#Feysands worst nightmare come to life
Feel like Nyx would be the nephew that sneaks away to his aunt's house in the middle of the night and stay there for like a week straight because they are his favourites, and neither Eris or Nesta questions it when he shows up out of nowhere because they do love him but Feysand are so terrified of what they might say to their precious child but really, Nesta is the only one who treats Nyx like he didn't fall out of the sky and is entitled to have anything he wants.
Oh god yes
Baby Night Night has never had a god damned chance- that kid is equal, damaging parts unbelievably sheltered/spoiled and just like....trapped in a long shadow of expectation.
And his Autumn relatives don't cosset him!
Like, the first time he runs away he's like...hmmm...sixteen? Angry. And Neris are fine with anger. But that teen angst bullshit? No. They put the kid to work.
And while work is just helping Auntie Elain bake her wife a birthday cake, she makes him do the dishes. Without using his powers. Eris takes him along to meetings and makes him sit through all the boring bullshit that entails.
But- afterward, Eris explains what happened. Like they're equals. He asks what baby Night Night thinks. Auntie Em likes her cake so much she hugs him, like he's a little kid. It's nice.
It's actually...making him feel better.
And sure, Auntie Nesta is grouchy and terrifying. But she's no where near as bad as Night Night's parents make her out to be. Sure, she's using blood magic, but it's alchemy. Yes, she's really, really busy, just like Uncle Eris, probably too busy for kids like his mom says, so much so Night Night has to assume they're making time for him- which makes him feel...warm? kind of ashamed?- but she doesn't leave him alone.
She's there, and it's pretty funny to see how happy it makes Uncle Eris to listen to her complain about boring government policy.
When Night Court lackeys eventually show up thinking Nyx has been kidnapped- well, lil baby boy comes to understand a little bit why Eris and all the Aunts like how mean Auntie Nesta can be. She sends home the royal guard in tears- and then tells Nyx he can stay as long as he wants, but he has to tell his parents he's safe.
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Dark Dreams and Star Light Part 3 - Nessian
So, as promised here it is!
Links : Feysand (Part 1) and Elriel (Part 2)
PLEASE NOTE: This is an NSFW fic with trigger warnings!
I really hope you enjoy it!
The blood under his nails had hardened, turned a deep rust red as it cooled, only for a fresh layer to splash atop it, over his hands, his arms.
He shut down that part of himself that cared and felt and lived and breathed, and let the creature locked inside him take its place on the battlefield. The Illyrian Commander whose name struck fear into hearts up and down Prythian and over the sea to Hybern and the Continent. The male who none would dare call ‘a lesser fae bastard born nobody’, when he stepped into a fight and drew the blade strapped down his spine.
This was what he became when he had to fight. When he needed to protect.
The darkness he kept locked in that swirling void in his chest exploded out of its cage the second his blade had taken the first life. This was the side of himself that no one else ever saw … no one who lived to tell about it, anyway.
Thrust … block … attack.
He lost sense of self and time alike as he fought, the cuts and scrapes he gained along the way stinging for the span of a single breath before they were lost to the haze of war. His muscles began to ache, and cramp, but he had fought for days without slowing before - this was what he was good at; the one thing that he was best at. So Cassian sucked in deep, plunging breaths, willing strength to his arms, his legs, his core, his wings, letting the air flood his senses.
A beast snarled at him, racing for him. His soldiers dived out of the way, scrambling to avoid the havoc the creature wrought upon their lines. Cassian barely spared a glance towards it, the magic in the blood-red stone on the back of his hand glowing, burning, begging to be released. His lungs heaved in another breath, a whip of red snapping from him as he roared at the creature, the war, the world, and threw himself into the air.
The body of the beast lay in two halves on the battlefield floor as he soared into the skies, its blood watering the meadow it lay upon, the grass long since churned to mud as the battle raged on.
The enemy fae who could fly spotted him in seconds and gave chase, desperate to be the ones to fell the mighty Night Court Commander. Too desperate. Cassian smirked at them, that ceaseless fire within him burning hotter … hotter … hotter as he slowed to allow them closer. Allowed them to encircle him. Allowed their swords to come within a hair's breadth. Allowed himself to take in every detail of the thirty-four faces around him, before he let whatever he had left of the killing power erupt from him in a perfect ring.
Thirty-four heads thudded to the battle floor, followed by thirty-four winged bodies.
His siphons were guttered, dull, utterly empty, but he still had his swords, his smaller blades, his hands … it was enough. Cassian swept down towards the battle once more, aiming for a female decimating those of his soldiers who got too close, readying his sword and a dagger to remove her head and fracture her heart in two. But, a wingspan away, he faltered.
The scream made him falter. Her voice was barely a memory, but the sound of his name on her tongue was something he would never be able to forget.
Cassian’s wings strained as he banked sharply, hovering as he scanned the field spread out before him. A flash of red hair and he was flying before her scream could sound again. Her plea for help. His help.
He soared over the dead, the dying, the living, the barely surviving, until he caught a glimpse of red hair again, of the hazel eyes that matched his own, the slim body covered in small scars from her years of abuse, the sharp, beautiful features of her face twisted into a fear he had only seen once from her before. The day they had been separated.
“Mother!” he bellowed, a hand reaching out to grab her, to pull her up and away from the death and the pain and the terror on the ground.
“Cassian!” she cried, rare tears streaming down her cheeks.
He reached her just as a soldier did. Cassian snarled, the sound ripping from his throat, fury rippling off him in waves as the soldier slid a centimetre too close and lost his arm, and then his head. Cassian wrapped an arm around his mother’s waist, her clipped wings powerless to help her escape. He could barely breathe as he pushed up into the air, wings beating hard to tug the pair of them away from the world of death surrounding them. Usually, carrying two was a barely noticeable burden, but he had been fighting for three days now, without rest, without food, without water, and his body was screaming for him to stop.
They only just made it up to the low, grey clouds scudding across the sky in dirty streaks when a winged beast smashed into his left side. Its talons sunk deep into his skin, shredding down through flesh and muscle, sundering skin from bone as it dragged its claws down his leg from thigh to ankle.
Cassian screamed, his body shuddering, his mother screaming with him, in fury and pain, as she thumbed a dagger free from a sheath around his forearm and buried it between the creature's eyes.
The beast fell.
