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feyrhycien · 6 years

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A Change in the Game - 22.5 (bonus chapter)

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“Hey Rhys?”

“Yes darling?”

“I always meant to ask you: Why do you call me darling?”

Feyre craned her head so she could peer into Rhys face from over her shoulder. They were snuggling on the couch, Feyre’s back connecting comfortably with Rhys’ chest, his legs on either side of her body, his strong arms caging her in.

“Why, cause you are so darling!” Rhys declared, imitating a British accent and failing miserably.

Feyre rolled her eyes in annoyance, making sure Rhys saw. “I thought you’re half Illyrian, not half British.”

“I can be both!” Rhys declared with a wink.

“More like half stupid,” Feyre mumbled under her breath.

Rhys caught it nonetheless and tickled her in retribution.

“No, but seriously,” Feyre asked, blowing a wayward piece of her out of her heated face after Rhys was finally done with doling out his punishment. “Why do you call me darling?”

“I don’t know. It was the first thing that came to my mind when I saw you. It just kinda slipped out, to be honest,” Rhys shrugged, pressing a kiss to the back of her head and breathing in her scent. “So cute and sweet and darling. I also loved how pissed you got over me calling you that, so I continued!” he admitted.

Feyre could heard the smile in his voice and swatted his thigh. Rhys laughed in delight.

“And why do you call Lucien babe?” she inquired curiously.

Rhys let out a sigh that was almost a moan. “Seriously? Just look at him!”

Feyre glanced over towards the kitchen, where Lucien was in the middle of baking some walnut-banana muffins.

Not that Lucien could bake, but when he came home earlier, Lucien had suddenly declared he needed to bake some muffins and shooed Rhys and Feyre out of the kitchen. Feyre might not be a great cook, but she sure could bake, so she easily spotted every mistake Lucien made. Hence, the last 30 minutes had been spent by her and Rhys greatly enjoying themselves, observing a struggling Lucien messing up everything there was to mess up in the great art of baking.

Really, if she weren’t getting the show for free, Feyre wouldn’t mind paying for it. There was something infinitely rewarding in watching her former nemesis and now boyfriend being an utter failure for once.

Just as Feyre and Rhys turned their attention once more to him, Lucien stopped mixing the dubious concoction he claimed was the muffin batter to consult the cookbook, his brows drawn together in the cutest little frown as he checked the recipe again.

He licked his lips, leaving them glistering moistly as he silently read out the recipe to himself.

Staring at his lips, Feyre licked her own. She couldn’t help it. Lucien had fantastic lips, all shapely and soft, very good for kissing her. Not only on her lips.

He bent over the book a bit more and as he did, a strand of hair came loose from the little bun Lucien haphazardly tied his hair off in earlier, the silky, auburn lock falling forward, brushing against his cheek. Absentmindedly, Lucien reached up and tucked the strand behind his ear, never breaking his concentration.

It was such an endearing little gesture, with Lucien so absorbed in his little task, being all adorably concentrated, Feyre’s breath caught.

Well, it also caught, because Lucien, being completely focused on the recipe, hadn’t noticed how far he had tilted the bowl - the batter would pour out any second now, and not necessarily into the mold it was intended for.

Feyre wanted to warn Lucien off, but Rhys, sensing her intention, quickly placed a broad hand over her mouth, shutting her up before she could shoot a warning.

“Shush darling! Don’t distract him yet!” he whispered with glee, careful not to draw Lucien’s intention to them.

So Feyre was doomed to watch a disaster in the making. But luckily, Lucien caught himself in time, and straightened the bowl, his face twisting into the most enchanting little grimace over the almost accident.

The man ought to be kissed, Feyre decided. Or deserved a fucking medal for being an adorable mess. Really, how could anyone be so charming when failing miserably?

Lucien began pouring the muffin batter into the molds, somehow managing to miss the molds and getting batter everywhere except where it belonged and Feyre, fascinated, watched how a disgruntled Lucien carefully licked batter from his fingers in lazy, languid strokes. Suddenly, what had been a very cute and messy affair turned into hot and slow, finger-licking, very sexual kitchen porn that caused Feyre - and Rhys behind her - to begin panting softly.

Apparently, even when making a beautiful mess out of a simple affair as baking, Lucien and his muffin batter held more sex appeal than a perfectly whipped Mousse au Chocolat. Especially when he bent over to put the tray into the oven, causing his slacks to stretch over his nice, toned ass, presenting Feyre and Rhys with a view that had both of them perform synchronized squirming on the couch.

Lucien straightened and turned to them, flashing them a little triumphant smile while pushing back the one brazen lock that had stolen away from behind his ear again, coating his hair in some leftover batter. Feyre had seldom seen a sexier sight.

“You’re right, Rhys. Such a fucking babe!”

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#feyrhycien fanfiction #feyrhycien #feyrhycien fic #a change in the game #acitg #feyre archeron #lucien vanserra #rhysand #my writing

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court-0f-dreamers · 6 years

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ACOTAR: Restrung Chapter 2

Fic Summary: What if it was never up to Tamlin to break the curse? What if, instead, in a true test of love, Amarantha sent out Prythian’s most abhorred and cruel Highlord, to watch his land fall into ruin while trying to change the heart of a hateful human? A Court of Bitterness and Jasmine…A Court of Rhysand. Set in the same universe as our favourite Sarah J Maas characters, but with a twist.

If Rhysand were to take Tamlin’s place how different would our story be? Or would it stay the same?

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

Tags: @acourtofdaisiesanddreams, @thelaughingzeebra, @rkjar1646, @empress-ofbloodshed, @22skybarr, @samariumpoisoning, @deezrmuhsheeple, @purpleboybunny, @krm00623, @ladysailorcaptaindoctor, @acourtofpainandfeelz, @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty, @illyrianinterrasen, @not-illegal-if-u-win, @urban-skys, @thrones-of-rosess, @samayla, @nerdperson524, @fracknugget, @valkyrienikolea, @bibliobug, @rokusasu, @ataurusinabookshop, @the-candor-shadowhunter, @allthenamesaretakenofcourse, @demydreamer-otaku-and-book-lover, @illyriangoddess, @ourbooksuniverse, @kaliejane26, @atya-malik133, @akcmirran, @always-namelessismyprice, @the-song-of-the-wind, @bibliophileinnightcourt, @tothedreamerswholookup, @icantpeopletoday, @girl-who-fangirls, @angelcakes12332, @feyreeedarlinggg, @books-are-friends-not-objects, @rapcookie, @sirixslyobsessed, @nerdofmanypages, @rowaelinsmut, @nieliadamteragram, @eternally-reading, @dreamingofradescapes, @nerdybirdsgettheworms, @justhappym, @myhighladyfaeofthenightcourt, @1800-fight-me, @unicornbooks, @aileana-kameron, @kylooreens, @ddiieettzz-blog, @sahannahsa, @celaena-sardothiien, @bluephoenix222, @howtotameyourillyrian, @ame233, @tswaney17, @a-court-of-fangirl-and-tears, @high-lady-of-rochambeau, @fallingstarsfallenangels, @verifiefangirl, @urbisie, @rhysand-vs-rowan

CHAPTER 2 4 days later

I need this. A few moments just for me. No one cares anyway, Feyre thought, as she leaned her head back against the coarse wooden grain.

