I am nothing. My heart has been yours since before the Universe was created.” He dropped to one knee, hand going to his pocket. “And I will love you until the end of time, regardless of your answer.” He pulled out a small, velvet box. “Feyre, I would crawl across miles of broken glass, swim through lava, anything to see you happy.” He popped the lid open to reveal a simple, sapphire ring. “Feyre Archeron, will you marry me?”

Instantly, her hands flew to cover her mouth. “WHAT?” she hissed, leaping to her feet. This wasn’t a breakup...he hadn't brought her to their spot to break her heart. He had brought her here to declare his love. Rhys was...proposing to her? 

Suddenly it all clicked into place. The few times she had managed to catch a glimpse of his phone, he had been searching for rings, or texting Mor about a ‘surprise’. A long forgotten memory surfaced, of when they had first moved in together. 

In between carrying boxes up countless stairs, he had pulled her aside, away from their friends. And Rhys had sworn to her that he would never break her heart, that if the relationship were to end, it would not be from him.

Rhys was everything she had never known she wanted: Someone who loved her dearly, supported her passions. He listened to her, he supported her ideas, and called her out on bullshit. He held back her hair when she was sick, and rocked her back to sleep when she awoke from nightmares.

And so Feyre barely had to think before she replied clearly and truly, “Yes.”

[thesurielships]

New Girl meets the Court of Dreams Part II (Feysand AU)

I know I already said this in my part 1, but this is my first time writing a fanfic, and though I have a general idea of where it’s going, the chapters may be messy, and the characters not perfect. I feel like Feyre got too comfortable too soon with them, but dammit she doesn’t need to suffer in every single universe.

Part I, Part II, Part III

The next morning, Feyre was roused from the most fulfilling sleep she’d had in months by unfamiliar voices whispering.

“Az, come over here!” a first voice whisper-yelled. “Rhys has been turned into a girl!”

Footsteps came into the room.

“Don’t be stu- oh. I can’t say I mind,” said a second voice, this one a quiet murmur.

Feyre decided to ignore them till they went away, and snuggled deeper into her citrus scented blankets, eager to go back to sleep.

Another pair of footsteps shuffled into the room.

“Cassian, get out of my room.” It was Rhys’s voice. Feyre smiled into the pillow. “Az, you too?” he added in disbelief.

“I must say I liked you better as a sleeping beauty,” replied the quiet voice, which she guessed to be Az.

Obnoxious laughter erupted in the room.

“Cassian,” Rhys hissed.

Feyre sighed, accepting that her sleep was over, and peeked over her blankets.

“Why, Rhys, you’re more uptight than my mother.”

The laughter got even louder, and she glanced at its source. A tall, muscular guy with shoulder length dark hair and mischievous hazel eyes was currently doubled over, slapping his knee. She turned towards the quiet chuckle in the other side of the room. Az, she guessed, looked a lot like Cassian, with the same dark hair and hazel eyes, but where Cassian’s features were strong and his expression open, Az exuded soft elegance and stealth and grace. He was glancing between her and Rhysand, who was looking at her with a half-smile on his lips.

“This is what I get for trying to let you sleep in?”

She snickered and sat up, still unwilling to leave her warm cocoon.

The sight hit Rhys in the gut. He wished he could wake up every day to her in his bed, her golden hair fanned across his pillow and a languorous smile on her face.

“So, was Rhys’s performance so unsatisfactory last night that you kicked him out of bed?” Cassian asked, wiping the tears that had escaped from his eyes.

She smirked. “I didn’t even get to kick him out. I fell asleep.”

Rhys’s jaw dropped.

Cassian grinned. “I like you.” He extended his hand. “Cassian.”

“Feyre,” she smiled back, shaking his hand. When she made to let go, he pulled her closer and mock whispered, loud enough for the entire room to hear. “If you’re still… unsatisfied, my room is just next door.” He winked at her before releasing her hand.

Rhys grinded his teeth.

“Hello, Feyre. I’m Azriel.”

“Nice to meet you.” They shook hands.

“Now that introductions are over,” Rhys interrupted before his other brother got a chance to flirt with her, “I think we should start the screening process.”

Cassian and Azriel looked at him then, eyes wide.

“You mean to tell me that our roommate is gonna be a girl?” screeched Cassian.

“I know models,” she offered.

Cassian’s expression immediately went from disbelief to excitement. He clapped his hands and all but squealed, “our roommate is gonna be a girl!”

“Easy,” Rhys chuckled. “She still hasn’t passed the interview.”

Cassian looked at her. “Are you going to set us up with those models?”

She shrugged. “Sure.”

“Then it’s a yes from me.”

Rhys sighed. He opened his mouth to put an end to this mess of a conversation, and to give Feyre a chance to freshen up before she had to deal with the hurricane that was Cassian, but Azriel spoke first.

“Do you know how to make a hangover cure?”

Feyre’s eyebrows rose. “I guess?”

“From a scale of 1 to 10, how messy are you?”

She chewed on her lip, thinking. “4? Except for when I paint, then it’s a solid 8.”

“Is there something specific you don’t like eating?”

“Not really.”

‘Do you shed hair?’

She stifled a laugh. “I’m not a dog, Az.”

Rhys was a little jealous that Azriel got her to call him by his nickname so fast, and without even needing to ask.

“How many hair products do you use?”

“Shampoo and conditioner.”

“How long do you take in the shower?”

“About half an hour.”

Rhys was rapidly getting uncomfortable with the direction this interview was taking.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

She opened her mouth before processing the question. Her cheeks heated, and Rhys grunted. Azriel looked at him, assessing, then smirked triumphantly, and Rhys realized he’d just been tricked.

“Okay. I cook and clean. Rhys takes care of grocery shopping. Cassian fixes things around the house. You can be home decorator. Mother knows this house needs a woman’s touch.” A loud crash sounded somewhere in the apartment, followed by a yelp. “Welcome to our house, Feyre,” Azriel concluded, and then left in a hurry, no doubt to go fix the mess Cassian was making in the kitchen.

Rhys sighed and went to lean against his desk in the edge of the room.

“What do I need to do to get my third yes?”

He smirked at her, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. She chucked a pillow at him, which he caught inches before it hit him in the face. “How about-“ he was interrupted by another one smacking him in the nose. He lowered the pillow, his movements slow and his smile slower. “You wicked thing.”

Feyre barely got a glimpse of his indigo eyes twinkling before she was hit with such force that she fell back on the bed. The prick had thrown both the pillows at once. She grabbed one of them and aimed blindly, but she only heard it thud against the wall, followed by a dark chuckle and retreating footsteps.

“The toilet is two doors down, to the left. Welcome to our home, Feyre darling,” he said by way of goodbye. And though she didn’t quite realize it then, it was the first time she’d felt at home in a long time.

***

Rhysand joined his brothers in the kitchen, only to find it all coated by a thick layer of flour, and smudged in places by puddles of raw eggs.

“I wanted to make pancakes for our new roommate,” Cassian pouted.

“So is she going to take Kallias’s room?” Azriel asked, picking up the cracked egg shells from the floor. “Or is she going to share yours?”

Rhys was careful to keep his face blank. “What do you mean?”

“He means,” Cassian smirked, “that you could’ve easily put her in Kallias’s room yesterday, but you put her in your bed instead.”

“I figured she wouldn’t be comfortable sleeping in a stranger’s sheets,” he lied smoothly.

“She did seem very comfortable in yours,” put in Azriel.

Rhys felt heat creep up his neck, so he tried to change the subject. “Are you sure you two are okay with her living here?”

He was met by two sets of knowing eyes and teasing smirks, but thankfully they decided to let it drop. For now.

Cassian shrugged. “As long as she pays the rent, I don’t see why not.”

“Are you okay with it?” Azriel, ever the observant one, asked.

“As long as she pays the rent, I don’t see why not,” Rhys repeated with a half-smile.

Approximately half an hour later, the time it took Rhys and Az to clean up the flour and egg explosion, Feyre appeared in the doorway. She had just showered and her hair was still a little damp, but what really got to him was the shirt she was wearing. It was his favorite shirt.

Feyre noticed his gaze and grinned. “I hope you don’t mind.” She passed by him on the way to the sink to get a drink, and he got a whiff of his shampoo. Gods above, she even smelled like him. 

Rhys’s voice was strangled when he said, “make yourself comfortable, Feyre darling.”

Azriel shut the fridge he’d been scouring for food. “Someone finished all the eggs, so I can’t bake anything for breakfast. Velaris?”

Feyre immediately perked up at the name of her new favorite restaurant. “Velaris makes breakfast?”

Cassian’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ve been there?”

“Yeah, Rhys and I had dinner there yesterday.”

Cassian was shocked. Never in the long years he’d known Rhys had his brother taken a girl there. It was his sacred place, and he never showed it to strangers. He considered the girl standing in front of him in Rhys’s shirt in a new light. She was pretty, he supposed. And feisty. He was glad he liked her because one look at how Rhys was staring at her like she hung the moon and he knew that if his brother had any say in it, she would be with them for a while.

***

Feyre was once again at awe. Velaris not only made the best pasta she’d ever tasted, they somehow also made the best pancakes. She was on her fifth pancake when Rhysand asked her, “so, where are your clothes?”

She coughed. “About that… I don’t really have clothes?”

Silence. She was pinned by three pairs of eyes, and she struggled to swallow her bite of pancake. “I left everything behind at Tamlin’s.”

“By Tamlin, you mean Tamlin Rosefield?” Cassian asked, disbelief coloring his words.

“Won’t you go get them back?” Azriel asked quietly.

She could feel Rhys’s gaze on her face, cool and calculating, as she mumbled something along the lines of yeah, later, and scooped another pancake into her plate, digging into it before they could question her any further. 

[nomattertheoceans]

My time without you

This is set between the end of ACOTAR and the wedding scene in ACOMAF. Basically, Rhysand’s few months when he came back from Under the Mountain (so not really a very happy time for our boy...)

This came to me yesterday at night, so I kind of free-wrote it and I hope you’ll enjoy it!

He was going to drown. As Rhys winnowed away from the Mountain to the living room of the townhouse, where Mor was waiting for him, he knew he was going to drown on this thought. She's my mate. He'd known it, of course, but he hadn't expected it to rattle him this much when he saw her. He'd never experienced anything that strong before, nothing could compare to the feeling of wanting her, he could feel it in every bone of his body, singing to him as if in an ancient song, older than the world itself. She's my mate. Thanks to a tiny still rational part of his brain, he'd managed to get out before doing anything stupid. But it was all he could do not to go back and snatch her away to Velaris. The instinct was so strong, it was hard to control his winnowing.

Finally, he managed to solidify on the floor, and his cousin was in front of him immediately. Untouched, unharmed, beautiful. But still, his thoughts wouldn't move away from her, the most important person in his universe. And when he tried to speak, to greet Mor and make sure she was okay, the only words that came out of his mouth were:

“She's my mate.”

“What? Who? Rhys, are you okay?”

“She's my mate,” he only repeated, the words like a balm to his aching soul, aching at the lack of her by his side, aching because he'd forced it away from her.

“Rhys, calm down. Talk to me. Who are you talking about?”

“Feyre,” and her name was the most beautiful music in the world. He knew right then that he could spend his days thinking only of her name and he would be content for the rest of his life. Her name, her wonderful name that answered every question he hadn’t been aware of. He stayed silent for the longest time after that, and Mor didn't say anything either, both of them seated on the floor. Finally, his lips parted, and everything poured out of him in somewhat inconsistent sentences:

“She's a human. She was human. She's High Fae now. She saved us all. She freed Prythian.”

“Rhys I don't understand, please can you try to be clearer?”

The concern in his cousin’s voice helped tethering him to the ground, long enough to pull his thoughts together and form more logical sentences:

“Feyre. She was human, and she was brought into Prythian through the Spring Court.” He couldn’t say his name. “I had been seeing her in my dreams for years, and she was here to free us.”

“A human? How would a human free us?”

“There was a curse. She could lift it with the right words but she didn't. She made a deal with… Amarantha. And she won and freed the magic, but Amarantha killed her,” his skin recoiled at the memory of her dead human body. “We brought her back, all of us.”

He fell silent and Mor stared at him:

“And she's your… mate?”

“Yes.”

“Then where is she? Why didn't you bring her with you?”

The questions his entire being wanted to acknowledge: Where is she? Why isn't she with me? Why? Why? Why?

“Mor, she was here with… Tamlin. Years ago he told Amarantha he'd rather bed a human than her, and with what happened between Jurian and her sister… The curse was that she was supposed to fall in love with him despite her hate for our kind. And she did. She's with him.”

The idea of his mate with him almost made him vomit, or winnow to her to get her away, and he had to look right into Mor’s eyes to stay where he was.

“She's with Tamlin?! Oh Rhys…” her voice died away and she took him in her arms. He didn't need words, he needed her. Feyre. He would never stop needing her, longing for her presence beside him. But he hugged Mor back, as he was starting to take in his surroundings. He was in Velaris, Mor was here, alive and well. He was home. He wriggled gently out of her embrace to look at her:

“Morrigan,” the semblance of a smile formed on his lips as he realized it was all real. She was real, there in front of him. His dear cousin he'd spent hours dreaming about when the torture had been too great, when Amarantha had been too much for him to want to go on. And all of the sacrifices that he'd made for his family, his city… Looking at Mor’s happy face, he knew it'd been worth it. They hugged again, and Mor spoke:

“Azriel, Cassian and Amren are on their way, do you want to delay for a bit? I mean, if you don't feel well…”

“No, no it's fine, I'll be fine.” And he would be. After all, a mating bond was not necessarily a synonym for love, and he didn't know Feyre that much. And he couldn't have her anyway, so there was no point moping about it. He would be fine. His family was on the way, all of them safe and sound, and real, after 50 years apart. “I need to tell all of you what happened.”

Mor nodded, and he realized that in his panic, he'd told her more than he’d intended. There was no point telling anyone about the mating bond, not when his mate was in love with another male, and thinking of him as an enemy. He had decided to keep it to himself before leaving the Mountain, but seeing Feyre had shaken him so much the words had come out without filter. So now, Mor knew. But there was no reason to tell the others.

“Mor, can we keep what I told you between us?”

“Alright.”

A knock on the front door, and his brothers entered without waiting for an answer. In seconds, he was surrounded by them, and they were all laughing and crying into each other’s arms. Amren stood in the entrance of the room, and greeted him with a soft but somewhat joyful “High Lord” before sinking onto a chair. He let go of Cassian and Azriel and said “There is a lot I need to tell you.”

The atmosphere of the room changed at that, and everybody sat down to listen to him. He didn't know exactly how to start, how much to tell them about his suffering and his actions during those last fifty years. But Cassian helped him:

“So are you going to tell us how you were freed? Azriel went looking for answers those last few hours, but nobody seems to know what happened exactly. Is Amarantha actually dead?”

“She is. Tamlin killed her.” Oh, how much he regretted not being the one killing her, not watching the light go out of her eyes, as he'd dreamed it for years when she was in bed with him. But it was done now, and at least she was dead.

“Rhys,” Azriel started, his voice methodical and calm, “We know very little of what happened those fifty years. Since yesterday I just managed to gather which High Lord was alive, which had been killed, which Court was spared or not. The informations are very shady, it seems that Tamlin had a big role to play? Also, some human girl I didn't get the name of?”

That was it, he needed to tell them the story of Feyre and how she'd saved them all. His soul was still crying out to her, trying to reach her through that bond they shared. But his voice remained miraculously calm when he spoke:

“Tamlin didn't do anything. But he was part of what freed us. Years ago, a few months after she'd stolen our powers, Amarantha threw a party and cursed Tamlin. She had wanted to take him to bed but he'd refused, and had told her he'd rather bed a human. You can imagine how pissed she was at that. She cursed him, told him she'll give him his powers back if he could make a human woman fall in love with him. The woman needed to hate our kind enough to have killed a fae, and to tell him she loved him. He had 49 years to win. But he did nothing. Until about a year ago when apparently he started to send males back across the wall in the hope to break the curse. And it worked. This woman you heard about Azriel, she killed one of his sentries and Tamlin brought her into Prythian.”

“So did she fall in love with him? Did she break the curse, is that what happened?”

“Yes,” and the next words stung his tongue, “she fell in love with him, but she didn't break the curse in time and Tamlin was taken Under the Mountain. But she came back for him, and she made a deal with Amarantha. If she managed to complete three tasks of Amarantha’s choosing, Tamlin’s court, his power, would be free.”

“That's a fool's bargain,” Cassian interrupted.

“It was, but Feyre won all her tasks nonetheless. And Tamlin killed Amarantha on the spot after she broke Feyre’s neck.” The words were killing him. Her name, the image of death in her eyes, the joy of seeing the light come back,... It was all too much. “But we were all there, all the High Lords, and we brought her back.”

“Like Myriam. So there's three of us now,” Amren said, her voice no more than a whisper.

Mor must have seen the look on his face, the difficulty he had talking, because she rose and said:

“Rhys, you can give us more details later about all of this. For now, we need to get organized. Azriel, tell him what you learned.”

“While you were gone and we were stuck in Velaris, it became a bit chaotic in your territory. Keir is still ruling the Hewn City on a pretty tight leash, so they stayed within their borders, even though I'm sure he won't be happy to see you. But the Illyrians took advantage of the lack of commands to expand their territory, initiate wars between camps, take up clipping their females again,... we'll have a lot of work to get them back like it used to be.”

“Alright,” Rhys said after considering this information. “There's also the matter of Hybern. The King was preparing for war fifty years ago, and I doubt he's abandoned the idea. We need to have spies there as soon as possible, as well as in the other courts. He's going to take advantage of our weakness, we need to be prepared.”

For a long time nobody talked, until Cassian said with a smile:

“It's good to have you back, brother.”

