![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
OCTOBER + NOVEMBER TDM.
● ● ● T D M . 0 4
… What are you willing to do to erase your regret from existence?
These are the words that ring in your ears, as a slowly growing red glow surrounds you in this dreamspace, filling you with an acute sense of dread — and whatever it is that you’ve just agreed to might have changed everything forever.
It is this sense of dream that startles you awake, and as it fades, and your heart begins to slow into something resembling your normal tempo, you'll notice something you should have picked up on immediately: you are not in your bed.
1.0 White walls, clinical yet clean, sparsely-furnished rooms. You may wake in one of three rooms: a room with only one bed, a room with two beds, or a room with four beds. Those waking up in rooms with more than one bed notice that they are not alone. Perhaps the other occupants of the room are still sleeping, dreaming the same dream as you just did, or a regular one after returning to the station just barely a week ago … or perhaps you wake up to the other person in the room watching you.
What you do is entirely up to you: yelping in surprise when you wake to someone staring at you is always an option. Or maybe you’ll try to sneak away before anyone notices you...
2.0 Those with life-threatening injuries will find themselves waking up in the infirmary, in a regular hospital bed. Most of their injuries have been treated, and any lingering illnesses or conditions will have designated medicine bottles on the table next to the bed.
White curtains surround the bed on both sides, providing an illusion of privacy. But is that a rustling sound you hear? A set of footsteps? Perhaps you’re not the only one in need of some medical attention.
In fact if you’re very badly off, you might want to hold out hope for some company - you can’t stay in the infirmary forever. You'll have to make your way through the hallways of the station to the living quarters, and claim a room and a bed there.
Once upright, you might notice something in your ear: an earpiece that, when you become aware of it, quickly runs you through the instructions for how to use the network, a recorded message by a female voice that explains exactly why you’re here… and leaves you with a map of the station.
So what else is there to do but to explore, right? Best get to know your way around your new home.
3.0 When trying to decide where you go, you might find your way to the armory, where you can make attempts to work the machine and create a weapon for yourself — maybe replace the one that didn’t come with you to the station ... or maybe you decide to prepare something for the future. Any recently-returned team members will surely recommend having a functional weapon with you.
And speaking of weapons: why not put them to the test and head over to the training room, where the entire purpose of this space is to provide you with opportunities to spar and train to your heart’s content!
4.0 After you’ve exhausted yourself from training, your stomach will prompt you for something to eat. For that you should head to the kitchens and the mess hall, which is equipped with all the basic appliances you might need, along with some more unusual ones (including an ... interesting-looking waffle maker and popcorn machine), as well as ingredients for most generic Earth-based dishes. For some reason, there are also some bags of now-cold popcorn left abandoned over the counters.
5.0 A welcome reprieve to the cold, dark space that surrounds you can be found in the sunlight room. A skillful illusion builds up around anyone who steps inside the room: you can hear the trilling of birds, feel a light breeze caress your skin as you walk through a grass field. The illusion has been programmed to reflect the seasons — the leaves in the trees are currently bright with all the colours of autumn: orange and red and yellow; and the air is crisp and clean. If you follow the path, you'll be led to a bridge rising over a sparkling, babbling brook, a few fallen leaves floating on the water and falling around you like very bright raindrops.
Here, it's easy to forget (for a moment, anyway) that you are in space at all. Maybe that gives you comfort, or maybe it just makes you miss the real thing all that much more.
6.0 If you’d rather choose tinkering with objects over wandering through nature, the lab is guaranteed to provide you with some entertainment. Glass vials and jars of chemicals sit on shelves in a surprisingly beautiful display of colour on one side of the room, while the other side of the room contains stacks of boxes filled with assorted equipment: cords, bolts, panels, buttons, gears, gadgets, gizmos, and thingamabobs. The downside is that the parts available seem to have no apparent method to their sorting. So get digging and you may just find exactly what you need to make what you’ve always wanted to!
7.0 Some time after your arrival, the earpiece alerts you to a new message. If it’s items you’re lacking, you may just be in luck.
Indeed, the platform located near the personal quarters is still whirring with power, and new items form neat piles on top of it. There are clothes, shoes, dishware, skincare, books ... and in one pile, a varied collection of what seems to be Halloween decorations and costumes. So, sort through the piles and grab what you want before someone else does! (But don't forget: sharing is caring.)
Whether you’re a quick study and you’ve become settled into life on the station, or you want to get the full lay of the land (in a manner of speaking) first, if you decide to explore the hall past the control room, you’ll eventually come across the simulation room. It’s been equipped with a new simulation to show you the drill where the missions are concerned, so step in and see what it has in store for you!
8.0 The moment the doors slide shut behind you, the space goes dark and then quickly lights up again, but instead of the blank empty walls you initially walked into, you’re surrounded by colour and lights, the sound of music and chatter, and the smells of deep-fried foods and overly sweet beverages. Someone calls, ‘Step right up, step right up!’ while another voice from somewhere starts to cheer as an electrical sound of a buzzer goes off, announcing its winner for prizes.