She had had a surprising few days. After her night in the forest, she had had three days of kills. Three days of food. She was able to sell the pelts in the marketplace, where a mercenary gave her twice the normal amount for them. Yet, she couldn’t stop thinking about that creature. At the most unexpected moments she would see those keen eyes, or remember that sense of home.

The rhythmic thumping sound brought her back to the present. From the sound, it was pretty obvious what was going on between Feyre and Isaac in the Hales’ old barn.

He held her, her legs wrapped around his waist, and lifted a single iron cuffed hand to push his hair off his sweaty brow.

She gripped his slight but toned shoulders harder.

He released her legs, spinning her around. She now faced a shoulder-height shelf piled high with rusty, old milk pails. She grabbed the edge and arched back urging him deeper.

His hands came around her front, squeezing her breasts, his fingertips grazing her erect nipples.

She looked down at his hands. Lean knuckled fingers, that often helped his father on the farm. She tried not to think back to last week when those hands were deworming a pig.

“More”, Feyre urgently whispered back. He increased his pace, and she arched even closer to him as the sounds of their meeting filled the barn.

She also heard a slight rustling to her side. It was a goat poking its nose in the hay strewn across the floor. It lifted its head, slowly chewing a mouthful of straw. Its beady eyes held her stare with idle tenacity.

“More!” she said, and slid her hand down. She groaned as her fingers rapidly moved between her legs.

She tried to ignore it when the goat sat down and watched.

Isaac stepped closer and thrust harder against her inner depths. For a few moments nothing else in the world existed but their bodies. Nearly there…

The door flew open.

SHIT! Feyre thought.

Nesta was standing there, hands on her hips, looking far too much like their mother. Shit shit shit.

“What the hells Nesta?! Why are you here?” Feyre shrieked, as she grabbed for her clothes. She clamped down the anger and embarrassment welling inside her. No, I will not be embarrassed. She knew what we did here. “Get dressed and get outside.” Nesta said sharply, staring them down like disgruntled queen.

She buttoned my tunic and pants, not bothering to say goodbye to Isaac as she pushed her way through the doors. “Really, Nesta...!” Feyre started.

“I don’t care about your sad little tryst. There is someone waiting to see you at home, and you better start explaining yourself now.”

*** *** ***

Aalop Archeron dropped the bowl of thin soup. With even shakier hands he tried to pick it up, nearly falling over in the process.

Rhysand cringed inwardly. He should be used to this.

The older man’s cane slipped dangerously on the now wet floor.

“Father, let me”, Elain said rushing forward. “Please Sir, forgive us, please,” she whispered, bowing her head to him, unable to make eye contact.

Rhys’ expression remained impassive. He had worn this face many times over the last five hundred years. The cold, dark, soulless Highlord. For the last fifty years, this had become his face to the world. The mask he couldn’t remove.

Unless you do your job and free them, he reminded himself.

“Enough.” he said, the low tenor of his voice an unfailing command. “I don’t care. Where is Feyre, your youngest daughter?”

“She is c-coming, Sir,” Elain said, still unable to so much as lift her head up as tears silently streamed down her face.

“Please. Please.” their father begged. “Take me. I will do anything. Please. I will pay--”

Rhysand forced a cruel laugh, “You think you can pay me? How much is a life worth to you, Aalop Archeron?”.

The fact that he knew their names scared them as much as his words.

He casually picked up a small wooden carving from the table, examining the fragile object in his large hands - a winged woman with shining halo. He stared at it, the work was so delicate, and her face triggered a wisp of memory-

Behind him he heard a gasp.

He turned towards the door where Nesta held a shorter, thinner version of herself tightly in front her.

Such big eyes, was his first thought, big stormy eyes.

Feyre looked around the room, taking in the scene. Then she looked at him, and he wished she didn’t.

“Who are you? What do you want?” she spat. She seemed to look straight passed the mask, she seemed to look straight into his soul. And then across her face swept a hard look of hatred.

He would have hesitated if he hadn’t had fifty years to get used to that look.

“Now now now, Feyre”, his mocking voice drawled out her name. “Is that any way to speak to your new Highlord?”

She looked shocked. He saw her take in his immaculate black on black suit, his unnatural poise, perfect face, and his clearly non-human pointed ears. “Alright, pack your things; say goodbye. You killed a Fae in the forest, someone who was a vital part of the running of my court. As the treaty demands, you must now come with me to repay the debt.”

“What! This is absurd. I didn’t know. There is no law--”

“ENOUGH.” Rhysand raised his voice and very slightly released the damper on his power. Night filled the room. Wisps of darkness reached out and caressed Nesta’s cheek, trailed across Elain’s shaking shoulders, and clouded Aalop’s vision.

The fear in their eyes was real. He could hear it in the erratic beating of their hearts.

Good, he thought. He wanted this over as quickly as possible.

“Feyre,” her father pleaded.

Rhysand’s night receded.

Aalop reached out for his young daughter. “He has promised me that you won’t be harmed. That you just need to live in his court. You will be treated well, and then he will release you when you sentence is served. I-I am s-sorry my love”. His eyes beseeched her to understand. Understand how he couldn’t help his child. “You have always been too good for us…”

Elain finally looked at her, “Feyre, he will kill us all. He will raze this town. Feyre, help us.” she said between sobs.

Nesta said nothing, but released Feyre’s shoulder and stepped aside.

Rhysand watched shock, betrayal and then fearful acceptance cross her face. He couldn’t stand this stifling house anymore. With the single word “Hurry”, he stepped outside and waited at the road.

He was so angry. And the emotion burned through his guilt.

The fools! They had so much. They had their free lives, they had a roof over their heads, and most of all, they had each other. Yet they gave her away so easily. Even as their selfishness suited his cause, his anger grew.

He couldn’t hide his deep frown.

The Archerons mistook it for impatience.

“Go Feyre. Go.” Nesta pushed her out sold chattel.

Feyre turned away from the door and walked alongside him, looking back at her family with hungry eyes until she lost sight of them.

He looked at her small face and her stiff shoulders as she kept pace with his long strides. She was trying to be brave in front of the beast that took her away.

He was about to reach his hand out but stopped. She doesn’t want to touch you, he thought.

“We are going North”, was all he said before he grabbed her by the bag and winnowed them away.

*** *** ***

This wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening to her. It took Feyre at least an hour, or longer, who knew, to get used to the idea that she was flying. No, not flying. Appearing and reappearing. Like her whole body was being shattered into a middle pieces and then reassembled in the blink of an eye. Each time in a different place across the land.

The first time she saw a sweet-smelling dark garden, the second was a stifling sandy beach, then so much orange and yellow she couldn’t tell the roof from the floor. Then, snowy blizzard. Warm light. Hot brighter light. Cold night. And then it was over.

The male next to her had barely touched her but she felt his magic release her from his side.

She tried not to look at him. He had the most stunningly beautiful face she had ever seen. That only made the terrible dark power rolling off him more terrifying.

He turned away, panting.

They were outside a massive black wrought iron gate. Beyond it were red mountains to one side, partially obscuring the edges of a river bordered by more sharp dark mountains. On the other side were black buildings with heavy smoke churning out of the chimneys atop them.

But Feyre’s eyes were focused on the gate and its surrounding fence, and she couldn’t help but notice the intricate work, the curling whorls interspersed with ugly dangerous-looking spikes. Spikes facing inwards. This wasn’t a gate to keep people out, but one to keep people in.