Cassian fought to keep them in the air, aiming for an outcrop of rock in a mountainside, blood from his wounded leg raining down on the battle below. His mother was saying something, her hands cupping his cheeks, tears again falling from those hazel eyes, but he couldn’t hear past the roar of his blood in his ears and the clash of swords below.
A group of five soldiers rose up from the ground, in arrow formation, trained and deadly, ready to take his life … and hers.
It was the thought of losing her that had him tightening his grip on his sword, the leather wrap on its hilt warm and familiar beneath his fingers. The first warrior was dead in a heartbeat, the males blood spraying across Cassian’s face and into his mouth. The second attacked in tandem with a third, his mother fighting as best she could, trying desperately to lash out with those flightless wings, trying to knock them back when he couldn’t reach them in time.
Another died by his hand, but he wasn’t fast enough to stop the male’s dagger from tearing through the delicate membrane of his mother’s wing. She screamed, and something in his chest cracked so violently he forgot how to breathe.
Distracted by stemming the blood streaming from his mothers wing, he didn't sense the attack coming from behind. Her eyes widened in warning, but neither moved fast enough to stop the dagger that went through the shoulder of the arm holding her. He fought to keep his tight grip on her waist … until his attacker twisted the blade, pushing harder.
Turning and turning the blade until bones cracked, until his arm went numb. Until she fell.
She didn’t scream. But he did.
He bellowed her name, tugging hard on whatever strength his body had left to offer. The three remaining soldiers died. Too slowly. She was still falling.
One arm limp at his side, the other reaching out for her as he tucked his wings in tight to gain speed. She was so close to the floor now, useless wings fluttering as her momentum dragged her down … down … down.
Cassian could barely see through the tears, barely breathe past the tight knot in his throat. He couldn’t lose her - not again. He needed her. Grown or not, he needed her. He wouldn’t lose her.
He was still too far away, too far to do anything but watch.
Watch as she smiled at him, as she said a final goodbye he couldn’t hear. Three small words on her lips as she fell.
As she hit the floor.
As her body shattered on impact.
As Cassian stopped breathing altogether.
And then he was gasping for air, a scream still shuddering around the corners of the room, still tangled in the shadows around him. For a second, he couldn’t remember this place, couldn’t remember the shape the walls made as they boxed him in, the colour of the curtains, the sight of his hands without the blood of thousands coating them.
But then he turned, soft cotton sheets twisting around his legs, and there she was, waiting. Not too far, not coming any closer. Watching him with those blue-grey eyes so like his High Lady’s, and yet so unlike her as well. There was no pity, no softness in that gaze for his trembling.
No. Never with her.
This was a female who wouldn’t yield a single inch unless she chose to do so. A female who had seen and suffered some of the worst life had to offer, and survived through it as best she could, all with that fire still burning in those eyes. The fire that had never dimmed. Not once in the years he had known her, had that rage-filled passion ever shown signs of faltering.
His breathing was hard and uneven, stumbling over each inhale, shivering with each exhale, as he stared back at her. And there must have been something in his expression, in the raw panic of his gaze, in the coiled tension of every muscle, because Nesta shifted an inch or two closer. Not invading his space. Not pushing too hard. She opened her arms to him, and Cassian crumbled.
Never with anyone else would he allow himself this vulnerability. But with her? With the female who had wrecked his soul and then slowly, carefully, pieced it back together again? Yes. With her, he was safe.
She didn’t ask him to talk about it. Didn’t nag at him to let her in on every little detail that had sent him screaming awake, as she let him settle against her, strong, willowy arms wrapping him tight into her embrace, her cheek resting on the crown of his head. She didn’t sway as his considerable weight leaned against her, a pillar of steel amidst his rage and his sorrow, unmoving and unbreakable.
Nesta had seen him wake from nightmares before. He had them often, as did she. Memories they both still tried to live through, moments in time they both still needed to fight back against. But tonight was worse. And he didn’t need to tell her that. She knew. As he did when she couldn’t bring herself to speak aloud what her mind had forced her to face.
When the shuddering finally subsided, when his breathing evened out and some of the strength returned to his body, Cassian reluctantly pulled back slightly. Nesta didn’t let him get far.
She pressed her lips to his forehead, his cheeks, his lips, biting his rounded ears, his neck, as she worked her way down and swallowed him whole. Cassian groaned, tumbling back onto the pillows as she slowly, steadily, wiped away the stain of the nightmare, as she tugged away the tight grip fear still had on his throat, banishing the unshed tears from his eyes. Cassian couldn’t resist twisting his fingers through the strands of gold and brown in her hair, gleaming in the moonlight as she pleasured him, as she took him down her throat, her tongue sweeping over his length.
She wasn’t gentle, but he didn’t want her to be. He wouldn’t have been able to stand softness right then - and she knew it.She worked him harder and faster. Cassian trembled as the pleasure built, his eyes never once leaving hers as she took him down her throat again. Nesta’s gaze burned a brand into him, a mark of her left on his mind and soul that he curled around as she watched the pleasure on his face.
A smirk played at the edges of her eyes as he spilled himself in her mouth with a growling moan, and she sat up, watching as he came down from the high, as he stared at her with such awe in his eyes.
He shoved himself up to sit with his legs on either side of her, her bare skin soft and marred by only a few scars. But every time he saw those scars, an anger welled up inside him that he could hardly control, a fierce need to protect - to destroy those who had inflicted such harm upon her. He ran his fingers over them one by one. He knew the story of each as well as he knew the stories of his own.
He knew the slim curving mark at the top of her arm, near her shoulder, was from a lover she had allowed to tie her down, when she was still learning how to survive, when she was still trying to find a way to cope. That male had pushed it too far, and Cassian had taken him apart for it. He knew the small line between her breasts was from a dagger that had hit when it wasn’t supposed to when she had dueled with Feyre in training. She had gone back to give her sister a matching scar the next day. And then there was the one that made him tremble with rage, the one that made him want to rip apart the world. The one that the human man’s nails had left on her waist when he had gone to tear her dress from her body. When he had done what only the lowest of humanity and fae ever did - when he had tried to force himself into her. Cassian had asked again and again for Nesta to give him permission to kill the mortal who had done that to her, but her answer was always the same ‘he’s mine’.
He understood the feeling. Some battles couldn’t be fought for you. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be there when she finally did decide to face the human, if only so he could enjoy watching her tear the man limb from limb.
