#he’s a fucking idiot but no better than tamlin??

[ideologyofone]

Gave into peer pressure from my coworkers and read the acotar series here’s some highlights

+ bonus from the first few chapters of throne of glass I started last night

[keepittoyourshelf]

Since the algorithm on my various socials thinks I actually want to see a ton of people simping over Rhys and ACOTAR, let’s get down to the bones of why that algorithm is fucked beyond all comprehension, shall we?

I’ve never hidden the fact that I’m pro-Tamlin, not in the sense that I approve of what he did, but from the place that I believe he’s worthy of forgiveness in the same way any of the men that SJM otherwise glorifies in her work is worthy of it for any of their transgressions.

I shouldn’t have to do a paint by numbers thing here to make this obvious, but based on the actual text written by SJM in her own words, Tamlin has objectively done nothing better or worse than Rhysand has.

The big complaint is his temper, of course, and pro-Rhysies love to bullshit about how the red flags were all over book 1 and SJM is such a master at foreshadowing.

He locked Feyre in a house against her will to protect her, when she clearly didn’t want to be caged. How is that any worse than Rhysand…drugging her and making her give him lap dances, in order to protect her, when she clearly didn’t want to be dancing naked in front of strangers?

Go on. I’ll wait for your rationalization.

Rhysand’s whole shtick was that he’s only playing the villain to keep Velaris (and only Velaris) safe…those fucks in the Hewn City can eat a bag of dicks, right? But tell me again how Tamlin is the really bad one for enforcing a tithe because it’s unfair to those who can’t afford it (fair point). But Rhysand chooses to save the one city in his court that has zero problems. Let’s let those that might already be suffering from poverty get kidnapped and tortured by a psychopath. That’s probably better than a tithe, right?

And let’s not forget how Tamlin mocked Feyre and Rhys at the High Lords meeting. While funny, it was in poor taste. At least Rhysand didn’t publicly mock Tamlin. He had the decency to do it privately when he went out of his way to go to a deeply troubled man’s house and, in the midst of an obvious mental health crisis, not only had the gall to ask for resources from a man that has no resources because his own wife fucking destroyed them out of spite, but proceeds to rub in his triumph over a man that has nothing left. Nothing to see there, right?

Even if you could ignore all of that (and you’d have to be willfully fucking thick to do so, which a lot of these people are), I shall leave you with Tamlin’s role as a spy for Hybern. That’s obviously supposed to be a real shock because TaMliN BaD at this point, so why would anyone believe him? It’s not like he had a really good explanation like Rhys gave when he murdered literal children and innocents just to ensure Amarantha didn’t know how noble he actually was. Right? RIGHT?! And it’s not like anyone would have a harder time believing someone who had played evil and done actually evil things for the “greater good” (a collectivist dog whistle if there ever was one) for fifty fucking years over the dude that suddenly goes bad after being a progressive and respected high lord for the same period of time? I mean, it’s not like we’re dealing with severe mental anguish and trauma here. That’s crazy talk.

Shadow Daddy does no wrong. Even when he does. Because reasons.

Those idiots on TikTok making stupid videos showing their bf’s being all shocked and I KNEW IT when Tamlin “turns” can chew glass along with all those dipshits selling mugs that say “Tamlin’s Tears” on Etsy right next to merch glorifying a man that literally gaslit his soulmate into believing that forced drunken naked lap dances were actually a good thing, when you think about it.

SJM isn’t a master of foreshadowing. She’s a sloppy writer of moderately entertaining fiction that has a kink for glorifying severely unhealthy behaviors without the benefit of a trigger warning.

Fuck off if you think that’s all okay and think that anyone that says Tamlin isn’t any worse comparatively is the crazy one. Projection is a real disorder. Look it up. Right after you order your 543rd Rhysand candle.

[cressidagrey]

Romance is not dead if you keep it just yours- Chapter 6: Oriana Fireborn Belmond, Goldsmith, Enchantress, Mate

Summary:

5 Times Cassian thought that Azriel had feelings for somebody and then 1 time he finally met the girl his brother was in love with.

Warnings:

Rhys Bashing

Notes:

I put a lot of world building into this. If you don't recognise it from canon, I probably invented. Or I forgot that canon existed.

(thanks to @firefly-graphics for the super pretty dividers!)

“Where’s Az?” Cassian asked. They were supposed to have their weekly meeting at the River House. Rhys was there, of course, he was…but Azriel was nowhere to be seen. 

“He’s not with you?” Rhys asked, brows furrowing. 

“No. I thought he was in Winter?” There had been talk about exchanging intelligence with the Winter Court in connection to Spring and whatever Tamlin was up to these days. 

“He came home last evening. The whole thing was a bust,” Rhys said with a sigh. “He got stuck in a bloody ravine,” he recounted with a shake of his head. 

Cassian pulled a grimace. That didn’t sound particularly great. 

“How bad was it?” he asked. “Was he hurt badly?”

“He said he was fine,” Rhys waved him off.” 

“And you believed him?” Cassian asked incredulously. He highly doubted that one could just walk off a freaking ravine. Even with the quick healing of a High Fae. 

“He’s a grown-up,” Rhys said tightly. “Besides, my worry wasn’t appreciated.”

“Have you tried reaching out?” Cassian wondered. “It’s not like him to be late.” Azriel was punctual to a fault. 

He watched Rhys's expression tighten for a moment in concentration and Cassian waited. 

Rhys swallowed. 

“Nothing,” he finally said quietly. “I get absolutely nothing , Cass. He’s not out of my range, but I get nothing .”

That…That really wasn’t good. 

He wasn’t dead. That was something though.

“That’s not good ,” he breathed. It was absolutely horrible. Because it meant that Azriel wasn’t simply asleep. Even if knocked out, Rhys would probably be able to get something. But to get nothing? Nothing at all?

“No,” Rhys agreed. 

“I’ll go check on his house,” Cassian volunteered. “It’s as good a place to start as any.” Especially when the reason why Azriel couldn’t talk to Rhys was far worse than what they imagined. “See if he arrived back home.”

“I’ll check in with Nuala and Cerridwen,” Rys agreed.  “Let me know once you know.” Rhys hesitated for a moment. “Thank you, Cassian.”

“He’s my brother too,” Cassian gave back quietly. “Let me know if you get anything.”

The worry that churned in his gut…that was something else entirely as Cassian took flight towards Azriel’s house. 

If he was asleep Rhys would have been able to prod him awake, if he was knocked out, Rhys would probably get something. But to get nothing? That wasn’t good at all. 

He landed in the forest and then he promptly needed 5 minutes, before he realised that the wards that were set around the property had been gently redirecting Cassian away from it, without him even knowing. 

He had never experienced something like that. 

It pissed him off to no avail, that much was certain though.

They were also definitely not set by Azriel’s magic. He knew his brother's magic, knew the taste and feel of it, the way it moved…

Rhys’ magic felt like an avalanche. Azriel’s magic felt like the eye of a storm, perfectly still until it wasn’t, turning into a hurricane in a blink. 

And this magic…this magic was different from anything he had ever felt in his fucking life. 

It was similar still to Azriel’s…but it heated in warning when Cassian pushed back against it. 

And then because he was a fucking idiot, Cassian decided that using brute magical strength to force himself through these wards was the way to go. 

The magic turned into a fucking inferno in response.

The fact that it burned off half of his fucking hair did not make it any better either. 

The magic receded and he tackled the female that was waiting for him into the ground before she could do anything to him. 

“Who are you?” He demanded his knife pressing against her throat. He was quite certain as he took her in that he had never seen a Fae that looked like her. And she was a High Fae, her ears gave that away.

Her skin was pitch black, her hair the same colour braided away from her face…lips painted a deep berry colour. 

She didn’t say a word, didn’t need to, not when her eyes, her fucking eyes, gave it all away. 

If her magic had seemed like fire, her eyes were the fire. There was hellfire burning in them, faces flickering like they would reach out and burn him at a moment’s notice.

“You destroyed my ward!” She hissed at him.

“You burned off my hair!” He snapped right back at her. 

“You are holding a knife to my throat!”

Well, he did. Then it grew so hot in his hand that he had no choice but to let it clatter against the floor where it turned into a bloody puddle of metal. 

“You melted that!“ He realised as he saw the expression on her face. He moved to replace his knife with his bare hands but her skin was so hot against his, that he was sure he was going to have blisters all over his hands if he kept that up. 

And then her hand moved far quicker than he had thought she would be able and she had a knife in her own hand. He caught her wrist before she could stab him with it, glaring at her. 

“Who are you?” He asked her. What was she? 

“Who are you?” She snapped right back at him. “You are the one who destroyed my wards !”

“You are the one who is here at my brother’s house !“ he snapped.

The last thing he had expected was for her to relax against the ground, no longer fighting against him and looking at him with her eyes still blazing…and then she said three words: “I live here.”

“You live here,“ he repeated unbelievingly. And then as he took a breath, suddenly her scent caught in his nose. 

His brother‘s scent was all over her. Azriel’s scent. 

Mist and cedar…now joined with jasmine and burning wood. There wasn’t a single question left. 

 “You are Azriel’s mate,“ he realised, staring at her. She stared right back, unflinching. 

He had spent weeks thinking about who Azriel was seeing and now there she was. Right in front of him. Literally nothing like what he had expected. 

But then… Azriel had always chosen the unexpected. 

“Wow, you are a genius,” she drawled. Her voice was dripping with disdain.“What gave it away, the fact that I am in his house or that I smell like him?” 

“You…since when…” he stuttered. This wasn’t how he had expected this to go down. He had thought that one day, Azriel was going to bring her to dinner and they would all get to meet her. And not that he would tackle her to the floor and she would melt his fucking knife. “How?” He blurted out. 

“I think you know how mating works, Oh mighty Lord of Bloodshed.“ She was talking to him like he was an idiot and he was pretty sure that he deserved it. 

“Azriel has never mentioned you,“ he defended himself. 

“Then maybe you should think about why .“ Her words were piercing. He could just stare at her, as she shifted underneath him. 

When Azriel found out about that he was going to kill him. Cassian was certain of that.

“Truce?” He suggested.

“Get off me , you big brute,“ she muttered as he rolled off her and gained his feet holding out a hand for her. She didn’t need it. Not when suddenly a cloud of shadows came to help her, hefting her up like she weighed nothing. 

They disappeared again, though they seeingly clung to her hands as she waved them away, one of them wrapping around her throat like it belonged there. 

He worked hard to keep the horror of his face. He had seen these shadows do the same thing a number of times under very different circumstances. But with her...with Oriana, they treated her like she was a precious thing. Treated her with all the care they were capable off. 

He swallowed. He had not once seen his brother’s shadows act like that. But then…he had never once met Azriel’s mate. 

“My name is Cassian,” he finally introduced himself, scratching his neck. He had rarely been that wrongfooted with somebody in his life. 

“I know,” she gave back, something like amusement blending into her voice.

“May I know your name?” he prodded as she seemed unwilling to give her more. 

“Oriana,” she told him. 

“No surname?” he wondered, she just cocked her head to the side. 

“Don’t you have one?  she gave back, clearly unwilling to let a single thing slide. 

“I am a bastard,” he gave back. “I don’t have one.” 

“Fireborn or Belmond, it depends on who you’re asking,” she finally answered. 

Fireborn. That seemed more like some kind of honorific, like shadowsinger, and less like a surname. 

“I am looking for Azriel,” he finally said quietly. “He was supposed to be in a meeting. Rhys can’t reach him. He could be in trouble.” 

He was sure that she would help him, if only because her instincts would tell her to. 

What he didn’t expect was the laugh she barked out, no amusement in her voice. 

“Oh, he is in trouble. With me,” she told him, her voice harsh. “He’s unconscious. That’s why Rhysand can’t reach him.”

Unconscious. That didn’t sound good. 

“He’s here?” Cassian asked and she just nodded. “Can I see him?” he requested. Oriana was Azriel’s mate but Cassian had been his brother longer than that. And he wanted to see him. Make sure that Azriel got everything he needed and that he didn’t need to go fetch Madja because Azriel wasn’t healing. 

“Do you promise me not to destroy our house?” Oriana asked drily.  “I’ll burn you to a fucking crisp if I need to.”

He was taken aback by that outburst. 

“You have a dirty mouth, you know,” he told her drily. She just held his gaze. He nodded.

Cassian followed along as she turned on her heel to march into the house. 

It was still the same house Azriel had shown him, but it was obvious that it had…well. Definitely been lived in by somebody other than just his brother. There was art on the wall, metallic sculptures of sorts, modern furniture, a couch…chairs that easily would be able to accommodate wings…bits and pieces that Azriel would have never bothered with before, but Oriana clearly did. 

He swallowed when he spotted a greenish linen tablecloth spread over the kitchen table, where Oriana had clearly been cooking something. 

“I don’t actually. You just caught me at an ill-time. After I spent a few hours yesterday wondering if my mate is going to die on me,” she answered, her voice so sharp that he could have cut himself on it. 

“What’s wrong with him?” he asked as she led him to what must be their bedroom. She hesitated before she opened the door. He could swear he saw a ward disappear at her touch like she had even warded Azriel before she had left him alone to go meet him outside. 

“He’s bruised extensively, and I didn’t think it was anything but that at first,” she said quietly. “He had a headache…we both thought he was just tired…he woke up three hours later vomiting blood and losing consciousness.”

Fuck. 

“He had inner bleeding in the abdomen. The healer told me all that was wrong with him but after that I just…” she trailed off, opening the door. 

Azriel was on his back, wings spread out over the bed, the whole thing surrounded by a dome of a greenish tint of sorts. 

Cassian had never seen anything like that.  

“Don’t touch it, please,” Oriana requested, her voice quiet. “It’s a healing trance. We use it in the mountain…I have it on a very good account that he’ll be fine. He was bleeding out from within. Which would have been caught if he had gone to a healer after his mission and didn’t come home to me immediately, because I quote I missed you .” There was anger in these words, but also sadness and not a small amount of love. It was all there, able to be heard by anybody who heard her speak about his brother. 

He swallowed, taking in the violent bruises on Azriel’s face, the swelling of one eye…the steady rise and fall of his chest, the bandages…the blanket that was pulled up over him…the ugliest thing that Cassian had ever seen consisting out of mismatched squares of knitting, no two the same. 

“Are you a healer?” he wondered. Who had put Azriel into a healing trance? 

“Do I look like a healer to you?  My bedside manner would be more than questionable,” Oriana said with a snort.

It would have been amusing in any other situation. 

“What are you then?” Cassian asked curiously. What did she do? What was she what she spend her time with? There was no question that Oriana was a magical powerhouse of sorts. 

“Does it matter?” Oriana wondered, leaning against the door. “By Trade? An Enchantress. By Creed? A goldsmith. By heritage? Half High Fae from the Autumn Court, half Tartera Faerie living in the mountain. By Love? His mate. And that will always come first.”

