#pocket sized tamlin

[uukipi]

pocket sized timmytam is not impressed

[readychilledwine]

✨️ACOTAR Booty Headcanons✨️

💕Peep the thigh headcanons here💕

Warnings - Butts. Fanart of butts. Nakey butts. Bubble butts. Lady butts. Man butts.

Up next? ✨️ Hands ✨️

✨️Body Headcanons Masterlist✨️ Master Masterlist ✨️

Edited to add - short plus size Elain sneak peak

A/N - for @lady-of-tearshed, I hope this meets all your dreams, my love.

A message from Mother - You, my sweet dear reader, are gorgeous as you are. You are real, touchable, and made with imperfections that enhance your beauty and uniqueness. You are a treasure. Do not compare yourself to a single body on this list.

Rhysand-

I like to start off strong..

Rhysand has a very bite-able booty.

He is slightly leaner than Azriel and Cassian, but he still has a firm butt.

Rhysand loves to wear tight slacks, just to watch your pretty little brain go blank when you see his ass.

He sleeps naked and it's hard for you not to just.. touch the booty.

To be fair, he loves to keep his hand (and hand print) on your butt, too.

Art by Amai actually just posted Rhysand butt fanart. Enjoy it below

Cassian-

John Cena has been described as having a military grade ass with an inhuman body.

Cassian also has an inhuman body, so it makes sense that my guy has a military grade ass.

Cassian has butt muscles in places you didn't even know you could have butt muscles.

It is intimidating. Very intimidating.

But you LOVE watching this man walk. Especially when he's walking to the bathroom to grab towels for aftercare.

Azriel-

Azriel's ass surprised you in the best way.

Azriel is lean compared to Cassian, so his bubble butt shocked you.

Much firm. Still jiggle.

You were ready for this jelly.

Azriel gets super shy when you tell him how good his butt looks, but he's like that one friend who secretly loves it and makes sure to wear the same pants/skirt/shorts the next time they see you so you are in love with their deliciousness again.

Sometimes, you just sneak up on Azriel and accidentally squeeze. In front of his family. But don't worry. He squeezes yours back.

Tamlin-

I'm disappointed I can't find this gif when I need it.

We can all hate on Tamlin as much as we want, but SJM herself says the man is muscular.

I imagine Tamlin was worried about his arms and chest being thicker than his legs, so he started hitting legs and glutes hard.

Then, the next thing he knows, he has a damn shelf.

He hates when you touch his butt though. He'd prefer you touch him other places.

But you bet your ass he is touching yours

Lucien-

I stand by Lucien having Chris Hemsworth's body type.

Lucien had the perfect, truly bite-able ass.

You constantly have your hand in his back pocket.

You constantly are giving it a little smack so it jiggles.

You always walk behind him.

Lucien loves the way you worship his body. He's insecure about his scars, so you loving every inch of him helps.

Eris-

Daddy 🫠🫠

Eris has the captain America Dorito proportions build, and I hope all of you know *exactly* what I am talking about.

I imagine Eris as slim muscular, and when I decided to do these, I needed him to have Chris Evans's ass

I mean look at it

Imagine that ass in Eris's finely tailored clothing.

Imagine that ass getting off a horse.

You're touching him. Constantly. And he loves it.

He loves that you seem to think he's some sort of God.

And he really loves it when you touch his butt because you begged him to treat you as his equal, meaning that ass of yours is in his hands quickly.

Helion-

You know when a guys thighs are so thick they become one with his dump truck? Helion.

He actually requires a CDL for his ass.

You can't really tell until he's naked and turns around due to the thickness of his thighs, but this male has ass for days.

And his ass is FIRM. There is not an ounce of fat on him.

He considers his ass a trophy of sorts, so touching it is only for those privileged to.

Luckily you have that privilege.

Oh, look.. I included the Archeron sisters

Feyre-

Don't accuse me of doing our girl dirty, but I picture Halle Berry in her Catwoman suit when I think of Feyre's body.

The reason you can't accuse me of doing her dirty is because the things I'd do if Halle Berry told me to do them are extreme.

I picture Feyre as very lean, very cut, and she had the cutest baby bubble butt.

She's definitely the friend who thinks she has no booty until you help her find the right outfit for the booty.

She also blushes whenever you touch it.

She wishes it was bigger sometimes, but a few spanks in, and she's telling you she's perfect as she is.

I wish I could find a better picture of this 🫠

Nesta-

Nesta I also picture as tight and lean.

For some reason when I read her, I picture Adriana Lima, but with blonde hair.

Maybe it's because I think Nesta has sultry vibes?

Nesta tries to keep herself small. It's ingrained deeply into her head because of her mother and grandmother that she has to be small.

She's also constantly training, so it keeps her tight.

She may not have the biggest ass, but that thing is the best apple you've bit

Elain-

If you don't know by now, you're about to: elain at minimum is slim thick.

I personally see truly happy glowing elain as mid to plus size, and I'm hoping for mid to plus size elain once this stupid shipwar is over.

Right now, though, elain is slimthick.

She's still recovering from her spicy sadness days, and her recovery has her doing squats in the garden

Ass. For. Days.

It's why she actually doesn't wear pants. She tried once and every almost had a collective mass failure heart attack.

So now, her booty is reserved for you and you alone.

You love it when she wears cheeky things in the bedroom.

I imagine elain is super into impact play because she loves the way you compliment her recoil.

I think she's secretly proud of her booty. She just doesn't want anyone else to know. So sssshhhh.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp

[azsazz]

In Full Bloom

Tamlin x Reader

Summary: The creature chasing you through the woods finally catches you.

Warnings: Smut. Not monsterfucking but not not monsterfucking? I have no idea tbh.

Word Count: 2,956

Notes: This one has been a long time coming and goes out to @acourtofmenandthirst, @writingsbychlo, @swansworth, and @azrielscrown 💙

_________________________________________

He’s coming.

You curse under your breath and push harder, leaning into your run as you thunder through the forest, dipping and weaving through trees so tall they nearly touch the clouds themselves. The ground is uneven, littered with upturned roots and wild moss, the burrows of animals and pockets of wild brush.

You don’t dare look over your shoulder at the beast prowling after you. His footsteps tandem in time with the pounding in your chest, thump thump thump.

Swallowing harshly, you search ahead. Your breath catches in your throat as you realize exactly where you are, how the grass creeps into the doorways of the trees, growing long and tall until it can’t anymore, the branches and leaves swallowing the sunlight.

You’re about to reach a clearing. And when you do, there will be nowhere to hide. 

You’ll be fair game.

You curse, weighing your options. Veering towards the right takes you deeper into the forest, the part of Spring that nears the wall that separates the human lands from your own, and climbing upwards would mean potentially crossing the lines into Autumn, something you most definitely don’t want to do.

So you continue on your path, your only option, praying that you’ll lose the beast.

The sun burns your eyes, having become accustomed to the darkened forest. You squint, throwing your arm up to block the harsh rays. The ground turns from soft and earthy to grassy and warm. Stalks of the long grass pull at your clothes, the skirts of your dress you’re sure are torn from low hanging branches reaching out for you in the forest–

You cry out as the beast lunges, its paws plating in the middle of your back with a shove that takes you off of your feet. You break your fall the best you can, squeezing your eyes shut against the wispy threads of grass as you go, catching yourself on the palms of your hands.

You scramble to twist around but a claws foot lands on either side of your face, caging you in.

The wolf is huge, easily three times the size of an Illyrian warrior.

Its eyes reflect the deep green of the trees you’d just escaped. You can see them now, a blur behind him as you stare in shock at the beauty, the flicker of pride in them.

The wolf leans in but you don’t flinch away, letting the animal sniff loudly. His maw is hot against your throat, his panting sends shivers up your spine like a zap of lightning. The heaving breaths across your creamy skin tickle, but nothing is funny about the way it goes still, as if the raging beast within him wants to cut a deep slash through your delicate flesh, feel your hot blood sticky across his paws.

Lips curl back from razor sharp teeth, grazing across your neck and you can’t stifle your whimper this time. The wolf laps up the stench of your fear, choking on it, and something within him snaps, offering a low whine, his tongue falling from his mouth to lap across your cheek in apology. 

You wondered how something so murderous could be so gentle.

“Come on,” you huff, “That’s not fair!” 

You squeal as his form changes. Even after all of this time it still shocks you. Tamlin’s joints crack as the transformation begins and you shudder. The loud clicks are as unsettling to you as the first time he’d shifted in front of you, you watch his back bow like a cat as his spine contorts back into human form.

His snout pulls in, sliding back into that perfectly straight nose you’ve become so fond of. Long, sharp teeth shorten back to normal, blunt ones, though his canines seem just as pointed, white and glinting in the sun.

Talons turn to nails, flexing into the upturned dirt the wolf had left in his wake. Most interestingly enough, is his bushy tail. It melts back into his body like honey, the golden hairs sliding back into place all over except for a few choice places you know all too well.

What’s left behind is the very male you love, fully nude, his long blond hair cascading around your face like the weeping willows of his lands, caging you in.

His lush emerald eyes remain the same, though the shape changes from wide like a predator to lazy-lidded and docile. That glint of hunger still lingers as he studies you, but it’s a different kind of hunger, a heavy stare that has you pressing your thighs together in response.

“You’re much too fast for me on foot, my lady.” He’s not even a touch breathless from the wild chase. You realize it’s your chest that’s rising and falling faster with the winds, brushing up against his bare one in the best way. Your lips part as your nipples graze against the hardened muscle. You can feel him through your thin spring dress. It makes you shiver.

“You promised,” you exclaim with a pout, but there’s no heat behind your words. Your fingers find his, sliding between his own as you relax fully into the soft grass, letting your head fall back into the soft earth, shifting your legs wide for him to settle between.

“I also promised that I would be able to control myself outside of the palace,” he leans in closer, slotting his hips against yours tightly. You gasp as his fully hard length rubs against you through the thin cloth. “But it looks like I’ve broken that promise too.”

“Tam,” you breathe, tucking a long strand of hair back from his face. The sun shines across his perfectly tanned skin, caressing his warm skin and pink cheeks, admiring the gleam of his luscious lips when he wets them. “We can’t–”

“We can,” he whispers. His large hand brushes across your cheek, thumbing at a droplet of sweat. Your sweet scent makes him throb against your thigh, smelling exactly of the roses he’d had planted all around his gardens when he’d first met you, unable to get your intoxicating scent out of his mind.

Planting the large garden had only reminded him more of you.

“I am High Lord, petal. I can do whatever I please.”

���Okay, then we shouldn’t–”

Your protest is swallowed by his mouth sliding over yours. You get lost in it immediately, loving the feeling of his warm mouth against your own, his tongue delving inside to lick and explore, tangling with your own in a heated battle he nearly always wins.

His hand on your collar bones slides down. You shiver and moan into Tamlin’s mouth at the feel of his claws dancing across your skin. You arch at the sensation, almost wanting him to slice into your skin. Four fingers fold into a fist until he’s dragging a single claw between your breasts to the fabric of your dress, his razor sharp nail splitting the cloth with ease, exposing you.

Tamlin noses his way down your neck, kissing and sucking little marks into your skin. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation and your hands find his hair, digging your blunt nails in and twisting his long locks between your fingers. He growls in response, pleased.

You gasp as he takes one of your breasts in his hand but there’s no sharp claws digging into your skin, they’ve flattened back out into the calloused fingers you know so well. Tamlin’s mouth captures your other, the tip of his tongue flicking over your nipple as you squirm, soaking cunt seeking out friction desperately.

He hums languidly, lathing over the pert bud after a nip that has the clouds in the sky above spinning. You keen as he repeats the same motion with your other breast. He’s playing with you like a wolf does its prey, out in the springy foothills on this sunny day. He wants it to last.

You claw at his back in hopes to get him moving, telling him how desperately you want him, but Talmin only revels in the feeling, wishing he could give you some of his powers to turn those pretty lavender nails into long, sharp claws so you can really leave your mark on him, tear him up like how you make him feel in his heart, piercing your nails through the muscle and keeping it for yourself.

Tamlin wants nothing more than to be claimed by you, to have anyone he comes across know that he belongs to you just as much as you belong to him. That he’d let you leash him even outside of the bedroom for his people and all of Prythian to see.

He’d wear that collar proudly.

Your hand snakes down his chest and you feel the shaky breath he takes as you move lower and lower over the coiled muscles, through the scratchy blond hair right down to his cock.

He nearly yelps at the way you grab him, needy and confident. Every nerve ending in his body lights up at your touch, the tug you give him, rubbing your thumb across his slit, catching the bead of precum and sliding it across his shaft on your next downstroke.

His arms shake and he wants to fall into you but you feel so fucking good playing with him. He bucks into your hand and you give him a squeeze that has his breath catching in his throat and he nearly tears through his lip as his teeth begin to elongate without his permission.

Tamlin’s never had trouble keeping himself from shifting, until he met you that is. With you every time feels like the first, fully succumbing to the beast inside of him, body on fire in the best way. Blood coursing through his veins and adrenaline pumping. That first time he’d shifted completely was nearly orgasm inducing, and so is being here with you.

His growl of your name makes your hand falter and your hips fully relax. He groans against the skin between your breasts where he’s sucking a bruise before he’s lifting his head to look up at you. His mossy gaze is glowing in the sun but his eyes are dark with lust. 

“Do you want to cum on my tongue or my knot, petal?”

Your response is a pitched whine. You scramble to lift the bottom of your dress, the other guiding his cock to your slicked cunt.

Tamlin’s resolve nearly breaks. He can feel the shift coming and it takes all of his restraint as High Lord not to succumb to his wolf form and fuck into you.

His body is taut and he refuses to move until he’s sure that he won’t transform. He presses his forehead to yours, eyes squeezed shut tight, and on a shaky exhale he speaks.

“Why aren’t you wearing anything under this dress, petal?”

You tease him, twisting your hand and nipping at his lip. You know that he won’t hurt you, no matter what form he’s in, and you could admit that you’d thought about what it would be like to be with Tamlin in his true form. 

“I forgot to put them on this morning,” you respond, tone dripping with false innocence. 

He groans, remembering that sneaky smile you had on your face before you’d run off. He’d wondered if he would find out why you’d had that look on your face, and now he has.

The head of his cock is hot where it sits flush against your cunt. You want to writhe but his strong hips are pinning yours down. Your cunt tries to clench, tries to get anything, but he’s not moving just yet, hasn’t got himself under control yet.

“Bad, petal. Filthy, petal. My petal.”

His words are accompanied by a feral stroke to the bond that thrums through your body down to your core. It causes you to cry out, clutching onto his arms, his back, anywhere you can reach.

“Tamlin, please!”

With a snarl he snaps his hips forward, filling you with his cock in one slick motion.

He can’t help himself, with the way you cry out with pleasure, arching up against him already as he presses you back into the soft grass. The sun beats down on his back but it’s nothing compared to the heat of you beneath him, the warmth you’re sending down the bond.

“Fuck, (Y/N),” he groans, but he has nothing to follow with, his head is empty of words, lost in the feeling of your slick cunt clutching his cock like a vice. He pulls out and presses in again, picking up speed as your legs wrap around his waist, another cuff he’d never wish to be freed from.

He can barely even kiss you, panting into each other’s mouths from the effort. You are the reason he’s reclaimed the Spring Court, the reason that his lands look more vibrant than ever. With you by his side, beneath him, on top of him, he feels like the High Lord his court needs him to be.

He wants to make you his.

As if you’re reading his mind you bare your throat.

“Bite me,” you gasp, nails scraping at the base of your neck as you try to pull him closer. You want those puncture wounds on your shoulder, the scars left behind of him laying claim on what’s his, the bond made physical to show everyone that you are his and he is yours.

Tamlin shudders and keens like a pup. Your words make him weak, threaten to shred every last bit of resold he has just to shift a tiny bit and give you what you’re begging him so nicely for. 

He lets you guide his head to the juncture of your neck and shoulder, right over the spot that he loves. He noses at the area, smells strongly of roses, lazing over the area with his tongue before he gives the area a gentle bite with his human teeth. You whine under him.

“More,” you beg, knotting your fingers in his long hair, using it to lock him there.

He shushes you with a kiss beneath your ear, his words dancing in the winds.

“Are you sure, petal?”

It’s accompanied by a thrust that hits you perfectly.

“Gods, yes,” you plead, clutching him closer.

Tamlin hums, relaxing into the transformation tingling at his body. He doesn’t want to hurt you, so he won’t fully shift, he’ll work you up to that one soon, when you’re alone in the privacy of his palace, not out in the rolling hills of the Spring Court where anyone or anything can come and watch.

His fingertips elongate into claws. You gasp, eyes rolling into the back of your head as Tamlin braces one hand on your hip, his claws pricking your skin. The other hand is less controlled, long claws buried deep into the dirt beside your head as he fucks into you with fervor.

He can feel his teeth sharpening, and it nearly takes all of his focus to stop them from getting to their full length. He thrusts into you deeply as he bites gently at your shoulder. It’s enough to break skin like you wanted but not enough to leave scars with your fae healing.

Another thing he will do to you in the privacy of his home.

Your cunt is already tight against him, but you keep begging him for more so more you will get. His cock grows bigger and you cry out at the feeling of him swelling inside of you, letting his cock fill out into his wolf form.

Your mind goes fuzzy with it all, the sharpness of his claws and teeth on your skin, grounding you from the absolute pleasure his enormous cock is putting you in, stretching you open with its girth.

“Look at you,” he coos, lapping at the mark he’s bitten into your neck. Your blood is sweet on his tongue, he savors your honeyed nectar. “All pretty and cumhungry. You want it, petal?”

It’s so good. Too good. You can feel his cock expanding with his knot. It drags up your slick walls, hitting every part you need it too, fingernails scraping down his back as please roll off your tongue with ease, utter nonsense but Tamlin seems to understand exactly what you need.

He lifts his head to roar. It rumbles the hills around you, startling the grasses. Birds caw and fly off in the distance but it’s drowned out by the blood pumping in your veins, the pounding of his heart pressing against your own. 

Tamlin grinds deep into you and curses, filling you up with his throbbing cock. It drags magnificently inside of you, locking deep into your womb, pumping with you full of his cum. His knot nestled inside of you makes damn sure that none of his cum leaks out of you, and the fleeting thought of you carrying his babe or a whole litter of babes makes his cock throb harder, spurting out into your tight cunt, all his. 

You follow right there with him, the swell of his knot vibrating within you, pumping you full of his rich seed is everything you need to orgasm just as hard, crying out against his damp skin. 

You squeal as he rolls abruptly, pulling you with him.

“My sweet petal,” Tamlin sighs, pressing light kisses to your hairline. He holds you close, arms tucked around your waist, claws and teeth put away for another time. You settle down onto his chest, exhaling contentedly as his cock stays within you, hot and throbbing as the both of you catch your breath.

“That cloud looks like you.”

[officialfeysandweek]

Before clicking the read more - make sure you've created a list of words from our earlier post HERE!

