“Nothing is ever simple. And when it is, it's rarely every worth it.”
“Nothing is ever simple. And when it is, it's rarely every worth it.”
I saw a fan art of Manon and Nesta, the drawing was beautifully done but it got me thinking and I believe that Manon would absolutely hate Nesta and would try to kill her 🤣
Chapter 16 of A Court of Light and Melody is up
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Teaser for tomorrow’s chapter on tiktok
Azriel x reader
warnings: OC death(not too descriptive), eventual smut?
word count: 1777
There will be 2-4 parts total. part 2 coming soon
It had just been an average day when I’d met Azriel. I was walking through the woods, taking the shortcut back to the small cottage I lived in with my grandmother. The first thing I noticed about him when we collided was how tall and built he was. It was frightening but also unbearably attractive. Then I noticed, looking up to his face, the beautiful color of his eyes- hazel. And they glowed golden in the sunlight. He’s beautiful, I thought. Behind him, I saw movement, and that’s when I noticed his wings.
They are magnificent, large, and as beautiful as his face. I take several paces back and continue admiring his wings. He’s fae, but that doesn’t frighten me as it should. I’m curious and step forward toward him. Now he’s the one to step back, and he cocks his head slightly as though confused or thoughtful.
I try again to take a step forward. He doesn’t move. I step again, and this time, looking up into his eyes, I reach out a hand to his wings. Quick as a fly, he grips my wrist and growls. That has me tensing, oops, I think. But when I look back into his eyes, they don’t look as angry as I feared. I relax slightly and try to pull my wrist back.
He lets go and asks, “What are you doing in the woods?” Now he does sound angry.
What gives him the right to be angry at me, I think, and say, “walking.”
“It’s not safe out here,” he says, “you shouldn’t be walking by yourself”
“Oh, really? I walk this path every day. I’ve never encountered anything dangerous.”
“Before today,” he responds, indicating himself.
“Are you threatening to harm me if I walk this path again?”
“No. There are dangerous things other than just me out here.”
“Well I don’t think you’re very dangerous at all,” I say, sticking out my chin.
“I’m very dangerous,” he sounds defensive now. It makes me laugh, and he furrows his brow at that, “what?” he asks. It makes me laugh harder, and I push forward, walking past him. “Don’t just walk away from me,” he grumbles behind me, “I’m very dangerous.”
He followed me home that day, but I didn’t mind. When I stood feet from the door to my house, I felt his presence fading and turned around. He wasn’t there. He was shooting into the air, and I assumed I’d never see him again, but that didn’t stop me from hoping.
Every day for the next two weeks, I searched for him on my way home, but he was never there. Then, one evening, I felt someone watching me. I was in nearly the same spot I had been when we collided weeks ago. I stopped and spun around looking, but I didn’t see him. Then, far in the distance to my left, I spotted him. Or just his hazel eyes. He was covered in shadows; it looked as though a tree was swallowing him.
As soon as our eyes connected, though, he vanished, and I was alone again. I walked the rest of the way home in confusion and slept fretfully that night. My thoughts were filled with questions and feelings I didn’t understand. I wonder about his name. I want to see him again. I want to touch him too. I want to know why he disappeared and what he was doing on that trail. Mostly, I want to know what his lips taste like.
I’ve been kissed many times before. Some were sloppy. Others fine. And a few were even good. I’d never done anything more intimate than kissing, but this male made me question what exactly I’d let him do to me if he tried.
Several more days pass before I sense him watching me again. This time I don’t look for him -afraid I’ll scare him away. I just stop in my tracks and speak to the space in front of me, “you never told me your name.” Seconds pass, and there’s no response.
I’m about to walk away when I hear from behind me, “Azriel.”
I turn to find him standing feet away from me on the path, “Azriel,” I repeat.
Why are you watching me?” I take a step toward him.
“What’s in the basket?” he asks, avoiding the question and my eyes.
“Cookies for my grandmother. They're her favorite. Chocolate chip. Do you want one?” I ask the last bit, sticking my hand into the basket and pulling out a cookie, walking closer to him. I lift the cookie to his lips and watch as he takes a bite. His lips graze my fingers as he bites into the cookie.
“Delicious,” he says, grabbing my wrist, pulling it toward my lips. He stares into my eyes as he takes another bite. I swallow and try to calm myself down. When he finishes the cookie, I pull my gaze away from his face. I try, at least, but there's chocolate on his lip. Instinctively, I brush my thumb over his lip and pick up the chocolate. He sucks my thumb into his mouth, licking up all the chocolate, then releases it with a pop.
I’m faintly aware of the squeaky noise I make at his actions and the wobbling of my legs, but I just continue looking into his eyes.
“The sun’s about to set,” he says, “You probably should get home.”
And so I start walking home, and he walks by my side. When we’re mere feet from the house, again, he disappears into the sky.
This continues for many more weeks. Moments after I enter the forest, Azriel is standing next to me. Occasionally we talk, but most days, we walk in silence. And after dreaming of it plenty, and probably not thinking it through enough. I lean over and kiss him before he flys away. I had only intended to kiss his cheek, but he had been turning toward me, so the kiss had been placed on the corner of his mouth. When I skipped the few more feet to the house, I felt his eyes on my back, and a grin plastered my face.
The day following, Azriel, it seemed, decided to follow my lead. When he met me in the woods and walked me home, he stopped further from the house, this time. I turned to him, and he leaned down, placing his lips to mine. They were soft and warm. I leaned into the kiss, and when I did, his tongue darted out to lick the seam of my lips. I moan, opening my mouth for him.