She forgot all the assurances of her safety he had granted her before they left.

She was looking at the Gates of Hell.

He reached towards the double-doored gate, and at his touch it opened.

“Welcome home”, his voice, calm and soft, didn’t hide the malice at the last word.

6 hours later.

It was midnight and nothing was keeping me inside this house.

They told Feyre it was a “house” but in reality, it was a palace. A dark, festering palace atop a red mountain that looked like the maw of a giant beast. She supposed it was a fitting home for the male who ruled over it.

The city was called “Velaris” and from the little Feyre saw of it, it was a place of nightmares. It was mostly a ghost town, the buildings daubed with moist black streaks of mould. On her way in, she saw a family of faeries with long blue limbs being threatened by large, angry insectile creatures with batons. The night court police perhaps, Feyre assumed, and gave them a wide berth. Upon seeing their Highlord in the streets they immediately stopped and returned to their posts. Feyre tried not to think about how terrifying the male next to her was if these creatures feared him. The citizens hurried away without glancing in their Highlord’s direction.

After that he rushed her into this palace,and she didn’t see another being while they wandered through hallway after hallway. It might have been grand once. The red uncut stone of the walls might have been warm, the high ceilings open and inviting, but like the rest of the city it felt abandoned. Feyre tried to track the turns and distances they travelled, but she quickly lost count. She had never been in a place like this. They turned abruptly and headed down a dark staircase.

He’s taking me to the dungeons, Feyre panicked.

It must have shown because he immediately stopped, and said, “These are my private chambers. Only those closest to me can enter here. You will not be harmed.”

They went down more twisted hallways and then travelled up a long spiral staircase, which finally opened over a wide white-marble antechamber lined with high windows. Feyre realised the whole palace had been carved out of the mountain itself, and they were now at the summit.

The Highlord stopped at the first door on the left. A single glossy black door.

Throughout this journey, her emotions were a riot, swirling between blind panic and brave resignation. All those thoughts stood still when he pulled out a heavy golden key and placed in it her hand, careful not to touch her, “Your room. Once you are inside no one except your handmaiden can enter without your permission.” he said. He paused for a moment, hesitating, and then started to step away, his head low.

Who are you?, Feyre thought forcefully.

His head snapped up like she had shouted it. He looked at her for the first time since entering Velaris, really looked at her. Feyre didn’t dare look away from those fierce violet eyes.

He stepped closer, tilting his head to the side.

“What do I do now?” she blurted, “Highlord”, she quickly added.

That broke the strange silence over them.

His expression changed, and he gave her that frustratingly cool smile. “Tonight? Whatever you want. I don’t care. Eat, sleep, read, stare at the wall. I’ll come get you in the morning. Until then, feel at home.” He said mockingly, knowing she could never feel that way.

He spun on his heels and walked away, hands in his pockets, with an aura of complete satisfaction.

A beautiful Fae was waiting in her room. Cerriwden, she said her name was. She spoke softly and moved through the rooms with silent grace, her straight, waist-length hair swaying behind her. Rooms, Feyre had rooms now. There was a sitting room with a desk, shelves of books, and a large fireplace framed by a comfortable couch. The bedroom was dominated by a decadent high-canopied bed, and was connected to an equally large bathing room holding a sunken grey tub. Each room was at least three times the size of her whole house.

Cerriwden ran a bath for her and helped her into clean, soft night clothes. Her warm, sure hands on Feyre were the only reminder that this was real, and not a twisted dream. And though Cerriwden spoke little, her gaze was keen, taking in everything Feyre did.

Well, she doesn’t work for me, Feyre thought.

Occasionally, Feyre noticed a twinge of pity, of sadness when the handmaiden’s clear black eyes met hers. In those moments, Feyre felt shame, and guilt, and hurt. She wasn’t going to be kept here, a prisoner in a lavish cell.

Which brought her here, at midnight, with her legs thrown over the ledge of her window, high above the sleeping city. Feyre tried to judge how quickly she would die if her accidentally slipped right now. She had used the trimmings of the rich curtains to fashion a rope, and she planned to attach it to the multiple balconies and balustrades that dotted her path down the mountain face. Just like the trees in the forest at home, she told herself as took in deep breath and jumped.

She made leap after leap, careful not to look down the at the dizzying fall should she miss. But her forest and her home were far from here. She didn’t know if she was thankful or angry at that fact. Thankful that despite the little they had, her family were not in this place. But angry that they were left to die. Without her, how would they feed themselves? And deep down, she hoped they would realise how much she gave them, and then they would come to regret how they barely fought to keep her.

A few more leaps and she was at the bottom. She was careful to tuck her homemade rope into her bag. She then grabbed the bow and two fighting knives she took from home and secured them within easy reach.

Preparation first. Know your what you are dealing with, Feyre, she thought. Then figure a way out.

She was not prepared for the sight of Velaris at night.

Feyre’s senses were assaulted as she took in the scene before her. Everywhere the sights, sounds, and smells of the crowd was overwhelming. The streets were teeming with High Fae, pushing each other around, yelling, leering, grinding against each other. Thumping music blared from doorways, different beats and rhythms, all merging on the street into a chaotic cacophony. The main street was lined with bars and restaurants, all filled with fae and faeries. Feyre sensed the threat of violence slinking underneath the revelry, a manic intoxication was could be uncorked at any time.

Her subconscious had picked it up before she acknowledged it. This was not the celebration of a happy, satiated people. These were the revels of a cruel and angry court. Her eyes narrowed to the faeries interspersed between the High fae. The faeries were waiting on them, servicing them, desperately trying to keep their establishments from being torn apart by them - the faeries were being abused by them. She tasted something bitter in her mouth. Fear.

She was an outsider here. She was a weak human. She quickly walked away from the broadway. She avoided the storefronts closing for the nights, patrons throwing down their rubbish as they left, smashing bottles and swearing. She was careful to dodge a drunk vomiting man only to nearly walk into someone pissing off the broadwalk. Thankfully, no one paid much attention to her.

She decided to make for the docks. Docks meant ships, and ships meant a way out.

But there were no ships.

By the waterfront inside the abandoned boatshed, there were only more faeries. It was quieter here, but somehow even more dismal. There were faeries from every part of Prythian, it seemed. Some looked like humans, some seemed like an extension of nature itself. A faerie with verdigris skin and hair like the richest leaves sat next to a pale white faerie with skin like translucent tissue paper. Groups of threes and fours clustered around barrels filled with fire, clutching packets of food in paper. Others were sitting up on thin bed mats and cardboard mattresses laid on the floor. There was muted conversation amongst the heads held low. Feyre had seen enough of hunger and poverty to recognise it on all these faeries instantly. She didn’t dare speak to anyone, it was clear that no one here wanted to be noticed either.

She crossed a bridge to the other side of the river and entered another cluster of buildings.

Here were hundreds of houses built almost on top of each other. They had sprouted up in a disorganised mass, a colony that had grown too quickly and irregularly, crawling from the waterfront to cling to the steep mountain face. But there was a beauty in it, for it was the only speck of colour in this city of stark black, tarnished red and drab grey. All the shanty homes were painted every colour of the rainbow. Though fading, with nothing of the bright technicolour of Elain’s garden in spring, it had a coherence and unity that was lost everywhere else in the city.