Cassian kissed each scar, working his way over her body with teasing, feather-light kisses, brushing over the top of each breast until her nails were digging deep enough into his skin that she almost broke skin. Only then did he take a nipple between his teeth, rolling the other between his fingers as he tugged and sucked, her breathless moans like water in the desert. He wanted more.
His other hand slid down between her thighs and she half screamed a moan as he let two fingers circle the bundle of nerves there, almost, but never quite, touching. Playing, teasing, until she tapped his shoulder twice. At that signal, that snapping of a tether, that quiet request for more, for him to go hard, his fingers slid inside her and he pushed her onto her back. She came within a few minutes as he curled his fingers to brush over that inner pleasure centre, her back arching as it overwhelmed her. He stroked her through it all, waiting until she was settled again before leaning down to put his mouth on her.
She stopped him before he could.
“Stop playing and fuck me,” she growled, a gleam in her eyes that she only ever got when she needed him not to be gentle, when she needed the distraction as much as he did. So Cassian grinned, loving that her first words that night had been a plea for him to be inside her.
He didn’t make her wait any longer, sheathing himself inside her to the hilt, giving her only the space of a breath to adjust before he pounded into her with everything he had, balancing his speed and depth. Loving the breathless, screamed moans she gave him when he went hard and deep, and the whimpering, needy sound she made when he slowed slightly.
Her body begged for more, but her eyes demanded more. As much a queen naked beneath him among the sheets as she was in her gowns among those who had learned to fear and respect her. She had been made his equal, the bond between them undeniable.
The growing bridge between his soul and hers strengthening with every thrust he made into her. She hadn’t accepted it yet, the bond they shared, and he certainly wasn’t going to push her into doing so before she was ready. He had told her, the first time they had shared a bed all those years ago, that anything physical that existed between them would likely make it stronger, and he had been right, but she hadn’t stopped him.
He knew she could feel it now, the gleam in her eyes turning to tears as she tugged his face to hers and kissed him hard. Her lithe body tightened around him as she tipped over that edge again, his name on her lips, and he followed, slamming in deep enough to draw another moan from her.
Cassian finally stilled inside her, a thin sheen of sweat making both of them glisten in the moonlight. Quiet tears were still sliding down her cheeks as she lay beneath him, but she tightened her legs around his waist when he tried to pull away, to give her space.
“Nesta…” he murmured.
“Someone I know used to tell me that there are two things everyone should be able to say; ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘thank you’,” she took in a deep, shuddering breath and he cupped her cheek with one hand, holding his weight up with the other.
“I’m sorry, Cassian, I’m sorry I’ve waited this long to admit what you mean to me. And thank you, of all the fae the Cauldron could have paired me with, I’m glad it was you, thank you for being a friend to me these years.”
“Nes, there is no need to apologise, or to thank me. I’ve done nothing worthy of either. I once promised to protect you and … I broke that promise, I don't deserve your thanks," shame snapped through him at the admission, his eyes sliding away from the steel in hers.
“No, Cassian, there is. You have lived a life where no one ever saw you as worthy. And since we met I have done nothing but remind you of that, nothing but encourage you to believe it,” she said, her voice bitter with a self-loathing that ran deep. He knew, he understood.
"You fought for me, you were ready to die for me. You chose to sacrifice yourself to be by my side, even if that meant being ripped from your family."
“Nesta. I didn’t choose my life. But I chose you. I will always choose you.”
“I love you.”
Cassian stopped breathing.
Years. He had been waiting for years to hear those words from her. And he would have waited for centuries longer had she needed it.
“I love you, too, Nesta.” Relief shivered over her skin and he grinned, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“Feyre told me some things, about mates, and that I need to make you soup?”
Cassian smirked. “I’m not really a fan of soup, but…” he paused, scanning her face a moment, before he went on, “I can teach you how to cook an old Illyrian dish my mother used to make me…?”
A small smile curled at the edges of Nesta’s lips, changing her whole face, rearranging her expression into one he had never seen before. Her beauty was incomparable every day, but in that moment … in that moment she outshone the sun.
“Then let’s go cook … mate.” He huffed a laugh, the joy in his heart at hearing her call him that threatening to sweep him away.
“As long as there’s dessert,” he teased, rolling his hips and dragging another moan from deep in her throat.
She laughed, a sound as sweet and pure as any he'd heard, and threw her arms around his neck. Cassian carried her to the kitchen, slowly showing her the recipe from his childhood. And when he ate with her, and she smiled at him, he knew that this? This was what his mother had meant all those years ago when he had been taken from her. This was what she had meant about the paths he was walking down. Cassian twinned his fingers through Nesta’s and pressed his forehead to hers, smiling as the echo of his mother's voice wrapped around his mind.
"When you find her, son, you wait. You may choose her, but she has to choose you, too. But, Cass, when she does choose you … together you will set the world on fire. And I want you to know that no matter where your path leads you, Cassian, to whichever mate and family you find, I hope you also find joy, and wonder, and maybe even a little bit of luck along the way. I hope you allow yourself to be guided by courage and compassion and curiosity. I hope you keep your eyes and your heart open to everything life will offer you, the good and the bad alike, and that you always take the road that most are not brave enough to walk. But mostly, I hope you know that no matter which road you choose, no matter how far it carries you, no matter the mistakes you make or the obstacles you face along the way, I am always watching over you, bursting with pride, and I will always love you."
@theoceanisnotsilent @iamthebonecarverr @readingismycopingmechanism @amazinginglyawesomeperson @samayla @wild-fireheart @wolffrising @verifiefangirl @urbisie @feyrethedarklady @literary-licorice @tntwme @saltierthanbottomofapretzelbag @nightcourtstarlight @savemesoon8 @empress-sei @fancyclodpaintercookie @abraxos @abraxos-is-toothless @yourtypicalbookworn @b00kworm @sjm-things
I think next I’m probably going to write Mor or maybe reverse the rolls and do the girls with their bat boi’s!
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HOPE YOU LIKED IT!!
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How Did We Get Here?