***

Two weeks after Under the Mountain

Amarantha was smiling at him, straddling him in a way that he could not move, couldn't do anything but look at her as she took her pleasure on top of him, her fingernails scraping his tattoos as if to rip them off. He wanted to kill her, the world was twirling around him until there was only Amarantha left, until even she disappeared but he still couldn't move, strapped on the floor, the only sensations the ghost of her body and his rising nausea. But then the setting changed, and he wasn't in her room anymore, he was in the Throne Room, and the female High Fae was kneeling in front of him, reciting prayers. Except when the hood was taken off, it wasn't the dead Fae. It was Feyre, her beautiful face contorted in pain and covered in tears, but he didn't hesitate as he plunged the dagger into her heart.

Rhys jerked awake, his eyes wide in terror as he looked at his hands and realised he wasn't killing his mate. He was awake, he knew it, but yet the vision didn't leave his mind. He saw from her eyes as she got out of bed and ran to the bathroom, got on her knees and started puking. For a second he wanted to join her and caress her back to help her through the pain, but the rational part of him reminded him that she was in the Spring Court, not here, and she would not want to see him. Plus, her dear High Lord was probably on his way to comfort her himself. It wasn't the first time he'd woken up to visions of her retching in the middle of the night. It had started mere two days after his return and had happened nearly every night since. But the dream… it had been her nightmare, he was sure of it. Did she really have dreams in which she killed herself? The thought was unbearable to him, the idea that she might feel bad enough that she might not have the will to live anymore... His heart skipped a beat at that. He went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face, the images of their intertwined dreams still fresh. It was going to be a long night.

***

One month after Under the Mountain

He didn't know how he had been able to spend fifty years without flying. As he roamed alone through the Illyrian steppes, enjoying the currents of warm air tickling his wings, he wondered again how he had endured it for so long. The faces of his brother sprang to life in his mind, the face of a few citizens of Velaris too: the owner of that lovely restaurant across the Sidra, the couple of High Fae living across the street, that he'd seen the day before with their newborn youngling, Amren’s face during their last meeting, eyes closed and drinking heavily the blood he'd brought to her. It had been worth it. Because if he hadn't suffered fifty years of Amarantha, the restaurant might have been ash and cinders, ad the youngling might have never been born.

But he was free now, free of her wretched body and free to fly through the skies again. In his waking hours, at least. Sleep still escaped him, his night tormented by nightmares of being pinned down on a bed, of his wings being torn off, of Feyre’s neck snapping again and again without ever coming back to life. Tormented by her nightmares too, killing the two High Faes, the blood of a Nagga drowning her, the bloody pelt of an enormous gray wolf turning into human skin… Every night he woke up to her thoughts, and every night he wanted nothing more but to winnow to her and hold her. It was another form of torture, the longing for her, the need to talk to her and touch her and kiss her. The week before, Cassian had asked him to tell him in great details the first task she'd had to endure, and Rhys had been more than happy to talk freely about her for so long without having to come up with an excuse, or without having to seek out Mor. His thoughts drifted constantly to her, whereas he was alone in bed, or in a meeting at the Hewn City, or listening to Azriel’s daily reports. Sometimes, she even sent him images and thoughts, when she felt too much all of a sudden - the rush of fear when she entered a room too small or saw a glimpse of Lucien’s hair unexpectedly.

As if he'd summoned it, one of those feelings came to him through the bond. But it was not horrified for once, it was almost… joyful. Almost. He felt his heart warm up at the idea that she was getting better, but then the images flooded his mind. A meadow under the Spring light, and Tamlin, kneeling in front of her, a golden and emerald ring in his hand. Rhys came back to his reality and had to land in a hurry, incapable of forming a rational thought. She was going to marry him. That had been a wedding ring in his hand. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think outside of the ring.

Hours later, he winnowed back to the camp, and listened to Azriel’s report. Among other news of the different Courts, Spring had announced the engagement of Tamlin, High Lord, and Feyre Cursebreaker.

***

Three months and a half after Under the Mountain, two days before the wedding

Two days. Two days before she was bound to his enemy forever. Rhys was seated at the desk in his bedroom, alone except for a bottle of liquor and a large glass. As time went on, everything was becoming harder. He didn't want his family to see he wasn't recovering, so he kept the moments of weakness contained to his room. They didn't know. He hadn't told them what Amarantha had made him do, what she’d used him for. He didn't see the point in telling them, not when there was nothing they could have done to help him while he'd been forced to kill and torture, and tortured and fucked himself.

A flash of images took over his vision, along with waves of… pleasure? He saw a bedroom in the night, saw a pair of female legs moving against the sheets. And between those legs, a blonde head moving, while broad hands ending in claws were holding on to the thin thighs.

He got up and ran to the bathing room. A second later, he was vomiting. The retching continued as he kept on seeing flashes of bodies interlaced together, as he kept hearing moans and whispers of love, incapable of blocking them out. Finally, the visions and the puking stopped, but Rhys didn't get up. He stayed seated on his bathroom floor, head in his hands, trying to calm down. He let his head fall against the wall behind him and looked at the stars outside, his vision blurry with tears he didn't bother to stop.

It wasn't fair. He knew he didn't deserve her, knew he could never be with her. He'd spent a considerably large portion of time trying to forget her those last few months. But did he have to endure images of his greatest enemy having sex with her?! If he was to forget her, why did he have to suffer through this? Maybe he sounded like a child, but while the tears kept on rolling down his cheeks, he thought again: it's not fair.

And outside the images of sex, she was sending him so many mixed messages that he didn't know what to make of it. She seemed to enjoy nothing these days, not the preparations of her wedding, not the walks on the garden, not the painting. It broke his heart a little every time he felt her panic or sorrow and could do nothing to help her. But it wasn't his place, Tamlin was the one blessed with her presence and her love and the honor of helping her get better. And two days from now, it would be his for the rest of their life together.

He needed a drink. Or a hundred.

***

Three months and a half after Under the Mountain, the day of the wedding

Rhys grabbed a second bottle of liquor and passed it down to Cassian. It was nearly night already, and he knew he needed to be passed out in the next two hours if he wanted to avoid the visions of Tamlin making love to his mate.

In about five minutes, she'd be lost forever, married to the male she loved, bound to him for the rest of eternity. Maybe the visions would stop afterwards, maybe he could try to think less about her. Highly unlikely to happen, he thought as he sat down again and listened to an already kind of drunk Cassian ramble about the new assortment of knives he'd gotten for the Winter Solstice. He was about to answer when his vision blurred.

Red everywhere. On the floor, a pool of rose petals marking a path. On her hands, blood dripping down on the white wedding dress. And then words: murderer, liar, unworthy, shackles, mixed with more images of the crowd at the wedding, the crowd Under the Mountain, and Tamlin, magnificent and a hand extended to her. And finally, her voice, more afraid than anything, praying: Help me. Save me. Get me out, end this.

He winnowed without thinking twice about it, leaving Cassian to the liquor. As he appeared amidst darkness and thunder - a cheap trick, but he wanted the crowd to disperse - he saw her, the female lacing his every thought, finally here in front of him. But she was not looking good. She was so… thin. So, so, thin.. It looked like her arms could break at the faintest touch for how weak they looked. Her collar bone appeared at the front of the hideous dress, and her face. As she turned to him, he saw the violet circles under her eyes, covered by makeup but still there. And the dress didn’t do anything to help her look less sickly. It was an awful piece of tulle and chiffon and gossamer, with enormous skirts and puffed sleeves that seemed to swallow her whole. Gloves had covered both her hands, going up to her elbows. They had chosen to cover the tattoo up, hiding away every piece of her that didn’t fit the tale they wanted to show to the world: the blushing bride she was supposed to become didn’t bear marks of a bargain she’d made with a High Lord from another Court. Nevermind that she’d bargained with him to save her life because she’d almost died, trying to free Prythian. Nevermind that the tattoo was a reminder of what she had endured to save them, they had hidden it away, dressing her up in that hideous wedding dress, and she looked… She looked like a doll, a precious, beautiful and quiet doll, a gift. For him. Rhysand couldn't stand the idea of it. Of this brave and powerful female trapped in a gilded prison of eternal Spring for the rest of her life. He wanted to take her in his arms, help her, but he remembered the role he was supposed to play if he wanted to get her out, and, straightening the lapels of his jacket, he purred:

“Hello, Feyre Darling.”

[courtofsapphiresandshadows]

Chapter Ten- Sasha

The soft cries of prisoners and the clanking of chains were the only things Sasha could hear as she paced the length of her cell, the stone floor cold under her feet. She would kill for a pair of socks- shoes would be better. But this was the Prison, and such luxuries didn't exist.

A guard passed by, the flickering light of his candle briefly illuminating the cell she was stuck in. 'Nothing had changed' she noted as her eyes skimmed over the walls before the light faded, and she returned to the darkness. At one point, it had been a comfort- it usually meant that Aegan was nearby. But now... The voices around her drove her mad. It was never truly quiet in the Prison, but if it were, it would probably scare her more.  

Another guard marched by her cell, pausing to glance inside the cell. She stared back, the chains preventing her from getting any closer to him. "Are you Sasha?" He asked, daring to venture closer to the small peephole on her door.

Sasha. No one had called her that in a long time. Only other names- bitch, the mercenary, and the Red Death. Now that one was her favorite. She had loved the way dying fae had gasped it as blood trickled from their lips. Had relished the way the Illyrian males screamed it when she drew near. But that had only landed her in the Prison, with no hopes of ever finding out what happened to her best friend.

So the spark of power that she felt earlier had been a wave of pure ecstasy. 'Aegan was alive', was all she thought then. 'Aegan is alive.'

Sasha had used the thought as a comfort blanket as she wasted away in the cell, but as time passed, that blanket had started to get tattered. She didn't know how long it had been since Aegan's power had been announced. And Sasha knew that she wasn't the only one who had felt it.

The guard remained at the peephole. "Are you Sasha?"

She merely inclined her head. Yes.

Before she had time to react, the chains constricted her body like a snake, and the guard marched in, flanked by two others. "Under the High Lord of the Night Court, I hereby free you from the Prison, and relieve you of your sentence", he declared, before slamming the hilt of a blade on the side of her head, Sasha unable to fight the unconsciousness that quickly consumed her.

~Rhysand's POV~

It didn't take quite as long to find Sasha as Rhysand had previously thought. The day following Aegan's acceptance of the deal, both High Lord and spy sat down across from one another, a map of the Night Court rolled out in between them.

Aegan traced her hand over the Illyrian mountain range, as she told him of all the places that she had searched for her friend. It was impressive, really- she had flown for miles, even daring to venture out of the Night Court once to see if Sasha had disappeared south, but to no avail.

They had just began planning on what they should do, when Cassian, once again, burst into his office.

"May we help you?" He asked, feeling slightly irritated that now he had do deal with both Cassian and Aegan in his office- again.

The Commander leaned over the desk, gazing down at the notes the two had made. "Still looking for this girl?"

"It's only been a day, Cassian." It seems Aegan shared his irritation. "And her name's Sasha."

"Sasha..." He muttered to himself, running a thumb over his lip. "Sounds familiar. What does she look like?"

Aegan and Rhysand shared a look. "She has red hair, dark brown eyes..." She trailed off, eying Cassian as the male paled drastically. "You know her?"

He tried for a grin, only to look more scared than relaxed. "Well, I might have met her once or twice..."

"Cassian..." That was his only warning from her. "What aren't you telling us?"

Cassian glanced over at Rhysand, a look of desperation in his eyes, but he merely arched an eyebrow. If he had intel on where Sasha was, he might as well tell Aegan. The sooner they found that blasted female, the sooner Aegan could fulfill her end of the bargain. Azriel had once again gone back to Ironcrest, and the reports yet to rely any good news.

Upon seeing that he would be getting no help from his friend, Cassian turned back towards Aegan, who had sent him a very pointed look. "Well, do you know where she is?"

And that was how they ended up at the Prison's entrance. Aegan stood at one side, Cassian at the other. Feyre had stayed behind to oversee Velaris, however was really trying to interrogate Nesta more about Aegan. She had been inquiring about their new guest, and since her mate had not told her anything (due to Aegan’s request), Feyre had decided to satisfy her curiosity herself.

“Are you sure she won’t kill us all?” His commander asked once more as they watched a set of guards enter the Prison.

“For the last time, yes!” Aegan snapped. “If you keep asking me that, I’ll kill you myself!”

“Enough Aegan, before you work for 6 months instead.”, Rhys told her calmly. “Sasha will be delivered to you unharmed, just as I promised.” Fidgeting with his Illyrian armor, he exhaled sharply through his nose. “Did it take this long to release Amren?”

“Amren had been a prisoner here?” Aegan inquired, but her question was left unanswered as the two black doors opened, groaning loudly. They were only used for releasing prisoners, and that was a rarity.

Sunlight penetrated deep within the Prison, but it did quite reach the lone figure standing within the shadows. All Rhysand could make out were limbs that were too thin, and a source of power that seemed to snuff out everything around her.

“There she is”, Cassian muttered beside him, his knuckles white as he clenched the hilt of his sword. Rhysand wondered if it was a good idea bringing the Commander along- he was the one responsible for Sasha’s capture, after all. Aegan didn’t seem to care that he had decided to come along, or Azriel for that matter. The Shadowsinger was waiting patiently at the treeline, just in case things got out of hand. Considering where they were, and who was with him, he doubted things would go smoothly.

“There she is”, Aegan echoed back, her voice catching slightly. “There she is”.

Sasha, as if waiting for her cue, stepped out of the shadows. Red hair whipped around her, her pale skin seeming to glow as she walked into the sunlight. She looked familiar- too familiar. His fingers skimmed over the pommel of his sword, sharing a look with Cassian. He seemed to be feeling the same unease he was- perhaps for a different reason.

The three Illyrians walked closer to Sasha. His instincts screamed at him to turn back, but he forced his feet to keep moving, even if each step felt like another leap towards death.

Cassian suddenly grabbed his arm. “Rhys, I don’t think it’s a good idea to go see her”, he whispered hastily. “Maybe you and I should wait here while Aegan meets her.”

Rhysand yanked his arm away. “I think I can handle one prisoner, Cass”, he assured, grinning at him. “She can’t possibly be worse than Amren.”

The commander merely lowered his eyes. “Suit yourself”, he muttered, before his breath hitched slightly.

“What’s the matter-”, Rhysand began to ask, as he followed Cassian’s gaze. Sasha was much closer now, and- Mother above.

He found himself taking a step back. Another step. Cassian said something to him, but it was muffled, like everything else around him. Heart racing, he was dimly aware of Feyre shooting something down the mating bond. She must’ve sensed the panic eating away at him- no, he wouldn’t let her see the fae in front of him. Feyre had already suffered too much.

“You’re supposed to be dead”, Rhysand whispered, as Amarantha’s face stared back.

Panic. Dread. Anger. He fought the urge to lunge at the Amarantha look alike as she drew near. Rhysand knew that the Queen had died by Tamlin’s hands, but… Sasha had an uncanny resemblance to her. And the power rolling off of her was all to familiar.

Besides Feyre, Rhysand had never told the Inner Circle all of the details of what happened those 49 years. What Amarantha had done to others, to him, his words always fell short. Staring Amarantha in the face now, he felt the memories resurface. Every night, everything that she had made him do swarmed through his mind.

‘Not Amarantha’, he thought to himself over and over, forcing himself to take deep breaths to calm down. ‘She’s dead, not alive and in front of me.’

As he repeated those thoughts, he began to notice subtle differences between the two. While both of them were warriors, Sasha actually looked the part. Her nose was too crooked to be natural, and a wicked scar slashed through her eyebrow and across the bridge of her nose.

The prisoner paused midway, her whole body stiffening as she muttered something so softly that his fae hearing almost didn’t catch it; “Aegan?”

“Sasha”, Aegan sobbed, before hurtling towards her. Laughter and crying quickly erupted from the two, as they crumpled to the ground, clinging to each other tightly. No, not Amarantha. The way her eyes crinkled, her smile- it separated the two.

Aegan twisted her body so that she could face Rhysand. “Thank you.” Her voice wavered, tears streaming down her face. Her eyes then narrowed, Aegan sniffing once as she ran her eyes over him. “Are you okay?”

No. “Yes, I’m fine.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I- I need to get back to Velaris. Feyre needs me”, he lied, kicking himself for being so pathetic before glancing down at Sasha. “Forgive me for not being able to properly introduce myself.”

The redhead fixated her eyes on him, and something hot and sharp slid through his mind quickly, and was gone as soon as it arrived. Her eyes widened slightly, before nodding her head. As if she understood the real reason behind his early departure.

“Cassian, go back to the war camps when you see fit”, he told his commander, before flaring his wings and flying away.

~Aegan’s POV~

Aegan watched Rhysand fly off, slightly confused, before turning back towards Sasha. “I still can’t believe that I found you”, she told her softly, a smile etching its way across her face.

She grinned and pulled her close. “Same here.” She then pulled back, frowning. “You have some serious explaining to do, young lady. Where did you go?”

“Later”, Aegan promised, feeling Azriel and Cassian’s hard stare on her back. “I’ll tell you everything, I swear. Let’s just bring you home.”

Relief flooded Sasha’s beautiful face. “I’ve been waiting to hear those words for forever, you know.” She wrapped her arms around Aegan’s neck, shooting her a grin. “Take me away, my winged heroine.”

Aegan snorted, before launching into the air, clenching her friend tightly to her as the ground disappeared beneath their feet. “You’ve gotten awfully light, Sasha. What have they been feeding you?”

“Only the finest cuisine of nothing and stale bread, deary”, she joked, her breath tickling Aegan’s neck. “I was hesitant about eating anything they served- I have seen what the food could do to people.”

Anger flooded her veins, before she forced it down. ‘I will destroy Ironcrest, and then that foul place’, she thought to herself as she glided on a warm jet of air.