It seems that you’ve entered the Carnival simulation, so come on in and have a little fun.
There are booths spread out across these simulated grounds, each one offering food, drink or games. As you wander past you’ll notice that there is a touch of macabre to everything — the colours are black and orange and violet and red, the drinks offered have strange names, some you recognize like ‘Witch’s Brew’ and ‘Eye of Newt’, and some you might not, like ‘Viole(n)t Breeze’ and ‘Undead Essence’. It’s as though all of the things strange and wonderful find themselves spread across the entire universe to unite here.
Once you’ve had your fill of food and games, you can make your way past the little market area to a brightly glittering ferris wheel with carts rotating in a cycle, enticing you to try it out. Or if you’d rather be spooked, there is a hokey little ‘haunted mansion’ to your left that won’t take more than a handful of minutes to move through. Creatures and ghosts will pop out at you when you least expect it, their masked faces exaggerated with paint and some fairly realistic prosthetics to get the adrenaline pumping. Take a friend with you, or go it alone — just try to keep your cool through it all.
9.0 Eventually, once you’ve had your fill of the festivities, you may notice a wooden sign pointing you past the haunted mansion. Pressed on it is a round mark, and you remember that this is simulating a mission — you’re not here to just have fun, but to try and retrieve a simulated orb.
As you follow the path, you’ll find the hustle and bustle of the carnival growing quieter. All around you, there is nothing but woods — and hold on, where did all that mist come from? It surrounds you slowly, the ground seeming slightly damp as you keep walking… and arrive at a graveyard.
So the orb… it’s there, hidden in one of the graves? There’s nothing else to do but to start walking and looking at the gravestones — but when you do, you’ll be shocked to find some of the names are terribly, terribly familiar.
They might be names of your loved ones, people who were still in perfect health back home; and yet here those stones bear their names, along with an epitaph that brings tears to your eyes. And if you move closer… you may experience a flash of colour and light, and a memory suddenly plays out in front of you: the death of your loved one, whoever that may be.
Or perhaps the name you see on a gravestone is something else even more familiar to you: your own. But ... how, right? Reluctantly, your heart pounding, you approach with tentative steps, and yes — the name does not change. It's yours right there ... and it's your own death that you witness when the grave’s spell binds you.
● ● ●
N O T E: The deaths witnessed are intended to be non-canon deaths, so feel free to go wild inventing them -- this also goes for characters who are canonically dead. These are “alternate universe deaths”, not canon.
Additionally, there are three personal tasks provided to each character as they enter the simulation. In-game, each character will be given one task. For the purposes of the test drive, we’re leaving it to players to pick a task for their character and run with it.
A Find the grave of a teammate and witness their death.
B Team up with a fellow Orber win in one of the Carnival games.
C Scare a teammate in the haunted house.
F Y I
• This TDM covers both October and November, so there will be no new TDM for November.
• TDM threads can be used as samples for apps. In fact, we encourage it!
• Reserves are currently open!
• Apps open October 27 and will remain open until November 30.
• For any questions regarding TDM, please direct them here. For questions about the game, please refer to the FAQ.
FOR SOME FUN:
Have a clue for your upcoming mission:
“I’m going to bed, where I may die.”
heheheh whoops
rising back up to meet her mouth, rhysand eases off the wall. there are three small beds in the room, and he blindly finds the first one, removing himself from feyre just to get her on her hands and knees on the mattress. he shoves her leggings down, not bothering to take them off any more than to expose her little pink pussy, winking at him through the break in her thighs.
fumbling with his pants, he stays standing, kissing her spine while one hand pets up and down her body, like soothing an animal. )
Show me your wings, darling.
( there's the sound of him spitting into his hand, fingertips licked, before wetting his cock with a few rushed strokes. slick enough, he poises himself at her warm, sloppy entrance, thrusting in with one hard toss of his hips. halving down, he presses his forehead to her back, breathing hotly, heavily. )
Fuck.
:3
no matter how she might be feeling in this moment, whatever thoughts might be racing through her brain, the way he kisses her will never stop serving as a balm to any ache, the way he holds her close even as he carries her to a bed will send a shiver of pure want up her spine.
he sets her on the bed and yanks her leggings and undergarment down enough to get his cock where they both want to be. her hands move to grip the bed sheets beneath her, the fabric isn't anywhere as luxurious as the ones she sleeps on back home but they are far nicer than anything she had when she lived on the other side of the wall.
she is distracted by such a thought that she barely hears his request as he fumbles with his pants. she lets out a breath, ignoring his request for now because the only time she'd been able to manifest them was once before, when she was afraid. he must have forgotten. or maybe it's something she could do easily in the future, something she would be curious to ask him about later.
but there are distractions abound.
and soon enough, he's inside of her, her eyes fluttering shut as her body clenches around him, a low moan escaping kiss swollen lips. finally her whole body seems to be saying, even if for her it had been only since the night before that they'd done this.