A feysand modern AU
Warnings: This fic includes heavy topics such as depression, suicide, abuse and rape/non-con
Summary: When Feyre had looked in the mirror, she didn’t recognize the person staring back at her. The cheeks that had been full and rosy were hollow now, the skin paler than ever. The person’s ribs could be seen even through the thin, grey sweater hanging awkwardly off one shoulder. The hair, that had been brassy and shiny, was a dull, matte, brownish colour. Yet the worst of it all were the eyes. They used to be a striking blue, full of life and light and joy. The light was gone now, replaced by a never-ending nothingness.
She had become a ghost.
Rhysand was so sick of being angry all the time. Anger was the only thing he really felt these days.
Anger, and shame.He was ashamed of what had happened to him. Ashamed that he had let it go on for so long, that he couldn’t stop it. And he was angry, at everything, really.
Angry because he was ashamed, angry because he couldn’t stop it from happening, angry because he was so lost. But most of all, he was angry at her.
Feyre had no idea what she was doing. Or why she was doing it. That was the default now. For three months, she had been wandering in some aimless slumber.
She didn’t know why she had stopped eating, or getting out of bed, or why she had stopped talking to people. She just couldn’t find herself to care anymore.
Even if she spent all her time in bed, she didn’t sleep. Couldn’t sleep. There were heavy bags under her eyes. Or at least there had been the last time she could stomach her own reflection.
When Feyre had looked in the mirror, she didn’t recognize the person staring back at her. The cheeks that had been full and rosy were hollow now, the skin paler than ever. The person’s ribs could be seen even through the thin, grey sweater hanging awkwardly off one shoulder. The hair, that had been brassy and shiny, was a dull, matte, brownish colour. Yet the worst of it all were the eyes. They used to be a striking blue, full of life and light and joy. The light was gone now, replaced by a never-ending nothingness.
She had become a ghost.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
She hadn’t been able to leave him until the third time she’d ended up in the ER. She had woken up with a bruised and beaten body, only faint memories of how the injuries got there.
His eyes going dark, his hands around her neck, his fists hitting her face, her body slamming into the door, her hands around her head, her voice screaming for him to stop.
The third time it happened, she had decided it would be the last. Feyre knew she wouldn’t survive a fourth time. Even if he always apologized after. Always started crying, promising it would never happen again. That he just let his temper get the better of him, that he would change. Then he would buy her gifts. Disgustingly expensive jewelry she could barely look at. And as she forgave him, he would make love to her. He would do it so gently, kissing her with such tenderness, that she almost believed the lies he told her.
She almost believed he would change, that things would get better. Almost believed it would be like before, when they had fallen in love. He had been so sweet back then, caring and protective. Now he was only controlling and possessive.
A while after he had apologized, when Feyre had stopped being scared of her own shadow, had stopped jumping at every noise, or flinching whenever he raised his hand, it would happen again. He would come home, stressed from work, and have a little too much to drink. Then he would get angry. It was always the little things that made him angry, like a dirty plate in the sink, or that she hadn’t done the laundry that day. He would start yelling, then he would start hitting. Hours later Feyre would wake up in the ER, not knowing how she got there.
When she decided to leave him, she thought life would be like it was before. She left him because she wanted to live after all. She thought life would be like it had been before he said that he didn’t want her to see her friends anymore. They were bad influence, he had said. Then he wanted her to quit art school. She would never make it as an artist anyway, and he made enough money to provide for them. You should take care of our home, do laundry, make dinner, he had said. So she had become the perfect housewife, losing herself in the process.
After she had left, life wasn’t like it had been before. She was finally free to do what she wanted, to be what she wanted. The only problem was that she didn’t know what that was anymore. He had taken everything away from her, reducing her to nothingness. Reducing her to a ghost of who she used to be.
She never painted anymore, never talked to anyone, never laughed, never smiled. She had simply stopped living.
Feyre wanted to hate him for it, but feeling hate would imply feeling anything at all, which she didn’t, at least most of the time.
Sometimes, she would wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, breath heaving, heart thundering, feeling terrified. Terrified that he would somehow find her, would hurt her again, would lock her up.
She thought the nothingness that followed the fear was even worse. When she was afraid, she at least felt something. So when the nothingness came, Feyre certain that she would not fall asleep again, she would wander.
It was cold outside, and dark, the stars her only company as she would spend hours wandering alone, along the train tracks. Feyre didn’t know why she kept doing it, night after night. Maybe, some place deep inside her, she hoped.
Hoped that at the right moment, she would hear it coming, coming fast enough that it wouldn’t stop, not until it was too late. They wouldn’t even see her in the dark. Then the nothingness would end.
No one would miss her anyway. She hadn’t spoken to anyone but him in years. Not her friends, not her sisters. She had no one.
Feyre knew these kind of thoughts, that would crawl from the darkest depths of her mind in the middle of the night, should have scared her, but they didn’t.
Nothing did anything anymore.
So all she could do was keep wandering, keep waiting, keep hoping, that the nothingness would finally end.
Rhysand was so sick of being angry all the time. Anger was the only thing he really felt these days. Anger, and shame.
He was ashamed of what had happened to him. Ashamed that he had let it go on for so long, that he couldn’t stop it. And he was angry, at everything, really.
Angry because he was ashamed, angry because he couldn’t stop it from happening, angry because he was so lost. But most of all, he was angry at her.
In the beginning, he had been enchanted by her. By her striking beauty. The way her body curved in all the right places, the way her fiery red hair lit up the dark club, the way her full lips whispered dirty, dirty things in his ear.
It had been exciting in the beginning. She felt dangerous, but Rhys liked that about her.
Then she had begun using him. Using his body in ways he didn’t like. If he said no, she would laugh it off, telling him to stop being ridiculous, or she would get angry, movements hard and commanding, threatening to hurt the people he loved if he refused.
Rhys hated himself for letting it go on for so long. For three years of his life, she had used him, had reduced him to nothing but a body. Had done as she wanted, and taken, and taken, even if he had nothing left to give.
Some twisted part of him had even enjoyed it, if only just a little. He had moaned and groaned as she forced herself on him, as he was screaming inside. The shame of it all threatened to eat him alive.
No one knew what had happened. Rhys had just shown up on his cousin’s doorstep one day, after being away for years, his body full of small bruises and bite marks. He never gave an explanation to why he had been gone, or why he had stopped talking and laughing and smiling.
He had actually debated telling someone, had even considered reporting it, but who would believe him? He was a grown man, who had been violated by his lover. It was his own fault, for letting it happen.