I shouldn’t have been 1.______. Not when Rhysand liked to make a spectacle of everything. And found pissing off Tamlin to be an art form. 

But there he was. 

Rhysand, High Lord of the 2.______ Court, now stood beside me, darkness leaking from him like ink in water. 

He angled his 3.______, his blue-black hair shifting with the movement. Those violet eyes sparkled in the golden faelight as they fixed on Tamlin, as he held up a hand to where Tamlin and Lucien and their sentries had their swords half-drawn, sizing up how to get me out of the way, how to bring him down— 

But at the lift of that 4.______, they froze.

 Ianthe, however, was backing away slowly, face drained of color. 

“What a pretty little 5.______,” Rhysand said, stuffing his hands into his pockets as those many swords remained in their sheaths. The remaining crowd was pressing back, some 6.______ over seats to get away. 

Rhys looked me over slowly, and clicked his tongue at my silk gloves. Whatever had been building beneath my skin went still and cold. 

“Get the hell out,” 7.______ Tamlin, stalking toward us. Claws ripped from his knuckles. 

Rhys clicked his 8.______ again. “Oh, I don’t think so. Not when I need to call in my bargain with Feyre darling.” 

My stomach 9.______ out. No—no, not now. 

“You try to break the bargain, and you know what will happen,” Rhys went on, chuckling a bit at the crowd still 10.______ over themselves to get away from him. He jerked his chin toward me. “I gave you three months of freedom. You could at least look happy to see me.” 

I was 11.______ too badly to say anything. Rhys’s eyes flickered with distaste. 

The expression was gone when he faced Tamlin again. “I’ll be taking her now.”

 “Don’t you dare,” Tamlin 12.______. Behind him, the dais was empty; Ianthe had vanished entirely. Along with most of those in attendance.

 “Was I interrupting? I thought it was over.” Rhys gave me a 13.______ dripping with venom. He knew—through that bond, through whatever magic was between us, he’d known I was about to say no. “At least, Feyre seemed to think so.” 

Tamlin snarled, “Let us finish the 14.______—”

“Your High Priestess,” Rhys said, “seems to think it’s over, too.” 

Tamlin stiffened as he looked over a 15.______ to find the altar empty. When he faced us again, the claws had eased halfway back into his hands. “Rhysand—” 

“I’m in no mood to 16.______,” Rhys said, “even though I could work it to my advantage, I’m sure.” I jolted at the caress of his hand on my elbow. “Let’s go.”

I didn’t move. 

“Tamlin,” I breathed. 

Tamlin took a single step toward me, his golden face turning sallow, but remained focused on Rhys. “Name your price.” 

“Don’t bother,” Rhys crooned, linking 17.______ with me. Every spot of contact was abhorrent, unbearable. He’d take me back to the Night Court, the place Amarantha had supposedly modeled Under the Mountain after, full of depravity and torture and 18.______— 

“Tamlin, please.” 

“Such dramatics,” Rhysand said, tugging me closer. 

But Tamlin didn’t move—and those claws were wholly replaced by 19.______ skin. He fixed his gaze on Rhys, his lips pulling back in a snarl. “If you hurt her—” 

“I know, I know,” Rhysand drawled. “I’ll return her in a 20.______.” 

No—no, Tamlin couldn’t be making those kinds of threats, not when they meant he was letting me go. Even Lucien was 21.______ at Tamlin, his face 22.______ with fury and shock. 

Rhys released my elbow only to slip a hand around my 23.______, pressing me into his side as he 24.______ in my ear, “Hold on.” 

Then darkness roared, a wind tearing me this way and that, the ground falling away beneath me, the world gone around me. Only Rhys remained, and I hated him as I clung to him, I hated him with my entire heart— 

Then the darkness vanished. I smelled 25.______ first—then saw stars. A sea of stars flickering beyond glowing pillars of moonstone that framed the sweeping view of endless snow capped mountains. 

“Welcome to the Night Court,” was all Rhys said.

[rosanna-writer]

a simple name and everything has changed (3/?)

Summary: we said hello and your eyes look like coming home, Rhys POV chapters Or: Rhys's slow realization that he's mated to Prythian's most chaotic human (and how much he loves her for it) Warnings: implied/referenced sexual assault, discussion of food insecurity and disordered eating Word Count: ~3.5k

This is Rhys's POV of ch. 19 - your mom's ring in your pocket, which is the initial discussion of the ring and the Weaver's cottage.

You can find it Here on AO3 or below the readmore.

It was a small miracle that I managed to read Azriel's entire report with Feyre standing so close to my wings. More than anything, I wanted her hands on them again. But for now, I was content with just the easy, comfortable way she rested her free hand on my shoulder. A small thing, perhaps, but Under the Mountain, it had been beyond my wildest dreams.

She was also peppering me with questions, and after she'd been deceived by Tamlin, it was clearly important to her that I answered all of them completely. So I did. The lack of information Azriel had been able to dig up worried me, and I didn't hide that from her, either.

Amren arrived shortly after that, and the size of her stack of books seemed…promising. Azriel might have run into dead ends, but I hoped he was only one at least.

"Research. As requested before you leave for Illyria, Rhysand," she said, dropping everything on the table.

Unsurprisingly, Feyre responded quicker than I did. "Research on what?"

"On you, girl. And whatever power has been thrumming in your veins since you were Made."

Feyre knocked back the last of her tea as if it were a shot of alcohol. If she were wishing she'd had something stronger before dealing with Amren first thing in the morning, I didn't blame her in the slightest.

"And I assume you found something, or we wouldn't be having this conversation," I said.

"I have theories, but books aren't enough to prove anything—we'll have to run tests."

I let my hand drift to Feyre's lower back. The thought of running tests on my mate rankled me, and I forced myself not to snarl, lest my Second bit my head off in retaliation.

"We don't have time for dramatics today. Please explain."

"Feyre has been claimed by the Night Court, and she's mated to its High Lord. It stands to reason that she's a creature of Night. But at the same time, her Making was a boon from Spring Court magic after taking Tamlin's place in the Great Rite. She may be…something else entirely."

The same thing had crossed my mind before, on nights I tried to focus on the sound of Feyre's slow, steady breathing across the hall instead of my own spiraling thoughts. I'd found my mate in the very court that had taken my family from me, and that didn't feel like a coincidence.

The violence should have ended the moment Tamlin and I became High Lords. But now, my newest recurring nightmare was of a third head in a box, sent down river by the Spring Court just like my mother's and sister's.

"If Tamlin thinks I stole power from him and swore fealty to Rhys on Calanmai…" Feyre said, and at the sound of her voicing my fears aloud, I couldn't hold back a growl.

Amren nodded, a quiet signal that she understood that the growl wasn't aimed at her. "Agreed, and because treasure troves with objects from both Spring and Night are few and far between, it's time to stop stalling. You have a promise to keep."

Perhaps I should have growled at her anyway—I needed at least another century before I could look Feyre in the eye and tell her about the ring waiting for her in the Weaver's cottage. She'd risked her life to free me, and I was certain that if I came anywhere close to insinuating she still had something to prove, she'd have my balls. And rightfully so.

Just the thought of telling her was enough to loosen my grip on my power, and pathetically, the darkness drifted towards Feyre, clinging to her arm as if it were afraid she'd leave.

"Find another method," I ground out from between clenched teeth.

"Feyre has to go claim it anyway."

"She's already proven more than enough."

"Spare me, Rhysand. We all know what you were thinking when you put that bargain tattoo on her finger."

Amren was right, though. The look she was giving me was familiar—I'd gotten used to it when I was a boy still mastering my powers and she was tired of me giving anything less than my best during a lesson.

"Tell me what you're talking about this before this comes to blows." Feyre shrugged my hand off her back, and I slid it into my pocket before I made a bigger fool of myself and reached for her again.

It truly wasn't fair that Feyre looked that beautiful when she was angry.

Amren, of course, wasn't going to deign to provide an explanation. It wasn't her business anyway. I took a breath and steeled myself, fully expecting the full truth would fan the flames of Feyre's temper.

"There's a ring," I said. "An heirloom of my family, passed down from female to female. My sister wasn't born yet, so my mother gave it to me when I was a boy. A reminder that she was always with me, even during the worst of my training, and I safeguarded it with preserving spells, the way our kind do for anything valuable. When I reached my majority, she took the ring away and gave it to an ancient, wicked creature called the Weaver, who added it to the collection of treasures she amassed over millennia."

It wasn't everything, and Feyre was smart enough to figure that out on her own. "Why would your mother give it away?"

Gods, I could kill Amren for this. She pretended to be above it all, but I knew during her next meeting with Mor, she'd be sharing every last detail of me squirming.

"Another test. If I were to marry or mate, then the female would either have to be smart or strong enough to get the ring back. And if she wasn’t either of those things, then she wouldn’t survive the marriage. I promised my mother that any potential bride or mate would have to pass, but I think if she were still here…she'd agree that you've already done more than enough."

I waited for more of Feyre's anger, but she just blinked, clearly bewildered. "A wedding ring?" she said, as if it weren't patently obvious.

"Yes, but you're under no obligation to—"

When she spoke again, the uncertainty making her voice waver damn near broke my heart. "You— You haven't…sent someone after it before me, have you?"

As if anyone would have been stupid enough to want to marry me. I couldn't imagine what could have put the idea in her head.

But then again, I'd been the one who'd made her feel unwanted enough to run off to the House of Wind as soon as we'd returned to the Night Court.

"Cauldron, no," I said, scrambling for a way to remind her—in front of Amren, of all people—that there had never been anyone else for me and never would be.

"And this isn't— You're not…proposing?"

Cauldron boil and fucking fry me. Now was hardly the time to be having this discussion—I had no idea what Feyre's views on marriage were or if the mating bond changed them. She'd always be my mate first and foremost, but…I couldn't deny the appeal of calling her my wife too, and she might be more comfortable with a more human way to refer to me.

But it was just as likely she was feeling rushed and didn't want any of that at all.

A pounding at the door heralded the arrival of the rest of my Inner Circle, and I made a silent prayer of thanks to the Mother as we filed into the sitting room. I hadn't been able to think of anything to say, and they'd saved me from continuing to gape at Feyre like a fish.

Feyre went quiet as the conversation turned to dealing with the Illyrians who'd supported Amarantha. From Cassian's report, it seemed that there were more than I'd expected, but news of my return had sent them scurrying into the forest to hide. We'd have to flush them out.

I didn't relish the thought of several days in the Steppes, away from Feyre. But I knew the Illyrians, and I'd lose more respect by staying in Velaris and sending someone else to do my dirty work. Then again, it might be for the best—I wasn't sure I wanted Feyre to witness me kill again, no matter how much they deserved it.

Eventually, there was a lull in the conversation, and Feyre filled it. "If we need to make a statement to keep control of Illyria, then we could give them to the Weaver and kill two birds with stone."

If Feyre wasn't exactly the sort of person who might have once felled two birds with a single stone, I would have thought she was joking. But I knew better. Feyre didn't like waste, whether that was food scraps or ammunition or a taking a life; she was merely efficient and the farthest thing from squeamish.

Strong enough to survive the marriage indeed.

"Are you suggesting that we allow a death-god to eat a few rogue Illyrians in exchange for the return of your wedding ring?" I said, smiling.

Feyre didn't smile back—her face was set in that characteristic determined grimace of hers. "Amarantha refused to free her human slaves. I'm the Night Court's resident human. What better way to punish them for supporting her than turning them over to me?"

She had a point, and the rest of the Inner Circle seemed to think so, which was a relief. If Feyre were to accompany us to Illyria, I wanted to avoid objections from Cassian and Azriel.

"If we're cracking a few wing bones, Feyre might as well get a turn," Cassian said.

"It's Illyria, not Velaris, so word will get out, which we can spin in our favor. Distaste for slavery instead of petty revenge against those who supported the bitch who made Rhys her—" Mor said, then stopped.

Whore. That had been what she'd about to say. I should have been used to it after fifty years, and it wasn't as if Mor was flinging it at me as an insult. My cheeks burned with shame anyway.

"The bitch who hurt him," Mor amended, and somehow, it made me feel worse. I hated the thought of any member of my family feeling the need to tiptoe around me.

"I'll never be offended by you telling the truth. Even about that," I said. Mor took my hand and squeezed it.

"No one reasonable would fault you for slaughtering your rapist's supporters. But for the unreasonable ones…it's also true that involving Feyre could help dispel the rumors that Prythian's savior is a pawn you intend to discard."

I understood—for the most part, the other courts were more concerned with rebuilding the damage that Amarantha had caused, and they likely would be for decades. But as Mor had worked to put treaties and agreements back in place, there had been more than a few polite—if very pointed—inquiries regarding the wellbeing of Feyre Cursebreaker. For now, Mor's letters back had contained equally pointed reminders that the Cursebreaker had been through an ordeal and didn't deserve to be bothered. We couldn't keep that up forever, though.

"Assuming the Weaver is willing to bargain, it's not a bad plan," Azriel said. From him, that was a ringing endorsement.

"Hell of an assumption, though," Cassian added.

Feyre was looking at me expectantly, clearly waiting for me to weigh in. I was suddenly uncomfortably aware that I had the authority to order her to either come to Illyria or stay back in Velaris, regardless of what her wishes were. I considered Feyre my equal in everything, but there were ancient laws and magic at play. Emissary or Lady of the Night Court…either way, her power was limited.

If nothing else, I wanted her to know that I wouldn't command her to face any danger. I had the bravest mate in Prythian, but Feyre deserved a chance to rest instead of shouldering the weight of the world. "All of it is your choice, Feyre. If you don't want to risk leaving Velaris, no one will force you," I said.

"I'm not shying away from any of it. I'll go," she said without hesitation.

Nothing stopped Feyre. I dropped my shields just enough to let her feel my swell of pride at her willingness to face this head on, even after everything she'd been through.

Cassian mussed her hair, and a memory came to me, unbidden—he used to do the same thing to Azriel, back before the War, when Az was still sporting those hideous bangs that swooped low across his forehead. And they way Feyre was trying and failing to scowl at Cassian…my heart squeezed. My own sister had always given me that look when I'd gotten on her nerves to break up the monotony of formal court events.

"Send your mate and your dogs out to the yard if they insist on playing, Rhysand. The adults still have matters to discuss," Amren said.

"Amren, if you wanted to play—" Cassian said, taunting her the way he always did when she called him my dog.

And as if on cue, Mor groaned. "Can we not? We're supposed to be working."

Under the Mountain, I'd resigned myself to never hearing them bicker like this again. After a decade, I'd forgotten their voices, their faces. That's when I'd stopped hoping.

Hearing it again while I shared the sofa with Feyre…it felt like a gift. She caught my eye as Cassian smoothed her hair back into place, and I smiled, just grateful for all of them.

But I could hardly afford to get maudlin with a court to run and Prythian in disarray, so I forced myself to focus on the task at hand.

The meeting was a long one; I trusted Mor and Amren to keep everything running smoothly in my absence, but there was so much more up in the air than usual. Unfortunately, they'd likely be at it for a while—according to Cassian's reporting, the rogue war-bands had scattered, and it would take time to track down each group that had splintered.

There was work to be done, so none of us lingered longer than necessary. We were up before the sun the next morning.

As I was washing my face, I felt a pang of anxiety from Feyre's side of the bond. A few disjointed images and feelings crossed the bond—a tree covered in snow, the twang of a bowstring, hunger pangs. It vanished as quickly as it came.

Something had stirred an old memory for her, I supposed. But it seemed she'd mastered it, so I refrained from giving her a fright by winnowing into her room while she was still dressing.

Instead, I met her downstairs and immediately lifted her into my arms to fly. Feyre felt like she'd gained a bit of weight, which was good. The tangible evidence she'd been eating right and gaining muscle from training soothed some of my worries.

I started to ask if she was alright, but the second her feet were off the floor, she relaxed and buried her face in my shoulder. I couldn't help but smile. Since returning home, I'd quickly learned that she wasn't a morning person, and there was something adorably Feyre about the way she'd clearly decided it was too early to talk—but not too early to cling to me.

"Good morning to you, too," I said.

"We have somewhere to be," she said, somehow managing to sound both half-asleep and accusatory.

I kissed her temple, then winnowed us into the sky above Windhaven. The immediate cold rush of air against my face felt like freedom. Feyre—now fully awake—cried out and held on tight as I spread my wings.

My shoulders immediately barked in protest, even though all I'd done was slow the descent. Feyre wasn't particularly heavy, but I still wasn't strong enough to fly upward while carrying her—the latest goal the healer had set for me was getting above the wards around the House of Wind to winnow down to the street with Feyre in my arms.

But now we were gliding to the ground smoothly, and that was progress. Incremental, but still progress, even if my back strained with each occasional flap of my wings.

Fearless as ever, Feyre lifted her head from my shoulder to look straight down at the camp below us, despite the altitude still being enough to turn the stomach of anyone wingless. I expected more questions, but she was silent as she took in the view.

From the air at least, it didn't appear that Windhaven had changed much. Amarantha had mostly considered Illyria beneath her notice, and while her beasts had been free to roam into Steppes, they'd avoided it. Too few resources, too many warriors with killing magic.

Thanks to Cassian's reports, I knew Illyria was more or less intact, but it was still a relief to see it for myself. In those last seconds before Amarantha had taken my power, I'd chosen to protect Velaris, throwing the rest of my court to the wolves in the process. It was sound strategy—if anyone could defend themselves, it was the Illyrians, and there wasn't much worth saving in the Hewn City—but not being able to protect everything had left me with a heavy sense of guilt that had weighed on me for fifty years.

During the war, my father had treated my mother's people as cannon fodder. Perhaps I wasn't any better, despite striving to be.

It took all of my concentration to keep from stumbling as we landed. Centuries of muscle memory were the only reason I didn't break an ankle and drop Feyre in the process. But it looked effortless, and that was most important.

I set Feyre down, and—as usual—she slipped into a role naturally, standing up straight and maintaining eye contact, a clear signal she wasn't afraid. That she wasn't lesser.

Devlon approached, flanked by the same warriors as always, and for a moment, I could almost believe no time had passed since I'd last been here. "Your dog," he barked with a nod at Cassian, "already completed camp inspections yesterday. Don't tell me you've brought a human to check for dust in the barracks, too."

I bit back a growl at the way he'd spoken about Feyre. Starting a fight within seconds of my return hardly sent a message that everything was under control. If it weren't for centuries of practice holding my temper back around Devlon, his brain would have been leaking out of his nose.

"After fifty years away, it's good to see your sparkle hasn't dimmed, Devlon. Feyre Cursebreaker is a member of my Inner Circle, and she wouldn't be here to clean up a mess if you'd kept a tighter leash on your men," I said.

And perhaps crushing minds would be unnecessary—Feyre was already reaching for an ash arrow. I'd never seen her shoot, but it didn't surprise me that she pulled it out of the quiver with expert, lethal grace. She knew exactly what she was doing as she smiled and tapped it against her thigh.

Devlon scowled. "These last fifty years have been difficult for us all."