Fuck is right.
finally, a tease slips through as she reaches back to grip at his thigh, wanting to touch him, needing more of him in every way.]
no subject
playfully, he gives her a spank, pressing a lingering kiss on her shoulder.
Wings. Try.
yes, he did forget. but — now is as good a time as any to help train her back up again. leaning back, he sifts a hand quickly through his sweaty hair before both hands clasp on her thin waist, driving himself back into her. it's a forceful, brutal thing, but he's still careful about it, mindful of her entire body like it's an extension of his own. he knows intimately how she likes to be touched, how to move and how to please her. he memorized it all in a night, indulging himself on her arousal like a sponge takes in water. and yet —
despite that, he never gets used to the feeling of her cunt clamping down on him, endlessly tight and warm. rhysand balks before he presses forward, tossing his hips into her and into her, fucking her hard and fast and raw. ugly in making love, still mostly clothed and needy, desperation hidden in every bead of sweat that rolls down his forehead. )
You're mine.
no subject
it's a little hard to think about anything other than her mate pistoning himself into her, the sounds of their bodies colliding, wet slaps of skin meeting skin.
but he asks her to try. and even if a wicked part of her, the hurt, shitty part of her wants to tell him no, she relents after he reminds her that she is his.
she lets out a breath, even as a part of her recoils at the idea of shifting like tamlin could, that was his gift to her after all. she doesn't let herself think of him in this moment as she forms the wings as she remembers them, her body starting to sag at the unfamiliar weight of them, the front half of her body falling forward a bit until she's balancing on her elbows instead of her hands, panting, rasping for breath and suddenly covered in a thin sheen of sweat herself.]
no subject
a reasonable person would likely not be fucking his mate like some sort of ravenous beast the second she arrives, but rhys has never been reasonable, especially not when it comes to feyre. he has something to prove, some bottomless truth he has to splatter inside her, sew into the fabric of her muscles until she believes him when he says i love you and you're mine and forever, forever, forever.
Prettiest wings I've seen, he coos, slowing his grind to lay a warm palm over the sensitive skin, dragging his hand down the leathery membrane. unthinkingly, his wings peel out of his back to match her, framing the two of them in a private bubble. You're so good. )
Lay back.
( she doesn't have to support herself — he puts pressure on her back until her arms give out, until her cheek is mushed into the mattress and rhysand remains the start and end of her pleasure, cradling it with knowing hands. he fucks her in earnest, slamming his body to hers, one hand drawing lacy patterns on her wing, while his other arm winds around her waist, finding her clit. )
You're going to come. And then you're going to tell me where you want it.
no subject
for a moment, her pleasure takes a backseat to the way it feels to have wings, the way his panting breaths come out and sweep against the thin skin of them, making her shudder. his words of encouragement only make her do that all over again.
but it's when he touches them that the real sensation comes. she gasps loudly when his hand slides along the newly formed skin, the touch as intimate as his tongue swiping between her thighs, it has her clenching around his cock. and whatever thoughts she had of turning this around, of pushing him down on the bed and fucking him, claiming him are out the window now.
she can do nothing but obey him now, whimpering as he pushes her flat onto the bed, his hands seeming to be everywhere at once, at her back, touching her wings, then at her clit, then at both, working in tandem as he fucks her. and he gives her everything she needed in that moment, she's thinking of nothing but this, forgotten are any of things they spoke of about the future, forgotten is the room that smelled of...
this room smells of them now as he gives her a command. her mate. her husband. her high lord. he commands her to come and she tumbles right into a climax, her world shattering for a moment, engulfing her in heat and pleasure as he pushes in and out, in and out, in and out of her. his name is on her lips, in her mind, in her heart. he is everything in that moment. her wings flap once, involuntarily, a movement that brings her both pain and pleasure, that causes her to cry out in almost agonizing pleasure, as if she might die from how good this all feels good.]
no subject
but he doesn't. he doesn't want it to be about him. he wants to fuck her for hours and give her a hundred orgasms, until she's limp and pliant and snuggly warm, until he can kiss her and not taste the grief on her tongue. ragdolling, rhys grabs a hold of her and maneuvers her deeper onto the mattress, giving himself enough space to kneel up there with her. pointedly, he sets her hips down, leggings biting under her ass, until she's laying flat on her stomach, weighed by the heaviness of her own wings. throughout it all, he stays deep inside her, sluggishly grinding his cock in circles against her.
slower, now. the frenzy is settled. this is his wife and high lady, and she deserves to be fucked like the goddess she is, with all the intimacy he can muster, all the worship he's capable of. he palms a hand against her sweaty back, sliding her messy hair over one shoulder before his hands settle firmly against her muscles. without being told, his thumbs dig into her flesh, exhausted from making the wings, rubbing against the dip of her spine with a keen talent. massaging the tear of skin, where the wings sprout from. searching out aches and easing them away, one swipe at a time. )
Feyre.