Thoughts like these were what mostly fueled his anger. He knew, deep down, that nothing of this was his fault. He knew that he couldn’t have stopped it, and that she deserved to be punished. He had done nothing wrong.
Yet the destructive thinking, and the shame, the horrible, horrible shame, never left him, and he hated himself for it.
Along with the shame and anger, came the nightmares. Some nights he would wake up, his heart beating so fast it hurt, unable to breathe, still feeling the weight of her body on top of his. It was on nights like that he would wander.
Just aimlessly walking and walking with the stars looking down on him. He found it surprisingly comforting. He didn’t have to hide anything from the stars. They saw the naked truth, saw the broken, lost man looking up at them, and still they didn’t run. They didn’t run the way he was sure his family would if they ever found out what had happened.
Rhys was walking this night as well. He had decided to follow the path along the train tracks, seeing where it would lead him. The only noise around him a train in the far, far distance.
He let the darkness surround him like a blanket. Relished in the cold breeze calming his trembling body. He would probably walk until sunrise, knowing hat sleep would not come back to him. Not this night.
Closing his eyes, he stepped further away from the tracks. The train was coming closer, fast approaching. Noise getting louder and louder.
Then something caught his attention. A small sound of movement. Maybe it was an animal? The sound came from right next to him.
Rhysand opened his eyes, and saw a young woman, illuminated by the moon. She looked so small, surrounded by night and darkness. She was standing in the middle of the tracks, head thrown back, eyes closed.
His heart caught in his throat when he realized she wasn’t going to move. The sound of the train thundering towards them was almost deafening now. And the woman was standing in the middle of its path, looking as if she had left this world already.
It would be over so fast.
Feyre could hear the roaring of the approaching train. She was standing in the middle of the tracks, waiting. It would all end so fast.
All she had to do was close her eyes, and wait, so that’s what she did.
She stood there, with her eyes closed, head tipped backwards, towards the moon, and the stars, and she felt her breathing calm, every broken bit of her disappearing. It would all be over soon. She wouldn’t have to live in nothingness anymore.
A single tear rolled down her cheek, but she wasn’t sad. She was peaceful. Ready.
That tear was for the life that was lost. The life she could never get back. It was for all the good memories, all the smiles, all the joys in life. The train was so close now, the sound of it deafening.
Feyre thought back on the 22 years she had got to spend in this world. It had been a good life. At least before the end. She did have a family once. Did have people that cared about her and loved her. She did have purpose and passion. But that was something she would never get back.
She took one final breath, ready for it all to end. She could almost feel it now, the train. It would be over so soon. And then she wouldn’t have to feel nothing anymore.
Feyre was ready for death to claim her.
Then, as the train was about to hit, she felt a hand yanking her backwards before landing on a hard body, the train rushing past her.
She abruptly sat up, taking in her surroundings, before her eyes landed on the man beneath her. The one who had saved her. His eyes were searching her with a burning intensity. They were so blue they were almost violet. Dark circles marked his face too, but he was beautiful. The most beautiful man she had ever seen. Was he a god? Or maybe an angel? Some higher power must have made their paths cross at this exact moment, must have decided that this was not the night Feyre was going to die.
She had wanted to die.
Then it really hit her. Feyre had tried to end it all. She had wanted to die. But she wanted to live. She had left him because she had wanted to survive, to live, to get her life back.
A violent sob wracked through her as she was feeling for the first time in months. It was coming out all at once. She had felt nothing for so long, and now she was feeling everything. Sadness for all she’d lost, fear for almost ending it, anger for how she’d given up, hope for the future, happiness for being alive. Feyre was alive, and she was free!
The stranger, her saviour, didn’t say anything as she let it all out. As she cried, and cried, and cried. He just sat there, next to her, in silence. Feyre found it comforting. At one point, he put his jacket around her shoulders.
When Feyre had calmed down a little, she managed to push out a quiet «thank you» to the stranger. Her voice was hoarse and it cracked slightly. Those two words were the first words she’d spoken in months.
The man gave her a sad smile in response. «Do you want me to call anyone?» His voice was just as hoarse as hers, laced with a sadness she knew all too well.
Feyre used a long time contemplating his question. Who did she have to call? She didn’t have anyone left. He had made sure of that.
No, that wasn’t true. He had made her think she didn’t have anyone. Feyre felt herself get angry as the truth hit her, but she pushed it away for now, looking back at the stranger.
«My sisters, you can call my sisters.» Her voice was shaking as she said the words, more tears falling at the idea of seeing them again. Would they even want to see her?
The man sitting next to her nodded once, looking up at the sky. «I’m Rhysand, by the way.»
2 years later
Feyre woke with a start, trying to find out where she was. It was just a nightmare, she thought, trying to shake off the images of hands around her neck. Her heart was pounding, breath coming out in short gasps.
It was just a nightmare.
Her heart calmed a little as she started to recognize her surroundings, finding a sense of calmness in the dark. Then she felt someone stir behind her, a hand beginning to stroke soothing circles on her lower back. Rhys.
Feyre looked over her shoulder and met his eyes, full of concern, but also of love. She saw the question he wanted to ask, but he waited until she was ready, he always did.
When her breathing was steady, she laid back down, burying her face in Rhysand’s chest. He held her tightly, never stopped stroking her back. There was nowhere she felt safer than in his arms, surrounded by darkness and the smell of citrus, sea, and something purely Rhys.
«Do you need to talk about it?» he whispered against her hair. Feyre only shook her head, confident that she would be able to fall back asleep. It could wait until tomorrow.
They had truly come a long way since the night they’d met. He had saved her when she had wanted to end it all, when it had become too much to bear. After that night, Feyre had slowly gotten her life back. She had spent countless hours crying in a therapist’s office, had spent countless days unable to get out of bed, unable to stop the bad thoughts. Yet she never stopped fighting, and Rhys, he was there with her every step of the way, as she had been for him.
Still, it had taken a long while for them to be able to be together like this. Rhys had his own demons to battle, and they had both needed to learn how to love themselves again, before they could love one another.
Feyre often thought back on that dark period of her life. It had been a living hell, but she’d survived, and she’d come out stronger than ever. There were still days where she stayed trapped in her own thoughts, unable to escape the heaviness, but there were also days where she laughed so hard her stomach hurt, days where she got lost in her paintings, days where she talked for hours with her sisters, their bond almost healed.