Sasha poked her on the shoulder. “Hey Aegan?”

“Yeah?”

“Did two Illyrians accompany you to pick me up?”

A brief glance over her shoulder showed Azriel and Cassian’s form flying above them. ‘Do they really not trust me?’ Aegan pondered to herself before loosening a sigh. “That’s Cassian and Azriel. Those two brutes have been following me around ever since I bumped into the Commander.”

The redhead snorted. “Are they your entourage or something?”

“More like nannies”, she commented, earning a giggle out of the redhead. Angling her wings, she swooped down from the clouds, narrowly dodging trees as she flew towards Sasha’s cabin. Despite Sasha’s imprisonment, the wooden structure remained undisturbed, however ivy had been to cover most of the doorway. “How long has it been since you’ve been home?” She had asked once they landed on the soft earth.

“300 years,” Sasha muttered softly, her eyes roaming over her cabin. “It’s been a while.”

300 years. “How long was I gone?”

Her eyes darkened. “500 years, Aegan. You’ve been gone for 500 years”, she told her, her face crestfallen. “Where did you go?”

She had been gone for that long? No wonder she didn’t recognize anyone, save for the Ironcrest war lord. “I’ll tell you once we’re inside, and you can tell me how you managed to imprison yourself.”

“It’s a deal.” The two made their way to the door. Placing a hand on the doorway, the redhead muttered something under her breath, and the ivy retreated from the doorknob. “I’m surprised I even remember any spells.”

“Well, you do have an amazing memory”, Aegan remarked, as she twisted the doorknob, ramming her shoulder into the door when it wouldn’t budge. “You really need to oil these door hinges, Sasha.”

“Oh, shut up”, she told her jokingly, before marching into the cabin, a layer of dust wafting up into the air as a gust of wind made its way inside.

Stepping inside herself, Aegan’s eyes scanned the room, before landing on a large black trunk in the corner. “Wait, is that-”

“Your trunk? Yes”, Sasha told her, grinning as Aegan lunged for it excitedly. “I managed to snag it from your tent, in case Ironcrest tried to get rid of it.”

Wiping dust off of the lid, Aegan peered inside, and gasped as she pulled out two Illyrian swords. “My babies!” She cried, planting a kiss on each blade. “How I’ve missed you two!”

Placing the swords gently on the ground, she rummaged through the trunk, pulling out clothes, armor, and even more weapons. Finally, her fingers brushed against smooth leather, and Aegan pulled out the thick green journal her mother had kept. Flipping through aged pages, her eyes skimmed over the detailed watercolor paintings of songbirds and flowers she had grown to love. Her mother had been an avid painter, and for the longest time, Aegan had grown jealous of her paint sets, since they seemed to be getting more attention than her.

But now, she would kill for her mother to be alive again, using those paint sets as she had before.

Aegan shut the book, placing it on top of the now closed trunk. “Thank you”, she told Sasha, “for everything.”

Her friend knelt down next to her, wrapping her arms around her. “For you? Anything”, Sasha whispered, pressing a friendly kiss to her temple. “I heard about your mother’s death- I’m sorry.”

Aegan smiled grimly. “It’s in the past now”, she told Sasha softly, patting her hand. “We have to focus on the future.” She should listen to her own words- she had been stuck in the past for awhile now. And look where that got her- pretty much nowhere, save for finding Sasha.

They sat on the floor for a while, flipping through the green journal, a comfortable silence between the two. Suddenly, Aegan remembered what she had been meaning to give Sasha. “I have something for you”, she began to say, unstrapping the knife from her thigh, and displaying it to her. “I figured you have been looking for it.”

Sasha squealed excitedly, snatching it away from Aegan. “I’ll finally have a complete collection!” She exclaimed, before crawling across the floor on her hands and knees, thumping against the wooden floor. “Ah, here we are”, she muttered, prying a floorboard loose to reveal a small compartment. Sticking her arm in, she pulled out a leather bandolier, eight throwing knives already tucked away neatly. She slid the last one in, sighing happily. “Much better.”

“Are they still sharp?”

Sasha took two out of their sheathes, grinning slightly. “Well, there’s only one way to find out”, she began to say, before chucking them at the top of the doorway, where Cassian and Azriel were standing. Clearly, they hadn’t expected knives to be thrown at them, for their siphon shields, red and blue, flared up immediately. Thankfully, the two knives had hit the door frame instead, wobbling slightly.

Azriel looked on the verge of either sighing and screaming, while Cassian merely grinned. “You missed.”

“I don’t miss”, Sasha shot back, before sending him a smile that was just short of feral. “Hello Cassian.”

The Commander crossed his arms, as he glanced around the cabin. “Nice place- could use some dusting”, he told her, swiping a finger along a cabinet.

The redhead scoffed, before flicking her wrist. A sudden gust of wind blasted into the room, dust swirling around before being escorted out of the door. “What about now?”

“Whatever”, he grumbled. “Aegan, you are to leave for Ironcrest with Azriel today. Rhysand’s orders.”

“Well, isn’t he all high and mighty?” Aegan grumbled, pushing herself to her feet. “How much time do I have?”

The commander shrugged, before glancing at Azriel. “10 minutes”, the shadowsinger told them, his voice no more than a whisper. Did his voice ever rise above a murmur?

“10 minutes my ass”, she muttered, before turning back towards Sasha. “I’m sorry we can’t spend more time together.”

Sasha smiled grimly. “I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you in the near future”, she assured, before grabbing her by the shoulders. “But seriously, may I at least see where you were?”

Aegan felt her whole body tense up. The last time someone looked into her mind, it did not go well. But that was Rhysand- this was Sasha. Surely things were different now… she hoped.

“Just make it quick”, she muttered, glancing at the two males, who had decided to wait outside. Thankfully, the two were too engaged in conversation to notice the two females staring at them, but the shadow curling around Azriel’s ear was all Aegan needed to see to know that he was listening.

Steeling herself, Aegan felt the quick jab in her mind as Sasha slithered in. She was daemati, just like Feyre and Rhysand. However, while the high lord had mastered sneaking into someone’s head, Sasha, whether she liked it or not, made her presence known. A sharp pain between her eyes throbbed as her friend shuffled through her mind, memories flashing violently.

It didn’t last long. Sasha, keeping her word, withdrew, tears streaming down her face. “Hybern-”

“Like I said, it’s in the past now”, Aegan told her, fighting the urge to break down. “He’s dead now, and I’m fine.”

Sasha’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t seem fine.”

“I’m fine”, she seethed, feeling her frustration and anger burn. Normally, people would cower slightly at her anger, terrified, and decide that it would be unwise to continue their conversation with Aegan.

Sasha merely arched an eyebrow, opening her mouth to shoot something back.

“Aegan?” Azriel called out from outside, cutting the redhead off. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, Azriel. I’ll be out in a minute.” Suppressing a sigh, Aegan bent down and picked up the twin swords and the armor she had discarded on the ground. She strapped them to her back, the movement pure muscle memory as she smiled grimly at Sasha. “This is where we part”, she told her softly, tucking her Illyrian armor under one arm. “Please try to stay out of trouble.”

Sasha grinned wickedly. “You have so much faith in me, Aegan dear”, she joked, before pulling her in for one last embrace. “If you need anything”, she whispered in her ear, “let me know. You know how to find me.”

Aegan grinned back. “I’ll see you around, Sasha.”

Her friend smiled, a twinge of sadness lingering in her eyes. “Stay safe”, was all she said before winnowing away, leaving Aegan embracing only thin air.

Her eyes fell to the small green journal lying next to her feet. “Couldn’t hurt to bring it along”, she muttered to herself before gently picking it up. Taking one last glance at the cabin, she stepped outside, making sure to shut the door behind her. As soon as her hand left the doorknob, ivy immediately began to grow over once again. The cabin appeared undisturbed once more.

“About time”, the shadowsinger commented, Azriel leaning against a thick oak tree. “I was considering just dragging you out of there myself.”

“Do you think that would a wise move?”

“Are you challenging me?”

Aegan shot him a pointed look. “Now’s not the time to bicker like an Illyrian toddler, Azriel”, she shot back smoothly. “Ironcrest awaits.”

The shadowsinger merely flared his wings, before launching himself into the sky. Cursing, Aegan quickly followed, clenching the journal and armor tightly to her chest as her wings beat furiously to catch him. “That shadowy bastard”, she hissed under her breath, making a point of bumping into him as soon as she caught up. “You did that on purpose.”

Azriel remained silent, however a hint of a smile played at his lips as the two soared higher and higher above the ground. As if he was actually amused at his own joke. Now that was a first.

“This is going to be a long 6 weeks”, she grumbled, as the cabin and the Prison became nothing but a small dot in the distance. As Illyria called her home.

They had made camp a few miles from Ironcrest’s boundary, the faint calls of the nocturnal wildlife mingling with the small crackling fire they had constructed. Aegan, tasked with finding firewood, grunted as she dropped a load of logs off near the base of the fire. “How much kindling do you need?” She asked, feeling her back pop as she stretched.

Azriel looked up from the report he had been reading. “That should be enough for the night.”

She whistled lowly. “What are you going to do- burn the whole forest down? Because if you do, please warn me so I can get out of the way.”

He rolled his eyes, before going back to his report. “If you want, I’ll watch over you as you sleep.”

“That’s not creepy at all”, Aegan muttered, laying down on the hard earth nevertheless, shutting her eyes. “So, tell me about yourself.”

Azriel groaned. “Can’t you let me focus?”

“You can focus when I finally fall asleep”, she told him, cracking open an eye to peer up at him. “So, what’s your favorite color?”

“That’s a stupid question.”

“Interesting choice. Mine’s black”, she told him, shifting onto her side to face away from him. “Although blue is a nice color too.”

He had fallen silent, Aegan officially giving up on her attempts at a conversation. Besides, the drone of crickets and the shuffling of papers had become a soft lullaby for her. Despite her efforts to stay awake, her eyelids had began to droop more and more. Exhaustion had finally caught up to her.

The sound of rustling papers stopped. “Blue. My favorite color’s blue”, Azriel muttered to her, but Aegan was too far gone to respond.

@callie-bear15

@thisgryffindorlllyrian

@nestaarcheronwillkillme

@dreamworld-1997

@rairrai

@deezrmuhsheeple​

@my-fan-side

@homicidalbaker

[illryian-blackbeak]

Thoughts on ACOFAS

Overall I think the book did its job. I think a lot of people forget that this novella was meant to bridge the series with the new novellas that Sarah is going to be writing.  I liked the book, I liked the writing, I liked that we could see into the characters lives when they were just relaxing - for the most part - and just living their lives. 

I’m super excited to see what happens in the next book, and to see how some characters develop, change, and overcome some very difficult obstacles. 

If you’ve read the book, feel free to message me I want to discuss this with people that might not share the same point of view as me. Also, I know that the book isn’t perfect, but I’m not going to bitch about it, or send Sarah hate for it and I don’t think any of you should either. 

Spoilers Below

Nesta

I’ve seen that a lot of people are excited for Nesta to go to the Illyrian camp and that they want her to participate in the Blood Rite.... but I think people forget how unbelievable it would be. There are Illyrian’s that train for years, and they still don’t come out of the Rite alive. So let me ask you this; how in the world is Nesta - who doesn’t have any training with magic and just normal combat - going to do the Rite in this upcoming book? I’m sorry but it’s a no for me. I would much rather see Nesta grow, and see her overcome the challenges that she’s facing. I struggle with depression and to see that such a badass character is facing the same problem, and to see what she does to try and get better, it makes her all that more relatable. And can you imagine Nesta standing up for the girls in the camp, and training alongside them! That’s what I’m looking forward to, if I’m being honest.

Cassian and Nesta

I understand that a lot of people what these two together, but I said it before and I will say it again, I don’t. Yes what happened in ACOWAR made everyone want to ship these two more, but I want Nesta to be able to figure herself out and to do what she wants, she doesn’t owe Cass anything, especially when he doesn’t want to be seen talking to her by the others. And I get that he’s attracted to her, but Nesta has let him know what she feels, and I think that if Cass likes her he should let her heal first before anything, ya know? And I don’t know maybe something will happen that will change my mind but until then, I’m not a big shipper of these two.

Cassian

Delivered some of my favorite lines, and he’s a dork. I thought it was a little bit dumb that he threw the gift into the river, but at the same time, I understand. I see why Nesta might be a sore subject after the war and all, but come on dude, the fact that it gets to the point to where no one mentions her name around you...I think you’re the one with the issue here. I love Cass, I love that he feels things on such a deeper level, but my dude. If your friends can’t say someone’s name around you I think you’re the one that has to suck it up. But off that topic, that scene where he was flying around the peaks, and landed on an old Illyrian camp and talked about his past, I think that gave a lot of insight on his character and what he’s willing to do for the ones that he loves, and it revealed a lot about him in my opinion. 

Elain

I’m so happy that she has started to heal, though I’m sure that she still has things that she wants to work out, and things she still needs to wrap her head around. I dunno it just made me happy to see that she was happy. She still hasn’t accepted the mating bond, and I’m glad that she hasn’t. Not because I don’t want her to be with Lucien, or whatever but because I want her to do it because she wants to and not because she feels pressured to do it. 

Elain and Azriel 

These two are so cute and I love it. It’s either going to be a very good friendship, or it might develop into something more and honestly, I’m okay with either one. The gifts were cute, and the laugh made me so happy you have no idea. Just seeing these two together is so cute, and I hope we get to see more of them in the upcoming book, but I’m okay with just reading fanfiction if not. 

The Band of Exiles

Lucien was one of my favorite characters because he had that sass and I dunno he became more relatable to me than Tamlin and Feyre at one point. I’m glad we got to see a glimpse of him, and know how he, Jurian, and Vaasa were doing. The mating bond is still a sore subject, and I understand why it would be. I honestly want to see more from these three, to see what they’re up to and all that. 

Rhysand

Oh boy. First off, I love him I really do, so please don’t get this twisted and say that I hate him or whatever. Rhys my dude, my homie, why do you still hate Nesta so much but yet place no blame on Elain, like Feyre said if you blame one you have to blame the other. Is there a deeper reason as to why you can’t forgive Nesta? Because Rhys says to Feyre that he can’t forgive those that have hurt her, and yet he forgets that Elain also did nothing but sit in the cabin while they starved and yet he has managed to forgive her. I dunno, I think this was my biggest issue with him, I know others have different opinions but those didn’t really bother me. 

Feyre

I love that she’s healing and you know, living her best life. I understand that not everyone knows how to handle loved ones that are mentally ill, and she tried to get Nesta out of her shell and to seek help. I know people are upset about the money thing and Feyre saying that she won’t pay for Nesta’s rent if she didn’t go to the party; however, I don’t believe Feyre would have let her sister get kicked out. If anything after the party she would have paid for the rent, was it still a crummy thing to do? Yes, it was. I can also see why she did it though; Nesta isn’t in a good place as we saw throughout the book, and I know that she doesn’t want to be around the Inner Circle, and I think that Feyre wanted her to go to the party as a way of showing her that she isn’t alone. That she has people there that are willing to support and help her. Feyre found them to be family, and the Inner Circle helped Feyre overcome a lot, and I think that because they were her support system, and that’s how she coped and got through everything, she wants Nesta to have something like that. It’s hard to put this into words, so I can only hope that those reading understand where I’m coming from. The baby thing was, in my opinion, sort of forced, however I can see where Feyre is coming from and honestly it’s Sarah’s book so she can do whatever she wants with it.

Mor and Amren

I really wish we would’ve seen more from these two. The snowball scene with Amren being an angry snowball was easily one of my favorite scenes. Mor when she faced her father and Eris I really felt for her. I know the damage that they have done has left a permanent scar on her and I hope that we see her destroy them, slowly because I feel like Mor is really good at weaving things together and then watching them crumble

[azrielsiphons]

Shadows and Darkness: One and the Same (ch. 2)

<< Previous Chapter   Next Chapter >>

This fic is meant to be read in connection with my Azriel-centric prequel stories. I would highly suggest reading those first to get the full reading experience of this fic. 

Make sure to reblog and leave comments and fun tags! I hope you guys like this chapter, this should help you guys get a feel for how Lena has changed over all these centuries. 

Enjoy! 

“They never told you my name?” Her voice hadn’t sounded so weak in almost five centuries. Feyre shook her head. “It’s… it’s Lena. My name is Lena.”

Feyre continued to stare, but smiled softly. Lena couldn’t find it within her to return it.

She pulled up her hood in one smooth motion, hiding her face once again as Tamlin and Lucien burst into the room.

“Feyre,” Tamlin gasped. He flinched at the sight of Lena — or rather, at the sight of Hybern’s nameless, faceless weapon he had only heard of — but strode to Feyre all the same, taking her face in his hands and checking her up and down. “The guards came running, they said you shouted my name. Are you alright? Did he hurt you?”

Feyre could feel Lena roll her eyes from beneath her hood. Of course they would think the infamously powerful creature beneath the cloak was a man.

“Jurian is unconscious,” Lucien observed, his hand trembling slightly but hovering over his blade all the same as he stared at Lena. “You’re… him, then? The one the King sent?”

“He doesn’t speak, Lucien,” Tamlin snapped, continuing to check Feyre up and down.

“I’m fine, Tamlin.” Feyre pushed his hands away with just enough force. His eyes widened at her tone and she forced herself to play the part. “Jurian was… being facetious,” she said. “This man — or woman here, knocked him out. I was afraid so I called out for you and Lucien. But they didn’t touch me. Or speak to me. We just stood here.”

Tamlin growled, whirling on Lena. She only cocked her head to the side beneath her cloak.

“You will stay away from her,” he hissed. “You aren’t here for her, you’re here to keep an eye on him and the other two.” He jerked his head at Jurian on the ground. “You touch her, or even look at her or breathe near her, I will personally—”

Tamlin froze, his face turning red as Lena filled his lungs with night that knew no air. He made to lunge at her but his feet couldn’t leave the floor.

