#i'm so fucking tired and everything hurts

[tumblerlove]

Yes, I am alive....no, I don't even know where it is that I disappeared to, but I'm back 😌 so here's some Rafe angst that does end happy, though

"Rafe, what's wrong?" You gasp as you see your boyfriend absolutely distraught....

You hadn't heard from Rafe all day, which is werid for him. If you two can't be together that day, then he'll call you at least. But he hadn't even texted you either. That's why you're knocking at Tannyhills door right now. Wheezie had let you in, and you could tell the house was tense by the look on her face. It was just her and Rafe. You didn't hear or see Ward, Rose, or Sarah around

You knock on his door before entering. "Wheezie, go away, I don't want to talk right now," he yells behind the door. You open it anyway and peek inside and see him on the edge of his bed

You tell him softly, "It's just me, Rafe." He whips his head towards you and can see that his eyes are teary and red. And omg, there's a bruise under his eye. And maybe even his lip is cut?! His hair looks disheveled like his hands had been running through it

"Rafe, what's wrong!?" You gasp as you see your boyfriend absolutely distraught. "What...what are you doing here?" As he stands up and looks away from you

"I came to check on you...I hadn't heard from you it's not like you." You tell him as he looks away from you. "Rafe, tell me what happened," you ask him, your tone pleading a little, trying to find out what happened that has him like this

"Just fucking go. I don't want you seeing me like this, " his voice raising at you, still looking away from you. He never would talk to you like this

"Don't talk to me like that, Rafe...I'm your girlfriend. I have a right to find out what's got you so upset so I can help." Your tone is firm but still caring

"God, I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean to raise my voice at you," he tells you his tone softer now. He turns around to you. "Oh Rafe," you gasp out and walk up to him and inspect the black eye forming already. He does infact have a cut on his cheek and his lip, too

"Did you get into a fight?" You look at him, knowing how he was before meeting you. "No, no, I promise," his tone serious. You can tell he didn't fight as you see his hands are clean, no cuts or blood on them

"If you won't tell me then... just let me fix you up and take care of you." Your eyes finding his that are watering again. He mumbles "Ok" as you step closer to him and hold his hand, moving him towards his bathroom

He sits on the toilet seat as you grab some things to patch him up, still curious as to what happened. You clean his cuts, making sure they don't get infected. He winces when you use a cleaning spray. "I'm sorry, baby." You lean down and kiss, his forehead

"It was my dad," he blurts out as you make eye contact with him. Trying not to move or speak, so he continues on. "He got pissed off because the job he had me working on fell through." his eyes look hurt. You knew that he had been working on it and trying so hard to make it work.

He's holding your waist as if you'll keep him grounded while telling you. "I told him that I tried everything, and the guy had pulled out last minute. He didn't believe me... said I must have fucked something up." Rafes words mumbled as he presses his face into your stomach, not being able to look at you

"When I defended myself again he pushed me and when I tried to push him away he punched me and his ring cut me too" he looks finally up at you as you both have tears in your eyes

"Oh Rafe," you look at him, pulling him to you so you can hug him properly. "I...I didn't even defend myself. I just walked away after like a coward." He sounds defeated and tired. "You did the right thing. You're the bigger person. You've grown from this behavior." You try to help him calm down and reason with him that he did good

"You know how much worse it could've been baby if you would've fought him back," you say, holding his face to look you in the eyes. "You are a stronger man for walking away. Your father is the coward."

"I fucking hate this" he looks up at you eyes watery. "I'm so tired," Rafe says, his voice and face breaking your heart

You pull him up and start moving him back to the bedroom. "Let's get you comfortable and in bed," you smile up at him, doing your best to help him. Rafe just mindlessly follows you as you pick out sweats for him to change into

"Let me help you," you step closer to him to start getting his shirt off. "You don't have to, baby," his voice soft while looking at you. "I know... but I want too" you say as you get him into sweatpants

As you get him into bed and make him comfortable, he grabs your hand. "Can you stay here tonight?" Rafe asks softly. "Of course I was just gonna change into something comfortable," you cup his face before changing

When you're changed into one of Rafes' shirts and a pair of underwear, you climb into bed with him. His eyes are puffy from crying and swollen from his black eye. It breaks your heart seeing him like this, knowing he's eating himself up over his dad's shit

"Rafe...." you ask as he's snuggled against your back, cuddling against you. "Yes, love," he says, sleepy. "You should move in with me," you blurt out. You feel his body stiffen for a second until he says, "I'll start packing in the morning." He kisses your neck as he falls asleep

Next morning, you wake up to the sounds of Rafe packing his things up with a smile on his face.

[1toreyouapart]

The Lies We Tell

* **FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE. 18+ ONLY. MDNI. DO NOT READ IF YOU DON’T LIKE FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE***

Summary that tells you nothing: Sometimes everything you ever wanted has been right there, within reach, all along.

CW/TW: Angst, fluff, swearing, friends to lovers, jealousy, smut, fingering, PinV, pet names, friends with benefits, more to come as I actually get things written out.

Masterlist

The Shower Scene

Noah leaned over the sink, watching intently in the mirror as the razor glided across his skin. The pitter-patter of the shower the only sound in the bathroom, broken every so often as water splashed. He had lost track of how many times they'd done exactly this. One of them in the shower while the other did whatever they needed to. And every single time he had to fight tooth and nail not to sneak a peek. Friends weren't exactly supposed to want to see the other one naked. But damn it, he couldn't help it.