As she walked through the uneven alleys, she saw the walls of the homes were crumbling, roofs replaced with corrugated iron, and doors and windows sealed shut with makeshift wood planks. There were signs of the fae that inhabited those homes, with occasional clotheslines, rain waterpots on doorsteps, and the telltale flicker of a candle beneath a door frame. But for so many homes, the silence was eerie.

Until she heard something.

The scratching of claws against a wall. A girlish scream cut short. The sounds of scuffed boots on the ground.

She cautiously turned the corner.

Four creatures with bat-like faces, leathery wings and insectile bodies were crowded around a Fae girl.

“Hmmm, out after curfew. Your Highlord’s rules don’t protect you now”, one of them hissed. They leaned in close. Their leering glances made it clear what she needed protecting from.

The girl looked around for any path to run into, for anything that might help her.

They creatures started clicking, rubbing their claws together, purposefully taunting her.

Before Feyre could consider the consequences she picked up a large rock and aimed it. The creature closest to her grunted loudly as it hit him on the back of the head.

They turned towards Feyre in unsettling unison.

“RUN!”, Feyre yelled to the girl, who needed no encouragement as she bolted towards Feyre. They both ran through the pot-holed alleys that bordered the homes, turning often in the hope they could lose the creatures.

“Attors!”, the girl exclaimed pointing to the right, “We need to go this way. Attors hate water”, she pointed back towards the docks.

They veered sharply right, ducking under a low clothesline.

Straight into the path of a waiting Attor.

“Aren’t I lucky? I get two of you all to myself”, his voice dripping with vicious pleasure.

Feyre palmed the knives she had hidden in her boots as they backed away.

They barely got three feet away when the Attor flapped its leathery wings and appeared behind them, obstructing their path out.

“Rhysand has been careless”, he hissed gleefully. “Let’s get rid of those”, he reached over and with one swipe knocked both the knives out of Feyre’s hands, cutting her skin with his razor claws.

Defenceless now, Feyre tried to reach for her bow.

My bow!, she realised belatedly it wasn’t on her back. She had made the thin linen string herself. It must have snapped while she was running.

Panic seeped into the souls of her feet. This is it. It’s over.

The Attor moved in closer, reaching towards Feyre. “I think I’ll start with you”, he rasped, breathless at the thought.

Suddenly his head jerked up, and before either of them could make another movement, a bone-shuddering tremor snapped through the ground. Immediately followed by another.

Feyre held her breath as everything stopped. A hundred feet behind the Attor, still crouching from the impact of their landing, were two leather-clad Fae.

They stood together and started walking towards them, their magnificent wings flared out wide, spanning the length of the alley. The way they moved their tall, muscular bodies with restrained ease, the weapons strapped to every inch of them, and the fierceness of their expressions made it clear who they were - Warriors. These were the Fae of dreams and nightmares. And they were beautiful, in all their gloriously and deathly fury.

Feyre made herself small and started to inch back the alley. For whatever reason they were here, the distraction could save her life. They surely didn’t even sense her insignificant human self.

“Who in the hells are you?” the Attor hissed at them.

“I’m glad you asked,” said the broader one with shoulder length hair and rough-cut features, coming up to them, “now you will know who sent you back to that pit you crawled from.”

In a flash of silver, he unsheathed two short swords and scissored them across the Attor’s thick neck. Feyre stopped still, barely noticing the black blood spraying the walls as its lifeless head rolled towards her feet.

“Oh I lied. I didn’t let you live long enough to find out”, he said with an angry half-smile.

The taller one, a dark Adonis, rolled his eyes. Shadows swirled around his ears as his gaze turned to her. She was trying to still her hammering heart, when he nodded and said, “Hello, Miss Feyre. I’m Azriel, and this is Cassian. Welcome to Velaris”.

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nomattertheoceans · 4 years

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feysand + “i let you mooch off of my netflix and this is how you repay me?”

Sooooo you sent me this in October and here we are, mid April. Lmao this is so cheesy and corny and I literally didn’t edit it, but it was funny to write so hopefully you’ll like it!!

Feyre was pissed, to say the least.

She'd been working her way through this show for weeks now, anxious to finally get the answers to the questions that had been set up in the first episode. She only had two episodes left in season one, so she'd turned on Netflix after a long shift at work, to relax and enjoy the show.

Only to find out she was now apparently halfway through season two, an episode starting with an enormous spoiler that had ruined the end of season one for her.

And it was all his fault.

Her stupid upstairs neighbor Rhysand, and his stupid puppy eyes to which she could never say no to. She'd gladly agreed to share her Netflix account with him the week before, and now this?

Furious, she grabbed her keys and left her apartment, slamming the door behind her. She climbed the stairs to his floor and reached his door in seconds, banging on it loudly.

"Open up, Knight," she yelled louder than she normally would have, But she didn't really care. Her foot fidgeting, she waited until she heard noise coming from inside, someone walking to the door. Finally Rhys opened, and Feyre forgot to be mad for just a second.

He'd very clearly been asleep. His hair was a mess, he was yawning, and he was only wearing a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips. It was the first time she saw him shirtless, and she took a moment to look at the intricate tattoos covering the brown skin of his muscled chest.

"Feyre? What are you doing here so late? Is something wrong?"

She tore her eyes away from his chest to look back up at him. And at the thought of her ruined evening, her anger came back in full. She crossed her arms on her chest and answered.

"Something is very wrong. You spoiled Stranger Things for me."

"What? No I didn't."

"You did. I come back exhausted from the restaurant, my only wish to relax in front of the tv, only to find out you're using my Netflix session to spoil me?"

"I didn't."

"You didn't watch it? Because you're literally the only person with access to my account. I let you mooch off of it and this is how you repay me?"

"No, I mean I did watch the show but on my session, Not yours."

"Well then how is it that it moved in mine?"

He stayed silent for an eternity, and lifted an arm to rub the back of his neck, making her once again forget to be mad at him for a second.

“I might have entered your session by mistake?”

“You think?!” She asked rhetorically, and sighed. “And are you planning on apologizing for ruining the only thing I was looking forward to do after I came home from my crappy job, or do you just not care?”

His eyes snapped back at her at the last words, and he took a step towards her. “I do care Feyre, and I’m really sorry.”

And he seemed to genuinely feel bad about it, biting his lower lip in guilt, his big blue eyes concerned, probably at what she was going to say next. She just shrugged.

“Well, nothing you can do now.” And in a whisper, she added: “Sorry to have bothered you. Good night.”

She didn’t leave him enough time to react before walking away back to her apartment.

***

She woke up in a daze the next morning, earlier than usual. It was barely eight in the morning, and yet here she was, in her pajama shorts and tank top, rubbing her eyes as she walked into her kitchen. Some noise had woken her, she remembered that much, but it was gone now, and she couldn’t quite place it. So she started on her coffee, too lazy to make herself anything to eat. It as when she took a seat at her table that she saw it.

A note sticking out from under her front door.

Setting down her mug of coffee, she got up and went to the door to pick it up.

I didn’t know if you prefered darkchocolate of berries, so I made both.Sorry again.Rhys

She stared at the note for a moment, before slowly opening her door, to find a small basket of muffins waiting for her.

Unable to stop her cheeks from blushing, she lifted the basket. Back inside, she tasted one of the ones with berries, grabbed her phone, and looked for his number. She rewrote her text many times before finally sending it.