She had even gone back to school, determined to get a degree, and then begin teaching others how to channel feelings through art.
And then there was Rhys. The man currently tracing soothing patterns on her back, placing featherlight kisses in her hair. Rhys, who was so patient, and loving, and selfless, and kind, and funny, and-
He was her everything, and she loved him with every bone in her body.
Rhys made her feel.
Feyre was grateful for that night, two years ago. It had led her to Rhys, after all. But most importantly, it had made her realized how much she cherished life.
And she was intent to live it to the fullest, with Rhys by her side.
Rhys kept stroking Feyre’s back even after her breath had gone calm and even, her body relaxed. It wasn’t unusual that one of them woke up from a nightmare, but it happened less over time.
He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten here, but Rhys thanked whatever gods had led him to Feyre those two years ago. She was the light of his life.
They had both needed time, in the beginning, to heal. But she’d been there with him, as he’d been for her. Two lost souls finding their path together.
The anger was gone now. Rhys had gone to therapy, and found that all the anger and shame had slowly but surely started to disappear. He would probably never fully heal, but it didn’t matter, because he had Feyre with him.
It had been the hardest thing he’d ever done, but one night, many months ago, he had whispered the words to Feyre, had told her everything. She’d listened to all of it, and when he was done, she’d wiped away his tears, before pulling him into a tight embrace, telling him that she would always love him, no matter what.
He would always love her too.
There was nothing that made him more happy than waking up next to Feyre everyday. She was a hurricane, and he loved her for it.
There was no one who made him feel more safe, more loved.
And as he lay there, with the love of his life in his arms, he truly knew it would all be okay.
As soon as I heard "Light of Love" by Florence + The Machine, I got the idea for this fic. I had originally decided to just put the idea away, thinking that it wouldn't become anything anyway, but then I started writing, and I couldn't stop, so here you go!
Take care of yourselves<3
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It's not on the prompt list but will you please do a hc for Feysand in which Feyre has a nightmare?
@dreams-of-feysand here you go dear! Hope you enjoy reading this tender Feysand moment!
- Feyre’s nightmares come in many shapes. Her sisters being murdered by Hybern and friends falling on the battlefield
- Her worst dreams happen when Rhysand is slowly killed in front of her. There is nothing she can do, but watch as he looks up with pleading eyes until he falls to the ground staring emptily at her as death claims him
- It is then that she roars to the sky. Her howl of pain echoing yet unheard among the dead bodies of her loved ones
- Suddenly she is pulled from her nightmare by a pair of strong arms that clutch her tight to a firm chest
- Rhysand whispers in her ear ‘it’s all a dream’, ‘you’re safe Feyre’, “I’m here here love’
- Feyre struggles to steady her breathing as she realizes that a battlefield no longer surrounds and instead she rests on silk sheets of the large bed.
- Rhysand rubs circles in Feyre’s back as her hands tremble between their bodies.
- “Everyone was dead,” Feyre pants out. “You were-”
- Her voice cracks and she breaks down as tears flow down her cheeks
- Feyre presses her face against Rhysand’s chest as she tries to control her sobs. Wet stains now
-Wet stains now decorate Rhysand’s night shirt, but he couldn’t care less as he silently waves a hand above their bodies.
- He cloaks the room in absolute darkness. A blanket of shadows rests over them and Feyre finds comfort as her mate’s powers fill the entire bedroom.
- When her cries have quieted Feyre takes a deep breath of Rhysand’s scent until her heartbeat slows its frantic pace.
- Rhysand waits for Feyre to explain her nightmare and continues to rub her back as she describes the dreadful dream.
- By the time she finishes Feyre feels far better than she did minutes ago when in the clutches of her frightening slumber.
- Rhysand is quick to fill the silence. He tells his mate - his dearest friend - that he will always be by her side. That nothing could tear them apart and that they will have the peace they’ve worked so hard for. A peace they have sacrificed so much to obtain.
- His fingers are running through her hair at this point. Feyre relaxes into the touch and sighs as Rhysand places a kiss to the top of her head.
- They’ll always have this moment of tranquil quiet amid a darkness where the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court find comfort.
- Feyre gives Rhysand a kiss on the corner of his lips. A thank-you that means everything. Thanking him for being there when she needed him through the worst and best times of her life.
- As Feyre closes her eyes to sleep Rhysand sends her images down their shared bond. A dream of the future they both desire where they smile among their friends and growing family.
- A smile forms on Feyre’s face as the last image of Rhysand teaching their son to fly crosses her mind before she succumbs to sleep.
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Did you hate Rhysand in the last book?!! Whyyhhhhh
Well...that’s one tough question, tbh. I wouldn’t say I hated him, hate is a strong word. But I DID hate the way he was written in some parts?
To me, personally, Rhysand’s character felt off for most of acowar? Not to mention OOC in some instances. I’m just--- I still loved a lot of his moments but overall...
I just cannot look past some of Rhysand’s actions in acowar, the biggest examples being his atrocious treatment of Mor (in Court of Nightmares scene and also afterwards) as well as sacrificing himself in that final battle.
When it comes to the first example, I just...that whole scene was hard to read. It was painful. And to be honest, even if I could take Rhysand’s behaviour as being (at least partially) IC - with all that “I’ve learned to operate and do things all by myself and ask no opinions of people” thing he does have going on, it still feels not entirely true to his character? The way Rhysand’s and Mor’s relationship was written in acomaf...the mutual respect...the way he did all he could to help her out and then gave her control of CoN...the fact that Rhys is a survivor of abuse himself...I just can’t see how he could do this to Mor? Even if we take into consideration that “it’s war, there are no good decisions” etc, I cannot believe he wouldn’t even allow Mor the courtesy of telling her beforehand “hey, we’re gonna make nice with your abusers now”? It’s MOR who should have control of the situation here. And that she was treated like a spoiled child - by her family no less - and that it was written as if SHE was in the wrong? I’m not okay with that. And then it was all swept under the rug because “hey, Rhys feels awful now”?
Like I said, even if we take into consideration Rhysand’s tendency to act on his own, in THIS instance, in THESE circumstances, in THIS relationship (Rhys’ with Mor) - it just felt partly ooc. And even if it wasn’t, the aftermath should still be dealt with better.
Then, we have the final battle and Rhys sacrificing himself for “the greater good”. And you may ask, how is that a bad thing? He saved everyone after all, right?