His tongue swept into my mouth and gently caressed my own. The kiss was slow and gentle except where Az’s teeth nipped at my lips. My hands held onto him tightly at his shoulders while he gripped my thighs, pulling me up to him. I had never been kissed quite like this before. It was soft and hard at the same time. I felt encased in the kiss. I never wanted my lips to part from his. The way his lips, tongue, and teeth moved with mine had me moaning and wanting more.
After some time, however, Azriel pulls back. We’re both gasping for breath, foreheads pressed together, and Azriel sets me on my feet. He takes a step back, “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says, without looking directly at me, lips pulling up at the corners.
“I-” I try to respond, but he’s already pushed into the air. I walk the rest of the way home, grinning wildly, and collapse into bed that night thinking of our kiss.
The weeks that follow are similar. Some days we walk. Some we talk. And other days, we find ourselves rolling through the brush tangled in each other’s arms.
One evening Azriel does not show himself, which isn’t unusual. What is strange, however, is arriving home to find men in my house. They’re speaking to my gran and when I arrive point their questions at me.
Have you seen a fae male? Spoken to him? Fraternized with him?
“You know our laws about the fae, don’t you deary?” The man in charge asked when I’d denied all his accusatory questions.
I did, of course. My village didn’t allow any relations with the fae. And the law wasn’t just against the fae, but the people too. Since the wall fell, the village leaders made rules about interacting with fae. Anyone thought to be aiding or supporting a faerie was considered a fae fraternizer and sentenced to death. The children of the blessed didn’t dare come near our village, they’d be killed on sight.
“Yes. I’m aware. I haven’t had any relations with any fae. I’ve never even seen one.” I say as steadily as I can manage. I glance at my gran and fear I: revealed everything with the look in my eyes.
“Are you sure? There have been reports of a winged man in the area. People say they’ve seen him near this cottage. With a woman. Though no one is sure if the woman is human or not, I think she is.” He looks at me pointedly, and I want to correct his misuse of pronouns. Azriel is no mere ‘man’. I hold my tongue, though.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The man’s face lights up, and he pulls a dagger from his belt. Then a quiet voice says next to me, “it was me,” my face falls, and I look to my gran in horror. The man turns the dagger toward gran, “I met the male in the woods while picking berries. He didn’t seem to care about my wrinkled age; he’s quite old himself. I’ve-” She didn’t get to finish the sentence, though, as he struck her.
I immediately was pulled from my shock and shouted as I lunged at the man. The other men simply pulled me away. I fought at every turn, and they beat me relentlessly. They only stopped when I was bloody on the ground. Unable to move. The leader of the group knelt where my grandmother sat, crouched on the floor, weeping for me, and plunged the knife into her chest. A choked cry left my throat. The men left us lying on the floor after swearing threats. I didn’t hear any of it, though. My attention was focused on the lifeless body of my gran, inches from me. I struggled to breathe and reached out my hand for hers. She was cold, and I realized it was hours later. Then darkness came and swept me away.
i will never not be fucking mad abt the “my power is truth yet i’ve been living a lie my whole life” line from mor bc BEING CLOSETED ISN’T FUCKING LIVING A LIE. QUEER PPL DON’T OWE STRAIGHT PPL SHIT, LET ALONE COMING OUT TO THEM. being closeted bc you GENUINELY FEAR that you will be not be accepted & you may drastically upset your friend group, esp your one EXTREMELY violent guy friend who’s been visibly lusting after you for 500 fucking years despite how visibly uncomfortable it makes you, IS NOT LIVING A LIE.
ppl who say sarah janet is not homophobic! shut the FUCK up! staying closeted is something real people do to stay SAFE in dangerous situations and painting the only closeted queer character as “living a lie” for being closeted in an environment that is DEMONSTRABLY unaccepting only perpetuates the idea that being in the closet is shameful and that queer ppl OWE straights their sexuality or else they’re being deceitful. tldr FUCK sarah janet someone take away her computer.
why is there still not the slightest of updates for the acotar tv adaption. It’s been five months zxbdbfhf
Feyre kept finding herself trying to excuse him. She wasn’t the only one dying; it was him too; He was hurting, too. It didn’t change the fact that he lied. They all lied. But this isn’t like the first time he lied; that hurt, but this - it ripped her heart out. She expected nothing of him then, now she expected the best out of him.
She didn’t know how long she stood in front of his office doors. The same door she had designed specifically for him. Feyre knew Rhysand had been aware of her. She was wondering if he was going to walk out to speak with her. She took a deep breath and walked in.
When she walked in, he was leaning against his desk. She finally understood what Cassian meant when he said Rhysand had been moody. At First she thought he was just stressed with her being pregnant, and with the queens. Of course he was. Her heart broke at the thought of him being in so much pain by himself; No, she refused to let her heart get the best of her. He needed to hear this.
“Why.” Feyre said with a heavy voice. She asked him this once before. On the balcony after they made her. Then she asked him why he would save her, knowing she was asking him why he hurt her. It was almost humorous.
“I was trying to find a way to save you.” His voice broke halfway through.
Feyre hated that word ‘Try’ Everyone was always just trying with her, “I don’t care what your intentions were. You Lied to me.” She kept her voice monotone.
Rhysand turned around. Tears were streaming down his face, “I never meant to hurt you Feyre, I promise.” Feyre shook her head, and looked down, “I kept searching for a way to save you, I kept asking-”
“Asking people?” Feyre said, Rhysand eyes widened, “How many people outside of your family know, Rhysand.” Know matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t keep the disdain out of her voice. He didn’t respond.
Her heart was breaking, not only for herself but for him because she knew he was hurting. And it killed her.
“Rhysand.” she said calmly, “I know you’re hurting, but you had no right to lie to me. None of you did.”
“I know Feyre, but-”
“No,” she yelled, cutting him off again, “There is no ‘buts’ in this situation. You should have told me. Not Nesta, Rhysand. You.”