Thanks for the muffins. We canwatch the rest of the showtogether if you want? Thatway there’s no risk of youspoiling me ;)

She regretted it the second it went out. It sounded so corny, and she didn’t want him to think she was coming on to him. Yes, they had flirted a couple of time, but did that mean he would even -

His answer came before she finished her thought.

I’m glad you did. And I’d be happyto watch it with you! Come over tonight?We can pick up where you left off.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she went to her bathroom, took a shower, brushed her teeth and combed her hair. Then she put on a comfortable dress, a pair of socks and shoes, before going back to her kitchen and grabbing the basket. Then she climbed the set of stairs to his apartment and knocked on the door.

He looked surprised when he opened the door and saw her standing there. He was dressed in a different pair of sweatpants, his hair still dripping from a shower, his chest as bare as it had been the night before.

“Feyre, I… Don’t you like the muffins?”

“I do!” She answered, maybe a little too enthusiastically than necessary. “I just thought maybe we could share them? Sunday is my day off.”

A large smile took over his beautiful face, and he answered: “Of course! Come in.”

As she followed him inside his apartment and took a seat on his couch, Feyre thought that maybe it hadn’t been such a bad thing to go wake him up in the middle of the night.

Current tag list (please send me an ask if you want to be tagged):

@quakeriders@summernightskyy@illyrian-bookworm@amren-courtofdreams@vanilla28@philosophorumaurum02@illyrianbeauty@kybaeza@sincerely-unidentified@highladyofthesith@the-regal-warrior@inreallianpain@kiss-my-mass@highlady-of-dusk@amusedowl@highladyofhelfhame@fucking-winchester-trash@sleeping-and-books@l0sts0uls1128@everything-that-i-love@kindgomofbrokenhearts@fourshizzle149@musicmaam@voiceoftheroses@avenrebekah@queenofdorkville@outofstyles13@bow-dawn@iliveforfandom226@city-of-fae@welcometothespeaknowworldtour@notyourclassicshadowhunter@ellenoftroy@danieldesario@propagandaprincess@thelaughingzeebra@ame233@hopelesslyinlovewithbooks@shadowstar2313@eve-of-the-night-court@fireheart-of-your-dreams@feeoly@yikesitsmaddies@alifletcher2012@faefromthenorth@emmejo26@lowhangingtreebranches@mynewdreamwasyou@goldfishh20@feyrearcherons@ttakeitbacknoww@rtheinkqueen@thereaderandfangirl@the-last-apprentice@whilma-warfstache@julemmaes@meltalgel-ig@wifeofchrishemsworth@worldoffae@thesurielships@chemicha@kindofawalkingpoem@rowaelingforeverworld@booksstorm@empress-ofbloodshed@awkward-avocado-s@thesirenwashere@tswaney17@belamoonbeam@faequeenaelin@hedwig1751@booksatteatime@over300books@keshavomit@redqueen-marecal-lover@musicalfae@girl-who-reads-the-books@thehintersmoon-haven@joycoertiz13@rainy-bookish-days@tonystarktrash@thestarwhowishes@nitrot150@randomtogacotar22@greatwombatblaze@heroesofterrasen@worldoffae@lovemollywho@waves-and-dust-in-the-wind@blackjacks-donuts@faellyrian-warriors@becarefuloflove@m-like-magic@blueeyes425@szklanydwormaas@becky8110@lemon-check@bamchickawowow@flora-and-fae@girlofmanyfandoms148@bat-wing-rhys@queenophelia@jos613

#lmao I found the PERFECT GIF hahahaha #quakeriders #Asks #feysand #feysand fanfic #my writing

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kagetatsumis · 5 years

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2018 in Review

Rules: answer the questions about 2018 and tag some people!

thanks for tagging me @slytherclaw713 <3

top 5 movies (in no particular order):

love simon

crazy rich asians

to all the boys i’ve loved before

the greatest showman (i think i watched that this year?? i can’t remember anymore)

(i don’t watch movies oops)

top 5 tv shows (in no particular order):

i don’t watch tv shows oops

legends of tomorrow? but i think i watched that last year lol

top 5 songs (preferable from different artists in no particular order):

are you with me by nilu

ghost of you by 5sos

18 by 1d

finally free by niall horan

like to be you by shawn mendes

top 5 books (in no particular order):

kingdom of ash by sjm

archenemies by marissa meyer

wildcard by marie lu

tatbilb series by jenny han

sinner (and the wolves by mercy falls series) by maggie stiefvater

(queen of air and darkness...once i read it LOL)

i can’t remember what books i’ve read this year TBH

5 Good Things That Happened This Year Even Though This Year Was Kind of Shitty

i ran varsity for all my cross country races :)

joined faenet

found a group of set friends that is going to make my senior year a lot better than it started out

(this turned really crappy later but...) i had something going with someone i really liked for...a month (it was a highlight when it happened)

dude idk 2018 was actually really bad o:

tagging: @mooonbeam @elentiyas @adriata @feyrearch @goldbooksblack @thelaughingzeebra @librarian-of-orynth

#tagged #tag games #2018 in review #wow this year was bad #but oh well #y'all remember when we were excited to start a new year on a monday?

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helloprinceling · 6 years

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The Greatest Show: Chapter Two

A/N: So it’s been a journey uploading this. Not only did my wifi stop working, but my laptop also decided to be dumb and not work. Plus side though is that writing this chapter really helped me de-stress. Also the next update should be Sunday...don’t hold your breath though. I’ll figure out how to do a masterlist for the chapters sometime before chapter three.

Tags: @alicethelonerabbit @thebookbandersnatch @thelaughingzeebra

(If you want to be tagged just ask)

It was exhilarating.

After every single performance, no matter how many people were in the stands, Mor’s body seemed to be in a daze for the rest of the night. It felt like she could do anything—be anything she wanted to be.

She didn’t have to be the perfect daughter of a wealthy family forced to live a lie every day of her life.

No… When Mor heard the audience's applause, she felt a sense of acceptance that she never received at home. The crowd didn’t care where Mor came from or who she was attracted to. They were strangers who only saw her act and judged her based on that alone.

Tonight was different though.

Rhysand and Idianna were here. Her two favorite people in the entire world. The ones whose opinions mattered the most to her.

So to see them there, in the front row, giving her a standing ovation, sent Mor into a high. Her cousins’ faces shined with pride as they smiled brightly at her. Mor’s eyes began to burn at the threat of tears. She hadn’t realized how much she missed them until this moment.

That was Mor’s only regret of leaving. Not only did she escape the prison that was her family, but she had abandoned them… Her cousins. Her best friends.

She knew that she let them both down. Rhysand had always hated the upper class just as much as she did, and Idianna always came to her for advice. Mor honestly thought they would resent her for leaving like she did. But hearing their shouts of encouragement from the stands erased that thought instantly.

It seemed like a lifetime went by before the show finally ended. The second the lights dimmed and the Big Top’s tent flaps opened, Mor rushed over to Rhys and Idianna.

“You were amazing!” Idianna squealed in a ear-piercing voice before throwing her arms around Mor. “When did you get so flexible?”

“Those ballet classes I took are finally paying off,” Mor said with a chuckle.

“Nice to know they were good for something,” Idianna snorted and rolled her eyes. Mor remembered how much Idy despised ballet classes. Her young cousin would have much rather been reading than dancing.

The same could not have been said about Mor.

Dancing was a distraction. A reason to ignore her duties as a socialite and just be Mor. She couldn’t wait for the hour each day she spent in the studio.