With a groan he leaned down, rinsing the remaining shaving cream from his face. Friends also didn't sleep in the same bed more than half the time. Or cuddle the way him and Quinn did. They sure as shit didn't get jealous every time one of them went out on a date. She had such shitty taste in men, too. All of them absolute tools that left her disappointed at the end of every date. Yet she still went back. It made zero sense.

Her phone on the counter lit up. A quick glance and he wanted to vomit. Here she was, getting ready for another date with another boring asshole that if he even made it past the first date would disappoint her, again, by the end of the second or third. What the fuck was she doing wasting her time with these idiots?

"Noah? Can you pass me my towel?"

Noah paused for a moment, wondering just what would happen if he said no. If he made her get out and get her towel herself. It was tempting. Maybe a little too tempting. Resigning himself he grabbed her towel off the rack, passing it through the shower curtain to her.

"Got any plans tonight?" He knew the answer, but fuck it, why not torture himself and hear her say it?

"Yeah." She stepped out of the shower, wrapped up in her towel. "Got a date."

Biting back the words that so desperately wanted to escape he moved aside and leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest. He watched her as she applied her leave-in conditioner. Watched as she wiped her hands on her towel before she picked up her phone. Ignored the pit in his stomach as she responded to whatever the douchebag had said.

"You deserve better."

"You don't even know him, Noah."

"Don't have to. You have fucking terrible taste in men." Noah's eyes widened. He hadn't meant to say that. "I'm sorry. Fuck. I shouldn't have said that."

Quinn laughed. Actually laughed. But it wasn't her usual laugh. He could hear the pain hiding behind it. What the fuck was wrong with him?

"Yes, you did. It's okay, though. You're not wrong. Just look at how we met." Her eyes met his in the mirror. "I would like to get dressed now, if you don't mind."

Noah stepped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her. Of course he had meant it, but he hadn't meant to actually say it. She didn't need to tell him that his words had stung. He could hear it in her voice. See it in the way she looked at him through the mirror.

"I'm just tired of seeing you hurt when they all inevitably do the same stupid shit. I love you, terror pixie." He bent down, pressing his lips to the top of her head.

"I love you, too, Bigfoot."

She grinned, her eyes crinkling at the corners. At least she was smiling again. With a weary sigh he reached up, ruffling her hair before darting out of the bathroom. Part of him, real deep down, knew that if he had just asked her to cancel. To stay home with him, she would have, no questions asked. But that would be selfish. Who knows? Maybe this guy wasn't a total douchebag. And maybe he would turn out to be the love of her life. The thought made him physically ill.

Noah burst into Jolly's room, quickly closing the door behind him. Jolly merely looked up from the book he was reading, an eyebrow arched.

"Lemme guess. Another date tonight?"

"Yeah. And we all know how it's gonna go. Gonna need all of you to get lost for a while."

[kpop-cakepops]

Hidden (Kim Mingyu X AFAB!Reader)

Description: angst. You get in a fight with Mingyu :,)

Warnings: slight cussing.

(Haha, not me writing after years of inactivity 😂😭, enjoyyy. Also, this is not revised, so excuse any grammar errors)

It wasn't that you were jealous, not even insecure... it was envy. There you were, sat in the loneliness of your bedroom, tapping through the private Instagram stories of your boyfriend at yet another function. His friends sat at a large table, enjoying their time with him. Time you were missing out on. Time that could have been yours, too.

With a dejected sigh, you drop your phone on your bed and get ready to hop in the shower. The stories had been posted 2 hours earlier, so it came as no surprise to hear the front door of your apartment open and close followed by your boyfriend's heavy footsteps coming in the direction of your bedroom.

You quickly busied yourself looking through your closet for your pajamas until you finally heard him enter. He smelled faintly of alcohol as his warm hands came in contact with your hips from behind. "Hi princess"

"Hey" your response was curt and cold and you knew you were being petty, but there was not a single fiber in you telling you be nice.

He noticed. He always did when you were upset. A sigh left his lips, and he stepped back, allowing you out of his hold. "What did I do now?"

You gave him a quick glance. He was now sitting at the edge of your bed watching you closely, like a math problem he was in a hurry to solve. "Nothing. I'm just tired" he could continue trying to solve it for all you cared.

If only Mingyu were the type to back down.

"Clearly not just 'nothing'" he insisted. "You're upset at me."

"I'm not doing this right now."

"If you don't want to fight, then at least do a good job of acting like everything is ok." now he was upset too. A small part of you wanted to blame yourself for doing this again, but the bigger part of you was hurt and felt left out. Things that a girlfriend should not feel about her boyfriend.

"Where were you tonight?" You finally met eyes with him only to have him roll his at you.

"Seriously?"

"That doesn't answer my question" you insisted.

"I went to have drinks with some friends, it's my day off." He finally conceded. "I didn't invite you because I thought you'd be busy-"

You can't help the scoff that leaves your lips, "bullshit" you interrupt. "Bullshit, Mingyu. You know my schedule. You knew I took today off- shit, I took today off for you and not one single call from you? Not even lunch?"