( it's a prayer, her name. she's every star in his black, darkened night. as her body eases, he pulls his cock an inch from her, smoothly thrusting back into her. it's so slow, by comparison — a gentle, intimate thing. his body begging for hers, loving as best as it can.
he's never really received much love, but he's always known how to give it. infinitely, with everything he has. )
no subject
and as she rides out her pleasure with him still buried deep inside of her, her body pulsating and heated, she is easy to maneuver. she lets him ease her body properly onto the bed, doesn't protest when he presses it flat into the mattress, only lets out a soft sound, something between protest at the twinge of pain she feels and pleasure at the angle at which he presses inside of her now.
as her mind starts to come down, she feels his hands move to her back, fingers pressing into taut, aching skin. already there is a sharp throbbing of the muscles there, muscles completely unused to supporting the weight of her wings. and for a moment, she simply stays in the moment, savoring the ebbing sensation of her climax as his hands work wonders on the soreness at her back and he says pressed inside of her.
but then he whispers her name like that, a reminder of that bond that's still there, that's still strong and something inside of her snaps, yanks her back to the reality of where they are, of why it's not just her back that aches. and she drags in a ragged breath, shutting her eyes tightly against it all, against anything that isn't the love she feels for him and that he feels for her. it doesn't work. not completely.
she'd forgotten the second part of his earlier command, she'd forgotten to tell him where she wanted it considering she'd come immediately after and well, she knows what "it" is. she draws in a sharp, determined breath, her eyes opening as she turns her head a little more, her voice breathless and eager: ] Get on your back, Rhys. Right now.
no subject
Yes, High Lady.
( it's obscene, the visual of pulling his cock from her, wet and slicked with her orgasm. he wants to be buried in her heat all over again, tunneling inside her and finding all the parts where they click together, a perfect match. mate. he can't resist sliding his sloppy cockhead against her folds, panting with the need to fuck her again and again, before dutifully, obediently, he listens.
at another time, being obedient would've made his heart ache and his walls rise, so used to it and every lashing under the mountain, but not around feyre. she's light and warmth and clear, so blue they're black, skies. where she beckons, he follows, turning and laying flat on the bed beside, cringing lightly at the poor thread count brushing his wings. sensitive illyrian baby, indeed. his flushed cock lays hot and red and angry and wet against his stomach, and with a snap of rhysand's fingers they're both naked, clothes left in messy piles all around the room.
cockily, a hand tucks behind his head, in wait. on another day he might've stroked his dick to seem enticing, but he's not sure how seductive he'll be, tonight. feyre shouldn't be teased. instead, his free hand reaches for her, wherever he can touch, to brush her heated, soft skin. )
no subject
however, with a snap of his fingers, he saves her the effort of getting them both undressed. on another day, she might have been annoyed for she so likes to undress him but right now, there are no complaints because it only makes it easier for her to move closer to him once more.
she knows what this position means to him, she's tried so hard to replace those memories of lying prone beneath the female that tormented them in different, horrible ways, with memories of herself, of love, of choice. she climbs back onto the bed with him and gasps at the effort it takes to straddle him with her newly formed wings.
she almost tilts backwards again, she cringes slightly, wanting to be a seasoned seductress instead of this clumsy creature. she lets out a tiny breath, the sound self-deprecating. if they were in another space, another room, she'd pull him up by the shoulders, use him for balance but they are not at home, they are not somewhere comfortable for their wings and she knows she must make do with what they have while also doing what she wants to do.
so she shifts, the movement slightly ungraceful, her hand reaching between them to cradle his cock so that she might ease back down upon it. that is effortless at least, she is wet enough that the motion is smooth as silk. she moans at the sensation of having him inside of her once more, even after being parted barely a minute parted. her eyes stay on his face as she does it, her free hand moves to lay over his heart. and when she thinks You're mine isn't a demand nor is it aggressive, not in this position, not with her on top of him and in control. it's nothing but backed with the love she feels for him and for the ache that exists in her heart as she rolls her hips above his. ]
cw: sexual abuse mentions
he always made it good for her. he had to. he became well fluent in the art of fucking, vulgar and racy, until sex was like breathing — unconscious, unthinking, something that his body did to assure its place in the hierarchy. he wasn't acting as a whore, he was a whore, and he was good at it. good enough to trick everyone. good enough to stick close. good enough that he never faltered for a moment, never forgot his place, never stuttered on a stroke or fumbled a thrust.
he fumbles now. it's messy, his adoration of feyre. he forgets every single lesson in lovemaking he learned under the mountain, and meets her gracelessness with his own, a rattling breath knocking loose every emotion in his chest. he doesn't hide from feyre. he doesn't give her the whore that's good at what he does — he just gives her himself, blinking glassy eyes up at her as she descends on him, reaching hungry hands up to cup her breasts, to slide against the rise of her belly as his cock nudges against her inner walls. night sky gathers and clouds around them, halfway to concealing rhys — but feyre stays radiant, vibrant in the dark. his one guiding light. his north star.
it takes no time at all before he tosses his hips up in a buck, a loud, aching moan out of his throat as he empties himself inside of her, hips giving gentle bounces as he comes, filling her up. breathing a mess of aborted, rough gasps, he helps himself up into sitting, strong arms enveloping his wife. dragging her as near and he can, still pumping hot streams of come inside her. )
Feyre. ( he presses his face to her tits, breathing raggedly, roughly, rubbing his face against her skin. ) Feyre, Feyre, Feyre.