It was all I needed to hear to be sure that he'd keep Windhaven in check while we were in the forest. Devlon might have hated me, but he was reliable and followed orders despite looking for loopholes and grumbling about it. If he wasn't insulting me to my face, the situation was still salvagable.

"I'm not interested in hearing your excuses. The current state of your camp is pathetic, and if I see one more misstep, you can consider yourself court-martialed," I said, then started off for the trees.

I was desperately curious to know what Feyre thought of Illyria. Growing up in this place had shaped me—in many ways, even more than Velaris had—and the part of me that craved my mate's approval needed to hear that she didn't hate it here.

I reached down the bond, intending to ask her, but as I opened my shields slightly, a silver of a thought slipped through from her end. …Rhys's stupidly long legs…

It was a miracle I didn't laugh aloud, just kept my face blank as I reached through the opening she'd left for me. Stupidly long legs? But you look so delicious framed between them.

"Save it for when we're back home, Rhys," Feyre muttered.

Behind me, Azriel snickered, but I didn't have it in me to care, not when Feyre had just called Velaris home.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her nock the arrow in her hand. Even to acute faerie hearing, her footsteps were silent. Her eyes were wary as she scanned the trees ahead of us, and her nostrils flared as she took in the pine-scented air.

A couple weeks of comfortable domesticity with her in the townhouse had nearly made me forget that Feyre was, at her core, a predator. Not quite a warrior, but someone shaped by years of stalking, trapping, skinning, and gutting, all to keep her family fed. Someone who slipped through the forest with all the lethality befitting the Queen of Nightmares.

I'd watched Feyre trap the Middengard Wyrm like a rabbit, but perhaps that had barely scratched the surface.

[acourtofthought]

How It All Comes Together

(contains spoilers for all series)

I have so many posts at this point. So. Many. Posts 😂 And they all touch upon a lot of the same information but I wanted to put every headcannon I've got in one place in the order of events (though the order of events within each book is flexible) that I think could happen.

I have no idea if any or even one will turn out to be accurate but when I combine her interviews, books, and Q&A sessions together, this is how the information seems to best fit together and makes sense to me.

Starting with an Elucien book:

"Let's focus on healing one sister then the other."

Elucien will restore spring together -

My father would think twice before standing against an army of superior strength and size.

"But Tamlin is already hanging by a thread. You and Lucien have made it clear that he's barely improved this past year" "With a new war possible and Briallyn up to her bullshit with Koschei, we need a strong ally. We need the Spring Court's forces"

"No. But we need to summon Lucien," Azriel said, just a shade tightly, as if he didn't like it one bit. "We need to tell him the news, and permanently station him at the Spring Court to contain any damage and to be our eyes and ears."

"I am the first one the others look to - I set the example"

Her sister's delicate scent of jasmine and honey lingered in the red-stoned hall like a promise of spring"

But Elain...The Spring Court had been made for someone like her. / Too bad her sister refused to see her. Nesta would have told Elain to visit this place. And too bad the lord who ruled these lands was a piece of shit.

Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she'd placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess - perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn't let herself dwell on why she'd felt the need to set the rose there.

"She pulled the small, carved rose from her pocket and set it upon the gravestone. A permanent marker of the beauty and good he'd tried to bring into the world."

Elain and Lucien will perform in Calanmai aka Fire Night together -

"There's a ritual. But it's...very faerie." / "From their coupling, magic will be released and spread to the earth, where it will regenerate life for the year to come."

It was Spring, and yet it wasn't. / Distant - because on the estate, nothing bloomed at all. / The pink roses that had once climbed the pale stone walls of the sweeping manor house were nothing but tangled webs of thorns. / The Spring Court had felt stagnant. Hollow. Empty ..

"It's his (her) instincts that select her (him)."

"I went in his stead, and I did my duty to the court."

I shook my head, trying not to imagine Elain subject to that....fire.

Elain would faint to hear such thoughts.

Elain will be able to shift into an owl (shifting being a marker of the Spring Court) -

"Your Tamlin has brute strength and shape-shifting"

"And once you were in this body, you couldn't change?"

Elain was again at my side, I hadn't heard her steps.

Elain perched silently on the couch nearby.

Elain cocked her head.

Elain spoke from the doorway, having appeared so silently that they all twisted toward her.

"You came," Elain said behind her and Nesta started, not having heard her sister approach.

Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth - Teller to the hilt through the back of the king's neck. (How did she make it to Nesta in time when she was in the far reaches of their camp?

"Glamour for what?" "To look normal." "Being a High Lord, comes with physical markers too. It's why I couldn't hide what I was becoming from my brohters - from anyone. It's still easier to blend it." / "I think she's got you beat for secret-keeping"

Elain, Lucien, Vassa, and Jurian will find a way to get those on the continent to sign the treaty -

We need the humans in others territories to trust us, if we can ever hope to achieve lasting peace.

"He's spent months helping them sort out the politics of who rules Prythian's slice of the human lands."

"He'd already made many friends across the courts and had always been good at talking to people"

"My sister can convince anyone to do anything with a few smiles."

"She (Mor) was still trying to convince them to sign the new treaty."

"I hope that whatever Morrigan is doing in Vallahan will counteract the damage my father will unleash."

"At worst, we'll have proof to justify any conflict and hopefully win allies to our side, avoiding the bloodshed that would carve up these lands once more.

"Jurian..." "Thank the Cauldron for him. I never thought I'd say that, but it's true. "He's keeping everything running. I think he'd have been crowned king by now if it wasn't for Vassa."

Both trying to lead the humans who occupied the sliver of land at the southernmost end of Prythian. Left ungoverned for so long. Too long.

"And what, exactly, does this Band of Exiles plan to do? Host events? Organize party-planning committees?

"She didn't used to be that way." "She loved balls and parties."

but Elain had taken charge of planning

Elain pushed, “We keep it secret—we send the servants away. With the spring approaching, they’ll be glad to go home. And if Feyre needs to be in and out for meetings, she’ll send word ahead, and we’ll clear them out. Make up excuses to send them on holidays. Father won’t be back until the summer, anyway. No one will know.”. / “I’ll do it,” Elain said, taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders. She didn’t wait for either of us before she strode out, graceful as a doe.

Eris will join Elain and Lucien on the continent, not only to free Vassa and stop Koschei / Beron but to retrieve Mor and for their past to finally be dealt with (their past being a possible mating bond between them which is why he set her free)-

"My father is furious that his ally is dead, but he's not deterred. Koschei remains in play, and Beron might very well be stupid enough to establish an alliance with him, too."

"I wanted to feel out Vassa and Jurian." He didn't mention his brother, oddly enough. "But they clearly know little about this."

But as Eris strode by...I could have sworn there was something like sadness - like regret, as he glanced to Lucien.

But Vassa's freedom would end. Lucien had said as much months ago, and still visited her often enough that I knew nothing in that regard had improved. She would have to return to the lake, to the sorcerer-lord who kept her prisoner, sold to him by the very queens who had again gathered in their joint castle. Formerly Vassa's castle too.

"Tell my Vassa I'm waiting"

"Lucien stared out the window - as if he could see the lake across a sea and a continent. As if he were setting his target."

"But that was all the western edge of it. Beyond that, the continent was vast. And to the south, another continent sprawled. Would she have gone?"

"Mor left for Vallahan this morning and is out of our daemati magic's range."

"She knows the truth but has never revealed it" "Why?" "Because she's afraid of it."

"You're not the person I want to explain myself to." "I doubt Mor will want to listen." (as for a Mor love interest, I think Emerie could be a possibility but I also think the Golden Queen is another option. As her hair and eyes were taken, there's a chance she was made into something new and Elain said "she's not dead, only changed as I was". I don't think she's talking about Vassa. There's also a line where Mor claim she's always be drawn to things that were wild and free)

I think Elain will be the one to break Vassa's curse which I don't think is a curse at all but a Valg infection. If she can heal as Yrene did than we know a healers light can banish the infection from someone's blood. (I have a longer post on this but this is the Cliffs Notes version) -

I'd never seen such spell work. I'd sent my power over her, Helion too, hunting for any possible threats to unbind it. I found none. It was if the curse was woven into her very blood.

"Black fire raced down his blood" (Chaols Valg infection)

"Will many of these soldiers die?"

Amren was holding Elain upright as she vomited in the grass. Not from the Caldron. But pure terror.

Elain rushed to Cassian. / Nesta was watching them when I reached her and Elain at the tree-lined outskirts. Had she done some healing, somehow, in those moments after she'd severed the king's head? / I didn't ask my sister, and she supplied no answer as she took the water bucket dangling from Elain's still bloody hands.

I think Lucien and Eris will finally kill Beron -

"Beron tortured you?"

Beron had tortured his own son for information, rather than thanking the Mother for returning him.

"The same things he does now." "Belittle her, leave bruises where no one but him will see them."

"I was forced to watch as my father butchered the female I loved. My brothers forced me to watch."

The male had been raised with every luxury and privilege - on paper. But who knew what terrors Beron had inflicted upon him? Cassian knew Beron had murdered Lucien's lover. If the High Lord of Autumn had been willing to do that, what wouldn't he do?

And Cassian didn't need to be a courtier to know his next words would slice deep, but it would be a necessary wound. Perhaps it would be enough to push things in the right direction. "I think you might be a decent male, deep down, trapped in a terrible situation." "I think you might even be a good male." "You're just too much of a coward to act like one."

Lucien will finally discover Helion is his father -

But not the gift of Helion. His true father. I still hadn't mentioned it. To anyone other than Rhys.

In the taut silence, Helion nodded to the bright hall beyond the room. "I would like to remove myself from the Mask's odious presence, and perhaps enjoy your palace, Rhysand. It's been a long while since I was in a place of such quiet. If you'll allow it, I'll stay here for an hour or two." "Something bothering you at home?" Rhys inquired, falling into step beside the High Lord.

I think Elain, if she has healing powers (not to mention her affinity for growing things), will be the one to help the Pegasus. This would provide her a purpose in Day and even connects her to the land where the Prison is located) -

Helion's most beloved pair - this black stallion, Meallan, and his mate - hadn't produced offspring in three hundred years, and that last foal hadn't made it out of weaning before he'd succumbed to an illness no healer could remedy.

According to legend, the pegasuses had come from the island the Prison sat upon - had once fed in fair meadows that had long given way to moss and mist. Perhaps that was part of the decline: their homeland had vanished, and whatever had sustained them was no longer.

She found flowers - somewhere.

It's possible that if she does travel to the Prison, she'll also find where Koschei's box is located (possibly the box that possesses his soul) -

"There is an onyx box that he possesses, more vital than anything...save for them. The girls."

"Maybe...." "Part of me wonders if the Prison was either built or stocked with it's inmates to hide the Harp's (onyx box?) presence. There are so many terrible powers here, and the wards on the mountain itself. I wonder if someone hid the Harp (onyx box?) knowing that it'd never be noticed with so much awful magic around it."

"These are like no wards I've felt before." "They feel old. Incredibly old." "They probably predate this place being used as a prison (remember, we learn that the courts were not actually formed until after the Prison was made).

"But Koschei is as old as the sea - older." "I fear what may happen if he ever gets free of the lake. If he sees this world on the cusp of disaster and knows he could strike, and strike hard, and make himself it's master. As he once tried to do, (hint that Koschei is Asteri / possible Valg?) long ago." "Those are legends that predate our courts."

Lucien will help infiltrate the castle where the other Queens had been staying. Not only did the castle once belong to Vassa but if Koschei's soul is not hidden in the prison, maybe it's hidden there -

"I told you; their castle is too heavily warded, and full of magical traps that would trip up even Helion."

I do think it's possible that Koschei will be defeated in an Elucien book and I think it's possible Lucien's fire will fail him in that scene causing him to tap into his Day powers in full -

"I was getting worried you'd never approach. Poor Eris would have met a very sorry end if that had been the case. His fire wouldn't have withstood Koschei's lake, I don't think."

Maybe Lucien will also be the one to help Rhys and Feyre undo the bargain that links their lives to one another -

"Perhaps Amren was working on some way to undo the bargain - if anyone could think of a way, it would be her. Or Helion, he supposed.

I believe Eris will step into power as High Lord of Autumn by the end of an Elucien book. I also wonder if when they think everything has calmed in the rest of Prythian and the continent, they'll visit Feyre and Rhys only to be informed of Bryce having landed in Velaris (and her subsequent return to Midgard). This will set up the either the final spin-off (not sure if SJM still plans on having the third spin-off set in the past which she mentioned as a possibility in interviews) or the next round of ACOTAR books, some from the ones she was contracted for in her latest 4 book deal. -

A Gwynriel book would then follow -

I think Az's story will first tackle his past with Mor. If she is ready to admit to the truths Eris spoke of in SF in an Elucien book then she'll finally be in a place to have the conversation she needs to with Az -

"What of Mor, Az?" Azriel ignored the question.

I think the majority of his arc will deal with his hatred of the Illyrians, and now their issues with the Valkyries, possibly ending with Rhys leaving him charge of overseeing them in a more permanent position -

Perhaps we needed a permanent presence out here, until the Illyrians remembered things like consequences. / But the war had impacted us all, and with the rebuilding, with the human territories crawling out to meet us, with other Fae kingdoms looking toward a wall-less world and wondering what shit they could get away with...We didn't have the resources to station somewhere out here. Not yet. Perhaps next summer, if the climate elsewhere was calm enough.

"The Illyrians are pieces of shit," he said too quietly.

It was healthy, perhaps, for Az to sometimes remember where he'd come from. He still wore the Illyrian leathers. Had not tried to get the tattoos removed. Some part of him was Illyrian still. Always would be. Even if he wished to forget it.

Az might hunt down Bryaxis who I believe is the thing that guarded a portal to Hel that exists in the library. I think we'll see Bryce enter the portal in CC3 or Aidas exit it and they'll realize they need to close it back up -

"Do you want me to hunt it down?" An easy, unruffled question. "Let Bryaxis enjoy the Solstice as well," I said. A rare smile curled Az's mouth. "Generous of you."

"No, but..." Gwyn's swallow was audible. "I can feel something. Like a cat. Small and clever and curious. It's watching.

And then there was this. Not only the true absence of light, but...a womb. The womb from which all life and come and would return, neither good nor evil, only dark, dark, dark. Nesta. Her name drifted to her as if rising from the depths of some black ocean. Nesta. It slid along her bones, her blood. She had to pull back. Pull away. The darkness pulsed, beckoned.

"The House is good." Nesta breathed. "Is it?" Nesta considered. "The darkness in the pit of the library - it's the heart of the House." Amren nodded. "And where is it now?" "It hasn't made an appearance in weeks. But it's still there. I think it's just...being managed. Maybe the House's knowledge that I'm aware of it, and didn't judge it, makes it easier to keep in check."

I think Gwyn may be a cousin of Eris's (maybe Lucien) which will cause conflict between she and Az as he'll struggle to let go of his prejudices toward Eris (and Lucien) while she will want to build a relationship with the only blood family she has left -

"My grandmother was a river-nymph who seduced a High Fae male from the Autumn Court."

Gwyn will have siren powers that she can use to do her bidding against enemies -

Something beckoned in Gwyn's song, in a way the other's hadn't.

Gwyn's voice rose again, holding such a high note it was like a ray of pure light, piercing and summoning.

Like Gwyn was calling only to her.

"I barely outran that one as I led it toward the camp. My timing was just good luck, though."

Gwyn will pull both Narben and the miniature manuscript from the sea. Seeing as how the book is one of the first printed books in existence, I think it will contain information that will be necessary for future threats to their world -

She would have kept it secret. I only heard from a fleeing water-nymph that it had been done."

"When it would not bend to her, she destroyed it." "It was perhaps in our favor. Had the King of Hybern possessed Narben, I fear we would have lost the war."

A miniature illuminated manuscript, crafted by the skilled hands of the smallest of the lesser Fae- one of the first printed books in existence. / He regretted throwing it into the river the moment it had vanished under the ice, but he'd been foolish that night.

I think Gwyn's song may also be able to draw Azriel back, in the chance he has a different form and maybe that's what he meant when he made the comment that he sings. That he too needs to sing in order to pull himself from his "beast" side -

"Az is different. In a lot of ways." His tone didn't invite further questioning.

I think you'll find that Az is even less forgiving than I am." "With that pretty face?" she crooned. "I have a hard time believing it."

"They were shape-shifters who dwelled in the lakes and rivers and lured unwitting people into their arms. And after the drowned them, they feasted." Nesta stared toward the bog's black surface. "And they live in there?" "They vanished hundreds of years before we were born," Cassian said firmly. They're a myth whispered around fires, and a warning for children not to play near the water. But no one knows where they went. Most were hunted, but the survivors..." He conceded with a nod to Azriel. / "Just don't go running after a beautiful white horse or a pretty-faced young man and you'll be fine."

I think Merrill will be the main villain in Gwynriels story. That we'll find she had been in contact with Koschei before his defeat and gone searching for other survivors in other worlds at his command. She'll be the one responsible for helping them enter their world -

"There are others in your court as delusional as you are. They'll get it for me one way or another, with the right incentive. Granted, I'll need your blood to unlock the wards on the Trove."

"But know that Briallyn and the others sold me to him not through their devices, but his. By words he planted in their courts, whispered on the winds."

"I am descended from Labath, Lord of the Western Wind," Merrill seethed. "Unlike Gwyneth Berdara, I am no lackey to be dismissed."

"Midgard is a base. We opened the doors to other worlds to lure their citizens here." "But we also opened the doors so we might conquer those other worlds as well." "Your Starborn ancestors shut the gates to stop us from invading their realm once more and reminding them who their true masters are. And in the process, they shut the gates to all other worlds, including those to Hel, their stalwart allies. And so we have been trapped here. Cut off from the cosmos. All that is left of our people, though our mystics beneath this palace have long sought to find any other survivors, any planets where they might be hiding."

"Merrill's brilliant. Horrible, but brilliant. When she first came here, she was obsessed with theories regarding the existence of different realms - different worlds. Living on top of each other without even knowing it. Whether there is merely one existence, our existence, or if it might be possible for worlds to overlap, occupying the same space but separated by time and a whole bunch of other things I can't even begin to explain to you because I barely understand them myself." "Honestly, I looked at some of her early research and my eyes bled just reading her theorizing and formulas."

so she supposed that two would take them perhaps a bit farther than that, and Velaris … Well, it seemed like it’d take three strings. She didn’t want to know where all twenty-six strings might take her if strummed. Or if someone made a melody..

I think part of a Gwynriel plot will be Az and Gwyn working together to try to understand what Merrill is actually researching -

- and in its center, a massive, working model of their world, the stars and planets around it. and some other fancy thins that had been explained to Cassian once before he deemed them boring and proceeded to ignore them completely. Az, of course, had been fascinated.

Gwyn let out a breathy laugh. “I mean it. I learned about a new Valkyrie technique last night.