"Babe, it was a party for Lisa, and we all know you two don't really-"

"Holy shit, that's the excuse you're going with? That it was a party organized for Lisa, who I don't really talk to? At least fucking try to make sense, Kim Mingyu." You had said you weren't insecure, but you started to realize slowly that maybe you were insecure. This had never been an issue to you before Mingyu, you had never felt less than, you had never felt...

Hidden.

"Y/N I was just trying to save you an awkward time-"

Your eyes locked into his guilty black ones immediately, and as if by instinct you knew. "Mingyu, do they know about us?"

He stopped whatever bullshit excuse he was giving you, lips parted and eyes tearing away from your gaze immediately.

You hadn't been together for too long, but definitely long enough for his friends to know, surely. You had told all your friends by the time you'd been dating for 3 months, it would make absolutely no sense for him not to tell his friends after being together for 5 months... right?

"You know my friends know-"

You dropped the clothes in your hands and stomped up to him, shaking your head furious, "No, I know your members know. But what about your friends? Do they know that we're dating? Or am I correct in assuming that you are hiding me?"

You were met by silence. He avoided your gaze and stood from the bed turning his back on you, a hand tangled in his hair. "This is not how I thought tonight would go. I can't believe you're doing this right now."

"You're embarrassed of me?" You didn't mean for your voice to tremble the way it did. You hadn't even realized that your eyes were threatening to spill frustrated tears down your cheeks.

Your boyfriend flinched at the sound of your voice, but he didn't have the courage to face you. "Y/N..."

"Is it because I don't look like one of your super model friends?" You ask, "Or is it because I spend 40 hours a week holed up in an office? Or maybe because I live in an apartment that's the size of your walk in closet?"

He turns to look at you defeated, "Baby no-"

But it's too late. The seed of insecurity within you has germinated, it's grown roots, and they're spreading and wrapping around you at the speed of light. You can no longer keep eye contact with him. In an attempt to hide your tears, you pick up the clothes you'd dropped and start walking past him in direction of your bathroom.

His large hand grabs at your arm softly, "Y/N, please, let's not do this."

"I think you should go home. I have work in the morning." With a soft tug of your arm, his hand drops, and you lock yourself away in your bathroom, pressing a wrist to your lips, hoping that's enough to hide the choked sobs you'd been suppressing for weeks.

[belabellissima]

time won't fly (it's like i'm paralyzed by it) - Chapter 8

written for the @feysand-hivemind timeloop fic!

Pairing: Feysand

Fic Summary: Every day, Rhysand wakes up next to Amarantha in her bed Under the Mountain. A prisoner, a weapon, a High Lord on a leash. He's been down there so long, it's starting to feel like time doesn't matter.

Until one day...it doesn't.

Feyre's death sends Rhysand back in time, waking up in Amarantha's bed Under the Mountain - over and over. Rhysand must discover how to break the time loop, save his mate, and keep his sanity intact. 

Chapter Summary: Rhys forgets some things. Rhys learns some things.

Chapter Warnings: Amarantha, attempted murder, burns, non-sexy penetration, angst (it is me again so...)

Read on Ao3 or Chapter 8 below:

Spending his winnings in the wake of Feyre winning her first trial was out of the question. Amarantha was already pissed enough that he’d won at all, that he’d bet against her trial when everyone else had known to bet against Feyre instead. So Rhys tucked the coins away in his rooms and played it safe. After she’d punished him for publicly going against her, he didn't dare flaunt it. He wanted to hide, wanted to lessen whatever fallout there might be for going against the Deceiver. So he watched with a smirk and sick stomach as Lucien was whipped for helping Feyre. As Tamlin did it to his own best friend.

Part of Rhys felt something close to kinship with the Fox. Hurt by the same person, the same friend.

But kinship was dangerous Under the Mountain, so once he knew the Fox wouldn’t bleed out there on the stone, Rhys put it from his mind. He had plans to make, more things to try. Both he and Feyre had to survive this if the loop was to end, so he had to learn of every possible potential threat that might still exist, uncovered in the dark.

He sent Nuala and Cerridwen out with a whisper of a mental nudge – nothing strong enough that Amarantha might sense it. He felt their acknowledgement, the way they melted into the shadows in the last seconds before he severed the connection. They’d already given him so much information, but they’d yet to try and make it into the catacombs and dungeons where the Prythian fae were locked up. But for him, so close to freedom, he was sure they would risk trying to cross the warded gates and guards that patrolled - especially if they thought it would help him.

Amarantha eventually tired of hurting Lucien and ordered him dragged away, then clapped for the music to play and dancers to begin. They ignored the fox’s blood still wet on the stone, stepping over and through it as the beat began.

Rhys watched the Lady of Autumn from his spot in the shadows, the drawn look on her face and sharp tension in her jaw. Grief and fear for her son overtaking everything in the aftermath.

Then he looked away. Looked away from her, only to feel the dizzy sensation of time fading out. Of the loop resetting.

Fuck. What was it this time?

She should have been safe in her cell.

Rhys opened his eyes, the echoes of the dream with Feyre killing the wolf a normal refrain. Beside him, Amarantha slept.

“Fuck,” Rhys whispered.

~

Time passed as if a blur. Rhys lived through the motions like a puppet, some other entity pulling his strings as day after day dragged on. Seeing Feyre at Calanmai was the first time he really felt alive again, simply for the fact that he could hold her in his arms, feel her rapid pulse in her wrists when he caught her from hitting the ground.