The truth was clear in her words.  

Still, he swallowed. An Enchantress. That was rare. It explained a lot though.

“Emotionally? Completely pissed off at Azriel, right now,” she added, her voice breaking. “And at your precious High Lord when we are already at it.”

“Rhys?” Cassian wondered aloud. “What has he done?”

“Send Azriel on his merry way,” Oriana said quietly. “He wouldn’t have even been there if it wasn’t for him. Azriel thought the whole thing was a bad idea, but Rhysand insisted.” 

Damnit. 

“He wouldn’t have done that if he thought that something was wrong,” Cassian said carefully. 

Oriana snorted.  

“You don’t believe me,” he said drily and she shrugged. 

“Let’s just say that I have a list of problems with him, and this is just the last one I added to it,” she admitted her voice even. 

“With Rhys?” Cassian said, brows rising. “What had he done to you?”

“To me personally? Nothing. To Azriel? I have a list,” Oriana said, sticking out her chin, and crossing her arms. 

Ouch. Rhys was in it for it.

And Cassian didn’t think for one moment that some singed-off hair and a melted knife was the worst thing that Oriana Fireborn could dish out if she put her mind to it. 

 “Does he know about you?” Cassian wondered. Had Rhys known about her? About Azriel and her. 

“Rhysand knows off me. There is a difference,” Oriana said carefully.   “If you ever want to annoy him you should ask him about his last trip to talk to Custodian of the Mountain…oh about 200 years ago? And what happened to his favourite jacket.”

“There is a story there, isn’t there?”  Cassian said with some amusement and she just shrugged. 

He was very curious about what exactly had gone down then. But that wasn’t the most pressing thing. 

“He’ll be fine?” he asked once again. Oriana just nodded. 

“He’ll be perfectly fine. A healer will check on him in an hour or so,” she said quietly. 

Clearly, she took care of what was hers. 

“Thank you,” he said softly, watching Azriel’s still form. 

“He’s my mate ,”  she spat out. “I did it for him, not for you.” 

“I know that,” Cassian said softly, meeting her eyes, the flames flickering. There was a unique kind of beauty in there, the way the flames were alive in her eyes. “Thank you for loving my brother.” 

Something inside her eased. “He’s very easy to love,” Oriana said quietly. 

“Will you let me know when he’s awake?” he asked and she nodded. 

“I’ll have the shadows sent a note,”  she agreed quietly. “The healer said another day or so.”

“Thank you,” Casisna thanked her again, turning his back to his brother and she led him out of the house. 

She was quiet, sunken in thought and as he turned to tell her goodbye, suddenly it burst out of her. 

“Were you the one who told him that he would need to pay for sex because he’s so disgusting that that is the only way he could get somebody to pretend to care for him?” She spat out. 

It was the last thing Cassian had expected. 

“ What ?”

“I am paraphrasing. I imagine the real sentence was more along the lines that if he wanted sex he should go to a pleasure hall and better pay for it,” Oriana corrected herself. “I just ask, because he took it to mean something very different.”

Cassian swallowed. That…It was... He didn’t even have words for it. He couldn’t…He couldn’t even think of a moment where anybody would have…why would…

“Were you the one?” Oriana demanded and he just shook his head. 

“He’s my brother,” Cassian said fiercely. “I would never say something like that to him.” She met his eyes, her own burning with an intensity that terrified him.

“Somebody did,” she said very carefully.  “I am putting you on notice, I don’t fucking care who it was, but if I find out, I am going to put them on fire.”

He didn’t doubt that for one moment.

“I’ll help,” he muttered darkly. “I’ll hold them down for you.” 

She gave him a smile that reminded him of Nesta in some way, sharp and biting. 

“Then we have an accord.”

[foundress0fnothing]

and kisses are a better fate than wisdom

Summary: Feyre drags her sisters to Medieval Times to ogle the hot king. Nesta drags Emerie and Gwyn to Medieval Times for support and hater solidarity. And maybe to ogle some hot knights.

Rated E, Chapter 1/6, ~2.9k words

For @nessianweek ♥️

This fic is brought to you by an ER visit and antibiotics! I had intended to have the Nessian section of this complete, but then life kicked my ass, and so all I have to offer you today is a beginning. The Nessian smut chapter will be my next update to the fic, and then I’ll write chapters for all the other pairs (eventually and as the horny mood strikes).

Read on ao3 or below the cut!

“What the fuck, Feyre?” 

Nesta started in horror at the seemingly endless train of middle schoolers who were being led past the ticket window. Three jostled Nesta’s bag as they scuttled past, and she glared after them. Not that it did any good—they just dissolved into shrieking giggles as they careened around the space, narrowly missing the suit of armor standing in the corner of the large atrium. “Please tell me you didn’t have me call out of work for this.”

“Of course she didn’t, Nesta,” Elain said, a dangerous glint in her eye. “Our dear sister would only text us “Need you at the mall, personal emergency, please come ASAP” if it was for something really, really serious.” She looked pointedly at Feyre. “Right, Feyre?”

Feyre at least had the decency to look a little guilty. “He’s just…so hot, guys,” she mumbled, blushing.

“Oh my god.” Rolling her eyes, Nesta turned away from her sister’s embarrassed face to take in the spectacle that was apparently going to consume the next two hours of her life if the sign above the ticket window could be believed:

Brace yourself for approximately two hours of heart-pounding excitement! You’ll see lance-shattering jousting, clashing swordsmanship, and thrilling hand-to-hand combat! Join us for an unforgettable experience!

When Feyre told Nesta and Elain to meet her by the fake castle façade, Nesta had assumed it was only because it was easily recognizable and about as far away from Feyre’s waitressing job at the Cheesecake Factory as it could be while still technically being part of the mall. 

She did not expect that Feyre actually wanted her to spend time—not to mention 60 fucking dollars—in this tacky monstrosity. 

And “tacky” was a generous description of the space around her. Between the suit of armor in the corner, the display cases lining the room stuffed with replicas of weapons and garishly colored flags, and the entire wall devoted to headshots of all the idiots who were involved in the whole farce, Nesta found very little here that made her want to linger any longer than she absolutely had to.

But—it had been so long since her littlest sister had shown interest in anyone since she broke up with that god-awful trust fund manager Tamlin, and that interest, combined with Feyre’s palpable youngest sibling energy, softened Nesta enough to stay. Begrudgingly.

“It could be fun!” Feyre tried, but she was looking at the picture of whoever the “so hot” cast member was who prompted this nonsense in the first place as she said it, so Nesta didn’t trust her judgment anymore. She refused to look at the cast pictures. What use did she have for role-playing nerds or gym bros who used the guise of a medieval joust to hit at each other like brutes? No thanks.

She sighed and pulled out her phone to text her best friends and coworkers Emerie and Gwyn to take their lunch break and come over.  “I’m not about to suffer through this alone.” Their law office was only a few blocks away, and Nesta only felt the tiniest bit guilty about condemning them to a few hours of campy spectacle. What were friends for if not to hate watch something with you as a favor to your little sister?

That made Feyre turn away from the cast picture wall as she gestured indignantly between herself and Elain. “We’re here!” 

“You don’t count anymore, Feyre.”

“Well, what about Elain?”

Nesta scoffed lightly. “She’ll probably end up liking it somehow, and then I’ll have no one to complain with.” Elain stuck her tongue out although she didn’t deny it, and Nesta hummed in satisfaction at being right. She hadn’t missed the way Elain had also been looking at the wall of cast members, lingering for a few moments on the head shot of one of the knights who bore a distinctive red ponytail.

Nesta looked back at her phone and saw messages of confused confirmation from Emerie and Gwyn agreeing to meet her there, and so she went back to the ticket window to buy seats for them. Maybe she’d expense them—company bonding and all that bullshit.

By the time she returned to the corner where her sisters were standing, Gwyn and Emerie had joined them, and Nesta shook her head, forestalling the question that she could see forming on her friends’ lips. “Don’t ask.”

Emerie snorted. “You think I’m not going to have questions after you text us in the middle of the work day demanding that we take off and come to Medieval Times? Be serious Nesta.”

“Maybe she’s finally lost it,” Gwyn shrugged. “The Hybern case cracked her.”

“That case drives me to drink, not to willfully agree to a two hour long lobotomy.”

Feyre glared. “Stop being such a spoilsport. We’re here to ogle hot guys. You should be on board.”

“Hmmm, $60 to watch grown men play dress up and cover anything interesting with armor. Sign me up.”

An announcement overhead began, urging audience members to find their seats before the beginning of the show.

Feyre grinned and flicked her braid over her shoulder. “Well, good thing you already bought a ticket then, Nesta.” And with that, she hooked her arm around Elain’s, turned, and flounced into the darkened hall that led to the arena.

“Walked right into that one, babe.”

“Shut up, Em.”

Emerie flashed a smile and started following Feyre down the hall. “Do you think there’ll only be hot guys? Because that’s really gonna put a damper on the next two hours for me.”

“From a place like this?” Nesta gestured around to the kitschy, rustic decor. “I doubt we’re going to find any brave, gender-role defying performances here. I think the best you can hope for is a hot tavern wench.”

“Desperate times, I suppose.” Emerie sighed dramatically. “Perfect people must endure so much in this life.”

Gwyn giggled from where she was walking behind them. “And what would you know about that, Em?”

Emerie flipped her off without turning around, and Gwyn added, “But who knows? Maybe this’ll be great! Maybe we’ll find true lo—”

“Stop—don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Nesta stopped walking and turned to face Gwyn. You’re only here to be a hater with me.”

“Nesta—”

“No—this is a Valkyrie law office pact. You have to hate this with me. Don’t break the bonds of sisterhood for a guy in a tin can.” She whirled back around to Emerie. “Or a wench in too-tight stays. We’re better than that.”

Her friends nodded silently, and Nesta chose to ignore the knowing looks they gave each other in favor of turning back around and marching toward the opening to the arena. It was a large, airy room with rising wooden stands that ringed a sandy, clear oval in the middle of the space. There were oversize flags and banners hanging from the ceiling designating four different sections that corresponded to the different knights, and a dias, where the king would oversee whatever nonsense was about to happen.

Feyre and Elain had already grabbed their seats along a wooden, almost picnic-style bench in the first row of what was apparently the Red Knight’s section. Wenches were circulating, taking drink orders, and Nesta made sure to order a glass of wine—a large glass of wine—before she sat down. Needs must. Gwyn and Emerie quickly followed suit, and it wasn’t long before the lights in the stands dimmed and a hush fell over the crowd.

There was a distant stamping sound, and then all of a sudden, four knights on horseback burst out of a door at the far end of the arena, galloping around the perimeter of the arena. The audience erupted into cheers at the sight of the knights, and Nesta felt her mouth go dry.

Holy. Shit. 

She felt Gywn lean over to whisper in her ear. “Are we still better than that, Nesta? Because…” She trailed off, but Nesta didn’t need her to finish her sentence.

Because Holy. Fucking. Shit.

All but one of the knights weren’t wearing their helmets yet, and each one was intensely, unfairly gorgeous. 

There was the red and yellow knight whose long red hair streamed out behind him as he circled the arena. He was tall and wickedly handsome, even with a rough scar bisecting the left side of his face. Small charms and beads woven into individual strands caught the overhead lights and made him look like he was glowing with some inner light. 

The next knight was his opposite in every way. Clothed in black with accents of a deep blue, he seemed to swallow the light as he rode a lap around the arena. He was imposing and muscled and almost unfairly beautiful for a man. Especially for a man wearing fake armor, Nesta reminded herself, shaking her head and closing her mouth from how it had gaped open slightly at his appearance.

The green knight rode in after him, his helmet still on, and Nesta idly wondered why he alone would still be wearing his helmet. Was he self-conscious? Or just not a cocksure, handsome asshole like the first two knights? Whatever the reason, he was clearly an excellent horseman. His seat was agile and easy, and the two of them together moved like they were caught in some dance with music only they could hear. 

But Nesta didn’t have time to linger on why this knight was still wearing his helmet, or how well he rode a horse, because any thoughts she had were quickly replaced by the sight of the red knight. He was almost like a brother to the blue knight, but almost impossibly larger. It was as if he was made entirely of muscle—Nesta could see as much even with his armor covering almost everything except his neck and head. His skin was a deep brown and his hair, long and black and wavy, had been gathered into a messy half ponytail. He was a warrior, that much was clear, and Nesta had no idea how someone who looked like that could possibly exist in today’s world. He looked like Arthur, or Gawain, or Lancelot—someone from myths created centuries ago. 

“Shit, shit, shit there he is!” Feyre yanked on Nesta’s arm to drag her attention away from the red knight and point out—not subtly, mind you—the reason they were all here in the first place. The king who presided over the arena and the tournament had just stepped onto a platform situated against one of the walls. He was tall and dark-haired, and the kind of attractive that had from money written all over him. Not that someone who was from money would want to work at a place like this. But still—something about the smug smile and the glint in his eyes as he surveyed “his kingdom” made Nesta shudder slightly. No thanks. 

She turned a skeptical eye toward Feyre. “Him? Out of all of them?” She asked, gesturing to the knights who were bringing their horses to a rest in front of the dias. “You’re going with him?”

“What?” Feyre turned to Nesta in shock. “Do you have eyes?”

“Do you?”

Feyre crossed her arms in front of her chest, turning back to look at the king. “He’s clearly the hottest one here.”

“Okay, Feyre,” Nesta said, pursing her lips and deciding to let the argument drop. If he did it for her sister, then so be it. 

She turned back to the center of the arena to see that all of the knights had come to a stop in a line. The crowd was murmuring, pointing at the assembled men and occasionally whooping for their assigned knight. The red knight was looking over at their section, his eyes locked on Nesta. When he realized that she saw him, he winked and gave a small bow with his head. Nesta scowled, ignoring the spark of interest that flared to life somewhere in her chest. She would not let herself be flustered by a Medieval Times actor. She wouldn’t. 

The king raised a hand, and the crowd quieted. “My loyal subjects!” His voice, low and smooth, boomed over the gathered crowds. “I am his Royal Majesty, King Rhysand. Thank you for joining me here today to watch as the heroic knights of the kingdom fight for honor and for glory.” 

Nesta looked at Emerie and Gwyn and raised her eyebrows at his theatrics. Gwyn giggled, and the king’s gaze flashed over to where they were seated, roving over their group until his eyes landed on Feyre. His smile at the sight of her was sickeningly self-satisfied, and Nesta turned to see Feyre flush at his attention. 

“I am honored that so many handsome lords and fair maidens,” he continued, winking at Feyre, “decided to join me to welcome my court today. I don’t yet have a queen to join me in my revels, but perhaps I shall find her amongst your number today.” Nesta watched as Feyre, impossibly, flushed even deeper. She rolled her eyes.