“What are you doing to him?” Lucien asked, paling. He pulled his sword but Lena only turned her head towards him lazily. “Let him go! Feyre.”

Feyre jumped, remembering the part she had to play. She had been so in awe at Lena’s powers — this really was Rhys’s sister. Only someone like him could do that to a High Lord and not even break a sweat.

“Please!” She cried out, rushing to Tamlin’s side. “Let him go, he didn’t mean anything by it, just let him go!”

Lena released Tamlin immediately at her High Lady’s words and Tamlin fell against Feyre, gasping for breath. His talons had emerged, and his face was full of rage.

“Why you little—”

He took a step forward only to freeze.

Smart move, Lena thought to herself. The only noise she made was a low, deep chuckle that sent chills down everyone’s spine.

Without another word, Lena walked right out of the dining room, making sure to bump Tamlin’s shoulder on the way out. She didn’t even glance back at him when he snarled loud enough that the entire manor shook.

“Well then,” Jurian spoke suddenly, sitting up with a groan and staring at the other three. “I see you’ve met the King’s secret weapon. They’re not very talkative.”

~~~~~

Lena could hear Feyre pacing in her chambers. The moon was high in the sky and that prick Tamlin was fast asleep in his room thinking the world would be alright now that his possession was back.

A twisted part of Lena would always be both grateful to and jealous of Tamlin for laying the killing blow on her father. All the same though, she hoped she had the chance to see Rhys kill him one day. It would be quite entertaining.

She stepped up to Feyre’s door silently — as she did everything since she was dead after all. After listening to Feyre pace for another minute or so she made her breathing just loud enough to be heard by the Cursebreaker. By her High Lady.

The door swung open not even a second later.

Lena’s hood was still up. Up until that day she had never taken it down or revealed her face on a mission except for one time.

A century and a half ago. On a terrible mission for the King to the Middle of Prythian where the worst beasts roamed. A group of Hybern extremists that the King had sanctioned were there torturing humans and trying to track beasts.

And then he had shown up...

Come in,” Feyre said softly, startling Lena out of her memories.

Lena nodded, stepping in silently. She only removed her hood when the door clicked shut behind them. A second later she had settled a noise cancelling shield around the entire room. Only when she was confident that they were completely concealed from the rest of the manor did Lena release a deep breath and roll out her shoulders. Feyre watched her carefully, cataloguing every movement.

“You’re staring,” Lena deadpanned, perching herself on the edge of the desk.

“How do you do that?” Feyre asked curiously. “Control two shields at once, I mean. I still can’t smell you so you must be in control of both. Isn’t that… taxing?”

Lena glanced around the room and grimaced at the decor. She reached out and flicked the fringe hanging from a lamp. “No.” She said simply. With the extent of her power, not much at all was taxing to her. “I’ve gotten so used to shielding my scent, I forget sometimes that I’m even doing it. I don’t want anyone to smell me and realize it’s so similar to—” She cut herself off, glancing at Feyre sidelong.

“Similar to Rhys’s scent,” Feyre finished for her. She gave Lena a smile and the genuine kindness in the gesture made Lena flinch and look away.

Feyre cleared her throat, playing with her hands nervously.

“You haven’t told anyone about me, have you?” Lena asked suddenly. “You haven’t used your bond with my brother and told him that I’m here? Or… who I am?”

“No,” Feyre said instantly. Lena released a relieved breath. “The bond doesn’t quite work like that with us at such a distance. It’s… hard to communicate. And something like this, telling him that his only remaining family is alive, well… that’s not exactly something I want to tell him without being there at his side.”

“You’re not going to tell him at all.”

Feyre blinked. “What?”

“You cannot,” Lena said with emphasis, “tell my brother that I am alive.”

“But… you revealed yourself to me,” Feyre argued.

“I did, and a part of me already regrets it,” Lena said simply. “You have no idea what I’m risking by showing you my face and telling you who I am to Rhys. And apparently, telling you my name.”

The bitter laugh that escaped her didn’t do much trying to cover Lena’s hurt. Feyre’s mouth parted in understanding, but she could only look down at the ground. She didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t pity me, Feyre,” Lena said suddenly. “I have accepted my lot in life and accepted it well and I will continue to do so in order to protect those that I love.”

“Well if you’re not planning on going home to those people you love, then—”

“That’s not what I said,” Lena smoothly interrupted.

Feyre stared. “So… you are trying to go back to the Night Court? To reveal yourself to them and escape the King?”

The smile that Lena gave was borderline feral. “Well considering that I’m face to face with the Cursebreaker herself, I think that you and I together might actually have a shot.” Feyre’s face broke out into a grin. “But I won’t risk it unless I’m absolutely sure it will work. If I think for even a second that this will fall through, you still can never tell them that I’m alive. You’re getting back to the Night Court no matter what Feyre, understand that well.”

“Yes, but—”

“I am guaranteed nothing and that’s alright,” Lena continued. “But Feyre, my first priority is getting you back to my brother. Back to m— back to your Court. If I can go with you, that would be… everything to me. But if I can’t, you have to swear to me you’ll never tell them that I am alive. Or you can just give me permission to wipe your mind of any memories of me.”

“No!” Feyre cried. “I can’t… Lena, you’re his sister. They deserve to know you’re alive. It will bring them so much joy and—”

“They never told you my name,” Lena snapped suddenly, darkness flaring out of her. Feyre froze. “Feyre, they… they never even told you my name.” Her voice was a mere whisper. “They’ve moved on. They survived, which is all I ever wanted for them. If I can’t get back to them, then at least let them keep surviving. They don’t need to be burdened with this knowledge and quite frankly it could get them killed.”

Feyre gulped. “Fine,” she said. “I give you permission to wipe my mind of any memories of you if whatever plan you have doesn’t work, but it doesn’t matter because it will work. I’m making sure that you get back to them, Lena. I swear it.”

Lena laughed humorlessly, but Feyre still caught the flash of real emotion on her beautiful face even if only for a moment.

“I can’t believe you’re my brother’s mate.”

“What? Why?” Feyre asked, slightly offended.

“Because he’s a colossal idiot and you seem to have a fairly smart head on your shoulders. And you’re much prettier than him.”

Feyre choked on her laughter. “I’m prettier than him? I think we might be talking about two different Rhysands.”

Lena shook her head. “Nope, same one, I’m sure of it. Tall, black hair, stupid arrogant face? That’s my brother.”

The two females laughed together until Lena froze, her smile turning into an expression full of sorrow.

“You know that’s the first time I’ve laughed in… almost 500 years.”

Feyre gasped softly, staring at the female that shared the same blood as her mate. Who had been stolen by evil itself after watching her own mother be killed right in front of her and then forced to stay away from her family to keep them safe. Who had done just that — and never wavered.

This was Rhys’s sister. And she had suffered more than anyone Feyre knew — more than herself exponentially.

Feyre was High Lady of the Night Court and she loved it more than anything in the world save for her mate. But Lena… she was the Night Court. It belonged to her first. Feyre couldn’t even imagine what it must be like for Lena to see this young female, only recently made High Fae, bear the tattoo that perhaps she herself had expected to wear one day.

Before Feyre even contemplated what she was doing and how Lena might perceive it, she was striding across the room and embracing her.

Lena tensed, arms at her sides in fists. A tear slipped from Feyre’s eye as she realized that this might very well be the first time Lena had been held or shown any real kindness in five centuries.

Lena cleared her throat. “What are you doing?”

“I’m hugging you.”

“…Okay. Why?”

“Because I wanted to. And because you needed one.”

Lena didn’t say anything to that. Slowly, she raised her arms and gently patted Feyre on the back. But Feyre felt it, even if just for a second, the sigh that Lena let out.

“Okay that’s enough of that,” Lena said uncomfortably. Feyre pulled away and wiped at her eyes. “I know you’re my High Lady now, but could you warn me next time you want to do that?”

Feyre laughed and nodded. “Of course.”

“So do you have any… questions for me?” Lena asked cautiously, looking away from Feyre’s gaze. It had been a very long time since she had been vulnerable with anyone, but if there was anyone left in the world she could be herself with at that moment without endangering them, it was Rhys’s mate.

“I thought that you would be the one to have questions for me?” Feyre asked curiously.

“Of course. But none that I can ask you.”

Feyre’s face screwed in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“Just ask me any questions you have, Cursebreaker,” Lena said exasperatedly.

“First of all,” Feyre snapped, “don’t call me Cursebreaker anymore. My name is Feyre. We’re basically family now so call me my name.”

Lena flinched. “Alright, fine. Feyre. Ask whatever you want.”

Feyre bit her lip, sitting on the edge of her bed.

“How exactly are you not dead?”

“When Tamlin’s father killed my mother he had made a deal with the King of Hybern to steal me away on his behalf.”

“But Rhys said they delivered your heads in boxes.” Feyre gave an apologetic smile when Lena flinched. “Sorry.”

Lena waved her hand at the apology. “The King killed some innocent girl from my court and glamoured her intensely enough to somewhat resemble and smell like me. Rhys didn’t think to look twice.”

“And your wings? Rhys said they were somewhere in this house—”

“Different question.”

Feyre blinked. “What?”

Lena’s power flared once again, but remained in the confines of the room’s shield. “I said, ask a different question.” Her tone left no room for argument. Feyre swallowed.

“Okay. Well, you’re clearly powerful.”

Lena smirked, her anger gone in an instant. “Clearly.”

“How did Hybern keep you trapped? You have all of that power and you couldn’t get away from him at all?”

Lena’s face fell, transforming into what could only be described as pure rage and bitterness. And a hint of sorrow.

“The King has been putting me to sleep anywhere from a few weeks to a few decades at a time whenever he doesn’t have use of me,” she said simply, her hands shaking. “He uses ancient magic-cancelling chains to keep me secure—”

“I’ve seen those,” Feyre interrupted. Lena blinked in shock. “I’ve seen them, Hybern’s men used them on Rhys once. There are more?”

Lena’s eyes flashed then and stroms seemed to rise behind her violet. She took a deep breath, calming herself down before her magic could escape the room. Feyre held her breath, releasing it only when Lena spoke again.

“Many more,” she said. “Whenever the King needed me for something, he would wake me up. Send me on an... errand or two. Then back to sleep for me.”

“And those times when you were awake you couldn’t escape?” Feyre asked. Lena glared.

“Judgmental much?”

“I’m just trying to understand how the sister of one of the most honorable people I know just held herself back and didn’t at least try to get back to her family.” Feyre paused, expecting Lena to lash out at her, but she didn’t, only waited for Feyre to continue. “I wasn’t even alive when your mother died, or when Rhys thought that you died. But the sorrow that he has now over you… it must have been infinitely worse in the beginning. He had to become High Lord all on his own after losing you, your mother, and your father.”

Lena looked away. “You don’t know anything,” she said softly, almost inaudibly.

“I know enough,” Feyre hissed. Lena’s eyes flashed once again. Feyre was walking a fine line. “There must have been something — something that you could have done, could have tried.”

“There wasn’t.”

“All that power of yours and you couldn’t even send a message? Write a note?”

“It was impossible.”

“Why?” Feyre shouted.

“Because if I did then he would die!”

Lena had moved so fast Feyre hadn’t seen it, the female’s scarred face right in front of her own. Feyre’s breath caught in her throat and in the back of her mind she realized that Lena’s eyes were a shade darker than Rhys’s.

“Rhys?” Feyre asked softly. “Rhys would die?”

Lena froze for a split second before jerking away, turning her back on Feyre.

“I’ve been willing to do whatever it takes to protect my family and my Court for almost five centuries,” she stated simply. “I’ve done things that you could not possibly imagine. It has wrecked the very essence of my soul and I have learned how to accept that about myself. But I have kept my family safe. The best that I can.”

“You weren’t keeping him safe when he was trapped under that mountain with her,” Feyre snapped. She regretted the words the moment she said them. “I’m sorry, I—”

Lena silenced Feyre, whirling on her. “What do you mean?”

“When… when he was with Amarantha.”

“What do you mean with Amarantha?” Lena was in Feyre’s face once again. “I was only woken by the King a day ago. I was put to sleep right after Amarantha drugged all of the High Lords, what — what did she do?” Feyre was silent, her mouth agape as she searched for the words. Lena grabbed her by the shoulders roughly. “Feyre what did she do?”

“She made him her whore,” Feyre spat, her voice barely more than a whisper. Lena went completely still. Everything in the room froze — even the dust particles in the air came to a halt. A tear slipped down Feyre’s face. “She confined him to her bedroom, made him…” She took in a shaky breath. “He was playing a part, he played along to try and win her trust, to keep Velaris safe. He had erased everyone’s memory of the city, kept it completely safe. He used the last of his powers and charged the protection of Velaris to Mor, Amren, Cassian, and Azr—”

Lena finally reacted then, pushing away from Feyre and bracing herself against the desk, gasping. She clutched at her chest, squinting her eyes tightly shut.

“Don’t,” she choked out. “Don’t say his name.”

“Who?” Feyre asked, running to Lena’s side. “I don’t understand, Lena. Cassian? Az—”

“I said don’t,” Lena hissed, whirling back on Feyre, who stumbled away at the sheer rage on her face. A beat passed and that look transformed to one of pure sorrow — and longing. Silver lined her violet eyes. “Please don’t, I can’t… I just can’t.”

Feyre didn’t understand what was there. What the sound of Azriel’s name did to Lena, but she nodded all the same. Lena slumped in relief, softly murmuring her thanks.

“There are a great many things you don’t know,” Lena whispered, leaning her back against the wall before sliding to the floor. Feyre gingerly moved to sit beside her. “And if I somehow, by the Mother’s grace, make it back to the Night Court with you, I will tell you every story there is to tell about my family and I. But until then,” she turned and looked Feyre dead in the eye, “you must swear to me that you will never tell them who I am.”

“I already—”

“I know you already did,” Lena interrupted. “But I need you to understand, Feyre. I don’t care if my brother himself has a sword at my throat, you can never tell them who I am. You must let me be the one to tell them.”

“Why?” Feyre asked softly. “Why keep them in the dark?”

“Because it will destroy them,” Lena said simply. “If they find out that I’ve been the King’s prisoner all these centuries, forced to kill and torture and kidnap, it would wreck them. They never even thought to look for me because they assumed they received my head in a box. No, I need to be the one to reveal myself to them if I’m given the chance. They need to see my face and hear it from my own mouth that I’m still alive. Do you swear that to me, Feyre? That you will let me do it?”

Feyre hesitated, but nodded. “I swear.”

“Thank you.”

The two females sat side by side, staring out the window at the moon.

“So you were really in love with Tamlin?” Lena asked suddenly. “Before you met my brother?”

Feyre sighed, but nodded. “I think I fell out of love with Tamlin when he locked me in this house. I didn’t fall in love with your brother until—”

“Wait, wait,” Lena interrupted, whirling on Feyre. “He locked you up?” She asked incredulously.

“Yes, that was when Rhys came and took me to the Night Court apart from our bargain, when I decided to stay. Well actually Mor was the one who came and saved me, but—”

“Okay stop,” Lena cut her off once again. “Clearly I have gotten some misinformation — I’m going to need you to start from the beginning. With details, please.”

And so Feyre did. She told Lena the whole story — the real story. She respectfully avoiding using his name, but Lena’s eyes flashed with sorrow every time Azriel was alluded to all the same. And when the story was done, Lena loosed a heavy breath and leaned her head back against the wall.

“So the Suriel was really the one who told you that you and Rhys were mates?”

Feyre chuckled. “Yes.”

“Figures. And now you’re here, and you’re all pretending that Rhys manipulated your mind to get you to stay in the Night Court and the King successfully broke your mating bond.”

“Also yes.”

Lena huffed. “When I see my stupid brother, I’m going to smack him so hard.”

“For not telling me about the mating bond?”

Lena scoffed at that. “Well I can’t exactly yell at him for that when—” She froze, shaking her head as if to clear out unwanted thoughts. “No, I’m going to smack him for everything else. That idiot has always believed he has to sacrifice himself for everyone all the time.”

“Well it seems to me like that’s a family trait,” Feyre shot back softly, looking at Lena to gauge her reaction.

Lena only laughed, bumping Feyre’s knee with her own. “You know what I take it back. I definitely believe that you’re my brother’s mate.”

~~~~~

Azriel shot up with a gasp, groaning at the lingering pain in his chest. Mor and the other healers had gotten all of the poison out of his system days ago, but the lingering effects made the healing process much slower. 

With a glance to his left, he loosed a breath of relief that Cassian was still fast asleep. His brother lay on his stomach, wings stretched out behind him with coats of healing salve on the membrane. He swallowed as he remembered once again how Cassian had sacrificed his own wings to save him.

With a grunt, Azriel hauled himself out of the bed, pausing as he waited to see if the healers heard him moving. When he believed the coast was clear, he walked slowly to the open window. 

He breathed in deeply, wincing as his chest expanded. But he needed to smell the air, to smell Velaris, to smell home. 

He hadn’t had a nightmare like that in decades. Since before Rhys had been taken Under the Mountain. They came sporadically, sometimes months apart, sometimes decades apart, but he could always count on them to happen. 

He would see her face. Lena’s face. Peaceful, asleep, as beautiful as ever as she lay at his side. And just as he would reach out to touch her, it would explode in flames. The floor would give way beneath them and she would scream, reaching out for him.

But he never caught her. He failed her every time. 

Azriel shut his eyes even tighter, blocking out the sound of her screams still ringing in his ears. Some days he wished he could just forget her altogether, but then the guilt would eat him alive.

He didn’t want to forget her. He just wanted the pain to be gone, he wanted to finally heal. It had been centuries since he had lost her. Since they all had lost her. And while he loved Feyre and was glad she was part of their Court and his High Lady... she wasn’t Lena.

