#now we’re getting this shit because con and Rhys like each other

[celluloidbroomcloset]

Y’know what? No. If one of your takeaways from OFMD is that the show got it wrong and instead of the canon loving relationship that includes a GNC man and an indigenous man, the two white guys should’ve fucked…yeah, I think you need to think about why you feel that way.

[bbyboybrock--archived]

Happy New Year (Colby Brock Imagine)

Summary: *REQUEST* Can you do one where they are strangers and meet each other during a new years eve party and then end up kissing each other when the ball drops and make it super romantic (not in covid times) pretty please

Written: 2021

Word Count: 2,040

Warnings: Swearing, mention of being roofied, breakup

Masterlist

I sit in the uber, waiting for everyone to get out. Maybe they’ll be too excited about the party to realize that I went home. Maybe I should escape out the other door and disappear into the night. I didn’t even want to come out tonight in the first place. After the year I’ve had, going to an influencer party is the last place I want to attend. Unluckily for me, my best friends were tired of me staying in my apartment all day, every day, and refused to let me ring in the new year alone. Sadly, this meant that I had to go with them to a party because my apartment gave off “depression vibes” and that “wasn’t the move” for 2021. That’s the only thing that I agreed with them on, the vibe thing, not going to a party. 

After nearly a year of quarantine and processing a breakup, my place is a bit of a disaster. If it wasn’t for Janie ambushing me every day last week to help/force me to clean up, my apartment would still look like that cave where the grinch lives— minus Max. There were various alcohol bottles collecting dust on the counter. Not in a “she’s spiraling very rapidly” sort of way, but in a way that you could tell that I had a rough few weeks and the occasional wine night with the gals. There were boxes, mostly from March and April, that I still had yet to throw out after impose buying a bunch of stuff. My closet had turned into my bed because that was the only safe space that wasn’t cluttered with food packaging or tainted by memories that no longer bring me joy. I hadn’t properly seen my floor in months until we pulled back the layer of filth. I forgot that I had carpet. Still, after all that, I managed to make videos every week without fail.

“Y/N, c’mon, you’re not escaping this time. Let’s go so you can forget that asshole and that backstabbing bitch.” Persephone begs as she pulls me out of the car. Once out of the car, she adjusts her long, dark brown curls and smooths out her dress before reconnecting to her boyfriend’s hip. They both match with their gold and black outfits. All of my friends and their significant others match. Ophelia and her girlfriend are wearing silver and blue while Janie and her boyfriend are wearing maroon and gold. They all look like gods and goddesses and here I am wearing green and sliver on my own. Could I be anymore single?

“I’m not going to do it, I was just thinking about it. Don’t worry. I have to get footage for the vlog anyway. Gotta prove that I did something other than stay home this year. My fans are getting concerned.” I pull out my camera and get a few clips of everyone.

“Might as well get some pictures then so people will believe you.”1 Ophelia winks before grabbing me and leading us to what I’m assuming is the designated photo spot. There’s even a line. This is going to be one of those nights.

****

“Aw, fuck…” I mutter to myself as my drink gets knocked out of my hand. This house isn’t big enough for the number of people that were invited. 

“I am so sorry! Here, let me help you.” The guy who bumped into me extends his hand for me to grab. I’m sober enough to know not to take completely random strangers' hands at parties, especially in LA, but I’m also drunk enough to not care. He looks nice enough and I can spot Ophelia and her girlfriend Zoe keeping an eye on me from the corner of the room. I guess everyone is taking turns to make sure I don’t bail.

Against better judgment, I take this beautiful stranger’s hand and let him guide me out of the house to the backyard. It’s less crowded out here, maybe because there are more activities to do inside. Out here, I can actually breathe even though people are smoking and vaping out here. The music is quieter. The music is still loud, but like it would burst your eardrum like the music inside. I get a better look at the guy who brought me out here. He’s not bad looking, and I really hope that’s not the alcohol talking. He has the most relaxing blue eyes I’ve ever seen on a guy. His hair is dark brown with a bit of, I think, purple in the front. He looks as threatening as a pug, but looks can be deceiving.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get any on you did I?” He asks as he scans my body, not in a creepy way. Which is a nice change of pace.

“My feet but they’re just shoes so I don’t care. I call these my going out shoes, they’re made for moments like this so you’re all good. I’m Y/N by the way.” I stick my hand out for him to shake. He looks at it puzzled for a second before it registers and he grabs my hand and gives it a firm shake. 

“Right— I spilled your drink on you and basically kidnapped you from the party and you don’t even know my name. It’s Colby, Colby Brock.” Colby shakes my hand a little too long before quickly pulling it away.

“I’m Y/N, you can get the last name later,” I bite my bottom lip, close my eyes, and mentally slap my head. “That was lame, wasn’t it?”

“It’s fine. It’s a thousand times better than anything I would have come up with. Just blame it on the alcohol.”

We both laugh before Colby singles that he’ll be right back. I watch as Colby disappears a small group of people. I take off my shoes and walk to the pool, dipping my feet in as I sit. The cool night air is soothing me. It’s a nice change from the stale scent of my apartment and the sweaty bodies inside the party. I look up to the night sky. The light pollution makes it impossible to see what stars and constellations are above us. Whatever I’m staring at right now feels peaceful, like they are aligned or not in retrograde. I have no idea what any of that means, but I do know that I’ve been around Ophelia too much.

Colby taps my shoulder when he gets back. He kicks off his shoes and socks before joining me in the pool, not even rolling up his pant legs. He’s going to regret that in a few hours. He hands me an unopened can of Truly. I take it from him and open it myself. At least I know he’s not a creep. He opens a can of White Claw and sips it before breaking the silence.

“I have to be honest, Y/N.” Colby looks forward, taking another sip.

“Oh no, what is it?” I ask nervously.

“The real reason I dropped your drink is because I saw some asshole slip something in your drink.” Colby finally looks at me and I can tell he’s serious.

“Wait…what? Someone tried to… Any you thought the best was to inform me was to spill my drink all over me?” I’m more taken aback by the idea of me almost getting roofied than anything. That would have been the perfect way to end this shit storm of a year.

“In hindsight, I planned to spill your drink. I didn’t mean to get any on you. I’m not a hundred percent sober right now so that was the downside of my plan. Don’t worry about the guy, my friend Corey went after him.”

“Wow— Uh, thank you. I mean it. I don’t think I could have dealt with… that on top of everything else I had to handle this year.” I take a sip of my drink and swing my legs in the water. 

“Do you want to talk about it? I’m not big on talking about serious stuff with strangers, so I’ll understand if you don’t want to. However, we’re both getting hammered, if we aren’t already, so the likely hood of us even remembering this conversation tomorrow let alone who we are slim. So if you need to vent, vent.”

I weigh the pros and cons of actually venting everything to this beautiful stranger. Maybe it’s the alcohol talking, but I decided to say fuck it. The year is almost over anyway, might as well get rid of this baggage and start the year fresh.

“Long story short: after months of quarantining together Axl, my boyfriend of 10 years, cheated on me. The entire time we were in quarantine. With my younger sister, who I let quarantine with us so she wouldn’t be alone and not have to fly back home to be with our parents. And to top it all off, I found out about it on my birthday when I walked in on them fucking each other on my bed.” I take a larger sip of my drink before leaning back and staring back at the virtually starless sky.

“Holy fucking shit,” Colby leans back to join me in looking at the sky.

“Yup! We met in preschool and started dating when we were 13. She’s four years younger than us to that’s annoying.” 

“Not to be that guy, but I don’t know what you expected when you started dating a guy named Axl.”

“… You’re right, that is a pretty douchey name. I literally ignored the biggest red flag in my entire life.”

Colby and I laugh again until it fades. I don’t think I’ve laughed this much, like actually laughed, in months. It feels good. Inside the house, the crowd starts counting down from 15. Colby must have heard it too because I watch him turn his head from the corner of my eye. I turn my head to face him. He really does have beautiful eyes. Like the ocean.

“This may be a dumb idea and I know we don’t know each other, but do you want to be my new years kiss?”

“I may regret this in the future, but what the hell.” We both sit up and adjust our clothes.

