He All But Crumbles Under Her Presence, The Paint Brush A Welcomed Distraction Allowing Her To Mark Her

he all but crumbles under her presence, the paint brush a welcomed distraction — allowing her to mark her claim wherever she wishes, a pleased smile accompanying his darkened gaze. he's wrapped up in her, lets his guard down to be completely consumed by feyre, taking it all in. her scent: lilac, pears & paint, their shared breaths, the fire in her eyes that clearly show this isn't over. he leans in closer, giving into all temptation, before there is just a cloud of smoke replacing her presence. " i suppose i taught you too well, hm? " he laughs, lowering her to the ground to twist them around, rhysand now the one with his back against the wall. hands find her hips, easing her closer as he peppers kisses down her jawline & neck, stopping when his lips meet her collarbone, words murmured onto flesh. " it seems you're forgetting our bargain ... " fingers trail to her left arm, running over the ink that stains her skin. he has her right where he wanted her now, his brush coated with black appears in his hand, marking a matching x upon her heart. " we go together. "

i stifle the gasp and look of surprise that threatens to spread across my features, as he appears in front of me, suddenly backing me against the wall. i may have been quick on my feet, but he could always keep me on my toes. his mere presence is overpowering, as i struggle to not become entirely consumed by his raw power and proximity. my chin turned up, “ sensitive and fiendish baby. ” my last, pitiful line of defense -- i hold the brush out in front of me as if it were an ash encrusted dagger. holding his gaze as steady as i could, i quickly paint a pink x over his heart, marking it as mine. my stance eases, if only to let him think that he's won. slowly, the brush trails down his legs, dangerously close to his inner thighs. also mine. leaning forward, i pause for just a moment, ensuring he felt the heat of my breath, before i whispered in his ear, " did you expect me to surrender? " before he can respond, i winnow behind him, snickering as i paint two more x's across his buttcheeks. my arms snake around his neck, as i hop on his back, planting a kiss on his cheek. " you're dead. "

they fall into the routine with such ease, bantering siblings taking shots at each other, sharing laughter, a sense of normalcy falling over them — for once. when the illyrian soldiers had found her, untrusting & warning rhysand to use caution, it only took him seeing her with his own eyes. he had zero doubts of his sister, only peaking into her brain as an extra precaution, to see what she had seen during all of this time. what he saw ... he did not expect things to come so easy to them, so soon. he doesn't take this lightly, grateful for every jest, any smile he can put onto her face.

" just checking in. i would hate for you to empty your dinner all over me. though, something tells me you'd enjoy it. " wings fold around them, taking her retort as a challenge, hands finding her sides to hold onto tightly. & without warning, they are whipping up into the sky, gliding against the sea breeze. he remembers how desperate he was to get back into the sky again, the thrill of gliding amongst the stars at such a speed was intoxicating ... like he'd become whole again. even if she was without her wings now, he hoped this at least came close to that feeling.

" hold on tight. " a little too late of a warning, as he swoops down past the city, the faelights slowly fading away behind them. they are engulfed in the stars, burning so bright it seems as if you could reach out & touch them. he takes a glance down at asteria, studying her expression to the best of his ability, voice kept light — lacking the playfulness of before. " is it everything you expected? "

years upon years apart. her , wondering if she would ever catch sight of him again , sitting in the hidden confines of hybern whilst he mourned her death. time had past , aging both of them far beyond what they were during their final embrace. and yet , in this moment as they stood eloped by the night stars , when asteria peered upon him taking in his laugh in regards to her snide comment , for a moment she saw the rhysand that made her eyes roll. the one that seemed to find joy in riling her up whilst putting her on his shoulders as to see the world from above. in this moment , the decades before did not exist. did not happen. not even with the reminders plaguing both of their bodies and souls. would this feeling last ? asteria remained unsure. but by the gods above would she revel in it as it lingered ; fighting like hells to keep it for as long as she could.

❛   cold feet ?   ❜ a playful gasp expels at his comment. he questioned of she , the sibling who begged her brother to teach her to fight even after their father forbade it , the sister who was sooner ready to jump off the roof and hope her wings would catch her had he not agreed to flying lessons . . . the sister who survived hybern . . . had cold feet ? ❛   well that's just next to insulting , big brother.   ❜ linking her arm with his , excitement radiating through each vein and pore on her body , her grin never faltered. if anything it grew. exponentially so when he referenced her flying lessons.