“That is, unless you lose your heart to one of my knights.” Rhysand gestured toward the knights in front of him. “My friends! Introduce yourself to my honored guests!”

One by one, the knights stepped their horses forward, bowed to Rhysand, and called out their names. Sir Lucien. Sir Azriel. It was like they were characters out of some long-forgotten medieval tale, their names at once ancient and eternal. If those were actually their real names. Nesta doubted it. 

The green knight stepped his horse forward, and Nesta wondered if he would finally take off his helmet. He obliged Nesta’s request, and she realized, as a thick braid of lustrous blonde hair dropped on the knight’s shoulder and their face, all softness and full lips, came into view, that this knight was a woman. 

Emerie’s mouth was hanging slightly open at the sight. She leaned across Gwyn to whisper, “Nesta, I love you and I know I said I wouldn’t break the bonds of sisterhood for a wench in stays but,” she said, her eyes never leaving the armored woman, “for a wench in armor? I don’t know you.”

And then it was the red knight’s turn. He bowed slightly to acknowledge the king and said, with a small smirk, “Sir Cassian, your majesty.” 

His voice washed over Nesta, deep and husky and filled with laughter, and she hated that something in her shivered at the sound of it and the sheer power it carried. She wondered, idly if that power extended to other areas of his life.

“And there you have it, my subjects!” The king’s voice rang out again, breaking her out of her rapidly devolving reverie. “Please give a warm welcome to my loyal knights as we begin our tournament!”

The crowd burst into cheers, and the knights smiled and waved at their respective sections, which, in their turn, cheered even more loudly until the entire arena was awash in sound. 

The red knight—Sir Cassian—was looking toward where they were sitting in his section, and, at his wave, Nesta’s sisters and traitorous friends burst into renewed applause and cheers. She took a sip of her wine, pointedly not joining in.

He frowned slightly, and she raised an eyebrow in challenge, taking another drink while maintaining eye contact. He looked away, and she smiled vindictively before turning to berate Emerie and Gwyn for caving so easily.

But before she could say anything, she was interrupted by the sound of approaching hoofbeats and a deep, murmured, “My lady.”

Nesta turned, and there he was at the edge of the arena, sitting astride his giant horse and looking directly at her. He was nearly at eye level with her, even from her seat in the raised stand, and she was struck by just how tall he was. His hands, as they held his horse’s reins, looked massive as well, and she wondered, just for a moment, how they would feel spanning across her waist, her breasts, her—

She shook her head and scowled at him. “Me? No, thank you.”

He only smirked at her refusal before continuing on. “While it used to be tradition that maidens would give tokens to their favored knights before a tournament, here in the arena, it is the knights who give tokens to their ladies,” he said, pulling a red silken handkerchief out of a pocket somewhere—did suits of armor have pockets?—and held it out to her.

Nesta crossed her arms, reminded herself that he was just a guy in a tin can, and scowled. “I’m not your lady.”

“And yet, I still have a token for you.” He kept his arm outstretched and met her gaze. “Only you.”

His eyes—distractingly smudged with eyeliner—were a lovely shade of hazel, and they sparked with warmth and mirth as he looked at her. From this close, she could see that he had earrings as well—small red studs in each lobe and tiny golden hoops along his cartilage. He looked charming and wicked and roguish, and Nesta found that she couldn’t tear her gaze away—that she didn’t want to.

And, well, she was only human. Who could blame her for being interested? 

But she wouldn’t cave that easily, so she said, instead,  “Not until you earn it.”

Something flared in his eyes at the challenge, and he said, easily and certainly, “As my lady commands.” He left the red handkerchief on the table in front of Nesta and went to prepare for the tournament.

As he rode away, Feyre turned to her with a shit-eating grin. “Having fun yet, Nesta?”

“Shut up, Feyre.”

[highladyivy]

Headcanons and Hot takes of the ACOTARs Series Characters that just feels right to me…. A thread.

*Possible spoilers*

(PSA- I have not read all the books yet I have only fully read ACOTAR. Currently on ACOMAF. so take this with a grain of salt) will be updating as I continue.

• Cassian carries a portrait of Nesta with him behind his siphon wherever he goes.

• I think Elain and Lucien will inevitably end up together. I think him giving her space will work in his favour.

• I think Azriel is Bisexual.

• Azriel (I mean all of them but him especially) Needs Therapy

• Do I condone that Rhysand left Feyre in the dark during her pregnancy… No. Do I understand why he did it … Yes.

• I think Nesta was wrong for always taking the money that feyre worked so hard for when they were humans.

• For someone so creative Feyre choosing Nyx as her sons name is such a basic ass choice. Like you couldn’t come up with anything more unique or better than that. It’s like how every husky is named Luna.#Unoriginal

• Mor did Azriel dirty. Like ok you didn’t want to come out fine. But you could have just told the guy “ like I’m just not that into you.” It’s not that hard

• therapy they all need therapy

• Feyre darling would be the password to all Rhysands things in the modern world

• Lucien x Feyre > Tamlin x Feyre

• Onions have layers …. And so do all the males in this series.

Update as of March 21, 2024

• The basement yard on YouTube is Cassian and Azriel Coded

• Azriel is everyone’s Hall Pass, both the guys, the girls and the gays love him

• I think Rhysand has abandonment issues and that’s part of the reason he butts heads with Nesta so much and is trying to keep Azriel from elain(other then the fact that she has a mate). I think he’s terrified that they’ll leave him now that they have significant others

• Ianthe did Feyre dirty with the red roses and her wedding.

• part of me wonders if the red rose petals weren’t included in the wedding to tamlin would Feyre have been triggered. I almost think she wouldn’t have and then she would’ve married tamlin

• I get that the spring court was cursed to not talk about said curse but you idiots could draw a fucking story board. Do an interruptive dance idk… anything non verbal… CHARADES FOR FUXKS SAKES

•i think the wingspan theory is 100% true. And anyone of the boys who deny it also says that size isn’t everything. (But also how is Azriel walking around with three legs like my god)

• Elain in regards to the bond with Lucien saying she don’t want her choice taken away is simultaneously taking away Lucien’s choice by not rejecting the bond.

Yes she doesn’t owe anyone anything but. As a fae you always wonder if you’ll be blessed with a mate so even if she never rejects the bond and everyone moves on and Lucien accepts that she isn’t gonna give him a chance do you think someone who is born fae isn’t going to have a 1% hope that she’ll come around. you don’t want it fine but atleast put the guy out of his misery by rejecting it. Or be a nice person so that everyone can move on with their lives.

[lovemyromance]

ELs/GAs: "why do you ship Elain with azriel but not Tamlin when Azriel is a torturer he's also an abuser"

That has got to be the stupidest take coming out of this Elain week shit. At this point I think they're just purposefully choosing to act dumb, because I refuse to believe anybody can be this idiotic.

First of all, Azriel torturing people and interrogating people for his job is NOT equivalent to Tamlin abusing Feyre. That is a crazy statement to even try to make. Azriel has a job - which he DOESN'T EVEN LIKE, HAD TO TAKE BECAUSE OF RHYS's Father - and he reluctantly does it. He's not out here committing crimes for the sake of committing crimes.

Hurting those who are evil and pose a threat to the safety of others does not equal abuse.

Abuse is hurting someone innocent for the sake of your own empowerment and toxicity.

That is so insane. That's like if I said "well Rhys dissolved an army to mist" and "Cassian killed thousand in Hybern's war" and "Lucien killed some soldiers in AOCWAR to cross the battlefield" therefore they are all abusers now.

Does that fucking make sense???

Is Nesta an abuser now, for killing the Kelpie and Lanthys? Is Elain an abuser for stabbing the king of Hybern.

Get. Fucking. Real.

If you don't know the difference between violence for the sake of the greater good and in war and ABUSE, then you shouldn't be reading these books. Go back to magic treehouse or some shit, because ACOTAR is for adults and you're behaving like children.

You hate one character (for doing nothing wrong other than NOT throwing herself headfirst into battle and being uninterested in YOUR favorite character) and you use that to behave like illiterate clowns.

Because only a clown would:

1. Liken a character like Azriel to an ABUSER

2. Then turn around and ship that "ABUSER" with Gwyn, a survivor of SA and witness to seeing her own sisters head cut off.

What the fuck are you doing? Genuinely is this the lengths you'd go to just to say you don't like Elain/Elriel?

You know he's not an abuser. So why are you saying all this nonsense?? And it's literally just anti-Elriels. I have not seen any Elriel go around making such awful claims of Lucien & Gwyn.

These are the good guys! SJM is not going to make ANY of them evil or "abusers". What do you think she would say if you asked her right now "wow so azriel is clearly an abuser right? Just like Tamlin?" Do you think she would pat you on the back and agree with you? Or would she look at you like you're fucking insane ?

It's absolutely batshit crazy how you have to go to such lengths to CLAIM THAT IS CANON (it's literally not) just to try to disprove a ship.

Stop acting like children. ENOUGH. Just go take your ship and enjoy it in your corner of the ship war, you don't have to go around making such vile attacks on Elriel and those who ship it just to make yourself feel better about your ship.

[prythiansfavoritefox]

[ Focus ] for Tamcien 🤍

Tamlin stared at his papers wearily. So much work to do today. So much work...

He stared out of the window, his mind drifting. Feyre was currently at the Night Court, possibly being raped and tortured while he was...filling out forms. Like a useless fucking idiot. He knew he and Lucien were doing the best they could; in fact, Lucien was planning to leave for the Day Court for more information on this goddamn bargain tomorrow, but every second counted. And Tamlin's obsessive brain couldn't help but go over every single detail over and over again. His fault. Everything that was happening to her was his fault. He should've never brought her here. His fault his fault his fault-

"Tam," Tamlin heard vaguely, but it was though he were underwater and the voice was coming from above the surface. He ignored it. Feyre Feyre Feyre-

"Tam," the voice came more insistently, a hand clasping his shoulder with an unshakeable grip. The room temperature began to rise, and Tamlin finally came to attention, blinking at the handsome red-haired courtier sitting beside him. "Are you alright?"

Are you alright? Three words that made Tamlin break.

He burst into tears, and Lucien sighed, pulling Tamlin in for a hug. Tamlin stiffened for a moment before he relaxed into Lucien's embrace. He still had difficulty adjusting to physical contact after his troubled youth, but Lucien was a very physical man. He liked showing his affection, and that meant Tamlin had been hugged by him more times than he could count. Tamlin never admitted to Lucien how much he loved his hugs, scared that it would cross some sort of line between them.

Lucien stroked his hair and rubbed his back. "I know, Tam," he murmured against his shoulder. "I'm worried about Feyre, too. But you're not helping anyone by panicking like this."

Tamlin scowled. "Do you think I want to panic, Lucien?"

"What I meant is take a fucking break, Tamlin, Cauldron boil me. Must you be so defensive all the time?"

Tamlin blushed with embarrassment. "Sorry." Lucien snorted. "You should be." He plucked the papers straight off of Tamlin's desk, taking them to his own. "And you're welcome. I'll expect a raise next week. Go sleep. Good night, Tam."

Tamlin stared in awe as Lucien began filing the papers at lightspeed. How had been so lucky as to get a friend and emissary like him? Gods, did he even know how incredible he was? He...he was all that, and he expected Tamlin not to fall head over heals for him.

Tamlin moved his chair near Lucien's, observing him. "What the hell are you doing?" Lucien demanded, putting his hands on his hips. Tamlin just admired his best friend, his cruel beauty, flaming red hair, his chocolate brown eye that he could drown in, his tan and toned body that showed that he could definitely handle himself in many different situations.

Lucien rolled his eyes. "Oh, I get it. You think because you're the High Lord and you gained back your powers, you can do whatever the hell you want. Well you know, Tam, there are several courts who'd pay an arm and a leg to have me working for them, so you'd better start listening to me more oft-"

Tamlin pulled Lucien in for a kiss. He got a pleasant buzzing sensation as their lips connected, and Lucien stiffened up from shock before he relaxed and began to kiss Tamlin back.

Gods, Lucien was a good kisser. Tamlin was going to go insane. Why did he think this was a good idea again? He was going to lose it as the slow, sensual rhythm of Lucien's tongue.

It took all of his willpower to pull away from Lucien, panting raggedly. "May-be-that-will-teach-you-to-shut-up."

Lucien leaned back in his chair, a lazy smirk forming on his face. "On the contrary, I don't think I'll ever be shutting up again."

[yanny-77]

SHIT IGNORE THE LAST ONE- RIDOC 9 AND DEVIL WENT DOWN TO GEORGIA AHHHHH (I'm an idiot and didn't realize I sent the wrong prompts 😩😭)

Ridoc 9

So I broke my pattern for TUH. Usually, Ridoc gets the even chapters and Bodhi gets the odd chapters, but in this case, I think everyone can agree that we needed to stick with Ridoc.

“Did you hear me, Ridoc?” “Yes,” he breathed. “Yes, you want me to fuck you?” Bodhi took a step closer, pushing Ridoc back into the wall. It took all Ridoc’s self-control not to grab onto Bodhi’s curls and smash their mouths together. “Yes, I heard you.”

The Devil Went Down to Georgia

This was supposed to be my Tamlin week fic but I got as far as putting the lyrics into my document. With Tamlin playing the role of Johnny and Amarantha playing the role of Devil. The song's story has a lot of parallels with the first ACOTAR book and the UTM plotline. I may repurpose it for SJM Villain Week with only a few adjustments to make it more Amarantha-centric.

I guess you didn't know it, but I'm a fiddle player, too. And if you'd care to take a dare I'll make a bet with you. Now you play a pretty good fiddle, boy, but give the Devil his due. I'll bet a fiddle of gold against your soul 'cause I think I'm better than you.