It might be risky to just kiss a random stranger at midnight, but who cares. We’re most likely not going to be in each other’s lives after tonight anyway. But by God, I could do much worse than kissing Colby. Unless I’m very drunk and the drunk goggles are seriously fucking with me. It’s not like I’m going home with him, my friends won’t let that happen. Maybe after this party, we’ll go our separate ways and never see each other again. Maybe we’ll run into each other in a random store in LA or at some creator convention.

The drunken yells of party-goers inch closer and closer to midnight.

“Three,” Colby whispers, moving his hair out of his face.

“Two,” I take one more small sip before finally setting my drink down. Colby does the same. My heart is beating a loud, steady rhythm in my chest like it’s about to burst.

“One,” We whisper at the same time before slowly leaning in.

As our lips touch, it felt like time had stopped. The beating intense beating in my heart only intensifies the longer our lips stay pressed together. One of Colby’s hands finds my face why the other reaches for my thigh, but I can only focus on how soft his lips are. My stomach starts forming knots as he tries to deepen the kiss. I don’t know if it’s everything I drank tonight coursing through my veins or the fact that I haven’t been kissed in months, but I slightly part my lips. The mixture of Colby’s scent and his body heat wash over me like they’re intoxicating my senses. The kiss ends just as suddenly as it started. We both pull away and just stare at each other in awe.

“L/N,” I breathe, fixing my hair.

“What?” Colby takes another sip of his drink.

“My last name is L/N.”  

[fandomtrxsh19]

So, when I read ACOSF, I made kind of play by play notes as a listened to it( I read the audiobook) so.........here’s the chaos

HEAVY SPOILERS FOR ACOSF!!

CASSIAN SAID FUCK

WHOA there’s a LOT of swearing in this

“It’s SEVEN in the morning gods damn it” -nesta archeron

OVERSIZED SHIRTS FOR THE WIN

Feyre and Rhys have 5 houses? Not surprised...

full, inviting breasts......BIG BOOBS OMG CASSIAN YOU HORNY SON OF A BITCH

7 siphons to keep his magic under control? Dayum

So, she rode this unnamed male like a fucking roller coaster?

Depression sex? Depression sex

“Her father was ashes in the wind” DAMN THATS EDGY

“A moment of release among the darkness inside her” NESTA BBY THIS ISNT HEATHY

“She avoided both of them” not surprised

OOOOH RHYS HATES HER TEA IS BEING SPILT

So, depression sex and depression alcohol? Yup

*checks chapter count* 80 CHAPTERS??!?! Oh shit this is gonna be a triiiip

OOOOOOOOO RHYS AND NESTA BEEF

Feyre trying to apologize to nesta........she’s trying

“You’re done, Nesta” The fuuuuuck.....

So, nesta’s moving and training with cassian...........Feyre, this isn’t a good idea omg

Feyre holy shit what the fuck are you doing, you TOTAL HELICOPTER SISTER?

“I never want to speak to you again!” damn

ELAIN TRAUMA!!! Yay???

MOR FOCUSED CHAPTER!!!?

she has brown eyes? Ok

FUCK SHES WEARING A BLUE DRESS FUCK

nesta knows about mor NESTA KNOWS ABOUT MOR!!!

“I am worthless and I am nothing. I hate what I am.” DAYUM I’ve been in that exact mindset numerous times. I can relate, Nesta

Briallen? Who the fuck is that?

Scars being trapped in magic? Good fuck that’s dark

“Ooh a dark skin character? Lit

OH SHIT SHE CANT FLY HER WINGS ARE CLIPPED

Is her name Emery?

“I am the monster your fear” BBY OMG GET THERAPY

Gwyn? Seems a bit aloof

“Two gentle conversations” GOOD JOB

Fairy lights omg lol

Nesta reading smutty books.....I’m imagining this omg

THE HOUSE IS ALIVE? Sweet

OMG ELAIN SHIT!!!! BBY

“All she wanted to do was touch him” OOOOOHHHHH NESSIAN

“All I need is a hot meal and a good book.” Mood

Nesta’s worried about Mor??? REEEEEEE

“Nesta needed Feyre more than she realized.“ OOOOOOO

OOOOOOOOO FAE BARGANS

They’re bound by magic on the body?? Ooh

IT’S TRAINING TIME BITCHES

“I don’t hate you too,Cassian” OMGGGGGG REEEEE

Nesta SMILED

THEY MENTIONED VALKYRIES!!!!!

“You might be my only friend.” HMMMMMMM

*hears how cassian was born * OMG HOLY SHIT CASSIAN

*hears cassians backstory* DAMN THESE CHARACTERS NEED THERAPY

OOP SLIGHT DEPRESSION SEX

OOP CLOTHING REMOVAL

“I’ve loved you since the first moment I held you in my arms.” HMMMMMMMM

I’m loving this Nessian sparring training.

ELAIN! SHES IN THE STORY KIND OF

Elain has small boobs........same

“I thought I would drop by to see how you were doing.” AWWWWWWWWW

Yayy.....awkward sister talks........

“She was the monster.” Nesta.............I can relate.

Nesta’s angry at Elain.............

Elain’s trying to reach out and Nesta’s denying it.

MY HEART

AGAIN...THE👏RA👏PY👏

“No more seeing her sisters without her permisson.” That’s smart.

Soooooooooo......Rhys is now a German Shepard.........?

OMG CASSIAN KILLED EVERYONE THAT HELPED KILL HIS MOM........good for him

“Use that training and make me.” OOOOOOOMGGGGGG

Rhys is overprotective of Feyre and shields her......daaaaaaaaaaaaamn

“What exactly happened in the cauldron?” FEYRE BAD IDEA BAD IDEA BAD IDEA

Again, Nesta, ✨THERAPY✨

Put a stop to what, D-does the IC know of the ✨depression smut?✨

“There was touching, but with her permission” WE 👏STAN 👏A KING👏

THAT ASKS👏FOR👏CON👏SENT👏

“Who do you think I am?” “A drunk fool who’s wasting my time?” OOOOOOOHHHHH SHOOTS FIRED!!!

Emery and Nesta to Emery’s cousin: GO HOME YOUR DRUNK ASSHOLE

*hears Nesta’s grand✨mama✨* me: grandmama, it’s me....ANASTASIA

Bruh...NESTA BIT CASS’S EAR

ugh the tool

“Baby making” hehe lol

“Nesta like gwyn”...............could she also be biiiiiiiii??????????!!!!!! YAY FIRST FRIEND IM PROUD OF YOUUUUU

NESTA SMILES AGAIN YAY!!

Alright, Meryl is BITCH

GWYN’S A QUARTER NYMPH?? Cool

“She’s failed everything.” BBY

HER POWERS? HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT SILVER FLAMES

ICY FIRE??? FUUUUUUUUUCK

Nesta must’ve been petrified being surrounded by fire

It’s a dream? THE FUCK

WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT SHE WAS DREAMING????

Cassian saw HER TRAUMA?????? FUUUUUUCK

HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HER POWER IS DEAAAAATHH FUUUUUUCK

THE BABY HAS WIIIIINGS!!!!!!

Why is Rhys angry about the wing thing?

Ohhhhhhhhhh shiiiiiiiiiit the tool

*hearing the possibilities of half Illyrian baby* OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHH FUUUUUCK OMG

“I loved it when you fucked my mouth cassian?” GAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH NEEESTAAAAA THIS ISNT HEALTHY

“What could go wrong?” DONT JINX IT

fairy monsters? OHOHOHOOOO

NONONONOOOOOO NOT AN ASH ARROW

BLACK EYES???? Fuck fuck are they in the cauldron?