( and then, with no one but the stars to witness, the high lord weeps. )
no subject
she sees and loves every part of him. she loves him when he's exacting, with ruthless precision and cunning, unruffled and perfectly coifed. but most of all, she likes him like this, messy and stumbling, so overwhelmed with his love for her that every mask and wall he puts up falls before her. does that make her awful? wanting to know every corner of his heart? even the dark ones he wishes to hide?
she can see vulnerability in his eyes, feel it in that bond between them, feel it in his trembling fingers as grips her hips so tightly. and when she sees it, she hopes darkly that he doesn't see someone else above him, that it's not anyone else but the person who loves him most in the world. thanks to that bitch, she'd come so close to losing him before she could even love him, show him how worthy he was of love, before she could pull him back into the light, before she could begin to convince him that he's given enough of himself to the dark.
she'd had plans for him in this moment, she had ideas of riding him until they were both shuddering and desperate for release, to reclaim him like that. but before she can show him that she doesn't mean to give up so easily, he shuddering beneath her, coming undone and inside of her, filling her with his pleasure. she gasps in surprise, feeling him shatter in more than one way, pulling himself up against her, wrapping around her and burying himself deeply inside of her. all previous plans are forgotten as she feels his body tremble with sobs, her name falling from his lips against her skin.
her arms move to wrap around him, cradling him to her chest as he weeps, her face burying into his hair, lips brushing against the sweaty, silken strands.
i see you. i see you. i see you.
i love you. i love you. i love you.
mate. mate. mate. ]
no subject
his sobs are silent as he presses them against her, tasting the salt of his tears and the salt of her sweat on every muted gasp, indulging himself in staying hidden, buried away, kept safe in his mate's arms. he doesn't deserve this comfort. he never has but especially not now, not after he's hurt her. some part of him feels the claws of rejection sinking into all the softest parts of his mind, saying this was a goodbye romp — that feyre will have decided he's not worth the trouble of keeping around. and here he is, crying pathetically, because he can't imagine letting her go. because he would, if she needed that.
i love you, she says. i see you, every broken piece, every ounce of a lonely orphan leftover from childhood, who didn't have the luxury to be choosey with love, when it came to him. he couldn't hope for feyre. when he knew she was his mate beyond reasonably doubt, he couldn't hope to have her. now? he's so lucky, it's embarrassing. lucky, and stupid, and luckier still.
huffing a wet laugh, he turns his head up, placing his chin on the center of her chest, so he can blink up at her. )
I didn't mean to come so fast.
( a tickle of pink decorates his cheeks. truly, awful form for returning mates.
turning his head up, he beckons her for a kiss, keeping one arm snug around her, while the other skirts between their bodies to find their joining, mapping out her clit with a soft, soothing touch of his thumb. it's slow. memorizing. he has a habit of touching her like it might be the last time, but it's particularly pointed now — if they can only fuck this one last time, then he'll just never come out of her. he'll just fuck her forever. that's the way it has to be.
Don't hide from me. gently, his talons cup the length of their bond, plucking it like the string of an instrument. his hands spread out, palms against her mental shields. asking permission. Please. I can handle it, too. )
no subject
her hand lifts to touch his cheek as he looks up at her and says those sheepish words, her lips quirking at the corners.]
I'll take it as a compliment-- [ she murmurs softly, leaning down to press her lips to his eyelashes first, kissing away the tears caught there, tasting the sorrow that put them there and aching at it. her lips finally do meet with his for a proper kiss as he beckons, an action interrupted by a sharp intake of breath when his thumb presses to that bundle of nerves, still pulsating and sensitive. one hand moves to bury itself into his hair, tugging his mouth closer to her own even though there's no way they could be closer short of devouring each other.
it's then that he strokes with bond, talons knocking at the walls she's put up and seeks the truth of how she's feeling. she balks at the idea of it for a moment, her head shaking in refusal, if only because she doesn't want to hurt him, especially now with his cheeks still wet, his eyes still shining with tears.
but she cannot refuse him, not when he's let her in so many times when he was feeling vulnerable, raw and exposed. exhausted, she releases a shaky breath, nodding as she lets the shields down, brick by invisible brick. her wings fade too, if only because she doesn't have the strength at that moment to do both.
she lets him see now. ugly, ugly, ugly the thoughts tell her, the things she feels are ugly. she lets him see the ache in her heart. the ugly: the betrayal she feels, the anger she feels that he buried his cock into someone else, the resentment that she was not involved in that decision. then the overwhelming fear of losing him, the idea that this girl might be something she isn't: not burdened by that heavy darkness, not broken or not a murderer.