“I don’t know,” Gwyn said. “All I know is that I was assigned to work with Merrill and aid in her research,

By the end of a Gwynriel book, I think we'll be set up for a Multi POV / Crossover Series book(s) in the ACOTAR world. Possible plotlines -

Nesta will raise an army of the dead / World Walk -

And one day, when the time was right...They'd take the next steps. They'd walk down whatever road lay ahead of them together.

The Harp sighed, a low purr rolling off it as Nesta’s hand neared. We shall open doors and pathways; we shall move through space and eons together.

He’d think of that another day. Along with the fact that she’d stopped Time with the Harp.

She could feel them around her. The dead. / Thousands and thousands of bodies. But she would not call thousands. Not yet.

I think Lucien will be High King, wielding Gwydion. Yes, I realize it called to Bryce but unless we find out Amren’s recollection of the High Priestess giving it to him was wrong, it seems it first belonged to Fionn and was taken by Theia. Made objects can have others do their bidding, therefore it could have wanted Bryce to be the one to take it home. We know Helion responded to the mask, a made object, therefore Lucien should theoretically be able to wield made objects too -

Rhys as High King: he could think of no other male he'd trust more. No other male who would be a fairer ruler than Rhys. / "But know that the Cauldron's benevolence will be extended to you only for so long before it is offered to another.

"Lucien's goodness"

"He is a good male"

"he'd already made many friends across the courts and had always been good at talking to people."

"Like the Fae male had settled similar arguments between them before."

"But Lucien had learned to keep his cool".

Narben's powers had not been the holy, saviors light of Gwydion" (Side note, SJM tagged Elain under the Blodeuwedd fairytale and the uncle of Lleu (Lleu being the character that seems to match Lucien's part in the tale) was named Gwydion. Gwydion means "born of trees" and in ACOWAR, SJM tells us Lucien looked "crafted from the forest")

SJM once spoke of us seeing more babies in the ACOTAR world and I think this will refer to Elain in any future crossovers (not CC3) -

"But Elain had given it back - had pressed it into Azriel's hands after the battle, just as he had pressed it into hers before. And then walked away without looking back."

I think Elain's war days are over and a pregnancy would provide her a valid reason to sit out of battle. If she does have healing powers then I imagine she'd much rather tend to the wounded.

I also believe that by this time, the food that sustained the Pegasus would be restored and the illness preventing them from having foals would be cured (a possible Elain storyline), making it possible for the Valkyrie to ride into battle on Pegasus.

The End 😂

[shadowscrybe]

Rayven's Revenge- Chapter 5

Summary: Rayven is the younger sister of Rhysand in the Night Court. She was banished 64 years ago for the murder of her sister. This is the story of Rayven earning her place in Prythian and finding out what it means to be family. We all know how her story ends...but how did she get there? I don't want to forget the demon princess with bat wings. Do you?

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: none-typical canon content

A/N: Pissed off bat boys YES MAAM Hahaha what fun we're having right? Such happy, exciting times... for now :) How do we feel about the character of Rahne? I feel like the shadows need personalities.

Rayven used what time she had to spare to fly out of the Spring Court. Rahne could winnow them home at the Autumn Court border. 

Most of what she knew about flying was self taught. So when she could, she found time to relish in casual flight. She searched under her skin to the very tips of her wings feeling every muscle work together. Her mother had been clipped so long ago she couldn't remember enough to teach her how to fly. Another basic allowance she felt guilty for.

She chewed over Lucien’s warning as they soared. She made a mental note to send Eris a message later to check on him. 

Rahne was the fastest shadow she thought ever existed. So with a slow fly, she would grow bored and begin to show off. 

Her little form spun and flipped around like a sea mammal coasting through waves. Race, she goaded. If she had a mouth, Rayven was certain it would be foaming. They hadn't had the time or freedom to race in so long. 

Her little shadow vibrated in the air, sensing her consideration. 

Why not, she said to her. She flipped and lined up to her right wing. First one to the border wins? 

Ready, Rahne confirmed. 

Set, she answered. 

Go!

They moved faster than arrows. She flapped her wings so hard she knew her tendons would hurt later. Oh well, they needed this. 

Rahne slithered through the wind with ease. Her little form inched past her shoulder. A wing length ahead turned into two and then she was really showing off.  

Rayven pulled her wings in after a huge thrust and torpedoed to her. The Autumn Court was a few strides away now. 

She twisted and Rayven knew she was letting her catch up. Right when she had pulled so close her shadow sent her condolences to her master looking back from the finish line. 

What's that score again? Her form expanded into a dark hole to winnow through.

No count, she laughed. 

It was unnecessary. She’s never lost. 

Rayven took an extra long glide through her and where Autumn had been was now Night. 

And Cassian. 

He was arcing around the field they flew into outside the cottage. 

Well, she said to Rahne. We’re fucked. 

Fucked, she echoed. 

“You going to make me fight it out of you or can you just start talking?” His arms were crossed and his huge wings flapped quicker to keep him in place. 

“I had some free time,” she shrugged, pulling to a quick stop.

“To do what, exactly?” he growled. 

She fished the short flowers out of her pocket. “I was getting an arrangement for tonight.” She held them out to him. “Do you think they're pretty?”

“You have got to be out of your mind. The Spring Court?” 

“Did you tell him?” She chewed on her cheek. 

“Why would I ever tell that prick anything,” he said. 

When they reached her cottage he landed before her and held a hand up. 

She hadn't needed a catch since her second decade, but she granted him the gentleman act and took his hand into her landing. 

He squeezed and led them into the house. 

The current sitting room was the size of the original cottage. The small two-story addition felt like a shell around the bones of the shack she met all those years ago. But with Cassian just short of the ceiling, it felt tiny again. 

His large body flopped onto her low bed with a huff. “Care to explain?”

So she did. Rayven told him about her master plan to force the Highlord to accept her. She retold him about Tamlin and Lucien around her room divider, leaving the bits about Eris out. 

It wouldn't matter what she wore. She was only going to be there for ten minutes. 

She told him about taking border shifts since she’d been training and how her performance would move her rank up. Rayven threw on whatever white shirt she had clean and fresh black pants. He didn't laugh when she told him about going for a spot in the Rite. He didn't argue with her when she explained about getting to the stranded female first. He listened to all of it. He didn't argue once.  

When she was done and emerged from behind the standing shade, he tried to look mad. 

She spun for him and he lost the battle to frown. 

“You're going to get my bed dirty,” she plunked down next to him in his clean black clothes. He and Azriel were always in black, but tonight they would omit the fighting leathers. 

“Me? Have you seen your hair?” 

She hadn't. She could only guess its state after her race with Rahne. 

“Is my braid falling out?”

“That was supposed to be a braid?” His face contorted and she knew it was rough. 

She groaned and grabbed her brush off the side table. He was quick to take it from her and started brushing out the tangles. Rayven’s wings folded out of his way. 

“You don't have anything to say?” She asked as he tried to not pull on the knots. 

“I think they will have enough to say. You don't need it from me.”

He began to section half way up her head. 

“So Azriel knows?”  

His hands paused in her hair. “Who would've told me where to wait?”

If she made it through tonight, they were going to kill her. Azriel did not take being tricked lightly. 

He incorporated more hair as he moved down her scalp. “We haven't done this in so long,” she said tilting her head back to smile at him. “I figured you would have forgotten how to do it.”

“Yeah, well you definitely forgot.” His fingers pushed her head forward. “Keep your head still or it will be crooked.” 

Once he added all the hair, the remaining twist down her back took him no time. 

“Can I tell you h-”

“No,” She quickly cut him off. 

He held a hand over her shoulder and pinched his fingers together. 

Rayven handed him the hair tie off her wrist. He flicked the finished product over her wings and shoulder. The smooth braid was perfect. No pieces awkwardly pulled her scalp like when she would do it on herself. 

“Are you ready?” He handed her jacket over. 

“I guess.” 

Rahne wiggled and expanded to move them into Velaris. To take her and Cassian, she had to really stretch. They were the largest she ever moved. 

Azriel was outside on the steps of the Town House. He wore the same attire as his brother. Sleek in his normal black, minus the leathers.

Rayven wished the shadowsinger looked his normal bored, but he was absolutely simmering. His shadows flickered like steam coming off him. 

Rahne took off to meet Azriel’s shadows but one must have warned her against it because she returned to her master in a stumble. 

Anger, Rahne said. 

Yes, I picked that up. 

Please don't be pissed. She said in his mind. 

Pissed is not the right word. He sent back. 

He opened the door for her and Cassian, glaring as Cassian passed the threshold. 

Inside the Town House, Rhys was the first one to greet them. 

He was in his fancy lord shirt. A black tunic with silver threading. He dressed wonderfully, but his face looked sad.

She wished he looked pissed like Azriel, or carefully disinterested like Cassian. 

But when he and Cassian shared a look that Cassian quickly ducked she knew Rhys had gotten the debrief. Rhys didn't start shouting at her, though. He just opened his arms for her to walk into.

How did it go? She hadn't thought to ask Cassian.  

We'll talk about it later, his voice was calm in her head. 

Cassian attempted one last joke before they had to go in. “How old are you now?”

“It doesn't matter,” She mumbled, pressing into Rhys’ hug. 

“Seventy-four,” Azriel said. 

We’ll be in and out. Promise. 

She gave a small shake letting the nerves flick off her wings. 

Rhys pressed a kiss into her hair. 

“Happy birthday, Rayven.”

[positivelyruined]

Hey there Christmas Buddy!

It's your secret Santa back again! I had a quick question about what you're looking for. A little birdie told me you have a headcanon that Tamlin wears glasses...is this the type of thing you would like to see in your gift?

For fanart and fanfiction, are there any particular headcanons or character descriptions you lean towards? What vibe are you looking for, overall?

Alright that'll be all for this one! No pressure in answering right away, this one is more clarifying than anything.

And I just wanted to say thank you for answering my previous asks with such detail and thoughtfulness. I really appreciate seeing what you like about these characters and what you're looking for in this side of the fandom!

Have a great rest of your day/night!🎅🏻🎁🎄

Hi, Secret Santa! I’m so sorry for the delay. My immune system has been struggling to keep up with the absolute increase in sparkle of the season and and needed a lot of hot cocoa and rest to help it recover.

I would absolutely feel so giggly if someone paid enough attention to my blog to go through and find my Tamlin head canons. That truly says above and beyond. That is sweet as heck, in all the best ways!

To make it easier for you, here’s a few!

- Tamlin wears glasses. He needs reading glasses specifically and gets headaches from reading too long without them. Magic could have been used to correct this early on in his childhood, but his mother insisted that it was his choice to make and not his father’s. Tamlin loved his mother’s love for his otherwise perceived ‘flaw’ and never had it corrected. As a High Lord, he can manually adjust his own vision, but does still often wear glasses in the evening while reading because it reminds him of feeling loved.

- Speaking of a ‘flawed’ fae, I love when the faeries are made a bit less godlike. If a character is so invulnerable that they experience no pain or their healing is irrelevant to a story, the process of adding injury or conflict slowly begins to matter a lot less. (In my humble opinion.)

- Tamlin enjoys shape shifting into animals for comfort, fun, etc. His most commonly used form outside his beast is a bear. The size can vary. He will be seen as a tiny bear wandering the halls of the manor if there is ever a thunderstorm at night. He hates them and finds them frightening. Often, his best solution is finding Lucien and sleeping at the end of his bed, but after Lucien leaves, it’s hiding under furniture until it passes.

- His own emotions can affect the weather. That thunderstorm he’s hiding from could be a result of suppressed pain, memories, or fear.

- In addition to the fiddle, he also plays lute, flute, piano, and harp at various skill levels. However, hand him any new instrument and he’s bound to go spend a few hours alone figuring it out before excitedly sharing his findings.

- He tends to avoid things that stress him out, often by hiding in the great system of hidden rooms and passageways inside the great manor. He has a varied set of hideaways where he goes to chill out away from the courtiers. Lucien knows about sixty percent of them, but still frequently gets lost. Tamlin gave him a whistle to help them find one another. A bit, “Marco!”, “Polo!”

- Speaking of Marco Polo, Tamlin and Lucien have nicknames for one another: Koda and Kip. Koda is Tamlin and means little bear. Kip is Lucien and means little fox. They seldom use them in public. They are used in moments of great, personal significance only. Not to mention, whenever either of them can’t sleep they have a tendency to wander the grounds as a pair of (various sized) fox and bear.

- Tamlin always carries blueberries in his pockets for the ducks and birds he meets during the day.

- He may not smile much, but one smile can light his soul for weeks.

[shadowqueenjude]

Part 6 of my Feytamsand fic! (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5)

Rhysand sighed as he looked at the tray shoved through the bars of his cell. “Cheese and crackers? Really? You think I’m a mouse or something?” Rhysand shouted at the servant, who quickly scurried away. “I’m a High Lord, for Cauldron’s sake!” Rhysand yelled at the guards of his cell. One of them sneered at him. “Not anymore, you’re not. Now shut the fuck up.”

Rhysand covered his face in his hands. He supposed he should be happy he was even alive. The moment he’d finished his confession, the crowd had come to kill him. The only thing he remembered was drowning in bodies, unable to think or even breathe, before the crowd was shoved back by some magic and he was being scooped into familiar arms before he felt his body shrinking, shrinking, shrinking, to the size of a rat. “Behold, the war criminal, Rhysand!” Tamlin boomed, and the crowd cheered. “Rest assured, he shall pay for his actions.”

Then he’d been taken away, later returned to his fae body, and handcuffed, and later thrown into this cell. Tamlin had winced in sympathy, but he could do nothing to help him at this point. His duty was to his people first and foremost, and as far as the world was concerned, he was a war criminal.

Well, he was a war criminal, wasn’t he? Feyre might have committed the acts, but he had been complicit, had encouraged her to act in a malicious way. That made him equally guilty.

He hadn’t regretted it the first few months following the High Lord meeting, but when it became clear that Tamlin was helping them, saving his life and Feyre’s several times, he began to doubt.

The Spring Court citizens were innocent. Even Tamlin wasn’t a bad person. He should’ve had more faith in Tamlin; should’ve known he’d never side with a tyrant like the King of Hybern. He should’ve told Feyre to fucking check his brain. How could they have been so stupid? Sighhhhh…no point crying over spilled milk, right?

But maybe he should. This wasn’t something he could just forget overnight. He was a murderer, and the sooner he realized that the sooner he could work on bettering himself. Perhaps him losing his title was a good thing. Had he still had it, would he have even realized what a terrible person he had been?

Remorse. Truly one of the worst feelings in the world, yet one of the most powerful. Rhysand recalled the moments when he couldn’t breathe under the weight of the crowd. They were merely showing him what he had done. Who he had killed.

He hated himself. He was worse than worthless. He was a menace.

He pushed away his cheese and crackers. He didn’t deserve to eat. He didn’t deserve to live.

He didn’t know when he fell asleep, but some time later, he was shaken awake, and he had to unstick slices of cheese and crumbled bits of cracker from his face. “Yes?” he mumbled. “Get up, you fool, we need to leave quickly,” Feyre muttered to him. She tugged on his arm. “Gah, he’s too heavy. Fuck this.”

“Leave?” Rhysand blinked blearily. Feyre’s face went in and out of focus. “Where are we going?”

“We’re getting you out of here, idiot! I used my daemati magic on the guards; it won’t last forever.” She turned to Tamlin. “Can you shapeshift him?” Within moments, Rhysand was a little hamster, and Tamlin shoved him into his pocket. Ewwwwwwww. Rhysand cringed at the smell and grime of the place. What the hell was that? Leftover cake from weeks’ past? He tried to gag before it occurred to him that maybe hamsters don’t have a gag reflex. Well goddamnit. Fuck off, Tamlin. “We just need to get out of this building so that we can winnow back to Spring,” Tamlin whispered to Feyre. “I’m-not-sure-I-can-hold-this-effect-for-that-long,” Feyre grunted. Quick as lightning, Tamlin shapeshifted them all into butterflies. While it spared them from the scrutiny of the guards, who found themselves suddenly awaking from their slumber, it was achingly slow. It didn’t help that moments later, there was shouting, indicating they had noticed Rhysand’s absence. Sighhhhh. Rhysand found himself slammed against the wall, his wing bending, as guards rushed by, swatting him out of the way. He couldn’t even groan in pain. It was all he could do to follow Tamlin and Feyre, his wounded wing screaming. One guard’s eyes narrowed on them, and in a flash, his Fae magic had frozen them all in place. There was a CRACK! And a flash of light, and Feyre broke them out of their prison with her spell-breaking powers. Unfortunately, in doing so, she revealed themselves to the guard. “Guys! The prisoner is here! He is-“ Rhysand knocked him out with a solid punch to the temple. Tamlin and Feyre stared at him. “What? I was trained in Illyrian combat, you know.” Tamlin shapeshifted them into dogs this time around, and they were able to quickly bound down the rest of the hall while most of the guards had already gone to the other end of the prison to search for Rhysand. A couple of guards shouted as they ran past, but nobody tried to stop them. At last, when they jumped out of the prison and reached open air, they bounded a healthy distance away before Tamlin shapeshifted them back into themselves. The three of them stayed there for several minutes, bent over their knees, panting. “Win-now,” Tamlin gasped. He grabbed Rhysand’s hand, and Feyre reached out with her own. Together, they winnowed to the Spring Court.

They laid on the Spring Court grass for a long time. “You…you two saved me. Why? If the people find out-“ Feyre and Tamlin looked at each other like, This fucking idiot. “What?” Rhysand demanded, very much feeling the absence of his daemati powers at this point in time. “We saved you because we fucking love you,” Tamlin grumbled. “In spite of everything, perhaps because of everything. We both have too much emotional baggage with you to let you go now, especially after that self-sacrificing stunt you just pulled, idiot.” Rhysand blinked. “Do you mean…you both want to be with me?” Feyre nodded. “And we discovered our love for each other was not as dead as we’d once believed. So, we thought…why not be together? All three of us.” Rhysand blinked. “Wow…you really think this could work? With three of us?” “I think it would work better than two. It was always messy and intense with two of us; we were always missing the third person to balance us out. You dated Tamlin, and it ended badly. I dated Tamlin, and it ended badly. You married me, and it nearly ended too-“ “Wait what?” “-were it not for us coming to Tamlin. Of course, in order for this to work, you’ll have to avoid public appearances for…a while, I think.” “What am I to do, then?” Tamlin shrugged. “I could shapeshift you into a dog during the day, maybe.” “Tamlin!” Feyre yelled. “Yeah, Tamlin!” Rhysand yelled. “I would love to be a small little dove on your shoulder, not a goddamn dog!” Tamlin blinked. “You…are being serious. Of course you are.” He shook his head, smiling. “You’re really ok with this? Hiding from everyone for a long time?” “If I have to hide from the public to be with you two, I’d gladly do it every day for the rest of my life. I love you both,” Rhysand answered sincerely. Tamlin and Feyre looked at him softly, leaning onto each of his shoulders; for the first time in a long time, Rhysand was perfectly content.

