#okay love ma girl feyre and all

[haveihitanerve]

No no no Feyre, Rhysiepoo, you don’t understand. Lucien wasn’t looking at you with disgust because you’re mated and he’s seeing it for the first time believing you loved Tamlin, he’s disgusted because he just had to hike through mountains, fight his brothers, and fly in another males arms uncomfortably, is in filthy clothes and just betrayed his best friend for a mate he doesn’t even know, and now you guys just ignored him in favor of fucking. Give the male a break. Any reasonable person would be equally as disgusted, the only reason your inner circle isn’t is because they’re used to it. 

[drjackandmissjo]

Roses are Red, Tattoos are Forever

Chapter 2 --- previous chapter --- next chapter

Feysand Masterlist

The lies we tell at coffee shops

A bad text arrives and ruptures the quiet calm of the day A bad decision can destroy their friendship and both of them for that matter

Her screen lit up abruptly. The phone vibrated on the couch. Both of them froze with chopsticks in mid-air: Feyre about to put them down to grab another bite and Rhys with noodles escaping from his, falling back into the bowl.

She froze in fear and immediately looked like a cornered prey.

He froze in rage and immediately got a murderous look on his face.

“I have to answer. I owe it to him.”

“You owe him nothing. Don’t answer.” Rhys’ tone was icy and he was one step away from throwing daggers at the wall in front of him.

She was shaking her head softly: “He might’ve changed. He might’ve realized his mistakes and retorted back into his old self.”

“Don’t you dare trying to make excuses for him. He was horrible for you! Fey, he made you stop working and when you left him you were nothing but skin and bones and a broken soul! Don’t do this to yourself.”

The phone went silent, the screen black once more. The girl was still looking at it, waiting for it to turn on brightly again.

“Fey, please, look at me.”. He was starting to worry, rage passing over to concern.

When she did, her eyes were empty once more. They hadn’t been like that in almost a month.

“You deserve better than him, you know that. Right?”

‘You deserve so much better than that self-centred asshole. And I deserve more than the heartbreaks you’ve caused me. And yet.’ He thought bitterly.

“I’m not so sure about that. What if...”

“Cut the bullshit.” Rage swept over him again.

Rhys was alright with being only her friend as long as she needed him to be. He was happy to be in her life for as long as she needed him.  Hell, he would’ve been okay with never being able to confess his feelings for her, if that meant that she’d be happy. He would have let her go if he needed to.

But not with Tamlin. Not again with that moron that didn’t realise she was drowning with him and, what’s even worse, didn’t care.

It took her two weeks to confide with Rhys that she would wake up with nightmares in her last period with Tamlin. She died, was tortured, imprisoned, had to kill everyone she cared about. Feyre would wake up in the middle of the night covered in sweat, panicking. She would sprint for the bathroom and empty the content of her stomach every night. She would cry over the toilet. And then she’d go back to bed, like nothing had happened. Tamlin would wake up next to her and ignore her desperate cries for help, until she calmed down herself. He would pretend to be asleep when she came back into the room, but she knew he was awake thanks to the sounds of his breathing.

She hadn’t had nightmares since she left him.

The screen lit up again. A single message.

“I have to answer.” She said, her voice shaking and almost inaudible.

“You don’t have to. I’m begging you, please. Don’t talk to him, ignore him like he did you. Please, Feyre.”. Rhys was panicking. Last time Tamlin and Feyre fought, he had almost hit her. Who knew what could happen if he had the chance to touch her again.

Feyre read the text anyway. “He says he just wants to meet to talk.”. A dark chuck escaped her lips. “He says he’s sorry.”

She sounded tired. She didn’t really believe those words and yet.

“Sorry my ass! ‘Il lupo perde il pelo ma non il vizio’ as the Italians say. The wolf may lose its fur but not his nature, Fey. Don’t fall into his trap again.”

“He doesn’t put traps. At least not for me. Maybe his career imposes him to act a certain way, but with me, he was always sweet and thoughtful and he cared and...”