Yes, that is true. But also...he sacrificed himself, he acted KNOWING it was going to kill him and...he didn’t say anything to Feyre? He didn’t actively lie but...he withdrew vital information about his plans and thus, took the decision element out of Feyre’s hands. It just...despite his “noble” intentions, it left a bitter taste in my mouth. And again, this action has no consequences for him? Yes, he dies but he comes back to life and everyone (Feyre included) is so happy, they don’t even think to call him out on this? Feyre should be furious. Feyre might certainly be able to understand his motivations here but damn, she should be so mad.
Instead, she makes that death bargain with him. And even though it’s more of a feysand issue, it’s still an issue both with Rhysand’s and Feyre’s characterization? When it comes to Feyre, it negates all the progress she’s made in ACOMAF? And as for Rhysand, since you’ve asked about him...it just...doesn’t fit at all with what we’ve learned of him in acotar/acomaf? In ACOMAF, Rhysand got mad at the faintest mention of Feyre thinking that it would be better if she hadn’t survived/hadn’t lived. And yet here, he willingly enters into a bargain that’s going to end her life the moment he dies???
HOW. How is that what Rhysand would want?
Rhysand who, when talking to Feyre about love and Tamlin, said:
“The issues isn’t whether he loved you, it’s how much. Too much. Love can be a poison.”
“TOO MUCH. Love can be a POISON.” I. Hate. How. Ironic. That. Quote. Seems. Now.
But I’m getting off topic. And the conclusion here is...I love Rhysand’s character. I’ve taken to him immediately in ACOTAR, the moment his dramatic ass left that head on a spike in the Spring Court. And then I’ve fallen in love again when he was the only one to bet on Feyre in her first trial. Like sure, he was still written as “the bad guy” then but you could already tell he was more than just that. And that’s the character I love? ACOTAR/ACOMAF Rhysand - the one who has FLAWS, who does morally grey and questionable shit to save his family, the one who tries to make the best of the actual worst situation. The one who HELPED Feyre wield her powers and who, yeah, pushed her back to life (with the rest of the Inner Court, he didn’t do it by himself). The one who actually shared his plans with his family?
I love the potential of THIS character. He’s interesting to me. So while yes, I can admit Rhys had some good moments in acowar, overall...I hate the way he was written in that book.
So yeah, I’m gonna take my acotar/acomaf!Rhysand and then follow that up with fanon, thank you very much.
(sorry this got long, some days I have no control over my salt levels and that is actually not even one of those days)
Hope you have a nice day,
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I saw you were looking for a prompt. Could you do a feysand on where feyre has a nightmare and Rhys comforts her maybe a few years after the war with Hybern. Sorry if it's to specific xxx
I shall give it my best shot 😊~~~~~~She felt it before she heard it. A searing pain spread through her veins like wildfire, the seering pain in her back below her ribs almost causing her to collapse but she hadn't been hit. Then she heard the scream. She whipped around to where the noise had come from and found herself face to face with her worst nightmare. A strangled cry escaped Rhys lips as his knees hit the ground and she could hear the shattering of bone from across the battlefield. Feyre watched as Tamlin pulled back his extended clawed ready for a final blow, the manic grin spread across his face at the achievement but he wasn't quick enough. Feyre winnowed to where her mate was before Tamlin had the chance to strike. Pure black erupted from her hands as she let out a scream of rage at the High Lord of Spring for hurting her mate. The unexpected blow took him straight down. She didn't want him dead yet but cauldron boil her if she wasn't going to shove him into the darkest corner of their dungeons. She didn't wait to see Tamlins body hit the ground and whirled to find Rhys in a puddle if his own blood. It looked like someone had just dropped his body into red ink. Feyre pulled his body into her lap and clutched him to her chest "Rhys?"Silence."Rhys say something" Feyre begged lightly shaking his limp body but his head just lulled. The blow had hit the membrane of his wing and had done too much damage. His beautiful tanned skin had turned a sickly pale colour and his hot skin was beginning to cool. "No no no just hold on okay" But she could feel their bond beginning to weaken. Her body started rocking back and forth, her pleas for his life getting lost amongst the noise ragging around them. She tried ti feed him her blood again but it wasn't working, he couldn't swallow it. "I love you" she whispered "please don't leave me. My mate. My mate. My mate" But it was no use. The strength and power of the scream of the High Lady of Night was enough to take out more than half of their enemies. Taking them out in one large blow that spread across the battlefield. "Feyre" She screamed. "Feyre" The pain was unbearable. "Feyre wake up" the voice urged in her head. A familiar finger ran against her mental wards and she let him slip through. The hand pulled her out of the darkness and she woke up. "Its okay" Rhys whispered "Im here, Im alive" he stroked a calloused thumb down the side of her cheek, wiping away the tears. Feyre looked around the room and her body collapsed from exhaustion. Sweat dripping down her brow. The bedsheets torn and the feathers from pillows floating in the air around them. She was in the house of wind and her mate was above her. Straddling her more like. His hands pinning down her claws to prevent her from hurting herself or him. But he was alive. "You died" she gasped. A sob getting stuck in her throat "you died again" and she could hold in the sobs that racked her body. Rhys took her on his arms and held her tight to his chest so she could hear his heart "Im alive Feyre, you saved me. Im alive". Feyre let Rhys assure her he was alright and held onto him until she fell back into a more peaceful sleep.
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Love at Last
So here it is, as promised: my first fanfiction, Love at Last. I’ve never written anything in my life so I’m quite nervous to be posting this and letting you all see it, but I think it was about time I tried. I hope you all like it!
I want to thank @lovecakeandmore for her help and support (seriously, what would I be doing without you?? Not posting this, that I’m sure XD) and @feyresardothien and @sparkleywonderful for your kind words yesterday. Oh and @terlovesbooks because she’s amazing!
Love at Last is a high school AU whose characters belong to SJM’s world, not to me. You’ll find characters from both ACOTAR and ToG whose lives you’ll learn as the story progresses. Some characters might not make an appearance, such as Manon or Elide, mainly because I haven’t got as far in the real books yet and I know I’d not make a fair representation of these character’s personalities. They might appear in the future, I don’t know. The ships I’m supporting in my story are all canon: Feysand, Rowaelin, Nessian, Elucien and Morazriel.