Azriel would never forgive himself for the slightest bit of resentment he felt that the first High Lady of Prythian was Feyre and not Lena. She was supposed to be the one to have brought real change. She was supposed to be the one that broke down barriers and made a way for love and kindness and dreams to prevail. That was supposed to have happened 500 years ago with him at her side, or at the very least watching her from afar and holding her hand all the while. 

But she had died instead. The Cauldron had taken her, deigned the world better off without Lena in it. And that was something Azriel simply couldn’t accept, it was the reason he didn’t pray to the Cauldron anymore. 

He looked up at the moon and hoped that somewhere in whatever life comes after death, Lena was perhaps thinking of him too. 

~~~~~

After leaving Feyre’s rooms, Lena stepped outside of the Spring Court manor silently, the guards jumping as the infamous Hybern weapon appeared without a sound or scent. She laughed to herself at their fear and didn’t spare them a second glance. 

She made her way through the gardens with a grimace. She hated flowers. 

Well out of sight from any of the guards, she tilted her face to the sky. The only thing that gave her comfort anymore. Because no matter where she was, no matter what horrors she faced or was forced to commit, the sky remained constant. It was the same sky he looked at. 

And as she stared up at the stars and the moon, she hoped that wherever he may be, Azriel was perhaps thinking of her too. 

[wildfirewritings]

Just Something I Can Turn To (Somebody I Can Kiss)

Summary: Maybe what Tamlin doesn't see is her need to just talk to someone, to feel like an actual normal human being, to not feel trapped in a cage. He never sees it, and she doubt he ever will.

This stranger, though, seems to understand, and somehow sees through the image she's expected to keep.

Rating: General Audiences

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses

Relationships: Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Feyre Archeron/Tamlin

AO3: Here

Feyre hated parties.

Not necessarily the parties that she attended in her later years of high school, with red solo cups filled with cheap beer and students were found making out in every nook and corner—even though she preferred not to go to those either. But she meant the parties she was forced to go to shortly after Tamlin slipped a ring on her finger. The “fancy gown that probably costs more than both of her kidneys, ballrooms with floors so clean she can see her reflection, and wealthy CEOs, heirs of multinational corporations, and higher-up government officials that all examined the area like vultures searching for the weakest prey” parties.

Sure, Feyre loved dressing up every once in a while. And yes, she thought the space around her was absolutely breathtaking.

But she hated wearing a gown that had the color of Tamlin's business, almost like she was just another property of his. She hated having to look interested at all the nonsense everyone spewed about problems that didn't even matter. She hated all the high-class, privileged, aristocrats that talked about raising prices, buying out land, lowering employee salaries, all the things that would negatively affect people in the lower-class. She hated acting brainless, like she had no idea how the world worked, despite having been a detective at one point. She hated just having to stand there, smiling and nodding, acting like a socialite who knew nothing about politics or business. All problems that she would never share with her fiance.

She sighed before taking a sip from her champagne glass. The dinner had ended only a few moments ago, and now most people were mingling and exchanging small-talk, fake smiles plastered on faces. She stood with Tamlin, Lucien, and two friends of theirs—Bron and Hart—all of who were talking and bantering like old friends. When everyone else laughed, she did her part and smiled like she was listening. Every now and then, when questions were directed towards her (mostly about the wedding), she would just nod when Tamlin answered for her instead. It was always like that, she stood there like a puppet while he did the talking for her. He hardly let her speak to anyone outside him, Lucien, and occasionally Ianthe now. Not since—

She took another sip.

The smell of overpriced perfume, champagne, and their recent, gourmet dinner danced around the room. These days, it felt like it was all she ever smelt, oddly enough. That or the ever present scent of roses and flowers from the garden at her and Tamlin's house. Most of the time, she wouldn't even notice it anymore. Now, though, it filled her nose, surrounding her so much that it almost suffocated her. It made it harder to breathe, and for a flash of a moment she wasn't there anymore—

“I'm going to get some fresh air,” she blurted. She couldn't find herself to care that she just snapped them out of a deep conversation, blinking at her in shock. They hadn't been expecting her to speak the whole night, probably. Feyre just forced on the most pleasant smile she could manage.

“Okay,” Tamlin said, concern he wouldn't share with her evident in his eyes. He reached to grab her arm, raising his other hand preparing to wave goodbye to his frineds.

No, she didn't want him going with her. All he would do was smother her and drag her back inside.

“I can go alone,” she said lightly, but she could hear the slight point to her voice. “Really, it's fine. I don't want to interrupt anything.”

Tamlin stared at her, and he opened his mouth, no doubt preparing to refuse.

“It's fine, Tamlin. I'll be fine. I'm just walking to the balcony,” she continued before he could say anything.

A beat of silence passed. “Okay,” he nodded, he reached out to give her heard a squeeze.

“I'll be back here soon,” she reassured. Before Lucien or Bron and Hart could say anything, she retreated. Eventually, she heard their conversation start back up, but she knew Tamlin's eyes wouldn't leave her back until she would be on the balcony, out of his sight. A server passed by her, carrying a tray of champagne glasses. She set down her empty glass on the tray and plucked a full one, saying a small thanks before leaving.

It looked like she wasn't the only one who wanted to flee from the gathering inside.

Upon stepping into the balcony, the stiletto of her heel echoed into the night sky. A stranger that was previously leaning his elbows on the stone rail, staring outside, turned around at the sound of her entering. And he was probably the most beautiful man she's ever seen.

Short black hair, twinkling eyes so dark they were almost violet, tan skin, and a sculptured face that would have her reaching for her paints, months ago.

She took another greedy sip from her glass before making her way deeper into the night, light green gown swishing around her ankles, until she was leaning right next to him.

Those violet eyes were still on her, but she just stared at the twinkling stars around them. Somehow, it made her breathe easy, easier than she had in months. The smell of dew, citrus, and the sea filled her system, releasing tension that she hadn't even known she had.

“Dare I ask why you wanted to escape the party inside?” the stranger's sensuous voice reached her ears, and she almost shivered at how beautiful it was.

“I can ask you the same thing,” she countered, tearing her eyes from the view to stare into his teasing, relaxed orbs.

“Touche.” He grinned.

She hummed, and turned her head back to stare out again.

Comfortable silence passed between them. He eventually tore his gaze from her to watch the night sky too. And somehow it felt...easy. Right. Like somehow, she knew this man and they had done this before.

“I'm here,” he said after a while—Feyre had to run through her memories to figure out what he was talking about, until she remember what they had said to each other only minutes ago, “because I'm not a fan of these parties.”

She raised her brows, but still didn't look at him. They continued to look forward. “Not a fan of aristocrats staring you down like they're going to tear you apart, CEOs practically ruining the lives of those in poverty, and billionaires that probably don't know the price of dish soap? What's not there to like?” She snorted to herself, and took another sip.

He turned to look at her. She glanced back, and she couldn't place the expression on his face.

“Something tells me that you don't like them, either,” he joked, a grin forming on his lips.

“What?” she placed a mock hand on her chest. “What gave it away?”

He chuckled, then nodded towards her glass. “How many of those have you had?”

“Not enough,” she grumbled.

His grin grew. “I don't think I've seen you around before.”

She frowned. “Is it that obvious that I stand out?” All she did at these things was stand next to Tamlin and smile and nod to whatever everyone had to say. The mindless future wife of a CEO that everyone expected her to be.

“I would definitely remember seeing you,” he purred. She fought the urge to shiver.

“I haven't seen you around, either,” Feyre said instead. Truth be told, she had only gone to about two of these parties previous to the current one. But, as cheesy as it sounded...she would have probably remembered him, too.

“I tend to miss as many of these as I possibly can.”

“Lucky.”

His grin turned into an actual, genuine smile. The breath was almost knocked out of her. “May I ask what you're name is, darling?”

Alright, this was dangerous territory. She didn't feel drunk, not at all, but she suddenly wished she was so she could have an excuse for not caring about how she should not be talking to this guy.

“I'm sure you'd like to know.” She drained the rest of her drink.

“Ever playful, aren't you?” he asked, amused.

“Ready to throw in the towel yet?”

“Not even close.” I'll play with you all day his eyes practically said.

She hummed again, feeling more light than she had in months. Maybe all she needed, that Tamlin didn't understand, was someone to just talk to. Someone she could joke and dance around verbally with.

“Rhysand,” he said. It took her a moment before she realized what he was telling her. “Your turn.”

She opened her mouth, but someone cut her off.

“Feyre.”

She almost flinched at the way her name was said. Like a master demanding his pet to behave.

She whirled around. There Tamlin stood, glare focused on her companion. “Rhysand,” he said curtly, and Feyre's brows shot up.

“Tamlin,” Rhysand said in reply. Cool amusement twinkled in his eyes, but only hostility rested in her fiance's gaze.

He turned his eyes from him and strode over to her. He grabbed her arm immediately, not hard enough to hurt her, but firm enough to remind her of who she was supposed to be. The wealthy man's brainless, pretty wife, who only exchanges pointless small talk and is attached to her husband's side the whole night, even if they weren't even married yet.

Rhysand glanced down at where Tamlin gripped her arm, and she could have sworn something flared in his gaze. But it was gone by the time he blinked.

“Let's go,” her fiance told her before she had the chance to say anything. He began to drag her out, back into that room of aristocrats, socialites, fancy citizens who could ruin lives with a snap of their fingers—

She turned to look at him one last time. He was already looking at her, sadness and gentleness swimming in his gaze. He mouthed one last thing at her before Tamlin tugged her far enough that she couldn't see him anymore.

Fight it.

A/N: Alright so like...I was super bored, my data ran out, I had no internet connection, my phone died, and I was stuck in a car for eight hours and this idea kind of just came to mind so I wrote to pass the time.

[wiselemonpie]

Loyally Mated Part 3 {Feysand Fic}

This is part 3. Thank you for reading. I love writing. You can find Part1 and Part2 here. It may take longer for part 4, because my exams are starting next week, they are weekly. So… we will see. :)

@the-bookish-soul

Feyre woke up in the forest a little disoriented, how did she end up here? She couldn’t tell what was happening. She stood up and started walking in a slow pace, it was dark, and the sun hadn’t risen yet. 

She tried to focus and find her way out, looking at the stars for guidance. Feyre always looked to the stars for wisdom, strength, fearlessness and guidance. She never knew why, it was an automatic response she had. Then she heard footsteps, somewhat close to her.

Could it be Rhys? she thought. Maybe he was looking for her. Feyre had to see, and look for him. But something stopped her, what if it wasn’t Rhys? She needed to be sure, before giving her location. After all, she was a warrior too, she knew how to fight in hand to hand combat. However she hadn’t master a weapon yet. 

Feyre listened closely, she needed to remember how Rhys moved in the forest, when he found her in the river after the mating ceremony, she barely heard his noise, and she only smelled him when he was close enough, the smell of starlight and mist. That was it, she had to smell him. Moving light and soundlessly she started sniffing. Nothing, Rhys was not here, then who? Then the smell of red roses and the movement of forest magic hit her so hard, she froze.

She didn’t know what to do. Could she run? Could she escape? Did he see her? Did he felt her? He probably did, he was so close to her. She had to run, find haven, and be free. Because if Tamlin took on a hold on her, everything will be over.

So, Feyre did the only thing she could do, she ran and ran. She didn’t care her legs protested, she wouldn’t stop. Not now, not ever.  She cursed when she heard Tamlin growl. Feyre twisted her head, to see how far he was, but she only saw him shift to a wolf-like animal, with antlers and three tails. Fear gripped her as he came closer, she screamed as a paw brushed her ankle.  She heard him calling her in her mind.

Come, Feyre.

You can’t escape.

You never will.

I will always have you.

Come Feyre.

Tears stung her eyes, but she wouldn’t cry, not to him or anyone. She covered more ground and then she turned around and positioned herself in her fighting stance and when he drew near, she lifted her leg and hit him hard on the face. The animal yelped as he shifted back into Tamlin. He seemed unconscious, Feyre was breathing hard, she closed her eyes, for a second and she heard:

Feyre

Feyre

Feyre!!!

She quickly opened her eyes and a body was close, too close to her. She thrust her arm with all her might and hit the body in the eye. He staggered back, cursing, apparently he was a man. That gave her the time to move away.

“Get away from me,” she growled. 

A soothing voice emanated from the man saying, “Feyre, calm down, it was a dream, you are alright, you are safe, and you are free.” He said it emphasizing every word.

Dream, but it was so real, she breathed and took in her surrounding; she was in a room, a bedroom. She could see the armoire, the bookshelf, the balcony. Rhys, Rhys’ room. Feyre tried to recognize the man, a smell hit her; mist and starlight with the magic of darkness. 

“Rhys?” She asked slowly. 

“I am here, I will always be.” He intoned so soothingly. 

She breathe and relaxed. Feyre moved closer to him, taking small steps. He didn’t hesitate, he move gracefully and pulled her in into a hug, comforting her. She gladly took it. It was a dream she told him and he kept saying she was free. She could feel her heart racing or was it his, she felt? Feyre moved away first. Then she remembered she punched him hard on the face. 

“Rhys, your eye, it’s bleeding.” She said worriedly.

“Well, you did punch me hard, may I say good technique you have there. I see promised.” Rhys’ voice was full of glee. 

“Don’t joke with me Rhysand, if could get infected.” Feyre said as she moved to get a small towel for his face in the night stand.

“Oh, now we are going to full names, are we Feyre, darling.” He said as he followed her, as if he needed her heat as much as she did his. 

“How did I manage to hit you any way, aren’t you a highly trained warrior?”

Feyre move closer to him with the towel, cleaning his face. 

“I am, but whenever I am around you, I get distracted by you.” He stated boldly.

Thank the Gods it was still dark so he didn’t see her blush. Just then, did she realized that Rhys didn’t have a shirt on. That she hugged a man, her mate without a shirt. That, that same man told her she was distracting. Did the Gods hear her before, when she was thinking about him without a shirt? She tried to act normal, finished cleaning his face and then she asked.

“Why are you naked?” Her voice was a bit too out of breath. Damn, she cursed herself. That beautiful torso and the pectorals with the swirls tattoos coming and going from his front to back. STOP she said to herself if she continued, she would faint–

“I am not naked, I have pants on." 

"I meant, why do you only have pants, where is your shirt?" 

"Do you like what you see?” He winked.

Feyre only looked at him, using all her force not to nod and keep a blank stare. Gods, he was a hand full. 

“Okay fine, I heard you screaming and I ran like hell thinking you were in danger.” Rhys explained, then she noticed he was holding a sword very tightly. 

“Well that explains the lack of clothing and the sword.” She took a sit at the edge of the bed. He followed her, he seemed as if he were to say something, but he stopped and froze. Feyre looked up and said, “Rhys?” However he wasn’t looking at her but past her. 

Rhys was at a loss of words. He kept stammering and didn’t know what to say.

Feyre turned around to see what was he looking at, but she actually had an idea what was it. She saw it, it was Rhys’ special book, and she probably tossed it while she was in the nightmare. She turned back to him and pursed her lips. He seemed mortified, ashamed and afraid at the same time. She never thought she would live to see the day where Rhysand, Heir of the Northern Tribe was afraid.

Feyre cleared her throat, “I—umh— I found the book on your bookshelf. It was quite…” She tried to look for an appropriate word. “—explicit” she said at last.

Rhys eyed widened, he was still processing this it seemed. “Cassian gave it me.” He finally blurted out. 

Feyre couldn’t help as her lips quirked upward, she couldn’t believe he was so flustered. She thought the book was weird at first, now she just thought it was funny. “Yeah, I could tell, I read the dedication,” she mused. “Quite a friend you have." 

He seemed about to explode. Feyre couldn’t help it anymore, she burst out laughing. Rhys now seemed confused, but he started to laugh a long with her, because her laugh was contagious. When the laughing ended she asked what she wanted to ask him earlier in dinner. 

"Do—do you want that?” She said in a low voice. She was surprised she asked, she thought it wouldn’t just die in her throat. Did she really just asked that? What kind of question was that? She had to know, though. It was imperative she know. 

He stammered again, but a little amusingly he said, “Feyre, darling, I have as much experience with that as you do. This is all new to me.” For emphasis he showed her his forearms, with the mating ceremony. If he had experience he wouldn’t have been able to mate.  For now, the mating lines were still just lines, once consummated those lines would swirl around into intricate patterns. 

“You know,” Rhys said breaking the silence. “You have a beautiful laugh. It’s really contagious. I never thought I actually hear it." 

A small smile was forming in her lips. He never thought he would hear her laugh. "Why,” she said curiously. “Why didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t the best gentleman towards you before, I treated you wrongly and you didn’t deserve it. I thought you would rather mate with any other than me. I tried to push you away, mostly because of Isaac, I didn’t want to hurt him either. But you were so devastatingly beautiful, strong willed, braver than I’ll ever be, that I kept following you and kept falling more for you. I couldn’t stay away and I wanted to make it up for everything I did to you. I am so sorry, could you ever forgive me?” His voice was so truthful, her heart broke as she look into his eyes and his eyes never left hers.

Feyre thought of all those mood swings Rhys used to have. When he was caring at first and cold the next. Like if everything they shared was nothing. All those days thinking what might have triggered his detachment. Not just this past day, but two weeks before, when she first arrived at the capitol. Before she lived in town close to the Western Tribe; Isaac’s tribe. Where they met all the time. Ever since she got here Rhys was all she could think about. But the constant detachment made her steel walls grow. But now, everything shattered, she was bare, he was bare. They could see each other utterly and entirely. 

“I forgive you, Rhys.” She told him.

Feyre couldn’t believe what she felt in her own heart, what she felt emanating from him as she spoke her words. She could feel his magic, the darkness shifting, from the stiffness, nightmare warrior to the soothing, dreamer knight.  His magic added up to hers so thoroughly, she felt the soft caress of it, as it expanded to her and filled the room. Her own magic danced and twirl around his. Feyre was conscious that he could feel it too, so Rhys’ magic grew, but her magic wasn’t left behind.  She threw her magic to take a hold of his, their tattoos brighten turning gold, that was the only light in the room. 