[theladyofbloodshed]

It says a lot about cassian and the Ic when a lot fans love eris more then them now. He’s meant to be some giant asshole but he’s show more grace then the “heroes”. And that scene with cassian about eris men made cassian seem like even more then a douche

Eris is a good male in a bad situation doing what he has to for surivila. What do we know about Eris:

He has a reputation for cruelty

He calls Mor a slut at the HLs meeting, feeding into that reputation

He did not touch Mor, he left her in the woods

He claims to have ended the engagements because he knew she didn't want it rather than because she slept with Cassian

When he captures Feyre in his own court on Beron's order with two of his brothers, he gags her with fire but does not hurt her

He gave Rhys (and Mor) a reason to trust him enough to develop an alliance

He somehow has Keir in his pocket and gets him to delay his visit to Velaris for Mor's benefit

He helped get word to Tamlin so Lucien made it across his border and did not have a part in Jesminda's execution

He is able to keep his brothers in line with a few words

He angles his body to protect his mother

He sizes up the space between Nesta and Beron, presumably to intervene if Beron were to hurt her

He managed to capture Azriel in his woods

He has 12 smokehounds which are only bred for the elite and very rare

He knows about daemati

Tortured by his father and confesses to Cassian that he mixes truth and lies - even Feyre wonders what games Eris played UtM to survive

He is clever and never lays out all of his cards e.g. confirming with Vassa what he already suspected about Briallyn

He risks himself daily by exposing Beron's plans to the Night Court, by ensuring they help Tamlin so Beron can't press on Spring

He commands the Autumn Court forces and showed real concern over the missing soldiers

[ellievickstar]

A Court of Little Shadows (Chapet 7)

Warnings: Violence

Ship: OC x OC, Azriel x Platonic!reader

Previous Chapter: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

A/N: I know that this series is crashing and burning. So I’m going to probably take a break for this series to focus on one shots and stuff or other series. For this one I wanted to focus on the sibling relationship that is starting to bud between the reader and Az and I also wanted to ship my characters together. I do not own any SJM characters only my own thank you.

Beron shielded barely fast enough to block Feyre, but the wake singed Eris’s arm, right through the cloth. And the pale, lovely arm of Lucien’s mother.

My sentries, Mathew and I were instantly on my feet with others as we shielded my dark shadow swirling. I did not dare interfere. It was a bit back and forth but when it was settled, The other high lords were all stunned. Feyre had revealed the secret of her power.

Beron was panting so hard he looked like he might spew fire.

But Helion rubbed his jaw as he sat down once more. “I wondered where it went—that little bit. So small—like a fish missing a single scale. But I still felt whenever something brushed against that empty spot.” A smirk at Rhys. “No wonder you made her High Lady.” “I made her High Lady,” Rhys said simply, lowering his hands from my face but not leaving my side, “because I love her. Her power was the last thing I considered.”

Feyre looked to be beyond words, beyond basic feelings. Helion asked Tamlin, “You knew of her powers?”

Tamlin was only watching me and Rhys, my mate’s declaration hanging between us. “It was none of your business,” was all Tamlin said to Helion. To all of them.

“The power belongs to us. I think it is,” Beron seethed, he turned to me, “You knew, with your spies and all you knew, you pathetic piece of trash of a High Lady!” He shrieked at me, I just flinched slightly, not for show but because that child-like fear overtook me.

Azriel shattered through Beron’s shield, his fire, his defenses. Shattered through them like a stone hurled into a window, and slammed his shadows into Beron so hard he rocked back in his seat. Then that seat disintegrated into black, sparkling dust beneath him.

Leaving Beron to fall on his ass.

Glittering ebony dust drifted away on a phantom wind, staining Beron’s crimson jacket, clinging like clumps of ash to his brown hair.

“Don’t ever,” Azriel said, hands sliding into his pockets, “speak to her like that again.” I was shocked as I glanced at the shadow singer. The sudden might of Illyrian power. Why would he defend me?

Beron shot to his feet, not bothering to brush off the dust, and declared to no one in particular, “This meeting is over. I hope Hybern butchers you all.”

But Nesta rose from her chair. “This meeting is not over.”

Even Beron paused at her tone. Eris sized up the space between Nesta and his father.

She stood tall, a pillar of steel. “You are all there is,” she said to Beron, to all of us. “You are all that there is between Hybern and the end of everything that is good and decent.” She settled her stare on Beron, unflinching and fierce. “You fought against Hybern in the last war. Why do you refuse to do so now?”

Beron did not deign to answer. But he did not leave. Eris subtly motioned his brothers to sit.

Nesta marked the gesture, hesitated. As if realizing she indeed held their complete attention. That every word mattered. “You may hate us. I don’t care if you do. But I do care if you let innocents suffer and die. At least stand for them. Your people. For Hybern will make an example of them. Of all of us.”

“And you know this how?” Beron sneered.

“I went into the Cauldron,” Nesta said flatly. “It showed me his heart. He will bring down the wall, and butcher those on either side of it.”

Truth or lie, I could not tell. Nesta’s face revealed nothing. And no one dared contradict her. She looked to Kallias and Viviane. “I am sorry for the loss of those children. The loss of one is abhorrent.” She shook her head. “But beneath the wall, I witnessed children—entire families—starve to death.” She jerked her chin at me. “Were it not for my sister ... I would be among them.”

Nesta breathed again. “Too long,” Nesta said. “For too long have humans beneath the wall suffered and died while you in Prythian thrived. Not during that, queen’s reign.” She recoiled, as if hating to even speak Amarantha’s name. “But long before. If you fight for anything, fight now, to protect those you forgot. Let them know they’re not forgotten. Just this once.”

Thesan cleared his throat. “While a noble sentiment, the details of the Treaty did not demand we provide for our human neighbors. They were to be left alone. So we obeyed.” Nesta remained standing. “The past is the past. What I care about is the road ahead. What I care about is making sure no children, Fae or human, are harmed. You have been entrusted with protecting this land.” She scanned the faces around her. “How can you not fight for it?” She looked to Beron and his family as she finished. Only the Lady and Eris seemed to be considering—impressed, even, by the strange, simmering woman before them. I didn’t have the words in me—to convey what was in my heart. Cassian seemed the same.

Beron only said, “I shall consider it.” A look at his family, and they vanished. I breathed a sigh of relief. After that it was mostly questions on Feyre’s powers and my army while making other battle plans. We decided to stay at Thesan’s beautiful home to get to know the other High Lords. A few seemed me out but I looked for a particular shadow singer first.

“Why did you do it,” I asked, “Why did you defend me,” He sis not say anything. I was frustrated with the silence so i turned, wanting to leave when he suddenly said, “Because you are my High Lady,” I turned to him, “As much as Rhysand or Feyre you are my High Lady, my shadows sing and dance in your presence and it is my duty to protect you,” He answered. I didn’t know what to say so I just nodded simply at him, nodded before turning away ad leaving.

Maybe the shadow singer wasn’t so bad after all.

tag list: @moonfawnx @bankerfrog @younxii @starlit-terror @hideing @flightlesslittlebirdie @menagerofmischief @famousbasementpainter @owllover123 @bookworm-nerd6 @gigisssz @bethany-bee0128 @cityofidek

A/N I’m kind of starting to give up on this series so I’m taking a break to work on one shots and stuff. Hehe love you guys thanks for al the support so far <3

[uukipi]

some people asked for pocket sized Tamlin! here he is!!!

free to use as icons backgrounds wallpaper :D

[mmvalentine]

Pomegranate pt 5 | Feysand

Hades/ Persephone inspired AU. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6

Rhys stays up most of that night with Cassian and Amren, making battle plans. The Night Court is far north enough that they aren’t in immediate danger. The same cannot be said for the Spring Court.

Since Hybern is already in the mortal lands, they are closer to the Spring Court than Rhys’s armies. He starts them travelling that very day, and then in the evening, is back in Feyre’s room. She is in his arms almost as soon as he winnows in.

“Hello lover,” he says into her hair.

“You still haven’t slept, have you?” she asks. Rhys doesn’t answer.

“Any response from Tamlin about the Hybern attack?” he says instead.

“Just one,” Feyre replies dryly, and then pulls back enough to meet his eyes. Rhys blanches.

Feyre’s face is mottled with bruises on her chin and temple. There’s an ugly gash across her left cheek, and a small cut in her eyebrow. Rhys’s knees give slightly, and he pulls her to sit on the bed before kneeling in front of her and inspecting her face and body. There are cuts on her hands, too. “Tamlin says, how dare you side with that night court whelp over your own father,” Feyre recites. “If I say Hybern isn’t a threat then it isn’t a threat. Stupid stubborn bastard.”

“He hit you?” Rhys said. His jaw is clenched so tight Feyre can see the muscles jump. Feyre’s laugh is brittle.

“Oh no,” she says. “He never hits me himself. He just… explodes things in my vicinity. And then he panics and says I shouldn’t have been standing so close. Or pressed him after he said to stop. Once, he actually told me I should have thicker skin.”

A snarl builds in Rhys’s throat, but Feyre touches his cheek.

“I’m okay, Rhys. They’re just scratches.”

“I’ll kill him.”

“Rhys. Don’t do anything dumb. Besides, whenever he really loses it at me he usually feels so guilty that he lets me out again. You know, until he finds another reason to lock me up.”

Rhys looked up at that. “So you’re free to go?”

“He hasn’t said anything yet, but he usually waits until breakfast anyway.”

“Well fuck waiting. Just come with me tonight, leave Tamlin for Hybern.”

“And abandon my own court? Would you do it?”

She has him there. Rhys sits back on his heels and drops his forehead to her knee. “I don’t know when they’re coming,” he says. “And I can’t just leave you waiting. Not when Tamlin’s doing this shit to you.”

“Okay, then stay here,” Feyre says. He looks up at here.

“Stay with you?” he asks.

“Yeah. I never like it when you leave anyway. And you need to get some sleep. Seriously.”

He looks at her and the anguish stings his eyes like hot tears. Hybern is coming. Tamlin is hurting Feyre. She’s asking him to sleep in her bed. There are too many things to feel.

“Come on,” Feyre says gently. She tugs him off his knees. “Come to bed.”

Rhys lets her pull him up into the bed. He toes off his boots and shrugs his arms out of his jacket and shirt, sending them in to a pocket realm in case someone comes in and finds his things on the floor. Feyre blows out the candle on the table by the bed, and gets under the sheets with him. He pulls her against him, and nuzzles her face into her shoulder.

“My armies are on their way,” he says. “Hybern won’t win.”

“Sleep now, Rhysand,” Feyre whispers, and he doesn’t think he could just fall asleep when he’s wrapped around this girl in her bed, but she hums a lilting song under her breath and he does.

///

Feyre wakes Rhys early in the morning by tracing her fingertips over the contours of his face. Travels the mountains of his cheekbones and the planes of his nose. Trips over the valleys of the crease above his eyelids, and is just brushing over his lips when his fingers tighten at her waist.

“Hello you,” Feyre says softly.

Rhys’s eyes open slowly, and he loves that she is the first thing he sees in the morning. The dawn light is filtering in through Feyre’s gauzy white curtains, and catches in the loose strands of her honey-gold hair.

“Hello my favourite flower.” His voice is scratchy with sleep.

Feyre’s hands are now trailing down his bare chest, and he watches her studying his tattoos. His hands start to wander, too, and he can feel the heat of her skin through the short satin night gown that he doesn’t remember if she was wearing when he got in last night.

“What do these mean?” Feyre asks quietly. Rhys uses his ankles to tug one of Feyre’s legs between his, and strokes down her flank again.

“It’s sort of a rite of passage for Illyrian warriors,” he tells her, now swirling a finger up her arm and over the top of her bare shoulder. Her skin in contrast is creamy white and unblemished.

“Did they hurt?” she says. She’s now following the tattoos over his biceps.

“Yes,” Rhys replies, with a smile in his voice. His throat bobs. “But it was worth it to have you touching me like that.”

Feyre smacks him lightly and pulls her hands back, but Rhys grabs them and places them back on his chest. “Don’t stop,” he says.

Feyre meets his eyes then, and in the dawn light Rhys finds flecks of gold in her blue-grey stare. He circles his arms around her and pulls her closer in. “I’ll never get tired of your hands on me,” he murmurs. Feyre’s gaze drops to his mouth then, and she blushes slightly but her fingers start to move again. Cautiously at first, up his chest and over his shoulders. Rhys closes his eyes and breathes deeply while she does it. Feyre rubs a little more firmly down his arms and back up. The next pass down, she scratches lightly and a rumble stirs low in Rhys’s chest. His fingers twitch around her waist.

Feyre runs her nails up and then down his back, and now Rhys can’t keep his own hands still. He makes broad strokes over her back, too, fingertips following the line of her spine from the nape of the neck all the way down her backside. Back and forth, slow and leisurely, while Feyre’s hands slide under his hair and scrape down the back of his neck. The next time Rhys reaches Feyre’s ass, he keeps going and brushes her pussy through her underwear.

Feyre’s touch stutters, but she doesn’t make a sound. Moves her hands down his chest and over his abs, while his travel back up. And then back down.

With every pass he pushes his fingers against the growing heat of her, and on the third stroke he can feel her getting wet through the cotton. Rhys pauses, and then pushes her underwear to the side so he can feel her. When his fingers slide down the bare core of her, Feyre moans softly and it’s all Rhys needs to be rolling smoothly over her with his erection pressed firmly at her centre.

“I’m going to vanish our clothes now,” he says, an inch from her nose.

“Okay,” Feyre says breathlessly.

Rhys does so, in a moment between moving his body down and back up hers. They both breathe sharply when they find nothing separating their skin, and Rhys gets achingly hard between her legs. He holds still for a minute.

“Just a reminder that we have to be quiet,” he grits out. “Is this a terrible idea?”

“Yes,” Feyre says. She grins like sunshine through clouds. “Let’s do it anyway.” She rolls her hips beneath him and Rhys is moving again. He snaps his wings out and cocoons the both of them, as if that will help stifle sound. He puts his mouth on hers, and a second later he’s shifting between her legs and pushing against her pussy.

Feyre gasps slightly, but Rhys just kisses it from her lips as he focuses on going slow. Her breathing shallows but he’s holding his breath until he hits his hilt, and then he exhales hard against Feyre’s neck. She is so impossibly tight around him and she’s got her hands under his jaw now. He looks at her, and tries to anchor himself in her eyes as he pulls out just as slowly and then pushes back in.

“I fucking love you,” Rhys whispers to her, and then he moves again. Feyre tries to reply, but can’t form the words. She tries to hold onto his gaze but her eyes roll back as her body adjusts to the size of him and he starts to speed up. Just a little.

“It’s okay,” Rhys tells her. “I’ve got you. Keep your eyes on me.” With some effort Feyre pulls her head back up. “That’s it,” he croons, and then fucks her a little harder. Leans down to press a kiss to her lips, but doesn’t break his rhythm.

“Rhys,” Feyre gasps.

“Yeah honey?”

Feyre opens and closes her mouth, but can only manage his name again. “Rhys…”

“I know.” Rhys slides his hand between them and touches his fingers to her clit. His hips are relentless, and Feyre can’t catch her breath.

“Rhys I… oh gods I…”

“What’s that, petal?” She doesn’t know how he sounds so calm.

Rhys sits up onto his heels, and the angle deepens. He’s circling his thumb over her clit now, and Feyre’s eyes squeeze shut again.

“Open them sweetheart, please,” Rhys murmurs. He curls one hand under her thigh to bring her in closer to him. “I just want you here with me.”

Feyre forces her eyes open, but it’s so much more intense when they’re watching each other.

“I can’t,” she whimpers.

Rhys drops back down over her, and hovers his face above hers.

“It’s just me,” he whispers to her. “I’m right here.”

Feyre moves her hands to his face and somehow, with him this close, it is easier. The room fades away and his violet eyes fill her vision, and then they’re back in the field of wildflowers and they are the only things in the whole world.

“Good girl,” Rhys breathes. He moves his mouth on her nipple, then her neck, then her lips. Feyre's hands are on his ass and pulling him in further now, and he gets drunk on how much she wants him, too. Rhys watches her for a minute, then whispers in her ear. “I want you to come for me.”

And out of nowhere there it is, her climax is right behind her. Feyre holds onto Rhys more tightly as her breaths come fast and shallow, and there’s a moment she’s lost and her knees are gripping Rhys’s hips for dear life while his fingers move deftly between them and then the orgasm is bursting behind her eyelids and Rhys’s hand is clamping down over her mouth so she doesn’t make a sound.

Feyre shakes violently as the waves ebb, his wings tightening around her. Rhys takes his hand away and kisses her lips. She’s coasting on the come down when she realises Rhys has started to build his rhythm back up. He’s got his mouth at the hollow of her throat now and his hand squeezing over her breast, and before she knows it the spiral is tightening again.

“Come again honey,” Rhys says huskily.

“And you too?” Feyre asks.

“Yeah,” Rhys manages. His thumb is flicking over her nipple in time with the one over her clit. “I’ll come if you come.”

Rhys’s hips are getting erratic now and finally he is unravelling. Feyre is satisfied. She pushes her fingertips against his wings and listens to his breathing change, and then she’s floating again. She forgets to keep eye contact but at this point she can’t care about anything at all.

Rhys watches her eyes roll and her face flush. He loves her reactions to him, loves being able to watch her orgasm sneak up on her and the glorious look of almost surprise when it hits. Most of all he loves the way her pussy clenches tight around his cock when she comes, and this time when it happens he loses it and he’s right there with her, and he yells as he comes before biting down hard on his lip to keep himself quiet.

Their bodies shudder together and Rhys gathers Feyre close to him as they chase their breath. He takes in lungfuls of the scent of her and it is minutes before he finally pulls out and cleans them up with magic. Rhys has just gotten his arms back around Feyre and closed his eyes when there is a crash in the hallway outside.

Feyre sits bolt upright and looks at him with terror in her eyes. “My father,” she says.

But Rhys can hear shouting minds in the corridors. “No,” he says, sitting up more slowly. “Hybern. They're here.”

**** Happy weekend my loves! Wishing you all a wonderful day xx

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @philosophorumaurum02 @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen @asteria-of-mars @fandomstalker27 @realbookloverproblems @dealfea @s-tormwitch @cretaceous-therapod @whenyadoesntcutit @scatterbrainedgirl @tanvee1231

[cuquitalocita]

kids and car rides- feysand

AN: hi yes hello there- again, it’s been a hot minute since i’ve written anything so here’s something i’ve been pushing myself through for these past couple of days. this is my first time writing feysand so i’m sorry if this sucks- i have to wake up for school in... five hours... so... yeah. if there’s any typos or the plot is kinda... ?? just... cut me some slack :) anyway, hope you enjoy!

part two

~~

Feyre was going to murder her boyfriend.

No- mutilate was more like it. How and where were truly her only thoughts as she glanced around her at the full bleachers of screaming students covered in black and blue face paint. 

Dating Tamlin Hybern had been nice at first- surreal if anything. When the star lacrosse player had taken an interest in the quiet girl at the back of the class who spent her free time in an art studio, Feyre had been flattered. He had asked her out in between classes a few months ago and Feyre had managed to stutter out a blushing, yes, still reeling that the handsome blonde had even noticed her. 