OMG THE KELPIE IS DOING SHIT TO NESTA!!! Are they on the cauldron?

the MAAAAAAASK

ohOOOOOOOMGOMGOMGOMG SHE SUMMONED THE FUCKING DEAD REEEEEEEEEEE

Omg NESTAS POWERS ARE SO FUCKING COOL

She LITERALLY HAS AN UNDEAD ARMYYYYY

death HERself........badass

“Because you and cassian has been giving each other sultry looks all morning” SHE KNOWS

“For the first time in her life, she finally felt good in her own skin.” GROWTH

Omg Nesta created a swooooord!!!!! Cool

ITS INFUSED WITH MAGIC??? HELL YEAH

“I can’t lie to her!” SIIIIIIIMP

“I’d be careful when fucking her.” Oh amren

FUUUUUUCK FUCK BOOOOOOOOO TAMLIN

“You will not touch us.” YES TELL HIM

“I can’t believe Feyre ever loved tamlin.” ME TOO

“Elain saw everything Nesta did.” Daaaaaaaaamn

OOOOOOOO NESTAS PIIIIIIIISSED

OOOOOOOOOOO SECRETS FEYRE’S PIIIIIIISED

Nesta messed up and I think she realizes that

Rhys is pissed now and wants to kill Nesta....SHIIIIIIIT

Nesta: heads for a tavern me: NONONONONO GODS DAMN IT YOU’VE COME SO FAR

“I will fight for him. For us. Until I can’t anymore.” FEYRE IS GONNA BE A GREAT MOM

“Wishing to disappear into nothing.” I’ve been there.

“Cassian knew Nesta hated herself, but didn’t know how sometimes she wanted to unexist.” I RELATE TO THAT SHIT

“She had been born wrong.” AWWWWW BBY SHIIIIIT

“Was she worth being counted?” I CAN RELATE

*hearing Nesta blaming herself for her fathers death and for the horrible things she’s done, saying she can’t fix it* SHIT IM CRYING (I’m not joking)

“ I deserve nothing.” I CAN RELATE BITCH IM ACTUALLY CRYING

*hears Cassian calmly reassuring and comforting her* AWWWWW I NEED THIS QUOTE

CASSIAN CARES SO MUCH FOR HER I LOVE THIS

(I really needed that cassian talk. I literally wrote most of the quote down just in case. Thank you SJM)

EMERY CAN SENSE THE SEX HOLY SHIT

“After he’d fucked her with her fingers...” O NONONONOOO

*skips to chapter 52*

Lanthis??? Who the fuck is that?

“Gwyn and Emery are my friends” SHES GROWN SO MUCH!!!

26 dimensions? OH THIS IS SOME DOCTOR STRANGE SHIT

IT CANT BE KILLED

cassian and Nesta really went *yeet* .......... I’m sorry

THE SWORDS NAME IS ADORAXIA!!!!!!!!!!!sounds like a dnd character IDEAS

OHOHOHOOOOO BLACK THRONE AND A CROWN DEATH QUEEN NESTA WITH HER HAIR DOOOOOOWN

Rhys vs Cassian standoff *western duel music starts*

NESTA APOLOGIZED FOR EARLIER IM SO PROUD

Did Elain have a vision? DID SHE???

“I want you to seduce him.” NESTA THE HIDDEN BARD ROLL FOR PERSUASION

Mor teaching Nesta the waltz? NESTA AND MOR CAN NOT HATE EACH OTHER

Are they back at their childhood home? Because oooooooooooof ✨ childhood trauma✨

MOR AND NESTA HAVING A CONVERSATION YAY!!!!! (This’ll make rping them so maybe easier)

“We’re in a book!” Holy shit they know. HIDE THE FANFICTION

The relationship between Nesta, Emery, and Gwyn is so wholesome

“Oh FUCK you” .... NESTA

“I was just checking on dessert” MOOD

MOR AND NESTA ARE HAVING A FRIENDLY CONVERSATION

I sense tension between amren and Nesta

ERIS WANTS NESTA????

“I’m not with you.” Lier

A SNOWBALL FIGHT WITH THE BATBOIS??? Holy shit they do have one(1) brain cell

A sleepover with Emery, Nesta, and Gwyn? SIGN ME UP

“Do it for the miniature Pegasus!” INSIDE JOKES

OOOOHHH i see the gwynriel ship

Wait....HER POWERS MADE THE HOUSE BE ALIVE??? Sweet

Alright 2 months til FEYSAND baby

The mating bond between cassian and Nesta?????.............

“Say it, SAY IT” GODS DAMN IT NESTA SAY THE FUCKING THING

So, Nesta’s afraid she’s gonna loose her humanity?

EMERIE NESTA AND GWYN ARE IN THE BLOODRITE? Fuuuuuuuuuck

OH NO EMERIE!!!!!!

“High Fae bitch” PUT THAT ON A SHIRT

OMG OMG OMG HELL YES VALKRIES

oh Cassian you restless bastard you

*hears Emerie’s backstory and their heart to heart* AWWWWWW I LOVE THEM

“The morrigan.” The fuck Eris?

“She’d hit the archway of stone” OOOOOOOOOOF

“For being my friends when I didn’t deserve it.” AWWWWWWWWWW

What about Feyre’s pregnancy???? Hewwo?

“Lord of bastards” heh true that’s cassian alright

Wait, OTHER set of wings

CASSIAN!!!!!!!!!!

“Now, I’m going to slit your little throat.” FUUUUUUUUCK NONONONOOOOO THIS ISNT CASS FUUUUCK

What’s the trove?

NONONONONOOOO WHYD HE GET STABBED SHIT HE GOT STABBED

Nesta’s pissed.....MAGIC TIME

wait wait wait wait wait HES NOT STABBED HELL YEAH!!!!

“You are my mate, Cassian.” ITS ABOUT FUCKING TIME

Nessian: kissing when the world is in ruin

“She started bleeding hours ago. “ BABY TIME???

*hears the blood and feyre’s appearance*!FUUUUUUUUUCK

So, no C section? OOOOOOH SHIT THEYRE DOING IT

IM SCARED IM SCARED IM SCARED

“Silent babe?” Shiiiiiiiiiiiiit

Nesta Nesta Nesta What the fuck are you doing???????? FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK

SHE HAS ALL 3! ONONONOOOOOFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK

OHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOOSHE PLUCKED IT FUCK

SHE STOPPED TIME?????????

WHOS the female voice?

“ I love you, Feyre” SHE DID IT IM SO PROUD!!!!!

What is she doing what is she doing what is she doiiiiingggg?

GIVE WHAT BACK?????

WHAAAAAT? A BARGAIN WITH THE FUCKING CAULDRON???

feyres alive? FEYRE’S ALIVE!!!!!!!

NESTA THE MVP!!!!

*the sister hug* AWWWWWWWWWWW

AWWWWWW I LOVE THE NAME NYX!!!!

How much did the Cauldron take from Nesta, tho?

FEYSAND IS BEST PARENTS

Alright, I want to see LOADS OF WHOLESOME FANFICS AND FANART ABOUT DOMESTIC IC AND ELAIN AND NESTA GOT IT?

[thethespacecoyote]

“Handsome’s Con-sort”

“What? You nervous, uh—what’s your name again?” Jack furrowed his brow, eyes falling to the shiny silver bar pinned to Rhys’ lapel when the young man fumbled with his tongue for too long.

“Rhys, oh yeah, Rhys. Not really a star’s name, yanno? You’re like that weird character actor they bring in to try to appeal to the foreign art house market,” Jack scoffed, patting his upper arm. Rhys tried in vain to ignore the way Jack’s sculpted, million dollar pecs were pressing up against his shoulder. And the way his uh, hundred-thousand dollar nipple was brushing through his shirt up against Rhys’ skin.

“Uh…um, thank you, sir?”

“Sir? Aw jeez, kiddo, loosen up a little bit, ‘kay?” Jack smacked his shoulder, pushing off of the young man. He tossed his head in the direction of the door, strands of grey-brown hair scattering against his forehead as he smirked at the flustered handler.

“Cause we’re gonna have us some real fun today.”

6.2k words of a random ass Comic-Con AU that I wrote inspired by a cute comic I saw and from that story about Dameon Clarke getting drunk with his handler trying to keep him out of trouble lol

So yeah, Jack is a famous movie star at a convention, and Rhys is the volunteer who gets assigned to be his handler and gets more than he bargained for...

Leave me a tip! ★ Ask about commissions

Rhys couldn’t believe his luck.

He’d signed up with the convention volunteer program on a whim. Vaughn had been bugging him to go for years, but for some reason he’d never gotten the days off or been able to snag him some tickets. This year, he’d finally given in, and agreed to work part of the weekend in order to earn himself a badge to enjoy the fun. 