Then the manor, making Tamlin bow, holding her mind with his own. Alive, the pulse within him said. Alive, alive, alive.

She came under the mountain, made her bargain with the Deceiver. He held her mind as her nose was broken, prevented the pain from reaching her. Helped turn the guards' attention away when the Fox went to heal her.

Then the first trial, the Wyrm. He still bet on her, still knew exactly what would happen when she leaped and let gravity kill the wyrm. There was a thrill to seeing how it all played out, to knowing exactly how he’d changed things, and how he could get the same result every time up to a certain point. Or change it, if that was what he wished. He still hadn’t fully given up on being able to stop the whole farce before it began, but for now, finding a way though seemed to be what the Mother wanted more, as nerve wracking as that was for him. There was a relief in complacency, in trusting what he’d already discovered and lived through.

He knew he didn’t have to fear for her when she threw the bone spear, when she was dragged away to her cell as Amarantha demanded his attention.

It was only after Amarantha was finished with him that the fear returned. After all, he was finally free again to find Feyre and find out exactly what the fuck had killed her this time around. New territory, and changing plans as a result.

He stayed hidden in the shadows of her cell, watching her as she slept, shivering and curled up as best as she could.

She murmured something after a few minutes, eyes roving beneath the lids. They blinked blearily open a moment later, looked right at him, but there was no recognition. No awareness at all that she was seeing anything.

Rhys crept closer, his nose wrinkling as he finally caught the scent of infection over the scent of vomit.

It was bad – bad enough that he wasn’t sure how he’d missed it before. She’d broken her arm in the arena, but he hadn’t realized…

Memories of the war accosted him. He’d seen this before, seen his friends and allies die slow, agonizing deaths from wounds less severe than this. Rhys didn’t know how he’d forgotten before. Of course she was still injured, of course Lucien couldn’t have come to her. Healed her the way he’d once healed her nose. And Feyre wouldn’t make it long enough to wait for him.

Hadn’t, once before.

Rhys allowed the shadows to fall away from him, crouching before Feyre, hands hovering over her when she didn’t stir. She was almost gone already. Again. And was his fault. Amarantha’s fault, truly, but for his own foolishness to be the reason she’d died, the reason she was suffering…

With tremoring hands, he reached for her arm. The moment he brushed it, she screamed, jerking it away from him and coming to with a jolt.

“You,” she groaned, hunching over her injury protectively.

Rhys couldn’t find it in himself to be upset – she wasn’t delirious, wasn’t nearly as bad off as he’d thought she was from first glance. She had a few more days, because this time, he’d caught it. Hadn’t waited around.

“Me,” he replied.

“What are you doing here?”

“Checking on you. I couldn’t allow Tamlin's champion to waste away to nothing. Not when he can’t come down here to heal you himself, watched as he is.”

Feyre glared at him, saying nothing.

“You can wait, I suppose. Hope for the Lord of Foxes to come heal you again, like he did your nose. But I wouldn’t bet on it. He’s currently bedridden, you see. Tamlin had to beg for Amarantha to spare him after he helped you in the arena, and she did, after making Tamlin give him twenty lashes. Between you and me, I wouldn’t place my hope with him.”

Feyre’s brows furrowed momentarily at the news, her friendship with Lucien worrying her momentarily. Right up until she tried to shift and the movement sent her grimacing again in pain.

“I’ll take the risk,” she said anyway. Rhys pressed his lips together impatiently.

“Just let me heal you, Feyre. Swallow your pride. You know you’re not doing well. You’re dying. Maybe not today, not tomorrow. But Lucien isn’t going to get here before you do. What does it hurt to let me help you this once?”

Feyre laughed bitterly at him. “What wouldn’t it hurt? What would you even want in exchange?”

He spoke without thinking it through all the way. “Come to the Night Court.” Someplace he could keep an eye on her. Protect her. Make sure she didn’t fucking die again.

“Not a chance.”

“Just for two weeks,” he amended, sticking with his blurted out request despite how foolish it was. “Two weeks of every month, two weeks of my choosing, you’ll live with me at the Night Court. Starting after this messy three-trials business.”

“No.”

“No? Feyre, you’ll die. Trust me when I say I’ve seen how a wound can fester. Seen and lived through the aftermath of losing someone I care about to such a fate. I won’t lose you to that fate when there’s something I can do to prevent it. Now, let me heal your arm.”

Feyre, stubborn to the last, did not let him see her arm. Rhys knew it would hurt, knew it wouldn’t endear himself to her in the slightest, but still grabbed her arm anyway, holding it between them so she could truly see the damage. She screamed, trying to pull back, too weak to retract her arm again.

“Look at it,” Rhys demanded. “The veins are already turning dark with infection. Your bone is sticking out, for Cauldron’s sake! I can’t just… heal it, okay? I don’t have that kind of magic. But I can make bargains, and the magic inherent so such matters will take care of the rest. Just accept it already and live.”

“Why do you care?” Feyre gritted out. “Like you said, I’m just Tamlin’s champion.”

“You are far more than just Tamlin’s champion, Feyre. You are everyone’s champion. The only hope any and all of us have left. None of us have a chance at stopping her when she holds our leashes too tight. You’re it, Feyre. Do you not get that?”