the pathetic child who let her family walk all over her, forcing her into saving them because no one else would. a lonely girl so desperate for love and comfort that she tangled herself with someone who let her die for him. the shattered woman who became so undone that she couldn't fight her way out of a gilded cage and had to be saved.
i'm sorry. she presses a kiss to his lips then, a shameful tear rolling down her cheek.
she breaks off that piece of herself and hands it to him before she shows him the good. how despite the ache she feels, it's an ache that will heal with time, feyre knows that even now, even as it's raw and fresh.
it's only love after that. and everything that comes with it. the gratitude that she feels to have him, that he saved her, that he gives her the choice, that he loves her, that he has given parts of himself that no one will ever have and that he has made himself vulnerable after hundreds of years of keeping that part of himself in the dark. he is the night sky to hold her stars, that warm embrace she needs to stay aloft. rhys is the reason she can shine so brightly now. because she'd been so close to flickering out completely but he'd seen her, better than anyone else could. it's that love that she will not let go of, that she selfishly clings to and will fight and claw to keep.
and trust. it's there too. she trusts her heart in his hands, she trusts him with everything. this is not goodbye.]
no subject
( is all he says for a little while, because he can't abide her thinking that about herself. this — none of this is her fault. it's all on rhys.
and he nods, understanding. he can't say if the roles were reversed, he wouldn't respond exactly as she had, in betrayal and anger. not that he's ever been against the idea of sharing feyre, because he'd do anything she wanted, to keep her happy — but because it should've been a conversation between them. he knew that long before feyre arrived, so he was willful in hurting her, as much as that disgusts him to admit. he bows his head in submission, a bland truth floating between them. i did this to you. i did this.
and there's one thing that's missing, in this equation. something he'd been — careful to avoid, to find the right words to say. it comes out now, clumsy. )
I'm sorry. ( his hand pauses in diddling her, wiping his thumb on the sheets so he can reach up and chase away that tear that comes falling, brushing against her cheek. ) I'm so, so sorry, Feyre. That I ever lead you to think ( he swallows around something suffocating in his throat ) that there could be anything in any world I could want more than you. Every jagged, broken line. All the dark parts, all the parts I haven't met yet. I love all of them. I want all of them. There's no part of me that doesn't dream of every part of you.
( careful, because — he can't say he regrets bedding alina. he can't apologize for that. it's not fair to her, to take that away as if their time means nothing now that feyre is here. he can't be that man, who walks away from someone pouring their heart out to him — what his heart reaches out for in return. he would not be the male feyre fell in love with, if he could do the easy thing, over the thing his heart guides him towards. then he'd just be tamlin. a thought that makes something vicious ripple through his muscles )
It's just that ( he watches her carefully, ready to stop talking about alina at any time if it makes her profoundly upset. if she isn't ready to hear it, he'll shut himself up. huffing, he lets out a shuddering breath. ) she reminds me of you. You don't even know.
no subject
You didn't lead me to believe that-- [ she murmurs softly. it was her own insecurity, her own inexperience with love and the mating bond and to be honest, sex. while yes, she'd been with two other men in her short life, that didn't mean she had experience in the more complex narratives around intimacy and sex, in the vastly different ways males and females could interact with each other, that was beyond the fairytales and love stories that her sisters read.
a part of her bristles. he's still inside of her and talking about alina, about how alina reminds him of her. would it be better if she was nothing like her? a stranger who could give him something she was not? she supposes that he would not find comfort in that type of person, not when he was feeling empty without her. she fights the urge to push her shields up again, to protect him from that broken, possessive part of herself. Please, I can handle it, too. his words echo in her mind and she keeps herself open. she owes that to him, owes it to him to hear him.]
I won't ask you to abandon her, Rhys. [ because she can hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes, this girl has burrowed her way into his heart and if this girl is anything like her, he's got a place in hers. she knows the male she loves and if he hadn't already fucked her, she means something to him, just by virtue of what she's done for him.
her hands move to wipe at her own eyes, brushing her hair back a little even if her back muscles are screaming at her for the effort. she takes a breath in. strength. she draws up her strength.] I won't forbid you from seeing her, from being with her. I will not be cold towards her, I'll make sure she knows she has nothing to fear from me. And I will stay in the room they assigned me.
no subject
( he's not explicitly sure if he's in love with alina, yet — the could bes are all aligned there, ready and waiting to be nurtured, but he's not sure he has it in him. rather, he's not sure he has it in him to admit it. rhysand is not one to do things in halves, and touching alina in the first place had been a certain breaking point of reality — he wouldn't tempt breaking a vow with feyre for less. but still. feyre is his mate. and more than that, more than the soul bond that they share, more than the fact that she's the love of his life, his wife, his everything — she really is his best friend. that particular bond is incomparable, to anything and everything.
he runs his fingers along her jagged edges, the thoughts and feelings she thinks are ugly. but they're honest, and rhys appreciates honesty above all else. still, her words give him a bit of a pause, eyebrows furrowed as he tilts his head. )
... thank you.