Hearing via his Twitter page that Jack Lawrence would be attending the convention thrilled him further, though his knew with his volunteer duties there would be no way he’d be able to wait in lines for the hours it took to get into one of those most coveted panels or signings. He’d tried to battle the disappointment bubbling up in his chest by hoping he’d be able to catch even a small glance of Jack Lawrence by chance walking around or talking to the presses or even just going to the bathroom. Even the smallest little glimpse would make him happy.

But he ended up with a lot more than he bargained for, when volunteer services told him exactly what he was going to be busy with for the entire weekend.

He’d made the woman repeat herself, swearing that he’d heard it wrong the first time. She’d furrowed her brows at him, before slowly repeating that yes, he would be Jack Lawrence’s “handler” for the duration of the convention.

Rhys hadn’t even known that big stars such as Jack even needed, uh—“handlers.” Essentially, glorified babysitters that made sure the stars were on schedule and knew where to go and what time to be there for each of their panels or signings or appearances. Rhys figured that kind of stuff would be done by Jack’s agent or PR rep, but nope, here he was—shy little tech intern Rhys, ready to stand at his favorite actor’s side for four days straight.

Rhys met Jack Lawrence for the first time ten minutes before his first signing.

He was panicking, trying to field the texts and calls he was getting both from the organizer of the panel and Jack’s agent. His head was spinning trying to keep both of them happy as the deadline grew closer and closer. He tried his best to ignore the clock on his phone ticking away and not think about the packed room of convention attendees waiting to see the Jack Lawrence make his dramatic entrance.

Rhys tried to keep his breathing under control, but it was difficult, considering how anxious he was already about meeting his idol. He tapped the toe of his boot against the asphalt, arms crossed tightly over his chest as his eyes flit over every sleek black Escalade pulling into the parking lot.

He was grateful he’d been spared the baggy, ugly beige vest that had been given to most of the other employees, allowing him to dress himself in an outfit he hoped would impress Jack…you know, whenever he showed up. Rhys could feel sweat starting to trickle down his back beneath the

Finally, he got a text from Jack’s agent just as a shiny limousine with bright yellow hubcaps pulls up to him, lacking the serial number that emblazoned the rest of the fancy cars circling the lot. Because of course someone like Jack would use his own limo rather than patronize any of the local rental services.

Rhys’ panic over the panel was quickly replace by a sudden rush of adrenaline that washed over him as the limousine pulled up right in front of him, the sleek door reflecting in the hot summer sun as it opened outwards. Rhys breath was reedy in his throat as he watched a heeled, brown leather boot step out from the car, following by a long leg shrouded in unimaginably tight charcoal denim, a fluttering yellow V-neck, a dark blazer, and finally the unmistakeable face of Jack Lawrence, tilted in a casual smirk as he tipped his sunglasses down and peered at Rhys.

“Ay, Moxx, is this the guy?” Jack called over his shoulder, one hand rested casually atop the car door, thumb fiddling idly with his ring as if he didn’t have—Rhys checked his phone—five minutes left to get to his movie’s panel.

Rhys’ tongue was weighted like lead as he tried to form words, eyes fixed on Jack’s appearance even as long, red fingernails snapped in front of his face, trying to get his attention.

“Hey, you, you’re Rhys, right?” The young man nodded dumbly, eyes tearing away from Jack to focus on the woman who’d stepped out of the car besides him, her other clawed hand resting on Jack’s shoulder. Rhys’ already wide eyes nearly bugged out of his head at the extremely low cut blouse just barely holding itself together around the woman’s large, tastefully tattooed chest.

“I…um, y-yeah, that’s me,” he awkwardly stuck out his hand, wilting softly when the gesture was ignored, “I, um, it’s great to meet you, Mr.—“

“Listen, darling, you’ve got four minutes to get him up to that ballroom and I’m tired of babysitting his lazy ass, so you’re going to make sure he doesn’t get distracted or wander off, okay?” The woman winked, eyelashes razor sharp.

“Lazy? Maybe if they hadn’t tried to rifle through my shit at LAX we’d have been on time,” Jack snarled, earning him a sharp flick from the woman’s fingernails. Rhys stood stock still, his tongue and brain still fumbling with his thoughts.

“Save that story for the fans, sugar, I’m sure they’ll get a kick out of the fact that you thought you could smuggle your whiskey minis onto a plane. Now get moving!” Moxxi shoved his shoulder, clapping her hands together as she shot one final, warning look at Rhys that belied the sharp smile on her painted lips.

“You screw up my best client, darling, and I’ll make your life a living hell. So have fun you two!” She called, coyly waving them off as Jack strode lazily forward, Rhys’ jogging slowly besides him, worried that racing ahead might annoy the actor. Rhys’ heart beat loudly in his chest, a lump forming in his throat as his pocket buzzed with what was undoubtedly a slew of messages from the panel host, but all his attention was commanded by the languid cool exuding from Jack Lawrence.

“I…I, sir, not to bother you, but the panel starts at—“

“Nothing wrong with being fashionably late, pumpkin, besides these nerds would wait out all day and night for me. They’ll live,” Jack snarked, hands shoved nonchalantly into his pockets at he looked sidelong at Rhys’, those sly, seductive eyes making the young man’s pulse stop. Rhys swallowed, tearing his eyes away from Jack lest he have a heart attack and die right here before he had a chance to get the actor to his panel.

In the end, they were about five minutes late, but thankfully Jack’s director and co-stars had manage to distract the crowd long enough with jokes and anecdotes to distract from the star’s tardiness. Jack had marched onto the stage, arms expectantly spread outwards the the roar of the crowd, leaving Rhys gasping and out of breath backstage, relief overwhelming him as he’d finally gotten Jack to where he was supposed to go.

Asides from the rocky start, however, the panel went off without a hitch. Jack was in rare form, snarking and telling all kinds of stories that had the audience in stitches. Rhys particularly liked hearing about all the pranks Jack liked to pull on his stunt double, though he felt a little bad for the poor guy. Especially the story about the box of kittens—though at least Jack had let him have one in the end?

Actually, the panel seemed mostly consumed by Jack, with the rest of his costars and production staff receiving very little questions and getting much less time to talk to the audience. Not that they seemed to mind—by all the cheers and screams coming from the crowd, hearing Jack talk for sixty minutes seemed to be exactly what they came here for.

Jack ended the panel by taking off his shirt and sloppily kissing his co-star, Nisha Kadam much to the thrill of the crowd. Though he was on the clock, Rhys couldn’t resist pulling out his phone and snapping a quick picture of the intertwined couple from behind, making sure to get a nice view of Jack’s jeans hanging off his sculpted ass. His stomach flip-flopped unpleasantly at the lock of Nisha and Jack’s lips, momentarily replacing the actress with his own eager mouth for a brief moment before he shut that thought way far away.

He was supposed to be professional, here.

Rhys hung back as the panel cleared out, Jack and his costars ambling backstage to chat amongst themselves. Rhys rubbed his wrist awkwardly, stealing sidelong glances at Jack as the actor made kissy faces at Nisha, only to get an annoyed, purple clawed hand to the face as she shoved him away. Rhys felt something tight and warm curl in his belly, his head feeling fuzzy as he toyed with going up to properly talk to the actor. He knew from the heat in his face that he was probably blushing bright red, practically glowing in the dim light of the backstage. He put a hand to his lips, turning away to maybe find a bathroom, to splash some cold water onto his face until it was time to guide Jack to his next event, when suddenly a broad, warm hand clapped on his shoulder, rooting him in place.

“So what’d you think, kitten?” Jack Lawrence smirked as he turned Rhys around, other hand on his hip. “Enjoy the view?”

Rhys balked for a moment, struggling to lift his eyes from where they had fallen right on Jack’s chest. The actor hadn’t yet shrugged his blazer back on, the only thing covering his torso the thin yellow shirt that clung to the curves of muscles that Rhys had seen completely bared to hundreds of people a couple of minutes earlier.

“I—um, yeah, I mean—wait, no, I—“

“What? You nervous, uh—what’s your name again?” Jack furrowed his brow, eyes falling to the shiny silver bar pinned to Rhys’ lapel when the young man fumbled with his tongue for too long.