“Did you enjoy the show, Rhys?” Mor asked. It was a useless question, Mor knew by the look on his face that he more than enjoyed it.

With a tone of nonchalance, Rhysand replied, “It was alright.”

Mor punched him in the shoulder and raised a single eyebrow. “Okay. Okay, it was better than alright. You definitely were the star.”

“Now you’re being too nice,” Mor slung her arm around Idianna’s shoulder and softened her voice. “Do you want to meet the rest of the crew?”

Idianna was in the middle of nodding her head vigorously when Rhysand interjected. “I’m afraid we have to get home.”

“Oh, why do you always have to be such a spoilsport?” A pout started to form on Idy’s face. “Please, Rhysand! Just this once?”

Mor knew that Rhysand couldn’t hold very much longer, especially when her younger cousin began to do her famous puppy dog eyes. No one could withstand looking into her violet eyes and not giving her whatever she wanted. It’s how Idianna had her father wrapped around her finger.

“Fine. But when I say we need to leave, we leave,” Rhys grumbled in defeat.

Idianna just rolled her eyes at her brother before latching onto Mor’s forearm. “Lead the way.”

And Mor did.

Watching her cousins walk through the tents was like watching two of her worlds collide. Idianna did not fit in this atmosphere with her fine clothing and air of superiority. It wasn’t her fault that she came off snobbish. It was just the way she was raised. If Idy wanted to be respected, she had to own the room the moment she walked into it.

Rhys was better at blending in than his sister. He kept his eyes lowered and shoulders hunched as he followed in his cousin’s trail. Mor knew that he was kicking into survival mode. Rhysand would do the same thing at any balls or fancy dinners he had to attend.

Mor wondered what they must have looked like walking up to the ‘mess hall’. It was only a long table that sat about ten at a time placed in front of the makeup and costume tent.

“You two hungry?” Mor asked with raised eyebrows. She motioned at the food laid upon the table: an arrangement of loaves of bread, meats, and vegetables. All picked up from different restaurants around the city.

They sat at the end of the table and Mor swore every single person sitting down looked up from stuffing their faces to inspect the pair sitting on Mor’s left and right. “Oh, will everyone stop gawking and continue with their meals?”

Cassian— of course it was Cassian— spoke first, “I’m sorry that we’re curious about the total strangers you’ve welcomed to our dinner table.”

Mor rolled her eyes. “They’re strangers to you. Let me be the first to introduce you to the heir of the Night empire, Rhysand Night,” Rhysand gave her an unimpressed look, but she decided to ignore it. “And this beauty on my left is Miss Idianna Night. My cousins.”

Helion, who was sitting opposite of Mor at the other head of the table, dipped his chin in respect. “What an honor it is to have such high company among us,” Sarcasm laced his voice.

“Be nice,” Mor warned through clinched teeth. Normally, she would have never talked to the ring leader in such a tone, but Mor wouldn’t have him make her cousins uncomfortable.

“I am,” Helion flicked a piece of his light brown hair over his shoulder, “Dig in. Make yourselves at home.”

As they started to fill their plates, Mor introduced each member at the table.

“That,” She said, pointing at the two tanned giants setting on Idianna’s right. “Is Cassian and Azriel. You might recognize them from the show. Cassian is our strongman and Azriel is the knife thrower.”

Azriel threw them a kind smile before turning back to his food. Cassian, unfortunately, didn’t let them off that easy.

“So are y’all the family that our Morrigan had to run away from?” Cassian grew up in the south, so almost every sentence that came out of his mouth had a slight twang to it.

Rhysand’s violet eyes met Cassian’s stare before saying, “I’m afraid not. My dear uncle is the one to blame for that.”

That seemed a good enough answer for Cassian since he continued with his meal. Mor huffed in annoyance but moved down the table anyways.

“Across from Azriel is one-third of the Archeron sisters, Elain. She can tell you your future just by reading your palm,” Idy’s face turned skeptical at the claim.

“You think I’m a fake,” Elain’s sweet voice rang through the air. Idianna was about to protest, but Elain put up a delicate hand and kept talking. “I understand with all the frauds in the city why one would think that, but let me assure you I’m the real deal.”

“I believe you,” Idy shyly smiled at the doe-eyed girl, which she returned in full Elain style: brightly and without restraint. It was almost blinding.

“Next to Elain is her sister, Nesta. She’s in charge of all the animals we use in the show.”

Nesta’s cold stare examined Rhys and Idianna slowly, as if not wanting to miss a single detail. Mor had noticed that about the eldest Archeron sister. She did not care about social graces or manners when it came to her curiosity. Life seemed to be a puzzle that she was constantly putting together.

“And on the other side of Elain is Feyre, ‘The Queen of Trapeze’, according to our posters,” Mor announced in a teasing tone. Feyre and Morrigan had been instant friends upon her arrival. She would even go as far as to say the youngest Archeron sister was her best friend.

“Pleasure to meet both of you,” Feyre smiled at Idianna, “So, did you enjoy the show?”

That sent Idy into a whole tangent of all her favorite parts of the show and how unbelievable it all was. The whole table seemed to be captivated by her every word— hell, even Mor couldn’t look away from her cousin. She spoke so eloquently and with such passion that is stunned Mor. How could so much change in six months?

The thought filled Morrigan with guilt but also rage. She was angry at her father for making her miss these crucial years of her cousin’s life. She was angry at society for not accepting her for who she was. She was angry at the world for letting her even be born in such a cruel time.

Mor was interrupted from her inner turmoil by Feyre turning to Rhys once Idianna was done and asking, “And what about you?”

Rhysand simply stared at her and replied, “It was like a dream.”

The whole table seemed to go silent after that, so Mor resumed her introductions.

“Sitting in front of Feyre is Andromache. She’s a contortionist like me,” Mor’s cheeks started to heat even though she didn’t say anything out of the ordinary. Just the brunette’s attention on her made Mor become flustered.

Andromache had captured Mor’s attention the second she saw her in practice. She was confident and beautiful and everything Mor was not.

Thankfully, Mor was saved from anyone noticing her embarrassment by a cough at the end of the table.

“Forgetting someone?”

“How could I forget you, Helion, when your the person that signs my check?” Mor quirked an eyebrow at the impatient man that was her boss.

“Rhysand. Idianna. This is the glue that holds us all together. The person everyone would be lost without, our ring leader, Helion,” She ripped of a chunk of her bread and let the sarcasm sink in. “Happy now?”

Helion smirked and said, “Thank you.”

For the rest of the meal Mor caught up with her cousins and their lives. Apparently, Idianna’s cotillion was being held next month… Not that Mor expected an invatation.

The second Idianna was done eating, Rhysand looked at his watch and dropped his fork. “We have to leave, Idy.”

“But, Rhys—”

“No, we should have left a half hour ago, but we didn’t,” Rhysand gave her a pointed look. “You promised that when I told you we needed to leave, we would leave.”

Idianna pushed a breath of air through her lips before standing up. “Fine.”

Mor stood up too and gave Idy a huge hug. She wished this night could never end. She wished a lot of things.

Pulling away enough to look into Idy’s eyes, Mor told her, “Take care of your brother. Lord, knows he can’t do it himself.”

“I can hear you, you know.”

“I know. Now come here and hug me before ditching.” Rhysand pulled her into a bone-crushing embrace.