❛   well of course it was – it would be hard for anyone to learn to fly when you don't let them leap from anything higher than a three story window.   ❜ peering once again out to the sky before her , the glimmers of velaris mimicking the sky as the shops and homes lit up to fight the night , memories once thought lost slowly began to return. ❛   so , are you going to take me flying again , or are you the one to have cold feet ?   ❜

with every court held, rhysand forced to observe, ( take in information, learn the ropes, nothing more ) he's reminded just how dull these political meetings can be. only finding amusement when words get heated, emotions rising ... if he's lucky, a fight breaks out & captures his attention once more, though that seems to be few & far between, lately. things have been quiet, a good sign. a mark of peace, finally, in prythian. though his father has shown his doubts on how long that will last.

strengthening their allyships, he supposes, is the reason for inviting the other courts to their celebration of starfall. while he should be cementing friendships with the elder brothers of the spring court — their behavior reminds him of those at the illyrian camps when he was younger, having to defend & prove he was more than just a half - breed. tyrants targeting those they thought beneath them.

perhaps that's why he always seeks out the youngest of the brothers at these gatherings — he sees his friends in him ... has unspoken sympathy for him, what his family puts him through. whether his presence is appreciated, or not. rhysand doesn't care, only wishing to offer him support. their friendship that blossomed with it was an added, unexpected bonus.

this day is no different, rhysand finding tamlin after exchanging pleasantries with everyone he was supposed to. he appears from the shadows, watching the other lost in his own world. wordlessly, he takes a seat, a smile dancing upon his features — imagining the melody he'd be strumming if he could.

gaze flickers toward the sky, spirits twinkling & shooting across the horizon, a sight he'd never lack appreciation for. contemplating the question with a hum, he'd never give it much thought. the thought of ever finding a mate, at this point, is shut out from his mind. why would he ever put another through this life? perhaps this is why he enjoyed tamlin's presence. his guard lowers: any of the politics, the scheming, the formalities are forgotten. they are allowed to just be.

" my mother seems to think so. " a small shrug, watching another star brightly whirl around, followed by another. to have that love ... he knows he doesn't deserve. his head lowers, to look at tamlin, taking in the softness in his features, reading each thought as if they'd appeared on his face. his tone switches, to something more teasing, an attempt to lighten the other's mood. " why, dear tamlin? don't tell me you're feeling lonely. do we have to take you to the nearest brothel? "

it is not easy to make friends, marked as they were, set apart and labelled for a future they didn't ask for. the accident of birth unfair to say the least. to endure such scrutiny of being first born, tamlin does not like to dwell. though older brothers are a particular type of gruesome punishment, he cannot help but be glad for the insulation provided between his and their exacting father. he will never be high lord, but he will always be the high lord’s son.

in some ways, tamlin understands the younger of the night court siblings. the sister with too canny eyes and too clever a mouth. but it is rhysand he finds himself thrown together with, after meetings, at events, the courtiers to machinate them together. to see if conflict or friendship blooms.

such courtly event is where tamlin finds himself, absent from the spring court on the longest day of the year — he watches the sky alight with splotches of irridescent glowing orbs cascading to — somewhere. he’s never been one for philosophy or history, he has no investment in the religions that different courts hold. his god is music and he has been its humble servant.

that is why, fingers play a silent melody on invisibly strings. he knows the sounds this would make, knows the roaring in his ears as he loses track of his surroundings would be cause for reproach, but it is not until he notices his vision dimming that he’s drawn from his reverie. the heir approaches.

a quiet nod of acknowledgement, fingers withdrawn from the bannister he’d been imagining as an instrument, fists now at his side.

‘ rhysand — ‘

what else is there to say? he’s been sent as diplomat and instead of doing anything regarding diplomacy, or what he suspects his father really desired, intelligence gathering, he has composed a symphony that his fingers itch to transcribe to music.

eyes glance back out to the cascading souls, two merging and half entwined as they fall. he catches rhysand following the same with his gaze. and tamlin ventures at last — something beyond merely a name.