But her relationship was dull and boring, lacking in color, and gods, Feyre needed to end it. 

Tamlin had dragged her to the football game, practically begging on his knees for her to come with him. Feyre had relented, not even having enough time to shower after her art class before Tamlin was picking her up. But the second they had pulled up to the school and gotten out of his truck, Tamlin had disappeared with Lucien and left her in the bleachers with nothing more than a kiss on the cheek and a promise to find her later. 

It left Feyre seeing red. The crowd raged around her as the Bats scored a touchdown, and Feyre glanced at her phone. Shit. It was seven-thirty, meaning Nesta had already left on her date with Tomas, leaving Feyre without a ride home. Elain was out with her friends, actually enjoying her Friday night as a teenage girl should, and Feyre was left alone and ready to leave. 

She had been at the game for thirty minutes, in which the sun had gone down, blanketing the sky in a twilight full of stars. Feyre would stay if only to watch them a little longer- her favorite thing to paint. But as the crowd raged again, Feyre stood up from her spot on the bleachers and began pushing her way through the crowd and back to the parking lot, ready to walk home. It was only a few miles, really, and she had her sneakers on. She could manage. 

“Feyre!” A kind voice broke through her thoughts before she was halfway through the crowd, and she turned to see the familiar face of Morrigan from French class. 

Feyre’s lips turned up into a smile at the sight of the girl and her racing heart calmed a little as Mor came closer, stopping in front of her. 

“Hey, Mor.”

“What are you doing here? I thought you hated football.” Mor’s question was innocent, lacking the judgemental tone that most people would have added on. 

“I do,” she snorted. “But Tamlin wanted me to come, so here I am.” 

Mor’s smile turned down at the mention of her boyfriend. The girl had never tried to hide her dislike for Feyre’s boyfriend, even if the two of them weren’t very close and although she should have been offended, Feyre relished in her honesty. “Either way, I’m ready to go. See you Monday, Mor.”

“Wait, do you need a ride?” Feyre smiled, shaking her head at her easy kindness. She knew she liked Mor. 

“Thanks, but it’s really fine. I only live a few miles down the road- I’ll be fine to walk. Besides, we’re not even halfway through the game. Stay.” Mor bit her lip, clearly deciding whether or not to pick a fight, but Feyre fixed her with a look that eventually had her sighing. 

“Ugh, fine. But text me when you get home. Who knows what kind of creeps are wandering around here.” Feyre nodded, squeezing Mor’s hands in thanks, and left the bleachers, stopping only when she was back in the student parking lot.  

She pulled out her phone, remembering that she came here with her boyfriend. 

>> Hey wasn’t feeling well. Getting a ride home from Nes. 

It was five minutes before he responded. 

<< sure thing- see you later babe

Feyre scoffed, shoving her phone into her back pocket. Unlike Mor, he had not asked her if she was okay and to text him when she was home safe. She had told him that Nesta had a date too- which he obviously hadn’t been paying attention to. 

Ready to start walking, Feyre patted her pockets, looking for her ID, just in case anything happened, only to find them empty. 

“Godsdamn it,” Feyre muttered under her breath, realizing she must have forgotten her wallet back on the bleachers. Turning back to the field, Feyre almost tripped on her own feet when she heard a little voice behind her say,

“That’s a bad word. And my mommy says you shouldn’t say bad words.”

 Spinning back around, she was surprised to see a little girl- no older than six staring up at her and twisting her little fingers together. Her jet black hair was pulled back into two short ponytails and Feyre swore she was one of the cutest things she had ever seen. Bewildered, Feyre stared for a moment before shaking her head. 

“Uh- yes. You’re right- I… I shouldn’t have said that. And neither should you.” The little girl just continued to look at her in silence, causing Feyre to raise her brows. Who was this girl? And why was she by herself? What kind of parent left a little girl alone at a high school at almost eight o’clock?

“What’s your name? Are you lost?” 

“My mommy says I shouldn’t talk to strangers.” At that, Feyre smiled a little bit. She bent down, putting her weight on her knees so she was eye level with the girl, and mustered up her friendliest smile. 

“That’s very smart of her. Well, how about this?” Feyre stuck her hand out to the girl who eyed it warily but didn’t back away. “My name is Feyre. I go to school here. There, now we aren’t strangers anymore.” 

The girl’s eyes widened and it was then that Feyre noticed their unique color, unlike any she had ever seen before. Her eyes were a beautiful violet, and in the reflection of the moon, she swore she could see stars in her eyes. 

The little girl took her hand, practically dwarfed from the size of Feyre’s, and she gave Feyre a small smile that had her melting just a bit. 

“My name is Thebe,” she finally said, her voice small. 

“Well Thebe, are you lost?” She nodded, looking at the ground. Feyre gently took her small hand, forcing the girl to look at her, and smiled again. She could see small tears beginning to form in the little girl’s eyes. 

“Hey, hey, don’t cry. I’ll help you get back. Who are you here with?” 

“My brother,” she responded, and Feyre clenched her teeth. What kind of brother left his little sister alone? With all the fighting she did with Nesta, Feyre knew her sister would never have left her alone in a public place, let alone at night. Once again, Feyre was seeing red. 

“Okay then. Is he at the football game?” Thebe nodded, and Feyre deduced that she must have snuck off into the crowd, bored with the game. She couldn’t say she blamed her.

Taking the girl’s hand in her own and trying not to sigh when little fingers wrapped and her own, Feyre led the little girl back to the raging football game. 

“Do you think you can show me where you were?” Thebe nodded and gripped her fingers tighter, pulling Feyre through the bleachers, using her as a shield from the crazy teenagers. 

Feyre saw Tamlin through the crowd and quickly averted her gaze, focusing back on the girl in front of her until they came to a stop on one of the bottom bleachers. It was surprisingly empty, other than being filled up with athletic bags and water bottles. 

Feyre frowned, following Thebe as she sat down next to one of the bags and pulled out a small jacket that was clearly her own. 

“Thebe, where is your brother?” It was then that the little girl pointed out to the field. “Your brother is playing?” Thebe nodded, leaning her small head on Feyre’s shoulder, her hair tickling her neck, and Feyre admitted that maybe she could stay at the game a little longer, even if she would eventually have to deal with one of the loathsome jocks. But her blood still boiled at the fact that her brother had left her alone. Gods know what could have happened to her if someone else had found her.

“Why did you let me walk you back?” Feyre wondered aloud. Thebe shrugged. 

“You’re pretty. My brother says you can always trust a girl with pretty brown hair.” Feyre blushed, the compliment warming her to her toes. 

“I think you’re pretty too Thebe,” she whispered. 

It was only then that Feyre realized how cold it had gotten. She shivered, running the free hand that wasn’t around Thebe up her arm, which was barely covered with a paint-stained t-shirt. Thebe only reached into the bag in front of her and pulled out a much larger jacket, one with the familiar school colors. She handed it to Feyre, who quickly realized it was a varsity jacket. 

“This is your brother’s jacket Thebe. I can’t-”

“He would share.” Feyre fixed her with a look which Thebe returned with a more convincing one. “Trust me- he would.” Another shiver ran through her and Feyre, sighed, relenting, and shoved her arms into the jacket, immediately warmed. 

They stayed there for a while, watching the game in silence as Thebe began to doze off on her shoulder. Feyre hid her smile as the bleachers creaked, announcing that another person was coming to sit. She looked up to see Cassian Guerra lifting himself onto the bleachers, a carefree grin on his all-too handsome face. The football player’s hair was pulled up in a bun and Feyre vaguely remembered Nesta saying something about him. She doubted it had been positive. 

Feyre remembered Tamlin mentioning how Cassian had gotten injured and was out for the season. It was cool of him to come and support his team. 

His hazel eyes glanced over the little girl next to him and he grinned. 

“Hey, Thee, I thought you were with Az. New babysitter?” Feyre scowled and the little girl seemed to brighten as she looked at Cassian- then at Feyre. 

“New friend,” was all she said, bringing a smile to both her and Cassian’s faces. It was then that he truly looked at her, and a spark of recognition flashed through his eyes. 

“Hey, you’re-”

Cassian broke off as a buzzer sounded through the stadium and the crowd erupted into cheers. He was grinning at her, and Feyre managed back a small smile as Thebe shoved her head into her shoulder. The crowd began emptying out, and Feyre turned to Cassian, meaning to ask what she should do with the little girl. Not that Feyre was too eager to part from her. But he had vanished, finding somewhere else to be, and Feyre huffed, waking the little girl. 

“Alright, I think it’s time we found your brother.” Feyre got up from the bleachers, taking the little girl down to the field where most of the players were still talking to each other and clanking helmets. “Okay, tell me when you see-”

“Rhysie!” 

Feyre’s heart dropped into her stomach as she realized who the little girl was pointing at. Because not ten feet from her, looking impossibly attractive in a way that shouldn’t be possible after sweating for two hours straight, was the bane of her existence. With his jet black hair and twin eyes to Thebe’s, he looked like a god made man. 

“Your brother is Rhysand Knight?” Feyre practically screeched at the little girl holding her hand. 

Thebe nodded excitedly as Rhysand jogged over to his little sister who had quickly abandoned Feyre’s hand and met him halfway. He scooped her up into his arms easily, the grin on his face much too gorgeous for a high school boy, and Feyre grit her teeth. 

Maybe it was just her, Feyre realized, that had to have some sort of connection with the most popular boys in school while managing to remain in the background herself. Rhysand was the captain of the football team and unsurprisingly, loved by most of the people in the school. If he wasn’t so infuriating, Feyre may have even liked him.

But from debating her points in English class to attempting to speak to her afterward, Rhysand Knight was nothing more than a massive pain in Feyre’s ass. A handsome pain, coincidentally, but Feyre refused to acknowledge that at the moment.

“Hey Thee,” he smiled, placing the girl down. “Enjoy the game?” 

It was only then that he noticed Feyre standing behind his sister. It seemed that widening eyes ran in the family, as Rhysand did the same thing his sister had as he gazed at her. 

“H-hey,” he stuttered, the sound strange coming from his usually smooth lips. “Feyre, right?” 

She awaited the inevitable words that always came after the sentence. Tamlin’s girlfriend, right? 

“From English. With Suriel?” Feyre started in place. So he had remembered her. 

But as Thebe ran up to her and tugged at her hand, Feyre ignored the flipping of her heart in her chest at his nervous smile. Instead, she nodded, her movements jerky and final as she arched an angry brow at him. 

“Did you enjoy the game?” he asked, smiling casually again. Feyre huffed. 

“I would have enjoyed it a lot more if I didn’t have to worry about something happening to your sister. I found her wandering around alone in the parking lot,” she snapped. 

Rhysand frowned, glancing at Thebe quickly before looking back at her, pinning Feyre in place with his gaze. 

“What are you talking about? I left her with Cassian and Azriel. They’re like brothers to her and they were watching her the whole time.” Feyre fixed him with a look that said they clearly weren’t and Rhysand’s gaze turned frustrated as he seemed to realize what had happened. 

He sighed, kneeling down until he was eye level with his sister who seemed to be looking everywhere but at him. The sight brought a small smile to Feyre’s face. 

“What did I say about running off Thee? And what did Mom say about talking to strangers?”

“But she said her name is Feyre, like the one you and Cass and Az talk about all the-” Rhysand cut off his sister’s rambling with a playful hand over her mouth and Feyre could have sworn she saw bits of red dotting his cheeks. She pushed away from the thought of how cute she found it. 

“Alright, I think it’s past your bedtime you little menace.” Thebe narrowed her eyes and bit at her brother’s hand, causing him to leap back with a curse, earning an instinctual laugh from Feyre. 

His gaze snapped to hers, softening at her laughing face, and his own turned into a small grin that sent her heart fluttering. 

Shit Fey, you have a boyfriend. 

Her cheeks colored as she noticed Rhysand’s gaze conspicuously running up and down her body and she realized she still had his jacket on. Feyre cursed under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear as she fumbled for the zipper on his jacket. 

“Sorry, I was freezing. Here-” 

“No!” Rhysand cut her off and the blush returned to his cheeks. “I mean- it- you look- uh, you’re just gonna be cold again. Keep it- for now.” Feyre shook her head, unzipping the jacket and handing it to him.

“I should head home anyway. Good game.” She tried for a friendly smile. She had never given him one. Feyre leaned down until she was eye level with Thebe. 

“Thanks for being my game buddy,” she whispered. Thebe beamed, throwing her arms around Feyre’s neck. She hugged the little girl back and tried not to look at Rhysand, whose gaze she could feel on the two of them. 

“Feyre, do you need a ride? I saw Tamlin leave and didn’t know...” His voice rolled over the words like midnight and Feyre shook her head. 

“Thanks but I really don’t live far-”

“It’s going to start raining soon, and I’m not letting you walk home in the dark. Just take the gesture Feyre.” He sounded exasperated, running a hand through his hair. Her eyes narrowed.

“And what, Rhysand, makes you think I want anything from you?”

“Rhys.”

“What?”

“People call me Rhys. Especially people who let me drive them home from football games.” Feyre shook her head in disbelief. 

“Gods, you’re relentless, aren’t you?”

“It’s one of my best qualities darling,” he smirked. 

And there it was, that insufferable charm that had every girl at school drooling over him. Feyre couldn’t say she blamed them, even if it did slightly annoy her. She finally smiled, reaching over to cover Thebe’s ears with her hands. 

“Only second to being a prick?” 

“If I say yes will you let me take you home?” Feyre rolled her eyes and Rhys’ grin widened, both of them knowing she had long since relented. Rhys handed Feyre his jacket and she grumbled, shoving her arms through.  

“Give me a second to find my wallet, then I’ll meet you at your car.” Rhys practically beamed in triumph, scooping his sister back up in his arms and heading back to the parking lot. Feyre loathed admitting that she watched them until they were out of her line of sight. 

She sighed. It was those damn eyes. It had to be.

And it was because of those eyes that ten minutes later, Feyre sat in the passenger seat of Rhysand Knight’s jet black ford fusion. Thebe was in the back, kicking her feet to the beat of whatever song was playing on the radio- one that Feyre couldn’t hear over the pounding of her own heart, and Feyre eyed the little girl through her side mirror so not as to look at the boy beside her. She was keenly aware of the small amount of space between them.

Rhys drove safely, unsurprisingly through their small town, and Feyre gazed out the window until Rhys cleared his throat. She turned to him. 

“So… how are you liking Bronte so far?” Feyre frowned before realizing that he was talking about the book they were reading in English. The book he had argued with her about to no end. 

“I think you know the answer to that Rhys, considering you make it your business to disagree with me.” Surprisingly, the words held no bite to them, and Rhys smiled without taking his eyes away from the road. 

“Well, darling, if you didn’t make it so easy to disagree with you, maybe I wouldn’t have to.” Feyre gaped at him and it was purely instinctual as she reached over the center console and shoved his shoulder as if they were best friends that did it all the time. Gods, what was she doing? She hated him. Maybe.

But if Rhys was surprised by her actions, he didn’t show it as he let out a laugh. Damn, that sound would be staying with her. 

“Look, I’ll give it to Catherine-”

“If this ends with any Heathcliff support I will jump out of this car Rhysand,” she cut him off, tone deadly serious. 

“No!” Thebe called from the back, causing both of the teens to laugh, catching each other's gazes before Feyre quickly looked away. She couldn’t be more grateful for how dark it was in the car so Rhys couldn’t see the blush attacking her cheeks. 

“So, what brought you to the game tonight? Not that you don’t seem like that type of girl but you… don’t seem like that type of girl.” His chuckle sent goosebumps up her arm even though she was still wearing his jacket. Feyre fidgeted her fingers and gazed down at her lap as she shrugged. 

“Uh, Tamlin asked me to come so… here I am.”

“Here you are… in my car.” Feyre sucked in a breath, glaring at Rhys from the side of her eye. The rivalry between the two athletes was no secret, and Feyre had yet to figure out where it had originated.  

“It’s not like that, Rhys. He thought I left. I had… until I ran into a certain black-haired beauty.” Feyre smiled at the side mirror where she could still see Thebe singing along to the radio. Rhys finally smiled too. 

“That’s fair. I know I can be a lot to look at once.” Feyre shoved him again, both of them laughing, and Feyre questioned when her life had turned so off-kilter. 

“Shut up, prick.” She didn’t joke with Rhysand Knight. She didn’t even talk to Rhysand Knight outside of class. So what in the gods was happening?

“Turn here,” she directed, shoving herself out of her thoughts. Rhys obeyed, moments later pulling up in front of her dark house where clearly none of her sisters were home. They sat there in silence for what seemed like eons. Just… sitting there. 

“Well-”

“I-” 

The two laughed as they cut each other off and Feyre shrugged off Rhys’ jacket, shoving it into the open athletic bag next to Thebe, who grabbed her hand before she could pull back. 

“Are you leaving?” she pouted. Feyre gave her a kind, tired smile, and nodded. 

“Sorry Thebe, it’s past my bedtime. But I’m sure I’ll see you around, yeah?” The girl nodded excitedly and Feyre almost startled back when she turned to see Rhys looking at her with a strange expression on his face. 

“What?” Rhys shook his head as if erasing the thoughts.

“Nothing… you just… surprise me.” Feyre snorted, ignoring the blush that had risen to her cheeks. 

“Yes, well, my kid whispering does tend to floor men at times.” But Rhys didn’t smile, or say anything in return, leaving Feyre to raise her brows and clear her throat. “So, I guess it’s my turn to head out.” Feyre placed her hand on the door handle before turning back to the boy next to her. “Thank you. For the ride.” 

Finally, Rhys smiled, his eyes betraying something that looked almost like… anxiety. 

“Hey, Feyre?” The car door had just shut behind her when she heard his voice again.

“Hmm?” 

“Would you want to…” Rhys scratched at the back of his neck and Feyre arched a brow. 

“Would I want to…?”

“Uh,” he cleared his throat. “Go over art notes sometime?” Feyre frowned, fully turning back around and crossing her arms in front of her body to shield herself from the night chill.

“I didn’t know you were in art.”

“Yeah uh- new class.” Feyre nodded, tapping her foot on the ground as she stared him down. Rhys stared right back, clearly unsure of what her answer could be. And she couldn’t help it as a small smile graced her face. 

“I’ll think about it,” was all she said. “Goodnight, Rhysie.” 

Feyre laughed at the sound of Rhys banging his head on the steering wheel and approached her house once more, using her phone flashlight to find the spare key Nesta had hidden somewhere. It was for that reason that she was still outside when Thebe’s little voice spoke to her brother. 

“I like her hair. With the colors. She looks like a princess.” A frown graced Feyre’s lips once more as she subtly inspected a strand of her hair, wondering what the child was talking about. Sure enough, the strands crunched under her fingertips and Feyre had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming in embarrassment.