They both stood there. There was so much more Feyre wanted to say, but she could bring herself to.
“Did you sit in a circle?” she asked. Rhysand squinted her eyes. “When you voted. Tell me Rhysand,” she said his name with venom. The anger was rising, and she felt the flames boil beneath her blood. “Did you all sit in a circle while you voted if I had a right to know about me and my son dying?” With every word, she took a step forward. She now was only an inch in front of him.
She took a breath. She wouldn’t let her son feel that, and most definitely didn’t need to strain her body. Feyre wanted to slap him, she wanted to punch something. Throw something.
“You always claim I’m your equal. But this just proved that you don’t.”
“Feyre please.” he reached his hand towards her face, but she took a step back.
She knew she was hurting him; She was breaking his heart, but she wouldn’t back down. He needed to know how hurt she was. She was a Wolf, and she refused to let a Raven control her.
“Rhysand, I love you. But you need to get your shit together, or I will walk out of here and die in the woods alone.”
His eyes went wide. Feyre turned to leave the room. When she got at the door she stopped for a moment, “You broke my trust, and my heart. It’s for you to repair and for you to suffer the consequences.”
We all deserved this scene. I tried to keep this as in character as possible, but my anger just kept getting in the way. But hope you enjoyed this short one-shot. More of these will come!
AN: This is it, this is the last chapter before the epilogue! Plus there will be a few Rhys POV chapters, but otherwise… this fic is almost over. I can barely wrap my head around it. Thanks to all my lovelies :)
Three days had passed since Feyre knocked on Rhys’ door. Now she was lying in bed with him. As she had been since she’d asked him to be her boyfriend. How was she supposed to make herself get up when there was nowhere she’d rather be?
She had fallen asleep that first night in Rhys’ arms and slept fitfully for the the first time in months. Then, many hours later, she had awoken to find Rhys lazily tracing circles on her arms. While Feyre might have been content to stay there forever, the smell of bacon had caused her to lift head. Rhys had spoiled her with a breakfast in bed. Wonderful man.
After that, they had told their friends. To their immense surprise… no one was surprised. No, that wasn’t true. Everyone had been shocked—that one of them had “grown a pair and stopped moping around like a little chicken,” as Amren so eloquently put it. The frightening woman had also asked Mor if Feyre had paid up, so of course everyone now knew about the bet. Subsequently, she never wanted to speak to any of them ever again.
They had spent that day hanging out with their friends and, of course, sneaking away to have some time to themselves. Everyone gave them knowing looks, but really, Feyre and Rhys were just talking. And making out a little.
And then yesterday. Laying in bed (again), Feyre had awoken to find him watching a clip of the news. Amarantha was being carted away, as they had finally uncovered sufficient evidence to arrest her. Feyre had held Rhys’ hand as he watched the woman who had taken everything from him getting what she deserved. He had been quiet for the rest of the day.
They had fallen asleep together at Feyre’s apartment this time. Which meant five people had slept in what used to be a two-person apartment. Feyre wondered how they were supposed to fix that as she snuggled closer into Rhysand the next morning.
Rhys sighed in his sleep and tightened his grip on her. Feyre didn’t think that was something she’d ever get used to.
After several more minutes, the growling in her stomach had Feyre reluctantly unraveling herself from Rhys’ sleeping form and silently tiptoeing out the door.
Everyone else—Lucien, Mor, and Andi—was already seated at the table. Andromache was the only one who didn’t roll her eyes when Feyre entered the room with a sappy smile on her face.
“Good morning!” Feyre said cheerily.
“I think I regret this happening. Can we have mean, mopey Feyre back?” Mor asked.
Feyre scowled at her, whacked her on the arm, and sat down, stealing a piece of toast for good measure.
Andi laughed. “You two are horrible to her. For the record, I’m happy for you, Feyre.”
“Thank you, Andi.” The bright smile returned to Feyre’s face, even as Lucien muttered “kiss-ass” under his breath.
Not too much later, a half-awake Rhys shuffled into the room, blearily rubbing his eyes. “Feyre.”
Feyre smiled. “Rhys.”
“I can’t take it anymore,” Lucien muttered, and Feyre kicked him under the table.
Rhys stole a piece of his toast for this comment, and Feyre was glad to see it. For so long, Rhys had been unnecessarily jealous of her best friend, and she was elated that they were getting along.
Andi cleared her throat. “Now that everyone’s here, we have something we’d like to share.” She looked to Mor.
Mor smiled, then turned to the group. “Andromache and I are getting married.”
A heat of silence as everyone processed the news, then Feyre and Lucien both started talking at once, congratulating them and expressing their joy.
But Mor looked to Rhysand. “Rhys?”
He had a dazed expression on his face as he stood up. Rhys walked around the table, and Mor took the cue and stood as well. Then he wrapped his arms around her.
Feyre turned away to share a fond glance with Andi, and to frown at Lucien’s eye roll, trying to give them as much privacy as was possible in the tiny room. But she could hear Rhys mutter, “I’m so proud of you,” and her heart almost melted. Who knew her boyfriend was such an emotional romantic? Feyre smirked to herself.
Then Rhys turned to Andi, who stood as well. They embraced, and Feyre leaned over and patted Mor on the back, who was watching her cousin and her fiancée with a loving smile.
Once they sat back down, Rhys discreetly wiping a tear from the corner of his eye and Feyre falling in love with him ten times more for it, Mor held up hand for silence.
“We kind of mutually proposed a couple weeks ago, and we wanted to tell you then, but we’ve kind of been living in the bliss of it for a little while. And we wanted to sort a few more things out.”