Rhys reached for her hands, “Gods, Feyre,” he said breathlessly. As a powerful cooling darkness flew through her and swooned. “It feels do good to hold your hand,” he finally said. 

Now it was her turn to be at a loss of words. She didn’t know what to say, but it didn’t last long because he continued, “Feyre, darling, I never heard a more beautiful name, I feel as if I could not go on with my life with you in it. May— may I court you Feyre?" 

His eyes glittered and shunned, he was serious she thought, more than serious, he was hesitant, expecting her to turn him down but also expecting her to say yes. She couldn’t believe the uncertainty in his eyes, in those dark violet eyes, that resemble his magic. So she just said showing him her arm, "Don’t you think you are doing this, the other way around.” A smile forming in her lips, at the little teasing.

But he didn’t grin, or rolled his eyes or replied with a snarky remark. He look as he had his answer and was ready to leave. He didn’t know she was teasing, she couldn’t believe it. Then he took a step back, trying to release her other hand. Feyre wouldn’t take it, she held firm, as he once had. To save him from making a mistake and leave, she took steps toward him. She was so close, she heard his breath ragged, heard the pumping of her own heart. Feyre wouldn’t let him leave, he had to know. 

“I would love that very much, Rhys, Fy Seren.” My star. That is she told him, his eyes widened, Feyre seized him by the cheeks and kissed him deeply. Rhys didn’t stiffened at her touch, as if he was waiting for her to just that. He kissed her back, as first slowly not wanting his magic to drown her, but she didn’t hold back and sent all of her into him. Rhys smiled as he felt the sparks, the darkness, the obliteration of everything, with every touch, so he deepened the kiss. She became oblivious, to everything but him. He pulled her close, as their bodies were now so close it looked like one. 

He was still without a shirt, but she wasn’t going to protest anytime soon. Rhys lifted her up and walked towards the bed, not once breaking the kiss, she longed for gods knew how. He lounged slowly, still sending more magic towards her and her magic singing in his pattern, and only his. She could live like this she thought, every day, waking up and seeing Rhys, kissing him so deeply that she couldn’t get enough, just living with Rhys. 

Feyre broke the kiss to look at him, just to look at him at her friend, her husband, her mate.  She realized she too couldn’t go back to how things where before, that she couldn’t move on, not without Rhys. He appeared so undeniable happy, “Sleep, darling.” His lips moved slowly in her ear. 

“Stay, Fy Seren, sleep with me.”

“With pleasure,” without shifting to much, he settled next to her and held her close. She scooted closer, she never felt like this before, like she belonged, like she was free to make her own choices. Being mated to Rhys was not the most horrible thing that happened to her. It was a gift, a gift to her and Rhys all of it. Feyre close her eyes and was drifting to sleep, as she heard him whisper, “My mate." 

[getalittlecountry]

Shape of You

Alright so here’s the start of a new AU!

Nesta hasn’t seen her sisters in almost a year. When she’s invited back to their lake house for a long weekend, Feyre insists she brings the boyfriend she’s told her about. The only problem is, he doesn’t exist. 

So out of desperation, her friend sets her up with Cassian. Somehow a weekend filled with fake hand holding and kisses, turns Nesta back into the girl she was before Tomas had destroyed her and the relationship she had with her sisters.

Chapter 1

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck," I slammed my laptop shut as I threw my pen across the room. Of course my sisters would decide to have a start of summer weekend at the lake. And of course they would call me out for the lies I told them about the boy I met while here in the city.

It had been almost six months since I had last seen my sisters. I moved to the city as soon as I could, as soon as I found a job that would help me pay my half of the rent. I wanted out of that small town, I had to walk away before the memories, the ghosts haunted me forever. The city was my fresh start and even though neither of them understood, they let me go.

Feyre and I talked at least once a month on the phone. She kept asking me how I was doing and she told me that Tomas still asked about me. What she didn’t understand, even though I always changed the subject, was that I didn’t want to know about Tomas. I didn’t want to know about anyone in that small ass town because they were the reason why I left. The only reason I talked to Feyre was to check up on her and Elain.

They were the only family I had left. They were the only ones who mattered.

Sure I missed them. I missed my sisters, but it wasn’t enough to make me go visit home. I wasn’t homesick, I was content here in the city, in this new life I had made for myself. I loved my job at the bookstore. I loved the fact that I could walk everywhere and that things were open well into the night. But most of all I loved the fact that no one knew me. They didn’t know the secrets that had been whispered behind my back. They didn’t know how Tomas had tried to ruin me.

They didn’t know that he had almost won that war.

I read Feyre’s email again. Our lake house, the only thing our father had left to us. The lake house that had sat unused for years until we were old enough to realize the benefits of having that big house that sat right there at the water. The only reason we still owned it was because it was completely paid off. That and somehow Feyre and her fiancee were able to keep up with it.

The lake house where so many things had happened. So many things hadn’t happened too. There had been parties, there had been underage drinking. But mostly there had been tears. From me.

I pushed away those memories and looked at my computer. What was I supposed to do? I had started the lie to make my sister feel better. For her to think I wasn’t all alone out here in the city. Because she didn’t understand that I wanted to be alone. I didn’t want to be with someone who hurt me, who could destroy me. Not after I had been with Tomas for so long.

But I couldn’t tell her that truth. Not when I had fed her enough lies to make this boyfriend seem real. She was happy for me, she didn’t worry about me because she thought I had someone taking care of me. I didn’t need someone to take care of me. Just like I knew Feyre didn’t need her fiancee to take care of her. But it was nice knowing she had someone steady. She had someone real after the horrors that Tamlin had dealt her.

My sisters didn’t know about Tomas. They didn’t really know much about why I wanted to leave. It had been different when our parents died. I could’ve left and they would’ve understood. But I stayed until they were finished high school and then when Feyre announced she was getting married last year I up and left. I didn’t even say goodbye I just left a letter explaining I needed to find my own way now that they were both able to take care of themselves.

I pulled my hair hard, trying to stop the tears from filling my eyes. I didn’t cry, not easily. But I got teary eyed when I was frustrated. I couldn't tell them the truth. So what was I supposed to do? I squeezed my eyes shut and the door to my apartment opened.

“Fuck me this can’t be happening.”

"Nesta!" I jumped at Rita's voice, "you seem agitated.”

I met my roommate Rita at the bookstore. She was leaving for another job and I said something about needing a place to stay. We hit it off right away and I didn’t hate living with her. Sure our apartment was small, smaller than the home I had shared with my two sisters. But it was ours, I paid rent and I had my own room. Rita didn’t nag me about my mess and I didn’t nag her about hers.

We were good roommates. We got along and we left each other alone when we knew the other needed space. We were friends, but we were almost roommates. We didn’t get in each other’s business unless there was a reason to. I had gotten lucky.

I groaned, "my sisters want to have a long weekend at the lake."

"Oh fun!"

"Not when you've been lying about having a boyfriend. And they want you to bring him along."

Rita laughed, "oh shit I forgot. Damn what are you going to do?"

I shook my head, "I'll think of something."

I leaned back in my chair and Rita watched me. She raised an eyebrow and smiled, "I might know someone who can help."

"No. The last guy you introduced me to was disgusting."

His name was Adam and he was a hipster to end all hipsters. His hair was dirty and his glasses were round. They didn't even have frames, and he spoke in riddles. I didn't even spend five minutes in his presence. I found an excuse to leave, I texted Rita and told her to call me, and up and left him high and dry at the coffee shop we met at.

Rita laughed, "I'm sorry okay. I thought you'd get along. But you'll like this one. Should I have him meet you? Even if he's not the brightest, he's easy on the eyes."

She wiggled her eyebrows at me and I couldn't help but laugh. I bit my lip, was I that desperate?

“Really? Your advice is that I hire someone to be my boyfriend for the weekend?”

She shrugged as she set her bag on the counter, “it’s either that or tell them the truth, Nes. I’m not sure which is worse since you seem so opposed to letting your sisters believe you have someone in your life.”

I winced. Rita never told me what to do, she never scolded me for lying to my sisters. But I knew she was right. If I was so okay with being alone, and I swore I was, then why did I feel the need to please my little sister? I’m sure there was some therapist who would say I really wasn’t okay being alone and that some part of me wanted someone around.

But I wouldn’t believe them. Because I didn’t need anyone, I only needed myself. But I didn’t want my sisters to worry. I didn’t want them to think I left them because they were a burden. They are my sisters and I will always be there for them. But it’s my turn to have a life. It’s my turn to find where I’m supposed to be.

I looked at Rita, she was texting someone. She sat down on the couch and I looked at the picture of the three of us. The only picture I had on my desk of us when I was five and they were babies. I was always there, always taking care of them. They were my best friends, before that night drove us apart. Before that night pushed me so far away from everyone else that I couldn’t find my way back to them.

I didn’t want them to ask about it. I didn’t want them to think they needed to figure me out. If I had someone with me they would direct the attention to him. They would ask him about his life and how we met and what we did, instead of berating me with questions about why I left.

I let out a slow breath and Rita looked at me. She smiled slightly, like she already knew what I was about to say. My cheeks were red as I let the thoughts settle and I nodded my head slowly.

“Fine,” I gritted my teeth as I looked at the clock, "tell your friend to meet me at Luke's diner in five minutes."

“He’s already on his way. Trust me you’ll like him. He’s big and handsome,” her eyes got wide as if she had a crush on him herself, “he’s just your type.”

I rolled my eyes and stood up, “if he’s a hipster I swear to god I’ll kill you.”

Rita’s laugh followed me as I grabbed my purse and headed out the door. I walked down the steps, my heart pounding as I opened the door to our building. The sun was warm, the weather had already started to turn to summer. But goosebumps pricked my skin as I thought about hiring someone to lie to my family.

It wasn’t lying. It was pretending. My sister would bring her fiancee, I’m sure Elain had someone. I couldn’t remember if she told me about someone important. His name started with an L? Or maybe it was a C. She didn’t talk much whenever Feyre put her on the phone, but she told me bits and pieces of her life. Elain was the most upset when they found me gone.

I felt guilty every time she called.

But I knew with Feyre came Rhys and with Rhys came his friends. Azriel the quiet one who followed Rhys’s cousin everywhere she went. Feyre told me they were finally opening up to the idea of dating and while I was happy for them all, they were one big happy family, I knew that meant I would be the odd one out. I always was the odd one out, the one who didn’t fit in. The girl who stood alone and never had someone there beside her.

I wanted this weekend, now that I knew about it, to be fun. I wanted them to see me as the Nesta I always was, not the girl I had turned into after that terrible night. The night I was running from. The night I would do anything and everything to forget.

I rubbed my hands up and down my arms as I rounded the corner and the diner came into view. I realized as I walked towards it that I wanted to go home. I wanted to go to the lake and see my sisters and the family they had made for themselves. But I didn’t want to go alone.

Sue me I still had some feelings. I still had some pride I suppose.

I walked into the diner and the bell above the door sounded. Luke, the owner, stood behind the counter and smiled at me. I nodded in greeting, my eyes sweeping the tables. I knew which one was waiting for me as soon as my eyes landed on him. I stood there for a moment too long and contemplated turning around.

He was a big hulking man, his dark hair was long. He looked warm, his skin glowing in the harsh lights of the diner. His black shirt fit perfectly over his arms and his chest. He took up enough space that my eyes couldn’t wander away from them if they tried. My heart stopped, his eyes landing on me before I could make a run for it. Before I could decide this was a terrible choice and I should just tell my sisters the truth.

"Well hello sweetheart," he stood up and half his mouth tilted in a smile. He could've been attractive, if he cut his hair.

I pulled my chair out, "I'm Nesta."

He licked his lips, "you can call me Cassian," his eyes sparkled. Like they were hiding something he was dying for me to find out.

"Right well. I take it Rita told you why I'm here."

He coughed, "something about you being in need of a male escort to the lake this weekend."

I winced, "a friend," I tried wondering if I could go through with this, "to make my sisters stop asking me why I don't have a boyfriend okay? Can you do that? Pretend?”

Amusement filled his eyes. He tried to fight the smile that tugged at his lips, but when it didn’t stop he ran his finger along his chin. He looked down at his hands and I could tell he was thinking about more than just agreeing to helping me. Hell we didn’t know each other, we had just met and I asked him to date me. Even if it was fake, even if he was helping me, this was still weird.

Me and my stupid pride. I was about to take back the offer and tell him to forget it, that I had a mental breakdown and this was all just the biggest embarrassing moment of my life.

But then Cassian nodded slowly, “you know I’m surprise you don’t have a boyfriend. You’re cute and I know a few guys who like bossy.”

I rolled my eyes, “wow that was super helpful,” I glared at him, my hands were shaking. I shoved them under my legs as I waited to hear his answer, “you can just say no. Rita said you were single and I thought maybe you’d want a free trip to the lake for a weekend. I thought maybe…”

I stopped. I almost thought we could be friends. But I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood, stopping myself form wishing for something I could never have. I didn’t let myself get close to people, not after Tomas wedged between me and my sisters. Not since that night when he destroyed all the threads of trust I had ever had.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you. I just said I’m surprised you aren’t taken,” he smiled then, he liked watching me squirm. He leaned back and stretched his arms over his head. His shirt rode up slightly and I saw the dark markings of a tattoo that disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans.

“Cassian.”

He wiggled his eyebrows, “well how can I say no when you say my name like that?”

He watched me for a moment as relief flooded through me. As much as I hated this I felt better once he said he would help me. I hated having to lie because everyone thought I couldn't handle life without Tomas. Except I broke up with him. And I moved here, far away from my family to have the life I wanted.

"What do I get for helping you?" He finally asked, his deep voice smooth as he propped his elbow on the table, then leaned his head on his hand. He kept staring at me and it felt like his honey brown eyes could see into my soul.

I looked down at his hands. His skin was golden, a little darker. He looked like he was carved of stone, like he could've been a Greek god in another lifetime. A piece of brown hair fell in his eyes and I wanted to push it back. I let out a breath. I hadn't thought this far.

"I'll pay you," I finally said. I didn't have a lot but I could do something, "it won't be much. But you'll get a four day weekend at the lake house. Meals and showers and everything included.”

Cassian seemed to think it over. He nodded his head, "how much?"

"$100."

"I know I look cheap, but I won't act like your boyfriend for a hundred dollars, Nesta."

"$200?"

He shook his head, "you'll have to do better than that."

I blew out a breath, "$500. That's my final offer."

He reached across the table and touched my hand. His skin was warm and a spark shot down my arm. He ran his thumb over the back of my hand, "well sweetheart you've got yourself a deal."

"Don't call me sweetheart," I snapped. My eyes narrowed.

He laughed, "well I guess we should make some ground rules."

“The first one is no pet names. Nesta," I pointed at me, "Cassian. Got it?"

He sighed, "sure sweetheart.”

He wasn’t going to make this easy. I could tell as he continued to smile, his eyes lighting up as I glared at him. It was like he thought I was a challenge, like he wanted to defy everything I was saying. He licked his lips, his fingers tapping on the table as I thought through what other boundaries we needed to establish. I didn’t realize this would all happen so fast. The weekend would be here in two days and somehow I had managed to find myself a boyfriend to fill the empty role.

Feyre would love Cassian. He was everything I would never want in a boyfriend. He was the complete opposite of Tomas and I couldn’t stop letting that sway me. He was big and dark, whereas Tomas was small and light. Cassian was full of mystery, but not the kind that Tomas carried with him. Cassian seemed honorable, Tomas had just been pure evil.

I let out a slow breath and pulled my hands off the table so he wouldn’t try to touch me again. I couldn’t stop feeling that spark going down my spine. I couldn’t stop wondering why exactly I had wanted this in the first place. I shook my head and finally brought my eyes back up to his.

“Okay so I’ve got some rules. First we hold hands if someone else is in the room. No touching if we’re alone, because honestly there’s no reason for it. You’re there to make me look good. You can kiss my cheek, but nothing more. We aren’t big on public displays of affection. My sister and her fiancé are, but that’s another story,” I rolled my eyes. Feyre and Rhys could barely keep their hands off each other. I hated being stuck in a room with them.

My cheeks turned pink and my mouth went dry, “we will probably have to share a room, you sleep on the floor. We don’t share the room if the other is changing. Make sure you bring enough clothes to sleep in and a bathing suit.”

Cassian nodded, "fine. But you want this to be believable. So you're forgetting one thing."

"What?"

He smiled and it would've knocked me to my knees if I wasn't already sitting. I had a feeling I wasn't going to make it through the weekend alive. I had a feeling this new friend of mine was going to try and climb the walls I had built this last year. Like he thought he could break down the shell I had surrounded myself inside.

HIs brown eyes danced as he looked at me, his crooked smile in place, ”the story of how we met."

[claryaastark]

Would I love me?

062418

Isn’t it strange? To look at someone and see yourself. Not the virtual but the real image of you. Isn’t it strange? To see your thoughts on someone, to feel your emotions on someone, to see the things you admire on someone, to have a taste of your favorite food on someone. To have a sip of your favorite coffee on someone. To fight the ideas that you believe on someone. Isn’t it strange? To have a glimpse of your soul on someone, someone who isn’t you, and someone who is different from you.

Well, perhaps yes, perhaps no.