See what I mean? It's perfect

[shadowqueenjude]

Tamlin angst part 9

@achaotichuman TWs: suicide, angst, abuse. etc. etc. etc. This was pointless. Tamlin had been foolish to hope that finding the girl would mean anything. She was dead-set against them, and apparently, Tamlin had no idea how to fucking woo a female. He'd wooed Rhysand with his sad and romantic fiddle songs, and he had not wooed Lucien at all, but rather Lucien had wooed him without even trying and Tamlin had convinced him to stay by constantly saving his life. Did that work on humans? Hmm... "When she comes back," Lucien hissed as Feyre was changing upstairs, "compliment her. Be polite, like a proper gentleman. Don't forget the compliments, doofus. I know you've forgotten how to flirt since Amarantha cursed our asses, but do try, won't you?" Tamlin sighed. "I haven't forgotten how to flirt, Lucien." Lucien snorted. "Prove it then, Oh Lord of Heartbreak." Ugh. Tam was absolutely no good at these games. Lucien was far better at them. He'd pulled that comment about Feyre's hair and eyes out of his ass, and Tamlin had been stunned for a moment. He had the distinct feeling that he'd not seen the extent of Lucien's flirting abilities. He also knew he wanted Lucien to turn the full force of his charm on him. "What do I even say?" "Comment on her clothing, her face. Come on, Tam! Is it really that hard?" Apparently it was, since Tamlin wound up saying her hair is clean and that she looked better than before. After Feyre had left, Lucien snorted at him. "That went well." Tamlin groaned. "I'm no good at this! Why can't you be the one instead?" "Oh come on," Lucien groaned. "Come on, let me give you flirting lessons." Lucien grabbed his wrist and dragged him away. Tamlin let Lucien pull him through room after room, not questioning where they were going until they reached Lucien's room. Tamlin gasped when Lucien shoved him onto the bed. He'd imagined such a thing under different circumstances, but he couldn't say that he minded. Lucien stood over him, placing his hands on his hips. Lucien had the sluttiest little waist. Useless information. Stop thinking about his hips, stop thinking about it- "Come on, Tam!" Lucien demanded. "Impoverished human woman who hates faeries and has just been kidnapped! How would you make her like you?" "Isn't that what you're here to teach me?" Lucien rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle his iris didn't get lost in the back of his head. "You're actually so pathetic, Tam. I don't know if I should be amused or horrified that you're this bad at flirting." Tamlin scowled. "When you're a High Lord, everyone flocks to you! You don't need to be a good flirt." Lucien scoffed. "Arrogant bastard. Well, let me show you how we do things back in Autumn." Tamlin had heard of it; in that court, sex wasn't a mere instinct or fun, it was an art. And they'd completely mastered it. Lucien leaned over him, trailing an index finger across Tamlin's cheek. Tamlin gulped. "I know this must be so new and difficult for you, and I'm sorry it had to be this way," Lucien whispered, hovering over his ear, his breath drawing goosebumps across Tamlin's skin. "How can I make it up to you, oh, mighty mortal huntress? Would you care for a stroll around the grounds?" Tamlin whispered, "Yes." Lucien laughed and pulled away. "Was that really so hard?" Tamlin snapped out of it. Lucien was showing him how to speak with Feyre; he wasn't flirting with him. "Go on, try." Tamlin took a deep breath, trying to channel Lucien's confidence. "I'm sorry about all this. Would you like...a tour?" Lucien sighed. "Close enough. Go get 'em, tiger." Lucien pulled him up with surprising strength and gave him a light shove. "Go go go." "But-" "Tamlin, you idiot, do you realize our lives are depending on your flirting skills?" "You're not helping!" Tamlin shouted as Lucien shoved his bedroom door closed.

[highfaelucien]

Helion and Lucien Theories

good afternoon it’s time for: Spicy Takes With Taryn (this is not a thing but  I’m pretending it’s a thing so just go with me).

The TL;DR, for those who do not have time to listen to me ramble is: I’m not totally sure Lucien is actually going to be super down for this. At least at first.

So. Helion is Lucien’s bio dad. Sexy Spellcleaving thighs are definitely better than Beron’s...Everything. There’s no debating that. Well maybe there is. Because Helion, at the moment, isn’t much more to Lucien than a guy who provided some sperm like...300+ years ago (Maas, I will pay u, just tell me what age Lucien is. Ahem).

Not being yet another spawn of Beron is a good thing, I suppose. But Lucien was still raised by him. He was still abused, and traumatised by him. He still watched him abuse and traumatise his mother. And was eventually rejected and exiled by him. Because Helion...Wasn’t there.

Lucien doesn’t know yet (I cannot fucking BELIEVE Rhys and Feyre figured it out literally over a year ago and just ‘it’s not the right time’. I know she’s probably saving it for Lucien’s book but ffs come up with a better excuse than that, good god. The poor man has literally no family left, found or otherwise, he deserves a chance at this).

But I refuse to believe Helion doesn’t.

Feyre figured it out the first time she ever met him. Helion’s not an idiot. He can do maths and work out there’s at least a chance Lucien is his. And according to Feyre there’s enough resemblance to make it obvious - slightly darker skin, the same nose, mouth, and voice. I refuse to accept Helion has no  idea at all.

Lucien can be reactive and respond with emotion rather than good sense. See: every encounter he’s ever had in his life. He’s also INCREDIBLY loyal. Loyal to an absolute fault and detriment to himself.

I don’t think it’s entirely likely that, when he finally finds out, he’s going to yeet straight to the Day Court for pegasus rides and toga wearing tea parties. I expect him to be pissed.

Because from his perspective: Helion had an affair with his mother, which resulted in her pregnancy. He then did nothing when Beron found out and abused her so badly she’s become a nonverbal shell of herself. And he did nothing when Lucien was born and was (apparently) fairly obviously Not Beron’s - to the point that Beron tortured him in particular as a result.

In Lucien’s eyes, Helion abandoned him and his mother. He never fought for either of them. Sense and reason around mama Lucien not being ready/feeling safe enough to leave and the potential of starting a war over this is, uh, not gonna cut it.

Because Lucien would 10/10 absolutely 1000% damn all the fucking consequences if that was the woman he loved, and his illegitimate kid.

Helion let Lucien stay at Autumn.  And then when he was exiled there, let him crawl to Tamlin and be mistreated for another god knows how long. And mama Lucien has been suffering with Beron since forever.

While Helion laughs, and parties, and fucks, and pretends everything is chill. Obviously this is a facade that hides likely a lot of guilt and pain but...

And I expect that 96% of his anger will be on his mother’s behalf. Lucien is INCREDIBLY protective of his mother. Which is understandable. She was the one good thing, the single positive influence he had growing up. He becomes incredibly defensive when Rhys so much as mentions her sadness at Lucien leaving home.

Lucien almost definitely feels guilty for leaving her. That’s absolutely going to get projected and than magnified by approximately a million when he finds out that Helion, a High Lord, who might actually have had the power and resources to save her, where Lucien never could, left her. Regardless of it being her “choice” (not that she had much of one, which Lucien will know well).

Yeah. I expect Lucien to react with nothing but anger when he finds out about his true parentage. And him telling Helion that he’s sat back and let Lucien suffer and struggle for 300+ years. He doesn’t get to sweep in and make nice and play dad now when he let Lucien believe that abusive monster was his dad for literal centuries and did nothing to reach out or help him.

I want Lucien to have a relationship with Helion, make no mistake. He deserves at least one positive male figure in his life, holy shit. And he deserves the chance to get to know his bio dad, and to understand his history with his mother, and to bond with an Actual Decent Person for once.

Especially if he’s Helion’s only heir - he deserves a chance to know the court he might some day be expected to rule. To learn about his powers and his people.

I just don’t expect him to want to do this immediately. I expect him to be angry. I expected him to be confused and frustrated. And I expect him to lash out in anger and not think before he opens his mouth.

And I may well exploit this meta for some Juicy Elucien Content with Elain gently convincing Lucien to at least hear Helion out and go to Day and see what happens. Because family is precious, and if he turns his back on this opportunity now he may regret it.

[rhysismydaddy]

Inmate Intimacy pt.1 (Nessian)

“Nesta. New patient.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically, but nodded at her assistant. “You mean ‘inmate in need of healthcare,’ but okay. Send him in.”

The heard the usual shuffle of chains a moment later, and then a heavy body settled down on the exam bed.

“Suddenly, I’m not so upset about getting locked up. I had no idea I’d have such a good view,” inmate #9356 said in a cocky voice that somehow rolled over her like honey. Nesta rolled her eyes again. After two years working in the Pyrantian Correctional Facility--an all male prison--she was beyond used to getting hit on.

She was entirely unprepared, however, for what she saw when she turned around. 

A very large, very handsome man sat on the bed, golden eyes boring into hers.  He had long, curly hair pulled back in a bun and a delicious amount of stubble on his square jaw. Two complete sleeves of tattoos covered his arms, and she could see they ran across his chest and shoulders through the thin cotton of his shirt.

He was without a doubt the most handsome man she’d ever seen. 

He’s a criminal.

“I’m sure your high opinion will change after a few weeks. Your chart says you’re in for Type 1 Diabetes?”

“Yep. So just go ahead and give me that insulin pack and I’ll be out of your hair.” He held out his hand, and her breath hitched a little at the bicep the gesture exposed. Her eyes also noticed the tattoos extended all the way to his fingertips, which would be strange on anyone else but somehow managed to look sexy on him.

How annoying. 

“Yes. Smart plan. I’ll give insulin, something people could sell on the black market here, to a convict. And a needle, so he could stab other inmates.” She barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes yet again. “You’ll come in once a day for your shot.”

“Then I guess you’ll be seeing a lot of me.” He didn’t sound upset about it in the slighest.

Nesta narrowed her eyes, motioning for him to hold out his arm. She grabbed the shot and wrote down the dose.

He extended his arm. “If you ever want to see any more of me, just let me know, baby.”

She jabbed the needle into his arm a little aggressively as he watched her with amusement. 

“You didn’t even flinch.” She’d have to stab him harder next time. 

His smirk grew into a grin. “In case you didn’t notice, I have a few tattoos. I’m not exactly afraid of needles.”

“Yes, Cassian. I’m quite aware.” She put a cotton swab on his arm.

Said grin grew into a very wide, very happy smile that showcased almost all of his perfect teeth. “Oh, you know my name? Been reading up on me, baby?”

Nesta leveled a glance at him. “It’s in your chart, and I happen to possess the ability to read.”

“Wow, a smartass with a great ass.” The inmate didn’t stop smiling. “I love that in a woman.”

Reminding herself that she was a medical professional was the only reason she was able to fight the urge to stab the needle through his eye. Once she’d repeated her Hippocratic Oath about ten times, the blood finally stopped rushing through her head.

It was about time to put him in his place. 

She leaned close to him, firmly ignoring how he smelled like fucking heaven, and smiled. In a soft, completely inappropriate voice, she said, “You’re funny.”

Still stuck on the topic of her behind, he told her seriously, “Wasn’t joking. I can tell even through she scrubs.”

“Oh, no. I know I have a great ass. I meant about you thinking you have a chance. Really? Flirting while you’re incarcerated?” She pushed away and flipped through his folder. “And for assaulting an officer no less.”

He opened his mouth, probably to tell her it was all a misunderstanding or something, but she just shook her head. She’d heard it way too many times. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Cassian.”

A guard came in to escort him out, and she had to smile. Men in here really thought it was alluring that they were locked up. 

They should know she was a little old to date a man with a bedtime. 

~Cassian~

Cassian was walking in the yard an hour after meeting the Nurse, thinking of the little smile on her face as she’d insulted him.

Damn. If he wasn’t locked up and eating gruel for the next two years, he’d be all over that. Literally. 

He grinned to himself, not paying attention where he was walking, and slammed his shoulder into someone.

“Watch it,” she stranger snapped. An ugly, vertically challenged man stood before him, looking like a pissed off bull with a stick up his ass. 

“Maybe I didn’t see you because you’re so short.” A low blow, but he wasn’t about to be someone’s bitch on his first day. “Watch where you’re going, prick.”

Bull-man squared his shoulders and narrowed his eyes up at Cassian, two of his goon friends coming to stand behind him.

“Apologize,” the bigger one said, obviously the enforcer.

A crowd started to circle around them. Cassian gritted his teeth. If he did what the asshole wanted, it’d set a dangerous precedent for him.

“Fuck no,” he growled, squaring his shoulders and staring them down. He had height and weight on all of them, but the odds still weren’t favorable. Unless he surprised them.

With that in mind, Cassian didn’t regret it one bit as he swung his fist towards bull-man’s face, hitting him right across the temple and knocking him out cold.

His goons didn’t hesitate, but Cassian was faster. He kicked the big guy’s knee out before tackling the other idiot and starting to pummel him.

After landing a few hits, the other goon pulled him off. He got a lucky shot through Cassian’s guard, but a well-placed blow had him on his back.

The crowd that had gathered backed away from Cassian slowly, a few mutters going through the ranks.

That ought to keep people off my back.

~Nesta~

Nesta shook her head as her new patient walked in the next day, muttering, “I should’ve known you had something to do with the three guys that came in yesterday. One of them has a broken knee, you know.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, gorgeous,” he said, although the smirk on his face said something completely different.

Nesta bit her tongue and motioned for him to hold out his arm.

“I figured you’d be use to violence after working in this joint.”

She leveled a look at him. “Oh, yeah. Violent criminals just do it for me.”

“Listen. The police officer thing is just a misunderstanding. I’m not a bad guy.” He pouted and gave her sad eyes.

“Mmhm, of course. Tilt your head back and let me look at your eye.” It seemed one of the three men had tagged him pretty good. 

He rolled his eyes. “It’s fine. You probably hit harder than that asshole.”

She gave him a sweet smile. “Tilt your head back and you won’t find out.”

“And you say I’m violent,” he muttered, tilting his head back like a good little puppy. 

She stepped closer and placed a gloved finger on his bruised eye socket. He looked up at her with those dammed golden eyes, somehow forcing her to meet his stare. She couldn’t help it. Who the hell has golden eyes?

He leaned closer, lips parting softly.

“You know, it’d probably feel better if you kissed it.”

She flicked the bruise, and he hissed.

“You were right,” she said sweetly. “You’re completely fine.”

“Fuck, you’re hot,” he laughed.

At that, Nesta let out a chuckle. “I’m also one of only two woman on base.”

“Well, I’m sure all three of us could have a very good time,” he murmured, sliding off the exam bed to stand in front of her.

“You’re a confident man.”

“Do I have a reason not to be?” 

Cassian ran his eyes over her, and for the first time in her adult life, she didn’t want him to stop. 

What was going on? Had he gotten closer? Why couldn’t she breathe?

Remembering his question, she reached toward him slowly, and he grinned. Until she jangled the chain holding his wrists together.

“It appears you do.”

“And what if I weren’t in here?” He waved his hand around at their surroundings.

“Then I might let you buy me a drink. Or maybe hire you as a bodyguard.”

He laughed. “Baby girl, I’d never let anything happen to you. You wouldn’t even have to pay me.”

That made her grossly happy, so she just winked and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, inmate.”

~Cassian~

Two weeks later, he still hadn’t made any ground with the nurse. Except in his dreams, which woke him up every freaking night. Hell, he didn’t even know her name.

Every day, he joked and flirted and found new ways to make her blush. But yet, she still laughed him off when he talked about taking her out.

He knew he wouldn’t be locked up for long. His best friend and personal lawyer, Rhysand, was working on getting him out. But Tamlin, the asshole cop Cassian had punched, was doing his best to stop it from happening.

He’d hated them for years, ever since Rhys had “taken” his girlfriend from him.