“Why would you care about stopping her?” she asked, panting through her teeth and staring at her own arm in his grasp, seemingly debating if it was worth it to pull her arm back or continue to let him hold it if it meant less pain for her. Evidently deciding on the latter, she looked back up at him. “She lets you run free.”

Rhys barked out a laugh, dropping her arm. She immediately tucked it close to her chest, the other one coming up protectively around it. “Free? You have no idea the things I have sacrificed for this. You think Tamlin is the only one who has people he cares about? A court under his protection? We all have that, Feyre, and in all honesty I have more to lose than him. His family is dead, after all. Mine isn’t. And so long as I appear her perfect little whore, they stay that way. Alive.”

An understanding flickered in her eyes.

“Now, do we have a bargain? Because I would really, really love for this whole thing to be over already.” And in more ways than one. He had thought in the beginning that he could do this as many times as it took. Suffer through the loops over and over so long as it meant that in the end, both of them would be alive. But it never ended that way, and Rhys was starting to become reckless. Become resigned, too, with each new variation that lead to a painful death for one of them.

Slowly, Feyre nodded. “Two weeks in the Night Court when you call it in, in exchange for healing my arm.”

Rhys nodded as well and held out his hand for her to take. She did, gingerly sliding her palm into his. Rhys would swear something shifted when her skin finally made contact with his. A warmth, lingering there, even as she swore and pulled back from the sudden rush of magic into her. The infected blood dripped from the rapidly sealing wound, the bone shifted back in, and Feyre almost passed out from it. Rhys barely caught her in time from slamming to the floor, tightening his grip on her before she could fully disengage from him. He watched the swirls of ink bleed into her skin from where he gripped her, a physical manifestation of his magic rushing into her to heal everything. Cleaning her too, while he was at it. It had to be uncomfortable to still be covered in wyrm shit, and he didn’t want to risk her getting another cut - no matter how minor - and having it get infected as well.

A minute later, she blinked her eyes back open, finally seeming to have recovered from the shock and likely pain of the rapid healing. She glanced at her arm, eyes widening as she demanded of him, “what have you done to me?”

The marks were beautiful to him - whorls and flicks of magic settling as traditional Illyrian tattoos for luck and glory. Fitting, and Rhys was briefly disappointed he wouldn’t have a set of his own to match, having already upheld his end of their bargain. But a part of him, and a large part at that, reveled in the knowledge that she was marked by him. That she, who was the true artist between them, would have the art of his people there, a gift from him to keep her going.

Rhys stood, running a hand through his short, dark hair. “It’s custom in my court for bargains to be permanently marked upon flesh.”

Perhaps those marks weren’t always Illyrian, but he was choosing to see it as a blessing from the Mother. A sign he was making the right choice, taking the right steps.

Feyre rubbed her left forearm and hand, not as happy as he was. “Make it go away.”

Rhys laughed. “Not a chance, Darling. Those patterns mean something to me, and they’ll bring you luck.”

She pouted at that, a cute little frown knitting her eyebrows together as she peered closer at the design. His words mollified her only slightly, so she was still almost petulant as she complained, “You didn’t tell me this would happen.”

“You didn’t ask,” he replied. “Now, you should get some rest. Even with magic, healing takes energy, and you’ll need it.”

Before she could reply, he faded into the shadows again and winnowed away.

~

He hadn’t expected her to be in his room a mere two days after that, a fireplace poker hidden behind her back and covered in ash from his fireplace.

She held her own in their vocal sparring, even drawing his wings from him for a few moments, before he hid them again. It was reckless of him, but he could still see the tattoos on her arm, and it made him happy.

Strange, for him to be happy while underground. He collected the last of the lentils for her as a gift, repayment for the one she had given him without even trying. Then the guards led her away back to her cell, and Rhys couldn’t help but grin as he knelt to light a fire.

The next day, Rhysand felt her sharp and sudden terror. He had been lurking on the edge of her mind just in case, and he was never more grateful for it than in that moment. Without thought, he winnowed to her, uncaring of any consequences in a moment such as that. What did it matter anyway? It would just start over again if he messed up too badly. He’d already killed Feyre himself, watched her die and been unable to stop it, and killed himself to speed up the process. But letting her stay afraid…

She was in the Autumn Court wing. The guards from the day before laughed as they dragged her limp, burned body between them out of a room. For a moment, Rhys saw a different woman, with blonder hair and just as injured by the Autumn Court. A Court made for destruction and decay. Rhys reached out for their minds without a care, gripping their thoughts harshly and freezing them as he strode up to them. Inside the room they’d just exited, one of the younger Autumn princes was sneering at him.

“What have you done?” Rhys snarled at him. He was going to rip this male to shreds. He felt his power growing in his fingertips, the desire to mist him, to rend him blood from bone and make him suffer, rising with it.

“She was rooting around under my bed,” the prince retorted. “How was I supposed to know she wasn’t a thief?”

Rhys felt his wings starting to grow behind him, the beast deep within snarling to protect her, attack him. Kill them all for daring to lay a hand on her.

Feyre moaned in pain behind him, effectively seizing his attention. Rhys turned back to the guards, shadow wings vanishing as he lifted Feyre’s limp body into his arms. He delved deeper into their minds and pulled up the memory of them dropping Feyre off.

“Count how many grains of rice are spilled,” one told her.

“Don’t forget to look behind the furniture.” The other added. “Or else the owner of the room won’t be too happy when he walks through and hurts his feet on them.”