Andi started speaking. “Mor has plenty of savings from the cafe, and I’ve made plenty being a lawyer. We’ve been looking for a house—”
“When?” Lucien cut in. “This wouldn’t happen to have occurred three days ago, would it?”
Feyre snorted as they both hesitantly nodded, confused.
“I told you they were up to something sketchy!” Lucien exclaimed to Feyre, who shook her head.
“Shut up and let them finish, dumbass.”
Andi laughed. “A nice big house where we can have people over, and maybe have kids in one day…”
Mor, with a fond grin on her face, finished, “And since Andi wanted to be close to her sister, we found a lovely old home between Weaver and you all. You’re going to love it. It’s not that far away, so I’ll still see you guys all the time, and I’ll keep working at the cafe, of course. When we leave, Lucien can have our room so he doesn’t have to sleep on the air mattress anymore…” Mor started ranting about what living with Andi was going to look like, with Andi butting in every so often to add a detail.
Feyre grabbed Rhys’ hand under the table, and he squeezed it, sending her a smile. Lucien tried to send her an exasperated glance, but her couldn’t keep the grin off of his face. They were all a bunch of gooey, happy people, and Feyre didn’t even care.
It was snowing outside. The ground was littered with an inch of soft, powdery snow, and it was still falling. Feyre enjoyed the weather, but she preferred more than just a little. It snowed a lot more back in Detroit.
She was headed to the guys’ townhouse after a short day’s of work. Rhys had texted her after his own time at work saying Mor and Andi were there telling Az, Cass, and Amren their news. He said Lucien had already been invited and she should come and celebrate with everyone else. Feeling she deserved a night of fun with her friends after everything, Feyre had readily agreed.
Feyre knocked on the door, then waited. Then knocked again. There was no reply.
Again, no answer.
Noticing that there was no light emitting from the windows, Feyre got an odd feeling in her gut. They were all supposed to be here. She knocked again.
Feyre reached for the handle, adrenaline pumping through her veins. Something was very wrong.
She turned the handle, finding it unlocked. Summoning her courage in one swift movement, Feyre pushed the door open, stepping inside. She carefully closed the door behind her, stepping farther into the townhouse and was met with…
The lights flashed on, illuminating her friends. Feyre didn’t think she had ever been so relieved in her entire life. There was no ambush, no kidnapping, no murder. It was just her friends throwing a surprise party. Wait, was it…?
“It’s my birthday?” Feyre asked incredulously.
Everyone burst into laughter. “I told you she wasn’t just being nice after a whole day of nothing,” Lucien said smugly. “She’s got the brain of a snail.”
“Um—I’m going to pretend I didn’t just hear that?” Feyre crossed her arms. “Oh, gods, it’s December twenty-first. I’m so stupid.”
“You can’t be mad at me and then agree with what I said,” Lucien complained.
Feyre narrowed her eyes, but before she could send a scathing retort his way, Mor cleared her throat. “Stop arguing, we’re trying to have a party here?”
Everybody laughed. To Feyre’s great joy, she saw a flashy diamond resting on Mor’s ring finger, and a lovely sapphire on Andi. She would comment on how pretty they were later.
And the arm that Azriel had around Lucien‘s waist would also need some gossip.
Cassian walked over and hugged Feyre, and she decided that her life was starting to look like the end of a sappy romance novel drawn out ten times too long and with far too many hugs.
“Hello, birthday girl.”
Feyre snorted. “I hate you people.”
It was then, looking over Cassian’s shoulder as he had her wrapped in a bear hug, that she noticed Tarquin. Her eyes widened as Cassian let go.
He grinned. “Happy birthday, Feyre. Rhys invited me. I hope you don’t mind.”
That was the last thing Feyre had expected to hear. Rhys… had invited… Tarquin?
She sent Rhys an incredulous glance, then turned back to Tarquin. “Of course I don’t mind. Come here.” Feyre beckoned him over for a hug.
And so it went. Once Feyre had hugged every single person in the room, even wrangling Amren over and somehow managing not to be skinned alive, alcohol was brought out. This was Feyre’s type of party.
At one point, she stood next to Rhys, who had earlier given her a birthday kiss along with their hug, much to everyone’s amusement. She said, “You invited Tarquin. You. Invited. Tarquin. Who the fuck are you and where is my boyfriend?”
Rhys gasped in mock horror. “You think it so hard for me to be civilized? If you must know, I knew you two her close, and I thought you would want him here.”
Feyre leaned against him. “I love you.”
“I love you more, darling.”
Rhys just grinned at her. Then his grin turned into a slight wince. “Sorry about how this happened, by the way. I opted for a slightly-less-of-a-surprise surprise party, but Mor was adamant.”
Feyre knew what he meant. He had noticed how frightened she had been before she realized that everyone was safe. “Don’t apologize for that. I think it’s going to be a long while before I feel safe again.”
Rhys nodded in understanding. That was one of Feyre’s favorite things about Rhys. He always understood.
The rest of the party was a blur of alcohol and laughter and insults. By the time they were through, Feyre was a bit more than tipsy. Mor, Andi, and Lu headed back to the apartment. Feyre went with Rhys to his room, ignoring the smirk from Cassian. Oh, and the comment he decided was appropriate to say as well: “Don’t forget, I live here too. Try to keep it down. And be safe!”
Rhys had to drag Feyre up the stairs after that, deciding—rather unreasonably—that punching Cassian would not be a good idea. Azriel, the little shit, had been no help during that encounter. And Tarquin and Amren were already gone.
As soon as Rhys closed the door, Feyre, in her slightly drunken haze, was upon him. He chuckled lightly against Feyre’s mouth as she attacked him, kissing him ferociously.