It was a very long and tiring day. I was on my way home, thinking about how bad I am on fixing the right format of my final thesis output. I really suck at revising. But instead of thinking about acads, I divert my attention into the bustling city. All I hear were the loud blasting sound of the vehicles, the gossip of two high school students on the right part of the bus. The gentle utterance of the woman in front who wears a red polo shirt with a coca-cola logo on the left side. And judging her looks, I think she is some sort of a saleswoman, maybe a manager? Or simply an employee as she talks to someone over the phone. Meanwhile, on the back part of my mind, it feels weird but I can also hear the clicking of coins as the bus’ conductor collected our fare. I hate being this meticulous and observer sometimes.

I almost throw myself in front as the driver stepped on the break. A hint, either someone will come down or someone will ride. And the latter thinking was right, a man on his mid-20s I guess? I looked away and focused myself on the street lights which are unsurprisingly blurred because of my myopia. Without looking, I felt that the man sat beside me, and for no apparent reason he pushed himself beside me. Wtf?

“You’re occupying too much seat and with the right comprehension, I regret to tell you that this seat is for two passenger, and YOU ARE OCCUPYING TOO MUCH.”

He repeated his first statement with diction and sarcasm.

“I’m sorry,” that’s all I said, I want to argue because of his reckless and improper behavior but I’m too tired to fight with an arrogant stranger.

But he rolled his eyes instead. And for the second time, I ignored his disrespectful behavior. It was a one hour ride to reach the street of our home. So I busied myself on scrolling the gallery of my phone.

“Are you okay?” He said out of nowhere.

“Huh? Me?” I said while pointing myself awkwardly.

“No, I am actually talking to myself” he said sarcastically and he rolled his eyes. For a man, this one is really arrogant.

“Uhh, I’m doing good I guess, and why do you asked?” I said awkwardly.

It was weird, after he freaked out because of the seat, he is now asking my current state like we were close or something? What’s with this man?

“Nothing, is it bad to ask? You should be thankful that I asked if you’re okay. You seem stressed and by looking at you, I can already tell that no one really cares for you, and everybody is ignoring you. Like you don’t belong anywhere”

And he laughed. He fucking laughed. First he mocked me, and now he is insulting me? Which I found very offensive. I’m dealing with too much stress right now, and I can’t even breathe properly because of so many reasons, and now, a stranger is insulting me like he knows what I’ve been dealing with? I felt a sudden pang on my chest. I am offended.

“Fuck-off” I said bravely, despite the fact that I nearly cried.

He was shocked, I can tell.

“Ooh. I’m sorry, I was just joking, and... I thought that it was the most unique way of telling sorry. I’m sorry for freaking out”

And that’s where we started. I do not know as well, what power of Gods and Goddesses had put us together. He was an arrogant man, disrespectful and talks a lot of offensive things, so am I. But I loved him anyway, and I admit, that I learned a lot of things from him. We were mainly pragmatic. He is no sweet, gentle and showy. But he was pure, sincere and mature.

But just like anyone else, he left. He came for no apparent reason, and he left for no apparent reason as well. Maybe, just maybe, on a scientific basis, what happened to us is repel. He is he and I am me, we are the same and attraction is really not working with us. I guess?

It was a normal Sunday afternoon. I was bored, and the only thing that gives me comfort during tedious times on this very dull life is : coffee. I made my way on the nearest coffee shop downtown.

The aroma of sweet vanilla and bitter cocoa welcomed me. The dream catcher that was hanging on the door had clicked, a signal that someone is making their way in or out. I look for my favorite spot, where I can peacefully sit and be drowned by the deafening silence. I ordered my favorite matcha coffee, and a piece of custard cake. I pulled the Young Adult novel series that I was reading since last week, I am on the third book of the series. It was Sarah J. Maas’ A Court of Wings and Ruin, and damn, I just love the character of the God-like Rhysand. Most of the time, I wished that I was like the protagonist or the fictional characters on books, and movies. Might at least get a happy ending despite of struggles. But the fuck, no matter how good you are on escaping reality through arts and fictions, at the end of the day, you will sleep and wake up on the bitter slap of reality.

I put my earphones on, browsed my phone and look for my favorite app, the spotify. I am no great person, but I can brag that I got a very good taste when it comes to music. I can enumerate a lot of artists, genres, bands, albums, and the likes all day if someone would let me to. Though I’m bad at singing, at least, I got a big contribution through appreciation. I got them all! I played Movements’ Feel Something, one on the lists of my Album of the Year. Then here we go, my kind of escaping shits in life. What a very peaceful moment for me.

I was sitting alone and peacefully for almost one hour, in fact, I was halfway on finishing my cake and coffee until I noticed a man who’s staring at me. I faked a cough and tilted my body on the other side, to at least stop him from staring at me. But ugh! I can see on my peripheral vision the he’s still looking at me.

“What are you staring at?” I put my book on the table, loud enough for him to hear.

I didn’t get a verbal response, instead, he pouted his lips, a sign that he was pointing on something. Then I waved my book upward.

“On the book?” I asked with irritation, he is damn lazy. Can’t he speak?

“Yup, I love Feyre since day 1, and I didn’t trust Tamlin since then, that psychopath-sex-addict-obsessed-and-pseudo-lordshit.” He said coldly.

Ohh. So he read Maas’ ACOTAR?! My irritation suddenly turned into amusement. I removed my earphones and smiled at him. I patted the seat next to me, inviting him so we can talk more about this series. I mean, it is odd, to find someone who reads the same goddamn book that you are reading. Reading is a cool interest after all.

He sat hesitantly. I pushed the lock button to see what time is it. It’s 4:35 in the afternoon.

“Woaaah, man?”

I was taken aback when he spoke.

“You listen to Movements?”

Then I forgot that the album is still playing on my spotify app. And I guess, he saw it on my lock screen. But wait...

“Yup, and you too?” I said with amusement on my voice.

“Yeah, damn same man! Patrick is a wholesome piece of shit!”

And we laughed. Those laughter turned into weeks, months and years. A stranger that I met unexpectedly, is now a person that I used to know. Again, someone left my life.

We had the same interest in almost everything, we attended a lot of book signing, book launch. We bought a lot of albums from our favorite bands. We attended concert, gigs. We watched countless movies, we drank a lot of coffees. We travelled places to taste various delicacies and kind of foods. We jogged at sunrise, and walk at sunset. We were happy. Or... should I say, we were almost happy?

It is weird but he was totally just like me. We share the same interests, we fight the same ideologies, we have the same belief in almost everything. But again, he came to me, without me, asking for it, and now he didn’t even give me a chance to ask again, to ask why he left. I loved him, and I guess, things won’t really work on the way that we want them to be. So is us. And it’s sad.

It’s almost the end.

The end of the semester. And after all the hardships, sleepless nights, frustrations, failures, we are finally wearing the black toga! It’s the graduation season.

“Congrats, B!”

It was Kat, one of my thesis group mates. I returned her congratulations with a nod and smile. I’m too lazy to speak, it still overwhelms me that I survived and finished College with a Latin honor. Not to brag though.

I’m so excited to share this to him. I smiled, my heart is beating fast as I make my way to our favorite spot : under the mango tree.

It was a peaceful and underrated spot. Underrated to the point that we’re the only people who knew this place. I guess not all accidents are bad, because I found this place accidentally, so is he.

I smiled as I saw him playing the guitar again. He seems too preoccupied that he didn’t notice my arrival. I pouted my lips then a silly idea entered my mind. I tiptoed carefully then I cover his eyes from behind. He stopped his fingers from moving along with the guitar strings, and I felt him smile.

“Uhm, since I don’t want to mess with your tricks, let me pretend that I didn’t know it was you. So, who’s this?”

He joked.

I kissed his cheeks from behind and whispered.

“Your future wife saw her name on the final list of graduates and guess what, a Cum Laude!”

“Wow! Congrats, B! I’m proud of you. You finally made it!”

He hugged me tight.

I opened my eyes with the bittersweet memory. It’s been a year since I graduated College, and it is the first time that I visited this place again. Still peaceful, the only different thing is that, the people who used to own this place, are now the people who used to know each other.

For the third time, someone left me again. He is one of the kindest persons that I know. He brings out the kindness in me. A responsible man, very family and school oriented. He’s the one who makes me realize the essence of being responsible. He taught me to appreciate little things, and the most important thing that he planted me is, I realized that I am not bad. That we’re like each other.

He used to sing me a lot of songs, he motivates me to always do better not just for myself but for my family. I was happy. We were happy. But I guess, happiness is not enough to bind people together. There are things that are more important than being in love.

And that’s my biggest realization.

The stories that I’ve told you is just a piece of a whole. I didn’t tell you the hardships, the pains, the sleepless nights that I experienced when they left. It was hard, to be left behind. With or without explanations, it was hard.

I started asking myself what’s wrong with me. I started doubting myself, I hated myself. And I started feeling afraid of taking risks. I began to wonder, do these wrong people deserve my time, invested feelings, and love?

I met a stranger on a bus, and I took a piece of him. I was an arrogant, sarcastic and disrespectful being sometimes, so is he. We were the same. I saw my bad sides in him. And I fell in love with those evil. I learned to accept that there is good in every wicked.

I met a stranger on a coffee shop. I took a piece of him. I saw myself in him. The things that I admire, my interests, my ideologies and all the stuff that makes me happy. He will always be my real life reflection.

I met a stranger under the mango tree. I took a piece of him. I saw my good sides in him. I was kind, compassionate and I realized that I really care for those people around me. He made me love my soft spots.

I always see myself in them. They are like a reflection of my different sides. It was bitter, that they made me doubt myself. They made me feel insecure for leaving me behind. They made me hate myself. But after all, it was all about me. Piece by piece, I assemble myself into whole.

Funny because, I just fell in love with myself. That they are just the representation of who I truly am, that they are me. I was the stranger in the bus. I was the stranger in the coffee shop. I was the stranger under the mango tree. Every piece of them is equal to the remnants of myself that I was trying to build.

If I were them, would I love me? And I got the answer, yes, because I just did. I fell in love with myself.

© to owner of the photos.

️

[their-misplaced-wings]

ACOWAR and Last Names

Okay so this has been going around a lot, for good reason. I have a few theories and ideas that will be explained below the break as to why SJM chose to leave them out (other than not having any picked for them yet), save for Lucien’s. And because there will obviously be spoilers, read more: 

So what we can confirm is that Sarah j Maas hasn’t decided on last names for all of them yet, which is a big reason as to why she didn’t include them in this novel. Rather than just pick something because it sounds cool, she tends to find names that fit the characters, so of course she left them out here. 

She did include Lucien’s, and we get dialogue about his last name a couple of times so this leads me to believe she did it on purpose. So the scene reads: 

“I don’t know who looks more uncomfortable: Az or Lucien Vanserra.” I chuckled, glancing over my shoulder t where the shadowsinger carried my friend, both of them making a point not to speak, look, or talk. “Vanserra?” “You never knew his family name?” 

Okay so i want to talk about this bit a whole lot but I’ll refrain for now, other than pointing out that Cassian probably was never really friends with Lucien, so it makes sense that she would refer to him as his full name. Yes Rhys and Lucien share a background, but that doesn’t mean Cassian was any less himself back then. So OF COURSE he uses Lucien’s full name to piss him off, BECAUSE he know it’ll get under his skin. 

“Amren, this is Lucien…Vanserra.” Lucien stiffened. “I don’t use my family’s name.” He clarified to Amren with another incline of his head, “Lucien will do.” I suspected he’d ceased using that name the moment his lover’s heart had stopped beating. 

Alrighty! Here we have this little bit getting tied up and filed away for Lucien. And it makes total sense. His family treats him like absolute garbage, his father is a horrible person, and they killed the female Lucien believed to be his mate. Naturally he stops using their family name. I sure as shit would too! 

What also get from Lucien’s family name clarification is understanding of why Cassian, Azriel, Mor, and Rhys all have stopped using their family names. Each and every one of them have reasons to have abandoned that name and association. 

Cassian was a bastard-born Illyrian, dumped at the training camp and forgotten. He likely never had a family name, not one that he was permitted to speak. And with how incredibly informal the Night Court is I can see how they wouldn’t bother picking a new one. 

This applies similarly to Azriel. I’ll spare us the summary of his childhood but he barely identifies with his Illyrian heritage, let alone his family. 

Rhys and Mor both hold/held disdain for their fathers. Mor wouldn’t want to use her family name, obviously, and Rhys was always more attached to his mother anyways. So while we know SJM doesn’t have a name for Rhys, it also makes sense that he wouldn’t want the association.

Even Feyre in ACOTAR mentions that she hasn’t thought of her last name in YEARS. After they lost their wealth the name was meaningless. She didn’t want to use her father’s last name (seeing the theme here?) because he had given up. It isn’t until she shares it in the Spring Court that we are even given her last name as readers. 

Now the only part that I can’t really justify is Tamlin. Because yes he had father issues (and many issues on top of that), he holds strong and true to tradition and rules. So why wouldn’t he use his family name? Especially since he wants to appear strong and solid, always having been and always will be unified even after his father *died*. (Sorry about your luck with that one TimTam, maybe don’t gaslight ya lady). 

So I suppose, in sum, this series has always carried heavy themes of righting the wrongs of past generations. One of the ways to do that is by removing the reminders of those people and those times. 

[renegadeknight]

The West Wing

Remember when I asked if you all wanted a ficlet of Feyre finding Rhys’ mother’s and sister’s wings in Spring Court? And all you Maasochists said yes?

Well, here you go...

~

I climbed the stairs to that part of the manor that I’d never visited before. Tamlin had never outright ordered me not to venture here, but it was always an unspoken understanding we had. Before everything that happened, before Rhys, Tamlin always came to my room when we spent the night together, I was never invited to his. Maybe that’s what drove me to explore while he was far from the manor. Not that I was afraid of him, I hadn’t been afraid of him for a long while now, but it would be so much easier to look around without him hovering over me.

The hallway at the top of the stairs was longer than I’d imagined it would be, the manor seemed so much larger on the interior. It was lined with doors and as I moved down the length of it I found that they all opened to elaborate but barren suites. I spent a few brief moments at each doorway, scanning for anything out of the ordinary, but a thick layer of dust that coated everything including the floor told me they hadn’t been disturbed for quite some time. I moved swiftly away from the last abandoned room and toward the most extravagantly decorated one at the end of the hall that could only belong to Tamlin.

As I moved toward the massive double doors something whispered through the hallway; a warning, carried on a subtle breeze. I could sense the urgency in the warning, feel the ebb and flow of the resistance pressing me to halt but I paid it no heed. As I drew closer I could feel it building and realized it wasn’t a warning of danger, but rather a desperate plea for me to spare myself from whatever horror lay beyond the door. Apprehension bubbled up at the thought of what would cause such a warning and the hairs at the back of my neck rose in trepidation. I reached for the carefully forged door handle that held a vague resemblance to the head of Tamlin’s beast form. The door swung freely. He truly believed I was on his side.

The subtle breeze picked up and whistled around me into the room, pushing me to continue on while the warning begged me to stop. It sounded as if there were hushed whispers carried on the breeze and I had the strangest sensation of being watched by eyes that weren’t there. I stepping into the room and traced over the most refined decorations I’d ever seen. Everything was somewhat muted in the darkness of the room but I could still make out intricate candlesticks, delicately carved furniture, small statues, and an enormous four poster bed littered with plush pillows. Most everything was framed, forged, or trimmed in gold.

I moved through the room to one of the windows, which were draped with expertly woven fabric that shimmered in the sunlight. I pulled back the fabric and tested the window; it swung open. Tamlin hadn’t once locked me in the manor since my return, truly believing the deception I’d woven for him. Not that it mattered, there wasn’t a lock Tamlin could forge that I couldn’t break if I needed to. The wind picked up and rose to a howl, whipping through the room and out the window, it screamed a shrill warning. That otherworldly prick at the back of my neck intensified. I pulled the window back and it snapped shut as if the room itself wished to remain sealed. I turned to survey the room once more, certain now that it wasn’t a warning of danger. No, this was a different kind of warning, like the wail of a heart breaking.

The residual breeze and whispering died down to a low hum of anticipation. That’s when I looked up. My stomach dropped, my chest tightened, and my whole body shuddered as if I’d been struck by a physical blow. There, mounted on the wall above his bed like trophies, were two sets of Illyrian wings. I knew instantly who they belonged to. Tears welled up and stung my eyes as I traced over each pair. One set was smaller than the other; Rhys’ sister’s. They were so small, a sob escaped my lips, too small; she’d only been a child. The whole manor shuddered as darkness rippled away from me in an echoing wail of agony.

In a second he was there, reaching down the bond we still shared, a soft but urgent caress against my mind.

Feyre?

My name was music in his voice. But I couldn’t show him this, not now, not when I was worlds away, too far to hold him in his grief. So I sent back the only thing I knew would satisfy him for now.

Nothing I can’t handle.

That’s my girl.

I felt him receding from my mind and world tilted. The thought flashed through my mind faster than I could stop it, of more sets of wings mounted on that wall beside them. Unbidden the images burned into my mind. Azriel’s, Cassian’s, Nesta’s, or Rhys’...

Rhys!

Yes?

Stay with me? Just for a bit.

Of course.

I made certain to keep my mental shields firmly in place around the images still burned into my mind but he was there too. He held me steady with his comforting presence in a world that had been utterly shaken.

I wasn’t sure how long I stood there just staring at the abomination on the wall with Rhys’ presence in my mind to sooth me. We didn’t speak, we were just there together in each other’s minds. Closer than I’d ever been to Tamlin, despite the physical distance still separating us. In some other part of the manor, someone called my name. My mind struggled to recognize it immediately, it sounded distorted as it filtered through that cocoon of darkness I’d created for myself.

I drew myself out of the darkness as my name echoed through the manor once more; it was Lucien. Back from whatever errand Tamlin had tasked him with.