“MAYBE HE DID ON THE FIRST MONTHS! Maybe he did when you were going through a lot with your sisters and your father and maybe he did everything that was right back then. But he changed soon. His manners got more impulsive and violent. He was psychologically abusing you and you’re going to let him do it all over again! You can’t see it, just because you’re afraid and you got used to having him manoeuvre you as he pleases.”

Hate sparkled off both their eyes: Rhys towards Tamlin; Feyre towards herself and her vulnerability.

The phone screen lit up once more, for another text.

“He says he’s found some old painting material of mine I’ve left at his. He’ll bring them tomorrow at the café we used to hang out at in the beginning. We had our first date there.”

She should’ve sounded hopeful, given the circumstances and the facade she was pulling for Rhys.

Instead, she was regretful, of all the time and tears and self-respect she had wasted on Tamlin.

Instead, she was scared, of how things ended and how they would evolve if they got back together.

Instead, she was tired.

“Really? He’s found something of yours at his after a month? Just now. Wow.”

The level of sarcasm Rhys was serving was stellar. “You know what, Feyre? Do whatever. Go and meet the devil. Fall back in line into his schemes. Let him use you as a pawn on his chessboard. I don’t care.”

He did, however, care. But one cannot reason with a wall, which was exactly what Feyre was pulling up.

Abruptly rising from his seat, he gave her a last look before storming out. She was looking at her plate, hands on either side of it.

“I am not going to babysit you, Fey. But you should just ignore him.”

“Well, then don’t babysit me, Rhysand.”

And on that, he left.

***

That day, Rhys took one hour more to go to work.

The day before, Feyre had her meeting with the Asshole. She hadn’t called or texted since their fight. She hadn’t shown up at her shop, even though she had the appointment in the afternoon.

The night before, Rhys couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned and tossed again, thinking of the love of his life in the arms of her captor. There was no better description. And yet, when the stories would be written, Tamlin would be the good guy, saving a starving-from-affection girl. His temper and bad behaviour would be looked over, for all he did. He will get the girl. And Rhys would be viewed as a bad guy for having fought with the girl when she wanted to get back with the main hero.

That day, Rhys was exhausted. He stayed in the shower until the water turned icy cold and took his time to get ready and get to work. He took his bike since the day was nice. Such a contrast between his turbulent emotions and the clear blue sky.

He didn’t expect her to show up for the next few days. Considering everything, he expected her to close up the tattoo parlour for good. He was bitter and scared of not having her in his life anymore. Mostly he was scared of what could’ve happened to her if she was left at Tamlin’s mercy.

But, as she had said two days earlier: “Don’t babysit me, Rhysand.”. And babysit her he wouldn’t.

He wasn’t expecting anything. After all, it’s better to not damage a broken heart with futile hope.

“Rhys. You’re late. I had brought you coffee and doughnuts, but now they’re cold. The coffee is cold, the doughnuts are gone. Magically disappeared!"

His heart leapt in his throat. He couldn’t believe what happened, but also didn’t want to give away any sign of attention or desperation.

“Overslept. Sorry to disappoint.”, he said coldly and briefly before opening the door to his shop.

The door had to been left open for customers, but also for Feyre to walk right in.

“May I help you?”, Rhys said in a polite work tone.

“You’re pissed at me?”, she asked, even though the answer was clear as day.

“I am not. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do and I suppose you do too.”

He started putting everything in order, making his way through his daily schedule.

“I’m sorry for what I said and what happened. You were right.”

She looked at him with hope in her eyes, but he kept on finding things to be distracted with.

“Keep on going. I am not going to stop you”, he said while cutting dead leaves off one of his plants.

With a slow nod, Feyre began: “It was good in the beginning yesterday. He was there early, waiting for me. He had ordered my favourite coffee and brought brand new supplies that cost more than my house rent, just to keep the scene up. He said all the nice things and did all the right things until I slipped the reasons behind my ‘escape’. He was not pleased to know I felt that way, as one can expect. He was also beginning to get angry, his hands balling into fists and his voice growing dangerous as I told him that I didn’t feel safe in his house. He corrected me, saying it was ‘ours’.”