“Rhys, oh yeah, Rhys. Not really a star’s name, yanno? You’re like that weird character actor they bring in to try to appeal to the foreign art house market,” Jack scoffed, patting his upper arm. Rhys tried in vain to ignore the way Jack’s sculpted, million dollar pecs were pressing up against his shoulder. And the way his uh, hundred-thousand dollar nipple was brushing through his shirt up against Rhys’ skin.

“Uh…um, thank you, sir?”

“Sir? Aw jeez, kiddo, loosen up a little bit, ‘kay?” Jack smacked his shoulder, pushing off of the young man. He tossed his head in the direction of the door, strands of grey-brown hair scattering against his forehead as he smirked at the flustered handler.

“Cause we’re gonna have us some real fun today.”

Jack was, ostensibly, at the convention to promote his new movie to the excitable masses cramming the exhibit halls. There was a massive display overwhelming the movie studio’s booth, complete with a heavily detailed sculpture of a crashed, sci-fi spacecraft and a dynamic, bigger-than-lifesize statue of the character that Jack was playing.

However, the actor seemed more interested in flirting than talking any details about the film. Every time a fan or interviewer tried to steer the conversation in that direction, Jack would turn it back around to complimenting their body or hair or smell, or running into a long anecdote only distantly related to the movie’s production. Rhys did his best to try to keep Jack from getting too off base, without potentially offending the actor. The last thing he wanted to do was earn his hero’s ire while there were literally hundreds of professional as well as amateur cameras pointed in their direction.

Rhys gently interrupted one of Jack’s trailing monologues to remind the actor and the interviewer that the signing was about to start, flinching as Jack turned to him and shot him a look that made Rhys feel like he was having an aneurysm. He took in a sharp breath of relief as Jack’s expression melted into something amused as he shrugged off the still running camera to make his way over to the line brimming with thrilled fans.

Rhys stood obediently apart from Jack as the actor sat at the booth’s signing table, scribbling his name with a fat golden pen on countless posters and glossy pictures of himself, as well as the occasional bit of fan merchandise and other miscellany. Jack seemed most amused by the detailed, 3D-printed bust of himself and the lacy, bright yellow and black bra. The latter made him laugh aloud, winking at the blushing girl who’d given it to him before signing on the inside of the still-warm cup.

The growling feeling in his stomach that had wound up when Rhys had seen Jack kiss Nisha Kadam sprung up again as the actor dared to press his lips against the padded insert of the bra, sending the girl and her friend into a fit of giggles as they were nudged away from Jack by the equally eager fans behind them.

Rhys’ eyes fell lazily to the table, watching as Jack’s broad, tanned hands swirled his liquid signature on picture after picture, the shiny ring on his finger and the wet gold of his pen’s ink glinting gently in the bright overhead lights. He wondered if he had anything good on him that Jack would sign for him. Back at the volunteer lockers he had his souvenir book, or maybe Jack would sign his convention badge? Or, maybe he could buy one of the many attractive head-shots and movie stills laid out glossy and smelling of fresh ink on the signing table.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. A smile flittered across Rhys’ face as he saw it was a selfie from Vaughn, in his Thor armor and the sleek blond wig Rhys had helped him style the night before the convention. It didn’t look half bad for what was kind of a hack job, and his bro looked happy, having found a couple other Marvel cosplayers to hang out with.

“Drinks later? :)” Came the text a couple seconds later. Rhys chuckled, replying quickly with a “im gonna need it.”

Especially when Jack screeched his chair back and hopped on top of the signing table, pointing aggressively to himself and inviting everyone “hot enough” in line to his studio’s industry party later to get hammered.

Oh no. Ms. Moxxi wasn’t going to be happy about that.

Rhys managed to keep Jack focused through another yet interview following the signing before the actor decided he was tired of being cramped up in the busy, thankfully air-conditioned convention hall. Rhys followed on his heels as Jack loped through the crowd, sneakily exited out a side door that put him and Rhys smack in the middle of a no-less-busy hotel lobby. The younger man managed to deflect most of the shocked yelling and pointing that Jack earned by appearing out of thin air amidst throngs of hotel guests, nearly losing Jack in the crowd a few times before the actor found what he had been apparently looking for—the fancier of the hotel’s two bars.

Jack brushed past the hostess with a wink and a finger-gun, leaving Rhys to issue a quick, hissed apology as he raced over to where Jack had taken a seat at one of the larger tables by the window, ignoring all of the smaller, two-seater ones. Rhys’ shuffled awkwardly by one of the chairs, wringing his hands as he looked from their bustling surroundings, down to where Jack was sitting, arm thrown over the back of his chair. He’d already opened up the drink menu, eyes scanning the various items, his gaze only flicking upwards when he realized Rhys’ hadn’t moved a muscle.

“Jeez, sit your butt down, pumpkin, I ain’t expecting anyone else,” Jack waved with the menu, nudging the chair opposite from him out from the table with his foot. Rhys nodded stiffly, jumping to obey as he sat down, mumbling a quick thanks as the waitress quickly took Jack’s order, all but ignoring Rhys until the actor ordered him a lemonade and a burger with fries.

“I saw you eat one of those five dollar pretzels like, 3 hours ago, I don’t need you conking out on me,” Jack grinned as his drink was rushed back to the table. The actor lifted it up, a pleased twinkle in his eyes as he admired the thick, heavy glass, filled with sparkling amber liquid and garnished with a flowering cut of orange peel.  

“Rhysie. You see this? They named a frikkin’ drink after me here. They put it on their menu. Me. That’s how you know you’re a god damn star.”

Rhys nodded as Jack downed half the cocktail in one refreshed gulp.

Rhys was starting to feel like this was way outside of the handling duties that his supervisor had told him about.

He’d texted Ms. Moxxi a couple of times throughout their lunch, excusing himself to the restroom while Jack ordered him a couple more “Jack Lawrence Sours” as well as some straight shots of top shelf whiskey that he pounded back with surprising nonchalance. Rhys bobbed up and down on his heels in front of the bright bathroom mirror as he glanced at his phone screen, waiting for Jack’s agent to reply back. When his phone finally buzzed he nearly dropped it from his nervous fingers, squeezing the device between two sweaty palms as he glanced down at the screen.

Just make sure he doesn’t make a scene, darling, and get him back in his hotel by the end of the night~

There were a couple of kissing-face emojis, then nothing. Any further texts that Rhys tried to send her earned him no response.

The young man let out a soft whine, pocketing his phone as he walked over to the sink, running the cold water a couple times over his palms before splashing a little onto his face. He glanced up, looking at himself in the mirror, frowning at the frazzled bits of hair that had fallen out of coif. He quickly brushing his style back into place, straightening the lapels of his jacket so the garment fell more attractively over his slender frame.

Jack had said they were going to have fun today, hadn’t he?

Rhys flicked his head to the side, trying his best, cool-guy smirk out in the reflection.

Well then, until he handed Jack back over to Ms. Moxxi, he was going to have fun.  

Jack soon grew bored of the hotel bar, and before long he was brushing aside the stacked glasses littering the table and waving his steel credit card at their waitress.

Rhys finished picking at the remains of his burger as she quickly ran the card, feeling a new confidence run through him. He’d expected Jack to invite some of his fellow actors, or maybe some of the fans who had gasped and pointed and asked for a picture with the tipsy actor, but despite the attention Jack garnered wherever he went he didn’t ask anyone to join them. And he had paid for Rhys’ lunch and three refills of iced tea.

Jack Lawrence might be a little bit rough and bawdy, but Rhys was relieved to discover that he wasn’t a total jerk or anything—he’d heard horror stories about people meeting their heroes and idols, and he was breathing easier now that Jack hadn’t decided to completely ditch him after his convention duties were over for the day.

“Don’t worry, sugar, you’re already getting yourself a great tip,” Jack snarked to the waitress as he scratched his pen across the check, slapping it back down against the slim leather book. Rhys hopped to his feet as Jack scraped his chair against the slick stone floor, winking at their waitress as she stared bug-eyed down at the check, her cheeks flushed bright pink.

Jack’s grin split at the edges as he strode out through the bar, Rhys’ moving quickly to keep pace with the actor, who was still surprisingly spry despite the sheer amount of alcohol he’d pounded back.