“I promise we’ll visit soon,” He whispered into her ear.

“You better,” Mor stepped back into the cold air.

She watched as her cousins faded from view, taking the only good piece of her past with them.

Nesta was on her way to check up on the animals before bed when Helion caught up with her.

“Have you considered what I asked you?” He had to quicken his pace to keep up with her long strides.

“I’ve considered it, and I think it’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” Nesta snarled in reply.

“You have to realize how this might affect the show,” Helion pleaded. “If citizens are protesting the safety of lions in the city, then people will stop coming to the show. If no one comes to the show, no one gets paid.”

“You should have thought of that when you brought them from the wild as cubs and raised them as domestic animals,” It had been the same argument since the protests started last year.

“Let’s return them to the wild then!” He pushed his hair away from his face. “I don’t understand what your probl—”

She really tried to keep her cool, she really did, but they have had this exact conversation about ten times. “Because, they would be killed if returned to the wild now. You took them out of their natural habitat and raised them as domestic animals, now you live with the consequences, you moronic asshole!”

“I am your boss and I will not have you speak to me in—” She interrupted before he could even start the whole ‘I’m your boss and you will respect me’ speech.

“And I won’t have you sending these animals—my animals—to a place that they won’t survive!” Nesta’s chest was heaving and she was seeing red.

“I’ll remind you that I own those ani—” This time it wasn’t Nesta that cut him off, but her second favorite person after Helion.

“What’s going on over here?” Cassian asked, looking between the pair. “Surely, it’s nothing to get so heated about.”

Nesta could hear her own teeth grinding against each other.

“Ms. Archeron here, seems to think she gets a say in how I run my show,” Helion had his hands placed on his hips, which a was a clear sign to anyone that knew him that he was pissed.

“I wasn’t telling you how to run your show,” Nesta crossed her arms over her chest and mumbled under her breath, “At least not yet, anyways.”

Cassian gave her an unimpressed look then met Helion’s gaze.

“Isn’t this something that could be discussed in the morning? We’re all a little worn out from the day, so revisit it later if it’s really that important.”

“I guess you’re right, Cassian,” Helion turned to face Nesta once more. “I’ll talk about this with you in the morning. Check your attitude before then, Ms. Archeron.”

And with that Helion was off to do whatever Helion did at nights. Honestly, She couldn’t care less.

Cassian’s southern charm might have calmed Helion enough to leave Nesta alone, but it only made her blood boil.

Nesta whipped around and sneered, “I could have handled that myself. I didn’t need you stepping in.”

“I did you favor, sweetheart,” She absolutely hated when he called her that. “Your temper was getting the best of you and you know it.”

Nesta just stomped her foot before turning around to head to her tent.

“You’re welcome.”

Nesta had reached her capacity for human interaction for the day.

#nessian #feysand #elriel #mor x andromache #morrigan #feyre archeron #elain archeron #nesta archeron #cassian #azriel #andromache #helion #the greatest show

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rhysand-vs-fenrys · 6 years

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Get To Know You: Frankendition

I was tagged by @whenallislost-findyourself, @thelaughingzeebra in 2 different versions of this, so I just braided them together ^_^

Name: Kristen

Nickname: Krissy

Zodiac: Pisces/Aires cusp (angry, horny fishy)

Height: 5′ 6.5″ (169 cm)

Orientation: Straight, but open to interpretation (if it turns out my soul mate isn’t male then I’m not going to freak out. I’ve counseled too many friends through orientation changes to cling to one until I’m miserable. I’m not looking at females at all, I’m like 99.99999% sure I’m straight, but if it happens it happens).

Status: Single

Nationality: USA

Favourite colour/colours: A nice dark purple, and stormcloud blue

Lipstick or lip balm: Depends if my lips are chapped or not.

Last song I listened to: Despacito, and it’s @court-0f-dreamers fault

Last movie I watched: Howl’s Moving Castle

Top 3 TV shows: “The Twelve Kingdoms” is an eternal fav, and right now I’m also re-watching “Psych” and seeing “The West Wing” for the first time.

Top 3 bands/artists: Imagine Dragons, Hayley Westenra, The High Kings

Favorite Fruits: Strawberries, Oranges/Tangerines/Clementines (I can’t taste the damn difference), Pears!!

Favorite season: Winter

Favorite books: "A Court of Thorns and Roses (Series)” Sarah J Maas; “The Twelve Kingdoms” Fuyumi Ono; “The Farsala Trilogy” Hilari Bell

Favorite Flowers: Carnation, Rose, Dahlia (not the smell, just the look)

Favorite scents: Apple, Mint, and Pine

Coffee, Tea, or Hot Chocolate: Coffee, more often than not. Tea is a close second though!

Favorite animals: Wolf, Snake, Bat (sky puppy)

Average hours of sleep: Less than I want.

Cat or dog person: Dog, but if it’s fluffy I’ll cuddle anything.

Favorite fictional characters: Cassian, Rhysand, Morrigan, Lysandra, Aedion, Yrene, Enki, Burton Guster, CHARLIE (@court-0f-dreamers knows which one), King Richard (Galavant), The Winter Soldier, Black Widow

Number of Blankets you sleep with: Not counting comforter or top sheet-- 4

Dream Trip: Somewhere

Blog Created: December 26, 2016

Followers: More like ~family~ ^_^

Tagging: @court-0f-dreamers, @photofeesh, @dorianthekinkymf x2, @cassianandfenrysaremyboyos, @feysandsmut, @aelin-and-feyre, @feyre-archerons-scrapbook, @poisonbooknerd @poisonwhiterose (are you two the same person? I’m starting to suspect this), @foxboy-lucien, @rowan-buzzard-whitethorn (my fellow grizzled tumblr vet), and anyone else who’d like!

#ask #ask thing #tagging thing

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bookofmirth · 6 years

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Turning A Page - feysand fanfic 1/?

Summary

Feyre Archeron feels stuck in a daily grind - wake up, work to keep her family’s bookstore open, go to bed. Occasionally she finds time to spend with her sisters or her boyfriend, but those encounters are rarely ever satisfying. One day, a man named Rhysand walks into the store and changes everything.

AO3 : part I, II, III, IV, V : Tagging: @photofeesh @joepesci-isfine @tragically-broken @bunniesandbooks @jaeanneee @wpbianca99 @thelaughingzeebra @purpleboybunny @howtotameyourillyrian @kaliejane26 @technotzar (CARLEY I don’t know if your emojis were a request to be tagged but here you are :P) Notes: This is fluff I’m mostly writing to make myself feel better. I hope you enjoy. No warnings for anything - yet.

*****

The tinkling of the bell over the door to my bookstore fills me with two sensations: anticipation, and dread.

The first one can perhaps be easily understood. As the proprietor of a store that sells books, used and new, with a particularly large collection of art books, customers are why I’m here. This is my family business, has been for a few generations now, and so I am grateful for every single person who comes in with an interest in perusing our shelves, reading, and perhaps buying one or two items. Especially the used copies of 50 Shades of Grey. Please, someone take them off my hands.

The second feeling, that pit in my stomach, it’s a bit more difficult to explain.

The maypole around which my life revolves consists of two main parts: my family, and my boyfriend. If the customer who enters my shop is here to scan the shelves for books they plan on purchasing online instead of buying from me, then I am letting my family down. And if it’s my boyfriend coming in that door, then I am probably in for an explanation of how I am letting him down. At least, that’s how it’s been lately.