Of course, Feyre had forgone taking a shower before going to the game. And of course, she had been using her last period of the day as a free period in the art studio. And of course, she had mistakenly dyed her hair with acrylic paint that she had now kept while being in a car relatively alone, with one of the most attractive boys in school. Not that she cared about that, of course. 

Cheeks burning, Feyre finally found the key and rushed into her empty home, wishing for nothing more than a black hole to swallow her whole in her embarrassment. 

But if only Feyre had waited; had paused for more than a moment or tried to hear over the raging sea of emotions inside of her head, she would have heard Rhys’ dazed voice speaking words she wouldn’t even conjure up in a dream. 

“Yeah. Yeah, she does.”

~~

hope you liked it :)

[cloudywriter]

i never got to say i love you - 1

~~~

A/N: heyy, so i wrote this like a month ago when i was super into reading some modern university au acotar fanfiction & then i even planned out a whole storyline but then i just kinda sat on it. but i like it so i decided i would just put it out there, i can continue it if people actually like it too.

masterlist & AO3

~~~

Feyre walked along the sidewalk leading to one of the dorm buildings of her new school, Velaris University. 

Although she was focused on lugging her single suitcase behind her as one of the wheels was broken, she couldn’t help but admire the tall impressive structures that surrounded her. She could hear the trickle of the Sidra river to her right while observing the courtyard adjoining multiple dorm buildings to her left. The courtyard was large and pristine, made of stone, with an abstract silver metal statue which stood erect in the middle loosely resembling an infinity sign. The housing units were situated around it in a semicircle.

A path winded down from the courtyard and back towards the main section of campus, organized there were the various department buildings, the cafeteria, admissions, and so on. Feyre was making her way up said path after she retrieved her student key card from the main office. 

She had just transferred from Courts Community College after she finally saved up enough money to afford tuition to VU. 

In her senior year of high school, Feyre visited the small city in which Velaris was located, Prythian, with her school on a field trip. It was on that small excursion she fell in love with the Prythian and the university it had to offer. In particular, Feyre loved the huge art district that occupied nearly a quarter of the city. 

Her family looked down upon her choice of major, art, they told her time and time again that it was impractical and her success rate in the field was microscopic. However, their comments didn’t deter her, she couldn’t imagine studying business or stem as her father suggested, it simply wasn’t for her. She wanted her life’s work to be doing what she loved even if it came with the risk of struggling financially down the road. 

Feyre finally reached the tall double glass doors of the middle building. She grabbed her ID from her jacket pocket and held it up to the scanner. The device beeps three times loudly, flashing a dot of red light. Feyre tries again with the same result. She sighs, did she get a faulty card?

“Turn it around,” a feminine voice suggests from behind her.

Feyre whipped around. There stood a young woman, likely Feyre’s same age. She was breathtakingly pretty with long, bright blonde hair that stopped below her chest and eyes that were a shade darker than honey. She was fairly tall as was Feyre and her demeanor demanded respect. She seemed sure of herself and her looks and capitalized on them. 

“The black bar on the back is only good for your dorm room door, to get in the main entrance you have to scan the front of your ID. I know, it’s weird, took me five minutes to figure it out yesterday,” the woman explained. 

Feyre gave an appreciative smile and nodded, turning her attention back to the scanner which now responded to her with a flash of green. 

“Thank you,” Feyre breathed as she opened the door and held it for the student behind her. The girl strolled through and smiled at her. “It’s no problem.” 

Feyre directed her attention to the slip of paper in her hand, failing to remember where it said her room was. Room 223, Level 3. A blonde head peered over her shoulder. 

“Room 223? You’re right next door to me!” 

Feyre offered her a smile. “Does that mean you’ll show me the way?”

The blonde looked delighted and casually looped her arm through Feyre’s as if they’d been friends for years and led her towards the elevator. This slightly alarmed Feyre, she had never had very many friends let alone pretty girl friends, usually, they weren’t all too kind to Feyre. Despite the fact that her sisters, Nesta and Elain, were rather popular. Nesta easily took on the role of the pretty mean girl, though she wasn’t outwardly mean often. She just radiated the energy and didn’t bother with most people. 

Elain, however, was friends with everybody and was sweet to all who crossed paths with her. She had almost everyone in the school wrapped around her finger, though she had no idea; from the boys who tripped over each other to open the door for her and the girls that scrambled to sit near her at lunch. 

Feyre did have one redeeming quality in high school, well, redeeming person. Her high school sweetheart was Tamlin Spring, the football team’s star quarterback. He was one of the boys in the school that the girls drooled over constantly, but somehow it was Feyre who caught his eye and it was Feyre he asked to accompany him to homecoming. You’d think this high up connection would earn her some credit but no, the girls still teased her, convincing her it had all been a dare. 

Feyre remembers, in a fit of rage and embarrassment, she stomped over to Tamlin’s locker after the last bell and confronted him. It was there he promised her that it was no prank, it was there he first kissed her. Feyre felt like they had clicked until her mother suddenly passed away from an undiagnosed illness, the death leaving an ugly, deep scar carved into Feyre’s and her family’s lives. Feyre’s life took a turn for the worse and with it so did the relationship she shared with Tamlin. 

The gentle ding of an elevator door alerted Feyre before she found herself spiraling too deep into her thoughts. 

Her leader didn’t seem to notice her brooding state as she took Feyre out and to the right, down a decently sized hall. The floor was mostly white tile with dark blue, almost purple tiles making a design down the middle; the walls were painted a light gray and littered with numerous posters. Feyre didn’t have time to read what all the papers said before the woman stopped outside a wooden door, a plate engraved with the numbers 223 to its left. 

“This is your room. I’m just next door in 225.” 

Feyre nodded. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” The girl smiled at her and then her face lit up in realization. 

“Oh, my gods! I didn’t even introduce myself!”

Feyre let loose a small smile. “I’m Feyre,” she said at last.

To her surprise, the mysterious girl pulled her into a bone-crushing hug, “I’m Morrigan, but I really just go by Mor.” Mor then pulled back, still holding Feyre at arm’s length. 

“My roommate is named Vivane by the way. We dyed her hair silver in the bathrooms last night, you can’t miss her. She’s always hanging out with her boyfriend though, so if you ever need anything don’t hesitate to come find me!” Mor offered politely. 

“Thank you.” Feyre breathed out a little sigh of relief having found my dorm without too much trouble.

A girl down the hall called Mor’s name, she muttered a quick see you later and disappeared into the herd of students and luggage. 

Luckily, Feyre managed to open the door without issue and hauled her suitcase inside. She felt a little silly walking here with such a small amount of stuff, most students had a cart full of their belongings. 

Feyre observed the room, the same white tiled floor and light gray walls as the corridor she just exited. It wasn’t ridiculously small, but it would still be a bit of a squeeze. Nothing Feyre wasn’t used to, having shared a room with her two older sisters growing up. A few boxes and bags were already scattered about on the right side of the room. It was clear her roommate had been here and left. She dropped her black, sticker ridden suitcase on the empty bed, plopping down next to it. 

Both sides of the room were identical, two tall beds held up by drawers pressed against opposing walls, two nightstands, two narrow desks situated at the ends of each bed, and one decently sized wardrobe, all made of the same light creamy wood tone. Rather flimsy-looking violet plastic chairs were also tucked into the desks. 

Feyre began to unpack her clothes into the drawers holding up her bed in an attempt to distract her growing anxiety. She pulled out her bag of art supplies and dropped it on her desk. The bag held a paint set that was on its last leg, paint brushes that were horribly frayed at the ends, both drawing and colored pencils, sad leftover eraser nubs, and her worn leather bound sketchbook. 

The door to her room opened up with a click revealing who could only be her roommate standing on the threshold.

She was on the short side and was relatively curvy. Her skin was a tanned brown and she had dark brunette curly hair that was tied up in a loose bun. They both stood observing each other for a second.

“I see you took advantage of the half-off sale at the uni shop too.” She spoke with a smile, gesturing to the identical, oversized VU sweatshirts they were both wearing over black leggings. 

Feyre returned her smile and nodded. “I’m Feyre.”

I held out my hand which she took instantly with a squeeze, “Alis.”

Feyre felt a sense of relief in Alis’s presence. She had a gentle, calming, almost motherly aura about her. Alis invited Feyre to join her for an early dinner to get to know each other.

The girls entered into a huge room adorned with the same marble looking tiles and gray paint mixed with pillars of dark brick filling the walls where windows were absent. Two of the walls were almost completely glass letting a vast amount of natural light fill the space. Above them, three huge circular lights hung from the high ceiling. Wooden tables of various sizes and the same shade of violet accent color plastic chairs neatly filled the room. Stretching along two of the walls were a number of booths to grab food. 

Feyre and Alis settled on grabbing salads from one called Sabrina’s Kitchen and snatched a table for two near one of the walls of windows. They talked about the usual, their family, where they were from, what they were studying, etc.

Feyre learned that Alis was from the town adjacent to Feyre’s own, Springlee. She used to live there with her sister, her husband, and their two boys. She only left to pursue a degree in education but missed them terribly.

Feyre gave Alis a quick rundown of her own home life, leaving out many details that came with her dysfunctional family and explained she’d transferred after two years at Courts Community, working on an art degree. Alis loved the idea of having an artist as her roommate and insisted Feyre paint pictures to decorate their dorm. 

They’d long since finished their salads but continued chatting as the cafeteria began to fill up nearer to dinner time. 

“Whoa, whoa. Don’t look now but the hottest group of guys just strolled in,” Alis gasped. 

Feyre giggled a little and rolled her eyes, she wasn’t the type of girl to fawn after hot guys anymore with her track record. She did not trust a pretty face. Alis’s eyes were transfixed behind Feyre. 

“Would you like me to grab you a napkin to clean up your drool?” Feyre poked at Alis. 

Alis playfully swatted her hand away. “Just look at them!”

Feyre huffed and turned around in her seat; she didn’t even need to ask for clarification from Alis it was clear who she was referring too. In one of the lines stood a group of three guys, she could hear them laughing and talking from her seat.

She could only see two of their faces, but that was all she needed. They all had similar shades of black or very dark brown hair and tanned complexions, not to mention how fit they all were. One’s hair was shoulder length and half was pulled back in a bun, the other two had shorter hair cut in rather nondescript styles. Though, the quietest one who had his arms crossed over his chest and only said a few words or offered a small smile every now and then had some curl in locks. The last one had his back turned to Feyre but if his backside and friends were any indication she could only assume he was equally as beautiful. 

Noticing Feyre’s prolonged glance, Alis spoke up, “who needs a napkin now?”

Feyre snapped back around and giggled. “Shut up!”

The sheer number of students piling into the room had it near overflowing as Alis and Feyre tore their eyes from the boys and walked back to their dorm. 

They sat on their beds and talked for a while more, mostly making up ridiculous ways to find out who those boys were and how to get their attention. Feyre doodled in her sketchbook while Alis suggested they break into admissions in an attempt to get some information on them, that plan quickly fell apart as she realized they’d need to know more than their faces. 