Rhys pulled out of their minds, tearing at them as he went. They both collapsed into heaps, dead before they could realize his intentions. He winnowed back to his rooms, his real rooms, the ones that she had been in not even a day before, cleaning lentils from a fireplace.

He couldn’t understand why there had been uncooked lentils in his rooms in the first place, but now…

Household chores. Classic ones from old faerie tales his mother had once told him. It seemed Amarantha liked the theme. Old fae tales for a girl with an old fae name.

Her eyes were shut tightly from the pain, and she was grabbing at her arm unconsciously. When Rhys dared to look closely, he almost vomited at the sight. The once beautiful markings were marred by burns, oozing blood and pus already from the high heat. Her skin was peeling away in places, and her cheeks were red too, a more superficial burn. Her hair was uneven, the edges charred and fragile.

The Autumn princeling had likely cast fire towards her, and she’d thrown up an arm to protect herself.

Rhys hadn’t yet known Azriel when his hands were burned, but he knew what they looked like healed. And that was with supernatural healing. He couldn’t even imagine how badly Feyre would look having to go through it all the long, painfully mortal way.

Unless they made another bargain? But she would have to be conscious for that. And what would she give? The other two weeks per month? Unlikely.

Rhys set her down on his bed gently, brushing her hair from her face and pressing a quick kiss to her forehead before he could stop himself.

He would wait for her to wake, then find something else she could give him for a bit of bargain magic. But in the meantime…

He had a prince to still deal with.

He stalked back down the halls to the Autumn Court rooms, slamming the door open to the room Feyre had been in. The princeling was still there, sitting at his desk. He jumped up and whirled to face Rhys, fists alight with flame, but Rhys didn’t give him the chance to attack. He launched himself at the princeling, determined to get justice for Feyre, for Azriel, for Mor even. He had just managed to get a grip on his jacket before someone was pressing a dagger to his throat from behind.

“You should have known better,” Eris hissed at him, “Than to go after any of my family.”

Then the blade opened his throat.

At least Feyre wouldn’t be in pain any longer.

~

They made the bargain again the next loop around. Rhys even followed through on stopping the guards from taking her to the Autumn Court wing after she cleaned out the lentils. He ensured hot food was given to her every evening, and sent fresh blankets and clothes to her when he could spare them. Regardless, he could sense her despair growing. Feel it down their bargain that the boredom and the fear and the whole damn situation was getting to her.

He wished there was something he could do for her, but it wasn’t like he could take her for walks around the mountain. It was safer for her to be out of sight of Amarantha, and therefore out of her mind. She was stuck, alone, unless he were to keep her company. But she didn’t wish to be near him, not after he’d made that bargain with her again, put those Illyrian tattoos on her skin. He doubted she’d want to talk with Nuala or Cerridwen either, or he might have sent the wraiths to her cell just to keep her company.

He would have to come up with some way to get her out of the cell. To get her a way to safely walk around and be around other people, exercise and take in something other than misery. He had plenty of time, at the very least. Time was the one thing he wasn’t short on.

She was nearly despondent by the time the second trial rolled around, but at last they had made it. Rhys had been desperate the last few weeks, practically pulling out his own hair to ensure nothing went wrong, that he would finally see what it was Amarantha had planned for Feyre. And then he knew - a riddle. A pathetically easy riddle, and all Feyre had to do was pull a lever.

Even like this she’d be able to complete the trial. She wouldn’t have to run or fight anything, wouldn’t have to avoid a monster trying to kill her. Rhys was relieved that Feyre would get through this trial easily.

The first had been physical. This second would be mental. The third… who knew. Rhys was sure Amarantha would come up with something. Probably something to do with her heart. A challenge on humanity. A challenge for her soul.

But that day was still a month away, and there was no point worrying about it when Rhys was sure he would have the timeline reset at least a few more times before he ever made it there.

As Feyre was led onto the platform that would descend into the chamber below - where poor little Lucien was already chained up - Rhys scanned the crowd around them. The crowd was jeering, and Rhys took note of all the faces that were a little too enthusiastic. When Feyre succeeded and freed them, they would be the first on his list.

After Amarantha, of course.

Amarantha would always come first. For his men, slaughtered in the first war. For himself, for suffering under her tortures for nearly six decades at this point, having lived the final year of her curse over and over enough times. For Jurian, even, trapped as a ring and forced to witness it. And for Feyre, who had suffered far more than even she knew as a direct consequence of Amarantha’s choices and power.

“Well, Feyre, your second trial has come. Have you solved my riddle yet?” Amarantha waited for an answer they both knew wouldn’t come. “Too bad,” she said, pouting in mockery. “But I’m feeling generous tonight. How about a little practice?”

Rhys watched the Attor and other surrounding faeries laugh, adding them to his mental list of targets as well.

“Begin,” Amarantha said, and the floor began to descend. Rhys didn’t bother to watch, he already knew what Feyre’s reaction would be when she noticed Lucien’s predicament.

He watched Eris instead, especially with little Lucien down in the pit with Feyre. Eris had already killed him once - an embarrassing feat that Rhys was glad no one would ever be able to remember except for him - and looked like he was getting far too much glee at the thought of Feyre and Lucien dying a horrible death.

A mask, Rhys guessed. If Eris had been willing to kill him over one of his rival brothers, surely he’d be upset over his favorite brother dying. But it wouldn’t do to let Beron or Amarantha know.