He’d told him he’d be in for a max of two months before he him got out, but Cassian was getting annoyed.

All he wanted to do was take that nurse out on a date she wouldn’t forget and show her a good time. In more ways than one.

Celibacy was about a thousand times more difficult when you had a woman like that in front of you, looking up at you with bright blue eyes, smiling with those perfect lips he’d love to see wrapped around his-

He was knocked out of his thoughts by shouting in the main cell block. He recognized the sounds as a riot, something that happened a little too frequently here. He’d already gotten used to the noise.

He was settling onto his bed, preparing to go back to his daily daydream when he heard something that was not at all familiar. Cassian’s feet were on the floor before he could even form a thought.

He sprinted towards the sound of feminine yelling, shoving people aside as he ran through the block.

When he caught a glimpse of her golden hair, he raced over and started throwing punches without a thought.

He heard her yelling at him, but all he could see was her thin frame pressed against the wall, holding a syringe like a knife.

And the four assholes that had surrounded her.

One by one, they hit the floor, and then he finally let himself look up at the nurse.

~Nesta~

Nesta felt herself coming a little bit unraveled as she watched Cassian pound another inmates face in.

When he decided to stop using his human punching bag, he drug the limp men out of the cell, pulled the bars closed, and turned to her.

“I told you I’d protect you.” He was panting, but he still smiled. “Are you okay?”

The wild look in his eyes, bloody knuckles, and mused hair was making it hard for her to concentrate. 

She stared at him, well aware her mouth was hanging open. 

“Baby? You okay?” He strode towards her, powerful body eating up the ground. He was completely focused on her, ignoring the raging riot less than twenty feet away. 

Nesta ignored it too as she gave into the adrenaline, threw herself at Cassian, and slammed her lips into his like she’d been dying to do for two weeks.

If he was surprised, he hid it well. His lips were smiling against hers, but when she slid her hands in his hair and pulled, the smile fell away and he actually started kissing her back. 

Kissing her? No. More like devouring her.

His mouth was insistent and soft and firm and yet gentle and-

Strong arms wrapped around her, then she was being backed her up against the wall. 

Nesta ignored the fact that it was cinder block. 

His tongue swept into her mouth as her legs found their way around his waist, and she moaned softly as his body aligned with hers. 

It had only been a few moments of this, but she was on fire, practically squirming with need.

Cassian’s hands drifted up the back of her shirt, callouses scraping her skin, and he pressed his hips into hers in a way that made her back arch, chest tight against his. 

He ripped his lips away from hers long enough to mutter, “Holy fuck,” then kissed his way down her throat. 

“Cassian,” she breathed, voice sounding raspy to her own ears, “I need-”

“I know, baby,” he interrupted, a hand moving down her pants to palm her ass. 

He was halfway done working them down when an alarm sounded, loud and insistent, interrupting them and bringing Nesta back to reality. 

And what a harsh reality it was.

Oh my God. Oh, no no no no.

Her feet found the ground as the bars next to them slid open again. Cassian’s arms were still around her, hands pressed into the wall above her head.  

“I’m so sorry,” she said, refusing to meet his stare as she straightened her scrubs. 

He brushed her hair off her forehead and shook his head. “For what?”

“That was completely unprofessional, and stupid, and a terrible mistake, and... bye. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She didn’t give him enough time to respond before she ducked under his arm and ran--yes, ran--away from the cell block back to her office. 

What the hell had she done?

______________________________________________________________

Part 2 | Part 3

@sjm-things @cursebreaker29 @justgiu12 @maastrash @a-bit-of-a-cactus @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @savemesoon8 @hizqueen4life

[whoreforenemiestolovers]

Unmated | chapter 2

An Elriel Fanfiction

I’ll be posting chapters on here along with wattpad but I would really appreciate it if you guys read it on wattpad and supported me on there :) feel free to leave any comments and suggestions. https://www.wattpad.com/story/261093606-unmated

Azriel’s POV

A breath away from Elain’s face, all Azriel could smell was Jasmine and Honey. He breathed in her scent like it was the only thing he wanted to smell for the rest of his life. Her kiss was an aphrodisiac, and he was already addicted.

Azriel dreams of Elain every night. He dreams of what it would feel like to be blessed with a kiss by her, but nothing he had ever dreamt lived up to the feeling of his lips on hers. It only lasted a second but he could have sworn time stopped.

Azriel

Azriel

Azriel

Rhysand’s voice was in his head. Azriel pulled away from Elain, “we can’t do this.” He saw her face change. It hurt him to see this ray of sunshine in front of him dim. He leaned back down to whisper in her ear, “even if I so desperately want to.”

Azriel pulled back to walk away. “Goodnight, Elain.” Her name was like a song on his lips that he never wanted to stop singing.

Azriel drifted up the stairs with his shadows keeping close, heading to Rhysand’s office. He was still reeling from the kiss.

“Shut the door Azriel,” Rhysand was mad and Azriel knew why, but for some reason, he didn’t care. Azriel shut the door and Rhysand started, “what the hell is wrong with you.” He didn’t know if it was a question or not. “Stay away from Elain. You have no right. She has a mate.”

“Yea, a mate that she despises. A mate that doesn’t deserve her,” Azriel paused with a look of sadness, “Elain deserves so much more.” Azriel had never uttered these words even if he thought them every waking moment.

“And you think you deserve her?”

“What if the Cauldron was wrong? What is the coincidence of her two sisters being the mates of my two brothers?” Azriel paused, “no, I don’t think I deserve her, but I want to work every day to be what she needs, what she wants. She is light and I am darkness. One cannot exist without the other as I cannot exist without her. I have been ignoring my feelings for too long. I cannot stand the sight of her with Lucien. I cannot stand being in her presence without being with her. Her happiness is contagious and her smile can light up even the darkest room. The first time she showed me her garden, the smile on her face made me forget every bad thing going on in our lives at that time. When the Cauldron took her, I felt like I was dying. I didn’t know what I would have done if I never got to see her smile again. So I was the first to volunteer to get her back from Hybern’s camp. I didn’t care if I died as long as she lived. When she looks at me I feel as though my heart is stopping. When she speaks, her voice sounds like a symphony. I know it’s wrong to want her but I can’t not want her. She is everything I’ve been looking for in my 500 years of life. And it hurts.”

Rhysand was staring at Azriel, slack-jawed. “You will start a war, Azriel. She is Lucien’s mate, he will challenge you to a blood duel.”

“And I would win.”

“And once you kill Lucien, Beron will declare war. They might not be close but Lucien is still his son. Not only Autumn Court, but Spring Court and a war with Vassa and Jurian.”

Azriel’s siphons flared, “you don’t have room to talk, Rhysand. You took Feyre on her wedding day to a different High Lord. Tamlin let Hybern attack us from his borders to get her back. War happened and thousands of people died so you can’t say shit about starting wars for love.” Azriel saw the blow land. He didn’t regret it.