Rhys spun her around slowly and gently backed her against the wall. For a moment, Feyre was reminded of when Tamlin had shoved her into the wall once upon a time; but for one, she had never mentioned that to Rhys, and two, she was enjoying this far too much to be scared.
Rhys’ hands slid down to her thighs and Feyre arched her back against the wall, a needy whine leaving her mouth. Then, for some fucking reason, Rhys let go of her and stepped back.
“What are you doing?” Feyre asked, pouting.
Rhys smirked. “For one thing, you’re drunk, Feyre Archeron. The first time I fuck you I want you sober enough to remember every detail.” Feyre licked her lips. “And for another thing, there are people in this house. I don’t want anyone around to hear you scream.”
Feyre was almost panting, just from the words. “I bet they won’t mind,” she pleaded faintly.
Rhys chuckled. “Sorry, darling.”
“Then can we just do some little things? Like some kissing and some boob stuff?” Maybe Feyre was a tad more drunk than she had originally thought.
Rhys laughed. But the words that came out next didn’t match the amusement of his laugh. “I don’t think I’ll be able to restrain myself I let myself touch you again.”
Feyre shivered. “Babe, you’re so hot.”
“Babe, you’re so drunk,” Rhys teased.
“You know it, baby.” Feyre winked at him.
Another laugh made its way out of Rhys’ lips. “Besides, I have something for you. Come here.”
Feyre did as he said, sending him a subtle eyebrow waggle as she moved. From the smirk that appeared on his face, perhaps it hadn’t been as subtle as she originally thought.
“I think I need to get you drunk more often,” Rhys mused. “Now come here.” He guide Feyre to the bed, sitting her down. “Close you eyes.”
Feyre obeyed, anxiously holding out her hands after he instructed her to. She felt something he placed onto her outstretched hands, and she opened her eyes.
“What was the point of telling me to close my eyes if it’s fucking wrapped?”
Rhys laughed. “It adds to the suspense. You know how dramatic I am. Now open it.” He sat next to her on the bed.
Feyre opened the present to reveal a special type of paint she’d been wanting forever, along with a booklet of the techniques of Demetra, her favorite artist in the entire world. It was the perfect possible gift anyone could have gotten her.
“How did you…?” She stared in wonder and joy at the container and the book.
Rhys grinned. “You mentioned wanting this a few weeks ago, and I remembered,” he said, looking at the paint. “And you also talked about Demetra once, and I figured you’d like it.”
“A few weeks ago? You remembered? How?”
Rhys laughed, but Feyre continued, “But you already designed the website for me!” Indeed, she’d been using it, uploading her artwork and advertising the site—with Rhys’ help, of course.
“Yes, but I had to get you something on your actual birthday.” Rhys had an evil little smirk on his face.
Feyre hit him playfully. “You’re going to spoil me rotten.”
“Damn straight, darling. Don’t forget, Christmas is right around the corner.”
Feyre giggled. “Thank you, Rhys.”
He gave her a peck on the cheek. “It was my pleasure, darling.”
They got in bed and cuddled until they fell asleep, and Feyre couldn’t help but think this was the best birthday ever. She couldn’t wait for what the future held. It didn’t matter what difficulties there would certainly be, it didn’t matter how hard things may get. Feyre would get through it. Because with Rhys at her side, she could get through anything.
Unpopular opinion: completely changing a characters entire personality jus to make the supposed to b bad guy look better and not as bad just because you think he's hotter,,,isn't actually character development or good writing.
please send in requests, lovelies!!
I’ve been putting off finishing the rest of the series because I know what awaits me
I love Nesta dearly and I don’t have the mental space and Me to read her being put through the ringer￼￼
I’m certain to believe that Sarah J Maas has issues with siblings because of ACOTAR￼￼
Gwynriel: Lou and Will
Oh the Gwynriel vibes here
For instance the way Will looks at Lou here seems very Azriel to Gwyn
Can you imagine Azriel healing and not wanting to see anyone but Gwyn says “nonsense” and goes in anyway like this:
This bit is what I imagine Gwyn will be like the first time she calls Az out on his bull shit:
I’m thinking about Gwyn’s first Solstice with the IC and Azriel gets her a gift that just sets her off. His family has never seen him smile this broadly and openly, Gwyn’s reaction has his him beaming.
The way he looks at her lips here
Gwynriel are definitely this couple at a party - the ones snickering and laughing at inside jokes
Azriel taking Gwyn to her first concert in Velaris (yes I’m working on this oneshot) and just enjoying her reactions
I definitely think there is no limit to what Gwyn will do to make Azriel smile or laugh if he’s having a bad day. But he’s defenseless when she dances and sings filthy sea shanties to him:
Idk why but this interaction seems very Gwynriel to me
And lastly, how casual but nervous she is here and how he automatically smiles at the sight of her: pique Gwynriel
This fanart is incredible!
I just love Gwyn so much❤️ She is such a awesome character.
Artist: @mftfernandez on Instagram.
I Was Made for You feysand, canon AU, fluff
Someday, Nyx Rhysand + IC, pre-ACOTAR, fluff
The Lost Children’s Keeper feysand, alternative AU, multi-chapter ONGOING
Sunlight Like Delicate Threads azriel, pre-ACOTAR, fluff
You on My Skin (Forever) elriel, canon compliant, slight angst, fluff, smut
Cuban Cigars and Cardinal Kisses nessian, modern AU, smut
Red, White, and Royal Blue
When the Party’s Over henry pov, canon AU, heavy angst
Warnings: Tamlin is being portrayed as he is in ACOMAF and ACOWAR. Trigger warnings include fantasy violence, misogyny, swearing, and Tamlin being an uncontrollable rage beast (no domestic violence !!)