Down in the chamber, Feyre cried out, finally noticing her friend next to her. Rhys glanced at her for merely a moment, then returned his stare to Amarantha. She was smiling, a cruel, slight thing. Delighting in Feyre’s pain and fear.

He imagined forcing her to trade places with Feyre. Chaining her up in Lucien’s place so that she had to wait. Watching. Feeling the burning heat of the metal spikes above her as they grew closer and closer.

Down in the chamber he heard Feyre pull a lever. Around him, fairies gasped. Amarantha's smile grew.

Rhys looked back down at Feyre. She had pulled the wrong lever. He was stunned, frozen for several seconds before he dove into her mind to find out why.

Her panic thoughts took him for a moment. She knew she was going to die. She knew Lucien was going to die. And she blamed herself because…

Because she couldn’t read.

Rhys’ heart dropped. He’d known she hadn’t had the best education growing up, but he had never once assumed that she could not read. He hadn’t helped her with this riddle because he had thought it would be easy for her. He thought she would get it in an instant.

And instead she had panicked. The words had blurred together into one jumbled mess. Lucien’s distress from across the cavern had distracted her, had made her even more nervous than she had already been.

The spikes were barely above her head. Rhys could already smell burning hair.

Rhys did the only thing he could think to do. He seized a hold of her mind, but before he could end it, before he could restart the loop without Feyre’s pain - the same burning pain she had just suffered the previous loop as well - the Attor pounced on him.

“No interfering,” it hissed, dragging him down to his knees and forcing him to watch. He hadn’t realized Amarantha suspected him so much. He could feel his magic being restricted even more than normal, so that he was unable to even look away or block her pain.

Rhysand watched, horrified, as those burning spikes descended through Feyre and Lucien.

And when he woke up beside Amarantha mere moments later, loop already reset, he swore he could still hear her screams.

[acoustic-tenor-ball]

"I grew up- I've always been- Fuck."

Sol huffs and starts over. "Life has always been strange for me. Not just because of my," she gestures vaguely at her ears," condition, but in general." He takes a breath. "Socializing is hard. I don't get people. Growing up I spent a lot of time in nature. Classrooms were a little too loud and way too fucking bright. The kids couldn't keep their hands to themselves, and I didn't care to be polite about it. Who cares if I hurt their feelings, you know? Whenever lunch or recess would roll around, I'd wander off. Find myself ways away from campus, far from flickering lights and prying hands. Was like that 'til...middle school-ish?" She scrunches her nose, staring up at the ceiling, but continues. "The teachers put a stop to it, obviously. I don't blame them. They said I needed to 'connect with my peers'. I'd been doing alright academically, so I guess that's the only real issue they had with me. Luckily for them, I had the perfect plan. I thought-!" He inhales deeply, no use in getting worked up so early. "I thought, 'What better way to make friends than to show off this cool power?' The hearing wasn't so bad then. I could hear maybe...400 feet in each direction? Just a bit longer than a football field."

[Not that I knew that at the time.]

"It's practically nothing, compared to now. Still, more than enough to impress a couple people. Y funcionó. Casi demasiado bien." "There was this girl," [Jayla? Jaelin? Jaslyn?] "She was pretty, popular, outgoing, and a perfect target for my little 'social experiment'. Paired up with her for a project and told her I could hear anything she said from across the room, even if she whispered." Sol waves a hand around lazily. "She didn't believe me, of course. Not until we tested it. Then. Then it became public knowledge. Suddenly, everyone at school wanted to talk to the girl with 'super hearing'. It was tame, at first. People would whisper things from down the hall for me to hear. They'd go further and further, testing the limits of what I could do. We tried spying on the teachers a couple of times. We even got one fired! It was fun." He shrugs. "Of course, a few kids tried to mess with me. They intentionally made loud noises; I think they liked to see me jump. They learned their lesson pretty quick, though. Violence never scared me, and I defended myself just fine. That didn't bother me," she scowls, "No. The problems came once people realized they could use me for gossip." [In hindsight, it's obvious. They're middle schoolers. I don't know what I was expecting. Kindness? Ha.] "I didn't mind it at first. It felt great to be a part of something, and I can't say knowing everything wasn't exhilarating. My friends would ask me to eavesdrop on conversations and tell them what I heard. A lot of it was petty drama, failing 2-week relationships, and the like. It didn't matter to me, I'd successfully socialized like they'd asked me to, and that's all I needed. One day I listened in on the wrong conversation and told the wrong people. And, well. I went from the 'kid with the cool powers' to 'invasive' and a 'freak'." Sol laughs something bitter. "I still had 'friends', technically. They just...needed to use my powers- curse- whatever- whenever they wanted. It's the only way they'd keep me around. I was a tool first, and a friend second. Who cares if I'm sad or tired, or if every noise was too much and I couldn't breathe? Every little way I was different would be scrutinized if I didn't comply. I would be alone again. I'd disappoint them. I hated it. I hated it so much, Morgan. It wasn't even that bad but I-" Her voice started to rise ages ago. She doesn't care. "I just- I hate being treated like an object. I have feelings, opinions, and needs. I am a person. I may not be the smartest, or the nicest, or the prettiest, or the most functional. I may not even be a good one, Dios sabe que nunca lo seré, but- I am a fucking person just like everyone else. Hell! I don't even like people! But you can't just take that away from me. You can't."