( he would stop seeing alina, if feyre asked it of him. but mostly he's thanking her for saying she won't hate alina, just because of what she means to rhys. )
But — why? Because you think we wouldn't want you there, or because you don't want to be? Because — ( his eyes squint, trying to look beyond some kind of ultimatum feyre might not have intended to set up. because if he has to choose one or the other, and the goal is not to hurt either ... he'd probably have to choose neither of them, and make them all unhappy. ) I won't speak for Alina, but I want you there. With me, always. And if you're somewhere else — then I have to be there, too. If ... if you want me, that is. What do you want, Feyre?
no subject
but as he speaks, she can barely contain her desire to scoff, her back painfully straightening as if her pride willed it so. she's been as generous, as magnanimous as she can be in this moment, while still grappling with all that he's told her about the future, about the death of her father and now with the idea of her mate being with someone else.
she draws in a shaky breath, feeling the unfair prick of tears once more, a sudden surge of humiliation settling over her, out of nowhere, creeping through the cracks in her armor, born of exhaustion and grief. ]
Do you really think so little of me? Of what I've said? What I've shown you? Of course, I want you. [ how could he think she doesn't want him? how could he think that she'd be comfortable with immediately shacking up with the other woman in his life? she needs time and somehow that's unfair to him? she moves to climb off of him then, biting back an agonized groan at the way her back feels, shivering at the sudden chill of the room hitting her as she wobbles on her bare feet. ] If you think that the first night I'm here, in this strange place, after finding out everything that I have, that I can handle sleeping in the same room that you share with her.... do you really not understand why I would struggle with that?
[ a few traitorous tears roll down her cheeks, tears that she's quick to wipe away with a nervous flit of her fingers. she feels every ounce of anger she's pushed down for his sake starting to bubble up and it takes everything she has to stamp it down, to try and keep her voice even and calm. ] You fucked another female, Rhys. You feel for her. Instead of riping out her throat or yours, like Amren or Nestia might, I'd like to think I've been gracious and even-handed. And yet you expect me to smile and share a bed with you both? Is it so unfair for me to ask for some time, some space to understand this place and grieve?
no subject
holding her, forcing her. taking the choice away to run away from him. locking her in a room and throwing away the key.
rhys is not that man and he never has been. he maintains that tamlin loved her too much, the kind of love that veered off the path of pure feeling and into darker territory, the need to own and contain. the same mentality drives illyrian males into clipping their female's wings. possession, having something ready at your fingertips, something that can't leave. rhysand has never understood the thought process, and still doesn't, but he wishes for a moment — just one, where he could force her into his hands and make her understand the turmoil in his chest.
but he doesn't, because he's not the person who puts gilded locks on closed cages. he's the person who smashes them, to see broken wings fly. )
I understand perfectly well.
( he stands to match her, and the morns the loss of his pants so he can't shrivel up and make himself small in his pockets. instead his fingers flex, hesitant, before gingerly reaching out a palm to cup her cheek, thumbing back those tears. )
That's not what I was saying, Feyre. I expect nothing of the sort. ( he stops himself from recoiling at her words, you fucked another female, reminiscent of a time when that other female was amarantha. this probably is the movement of a whore — maybe part of him never left the mountain. maybe he always will be the dog, bending over for whoever doles it out. ) Just ... you're my wife. You're my mate, my mate. That's ( he swallows, biting off his own tears. ) everything, to me. If you need time, of course you'll have that. If you need space, I will give you it. I waited five hundred years for you, and would wait five hundred more, if that's what you needed. Just.
( he gives a hapless shrug. pathetic and small. )
Being apart from you is like cutting a soul from a body. Trust me. If you want me away, I will be away. But if not? I will humiliate and degrade myself to unimaginable lows trying to be near you. I will play the part of every fool, I will get down on my knees and beg for your touch. I just need to know if that's what you want — me, right now, or me later. That's all.
no subject
tamlin would have, he would have grabbed her hips before she could even stand, kept her with him with a desperate grip, begging her to stay. trapped her. rhys would never.
his words lash at her, each one as hurtful as a physical blow. has he so misunderstood the nature of her love for him? does he think that she would enjoy watching him grovel, preen over the idea of him begging for her love? nothing about that appeals. and if she knew the unkind thoughts he was having of himself, she would do everything she could to banish them away, especially because it's her fault they are there.]
Rhysand, please understand I'm not asking you to be away from me, [ she sighs, lifting her hand to cover his at her cheek, drawing it to her lips to brush a kiss over his knuckles, keeping her shields down so he can see the truth of all her words that follow: ] Nor did I ever say that I don't want you. Or that I want you to supplicate to me. I simply said that I do not want to stay in that room, that I will stay in the room that was assigned to me. If you want to be there or anywhere near me, you have know that's what I want to. [ her words are careful now, it seems she must be more careful, to make it clear that he has a choice, that she is not presenting him with an either or, just simply an open choice for him to make. ]
If I wanted space from you, if I didn't want you, I would have said those things. [ she lifts up to brush her lips with his, wondering what she'd done to start earning comparisons to amarantha. please, rhys. i am not her. i will never need your humiliation to prove your devotion for me.]