The wedding seemed to come before he had a chance to process anything. He didn't know what he was doing with Lyriel. Ianthe still wanted him to banish her. Lucien told him how stupid it would be. But they didn't know. They couldn't know. Ianthe may have thought she knew something was up, but she could never be sure. Tamlin counted on her not being certain of anything. If she figured him out, everything would be chaos.
Feyre had sunk into herself more and more. He wanted to fight it, wanted to bring her back to life. But he felt as though he couldn't. He didn't know the full truth of the horrors she went through. He just knew what he'd had to do. He couldn't compare either experience. It wouldn't be fair to either of them.
Needless to say, the wedding felt as though it was the least important thing happening. He had briefly thought about postponing it. But Feyre had worked so hard on the plans. She deserved a perfect day. One where she did not have to think of anything, where she didn't have to worry about anything. Tamlin wouldn't allow his troubles to ruin anything for her. He wouldn't let any creatures come and interrupt the festivities either.
If only he had known what she was hiding from him.
His suit clung to him, making him feel claustrophobic. He had never felt so stifled before. The beast inside of him wanted to rip free of the clothing, wanted to react to the whole thing in a way that Tamlin would not allow. His emotions were all over the place. He felt as though he could barely breathe.
It was a miracle he hadn't destroyed something yet.
A gentle knock sounded on the door. "Enter," he called out as he stared at his reflection in the mirror.
Lyriel slipped silently into the room, her frozen berry scent giving her away. He glanced at her once through the mirror, his mouth going dry at the sight of her.
She wore a dress of silk, as green as his eyes. A slight ran up her left leg, revealing a dagger sheathed at her thigh. The gown hugged the curves that her corsets and pants had never bothered to hide. But it seemed different. This was far more inviting. The beast inside of him wanted to touch her, to feel the soft skin of her thigh, of her arms. Her skin looked just a bit more tan than when she had first come, yet it still held the glow of the winter. Her hair fell in waves down her back, white as snow and so soft that he wanted to run his hands through it.
The scars on her arms were still visible, as were the ones that ran up that delectable thigh. He wondered how many more were hidden underneath her gown. She had been a warrior for a long time. Longer than he ever would have expected.
"You look beautiful," the words left his mouth before he could think about them. He swallowed once, trying to wet his dry throat. "But, uh, I doubt a dagger is an appropriate accessory."
Her lips quirked into a smirk, a dimple appearing on the left side of her mouth. Had it always been there? Was he just noticing it now? "You'll have to take it from my dead body."
Even when they were about to be parted for the rest of their lives, she still found it so easy to be Lyriel. Tamlin knew this wouldn't hurt her. She would get away from him without ever taking a backward glance at him. The thought killed him. Yet, at the same time, he knew he had no right to expect less of her. She deserved everything that he was getting. She deserved more.
"Don't say that," he said as he turned to face her. He didn't miss the sparkle of amusement in her frozen eyes as she took in the sight of him in his finery.
"You don't look like yourself," she stepped towards him slowly. Unsteadily. Tamlin glanced down once, noting the black heeled shoes she wore. She wasn't used to them, her steps small and uncertain. Or maybe she didn't want to be close to him. He couldn't blame her. She was losing a mate that she had never known. He was giving her up without ever actually rejecting her. They weren't supposed to be doing this. But he couldn't stop it. Neither could she.
"What do you mean?" His voice was strained as she stopped just inches away from him. He kept his gaze at the wall behind her, trying not to think of the way her scent tickled his nose. He tried not to think of how her body had felt next to his. He tried not to think of how her hair had felt against his cheek.
That night had been a mistake. One that he replayed over and over again in his mind. He would never have another night like that. Not with her.
"You're not meant for finery," Lyriel stated, her hand slowly coming up. Her fingertips gently traced the shape of his cheekbone, going to his beard. She dropped her hand just before he had a chance to shudder. He hated what she was doing to him. Hated that she was playing with him. "You're meant to tear down kingdoms, to end tyranny. You're a warrior, Tam. Same as me."
He stilled, hating the truth in her words. He had never wanted any of this. Had never wanted the responsibility. But he didn't want to be the monster everyone thought he was. He didn't think he was a warrior. He just didn't like to see injustice being done. Even if he knew, at this point, that there was very little he could do to stop it.
"Lyriel," he whispered her name, it felt like the beginnings of a secret song. "You should go. Home."
A flash of something shone in her eyes as she stepped back from him. It was gone before he could figure out what it had been. "I understand. After the wedding, I'll depart with the rest of your guests. We wouldn't want to cause a scene, would we?"
Her voice had hardened. It wasn't the soft lilt she'd used when speaking to him of who he was. She sounded as though she had just spoken to her general. Maybe the respect should have made him happy, but it just chilled him.
He went to open his mouth, to say something else. Anything to make this moment different. He didn't want to say goodbye to her, didn't want to let her go. But Tamlin knew that he would have to. It had donned on him when she had slipped into the room. When her dress had begged him to tear it from her, he had known that they could not do this. She needed to go her own way, find her own happiness. He had to allow her the opportunity. He couldn't be selfish.
Not when it came to her.
Lyriel slipped from the room before he could find the words to say. Her scent lingered, his body ached with the need to go after her. To comfort her. He didn't though. He just turned back to the mirror, wiping whatever emotion may have been lingering in his face. He wouldn't allow any of the guests to see what he was feeling. All anyone would see was a man who was about to marry the woman he loved.
The only woman he loved.
"Tam," Lucien spoke from outside the room, his knuckles gently rapping on the wood. "It's time."
Tamlin took a deep breath, looking himself over once more. He nodded at himself before he turned to leave. He stepped out of the room, clasping his best friend on the back. "How's Feyre?" It felt wrong not to ask, even if he knew it was probably inappropriate to ask about her.