The following silence is almost a relief.

Sol knocks harshly on the door.

"Morgan? Morgan, open up!"

He takes a deep breath. A futile attempt to calm her already fraying nerves.

" I can hear you. I know you're in there."

"Alright, alright. I'm coming, jeez."

Morgan grabs their shirt off the back of their chair and shoves it on. They stumble a little as they make it to the door.

They unlock the door, swinging it open. They raise a brow as they take in Sol's disheveled appearance.

His clothes are wrinkled, and the bottom of her jeans damp from coming through the grass. He's breathing heavily, as if he'd been walking for a while.

"The hell happened to you?"

Xe usher her in.

[worthless-misery]

Dear diary...

I'm bad for people...

I'm bad for this world...

Maybe I need to stay away from everyone, forever...

[leafie-draws]

how am I supposed to draw and focus on art right now when my primordial mammal brain just wants to dig a big deep hole and hide in it

[polymechs]

Bed Size References

---

Hi there! My name is Aubrey and I generally don't know how to start these kind of posts because I try not to make them.

In the short: Hi there, will you please help me get a bed?

In the long: I'm a physically disabled and chronically ill person who lives in a household that lives paycheck to paycheck, with me only getting SNAP benefits to sustain myself every month. I've been sleeping on a broken down couch for the past 2~ years and it's really start to put a toll on my already messed up back.

I've been in the process and getting stable enough to start looking for employment, but I'm still not at the point where I'm able to do that safely with my health in mind.

So I'm asking you, dear reader, if possible in this economy to commission or donate to me so we can save my back together! Art examples on my Ko-Fi! Thank you very much for reading and good timezone.

Bed Frame: $10/$390

Mattress: $140/$140

Total: $150/$530

---

Ko-Fi | Paypal | Cashapp

[insomniamamma]

.

i keep trying to think of something clever to say, but really, I'm just tired. I have never understood the weird ageism that's baked into this fucking fandom.

You're all for reader inclusivity until someone over 30 or god forbid 40 mentions the fact that 90% of reader inserts are explicity coded as newly minted 20 year olds, and then suddenly we're the enemy! We're shaming you! We're yucking your yum!

We're cringe and weird and sad old ladies who can't possibly have sexual feelings because ew.

Pedro Pascal is two years older than me, but its gross if I'm horny for him.

It's gross that as 40+ woman I want to believe that I could still be desired.

The call is coming from inside the house.

[waitineedaname]

i love the bingge extra because it's like

the horror of realizing you're the dark universe version of yourself. the injustice of seeing this other version of yourself be happy and loved, seeing him be treated with such gentle tenderness from a person who only ever treated you with cruelty

bad sex.

[batbrainrot]

guys please tell me those batman #148 leaks of jason dying again are fake. tell me they're fake right fucking now i can't fucking do this shit right now i'm off my meds

[lucyvaleheart]

.

[foreverxdaydreaming]

x

[lisxdumbr]

The whole "if a person is mad at you it's their responsibility to tell you" thing just made me realize how fucked my situation is. Like just. woah

[moonfurthetemmie]

oh uh. so my essay about Lucidity is getting way longer than I meant it to, because I ended up figuring more shit out as I went, but I'm impatient to share my newest fucked up beloved so i'm just going to share some basics + the heroforge ref

JR is gone. Their head quarters literally blew up and there's only a handful of survivors. He didn't take it well.

he took it so badly in fact that he eventually ended up with goddam Jet and Obsidian, because it just so happened that they're looking for the same group that blew up JR to get rid of them! And since Lucidity, in shock and grieving and absolutely livid, is hunting them, they decided to team up.

yeah he lost his goddam mind <3

this whole thing started with me going 'what if i made ds dream evil and made him and obsidian kiss. could i do that?' and it evolved into "so there's a gay evil poly going on, but that's side story because right now we're watching lucidity's descent into evil and low-level madness as he hunts down [group] and otherwise just helps obsidian and jet achieve multiverse domination. because he's having fun."

He's also realized that he does care about nightmare a lot and really doesn't want to kill him, so there's that I guess?

oh the meme squad knows what's happening. they may be the only other ones from their MV who knows but I'm not certain yet

also Lucidity's versions of Obsidian and Jet are presently nicknamed Shale and Nightshade, respectively, though this may be subject to change.

While Lucidity's presence has made the situation in JMV much much worse overall, he has managed to get certain specific things to stop. jade and zuli are doing a little better now.

someone should probably stop them but honestly i have no idea who or how so they're just going to run free and cause severe problems for everyone. except nightmare. lucidity won't let nightmare get involved in any way, shape, or form, including trying to keep him hidden away in the manor. nightmare must go home and stay there.

(Nightmare, Cross, and Error are digging up all the information they can find about what's been happening in JMV. they have no idea what they're going to do with this information, because they're real sure they can't do shit, but they're looking.)

[piplupod]

feels like the isolation is a gushing wound and going to the centre is just a small bandage. i think perhaps i am not really ever going to feel okay unless something miraculous happens. i am retaining some semblance of sanity now that I'm leaving the house and socializing with non-family more than once a week, but i am still hurting more than I can really tolerate and I don't know what to do about it. there doesn't seem to be a fix for this that I can enact.