“You still with me, kitten?” Jack clapped Rhys on the shoulder as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, flipping through a couple of messages. Rhys half-wondered if he should text Vaughn and tell him what was going on, considering that it was starting to get dark, but then Jack was shoving his phone insistently  into Rhys’ face. Rhys’ eyes went cross trying to read the bright screen that had been pressed up only an inch or so in front of his eyes, able to see only some blurry text and the fuzzy image of some classy-looking ballroom.

“Industry party’s just beginning, Rhysie-baby! What do you say? Moxxi ain’t told you you gotta split or anything, huh?” Jack’s grin twinkled in the glow of the sunset, light slanting handsomely off his features and…wow. Okay. Wow.

“I…sure! Yes!” Rhys exclaimed, tamping down his stammer as his lips grew to match Jack’s smile.

Rhys had never even dreamed he’d be invited to an industry party before.

Well—he hadn’t actually been invited, really? Jack had just kind of brushed past the guards at the entrance to the Omni Hotel’s main ballroom with Rhys at his side. No badge check, no ID check, not even a “hey, who are you?” just a seamless entrance into a room full of snappily dressed executive, scantily clad actors, and servers with trays absolutely laden with small, plated appetizers and booze of all different shapes and sizes and colors—some were even glowing from the plastic LED cubes that had been dropped into their glasses.

Rhys’ heart thumped in his chest, stimulated by all that was going on around him. The music was loud, the lights above flashing a multitude of colors, and people were calling and waving and clapping Jack on the shoulder as the actor sauntered through the crowd, grabbing a glowing, bright blue drink from one of the server’s trays and passing it to Rhys before grabbing a yellow one for himself.

“You haven’t had a proper drink all day, sweetheart—“ Jack winked, taking a sip, “—come on, loosen up and have some fun. Not every day you get to party with Handsome Jack Lawrence, huh?”

He nudged Rhys’ in the ribs, laughing as he waved to a willowy, well-dress man whose wispy blond head stuck out above the crowds.

“Aye, Blake! Blakey,” Jack schmoozed as he slinked up alongside the man, who took a pointed sip of his tall, bright green liquor. Rhys squinted at the man’s drawn, almost bored expression, and as those flat, rusty eyes looked down upon him, Rhys let out a gasp.

“Oh, you’re, you’re Jeffrey Blake—“

“Best damn producer in the biz—well, when he ain’t trying to slash my budget.”

“You don’t always need an on-set hot tub, Mr. Lawrence, especially not when the picture is already financially overblown,” Blake replied crisply, thin, nigh invisible eyebrows rising as he looked Rhys up and down. The young man squirmed, taking a distraction drink of alcohol.

“Yeah yeah, whatever Blakey, you know a happy Jack is a Jack that will really help you reel in the big bucks,” the actor laughed, smacking Blake on the elbow. The man’s drink sloshed in his hand, dripping green liquid down the side, his thin, tight lips reflected in the glass.

“Indeed, Mr. Lawrence. Let your agent know to contact me to negotiate your salary for the next picture, mm?” Blake commented, before whisking around in the crowd, leaving Jack to gulp down the remainder of his drink and toss it on a passing server’s tray, nearly causing the glass to skid off the tray and fall to the floor.

“Awww, forget him, Rhysie, he’s got a stick up his ass a foot long. C’mon—“ Jack tugged at the young man’s wrist and yanking him in the direction of the full bar, from where the trays of bright glowing drinks continuously spilled from.

Rhys had done his best to keep himself fairly sober—after all, as far as he knew, he was still on the clock, trying his best to do his job of keeping Jack away from mischief, even if their evening had already taken a couple of turns.

He’d restrained himself to the one, bright blue drink Jack had thrust into his hands when they had entered, but that was more than enough to loosen him up—Vaughn always teased him about being a lightweight, after all. The dancing and the loud music and the throngs of really really attractive people definitely helped, too, and despite his earlier nervousness, Rhys was having a great time. A couple of the guys and girls had even flirted with him, and he’d also gotten a number from some girl with bright red hair and eyes like liquid gold—only for Jack to snatch it from his hands and rip it up as soon as she’d disappeared back into the crowd.

“I—Jac—Mr. Lawrence, why did you do that?” Rhys tried his best to drive the affront from his voice, but that girl had been pretty cute and maybe Rhys wouldn’t have called her after all this was said and done and he went back to being a boring nerd, but…it would have been a nice thing to think about.

“Cause, pumpkin, Lilith da Firenze is baaaad news. You really don’t wanna mess with that bitch. Just trust me on that one, ‘kay?” Jack tossed the number’s remains on the floor, before leaning back against the bar counter and bringing the rim of his fourth—or fifth, maybe, Rhys had been too distracted by Lilith’s tattoos to keep proper track—drink to his lips.

“But…I dunno…I’m just trying to flirt. I mean. You’re the one who said we were gonna have fun tonight, right?” Rhys dared to pipe up, his tongue loosened slightly by the alcohol. Jack turned, shooting Rhys a look that the young man couldn’t quite place, but for a moment he looked almost upset, which was impossible, because Jack Lawrence didn’t get upset, he just got mad enough to “fix” whatever was pissing him off. Rhys flinched, fingers slipping against the condensation on his still-empty glass as he half expected Jack to start yelling at him

“You’re right, pumpkin,” Jack winked slyly as he turned in his seat, sliding both of their empty glasses over the counter, “so how’s about we order a couple more glasses of fun, then, and see what happens?”

And against his better judgment, Rhys agreed, letting Jack order them something long and complicated that tasted like way too much booze but lifted the happy, fuzzy feeling that was starting to bloom around his heart.

Though he was a lightweight and could easily get tipsy after one drink, Rhys was proud of his ability to quickly sober up when he needed to. So just as a drunken Jack was starting to get into it with a well-built, young actor with a sandy blond crew-cut, Rhys’ brain cleared with the sudden ring of Ms. Moxxi’s words, and he quickly ushered Jack out of the party and out into the main lobby.

He thanked his lucky stars that Jack was also staying in the Omni, and after a couple seconds of frustrated mumbles Jack managed to fish his obsidian room key out of his pocket and thrust it in Rhys’ direction.

The actor leaned up against the mirrored walls of the elevator, grunting out his floor number as Rhys inserted the key card into the slot, granting them both access to the penthouse suites.

Because of course someone like Jack Lawrence wouldn’t stay in a normal room.

And normal room it wasn’t—the suite was gorgeous, overlooking the entire downtown area through massive, floor to ceiling windows that made Rhys feel like he was teetering on the brink. The floor of the living room was sunken in, decorated with modern decor and artwork that was little more than abstract splashes of color that vague resembled some key city landmarks. A TV bigger than the windshield of Rhys’ car hung from the wall, but Jack brushed by all of that, barging through the door leading to his bedroom. Rhys swallowed, wondering if he should just leave, considering he’d done what Moxxi had told him to do, and gotten Jack safely, and with minimal scandal, back into his hotel room.

Surely that was the end of his handling duties, righ—

Before he could even think about heading out of the room, Jack fumbled back through the doorway, heavy arms throwing about Rhys’ shoulders as he drug the young man into the bedroom. Rhys barely suppressed a squeak, mouth suddenly dry as he realized he’d been pulled into the same place where Jack Lawrence slept. And where he did—well—who even knew what else.

“Jeez, Rhysie, you act like you need a frikkin’ invitation everywhere….” Jack hiccuped, boozy breath puffing against the side of Rhys’ face. He swayed on his feet, balance so off-kilter that Rhys gasped, stepping into a wider stance as he braced one hand against Jack’s middle. His cheeks flushed red when he realized he could feel the tone of the actor’s abs, making Jack laugh.

“You’re a sweet kid, you know? S’been….real fun today, watchin’ you stumble your way through them swanky shindigs. Like a…like a baby deer…’specially with…them legs…” Jack petered off, voice growing slower and more sluggish, and before Rhys could react Jack’s full weight was leaning on his body, tipping the young man over until his back hit the soft bed with a small thump.

Rhys’ heart was beating so quickly he was pretty sure it was going to pop right out of his chest. He turned his head to the side, attempting to wiggle his arms out from under Jack’s bulk, only to stop as he saw Jack’s face was relaxed, his eyes closed and breath even against Rhys’ collar. Rhys boggled at the sight for a second, making little, protesting noises to test his presumption but…no, no, it was definitely true.