“You are to stay away from her.” Rhysand looked down at his papers, “you can fuck anyone in this city except for her. If you don’t leave her alone you will regret it.” Azriel had never hated Rhysand more than in this moment. “Get out of my office.”

~~~

Azriel flew back to the House of Wind. He had been staying there to avoid being around Elain. He likes the silence it offers. He also doesn’t like being in the River Manor when Lucien is there. He aims for the training pit to help clear his mind but he noticed someone was already there. Gwyn.

He didn’t know what she was doing training at 2 am on Winter Solstice but it was cold. She needs to go inside, he thought. “What are you doing out here this late,” he asked as he landed, “it’s cold. You should go in.”

Gwyn looked at him like she was contemplating it. “I want to cut the ribbon.” He walked closer to her to get a better look at the ribbon.

“Show me how you’re doing it.” She went to slice the ribbon again, not succeeding in cutting it. “Again,” he ordered.

“You’re rotating your hand when it meets the ribbon, here let me show you.” He took the sword from her hand, “this is what you’re doing. You need to keep the blade straight, like it’s an extension of your arm.” He demonstrated, cutting the ribbon in one strike.

Gwyn took the sword back, trying to cut the ribbon as he had, focusing on keeping her arm straight. “Cassian is always focused on Nesta to notice small things like this.”

Azriel chuckled, “you’re not wrong.”

“Why do they call you the shadowsinger? Do you sing?”

“They don’t call me the shadowsinger, I am a shadowsinger.” He was surprised. No one had ever asked him that.

“Do you sing though?” Azriel was confused why she was so interested.

He didn’t feel like explaining so all he responded with was, “yes.” She looked as if she was going to try to get more out of him so he asked, “did the priestesses celebrate Winter Solstice?”

“Yes, we have a service. It was nice.” She smiled a warm smile, “how was the party?”

A small smile overtook Azriels lips as he looked down, “it was really nice.” Even though Rhysand scolded him and told him to stay away from Elain, nothing would take away the happiness from the kiss they shared. Gwyn pushed further, “you seem unusually happy. What happened?” He looked up at her, his smile dropping.

He contemplated leaving her on the roof but perhaps she could give him advice. “Uh—well there is someone…” Azriel trailed off, not really knowing what to say.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me, but if you do, I am here to listen.”

Azriel pursed his lips into a line then opened his mouth to speak, “It’s Elain.” Gwyn’s jaw dropped and then her face was overtaken by a smile.

“Shadows and sunshine. Who would’ve thought,” she snickered, “I think that’s adorable and I think you deserve to be happy.” Azriel met her eyes with a look of appreciation.

“Rhysand doesn’t feel the same as you do.” his siphons flared. “He told me to stay away from her because she has a mate even though she hasn’t accepted the mating bond and despises Lucien.”

Gwyn rolled her eyes, “then Rhysand is a fucking idiot.” Azriels eyes widened at the foul language. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually talk like that but it isn’t Rhysands place to tell you whether or not you can be around someone you have feelings for, especially if they have feelings for you. Does she?” She paused, “have feelings for you, I mean?”

Azriel took a deep breath, thinking about it. “I mean, we kissed. Which has to mean something. Elain isn’t the type of person to just kiss something without having feelings for them.” Azriel looked down, “I’m sorry, I don’t need to be burdening you with this. I don’t usually talk to people about this stuff, I’m just… frustrated.”

“Is that why you came to the training pit? To blow off some steam?”

“It is. But now I’m just tired.” Azriel shook his head, “you should get some sleep. Thank you for listening to me.” Azriel gave Gwyn a warm smile.

She returned his smile, “that’s what friends are for.”

They both headed inside, Gwyn to wherever the priestesses sleep, and Azriel to his room.

He dreamt of Elain’s kiss that night.

[maastrash]

can u write 8- fights for feysand pls

of course! I don't really write feysand that often so I’m sorry if this ooc !

but to everyone asking yes my prompts are open! I already got a few so I’ll be working on them this week :) you can submit a prompt from here or here or ofc your own!

Ok enjoy:)

“Rhys I’m going alone and there’s nothing your jealous ass can do to stop me.” Feyre practically growled as she tugged her arm out of his grasp.

Rhysand ran his fingers through his hair clearly trying to hold back saying something he’d regret. They’d been going in circles having the same fight for a week. Tamlin, Feyre’s controlling ex wouldn’t leave her alone and she was tired of it. She recently told him to meet her at the local bar where she could tell him off once and for all. Not only was it reckless, but she wasn’t even planning to tell Rhys. If he hadn’t happened to see the texts, he never would have known. 

“For the last time, I am not jealous,” Rhysand gritted out. “I’m worried about your safety, Feyre.” It was like they were fighting over two different things. 

“I already told you I can handle myself,” she said grabbing her bag off the counter, still planning to leave. 

“And I told you Tamlin is unpredictable and I don’t want you alone.”  She just didn’t understand how dangerous Tamlin was. She wasn’t hearing him. Rhys knew from first-hand experience that Tamlin ruins lives. 

“You are not the boss of me,” she muttered under her breath as she slipped on her shoes. 

“Were you even going to tell me?” His eyes were clouded with anger? No, sadness and a hint of worry. Feyre looked at the floor not being able to meet his gaze any longer. 

“If you go, we’re done,” Rhysand said, voice breaking as if it physically hurt him to say the words. 

Feyre paused in her tracks, hand still on the doorknob. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” This time it was Rhys who couldn’t meet her eyes. “If you can’t see how irrational this is I can’t help you.” He paused, “and clearly, you don’t trust me enough to tell me what’s going on in your life or value me enough to listen to what I have to say.”

Feyre couldn’t help it as one tear slipped from her eye. She wiped it away quickly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing how he hurt her. “Then I guess we’re done.” She gave him one last withering glance before stepping out the door and not looking back. 

Rhys stood there as Feyre slammed the door behind her. He leaned against the wall for support and slowly dropped to the ground. He was a gods damned idiot. Feyre was only trying to tell off Tamlin so she could move on. No, so they could move on together. Instead of supporting her and being there for her, he had turned on her. He tried to control her as Tamlin had and it wasn’t even his place. He barely even gave her the chance to explain. Damn him. 

He quickly threw on a sweatshirt and grabbed his keys. He’d make sure she was safe and then beg for her forgiveness. He knew one thing for sure, he couldn’t lose her. 

Feyre walked into the bar and immediately saw Tamlin’s bright blond hair. It stuck out against the dark lighting of the room like a sore thumb. 

“Ok I’m here and Rhys is not now will you stop threatening him and me,” she didn’t waste any time. She wanted this to be in and out so she could go back to Rhys and show him everything was fine.

“Feyre,” he drawled, clearly already drunk.”Why don’t we talk outside its awfully stuffy in here.”

She rolled her eyes as Tamlin led them out. “I’m serious Tamlin I better not hear from you again or I will be going to the police.”

“Is that a threat Feyre?” he asked raising a brow.

It is.” Feyre said. Satisfied with the conversation, she turned to leave, but Tamlin had other ideas. He quickly grabbed her arm. Hard. So hard that she was forced to face him again. 

“We’re not done here.” And as he said the words Feyre realized where they were. A secluded alley. Where no one could see or hear them. 

“Well, I said we are.” She did her best to keep her rising panic at bay. “Now let go of me,” she finished, stronger than she felt.

“No.” 

And as Tamlin’s grip tightened on her wrist she realized maybe Rhys hadn’t been overreacting after all.

tags @illyriangarbage // @court-of-fuck-me-daddy  // @girlnovels // @aelinninielelain // @julesherondalex // @rosehallshadowsinger // @ifangirlninja // @dreamerforever-5// @queen-of-wings-and-fire // @rhysanoodle  // @jemma-nessian-and-elriel // @books-and-words-addict  // @nightinshadow // @wolffrising // @the-regal-warrior  // @dreamingofalba // @abillionlittlepieces // @alitzeldiaz // @kylizzles // @queenmaas // @illyrian-bookworm // @aspillofstars // @b00kworm // @tswaney17 // @girl-who-reads-the-books // @theshadowsinger-and-thefawn // @abraxos // @perseusannabeth // @acourtofmarauders // @sweetlyvillainous // @awesomelena555 // @notyournymphetish // @ladywitchling // @aesthetics-11 // @sjmships // @iammissstark // @illyrianwitchling13 // @moondancer-204 // @sjm-things​ // @foolsinlove // @sayosdreams // @welcometothespeaknowworldtour​ // @flourishandblottsx​ // @stardelia​ // @julemmaes​ // @thewayshedreamed​ // @texas-shaped-waffle-maker​ // @keshavomit​ // @cursebreaker29 // 

[illyrianbeauty]

A Not So Chance Encounter: Chapter 26

Rhys is persuaded to attend a fundraiser by his cousin Mor. He didn’t expect to meet the girl of his dreams.

Fic Masterlist

Writing Masterlist

Chapter 26: The trouble is, you think you have time

Ok... so it’s been like almost been a year since I’ve update this. Thank you all for being so supportive these last few months! It’s definitely been a struggle, but things are much better now that my Tamlin is out of my life! 

Please let me know what you think! I love getting comments and constructive criticism! Enjoy! ~Rachel

*** 

Rhys often looked back on his misadventures during his adolescent years and wondered how the fuck he, Az, and Cass were still alive.  Az, arguably the most levelheaded of the family, had often grumbled about his and Cassian’s antics, even going so far as to keep a running tab on the outcomes of their plans, and the inevitable disasters that followed.  Points were earned for both creativity and daring, while any scheme that resulted in major bodily harm, or their parents finding out, resulted in a substantial loss of points.  Last he had checked, Rhys was in the lead, ahead of Cass by a whooping eleven points.  

One of Rhys’s best ideas, and therefore the most idiotic, had led to them breaking into Adventure Island, aptly referred to as Ghost Town in the Sky by Prythian’s elite.  The events leading up to the water park being shut down had become somewhat of an urban legend in their community, and one of the reasons it had since become a popular spot for keggers and raves alike.  The enormous waterslides, a mismatched heap of tarnished metal and graffiti, were as recognizable in Prythian’s skyline as The Heptagon itself, the city’s sleek, pristine capital building.

Born out of severe boredom and an astronomical amount of tequila shots, Rhys had suggested that they climb to the top of The Leviathan, the largest attraction that was still standing in the abandoned park.  Just as Rhys had predicted, Cassian had flashed him a shit eating grin and motioned for Rhys to lead the way. They were nearly to the top of the structure when the rung on which Cassian was standing gave way.  Rhys, a good fifteen feet above Cass, was too far away to do anything except stare in utter horror as Cass dangled from the tips of his fingers, nearly two hundred feet in the air.  By the time Rhys had climbed down, Cassian had already hoisted himself up onto the platform, out of harm’s way.  They had all laughed themselves silly once they were safely on the ground, but Rhys had seen the fear in Cassian’s eyes as the corroded hunk of metal struck the ground far below them.  

That had been the first time in his life that Rhys had felt completely and utterly useless.  He never told anyone, especially not to Cass or Az, but the feeling of inadequacy and helplessness he had felt in that moment, nearly crippling in its intensity, had haunted him for weeks after that reckless night.  

That same feeling, the horrible realization that he was wholly incapable of helping those he loved, settled deep into his bones, into his very soul, as pain flashed across the delicate features of Feyre’s face.    

“You’ve won, Mara.  I’m yours.  Just… just let her go.  Please,” Rhys begged, the words tasing lake ash in his mouth.  Feyre narrowed her eyes, giving him a look that clearly said Shut the fuck up and get me out of here.  Asshole.  Tearing his gaze from Feyre’s, he forced himself to meet Amarantha’s cold, calculating stare.  It was almost poetic, this disaster his life had become.  A nightmare that he couldn’t seem to escape, no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried.  His past had been resurrected, brought back to haunt him, and was hellbent on destroying his future.  The future he so desperately wanted to share with Feyre.  He could see it all so clearly.  The life they could have had together, the love they could have shared.  His heart ached knowing it was over, before it even had a chance to begin.  Rhys scarcely dared breathe as he took a single step forward, towards Feyre.   

“Ah ah ah, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Amarantha chided, slowly running the tip of her blade across Feyre’s bottom lip, not hard enough for it to cut into her flesh, but enough to get her point across.  Rhys raised his hands placatingly, and moved back a fraction of an inch.  

“Good boy,” Amarantha purred, the corners of her mouth twisting into a hateful little smirk.  She grasped Feyre’s chin, wrenching her head to the side roughly.  

“Where shall we begin?” she mused, scrutinizing Feyre’s face as though she were an artist inspecting canvass.  Feyre wrenched her chin from Amarantha’s grasp.  

“You crazy, fucking bitch,” Feyre snarled, her expression nearly feral.  She tilted her head back and spat at Amarantha.  Rhys almost felt like laughing at Feyre’s audacity.  Almost.  The look of unmitigated rage that burned in her eyes made his blood ran cold, stopping the smallest chuckle from passing his lips.  His breath hitched as Amarantha unhurriedly ran a hand across her check, wiping away any traces of the spittle.  Her expression was fierce, a promise of retribution, both swift and brutal, was etched across her features.    

Amarantha clucked her tongue and said, “Naughty, naughty.”  His brave, beautiful Feyre glared defiantly at Amarantha.  The two woman stood there for a moment, regarding each other carefully.  Every single one of his instincts was roaring at him, urging him to get Feyre far away from this place.  Beads of sweat trickled down the nape of his neck, his breathing growing increasingly difficult.    

Faster than he was able to anticipate, she lashed out, her movements both practiced and graceful, and plunged the blade deep into Feyre’s thigh.  Rhys had never heard anything as terrifying, as devastating, as Feyre’s piercing, shrill scream.  His stomach heaved at the site of the pink stiletto handle jutting out of her flesh.  Blood gushed from the wound, soaking the denim of her jeans and pooling onto the floor.   

“Hush now pet, “  Amarantha cooed, caressing Feyre’s cheek.  Her fingers, wet with blood, left crimson trails across Feyre’s skin.  

“What do you want?” Rhys asked, his voice coming out in a hoarse, broken rasp, betraying the fear roiling violently through him.   Amarantha turned to face him fully, ignoring Feyre completely.  If he could just keep her occupied… 

Amarantha cocked her head to the side, considering his question.   

“Why Rhysand, I thought that it was quite obvious,” she purred, taking a step towards him.    Good.  He needed to get her the fuck away from Feyre.   

“Why don’t you just explain it to me,” he said, taking a step back, his eyes darting back and forth rapidly, gauging the distance between her and Feyre. 

“What I want, my love, is for you to suffer,” she said, practically spitting out the last word.  Amarantha closed the distance between them, her eyes never once leaving his.  She stopped only when she was a hair's breadth away.  Her expression was murderous, rage radiating off her in violent waves.  As she leaned towards him, Rhys had to force himself to stand his ground, to not recoil from her touch  Her lips grazed the shell of his ear as she whispered, “I want to watch you break.  I want to watch you crumble as I destroy everyone and everything that you love.”  Her words hit Rhys like a punch to the gut.  Deep down, he had always known that this would happen, had come to expect it.  He had always known that he was tainted, cursed.  Those whom he loved inevitably ended up suffering.  First his mother and sister.  Now Feyre.  He knew that he had absolutely no chance of walking out of this house alive.  It was far too late for him.  But Feyre didn’t need to share his fate.  He would do whatever he had to to make sure she got out of this fucking mess he had gotten her into.  When she was out, when she was safe, he was going to bring this entire fucking house down around Amarantha.  If Rhys was going to hell, then he was damn well going to take Amarantha with him.  

“For fucks sake Rhys, just punch the bitch and get me the hell out of here,” Feyre sobbed, her face growing paler by the second.  The air was heavy with the coppery scent of blood.  It oozed out of the wound and down her leg, pooling on the ground at her feet at an alarming rate.  She was loosing too much, too quickly.  He needed to get her out of here.  Now.  Amaranths’s heels clacked against the cement floor as she stalked towards Feyre.    

“Such dramatics,” she murmured, running a hand through Feyre’s hair.  She shrank back, her body seeming to cave in on itself as Amarantha wound a strand of her golden- brown hair around a finger.  

Now was his chance, while Amarantha was distracted.  He had to do something, before Feyre bled to death before his eyes.  Ever so slowly, Rhys reached for his weapon, praying Amarantha wouldn’t sense his movements.  He removed the gun from his waistband, his eyes never leaving Amarantha’s form.  Rhys winced as he disengaged the safety, the sound seeming to reverberate throughout the entire room.  

“Amarantha, step away from her now,” he said, fighting to keep his hand steady as he aimed the gun directly at her chest.  Amusement danced in her eyes as she took in the weapon he held.  Feyre hissed as Amarantha’s hand grazed across the hilt of the stiletto, still imbedded deeply in her leg, as she walked around to Feyre’s other side.  Fuck.  Amarantha had effectively positioned Feyre between them, using her body like some sort of fucking human shield.  Amarantha smirked at him, with an air of someone who was about to be named the fucking Queen of Prythian, not someone who had a fucking gun pointed at them.  

“You disappoint me Rhysand,” she said, disdain dripping off of her every word. 

“Get away from her,” he growled.  

“Oh, I don’t think so,” she said, resting her hands lightly on Feyre’s shoulders.  

“Don’t make me shoot you, Mara,” Rhys warned, taking a step towards her.

“Put down the gun Rhysand,” she purred, the tips of her nails scraping along the skin of Feyre’s neck.

“Get the fuck away from her right now,” he yelled, a note of desperation filling his voice.  

“Why would I do that? Things are just starting to get interesting.”  

“Is this just some fucking game to you?” he snapped, losing the tenous hold he had on his temper.  

“Of course it’s a game silly.  One I intend to win.” 

Terror overtook his expression as Amarantha’s hands roughly wrapped around Feyre’s neck.  Her beautiful, stormy grey blue eyes met his, full of fear and another emotion he couldn’t quite name.   

Feyre’s lips trembled slightly as she gasped out, “Rhys, I…”

Before either of them could react, Amarantha snapped Feyre’s neck with a vicious twist of her hands.  Rhys collapsed to the ground, his knees striking the ground with a resounding thud as he watched the light fade from her eyes.  

***

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[dawninlatin]

Haste

A Feysand Modern AU One Shot

Words: 4433

AO3 Link

Masterlist

Summary: Feyre comes back home after quitting college and breaking up with her boyfriend. During a night out, she starts seeing her friend Rhys in a new light. (Warning: There is some smut by the end)

The title comes from the song “Haste” by RY X, and if you wanna vibe, I suggest you go listen to it:)

A/N: Sorry for how long this note is, guess I had a lot to say, lol. This is actually the first fic I ever wrote, but I wanted to repost it, because I had only posted the AO3 link before, and wasn’t happy with that format. I would like to take this opportunity to thank all my amazing followers and readers!<3 

When reading through this fic, there were so many things I wanted to change, (like, why did I think it was a good idea to have every other word written in italics?? And I’m so sorry for the cheesy dialogue and suuuuper long paragraphs...), but I decided to keep it as it was, because it shows how far I’ve come from that day in February where I sat up half the night writing, thinking that no one would ever read this, because my English wasn’t good enough, and my writing wasn’t good enough. 

Yet I still posted it, and the response I got was more than I ever expected! This, along with all the other response I’ve gotten on all my other fics, has helped me so much with my writing, but more importantly, has helped me become the person I am today. So thank you so much, to everyone who takes the time to read, to everyone who likes, and reblogs, and leaves comments, and keep encouraging me! Thank you to all you wonderful people I have gotten to know on this app, tumblr has become a second home for me! From the bottom of my heart, I love y’all!<3<3<3

This was not how Feyre had pictured her night. Had she been the one to decide, it would consist of greasy pizza, a bottle of tequila and some crappy rom-com. Feyre had gotten as far as scrolling through Netflix in search for one, when her best friend Mor walked in the door of the apartment and declared that Feyre better get her ass of that couch, take a fucking shower and put on some decent clothing, because they were going out.

Feyre hadn’t felt like she was in the right position to protest; it was Mor’s couch she’d been occupying for the past week after all. Had it been a week already? she wondered. A week since Feyre had finally broken up with her asshole boyfriend Tamlin and then jumped on a bus to California, because the only person in the world she wanted to be with then was Mor. She had felt the need to share this victory with the only person that could always make her feel better. Of course, the high had ended as soon as she stood on Mor’s doorstep, where she had taken one look at her best friend and turned into a sobbing mess. That was about how she had spent the following week as well. She didn’t want to cry over the bastard, but he had been part of her life for the past two years, and she had loved him. Once.