The look of disgust on her face was priceless as she said the last sentence. Rhys smiled a little.

“I told him that I never want to set foot there in my entire life. He replied that ‘We could go house shopping then, start anew!’. As if that’s what would’ve made me go back to him!”

“You were thinking about going back two days ago, though. What changed?”. Rhys had to know. Rhys had to know if he could build his hopes up once more, or if it was better to become a hermit un on a lonely mountain.

Feyre looked at the ground, trying to focus her thoughts on her shoes. “I don’t really know. I think I had to see him once more, just to know that I’m not the same girl I was when I moved here and when I started dating him. I reacted badly the other day, that’s true. But it was because I was afraid of being that weak again. I’ve grown and archived so much. Besides, I never got to say what I really thought about Tamlin to his face without having to worry he’ll overreact!”

He laughed heartily, before realizing the meaning behind her words and worrying immediately:“Fey, you sure that was a good idea?”

She nodded solemnly. “I told him that if he ever comes close to me again, I’ll immediately go to the police station and fill a stalking case against him. Let his reputation go to hell!”

“Well, what can I say? ‘Hello. The old Feyre can’t come to the phone right now. Why? Oh, cause she’s dead!’”

“Well, yeah! That’s what he made me do!”. They were both laughing now.

Rhys decided to let himself be vulnerable, for once. To test the water where they stood. “I’m really glad you didn’t get back with him.”

“Me too. I think it would’ve killed me if I did.”

They stayed in comfortable silence for a while. The first clients came and went and half an hour later, Rhys asked Feyre:“Don’t you have work to attend to in this beautiful day, Feyre Darling?”

She put a pensive face on:“Maybe, Rhys Dear. Let’s just say I’ve got a client booked that will arrive any minute now. But let’s also say that I’m free for lunch.”

He shook his head softly, a smile broad on his lips. “Fine, I’ll bring you a sandwich when I go to take mine. Happy now?”

“Nah”, she said while hopping off the counter she was sitting on, “I’ll come with you. This way I can both pay and check that you don’t put cheese in my sandwich.”

“That’s a deal”

They shook hands to that. They smiled at each other.

That was both a start and an ending.

[aelin-and-feyre]

Ten Minutes Ago (Part 8)

Feysand - Cinderella au

Fic Masterlist

It feels like we’re getting close to the end but there’s still four more parts left!

“I can’t believe it,” Rhys growls, pacing in front of his father’s desk on the morning of his birthday. The High Lord looks like he is about to interject but Rhys isn’t done. “Actually, I can believe it because it’s exactly you. Every chance you get you manipulate my life, first with the hunting, then with training, and now you’re making me get married! And you won’t even let me choose my bride!”

“Of course I’m letting you choose who you marry Rhys,” he assures calmly.

“No,” Rhys pins his father with a hard glare. “No, you’re not. You’re ‘letting me’ choose from one of your elite—a select few who you think would suit me but I won’t allow it! I want to choose the person I spend the rest of my life with, father. Why won’t you just accept that?” He exclaims.

Rhys was right, he wasn’t able to sleep last night, at least not well. His mind was buzzing with arguments and love notes, expletives and beautiful blue-gray eyes. So, as soon as word came that his father was awake, Rhys requested a meeting with him.

“I’m doing this because I need to know that I’m leaving the kingdom in good hands,” the High Lord sighs. He is clearly exhausted but Rhys refuses to back down.

He scoffs. “You mean royal hands. Just because someone does not come from noble birth does not mean they can’t handle the Court, father.” The High Lord drags a hand down his face and giving him a long, hard look. Rhys’ expression turns desperate. “Please father, as a birthday present to me, lift the invitation decree and allow me a night to introduce you to the girl I wish as my bride. Please.”