Jack Lawrence had passed out on top of him.

Rationally, Rhys should worry about how compromising this position was, how bad this would look if anyone else were to walk in right now. He should be worried about how Ms. Moxxi would react to something like this, if she were to try to call either him or Jack right now, or about how hanging half off the bed was definitely not a comfortable position for a drunken man to sleep in.

But really, all he could think about in that moment, was how nice Jack’s face looked up close.

Sure, Rhys had seen plenty of close-ups on Jack’s face in his various movies, or in the posters that scattered about his room back at his and Vaughn’s apartment. But there was something clean and smooth about it in those images—run through editing software and smoothed down as they probably were.

This close, Jack had pores, had slight blotches in his perfect skin that Rhys hadn’t really noticed before. There was a faint patch of freckled skin underneath one of his eyes, and the barest hint of wrinkles around his nose and forehead. The stubble that poked out from his chin and the square line of his jaw was slightly uneven, and peppered with little spots of new grey.

Rhys swallowed around the thick lump forming in his throat, and he stopped trying to shift Jack off of where he was pinning him down. His hand rested atop Jack’s muscled forearm, which was splayed out against the rumpled bedsheets.

Jack’s lips were slightly chapped. The sticky evidence of the night’s expensive drinks clung to the corner’s of his mouth, slack lips slightly shiny from saliva. His breath was warm, smelling of whiskey and cola and all the fancy bar tapas he’d wolfed down in between drinks.

Rhys lapped at his own lips, his eyelids fluttering half closed. Any restraint he had had been numbed by the night’s alcohol, leaving him with little more than his most basic want.  

He…he’d loved Jack’s movies his entire life. He had his posters, his pictures, his action figures. Jack had been his first crush, back when he’d worried something was wrong with him.

And here he was, with Jack’s toned body resting over him, his real face with his real lips resting mere inches away from Rhys’ own. The young man’s throat quivered, eyes eager and watering as he slowly, closes the gap between them, pressing his lips against Jack’s waiting pair.

He let his eyes flutter shut, wanting nothing but the feeling, the warmth of Jack’s slack lips pressed against his own. He inhaled, tasting the faint burn of Jack’s alcohol in the back of his throat as he held their mouths together, not wanting to have to part from the kiss that sent swirls of content warmth through his chest all the way to his belly.

Rhys vowed to remember this brief moment, from the way Jack’s mahogany cologne still drifted through the day’s haze of alcohol and sweat to the way his chin scratched ever so slightly against his own soft skin, and he was ready to finally pull away when suddenly something warm and wet invaded his mouth.

A muffled cry sprung from Rhys’ throat as Jack’s lips suddenly started to move, kissing him roughly as the actor’s tongue probed deep into his mouth, tangling with the young man’s own tongue as a warm palm firmly cups Rhys’ cheek. The formerly still, heavy body atop him suddenly began to move again, propping up on shaky knees as Jack arched above him.

The reality of what was happening slammed into Rhys and he pulled away from Jack’s lips with a gasp, hand pushing weakly at the actor’s chest.

“J-Jack, wha—“

“You can’t just do something like that, kitten,” Jack groaned, lips still a hairsbreadth from Rhys’, “and expect me not to respond…”

The actor’s voice was husky, a far cry from the snarky, lazy timbre Jack had been using all day. His eyes were shadowed, lids heavy as he glances up at the young man.  

“I…I…” Rhys stammered, face practically cooking from how bright red and hot he was with embarrassment, “I’m sorry, I’m s-so so sorry.”

“Why?” Jack’s thumb trailed down Rhys’ jawline, smoothing up his chin to press firmly against the young man’s lower lip.

“Be….Because…I kissed you…?”

“Plenty of people have kissed me, baby,” Jack murmured, thumb rubbing circles into Rhys’ lip.

“Okay…I know that but you were sleeping and I’m just a….just a…”

“Just a what?”

“I mean…I’m not a…movie star or anything. I’m not a model or heiress or socialite. I’m not even like…a producer…or even the guy who gets coffee…I’m really not…anything.”

“Aw jeez, really?” Jack snorted, shaking his head as he shifted, straddling Rhys’ thigh with one knee dangerous close to the young man’s crotch.

“Pumpkin, we had fun today, didn’t we?”

“I…” Rhys stammered, trying to force his heavy tongue to work properly, “…I mean, yeah. I did have fun.”

“Great. And you know what? I did too. For once, it was nice to have someone around who wasn’t trying to get me to star in their movie or be their spokesperson or sign their firstborn’s forehead or whatever.” Jack spread his finger along Rhys’ lips, stroking the velvety plump.

“So why does the fun have to stop just ‘cause you got me back to my room?”

Jack left no space for Rhys to answer, instead pressing their lips together once more. The young man felt his heart genuinely skip a beat at that, his eyelids fluttering as he relaxed into the feeling of Jack’s warm, spicy mouth moving against his own, kissing Rhys until the boy felt he could no longer breath.

Jack finally let up, leaving them both panting. Rhys’ entire body was trembling, overwhelmed as his idol’s hand drifted down his chest, softly popping open the buttons of his shirt to expose a patch of pale, teasing skin.

“So…is that a yes, kitten?” Jack whispered against Rhys’ lips, grinding his crotch against Rhys’ thigh until suddenly firm hands pushed against his chest, shoving Jack over onto his back. The actor let out a grunt as he was thrust down against the bed, his frown quickly melding back into that trademark smirk as Rhys sat firmly atop him, nervousness barely glinting in his eyes as he looked down at the actor, cheeks flushed with need and smiling burning with excitement.

“Oh Jack, god—yes.”

[moiraineswife]

I really love your post about Rhys. I like the character a lot but the fact that he is being constantly put on a pedestal takes away from the character from me. I find the fact that he sacrificed his legion for Myriam and Drakon particularly interesting because who else do we know that sent his friends to potential death? Wasn't that how Andras died? And while Tamlin was not putting himself at risk, the men he sent were part of his court. They were invested in what they were doing. Did Rhys's

legion have any ties to Myriam and Drakon or were they sacrificed for something that primarily affected Rhys? I am not saying that he is as far gone as Tamlin was in some points of the trilogy, but he is definitely not a special snowflake that makes ambiguous choices only when there is no other way.

Right I’m going to say some Even More Unpopular Things here: frankly, I consider what Tamlin did to be more “right” than what Rhys did (IN THIS INSTANCE). I think Tamlin and Rhys contrast-parallel each other a LOT in this series which I’ve written about before which I thought was really interesting until it just got so black and white ‘Rhys is right about everything; Tamlin is wrong about everything’. 

Setting aside their relationships with Feyre and Tamlin’s abuse and just stripping this back and looking at it based on ‘two leaders making decisions in war time scenarios’ I think what Rhys did here is infinitely worse than what Tamlin did. And the only reason it might not instantly be read that way is because of how it gets filtered through Feyre’s narrative, the way she condemns Tamlin but the way the novel (this bit is Jurian but it amounts to the same thing - all the characters love and absolve Rhys - as we the reader should too) praises Rhys. 

If you strip out the biased reactions though and just look at what they’re doing and why...Rhys is worse. 

Both of them are sacrificing their men. Both of them are doing this for a greater good. Rhys is the only character who is actually comfortable in doing this. Tamlin isn’t. Rhys will make small sacrifices that benefit the many and consider this a morally right action. Tamlin will not. (See: him sending Feyre away in ACOTAR despite her wanting to stay and help because he refuses to sacrifice her life to Amarantha even if it will save the rest of Prythian) 

So the sentries thing is something that Tamlin struggles with. Tamlin needs control and this manifests itself in several different ways. With Feyre it makes him overly protective and abusive and in trying to keep her safe he smothered her. When it comes to being a leader and matters of war it manifests itself in something more...Noble, I suppose, if entirely impractical. 

Rhys and Tamlin are BOTH actually quite self-sacrificing in a lot of ways. (I think Tamlin gets called selfish a lot - and I get it - but I also don’t believe it) Rhys’ form of self-sacrifice involves him making the hard decisions and taking the guilt for them and, for the most part, having himself be the ‘few’ that he chooses to harm in favour of protecting the ‘many’ (mostly his people). 