So instead of spending the night on Mor's couch, wallowing in self pity, Feyre now found herself standing in the middle of a dance club crowded with drunk, sweaty people, playing way too loud music - the blinking lights making her dizzy. She had borrowed one of Mor’s dresses - and though this was considered modest in Mor’s eyes - she found herself constantly pulling at the black fabric, not comfortable with how much thigh it showed off.

Feyre scanned the room, trying to find her friend, and as she was about to declare the task impossible, she eyed a red dress and a head of blond curls. Mor was elbowing her way through the crowd, drinks in hand, accompanied by two men Feyre recognized. The tall, muscular one with shoulder-length, dark hair and a cocky smirk was Cassian, and the slightly shorter one with a shy smile was Azriel.

As they approached her, Cassian went in for a one-armed hug. «It’s good to see you Feyre!» He grinned at her, and she found herself grinning back despite her unhappy mood earlier. She really had missed these people.

«Hi Feyre, you look well!» Feyre looked up to see Azriel smiling at her, accompanied by an awkward wave. He was more of the quiet, observing type of guy, but that was exactly what Feyre liked so much about him. He was quiet, yes, but the silence was never uncomfortable.

«You as well, Azriel.» She smiled back at him, then turned towards Mor, who handed her a drink.

«Don’t look so shy Feyre. You look amazing tonight!» Mor winked at her, then gestured to the rest of the club. «You should have seen all the guys eyeing you when we walked in. Actually…if you hadn’t been my best friend, and straight-» she made a disappointed face at that, which made their whole group laugh, including Feyre, «-I totally would have slept with you.» Feyre laughed even more at that, but Mor was right. She felt good tonight. Sexy, even. She felt something she hadn’t felt in a long way. She was excited for what the night - the future - would bring.

«I might not wanna sleep with you, but I think that brunette at the bar wants to.» Feyre nodded her head towards the young woman ogling her friend.

«Hell yes!» Mor exclaimed. She put her arms around Feyre and Azriel’s shoulders. «Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, we’re gonna get laid!»

«Cheers to that!» Cassian laughed, lifting his drink. As Feyre sipped hers, she felt light, almost giddy, with excitement and joy. At the same moment, she noticed someone was missing from their small gathering. Rhys.

She couldn’t fathom how she hadn’t noticed before. Mor’s annoying cousin was difficult to ignore whenever he was present. The prick always teased, always came with innuendos, or witty remarks. He had the biggest ego Feyre had ever encountered. Still, Feyre found herself to be missing Rhysand’s snarky comments and their never-ending banter. Before she had time to stop herself, she spoke the sentence: «Hey guys, where’s Rhys?»

Cassian wiggled his eyebrows at her, but she chose to ignore him. «He’s coming later. Had to work overtime» Mor answered. Feyre nodded, before quickly switching the subject over to their plans for the rest of the summer.

-

As soon as they had some alcohol in their blood, Feyre and her small group of friends moved on to the dance floor. Feyre was jumping around, singing along to whatever song they were blasting, joking and laughing with Mor and Cassian, teasing Azriel for not wanting to join them. They looked like idiots, but they were happy idiots. She could feel the heavy bass in her whole body, along with her beating heart. She was so, so happy . Happier than all of last year combined. Hell, she hadn’t been this happy since high school, when she, Mor, Cassian, Azriel, even Rhys, had been together almost every day. Always laughing, joking. But that had been before Tamlin, and before she had been stupid enough to move halfway across the country for college.

Feyre scolded herself for thinking about Tamlin again. The point of tonight was to forget him. To have fun. And she was having fun, and she was happy. So happy that at any moment she could grow wings and disappear into the night. She had no worries. No worries of the home she had left behind, or college, or her ex-boyfriend, or what tomorrow would bring. She was here, now, and she felt fucking amazing.

Feyre heard Cassian greet someone, and turned just in time to meet a pair of shockingly blue eyes. Rhys. Her breath caught, her heart thundering in her chest, and she found herself not being able to look away. He held her gaze, refusing to be the first to break eye contact. Feyre didn’t know if it was the lights, the music, the alcohol, the warm summer night, still young and full of possibilities, or the feeling of finally being free, but it was as if she was seeing him for the first time.

Had he always been this handsome? she asked herself, taking in his lean, muscular form, his tight-fitting jeans, the white shirt opened just enough to show off the tattoos swirling across his chest. She stared at his sharp jawline, his soft lips, his eyes, so blue they were practically glowing, his dark, messy hair. Oh, how she wanted to run her fingers through his hair.

A cough from Mor made Feyre tear her eyes away at last. I must be drunker than I thought , she mused. This was Rhys she was thinking about. The man who annoyed her to no end. The man who was known for his many hook-ups and one night stands and flirts and just- argh.

«How nice of you to finally show up,» Cassian said as he threw an arm around Rhys’ shoulder and handed him a drink. Rhys made a comment that had Cassian roaring with laughter, but Feyre didn’t hear what it was, because Rhys was looking at her with such an intensity that it made her insides tingle. Stop it, she thought. You had a boyfriend just a week ago.

«Hey Feyre. It’s good to see you again.» Rhys smiled at her, but it wasn’t his usual cocky smirk. It almost looked a little sad. Feyre suddenly found the floor very interesting, not being able to keep herself from blushing or biting her lip. She could feel his eyes on her. Burning. Then Mor shouted «Who wants shots?», and the moment was over.

-

The night went on. They drank, they danced, they talked about college and hook-ups and high school. Feyre almost wanted to cry at the feeling of how familiar it all was. She had been afraid that her moving to Boston would change everything - and it had, for a little while - but she was back now, and everything was normal. Except for Rhys, maybe. Something had definitely changed between the two of them.

Gone was the teasing and never-ending banter. In its place was something brand new. They hadn’t said anything to one another except for pleasantries for the entirety of the evening, but Feyre caught him staring at her constantly, with this sad, longing look in his eyes. And to be honest, she hadn’t been able to keep her eyes off of him either.

Right now, they were all sitting at the bar, watching Cassian stick his tongue down the throat of some random blonde on the dance floor. Mor suddenly stood up, announcing she was gonna go try her luck with the woman she had been flirting with all night.

«Come on, Azriel. You’re gonna be my wingman.» His protest died on his lips as More pulled him after her.

All there was left, was Feyre and Rhys. Not able to meet each others eyes.

But Feyre was feeling brave this night. It might have been the alcohol, or the still-lingering high of having broken up with the asshole that had made her life miserable for the past year. She muttered a quiet «fuck it», downed her drink, stood up, and looked her friend straight in the eyes. «Do you wanna dance?»

Rhys’s face was lit up by a bright smile. «I thought you’d never ask, Feyre darling.» Her insides warmed at the familiar nickname, and she found herself smiling just as brightly. Rhys took her hand, leading her to the dance floor, where some old EDM shit was playing.

Feyre didn’t care about the bad music, or the bright lights, or the sweat coating her body. She was here with Rhys. His body was so close now, and she could smell his all-familiar scent of citrus and sea.

She lost track of how long they danced. None of them were any good at it, but they were laughing and having fun. Feyre felt 17 again, jumping around, sweaty and drunk, but happy. «God, I missed this!» she exclaimed, grinning at Rhys, just as the fast rhythms and heavy bass switched over to a slow ballad.

Hesitantly, Feyre glanced at Rhys, suddenly feeling shy and unsure. He raised his eyebrows in a silent question. She understood what he meant immediately, and nodded, biting her lip. Rhys stepped closer, and put his arms around her waist. She placed hers around his neck, swaying along with the music.

She looked at the man in front of her. Really looked at him this time. How had she not noticed before, how strikingly beautiful he was? His sharp angles, kissable lips, silky hair, the blue eyes she could get lost in if she stared for too long. Said eyes were taking in her just as intensely at the moment.

«You are so beautiful tonight, Feyre.» His voice was hoarse, laced with restraint. Feyre felt a longing, deep within herself. She wanted to tell him he was beautiful too, wanted to kiss him, wanted to cry, wanted to just leave, wanted to stay in his arms forever. She wanted to be his.  She did neither, couldn’t find the courage to do so.

Instead, she stepped closer, and pressed her forehead against his, feeling his strained breath against her lips. Everything around them disappeared. The world narrowing down to the two of them, together, forehead against forehead, in the midst of a warm night in June.

Then the song ended, and the moment was over. Feyre stepped back, but she continued to hold his gaze. Rhys looked towards the exit. «Come, I wanna show you something.» He grabbed her hand, and then he was leading her through the crowd. They walked past Mor, who muttered a «fucking finally!» that made them both chuckle.

Outside, they were surrounded by warm, summer air, a chill breeze running over their exposed skin. Rhys looked at Feyre with mischief in his eyes. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach.

«What exactly was it that you wanted to show me?» she asked, not being able to hide her curiosity.

«You’ll see, just trust me.» Rhys looked giddy with excitement. He was bouncing on his feet now. «Follow me, we don’t wanna miss it.» Then he started walking. Fast.

«Miss what?» Feyre shouted after him, but he didn’t answer. Rhys just kept on walking, and she struggled to keep up with him. «I have shorter legs than you, remember? And I’m currently in heals, which puts me at an unfair disadvantage.» He stopped a few steps ahead, an amused look on his face.

«We have to wait a few minutes now,» he announced, all serious. Feyre looked around where they were standing, a few blocks away from the club. The whole city was sleeping. The sight of the quiet, empty streets bewitching.

Then a bright, yellow bus stopped in front of them. Also empty. She followed Rhys onto it, confusion growing more and more. «The bus? Where exactly are we going?»

The puzzled look on Feyre's face made him chuckle. «I swear, the mystery will be worth it once we get there. Now, we could have walked, but then we would miss it.» He must have seen the question forming on her lips, because he raised a finger. «And no, I still won’t tell you what it is.»

She rolled her eyes and muttered a quiet «prick». The nickname made him laugh, and she laughed with him, because Feyre hadn’t called him that since high school. It had been way too long since they’d been together like this. Still, under all the joking and laughing, there was an unfamiliar tension that hadn’t been there before.

-

After only five minutes, Rhys announced that they had reached their destination. He stepped out onto the street, and led Feyre towards a beach. The sight in front of her was breathtaking. The dark waves crashing against the sand, the sky - the nearing dawn making it a deep pink - birds flying over their heads, and Rhys, who had taken off his shoes and started walking towards the ocean. Feyre followed him, slipping out of her heels. The moment she felt the familiar California sand under her toes again, she laughed with joy. A rich and warm sound she hadn’t made in forever.

Rhys, who was standing in the water now, looked up at her, the same bright smile on his face. He waved at her to hurry up, and she walked the final steps to him. The sea was warm, and the salty smell of it was amazing. It was home. She looked towards the horizon, where the sun barely had begun to rise. Then she looked up at Rhys again.

«The sunrise. That’s what you wanted to show me.»  Rhys only nodded, before looking ahead of them. Feyre took in the sight again, and she felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time. She wanted, no, she needed to paint.

Her thoughts were disturbed by Rhys, who was now sitting in the sand, jeans cuffed up to his knees. «Come sit with me, Feyre.» He patted the spot next to him.

Feyre stepped back and sat down, feeling the waves crash against her legs. She looked to Rhys, and said the only thing that could come to her mind with a playful smirk on her lips. «How did your dad take it when he found out his only son was gonna major in English, and not business?»

Rhys grimaced. «He was pissed at first, even threatened to write me out of his will, but he came around - eventually.» They chuckled at that, both knowing how angry Rhys’ father could get, but also how he always gave in when it came to his children. «How about you? How’s all the art stuff going?» Rhys asked, his eyebrows raised in question.

«Urgh,» Feyre cringed, «I dropped out in March, haven’t touched a paint brush since.» She should have been sad or ashamed when admitting that, but she felt good, knowing she had made the right choice. She had been miserable in Boston.

Rhys looked at her, concern lining his face. «That bad, huh?»

«What can I say? Boston sucked, and I would much rather be here, with you guys.» She grinned at him, and he grinned back.

«So you’re back for good now?» Feyre only nodded, turning back towards the rising sun.

The sight in front of her was hypnotizing. «I didn’t realize how much I’ve really missed home.» The words were out before she managed to think. Rhys only hummed quietly beside her. Seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Feyre turned towards him. His eyes were closed, a small smile on his lips. «What’s on your mind?» she wondered out loud.

Rhys opened his eyes then, and looked at her. «A thought for thought?» he suggested. She smiled at the reminder of the little game they used to play when they were younger. «I can begin,» he continued.

He looked towards the horizon again, taking a deep breath. «I’m thinking that when I walked into the club tonight, I was so happy to see you, because you were so happy. You were dancing and laughing and I thought that finally we had gotten our Feyre back. After you left for Boston, and after you met him, it was as if you disappeared.» Feyre tried to swallow the lump in her throat. He sounded wounded, almost. Did he really care about her that much?

«You visited, of course, but it was like a stranger had replaced you. You were a shell of who you once used to be. You stopped laughing, stopped making inappropriate jokes, and I missed you. God, I missed you so much.» Feyre felt like she might cry at his words, but she didn’t. All she did was stare ahead, and take his hand. She squeezed it, encouraging him to continue. He squeezed back.

«As I said, when I saw you tonight, I was sure we had gotten the old Feyre back. Mor told me what had happened in Boston - why you were back - and I was sure that everything would return to normal between us.» He took a break, clearly anxious of saying what was next.

«But everything isn’t back to normal. Something has changed. I can feel it, and I think you can too.» He looked at her now, that intense longing once again in his eyes. She met his gaze, and suddenly felt brave enough to say:

«I can feel the change too, yes, but I think it’s a good change.» Then she leaned in, and kissed him.

Rhys went completely still at first, and Feyre was afraid that she had misunderstood their conversation. Then he seemed to realize what was happening. He put one arm around her waist, the other tangling in her hair, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss.

His lips tasted salty, she thought, but sweet at the same time. She could get drunk on him alone. Feyre was breathless, and dizzy, but she decided this was the best feeling in the world.

She was kissing Rhys.

He pressed his tongue against her lips, and she opened up for him, moaning at the sensation. She put her hands in his hair, slightly pulling at it. The silky strands feeling soft in her fingers.

Kissing Rhys was everything, but at the same time it was not enough. She needed more. Needed to be closer, needed to feel more of him. She pulled away slightly, breathless, heart thundering, blood rushing in her ears. Rhys looked at her, just as breathless, a hungry gleam in his eyes. «How far is it to your place?» He only smirked in answer.

Rhys stood up, picking Feyre up with him. She laughed as he almost dropped her, then she wrapped her legs around his waist. He didn’t walk far before they reached a small house. Rhys put her down, pulled a pair of keys out of his pocket, and unlocked the door.

Feyre marveled at the place as they stepped inside. It was small, but it was stunning. Large glass windows facing the ocean, green plants covering every available surface, and several over-filled bookshelves. She turned to look at Rhys, who had stopped in the doorway, staring at her taking in his place, surprise clearly written on her face. She took a step towards him. Then another. And another, until their mouths crashed together again.

Rhys moved his lips over her jaw, down her throat, her neck. Feyre moaned, struggling to get his shirt off fast enough, both minds clouded with lust and the haste to be as close together as possible. Skin to skin.

She finally managed to open the last button, pulling off the fabric. Feyre took in his muscled, tan chest and the many tattoos covering it. She leaned forward, and pressed her lips to the spot right above his heart. She could feel it hammering beneath his skin. She moved upwards, ghosting them over his collarbone, his neck, his throat, his jawline, then finally his lip.

Rhys grabbed her face, kissing her with such an intensity it made her dizzy. She was about to start fumbling with his belt when Rhys pulled away. «Are you sure you want this?» he asked, all out of breath, voice cracking, and Feyre would have thought his consideration and worry to be cute, had she not been so desperate to press her naked body against his. So she only nodded, and stepped back to pull her dress over her head. She wasn’t wearing a bra.

That seemed to be the end of Rhys' restraint. He took a step towards her, grabbed her under her thighs, and hoisted her up so she was sitting with her legs around his waist. Feyre moaned at the feeling of him pressing against her, hard and ready, and she felt a warm throbbing between her own legs.

Feyre let out a breathy «why the hell do you still have pants on?» that made Rhys chuckle. She felt the sound moving through his whole body. He walked across the room, laid her down on the bed and quickly got rid of his pants. Feyre almost drooled at the sight of his large cock. She reached out a hand and stroked him through the thin fabric of his boxers. Rhys groaned at the feeling, and leaned over her, placing his mouth on one of her nipples.

It felt exquisite. Rhys, his wandering hands, her body tingling with sensation, his hot mouth on her skin. She needed more, more, more. Feyre pulled his cock free, and he kicked of his underwear. One of his hands reached the band of her own panties, a finger dipping into her core, then slowly circling her clit.

It was too much and not enough and she needed more. Rhys slid off her underwear, and all of a sudden there was nothing between them. «Do you have a condom?» Feyre didn’t know how she managed to form words at this point, but he reached behind her and grabbed one. Feyre took it and rolled it on him, while his mouth explored every inch of her breasts, and his hand slowly stroked the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs.

Feyre needed him inside her, now. She lined his cock up with her entrance, then she looked him in the eyes. He took her hint, slowly, oh so slowly, pushing himself in, not breaking eye contact.

Feyre moaned at the feeling of him filling her, widening her. He was thick and warm and it felt amazing. She pulled his mouth to hers, and he pressed his tongue inside her, filling her in two places. He pulled out slightly, then pushed in to the hilt this time. Rhys groaned at the sensation, his hand still drawing circles over her clit.

It felt so good, she was seeing stars. The wave inside her rising and rising with no end as Rhys picked up his pace, slamming to the hilt and hitting that magic spot every. damn. time.

Words like more or faster or deeper filled the warm air around them. Rhys buried his head between her shoulder and neck, moaning her name. Feyre felt her pussy clench around him, nearing that sweet, sweet edge. «Rhys, I need to…»

He seemed to understand what she meant, because he went even faster, fingers pressing down against her clit, and fuck it felt so good! His eyes met her eyes, his forehead pressed against her forehead, and she felt his words as a breath against her lips. «Come, Feyre.»

Those words pushed her over the edge immediately, wave crashing over her like nothing ever had before. It lasted a lifetime. That sweet, unending pleasure. She clenched around him again and again, until he started losing control, losing rhythm, and at last he came with her, groaning.

When it was over, the world around them went quiet. The sun was shining through the curtains, a new day beginning, Rhys collapsed on top of Feyre, stroking her disheveled hair away from her face. «That was…» she didn’t know how to end that sentence. She wanted to stay here with him forever. Just the two of them. Skin to skin.

Rhys looked at her, amusement coloring his face. «Intense?» he suggested. Feyre chuckled, tapping her fingers against his chest. He pulled out, turned on his back, taking her with him, so that she lay on his chest, ear placed right over his heart.

«I was gonna go with best sex of my life, but intense works too I guess.» He laughed at that. A warm, loud laughter that she could feel in her whole body. He kissed the top of her head, and pulled a blanked over them.

As Feyre lay there, feeling Rhys draw slow circles on her back, listening to the waves, letting the steady beat of his heart and the sound of his even breaths lull her to sleep, she knew that nothing would ever be the same after this night. She felt almost electric with excitement over what the rest of the summer would bring. One thing she was sure of, Rhys would be part of it.

[epochofbelief]

Breath Control, Chapter Seven

An A Court of Mist and Fury College Swim Team AU

All characters belong to SJ Maas!

Feysand.... and welcome to Elriel. 

Warnings: cursing

Let me know if you want to be tagged! 

Authors Note: This chapter is a BIG gateway chapter to a lot of things. . . also VERY lightly edited... and enjoy the new POV shift... ;)

Masterlist Link!

SEVEN