Finally, the man quickly scribbles a quick note and hands it to his son. “Give this to Azriel, he’ll know what to do. Happy birthday Rhys.”

The prince can recognize a dismissal when he hears one and bows, starting to back out of the room. “Thank you, father. You won’t regret this.”

“I better not,” he grumbles and Rhys pulls the door closed.

He practically flies to the library, his heart joyous and light. He runs in, startling the four inside and leaping into a chair next to his best friend.

“I’m guessing the meeting went well then?” Cassian muses from across the table.

Rhys smiles grandly. “Here, Az, a note from my father.”

The Spymaster takes the note and glances over it, nodding. “It says that I am to alert all staff to welcome the ‘mystery princess’ tonight as the Guest of Honor.” They all looked rather impressed with Rhys.

“How the hell did you swing that?” Mor questions.

Rhys shrugs humbly, but the grin is still plastered on his face. “A little yelling, a little guilt triping, and I may have started begging halfway though.”

Amren shakes her head. “I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it. He even agreed to meet her!” Rhys feels like doing a little happy dance in his seat. Suddenly, he has an idea. “I’m going to meet her at the entrance and walk with her to the ballroom. We’ll make a grand entrance together.”

“Um, Your Highness, I don’t think that is wise,” Azriel interjects. “She usually comes late so you will have to fight off hundreds of maidens coming before her. I suggest you let me escort her and meet you at the ballroom.”

Azriel is right, Rhys knows he is, but he still wishes he could see her stepping out of that carriage for himself, walk through the halls with the Guest of Honor on his arm. With a heavy sigh, Rhys agrees, “Fine, I guess you’re right. Just, get her to me as quickly as possible.”

Az stands and bows his head to Rhys. “I’m going to go inform the staff.”

Once the Spymaster is gone, Cassian cracks his knuckles. “Okay, while you were gone, we started a list of all the things we know about her.” Mor holds up a piece of paper with a couple lines of neat scrawl.

“Well, what have you got so far?”

“Her alias is Clare. She has light brown hair with blue-grey eyes. She is probably starved but can still afford one-of-a-kind dresses. She can run super fast and knows the song from Prince Rhys’ childhood. That’s about it for right now,” Mor reads off and Rhys is impressed that Cassian remembered the song one, or maybe it was Az.

“She always disappears when the clock strikes midnight,” Amren mentions and they all looked at her, confused. “Oh, please tell me I’m not the only one who realized that.”

Now that Rhys thinks about it, both times Clare had run away from him was when she heard the clock begin to chime. In fact, now that Rhys really thinks about it, he can remember a lot of odd things that were connected to Clare in the last few days.

“I have an idea,” he says suddenly and they all looked to him, Mor ready with her pencil to mark down whatever he says. “I’m not letting Clare get away tonight.”

...

“’Clare’ better not make an appearance tonight,” Nesta mutters for the thirty-fourth time today—Feyre counted. Her mother shushes her and ushers the sisters into the carriage.

Before joining them, Amarantha turns back to Feyre, eyeing her suspiciously in the doorway. “Make sure not to leave the house tonight, Cinderella.”

Feyre smiles softly, innocently. “Of course, Stepmother. Have a good night.”

Amarantha looks at her for another half second before nodding to herself and entering the carriage.

Rumor had spread about the mysterious princess coming back last night but not making it to the ballroom. Someone from the kitchen had leaked all that had happened. Everyone in the Court now knows about her arriving with Cassian, the food fiasco, and her alleged name. The person had told of Prince Rhys but hadn’t elaborated on anything after he came which Feyre is grateful for.

However, all day, her stepsisters lamented that if they’d gotten another thirty seconds with the Prince, he would have fallen in love with them. Feyre subtly rolled her eyes but kept any comments to herself. Nesta and Elain were both very disgruntled at the fact that ‘Clare’ might come back tonight, ruining their last chance to win the Prince’s heart.