"About as nervous as you are," Lucien could read him too easily. It came from knowing each other as long as they had. He had never hated it before. "It's all going to be alright. As soon as you two are married, we can finally settle everything."
He knew that Lucien was right. They had a long way to go to make damn well certain that the Spring Court would make it through the aftermath of everything. Not to mention preparing for a war that may or may not come. He had to hope that the wedding would at least give his people some faith that things were getting better. He had to hope they believed it. Even if he wasn't sure if he did.
They made their way to the gardens, Tamlin painting a smile upon his face as they walked. He wanted everyone to see what they should. A man who was finally getting everything that he wanted. He greeted guests, laughing at jokes and making his own when it felt appropriate to do so. His gaze flickered around, not taking in the decor.
The flowers were beautiful, wrapping around columns that had been erected for the wedding. He didn't care about them, didn't care about the way the breeze fluttered around them and wrapped them in warmth. His gaze searched for Lyriel.
She was standing with a group of Spring Court lords, a glass of champagne in her hand and soft laughter falling from her lips. His stomach twisted. She looked so at ease. She didn't look like the woman who had just told him he wasn't meant for this life. She didn't look like the soldier that he knew she was.
She looked like a lady of the court. Lyriel may have thought that she was not suited for anything but a blade and a shield, but he knew better. He could see it in the way she carried herself, in the way she had wrapped his lords around her finger. She belonged in court life. She would do well in it. Mother above, he wished he hadn't of thought about it.
He knew that Lyriel would sooner take a sword to the throat than belong to this world.
"Lyriel's leaving tonight," he murmured to Lucien. Needing to get the words out before they festered in his chest and became a disease.
"What did you do, Tam?" Lucien's smile never faltered, the perfect portrait of a man at ease with his lot in life. Even if it had been particularly shitty. "Did you say something to her?"
"No," he was somewhat affronted that Lucien had even thought that he could do something to Lyriel. "It's just time for her to go. We've got enough on our plates without worrying about the Winter Court and what information they could be gathering."
"Why haven't you had Ari check her out?" Lucien questioned, taking a glass of champagne from a waiter. Feyre would not show for another half hour. Plenty of time to get drunk on faerie wine. Celebrations often turned into week-long events. That was one of the many reasons why Tamlin had not wanted to postpone the wedding.
"Didn't think she would have the time," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "She's been too busy dealing with Rhysand and his moods."
He did feel bad for sending the girl to the Night Court. But the opportunity had never presented itself before. A mating bond had snapped into place, a bond that they could easily exploit. It was a wonder that he had yet to do the same thing with Lyriel. He had to get away from her before he did something he regretted.
Lucien gave him a quick look before he slipped away to speak with others. More people came up to Tamlin, laughing and talking with him about things that did not matter. None of this mattered. At least, he didn't feel as though it did. He was stupid for thinking it. Stupid for thinking anything bitter on the supposedly happiest day of his life. Tamlin hated to think that he was in a foul mood. He hated to think that anything was going to ruin this day.
Feyre deserved so much better than him. He hated himself for thinking that.
"It's time," Lucien murmured to him.
Tamlin's throat felt dry as he watched Ianthe take her place at the head of the alter. He took his own place to the right of Lucien. The guests took their seats, Lyriel in the very back. He hadn't noticed the flowers that she had braided into her hair until then. The periwinkle petals were bright in her white hair. She spoke in soft tones to a man who sat by her. Good, she didn't need to be alone during this.
He tore his eyes from her as the music began to fill the air. Feyre stepped out of the manor, her gown more taffeta and looking as though it was the most uncomfortable thing she had ever worn in her life. He painted a smile on his face for her.
Her own smile did not reach her eyes. She looked anxious, as though she was afraid of everything that was happening. He chalked it up to the last time she had been in front of a crowd of this magnitude. He could imagine how she would have to tell herself that they were okay. She wasn't being made to compete in trials that would possibly end in her death. She was walking towards him. Towards their future together.
Until she stopped.
His brow furrowed, his feet already beginning to move toward her. Something was wrong. Something was happening that he was unaware of. Had something happened? Had she decided to hide from him again? When would they get to the point where they could actually speak to each other?
A gentle breeze that smelled of spiced wine and the depths of depravity was the only warning. Rhysand appeared in the blink of an eye, a cruel smile on his lips as he looked down at Feyre.
"Feyre, darling," Tamlin wanted to rip him limb from limb. His claws felt as though they were ready to poke out. He heard the sound of steel being drawn from a sheath. "I've come to make good on our bargain."
Before Tamlin could say a word, Rhysand had her in his arms.
"She'll be back in two weeks," Rhysand winked casually at Tamlin. A snarl tore free from Tamlin's lips as the scent of spiced wine and depravity filled the air once more.
A dagger embedded itself in the pillar just beside Tamlin's head. If it had been thrown a second earlier, it would have caught Rhysand straight in the throat. The dagger was unadorned, a simple blade that had been used countless times if the smoothness of the handle was anything to judge by. If anger had not clouded his senses, he would have realized it carried Lyriel's scent with it. He would have seen the woman standing up, the flower petals falling from her hair and a look of rage painted on her face.
"Find her," Tamlin shouted, his voice carrying farther than usual with his rage. His entire body was shaking, his claws out and the fangs pushing at his gums. It hurt, it hurt so much. But he couldn't stop the beast from taking over.
The guests fled, his guards and sentries quickly rushing off in order to figure out the impossible. Tamlin didn't know how to feel, how to react. He just went into the manor, his rage causing him to go through the home blindly. He ripped doors off of the hinges, tore down paintings, and crushed statues that were in his path. Anything to release some of the tension. Anything to release some of the rage that he felt.