I have to go now, thank you, I said by way of farewell to Rhys.

Give them hell, Feyre darling, he drifted away, leaving the faint impression of his grinning features in his wake.

It hurt, his leaving her alone, a piece of her went with him every time. But she knew he was right there down the bond if she ever needed him.

“Feyre, what are you doing here?” Lucien said from behind her, “I don’t think Tamlin would like you being here.”

A whisper of darkness curled around me at his words, I didn’t give a damn what Tamlin would like, not anymore.

“Feyre?” his voice held more trepidation than before and I heard his footsteps slow as he approached.

My gaze hadn’t left the wings, I blinked back tears but more welled up to replace them and the streaks of those already fallen remained on my cheeks.

He must have followed my gaze because the next thing he said was, “Oh, Cauldron, no.”

“Do you know who these belong to?” I asked, the rawness in my voice surprising my own ears.

“Feyre, we should go,” he grabbed my arm to steer me out but I didn’t move.

I was rooted on the spot, an army of ten thousand wouldn’t have been able to move me an inch.

“Do you know?” I asked again.

“No,” he said firmly. “I’ve never seen them before.”

“Don’t lie to me, Lucien,” I warned.

“I- I’m not,” his voice was as hollow as I felt and I knew.

I knew he had no idea who these wings belonged to or how they’d come to be here. But when he glanced between me and the placard mounted above the bedframe, I could tell that he recognized them. He’d seen the same kind of wings sitting between my shoulders that day in Night Court’s territory. He knew the wrongness of what hung before him even if he did not understand the true extent of it.

“I’m sure there’s an explanation,” Lucien said, but even he knew he was grasping.

I swallowed the heavy lump that had formed in my throat and it hit my hollow stomach with the force of a fist. I fought to keep my breathing steady, to keep myself from wretching up my breakfast.

“Wings are the most sensitive part of an illyrian, did you know that?” I asked. “If these were removed when they were still alive..” my breath shuddered, “it would have been a thousand times more painful than the worst thing you have ever suffered. Illyrians would sooner die than lose their wings.”

A fresh tear fell at the memory of seeing Cassian’s wings in ribbons after Hybern attacked him, “The only thing that would cause them more pain would be to lose their mate.”

The color drained from Lucien’s face, he knew some fraction of what that felt like. His eyes snapped to mine and I knew he was thinking of Elain and the bond they shared. He’d been left wondering for months about whether she would accept it or not and I’d seen the way it ate at him; the wondering, the hoping, the grieving. It was breaking him even more than he was already, slowly but surely, and the sight of it was all too familiar to me. Elain likely didn’t understand, and even if she did she couldn’t reach him the way Rhys had reached me. But I could. I’d been laying the groundwork all this time.

“Who do they belong to?” he asked.

“Did Tamlin ever tell you what happened the night he became the high lord?”

“Rhysand’s father assaulted the manor, he slaughtered Tamlin’s father and brothers, but he underestimated Tamlin and he died because of it.”

“He didn’t tell you Rhys was there that night, did he?” I glanced sideways and his expression told me I was right. “He didn’t tell you because he didn’t want to explain why, that he and Rhys were once friends, or how he betrayed that friendship for the sake of petty court politics. Tamlin knew that Rhys was set to meet his mother and sister, he knew when and where, and he led his father and brothers there to kill Rhys. As luck would have it, Rhys didn’t make it to the rendezvous point, but that didn’t stop Tamlin’s family from shedding the blood they had come after that night. They killed his mother and sister, that’s why he and his father came after Tamlin’s family that night. It wasn’t a bloodthirsty assault against another court it was a heartbroken act of revenge. And while that doesn’t entirely justify their retaliation, it certainly puts it in a different light, doesn’t it? All that bloodshed and everything since then… It’s all just politics. Is that really the world you want to live in? Is that really the kind of high lord you want to serve?”

“And who would I serve instead? Your high lord? In the court of darkness and nightmares?”

“Night Court is full of dreamers who hope for a better future, a world where no one’s loved ones are mounted in another court as a trophy. Night Court is a family, Lucien, a family not born to one another but one that chooses to be. And you can be a part of that, I want you to be a part of it with me.”

“What if-” he took a steadying breath, “what if they don’t want me?”

The hopelessness in his voice shredded a piece of me, I knew he wasn’t just asking about Night Court.

“They will, I know they will.”

“What if you’ve underestimated him? Look at what he’s capable of…” he gestured to the mounted wings.

The ghost of my own wings pulsed behind me and for a brief moment I felt the weight of them between my shoulder blades. A whisper of flesh-shredding talons ghosted around my fingers. Darkness settled around me like a cloak. “He ripped Rhysand’s family apart when he led his own there that day. Just as he ripped mine and yours apart the moment he aligned himself with Hybern. I know exactly what he’s capable of, what he was willing to do to get me back even though I am not his mate. I want you to realize that what he’s done, isn’t even a fraction of what I will do to return to my family, to my mate.”

He blinked and some realization dawned on him, “That’s what you meant, when you said we would get them back,” he echoed my words from Hybern’s castle.

“Tamlin can’t keep me here, and unless you choose to stay I won’t let him keep you either. It’s your choice, Lucien, just as it was always mine.”

He was silent for a moment but then his eyes locked with mine and I could see that small bit of determination shining through his pain. “When it’s time, take me with you.”

Lucien looked shaken by his own words so I reached out and drew him into the comforting veil of darkness that was still surrounding me. A smile of relief spread across my features, probably the first genuine smile that my lips had formed since returning to Spring Court.

[illyrianwingspans]

The House of Beasts, Part 2

Part 2! Like I said, updates may be a little slow, but at least I have all my main ideas and plot points in mind, so it should move along pretty easily. Thanks for all the love!

Summary: Prythian University, the grounds where frat houses wage wars and throw the best parties yet. Feyre, an art student and girlfriend to the Head of House of the Spring House, discovers secrets everyone’s been keeping from her for the last year and a half. An ACOTAR/ACOMAF AU, which begins as Feylin then evolves into Feysand. Begins as ACOTAR, includes AU of Under the Mountain, but will focus more on Acomaf.

Word Count: 2393 words

Once again, thank you all for withholding any hate and supplying only constructive criticism (I really need it!) and sending any requests, suggestions, etc.  

Disclaimer: All characters and some direct and or modified quotes belong to Sarah J Maas, as well as some of the plot points. I take no credit for them whatsoever

Part 2: Coffees

“I think this is the part where you thank me for saving your ass,” the man said, leaning against the white brick wall. “I’ll wait for you to take your time drooling, though. I know I’m dreamy.”

Blood flushed my cheeks. “Prick. I was going to thank you but I guess not anymore.” 

Dreamy he was, but I wasn’t going to tell him. His hair seemed unreal: black but almost blue in the moonlight as if he’d died it. And his eyes, I swam in their deep blue, almost questioning if he wore contacts because I’d never seen such beauty like them before. My eyes wandered across his face, his sharp, jutting cheekbones and sharp jawline. Then down to his broad shoulders and heavy-sculpted arms that filled in his navy button down. The few buttons near the top of his chest were undone, leaving the warm, terra-cotta skin to peak out from underneath. Everything about him radiated grace and ease, yet there was something powerful and ethereal to him as well.

No matter how gorgeous he was, he was still a god damn prick. I pivoted on my heel to walk away, but he kept close behind me, his footsteps crunching against the dead, dry leaves.

“Don’t walk away, darling. I was just being funny,” he continued, but my footsteps didn’t relent. The pool was trashed, as it always was around this time of the night for a party, beer cans mixing in with all the leaves and brush that had been swept into it. The heavy thuds of his feet rang out against the cement as he relentlessly trailed me to the patio, blabbering on the whole time how he just wanted to talk to me, when I plunked myself on a chair.

“Sit. Talk. Then leave. I’m really not in the mood right now.”

“Then I’ll make it worth your time,” he smirked, sitting in the chair next to me. “Who brought you here?”

I shrugged. “My friends. They had to drag me.” Lies. But I wasn’t just about to spill everything about myself, saviour or not. “I’m not really a party person. Well,” I trailed off, remembering back to my high school days when I’d get so drunk I thought the floor was the ceiling. I smiled. “Not this kind of party, I guess.”

“Me neither,” he agreed, leaning back in his chair. His whole demeanour seemed relaxed, at peace. His build was buff but not overly wide, like a jock. Everything about him resonated poise and class. Comfort. “Believe me, darling, you should stop by my parties back at the house. They’re better than this thumping hissy fit.”

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Call me darling. It’s weird.”

“I find it rather suiting, darling. You don’t like it?”

I frowned. “No, I don’t. I don’t even know you. Or your name. What’s your name?” The stranger looked over his shoulder and with sudden impulse, quickly got to his feet and strode off the deck to the side exit. “Seems as though it’s time for me to go. Sorry for the impromptu exit, darling, but I guess we’ll continue this conversation another time.”

Pushing away from the chair, I got to my feet to stop him. “Wait! What’s your—”

But before I could finish the sentence, he was gone. And I was alone.

+ + +

The door slammed behind me, my coat and my bag thrown across the floor. Why did he have to throw parties?

As nimbly as I could, I slid out of my clothes, cursing that I ever even bought a goddamn pair of skinny jeans, and was ready to slip between the sheets clad in one of Tamlin’s old t-shirts and my underwear. In fact, I’d just reached the bed when the door opened.

Instantly, my head whipped up, alarmed by the sudden intrusion, to realize that it was Tamlin.

Albeit, a stumbling drunk Tamlin.

If only I would’ve been quicker to climb into bed and turn the lights off. If only I would have just locked the door and made him sleep somewhere else. But no, of course, I needed to be standing before him with my bare shivering legs exposed as he sauntered towards me, backing me into the wall, both hands on either side of me. Trapping me.

“You look so sexy,” he whispered into my ear. I cringed at the reek of alcohol on his breath. “Where’ve you been?”

“You know I don’t like those parties, Tam,” I argued quietly, crossing my arms. He was too close. “You know today was special. And yet you did this anyways.”

“Loosen up, Feyre,” he murmured, trailing a hand along my thigh. “I was just having a little fun. You should’ve joined.”

“Good God, it’s like running around in circles with you,” I grumbled under my breath, making to walk away, but he held me in place. I stared at him for a second, incredulous.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing, Feyre,” he murmured, then pressed his lips to my neck, biting and sucking. Every inch of my skin was repulsed by his touch.

I knew that I loved him. That I cared for him and that he cared for me. But in that moment, I really was not in the mood for any of what he was going for. I wanted to sleep and to get away from the sounds of the party that had not stopped down below. I loved Tamlin, but in that moment, I resented him.

“Let me go,” I ordered. “You’re drunk and disorderly, and I want you out of my room.”

“Feyre—”

“No! Get out of my room!” I pointed to the door.

His face contorted with fury, but he stormed away, slamming the door behind him.

I climbed into bed. And I collapsed into sobs.

+ + +

The next morning, I was awoken by coffee and waffles in bed and a bouquet of roses by my window, Tamlin showering me with kisses, professing how sorry he was and how he was stupid and how he never should’ve thrown the party in the first place.

I forgave him, of course. Tamlin always made up for his flaws even if they did aggravate me at times.

“I’m so sorry,” he’d murmured, pressing kisses to my shoulder, my neck. “You know that there’s tension between the houses right now. There’s this…war, almost. Like a stupid rivalry. It’s really growing out of control, and everyone just wanted to forget about it and celebrate a little. I should’ve just let them on their own.”

I’d held his face in my hand and stared into his gaze unflinchingly. “Of course I understand, Tam. You know the politics between the Houses better than any of us. Do what needs to be done.” I kissed him softly, a hand twined through his golden hair. “You have my full support, no matter what.”

We rolled around in the sheets for a while, making up for the fact that it was our anniversary and we hadn’t even spent any time together with all the raucous that had shaken this house the previous night. By the time we’d finished our meal in bed, it was already around noon and my shift was about to start at the Good Bean.

Thank goodness that the walk (more like heavy jog) wasn’t too far from the Spring House, and I found myself too soon in my usual black and burgundy uniform. Preparing over-priced sugary drinks had become one of my specialties, though things got extra interesting whenever a non-fat half-caf-soy-caramel latte came along every now and then.

Bustles of people weaved in and out throughout the day, most if not all were students studying for upcoming midterms in a few weeks. Whenever there came a lull in customers, though, I’d fish out my textbook from my school bag and do some sneaky studying behind the counter where no one could see. My grades weren’t amazing or anything, I was definitely not a stellar student, but I pulled my weight in maintaining a steady-enough GPA. It was better than last year’s, anyway.

For some reason though, around four o’clock, all conversations throughout the café seemed to drop. Instead, quipped whispers were shared, and people pointed to the man who’d walked through the doors only moments ago. And there, dressed in an immaculate black suit, was the man I’d encountered last night at the party.

Why was he dressed in a perfectly tailored crisp suit? I had no clue, yet I was in no position to deny the fact that it looked absolutely lavishing on him.

He eased over to the counter, a certain graceful swagger in his step, and his mouth curled into a delicious smirk when his midnight blue, almost purple, eyes fell upon me. All he said was, “You.”

“You.” I replied.

“Obviously you work here, so I think you’re asking yourself what I’m doing here?”

“Well, um, I—” I stuttered over my words, and he gave a low chuckle.

“I’m just teasing you, darling. I just want a coffee. Black.” A five dollar bill was extended across the counter, but I shook my head.

“It’s on the house. As a thank you. For last night,” I apprehended, offering the barest of smiles.

A certain kind of light sparkled across his features, and his head cocked to the side, his smirk transformed to an amazed grin. “Thank you.”

I nodded my head, heat flooding my cheeks, and set myself to work, though there wasn’t much to be done besides pressing the dispense button. A loud buzzing sound went off, and as I looked over the machines, I saw that the man peeked down at his screen, then sighed.

“The bitch is at it again,” he muttered to himself before taking a deep breath and answering the call.

“Amarantha,” he said, not so pleasantly, his face twisting into a scowl. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Amarantha? I thought. Who was Amarantha?

There was a steady stream of obnoxiously loud conversation emerging from his cell phone, almost so loud it matched the whine of the steamer. Every once and a while, the man would roll his eyes or his shoulders would tense. He seemed troubled almost with the crease between his eyebrows. Sliding his coffee across the counter, I took a pen out from my bag and scribbled on a napkin. Everything ok?

He gave me another one of his signature smirks, held his phone between his cheek and his shoulder, then wrote back, Just great, darling. Thanks for the coffee

The bell at the main counter rang and I rushed back over, greeting another guest, working the machines, everything a repeated process that never seemed to cease. It went on for another hour, girls and boys coming and going as they pleased, all different personalities and lives and stories that trailed each and every one of them, all intertwined and connected in very peculiar ways.

At the end of the day though, when I fished through my bag, I found the napkin. Our brief conversation had been preserved, my barest scrawl almost embarrassing to his delicate loops of cursive. Though, underneath, was a ten digit number, a short sentence, and a name.

Call if you ever need anything, Rhysand Orpheus

It was the most peculiar name if I’d seen any, but it had that characteristic ring to it that you never found often. A smile tucked to my face, I walked back to the House with a sort of giddiness. It had been a good day.

+ + +

That night, Tamlin, Lucien and I ate at the dinner table in the Spring House, seeing as though it was unoccupied and the House was particularly quiet for some reason or other. They ate Chinese takeout and made small talk, Lucien and Tamlin discussing about their courses that they took together, a bunch of political jabber I’d never particularly been interested in.

The whole while, I thought about Rhysand, our encounter last night and at the coffee shop this afternoon. I wondered who he was and why he was at Prythian University, what he was studying, where he was staying (which House did he belong to?). But most of all, I thought of his phone conversation with that woman, the one who’s supposedly a bitch, the one who’d put Rhysand in his instant drab mood, Amarantha.

The conversation around the table had gone quiet, so I gulped down a sip of my water, and asked quietly yet casually, “Do any of you know of a woman named Amarantha?”

Lucien dropped his fork, and Tamlin stared at me, swallowing audibly. There were a few moments of silence before it was Lucien who answered. “She’s… bad. Evil. A blight to the University.”

Tamlin shot him a look, full of disapproval. “No, Lucien, she’s nothing. None of your concern, Feyre. Believe me.”

My eyebrows furrowed, ignoring Tamlin and focusing on Lucien. “What do you mean, evil? Why hasn’t she been reported? What has she done?” All she could think was why, why Rhysand would be associated with Amarantha, why they hadn’t gotten her kicked out if she were that bad.

Tamlin’s fist came down against the wood, hard, so hard that my food almost toppled over. My gaze snapped to his, only to meet a face contorted with pure scorn. “Drop it.” He demanded.

Lucien’s head hung low, poking at his food, though it was obvious that this meal was over, after the fit of rage that Tamlin had displayed. It happened. Every now and then he seemed to…snap. But it was just the stress. I knew it. He knew it. Lucien knew it. Tamlin was just under so much pressure, every now and then, it just seemed to get to him.

I let it go. If Tamlin thought I was safe, then I must’ve been.

+ + +

That night, when Tamlin was getting ready for bed in the washroom, I fished the napkin out of my bag and quickly tucked it into the back corner of my sock drawer, praying that Tamlin wouldn’t find it. It wasn’t that he would go ballistic, but I knew that he was always a bit jealous. Well, a lot. And sometimes it was cute kind of, that he would get all territorial, but other times, it was a little less cute and more scary, though that almost never occurred. But, I knew, that if he found that number and those words, it would really test his patience, the last thing I wanted to do. No matter what happened to the napkin, though, I’d already entered Rhysand’s contact info into my phone.

Once we were curled in bed, his body against mine, the closeness of his skin the most comforting in the world, I released a heavy sigh, all those questions I’d been asking myself fluttering around my head. Rhysand, Amarantha, Rhysand, Amarantha.

Maybe I’d find out the truth tomorrow. Maybe it would never resurface. I had to accept the facts, though, one way or another, or else I knew that they would drive me crazy for the rest of the year.