Feyre watches the carriage for a few minutes and then rushes back inside. She runs through the house to the back garden, stopping when she reaches the old bench. She rips a length of vine and sets a circle, then she sits and waits.

“Are you ready for the final night?” The Suriel seems to appear from nowhere, one foot in the circle trap.

“I suppose so.”

A look of confusion crosses the faerie’s features. “What’s wrong?”

Feyre lets her head drop to her hands. “Everything. I think Stepmother knows that it’s me, Rhys and Cassian are getting too close to figuring out who I am, I don’t think they’ll let me leave tonight, and I think I’m in love,” Feyre confesses all in one breath.

When the Suriel doesn’t say anything for a long while. Feyre finally glances up to find them looking at her thoughtfully. “You’re in love with Prince Rhys, right?” The Suriel asks after the pause.

“Of course!” Feyre exclaims, exasperated.

The Suriel nods, content with the answer. “Ok good, then I can help you with your other problems.”

“You can?” Her friend pins her with a dry look. “You’re right, I shouldn’t doubt you.”

One side of the Suriel’s mouth tilts up. “Amarantha just needs a little push in the other direction to veer off your scent so I’m gonna do something a little different with your outfit tonight. Cassian and Rhys have no idea who you are, trust me, so I don’t need to do anything about that.” Feyre nods but is still skeptical. “And what’s the worst that can happen if they do find out?”

“They will be mortified that Rhys wasted his birthday celebration on a servant girl and banish me for wasting their time and lying to them,” Feyre suggests.

“If they don’t know who you are then you’ll never be able to see them again anyway,” the Suriel reminds. “But it’s your choice. As for the not letting you leave, you’re very right. Rhys is going to try his hardest to not let you run off without finding out who you are so I’m going to give you a little something for any obstacles you may encounter.” They wait expectantly until Feyre gets the hint.

“Suriel, you are under my control and as such I have a request: I wish for a tool to help me escape the ball tonight.”

Satisfied, the Suriel clenches their fist and opens it to present a bracelet with five blue pearls on it. They hand the delicate jewelry to Feyre carefully. “The beads on this bracelet will serve as short magic bursts. When it is time to leave and you run into things on your way, grab a bead and throw it at the hindrance. It will be just enough power to get you past the object but won’t do much more. Do you understand?”

Feyre nods and slips the bracelet around her wrist. “Good,” the Suriel claps. “Now let’s get you ready for your ma– I mean Prince.”

In the same order as the last two nights, a new pumpkin morphs into a blue carriage, the mice shift into horses, Bryaxis becomes human, and the bunnies hop onto the back of the pumpkin as footmen. At last, the Suriel turns to Feyre.

“You’re going to have more eyes on you tonight than ever in your life Feyre, we have to make this especially memorable.” Flicking their wrist, Feyre feels a soft breeze swirl around her.

Feyre watches as her dress grows, fluffs, and wraps around her body. The color changes to a brilliant blue, hundreds of layers build in the skirt, and her feet rise as glass slippers form around them.

When the transformation is almost finished, Feyre feels something settle into her hair. She reaches a hand up to lightly trace a tiara placed atop her head. “You’re making me an actual princess for the night?” She asks softly, checking that the bracelet is still secure around her now gloved wrist.

The Suriel shrugs. “Why not? They all think you’re one anyway, except Amarantha. The tiara will point her in the wrong direction and away from you.”

Feyre nods slowly, although not sure if she wants Rhys to think that she is royalty anymore than he already does. “Thank you, Suriel,” she says at last, truly meaning it. “These last two nights have been the best of my life.”

“Of course, girl. I wish you a long and lovely life, Feyre.” A black, mottled hand grasps hers gently for a short moment and then Feyre gathers her skirt to ascend the carriage. “Oh, make sure you watch the clock very closely tonight Feyre. Those beads can do much but they can’t rewind time.”

Feyre nods against, a lump in her throat at the thought of her first friend disappearing again. “Goodbye.” The Suriel’s voice is already fading in the distance and when Feyre looks back, they’re no longer there.

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