This lesson had to be the most boring one in the history of time. They were learning something about politics, but at this point of the day she couldn't care less. She's been quite distracted lately and it probably had something to do with the hot, blond guy sitting right in front of her.
Tamlin. Her boyfriend.
Feyre couldn't believe yet how lucky she was. They have been dating for a month now, ever since that party at his house. The day of the party Elain had helped her dressed and she had looked stunning: she had worn a slinky dark-red dress with plunging neckline and thigh high split that had left little to imagination. Tamlin had been mesmerized all night and when he had finally come to talk to her (he had taken his time, looking at her from afar, making her feel like a precious object of some unreachable realm), they hadn't stopped in all night. They had laughed and talked and laughed some more and when he finally accompanied her to her house, he had kissed her. The kiss had been sweet, but also breath-taking. Just perfect.
Feyre looked at her watch. 1:55 PM. Only five more minutes, only five minutes and we can go. The teacher was talking about something, but she had long ago disconnected. Today, for lunch, she had agreed to meet Nesta, Elain and Mor in the cafeteria and she knew Nesta was going to be mad if she arrived late. But then, Nesta was always mad for one thing or the other.
She looked up to find Tamlin watching her, with his head turned. She smiled, he smiled back. I'm so lucky.
The teacher cleared her throat.
"Ms. Archeron, we all know Mr. Spring is really handsome, but can you please stop ogling him for a minute?" Feyre was about to open her mouth to protest, but the teacher continued. "I have something I'm sure you'll all want to hear, mainly because 45% of your grade depends on it. As you all know, every year, we do a final exam with all the content of the subject. This year, however, I want to try something different. I want you all to work in groups of three and prepare a whole project whose content I'll randomly divide and select for each one of you."
Feyre looked around. Most of the students were already not-so-subtly talking and making plans as to who who is going to work with who. She looked up at Tamlin again only to see him looking right back at me with his brow arched. She nodded. Of course they were going to work together. And as a third person they could choose Lucien, perhaps?
"Before you make your plans, know I'm choosing who you're working with too." With that, the bickering stopped. The teacher looked around."In fact, the groups are already done and posted on the wall in front of my office. Please, go check them right after this class to know who you are going to work with. The deadline is May 27th and today is April 20th, so you have more than a month to do it. Please, don't give me rubbish, alright? You know I have low tolerance for stupidity."
The bell rang and the students started to talk to one another again. The teacher said something like "good luck" or "goodbye", but nobody really paid attention anymore. They were all too busy rushing to go see who their next partners were going to be.
Feyre got up slowly, not really caring, because if Tamlin wasn't her partner, she didn't really care who she was working with. Unless she had to work with ... but no, she wouldn't have such bad luck. She shook her head.
"Are you okay?" asked Tamlin, coming to her, planting a little to kiss her on the cheek.
"Perfect. Let's just go see those papers to get this over with."
He smiled. "Don't be mad, it's not as if being partners means anything."
She glared at him. "I'm not mad. I just don't understand why we can't choose who we're working with. This freaking project represents 45% of our marks, we should be able to decide. It's important." She started to collect my things, putting them back into her bag as neatly as possible. When she was done he took the bag away from her, swinged it over his shoulder and winked.
"Give me that. I'm not letting my girlfriend carry anything, she’s way too pretty for that. And let's go to see the lucky bastard that gets to work with you."
When he took her bag she practically swooned. He was right, of course. Who cares who they were working with in a stupid project? They were together anyway. No matter what happened, he'd always be hers and she'd always be his.
They were talking and laughing and about to round the corner when suddenly Feyre’s worst nightmare came into view. Tamlin growled next to her.
"Why, isn't it Feyre darling and the most charming tool on Earth?" Rhysand, aka the biggest prick on the planet, looked straight at us and smirked.
"Shut up, Rhysand if you don't want to see your blood spilled on the floor."
"Always threatening, always angry ... don't you ever get bored? I would. But again, you can't compare my mind to yours I'm afraid."
At that, Tamlin jumped and he threw a punch Rhysand easily intercepted. Oh, how much she hated the prick. Tamlin leaned to throw another, but she put herself between them, stopping him.
"Enough!" She looked at Tamlin whose gaze was dark with a promise of pain and then back to Rhysand. "Just go."
Rhysand just looked at her, his violet eyes deep and intense, and shook his head. He sighed and smiled a sad smile. "This is definitely going to be an interesting experience."
Feyre was about to ask him what he meant by that, but Tamlin took hand and started walking, leaving Rhysand staring after us, his brow slightly arched. Tamlin muttered something like "leave the idiot alone" and kept walking and walking until they were out of earshot. Then he turned towards her and said, with a hatred and anger so deep it made my blood run cold, "Feyre, you are not to talk to him, am I clear?"
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I said. You. Don't. Talk. To. Him. EVER." He grasped her by the arm. Feyre winced. "Do you understand, Feyre?"
"Tamlin, you are hurting me ... "
"I asked you a question!" He growled. The pressure on her arm increased and she was afraid. There were moments when Tamlin lost control of himself, when he became so angry he looked more like an animal than like a person ... but he had never taken it out on her. He had never treated her like that before ... he had never look at her like that, with such deep possession. It was ... terrifying.
"I ... I understand. I won't talk to him. Please, let me go."
Tamlin looked at her for a few more minutes and then he nodded, easing the pressure on her arm. Tamlin closed his eyes and breathed in and out, slowly and deeply ... and then he hugged her. She stiffened.
"I'm sorry, I just ... I can't bear anything happening to you. And you know, Rhysand. He's ... unpredictable." And then he kissed her, a passionate kiss full of love and need. " I promise I won't let him hurt you." His hands went to her hair and he held her there while he kissed her again. She moaned and leaned in to deepen the kiss. They kissed and kissed, mouth against mouth, their breaths mingling into each other until they heard someone clearing his throat next to them. Tamlin growled in annoyance and looked up to find Lucien, rather flustered, looking at them.
"Hi, ehhh ... have you seen the papers? With the partners?" Lucien looked worried.
"Not yet Lucien, can't you see we're busy?" Tamlin leaned to kiss her again, shutting Lucien up, but then Lucien said, "I'm her partner."
Tamlin blinked and narrowed his gaze. "Good for you. But why do I care?"
Lucien gulped. "Because her other partner is Rhysand."
And then hell began.
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