‘ do you think, that if you’re mates — you will follow each other, even into death and beyond? to — wherever these souls go? ‘

he does not like the quietness that has filled his voice, he does not think he will have a mate. he is not powerful like his siblings, his time spent either in the villages and outlying areas playing music, or traipsing in his beastly form. but sometimes, when he watches two immortal souls fall from the great above to the great below. he wonders what it would be like to be loved like that. to be allowed to be so selfish that you would choose that person above all. to damn anyone but them. to damn yourself, for them.

tamlin && rhysand starter // @rhysie

' the next time i offer you my hand, you'll get more than a dance from me.   ' — @feydarling

faelights bounce off of polished ebony & onyx, the only light in the otherwise dark throne room — cavernous walls nearly swallowing it whole. the music has just begun, the command to dance already given, the citizens of hewn city all falling into place. here, he takes on a form of a different beast entirely: a creature of darkness, every movement the grace of a predator. once upon a time, it was easier for him to wear such a mask, slipping into it with such ease that it'd leave him questioning everything about himself afterwards. but her presence makes that blurred line much more clear, a reminder that there is still good in him.

the bodies surrounding them part, making way for the two, as rhysand takes feyre's hand in one, the other finding her waist. as he pulls her close, he can't help but to smirk at the taunt whispered into his ear — as if she knows when he's lost in his thoughts, & exactly how to pull him out of it. the eyes that are so carefully watching their every step quickly fade into the shadows, his heart rate rising with the warmth of her body pressed to his. " oh? " an eyebrow raises, desire flickering in his gaze, fingers dancing along flesh as they sway. " is that a promise? "

he laughs as he watches cassian drop the dummy: a reminder of the of shadows & anguish he'd become upon returning back from the mountain, where he should have been relieved seeing his family again, rhysand was a mess of conflicting emotions. distracted, distraught, every thought leading back to the newly turned fae ... feyre, promised & engaged to his enemy. through it all, every rough night, cassian was there. a pillar of support, even if he didn't know the full extent.

so, rhysand will be that for him, now — no matter how much he seems to be shying away from the topic. sadly, for his brother, he wont be dropping the topic that easily. " ah, it seems they haven't taken a liking to our new rules. unsurprisingly. it may be time for another visit ... " words trail off, as if he's already grown bored of playing high lord, waving off the topic of the camps with a shrug.

" but, that's something i can easily handle myself, if need be. i was planning on checking in, anyways. besides, it seems you already have your hands full here ... " a knowing smirk, hands sliding into pockets. cassian's silent plea goes ignored, as rhysand stalks around the training grounds, getting a closer look at the nearly destroyed dummy. " tell me, how is it going with nesta, hm? that bad? "

he shouldn't be surprised that rhys knew what was bothering him — after all, he's had his own wrestle in an attempt to get his archeron sister. he remembers watching him before feyre realized their bond, each and every facial expression once she left the room, his own training when she so much as wore something revealing or wore her hair a certain way. HE FEELS LIKE THAT, BUT TENFOLD. they didn't kiss or bed each other before they shared those feelings. cassian hated sleeping alone. she never asked. did she want him to stay.

“ that is the understatement of the century, my friend. ” cassian says, letting out one final blow and watches the dummy topple over. he walks over to the nearest weapon rack, chest heaving with each and every breath. damn her and her grip on him. he wonders how much rhys is going to pry — a lot, if he knows him. cauldron, save him.

with his hands on his hips, the illyrian male makes his way back over to his high lord, ignoring the sweat - drenched hair falling in his face. “ what of the illyrian war camps? there's nothing i want to talk about more. ” he's half pleading, eyes squinting. “ is something going wrong? ”

he takes no pride in his methods, claws caressing every inch of her shield until it bends under his control, violating her every thought to echo his voice in her mind. come on, feyre. if you want me out so badly, shut me out. he doesn't relent with her outburst, even as it takes him right back to under the mountain, to that dungeon: the monster she viewed him as still lurking ... he keeps his composure calculated, no matter how much his heart races, reminding himself that this is as much for her own safety as it is for the safety of prythian. i am helping. you pushed back. a note appears on her desk without any effort, rhysand not bothering to look up from his own paperwork that sits before him. ( it simply reads: that face of yours is too delicious to be pouting like that. ) shield, now.

@rhysie said: ❝  you have a very messy brain.  ❞ (x)

“ GET OUT! ” finally snapping, my pitiful excuse for mental shields slammed shut as quick as they could, a shriek ripping from my throat. “ STAY OUT! ” my brow furrowed and head aching, my hands clawed at my face as if i could possibly tear out the violating grasp he had on my mind. frustration and fatigue wore at me, as i slumped down in my seat. energy depleted, all of the letters had begun to blur together long ago, his aggravating and intruding voice continuing to overpower my every thought. the glaring inadequacies of my own abilities and discipline so terribly discouraging and humiliating. face still buried in my hands, i leaned against the desk, with a hiss, “ you’re not helping. ”