~~~Elain~~~

It was around 9 am. I’d been in the kitchen for an hour already, trying to decide what to make for breakfast. I’d started making pancakes, then switched to waffles, then omelets.  I’d be set on my decision for as long as it would take me to pull out all the ingredients for my choice, then I’d change my mind, put everything back, and pull a bunch of different things out. 

My father walked in at around 9:30, as I was pulling the muffins I’d made from scratch out of the oven. I’d decided muffins were neutral enough that everyone in the house would like them and that I could make them well enough to everyone’s satisfaction. Nesta said I worked too hard to please people. 

No clue where she got that idea. . . 

“Is no one else up?” my father said.

I shook my head. “Just me and the muffins.”

He took one, buttered it, and made to sit down. He seemed to think better of it, though, because he set his muffin down and stood up straight. “I’d better go wake Feyre. I want to ask her about all those paint cans and supplies she’s left in the garage, and someone has to be here to eat these muffins. Best to do it know while Mr. Night sleeps; I know how sensitive that girl can be about her painting.”

I nodded, standing alone at the counter before I remembered.

“Dad, Dad, Dad! Let me wake up Feyre. I--um--”

He was halfway up the stairs when I caught up to him, pausing to look down at me. I went with the oldest trick in the book. “Girl stuff.” I widened my eyes meaningfully. “Best if I check up on her first.”

I prayed my father didn’t see through my very feeble attempt to make him uncomfortable. But it worked. He clicked his tongue and descended the staircase. “I’ll take your word for it, Elain. Hurry down. And tell Feyre to hurry too…”

It was like he knew. Oh Feyre was so going to owe me. 

I bounded up the stairs, not slowing until I was at the top of Feyre’s own narrow staircase. I knocked and entered, ready to get a kick out of what was about to happen.

“Oh, Feyreeee, Dad needs you downstairs.”

Nothing for a few moments. I thought I heard whispers but from where I stood, I  couldn’t see anything besides the large lump of her white bed coverings. “I guess I could send Dad up here…”

The whispering became clearer, now, and I made out something like, “Shut up!” and “I’ll handle it” and “Calm the fuck down.” 

Feyre suddenly appeared in a very large t-shirt and nothing else. “Thanks, ‘Lain.” She practically hissed my name. She stalked across the floor toward me. “How’d you know?” She murmured.

“Got up for a glass of water last night. Saw Rhysand’s ass as it cleared the top of the staircase. Figured I’d save you from Dad’s wrath.”

Feyre rolled her eyes. “We didn’t do anything. And Dad has no right to dictate what I can and can’t do.”

“Obviously not,” I agreed. “But he could make things very awkward.”

“True. We’ll--I’ll--be down in a second. Please don’t tell Nesta. She’d be unbearable.”

“Tell me what?” A voice like iron floated across the small landing. 

Feyre shut her eyes and I cringed. Nesta’s judgment might be worse than our father’s.

“Hey, Nesta,” Feyre said guiltily. 

“Feyre. Hi Rhys!” Nesta raised her voice imperceptibly. 

A tan hand rose from the bed. “Why the fuck do you have so many sisters, Archeron?”

The light that shone behind Feyre’s eyes was like nothing I’d ever seen before. In either of my sisters’ faces. Or my own. I bit back my own grin. After Tamlin, and the shitty year Feyre had had, I just wanted her to be happy. And Rhys was so good-natured. Didn’t hurt that he was hot, too. She deserved to look all happy despite being caught out by her two older sisters.

“I’d get downstairs quick. And arrive separately.” Nesta was fighting back a laugh. “I can’t wait to hear Dad chew you out for your sex life. For once, it won’t be me.” She smiled wickedly.

“We didn’t--I didn’t--get out!” Feyre screeched at us. 

“You’re welcome,” Nesta and I said in unison, and we grinned at each other. Feyre pushed us out with surprising strength and slammed the door.  

“That was fun.” Nesta started down the staircase first. 

I was about to respond when my phone vibrated in my back pocket. I pulled it out.

Azriel: Mooorning

“Who’s that?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Nesta dropped her voice to a low whisper as we descended the main staircase and headed for the kitchen. “You’re grinning like an idiot, and not in the ‘I just caught my sister with a boy in her bed in my dad’s house’ way you were earlier.” 

“Uh, just looking at a meme.” Weak.

“Because you spend so much time scrolling through memes.”

Thankfully, Nesta let the subject drop. I honestly wished she hadn’t. Everyone had been treating me like a fragile piece of glass since the whole Greyson debacle. And while, yes, I wasn’t quite ready to share that I’d been secretly talking to Azriel for the past two months… I was strong enough to handle some sisterly teasing, or even fatherly teasing. Or any kind of teasing.

Instead, everything was, “Oh, Elain, your cookies taste so good!” and, “Oh, Elain, the garden looks wonderful!” and, “Oh, Elain, how’s nursing school?” Nobody wanted to talk about anything real with me, because they thought I wasn’t ready. And if I was the one to start down that road, they’d continue to tread on ice around me and just be grateful I was talking at all. Too grateful to really listen to what I had to say.

Which was why I’d downloaded a dating app two months ago, swiped right on all of two guys before I’d found someone worthy of deleting the app immediately after we started messaging. It’d been a constant stream of texting and snapchatting ever since, even if we hadn’t met up in person yet. My romantic past, Azriel’s loner tendencies, and the fact that he was one of Rhys’s best friends and Feyre’s teammate had made us decide to take things slow. But seeing how happy Feyre was with Rhys--and she didn’t even know it quite yet--made me think that I should tell my sister and then get Azriel to take me out. 

That would certainly surprise everybody. Elain made of glass, indeed.

Before I could lose my nerve, I texted Azriel back. Sliding my phone back into my pocket, I reentered the kitchen with a smile on my face, trying not to ponder on the message I’d just sent.

Elain: I’ve been thinking. . . We should meet up… Face to face. 

Elain: Like on a date. 

I got a response within a moment and didn’t need to check my phone to know what it said.

Azriel: Hell yes. 

~~~FEYRE~~~

I slammed the door shut. I looked behind me to find Rhys, breathtakingly shirtless, propped up on one elbow behind me. 

“What are the chances that both of your lovely sisters keep their mouths shut about this? Cuz I have a feeling even a mutual love for collegiate athletics won’t stop your father from kicking me out of the house for staying the night in your room.”

I slumped onto the bed and he was suddenly there, filling all the empty space in the room as he hovered over me. I closed my eyes, fighting back a smile. “They’ve had their fun. Sisters don’t snitch.”

He rested his forehead against my shoulder. “Great. Not that I care about you, of course. I’m just very concerned about where I’ll have Thanksgiving dinner if your dad kicks me out.”

I sat up and pushed him back against the blankets all in one motion. “You take that back,” I said playfully. 

“Make me.”

“How about I go down there and confess to my dad before Nesta or Elain can rat us out? Then I’d be rid of your sorry ass much more quickly.”

“Feyre!” Elain’s voice floated up the stairs tauntingly, interrupting our flirting.

“This isn’t over, Archeron,” Rhys said threateningly. 

I pointed to the door. “Go put on something presentable. Your hair’s a mess.” 

He scowled. But he kissed me lightly on the lips before he left the room and I almost told him to forget about family breakfast and stay up here with me, instead.

------

The day passed in a blur. We spent the majority of it in the kitchen prepping for Thanksgiving lunch tomorrow afternoon. After a while, we all retired to the living room and marathoned the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Rhys sat next to me on the couch and as soon as it got dark enough outside that my father, Nesta, and Elain probably wouldn’t notice, he took my hand under our shared blanket and I set my head on his shoulder. 

I stayed in his room that night, although we were both too tired to do much other than fall into bed after a day spent in the kitchen. I woke before him the next morning and tiptoed downstairs to let him sleep.

I found Elain and Nesta arguing in my kitchen. 

“Why don’t you just tell me who he is,” Nesta was saying in a very low, very dangerous voice.

“Butt out, Nesta. It’s no one.”

“If it was no one, there’d be nothing for me to butt out of, now would there be?”

Elain was gripping the island countertop in the center of the kitchen. Nesta, surprisingly, was cooking up a huge skillet of scrambled eggs. It smelled as though they were starting to burn while her attention was focused on Elain. 

Elain’s phone vibrated. “Who is he?” Nesta shrieked.

“Fuck off!”

“What’s going on?” I asked. 

They both started speaking at once. 

“Elain’s being stupid--”

“Nesta won’t stay out of my own fucking business--”

“Help me convince her--” 

I held up my hands. “Oh, both of you shut up! Elain. Explain.”

Nesta mumbled something under her breath that I chose not to hear as Elain sighed. “Nesta thinks I’m talking to a boy. She thinks that she has a right to know who he is--if he even exists,” Elain added with an eye roll, “and that she deserves the right to approve. I told her to fuck off, but she’s not listening.”

I’d never heard so many “fucks” from Elain in one conversation. There was definitely a boy. 

“Well, why don’t you tell us? After everything…”

Elain pushed herself back from the countertop, throwing her hands up in the air. “I’m not some fragile teenager who doesn’t know how to speak to boys! Despite what you think about how terribly broken I am after Greyson, I know what I’m doing! And now I don’t want to tell you even more. So leave me alone.” 

She turned and pushed through the door that led from the kitchen to the side yard. 

I looked at Nesta. She looked at me. 

“She better be getting it reallll good to get so upset with us for asking about it,” Nesta said.

I took a seat at the barstools surrounding the island. “Do you think she. . . Do we really treat her like a teenager who doesn’t know how to speak to boys?”

“Maybe. But that’s because she doesn’t know how to speak to boys--or men, for that matter.”

Nesta thought she knew what was best for Elain--and she usually did. But Nesta also liked getting her way. When her way wasn’t Elain’s way. . . It was difficult for both of them. I resolved that no matter what Nesta thought, I’d try to give Elain some space when it came to her Mystery Guy. Even if I was dying to find out who it was. 

“Speaking of boys. . .” Nesta began, but at that moment, Rhys stepped into the kitchen. Thank God. I didn’t know what exactly was going on between us at the moment. Discussing it with Nesta would be torture. 

“Good morning,” I said brightly as Rhys took a seat beside me. 

“Is it?” He asked. Nesta had turned around to find her eggs burnt to a crisp, ignoring Rhys entirely.

“What’s wrong?”

Rhys leaned his elbows on the counter. “My father called. He’s in town. And wants me to spend the weekend with him in my hometown.”

I couldn’t help the fear that gripped me at his words. Was he just making this up because he wanted to escape me? I struggled to keep my voice steady. “Where’s that?” 

“Two hours north of here.”

“Well I can take you and drop you off tomorrow morning,” I managed to say. “Would that work?”

He blinked. “I did tell you that my father is a horrible person, right?”

“Not sure you mentioned it. . . But it’s Thanksgiving. You should be with family.” Which was true. Although I’d rather he stay here.

He rolled his eyes. “I can’t burden you with driving all the way out there and back just so I can spend the weekend with a very unideal candidate.” He gave me a look that told me who was the ideal candidate. Maybe he wasn’t making this up. . . 

“Um. . . Uber?”  Stay here, stay here, stay here.

“Too expensive.” He glanced at Nesta, and then turned to face me more fully. “You could stay with us. We can just make it ‘meet the parents’ week.” He smiled hopefully.

Relief flooded my body. “Well…” I definitely wanted to go with him. Right now I didn’t want to leave his side at all after the past two nights sleeping in his arms. But I didn’t want to offend my family.

Nesta banged the skillet against the edge of the trash can, causing both Rhys and me to jump about a mile. “Go with him, Feyre. I’ll talk to Dad.”

I couldn’t help the smile that exploded across my face. “I guess you’re stuck with me.” I grinned at him. 

“There’s no one else I’d rather be stuck with.”

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

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