So there you have it. Anticipation, and dread. I think I might need to make some changes.

*****

On this particular Friday afternoon, I am waiting for my boyfriend to come pick me up and take me to dinner. Tamlin is tall and handsome, has the kind of looks that cause men and women in the street to stop and give him a second glance. Sometimes a third. If I’m with him, they try to be sly. But I have no worries on that account.

Some would say he’s high-maintenance. I prefer to call him intense. It’s not as if I could fault him for that, given the demands that my family make on me, demands which then affect how often we see one another.

We met when he came into the store looking for a birthday gift for his best friend. I helped him pick out a memoir written by a comedian, he offered to buy me dinner.

I still have a couple of hours until Tamlin is supposed to show up, so when I hear the bell ring, I know it’s not him. I like to play a game with myself, trying to figure out what kind of books people will be in the market for, but I’m not often right. I can make lots of recommendations, sure, but I’d be much better at painting their portraits. No one is knocking down my door for that particular service, though. Not when I haven’t had a chance to practice in ages.

I was crouching behind a table to pick up some books that had wandered away from their home, so I stand and brush my hands off on my pants. Unfortunately, in the way that these things happen, my store tends to get a bit dusty, and I am wearing black leggings. Rolling my eyes at myself, I try to paste on a bright smile that will distract from the mess I’ve made of my clothes.

“Hello!” Usually, this voice works on people who don’t care to see me as anything more than the help. I’ve been told I have quite good customer service. If only they knew what I was thinking beneath the smile.

A man is strolling along a table with new releases, the one near the entrance. There are people who get stopped by these books, the ones that are being hyped on social media and have been awarded prestigious literary prizes. Others go right past that table, looking for classics, and others like to lose themselves in back, where we keep more obscure volumes.

I’m not sure why. It’s how my father had it, before Mom died. And it’s a lot of work, reorganizing thousands of books. So it works.

He hasn’t answered my greeting, and I’m not sure if he heard me. His dark hair is thick and slightly damp from the drizzle outside. There is a distinct lack of color about him, with his long, black wool coat in combination with his hair. I wouldn’t be surprised if he is wearing a black shirt and pants as well.

I stand on the opposite side of the table. He is absently fingering the books, lifting covers but not picking any of them up.

“Can I help you find something?” This will be my last attempt to speak with him, I swear. Sometimes people prefer to browse in peace, which I can respect.

He looks up at me, and I realize I was very, very wrong to think he was lacking in color. His eyes are a striking violet, his cheeks have been flushed slightly from being out in the cold, and he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.

I’m fairly certain he is amused about something, but I’m not sure what.

“Do you have a copy of Being and Nothingness? By Camus?” he asks me. His voice is warm and smooth and I want him to read me stories in bed as I fall asleep.

“I think you mean Sartre,” I answer. “But yeah, we do,” I quickly add. “Do you want a used copy? I might have one. But the newer ones always have the nice introductions with commentary and historical context and such.”

He nods. “I think one with context and such would be appropriate.” A hint of a smile threatens, and I look down at myself. He can’t see the mess I’ve made of my leggings, and I haven’t said anything too stupid, so I brush it off.

“Is it for yourself?” I’m not sure why I ask. What does it matter who he’s buying the book for? I turn and head towards a wall of the store, assuming he will follow. He does.

“No, it’s a gift.”

I pull the book from the shelf and hand it to him. “I would have thought it was for you.”

“And why is that?” He folds the book in his arms and leans against the shelf, head cocked.

“Well, look at you.” I gesture to his clothing. “The black. The… mood.”

“I’ve only been here two minutes and I feel like I may have just been insulted,” he says. “And by the proprietress, no less.” And yet his tone is still teasing.

“I’m sorry, I just meant you know, philosophy, you wearing all black, it’s a look people go for, you know?” I wait for an answer, but receive nothing except that amused stare. “Well, I can ring you up, unless you’d like to browse some more? We have a lot more than philosophy. Our collection of art books is quite well known.”

“Ah, yes,” he nods, “I have heard about that.”

My heart speeds up.

“Unfortunately, I have somewhere to be. But this is a lovely store. Warm. Inviting. Personable.” He grins, but this time something beneath it falters. He hands me the book. “I would like to pay for this. And I’ll come back soon, to look at what else you have to offer.”

Our hands brush as I take the book, and it has all the awkwardness of when you accidentally touch a stranger, but with the added fact that he is gorgeous. And I have a boyfriend.

I ring him up at the front. We have an old register on the counter next to the one that actually works, taking up space, because my father insists on keeping it for its charm. I can’t disagree.

The man hands me his credit card and I can’t help but take a look at his name. Rhysand.

“How do you say your name?” I ask. I hope I sound casual.

He pronounces it for me, and I repeat it in my head.

“I can show you the art books next time,” I say, hoping he’ll give me an indication of when that might be.

“I would enjoy that. What’s your name?”

“Feyre.” I put his book in a bag and hand it to him over the counter. “It was nice meeting you.” I’m just being friendly to a customer, I tell myself. I would say the same to anyone else.

He turns and leaves the store, the bell ringing.

The next few hours pass in a blur. I forget what projects I was in the middle of before he came, so I take a seat on the stool behind the register. This would be, of course, completely acceptable behavior from an employee, to sit there and read. But I need to make sure this place doesn’t close down, so I stand and try to get back to work.

The bell above the door rings a few more times that afternoon, and at one point I’m busy helping a few customers at the same time, so I don’t even notice it ring nearly before we close. Arms come from behind and wrap around my waist, and I nearly drop the stack of music theory books I’m carrying.

“Feyre, dearest,” a voice says near my ear, and I know it’s Tamlin. I haven’t had a chance to look at the time, but of course it’s him. He said he was coming to take me out.

“Tamlin, hey.” I squirm out from his grasp, trying not to drop my load. “I need to put these back, can you wait for me up front?”

He kisses my neck before strolling away, and I take a moment to gather myself. A few more customers are straggling behind, making their final decisions, and I gently lead them to just decide, and ring them up as quickly as possible.

Tamlin waits, leaning against a wall, picking at his nails and sighing. He’s never been much of a reader, and doesn’t understand why I’m so attached to the store.

The last customer leaves and he goes to lock the door for me, turning around the sign to say that we are closed before walking back to the counter.

“Aren’t you ever going to clean this place up?” Tamlin looks around the room with a distinct look of disgust. As if I haven’t already told him before that this is how bookstores are supposed to look. The shelves are stuffed and stacked and categorized by genre and author, but not much else. The fact that it’s a mixture of used and new books has never bothered me, nor does it bother our customers. Leave it to Tamlin to be turned off by the idea of books that had actually been read before

“Good evening to you too, dear,” I say as I lean over the counter. Luckily, he leans over to meet my lips, meaning peace. It’s just a quick peck, don’t worry. I am nothing if not professional.

“Ready for dinner?” I’m using my customer voice, and it feels odd to use it on him. Perhaps it’s just being here, in customer-service mode.

He doesn’t notice. Throwing his arm over my shoulders, he leads me out of the store into the damp, lamp-lit streets.

#feysand #feysand fanfiction #acotar #acotar fanfiction #sarah j maas #yes it will be feysand #eventually #feyre #rhysand #tamlin #modern au #my writing #reginald who lives in whales ho u're doing well!

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