I want you right now. I want you later. I want you always.
no subject
( he says, because it must be. this is how they work — brutal, bare honesty, all their words see through as they connection they share, guiding from one mind to the next. rhysand's trust in feyre was never the part in question — she could tell him anything, and he'd believe it. unthinkingly, even. that's the level of faith he has in feyre's word.
bending, he presses his lips more solidly against hers. an oath, pressed to her mouth, where rhys can stomp out the doubt littering his own faulty, broken heart. feyre wouldn't lie, she's not the type. she'd let him know exactly what she needed, and he'd provide it. distance, time, space. the moon on a string. lassoed stars to decorate the shine in her eyes — any of it, all of it, hers to have. he'd find a way to make the impossible possible, for her. like treaties between the humans and the fae. like inviting nesta over for dinner, and actually having her show up.
she loves him. as true and as obvious as his love for her. )
I'll be with you, of course. I'll figure it out.
( he's sure alina will understand — sure he'll see pain in her eyes regardless, but he can't imagine she'd be too angry at him for needing this. he can split his time. maybe he can ask daisy to make sure alina doesn't sleep alone, for a few nights. it'll be ... not fine, but better. he'll make it the best he can for everyone. )
I know you're not her, by the way. Amarantha. ( gods, does he know that. even in her worst moments ( which is certainly not now ), feyre is a summer rose compared to that bitch. even speaking their names in the same sentence makes rhys want to blanche. ) I just feel so full of feelings towards you, I don't know what to do with myself. All I can think about is pawing your skirts and crying. Gratitude. ( he lets out a bright, watery laugh. ) I'm so grateful you exist. I'm grateful you're here, even if that makes me selfish. I never want to be apart from you again.
no subject
but she also knows that she needs space to process what has happened, what is happening. there are times when she can be quick to adapt but when it comes to matter of the heart, she needs time or things become... too heavy. she cannot help how that might make rhys feel torn or alina feel abandoned by him if he chooses to spend more time with her, feyre has as little say in how all this makes her feel as it makes them feel. she can only control how she feels, how she will keep her own jealousy at bay should rhysand spend the night with alina. after all, she'd been facing down countless nights without him, possibly sharing a bed with or without tamlin in the spring court. she could handle sleeping alone if she needed.]
I'm not asking you to choose between us and I never will, just... all I ask is that you give me some time. [ to get used to this place, to get to know alina, to find some sort of peace with the whole situation.
her hands move to cradle this face at that tearful laugh, drawing his mouth to hers for a kiss and then another after he finishes speaking.] It's not selfish, if I had known you were here, if I had known about any of this, I would have turned the world over to get to you. Cauldron, I would have unleashed Amren upon the world, if it meant finding a way to be here with you.
no subject
( his mate, his wife. she's perfectly within her rights to ask him not to see other people, and while that opens up the possibility of rhys saying no, i will and trashing their relationship, he doesn't want her acceptance to be born on her fear of losing him. it's a nonstarter, a reality that doesn't exist — because leaving alina would feel awful, would make a liar and traitor of him, would probably break something unfixable inside of him, but he'd do it anyway, because leaving feyre would hurt even more.
still, he's tired of crying about it now. happy, really, to give feyre her space to digest it all — because all he wants now is to take moments, hours and days, just to bask in her warm glow. greedily, because he likely doesn't deserve them, but if feyre is offering? he'll be a glutton on the sight of her, on every inch she wants to give. )
Such a wicked, terrifying female. ( feyre, not amren. though — while it's certainly accurate for both, rhys knows who he'd rather have pissy with him. with the lighthearted eagerness of being as close to her as possible, rhys bends to scoop feyre up, locking his arms tight underneath her ass, pressing his face to his stomach and breasts. ) You're here now. Would you like to hear more about it? I do have plenty of gossip, which is always best shared over a shower or meal. ( or more sex. ) Lady's choice.
no subject
but by now, she's exhausted by all of it. it feels as though a whole day has passed when it hasn't even been two full hours since she woke up here. so she lets him change the subject, gladly. and she lets him hoist her up into his arms considering the options he lays out before her as her hands hold his head for balance.
she has no appetite at the moment, however--] What's a shower?
no subject
Mm. It's like a bath, under rainfall. ( yeah, no explanation will do it justice. distractedly, he swipes his fingers around the handfuls of feyre he holds onto, fingertips brushing her sopping folds. ) We don't have to get you too clean, though. ( his smile is conspiratorial — a nasty, feral part of himself that feyre is privy to. he drags his fingers down the mess he'd made of her, pointedly pushing his cum back inside her with a clever twist of his wrist. ) Keep that where it belongs.
( warm and safe inside her, like so many other parts of rhys. feyre is sanctuary — she's his home. )
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)