Tamlin is a lot more literal than that. Tamlin quite literally just wants to take everything upon himself. He wants to do everything by himself. He wants to take all of the risks and just get shit done alone. See: the way he marches off to deal with any breaching of court boundaries in ACOTAR, the way he works alone in ACOWAR and doesn’t tell anyone that he’s a double agent, he just gets it done himself. 

With regards to the sentries that was one of the cruellest things Amarantha could have done to him tbh. Rhys would have felt guilty as heck sending those sentries out but he’d have been able to justify and rationalise it to himself and he’d have been able to sleep at night because it’s necessary, he has no choice, and it’s for the greater good. Tamlin is driven much more by emotion than Rhys who is driven much more by pragmatism. 

The result of all this is that Tamlin stopped ordering the sentries to go over the wall and try and get themselves killed because he couldn’t stand the guilt (selfish, not, right/wrong, that’s where the debate enters into it and makes things INTERESTING because this is one of those rare things the novel doesn’t give us commentary on - we decide how we feel about this and it’s conflicting)  

The sentries actually begged Tamlin to let them go over the wall to die and try and give Prythian a bit of hope. He kept refusing and it was only when they got desperate that he allowed Andras to go over the wall where he met Feyre. Andras knew exactly why he was going over the wall, he knew exactly what a shot in the dark this was, he knew that he could die and he knew that that might not be enough to save them. But he went. He chose. 

And that’s what’s interesting here because the crux of this matter (for me) is that thing that Rhys gets praised for so much: choice. 

Tamlin’s sentries consented to his plan. They knew what they were doing. They knew why. They actively begged Tamlin to let them do it because it was the only shot they had. Andras chose. Andras went over the wall of his own volition. Andras died of his own volition. Andras sacrificed himself whereas Rhys sacrificed his soldiers. There’s a big difference. 

Obviously we don’t have the context of what happened with Rhys since we hear about it second-hand from the super-biased source that is Jurian. However I think, like, common sense dictates enough to say how this went down okay. It doesn’t say Rhys’ legion sacrificed themselves on his orders or anything it says that HE sacrificed them. Rhys made that choice. Not his soldiers. I am like 98% sure that if he went to them and just, okay guys we’re going to march into this castle and I’m going to get you all kidnapped, tortured and killed to save this one person, you cool with that? The overwhelming response would have been ‘uh, no???’ 

Also it doesn’t fit Rhys’ MO to tell people what he’s doing. Rhys makes executive decisions and doesn’t bother explaining his reasons behind them (see: everything UtM, tying the IC to Velaris and refusing to let them leave to save him/to keep them safe (which...is an awful lot like what Tamlin does to Feyre in ACOMAF, just saying) the CoN, his own sacrifice at the end of ACOWAR etc etc etc. Rhys does what Rhys thinks is right. end of story. 

Now, both of these actions were, perhaps, necessary. Miryam and Drakon were likely essential to winning the war and Rhys knew that. The deaths of his soldiers were necessary; in the same way that the death of Andras and the other Spring Court sentries were necessary to defeat Amarantha. 

This is where the moral debate of ‘was it justified/right/excusable’ should launch but instead ACOWAR tries to clumsily just tell us how it is. Feyre condemns Tamlin for killing the sentries then not standing by them with Ianthe (when he’s backed into a corner); Jurian tells us what a great dude Rhys is for having done this and it takes a reader to sort of sit there and.....Hold up dude, I don’t think so. 

But the problem is we have to do that over and over again. The narrative forces us to contradict it in the name of like...common sense over and over and over again. Because Rhys is NOT flawless. And I don’t particularly care how many times the story shoves down my throat what a tragic hero he is, how noble, how selfless, how good, the fact is he’s a ruthless, morally flawed, morally grey bastard and that’s just how it is. 

Tamlin and Rhys were set up as deliberate parallels to one another. They are opposites in almost every single regard: appearance, morals, leadership style, their relationships with Feyre, the way their courts are set up, how they think, how they act, how they operate, literally everything. And that’s interesting. Because the only part of this that’s a real clear-cut ‘Rhys is better’ is when it comes to the relationship with Feyre (which is also biased/set-up that way tbh (some of Tamlin’s lines in ACOWAR for example were so outrageously out of character that I just cringed at them - but it’s meant to make him seem like a misogynistic tool to Rhys’ uber feminist which is just...*rubs temples*)) 

When it comes to leadership style, morality, the choices they make as leaders caught up in a war, the sacrifices that they make, their motivations, intentions and the consequences of their actions, though, that’s all a grey area. Or it SHOULD have been a grey area. I said like twenty times before ACOWAR came out that I thought it would reinforce that greyness between the two of them. Tamlin is not a cardboard cut-out villain (like...every other villain in this series) and never has been. 

The dynamic between him and Rhys was compelling and interesting because it was not black and white. They were opposites, they went about things completely differently but it was not a case of ‘this way is right and this way is wrong’ it was a case of ‘these two characters are polar opposites and neither of them is completely right or completely wrong. There is merit and fault in both of them. They are grey characters. 

As far as ACOWAR is concerned, for the most part, hideous ooc high lord’s meeting aside, Tamlin’s greyness is reinforced. We’re reminded (sort of) of the things that he does right as well as the things that he does wrong. He’s a grey character. He’s made mistakes but he is trying (I’m talking about all of this in terms of him being high lord of spring NOT in terms of his relationship with Feyre, just to make that clear, there’s no grey area there for me) 

Tamlin’s arc should have, and did, focus on his actions as a high lord/leader. The problem was it wasn’t so much a sustained arc more as...a series of stepping-stone moments that were not connected or fleshed out enough to give him a proper redemption storyline. Instead I kind of ended up with whiplash being pulled back and forth between ‘he’s good, no he’s bad, no he’s good, no he’s bad, no he’s good’ - ‘he’s against us, he’s with us, he’s against us, he’s with us’ etc. It was sloppy and messy and, like almost everything else in this book, there was some real potential here it just wasn’t executed well at all. 

This is what should have happened with Rhys but in reverse. We should have seen him making questionable morally flawed decisions (see: the CoN fiasco) and being reminded that he is not flawless, he is a grey character as well, he has both faults and merit and at the end of the day he and Tamlin are both trying their best to make the most of the shitty hand of cards they’ve been dealt in this war and this world. 

Unfortunately what I got was the set-up of Rhys being a morally grey character once again...and zero follow-through. Where the narrative mostly left Tamlin’s greyness up to a reader to decide, it was shoved down our throats how Good Rhys is, how he is The Best Of Them (*gags a little*). So they’re both grey characters but someone comes along like Alice in Wonderland and tries to paint Rhys white. Most unfortunately that doesn’t actually change who or what he is it just makes me annoyed and frustrated because no, sorry, he’s not a great guy and I’m not buying what you’re selling. 

Rhys is a good character. Tamlin is a good character. They are both morally grey individuals and the dynamic between them is actually endlessly fascinating if you sit down and think about it yourself. The dynamic between them as it’s written in ACOWAR is endlessly frustrating because it SHOWS them as morally grey characters but then it TELLS us that Rhys is really great and is above all possible contempt or questioning with regards to his actions. So it falls flat and it feels forced and bland and oh god this book could have been so good and instead I’m just sitting here like W H Y.  

Bottom line as far as I see it: if SJM’s dedication to fawning over her own characters and making them (I include Feyre in this too since she suffered from this perfect airbrushing like Rhys, just not as much) perfect and beyond any possible criticism hadn’t prevailed over her dedication to telling a compelling story and writing INTERESTING instead of perfect characters this book could have been something special. And instead it was something bland, empty and forced and this is where I’m at. 

TL;DR: Let the characters speak for themselves. It is not an author’s job to tell me what to think and how to feel about their story and their characters. At a certain point you’ve got to trust your readers enough (and yourself, I guess) to read things in the way you want them to be read. Don’t spoonfeed them. Don’t force things. Don’t airbrush your characters to try and make them above criticism. It doesn’t work. We just end up with this mess. - Lauren’s problems with ACOWAR in a nutshell.