He wound up in his office, the desk becoming splinters as he pounded it over and over again with his fists. He had known Rhysand would take her. He'd done all he could to find out how to break their deal. Yet, nothing had ever come up. He'd never imagined that Rhysand hated him so much that he would go out of the way to ruin his wedding. Despite the hatred that he felt for the High Lord of the Night Court, he had respected him enough to think that Rhysand was better than this. Better than this dramatic bullshit.
But he wasn't. No one was ever better. No one ever would be.
He didn't hear her footsteps. He didn't smell her frozen berry scent. No, he didn't notice a damn thing until she gently touched his arm. His hand twitched, not knowing if he should shove her away or pull her closer. Nothing made sense anymore. Nothing would ever make sense again and he knew it.
"Tamlin," Lyriel spoke softly, kneeling on the floor beside him. The splinters of the desk tore her dress, ceramic pieces from the lamp tanged in the silk. "Tamlin, look at me."
She didn't look afraid of him. He picked up on that before anything else. Her eyes were wide, but with concern. She was willing to put herself in a vulnerable position in order to try and speak with him. Tamlin trembled slightly as he looked at her. He was afraid.
Afraid of himself. Afraid of her. Afraid of what Rhysand was doing to Feyre. What he would do just to fuck with Tamlin. It all left him feeling powerless, unable to change anything or protect anyone that he loved. It was like he was a child again. Watching as his father did things that he wasn't proud of. The things that still haunted him at night.
"I'm right here," she spoke softly, as though she were trying to soothe a wounded animal. Perhaps that was all he was. "I'm not leaving. We'll get her back. I promise. Everything is going to be alright, Tamlin. You'll find a way to get her out of whatever deal she made. You'll get married and have multiple children."
Despite the fact that she could have easily been sarcastic, Lyriel sounded sincere. She sounded as though she believed that he would get those things. That he deserved those things. No one had ever made him feel as though he deserved to be happy. No one had ever made him feel as though he were anything but a monster.
Feyre did her best. She had done better as a human when he had saved her from a life where she would have died before age twenty. She loved him because he had protected her. She had needed a protector. Now, she needed something different. Tamlin just had trouble realizing it. He never would.
"I just need you to breathe, alright?" Lyriel's eyes were brighter than he thought they had any right to be. He didn't know how a frozen evergreen could look bright, wide, and ... Perfect. His stomach ached at the mere thought of it all. This was too much. All of it was too much.
"Lyriel," he breathed out, his fists clenching in front of him. He looked away from her, his eyes shut tightly. "You should go."
"No, I shouldn't," it was infuriating how she never did as he asked. How she followed her own desire. He'd never known a soldier who didn't listen to orders. "You might tear down the manor if I do."
He knew that she was right. He knew that she was just trying to help. She was trying to be a better person than he deserved. Tamlin felt as though every single thing that Feyre had ever been through was his fault. Everything Rhysand, Lucien, and everyone in the Spring Court fell on his shoulders. He knew that it was nonsensical to think that way. But he did.
He always did.
"Please," his voice was so small. So much smaller than it had been since the day he had become the High Lord.
Lyriel took his hand in hers. He tried not to note how small her hands were in his. Hers were just as calloused as his own, just as full of scars and of stories that she may never tell him. He shuddered slightly at the chill her skin brought but he did not pull away.
"We're mates," she had to bring that up now? When the world felt as though it were coming to an end. "Even though you're choosing her, I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you."
He opened his eyes then, looking at her. Really looking at her. The periwinkle petals had fallen from her hair, one had been left behind. Her eyes were filled with tears, perhaps due to knowing that he wouldn't pick her over Feyre. Yet, she clung to his hand with as much strength as she could muster. She held his hand as though he was her one lifeline. Tamlin had always wanted to be someone's protector, someone's lifeline.
He didn't dare believe he could protect Lyriel.
He brought his right hand up, his claws shrinking back into his skin, and gently moved it to her hair. He plucked the periwinkle petal from her hair and let it fall slowly to the floor. His eyes didn't follow it. Neither did hers. Instead, he allowed his gaze to travel from her eyes to the other areas of her face.
With her time in the sun, freckles had begun to bloom across the bridge of her nose. He wanted to trace them with his forefinger but he did not. The bridge was crooked, having been broken a few times. He wanted to know those stories, wanted to share his own with her. His gaze fell to the small scar above her upper lip. It cut into the cupid's bow and made her lips look much more kissable.
He didn't think about it. Not for the first time in his life, Tamlin took action without thinking. He leaned forward, lightly brushing his lips against hers.
She tasted of those damned frozen berries. The sweetness of them was addicting and he cursed the Winter Court for it. Her lips were soft, perfect against his own.
He kissed her again, hungrier. Desperate. It felt right. Like some switch in his brain had been flipped. His right hand tangled in the white-blonde hair, pulling her as close as he could. She kissed him back, just as hungrily. They were teeth and tongue and fire and ice.
They were berries and roses and pine and peony. Everything they shouldn't be and everything they should.
Lyriel pulled away first, a shuddering breath leaving her. She stood, her gown showing more skin now that it had been ripped by splinters of wood and shards of ceramic. She looked at him for a few seconds, he could taste the tension in the air, before she turned on her heel and left.
Leaving Tamlin alone in his broken kingdom.
Does anyone ever realise that the only people who ever calls Rhysand the “Most powerful High Lord in all of Prythian history” is the IC and Rhysand himself. I refuse to believe he is more powerful than every other person. Because if he is why isn’t he ruling the Night Court properly? Why isn’t Keir actually more afraid of him? Why are the other parts of the Night Court never mentioned? He ain’t powerful, he’s an asshole.
my writing :)
throne of glass
a court of thorns and roses