Eventually, both girls turn in for the night. 

~~~

enjoy, let me know if you want more or not!

[illyrianwingspans]

Do Not Go Gentle: when the party’s over

Link to song: when the party’s over by Billie Eilish (ma queen)

Synopsis: Feyre says fuck it. 

TW: Emotional abuse, non-con near the end, brief mention of physical abuse, dark thoughts. Please, if you're sensitive to the topics, read with caution.

Ao3 Link

Chapter 11: when the party’s over

Relapses come slowly.

They don’t happen overnight: you don’t go to sleep one evening and wake up the next morning with your brain scrambled and fried with darkness and shadows. It doesn’t hit like a wave or a bullet or blunt impact.

Relapses are like parasites. They present themselves slowly, precisely, they’re smart—they know exactly what they’re doing. Relapses know your weaknesses, your Achilles’ heels, they know which strings and blocks to pull in order to make you unravel and come crashing down. But never, never are they fast. Never are they quick and dirty. They take their time and they enjoy it as they slowly suck the life out of you and you’re let with nothing but the shell of the person you once were.

As I stared at myself in the mirror that night, I wondered how I let myself get this far. I wondered why I didn’t just leave, why I didn’t pack my things, cash my cheques, take my money and run. What was it that kept me here? Why didn’t I just…go?

In the shower, I scrubbed at myself over and over again, trying to figure out how everything had gone so wrong so quickly. Was it me? Was it my mind, prone to these slips?

Was it the man who occupied my bed?

I didn’t know. I didn’t know.

Because no matter how much I racked my brain, no matter how many times I tried to untangle this knot, all I found were more questions. More dead ends. More thoughts, darker than the rest, that were threatening to destroy me altogether.

The mirror was fogged over with condensation. Good. I didn’t want to see the finger-sized bruises peppering my neck.

Because I knew they were there. They were blue and purple and gruesome, and I’d need to cover them up for the next week. Tamlin hadn’t tried to speak to me this morning as he got dressed for work, and I pretended to be asleep. Tonight would probably be another night of unbearable, stifling silence.

But I didn’t care. It felt like somebody had poured cement in my body over night, leaving me stiff and heavy, and my head was filled with this mind-numbing static that wouldn’t go away no matter how much cold water I splashed on my face.

Because another day of silence wasn’t anything new. This silence… it was all I had anymore.

And I found that I’d grown fond of it, and began to fear the noise.

Noise, like the chime of the elevator that had me scrambling to the closet to pull on a turtleneck sweater and some leggings. Starting my day off nude in front of Alis wasn’t necessarily a good thing. She was supposed to stop by at some point today to drop off some groceries, but I didn’t expect her to be so early.

“Hey Alis—” I croaked, voice rough, as I made my way to living room, only the person in the entrance wearing a black, crisp immaculate suit definitely wasn’t Alis.

Rhysand stood in front of me, hands in his pockets, smug amusement pulling the corners of his mouth into a smirk. “Feyre, darling. Looking lovely as ever. Really love what you’ve done with your hair.”

I blinked. Seeing him here was a shock, but honestly I wouldn’t really put it past him at this point.   Crossing my arms, I sighed. “How did you get in here?”

The smirk on his face paused for a moment as his eyes shifted around my face, then settled on my eyes. He shrugged. “You weren’t very subtle when you punched the code in. And Tamlin’s not very creative. Zero three twenty-one, first day of Spring.”

I stared at him pointedly, and the smug faded away. He took in my appearance—really searched my face and wandered my body. It would’ve felt predatory, even suggestive if his face wasn’t filled with concern and sorrow.

My face filled with heat once more, and I turned around, swallowing hard. “Why are you here, Rhys.” It sounded more bored than curious. I knew why he was here, and I didn’t want to hear a word he had to say.

I didn’t need to look over my shoulder to know he’d followed me and the scraping of the chair against the floors let me know he sat at the counter bar stool. For a few moments, he was silent as I got the espresso beans from the coffee counter and fired up the machine.

“I miss you making my morning coffee. Nobody makes an Americano quite like you.”

I didn’t say anything. He goaded, “Nothing? No, ‘Thank you Rhys, I’ve missed you too’. No ‘Go to hell, Rhys’. Or my favourite, ‘You’re a prick, Rhys’.”

I stilled and closed my eyes. “Get to the point.” I didn’t have time for his wit or sarcasm. I just wanted to be alone.

His eyes practically burned into my back. I paid him no heed, though, as I poured the milk into the stainless steel steaming cup. Rhys cleared his throat, then said, “I was worried about you. After everything that happened yesterday.”

The din from the street below filled in the silence between us as I tried to find something to say. “You couldn’t have called? Texted? Something a little less invasive?”

“I called you seven times. Both last night and this morning.”

I frowned. I hadn’t checked my phone at all, too preoccupied with…

Absentmindedly, my fingers brushed the collar of my turtleneck. “I’ve been away from my phone.”

“I knew there was a reasonable explanation. But I had to see you anyway. To make sure you were okay.”

The milk steamer whined and I winced, then said over the shrieking machine, “I’m fine. Happy? You can leave now.”

“Feyre.” He sounded hurt, like he was betrayed or something that I couldn’t trust him. “Please. I’ve been searching every possible lead to find the people trying to kill you. You know the police won’t know where to start, they have no clue what happened with Isaac and James.”

Hazel eyes flashed in my mind but I shoved them away.

The bullet yesterday was a blip. I knew I should’ve but I… I just didn’t care.

“I told you Rhys. Let the police handle it, they know what they’re doing.”

“They don’t because they don’t know where to begin. You’re not listed to have any known enemies. Say, I don’t know, people who were killed in an accident at a coffee shop.”

I whirled around to him, spoon still in my hand and pointing at him accusingly. “You’re a real prick, you know that Rhys?”

Rhys stared at me, spoon raised, looking like a madwoman, and grinned. “There’s the Feyre I know and love.”

But there was this…this distraught filling my chest. Like before an earthquake when you feel the ground beginning to tremble beneath you, so infinitesimally, but enough to let you know that the whole goddamn world is falling apart. The blood in my veins froze, then thawed and boiled over until I melted, angry tears in my eyes.

Because this one interaction was probably the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in the last three months. Even with the wedding, even with the absurdities I dealt with being attached to this whole mess, this one simple conversation was more stimulating than three months living what was supposed to be my perfect life.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” he murmured, and I looked up, realizing my cheeks were wet with tears. Rhys’s face was soft as his gaze met mine. And I could tell he knew.

The ring on my finger, though, Tamlin’s words in my ear, made me snap out of it. I wasn’t supposed to talk to Rhys. I wasn’t supposed to even be in the same room with him, lest I wanted to royally piss off my finacee.

And I really couldn’t afford more nights like the last.

“Please, just get out. Leave me alone.” My voice was guttered. There was no winning not for either of us. Though Rhys had been a good friend, one of my only friends, my loyalty was to Tamlin. To the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

The thought shook me to my core.

“Feyre—”

“Get out. Now.”

Rhys didn’t waste his time and slid out of the bar stool, feet swiftly carrying him to the front entrance. I followed behind him quietly, arms crossed in front of my chest as he straightened his jacket and cleared his throat.

“One thing, Feyre,” Rhys said quietly, defeat lining the droop of his shoulders.

“What?”

“It’s Cassian’s birthday tomorrow night. He’d really like it if you came. We’re going to Rita’s at seven.”

Tamlin would never let me go. And I was in no state to go to a night club, let alone with people I didn’t know, because surely there would be plenty more with them. But the kindness in his voice, the gentle, sincere manor with which he’d said it…

“I’ll think about it.”

***

I wanted to hurt him, I realized, as I sat in the bath, filled with bubbles so I couldn’t see my body. Alis had come and gone, the only other exciting part of my day—and I realized, stuck up here with nothing to do, that I wanted to hurt him. Like he hurt me.

Even if it would make things worse. Even if it was stupid, and I was being reckless, immature, infantile, I wanted to hurt him.

If that was going out with my friends, my true friends who had been there for me, then so be it.

Because honestly, at this point, I didn’t know if there was anything else left for me. Hope had flown out the window the second that I’d pulled that trigger. The second that the bullet had whizzed past my face.

The second he’d laid his hand on me.

And I knew, because every time I took a bath, I had to hold my sponge as tightly as possible to keep my fingers from reaching into the drawer beneath the sink and resorting back to my old ways.

***

That night, Tamlin bought me soup.

Soup, and flowers, and chocolates—and remorse. It was all over his face, I could tell when he saw me in the turtle neck, and his eyes had filled with shame. Something softened in me, and I let him pull me into his arms. I let him talk, talk about nothing and everything as we ate in bed together, and he put on my favourite movie.

I let him pull my body into the warmth of his. I let him touch me, intimate in a way we hadn’t been in a while.

I almost laughed when I realized after we’d both finished that he hadn’t taken off my shirt. That it was too painful to remind him of what’d he done, last night, not ten feet away from where we laid intertwined in each other.

So, no, there was no guilt the next day as I donned my warmest pair of dressy heels and a white, thin strapped dress I could layer beneath the black turtleneck I’d worn the day before. There was no guilt as I went out and bought a gift for Cassian using my secret debit card. And there was no guilt when I texted Tamlin saying I was going to Alis’s for her nephew’s birthday party. She wasn’t going to be at reception today, and I knew that tomorrow morning when she stopped by it wouldn’t be too hard to ask her to cover for me.

When seven o’clock came around, I was getting out of the Uber, my stomach in knots as I made my way to the hostess bar and asked, “Reservation for Cassian?”

“Right this way.”

The restaurant was food by day, shots by sundown, and I could see the dance floor in the distance, currently barren. I think I’d been here once, many moons ago in my college years, way before I’d met Tamlin. I also remember puking my guts out in the bathrooms, which only brought a small smile to my face.

It terrified me with each step we took closer to the table. Knowing Cassian, there were probably two dozen people there, maybe a few gym rats, or worse, mousy bimbos—

“Here you are,” the hostess said, and pointed to the table in the corner. Booth style, not too far off the dance floor, with only…

Five people. Five people sat around the circular booth, Rhys and Cassian included—both of whom were laughing heartily at something a gorgeous, jaw-dropping blonde woman who swirled a glass of red wine in her hands.

“Feyre!” It was Cassian who first spotted me, delight in his smile as he stood from where he was at the edge of the table. “You made it!” He slid out of his seat and made forward to wrap me in a hug. I couldn’t help but laugh as his arms squeezed me.

“Jeez, you really need to come back to the gym. You feel like a twig.” He said as he set me down. I punched him in the arm, which earned me whoop and a strangely terrifying smirk of approval from the other, smaller woman with black hair.

“A twig who hasn’t forgotten how to punch,” I said, before sliding into the table beside him. Across from me, looking as immaculate as always, Rhys grinned as he brought his drink to his lips.

“Everybody, this is Feyre Archeron. Feyre, this is Azriel, Morrigan and Amren. But feel free to refer to her as Tiny One.”

“Put a muzzle on it, Cassian. Lest you want spit in your food.” Amren, the asian woman with dark hair and grey, gleaming eyes looked as though she would rather be anywhere but here. She looked like she ate blood for breakfast.

The blonde one, Morrigan, said, “These two always go on and on about you. I’m so glad we could finally meet. Honestly, they’ve been hoarding you all to themselves.”

“For good reasons.” The last one, Azriel, said, voice low and rough like midnight. As I finally took in the dark hair, tanned skin and high cheek bones, I realized that I remembered him. I didn’t know where, but his face—it was like we’d seen each other just the other day.

“You look so familiar,” I said, and Azriel’s head tilted to the side. His face betrayed no emotion, and I could tell by his stiff demeanour that he wasn’t much of a talker. It was like shadows clung to him, like he preferred it that way, blending into the background.

He shrugged, the barest movement of his shoulders. Morrigan interjected, “I mean, he does look a lot like these two idiots.”

Rhys rolled his eyes. “Mor, that’s no way to speak to the person who signs your pay check.”

“Last time I checked, Mr. Noctis, we aren’t at work. And I may address my cousin however I please.”

My brows shot up as I looked from Mor to Rhys, from Mor’s round, rosy cheeks, fair skin and nearly bleach blonde hair to Rhys’s dark, tan features. I drawled, “Cousins?”

“In the loosest possible term biologically.” Cassian supplied. “Otherwise, they were basically attached at the hip as children. And now I’m stuck with her for every holiday and celebration against my will.”

“I can always return your gift, Cassian,” Mor said sweetly before taking a glass of wine. Then she looked to me and said, “Oh, we must get Feyre a drink. Pick your poison.”

I hadn’t drank in a long while. Usually just champagne or wine at Tamlin’s work events. But it’d been a long while since I had…

“Tequila?” Was the first word that left my mouth. I didn’t know what instinct made me say the most potent of liquors, but the knot in my chest was loosening with every smile and laugh shared around the table. Tonight, I wanted to let loose. I wanted to damn tomorrow and just do this one thing for myself.

For once, Tamlin’s voice wasn’t in the back of my head with a warning. And if that wasn’t a sign…

“Ooh, I like her. We can keep her. Make it two.” Amren said, a wicked smirk on her face. I didn’t know if it pleased me or horrified me.

Cassian jostled my shoulder and gleaned, “You’re gonna drink me under the table bringing the tequila out this early, Archeron.”

The waitress interrupted us, asking for our orders, and I quickly glanced at the menu and ordered the salmon and a salad, knowing I probably wouldn’t be able to finish half of it. And, just before she left, Rhys added, “We’ll also take a round of tequila.”

The evening passed by savoringly slowly, peppered with fine food, strong drinks and conversations that had me stifling my laughter. Cassian, Azriel and Rhys recounted the times they were in the Academy training together and the foolish things they’d pulled on each other—Azriel had stolen Cassian’s clothes and forced him to run buck-naked through the dormitory courtyard—and Mor told me of all the stupidities that came with working retail as a teenager. Amren offered quips and snide comments, and chatted quietly with Rhys about matters that seemed business-related, by the look of seriousness in Rhys’s eyes. His gaze flicked to me, catching me staring at him—I looked away quickly, but not before I saw the small grin on his face.

The meal, as the exorbitant prices promised, was delicious. And as I predicted, I only managed about two thirds of it before a wave of nausea and fullness ran over me and I had to resort to pushing food around the plate for the remainder of the meal. Rhys’s eyes narrowed as the waitress took away the plate, and I looked off towards the expanse of dance floor to conceal the blush flooding my cheeks.

There was cake—was, meaning Cassian ate most of it—then more drinks. Too many, because next thing I knew Mor was laughing and screaming at the top of her lungs against the din of the pounding music, trying to entice the table into dancing with her. Azriel and Cassian immediately stood, the both of them disappearing into the amassing crowd on the dance floor, whereas Amren headed over to the bar looking for something stronger, apparently (as if the other rounds weren’t enough to knock someone as tiny as her on their asses). It left Rhys and I remaining in the booth.

He pointed to the slice of cake sitting untouched before me. “You going to finish that?”

“Hm,” I snorted, “another bite wouldn’t hurt.” The chocolate mousse melted in my mouth and I sighed. Rhys was across from me in the semi-circle, and with the noise of the club, we’d have to shout at each other all night. So I stood, cake, fork and drink balancing precariously in my hands, and slid over until I was beside him.

He looked down at me and wondered, “Didn’t feel like dancing?”

“I’ve got two left feet.” I replied before taking another bite, my eyes wandering over his seated silhouette. Tonight he hadn’t worn his usual immaculate suit, but instead opted for a black silk-like button down and black jeans, tailored to the very inch. From beneath the collar of his neck, I could see the hint of a tattoo, and my brows shot up.

“You have a tattoo?”

His fingers tugged gently at the collar of his shirt. The movement sent a draft of something sweet in the air, like citrus and jasmine. A refreshing, comforting scent that had me leaning back against the plush leather. “It’s customary for people in my culture to get these tattoos.”

“Where are you from?” I wondered, fingers wandering over to my drink (though I knew full well I should’ve been slowing down).

“Illyria,” he answered, and pointed vaguely to the dancing crowd, “as are Cassian and Azriel. My mother was Illyrian and we were raised on the reserve. My father didn’t particularly like that, thought I should’ve been in the city with him, but my mother didn’t particularly care about what my father thought.”

Sipping from my drink, I nodded politely. I’d never been to the Illyrian reserve, which was an hour or so north of the city, though heard about it here and there in the news. Mainly about land disputes and rich assholes trying to buy it out. Now, looking at Rhys, the distinctive striking features made perfect sense.

“You can stare all you want. I consider it volunteer work, letting you gawk at me so openly.”

My cheeks heated and my mouth dropped open. I scoffed, “Gods, now I know why your only friends are your employees.”

“Keep your friends close and your payroll closer.” He gave me a wink, and I rolled my eyes. My gaze wandered off to the dance floor, where I could spot Mor in the distance flailing her arms—gracefully—and swaying from side to side in her bright red, skin tight dress. Cassian and Azriel were alongside her, though Cassian’s eyes were fixed on another woman who’d fallen into step with him, a slick, seductress smile on her face. Rhys shook his head at the sight, despite his cheeky grin, and I only laughed as I took another sip.

“Why aren’t you out there with them?”

At that, Rhys also took a long sip. He opened his mouth, closed it, then finally said, “I prefer your company far more to their sweaty…” he looked over, just in time to see the woman unabashedly grinding against Cassian, “‘dancing’.”

“Glad to know I rank a step above that.” My eyebrows raised emphatically, and Rhys’s face broke into a smile. I said, “Reminds me of my college days.”

“You went to college?”

“Prythian University,” I nodded, “two years only. I was part of a sorority for a while, though.”

His mouth fell open in surprise. “Oh, Feyre darling, you must tell.”

***

The rest of the night went…easy. I wasn’t worrying. There was no impending panic. There were no fears. Part of it had been the alcohol, yes—it’d loosened what’d been wound so tight for so long—but being here, being with people, laughing with friends… My mind, despite the haze of alcohol, felt clearer than it had in days.

Talking with Rhys was easier than breathing. It started with my college days, then to his studies abroad—peppered with some particularly interesting sexual experiences in foreign countries—then moved onto how he’d met his friends, which he assured me, were family first, employees secondly. Cassian had been abandoned in the Illyrian village, left to fend for himself in an inexistent, permanently drunk foster family, and Rhys could tell by the way the boy never had a lunch at school. CPS hadn’t gotten involved because of the abhorrence that was dealing within the torrid laws regarding indigenous communities, which meant Cassian was stuck. Rhys had found Cassian shivering in the cold at recess—his family hadn’t gotten him a winter jacket—and decided to bring him home to his mother. She’d been furious at first, but Cassian returned the next day, and the day after.

The same had been for Azriel, though the details were much more vague about the man cloaked in shadows. It was a gruesome tale, being an illegitimate son, constantly berated and beaten by his parents and older brothers. He’d gotten the gnarled, scarred hands because they thought a fun experiment would be to douse Azriel’s hands in gasoline and set them on fire. When Rhys came home with another stray, this time his mother didn’t even bother with fury. Only set to buying another cot to be squeezed in next to the two other boys.

Amren, though, met Rhys much later—in his college years, after the academy. She was an upperclassmen he’d met at a bar and tried to hook up with, to which she responded by humiliatingly laughing in his face. Rhys admitted he’d never felt more undignified than when Amren was doubled over in stitches at the thoughts of sleeping with him. Yet still, they’d become fast friends, and even faster business partners. Amren was the top of her class in law school, one of the smartest people he’d ever met, and as soon as he seized control of the company, his first order of business was hiring her as his second in command and chief legal officer.

The second order was to hire Morrigan—simply Mor—as his chief experience officer. Her and Rhys’s father had been the most invested in the company being the two major shareholders, though Rhys’s father shares made Keir’s, Mor’s father, look like pennies. Mor’s childhood had been a series of parental pressure, encouraging her to be wed off to exemplary, rich suitors Keir consistently tried to set her up with. She’d been engaged to marry one of them, Eris, son of Autumn Publishing’s CEO, not of her own volition. Rhys didn’t mention any specifics, only that it’d ended horribly, and Mor had never been the same since. But she was fiery, determined, and Rhys could only describe her as his best friend (though he made me promise to never mention that to her).

At some point, Mor had to come peel Rhys and I away from the booth—despite our vehement protests—and drag us onto the dance floor. The whole lot of us were jumping, screaming at the top of our lungs, and pounding back more liquor as the night sped along. I danced with everyone (Amren compromised by allowing us to dance near where she was seated by the bar), even Rhys, whose hands had been soft and warm as they wandered down the skin of my arms and shoulders. Cassian and I shimmied, Mor and I fake tangoed, even Azriel gave me a few twirls, not before it felt like the liquor was going to come straight back up, and I had to take a seat. The plush back of the booth seemed comfier than when I’d first sat down at the beginning of the night.

“Feyre?” Cassian asked. I opened my eyes, not having realized they were closed in the first place. Exhaustion had hidden just far enough away from me to have not noticed it drenching my bones. Beads of sweat had gathered on Cassian’s forehead from all the dancing. My tongue felt limp and heavy in my mouth, and the room felt as though it was spinning.

“Yes, my good sir?” I grinned sheepishly. Cassian’s mouth fell open in amused shock.

“You’re drunk,” he chortled.

“Pfft. Am not.”

“Are too,” he said, letting out another laugh. “Dear gods. What are we going to do with you?”

“Let me have some fun!” I whined, then knocked back the rest of my glass. My fingers groped at  my throat as if they could ease the fire slithering in my chest. It burned all the way down, like I knew it would burn on its way back up—but I wanted more. This excitement, this pleasure, no matter how clouded or distorted it was, was all I had anymore.

“Let’s slow down, there, you’ve had a lot tonight.” Cassian suggested as I tried to wrench myself up from the table to get more. My butt hit the cushioned seat once more, body bouncing slightly with the impact. It made me laugh.

A laugh that slowly melted away as I took in Cassian’s sombre gaze, trained on my mouth. No, not on my mouth, I realized, but lower. My neck.

My stomach dropped. The neckline must’ve shifted, already it’d barely covered them in the first place—

Cassian’s eyes were burning when they met mine, and it was like my head was dunked into ice cold water, and I was sober in the span of a heartbeat.

“Feyre,” he breathed, and it was like the rest of the club disappeared.

I didn’t waste another second. He’d already known too much, and by some sort of miracle had kept it to himself, but this—this would ruin Tamlin and I. Quickly, I scrambled to find my bag, and pulled out my phone to call an Uber.

Only to find twenty two missed calls, and over fifty text messages from Tamlin. The earth dropped out from underneath me. My chest collapsed as I realized how horribly, horribly wrong this had all gone.

I should have never stepped foot outside the apartment. I should’ve just grinned and bared it instead of creating this steaming shit storm raining down on me.

Cassian was shouting something over the music, and I couldn’t hear him as I pressed away from the booth, heading to the club’s side door entrance where the smoker’s were. A voice called out my name, and I turned around to look over my shoulder—

To bump face first into a hard, male chest, sending me nearly teetering to the floor. When I looked up, an apology already on my tongue, every nerve in my body jumped as my eyes met Tamlin’s golden emerald ones, boring into my soul like he would shred it apart with his bare hands.

“I didn’t know Alis’s nephew was turning twenty one,” Tamlin snipped coldly, his fingers tightening around my wrist to the point of teeth-clenching pain.

“Tamlin, please. Not here. Let’s go.”

“What did you think would happen, Feyre? That I’d sit idly by as my wife was out to a child’s birthday party until one in the morning?”

“Fiancée,” I corrected seethingly, my hand slithering between us and pressing against his stomach to get him to move. “Let’s leave.”

“Feyre!” A voice called once more, only it died out right behind me. I sighed, tears pricking the corners of my eyes as I turned to see Cassian standing there, his expression one of stone cold fury as he stared Tamlin down.

Tamlin, the picture of opposition, only laughed. “I see. Alright.” He looked at me, but inclined his head to Cassian. “You came for a quick fuck?”

My face flushed with shame. I couldn’t even look at Cassian. “Tamlin, stop.”

“No, I get it. I understand. I think I have to set the record straight, though.” The only warning I had was the clenching of his fist, and it was the only warning I needed. I acted on instinct and brusquely grabbed my fiancée by his right arm to hold him back. I hate that I knew it was his preferred hand to punch with.

Tamlin whirled on me, his eyes burning with rage. His hand clutched my jaw, fingertips pressing painfully into my cheeks, and I gasped as he pushed me into the wall perpendicular to the exit door. He growled, “Stay out of this. You’ve done enough already, you fucking—”

“Let go of her!” Cassian yelled, striding towards us like he was ready to slam Tamlin through the goddamned door.

Another figure appeared in the background, the same man who’d been outside the door who only uttered, “You two. Out. Now.” Pointing to both Tamlin and I, he signalled for us to step out. Even Cassian paused at the bouncer’s presence.

And behind the bounder stood Rhys, whose eyes were filled with contempt for the man beside me. He’d lowered his hands, thank the gods—I don’t know what Rhys would’ve done if he’d found us like that. Eviscerated Tamlin, most likely.

I just wanted to go home. I wanted the silence back.

“Let’s go, Feyre,” Tamlin said, laying his hand on my shoulder. I flinched at his touch.

We stepped out the door, and I didn’t look back, though I knew their eyes were burning through me.

***

“I told you to never speak to him again.”

I said nothing. It was true. I’d explicitly gone behind his back.

“He was being friendly, Tamlin.”

“You’re not friends. Rhysand is not your friend. How many times do I have to say it to you for you to finally understand?”

He’s more of a friend than you, I wanted to spit, but there was no fire left in me. It’d been strangled out the moment his hands had clenched around my throat, bereft of the oxygen needed to keep on.

“I know you went to see him before the wedding.”

I swallowed hard. I couldn’t even look at him from where I sat perched on the edge of the bed. “You’ve been following me again?”

“Because you’ve been disobeying me.”

Disobeying. The word sliced through me. Like I was no more than his pet.

“He’s the danger, Feyre. He was involved in the operation that nearly got you killed. The day after you went to see him, the day of our wedding, that sniper nearly killed you. Don’t you see it?”

I wanted to laugh. I wanted to draw a map of Tamlin’s ignorance, of all the ways he’d went wrong—I wanted to show him his shortcomings, how foolish he was not to see that he’d dug this grave himself.

But there was nothing left within me. Only a barren of wasteland bestrewed with the ruins of the person who’d crumbled into nothing.

“I’m sorry.” The words were broken jagged pieces I offered to him with bloody hands.

He didn’t respond. Only approached me slowly, carefully, then tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. I sighed and leaned into the palm of his hand. Then he was kissing me, pushing me back onto the bed.

Mine, mine, mine—I could see the word in his eyes, feel it with every thrust of his body from behind me, hands gripping my back and pinning me to the mattress. Protect, protect, protect. We both finished, and he rolled onto his side and fell fast asleep.

I curled onto my side, wondering if the tears would ever come. They didn’t. Only silent, dry sobs I tried to stifle with my pillow.

Because I wouldn’t dare shatter the silence I’d finally found at last.