#and just an artist so shes got that tormented soul that makes her fuck harder :)

[lexa-griffins]

I don't think there's enough daddy Clarke and babygirl Lexa fics 😔 I wanna see my soft commander being commanded

The fact that when you search on ao3 "daddy clarke" or "babygirl lexa" you get the exact opposite results its my villain origin story 😔

I am whoever committed to, by my own damn hand, bring the daddy!clarke / babygirl!lexa number up!! I promise you that! This is my presidential campaign speech! My promise to you!! We WILL make the commander be commanded! And we weill let daddy!clarke rise from the ashes!

[impertfectedchoices]

I Promise - PT.3

Prompt: In a Heartbeat Ship: James X MC POV: (Point of View): James Word Count: 1,653 Tags:

@hhiggs | @destinio1 | @marryjanewaston

Artist Comment: Holaaaaa, So, pardon the, AGAIN, long break. Life’s been kicking my WHO-LE existence 😭.

This one, unintentionally, is going to be a really emotional part. This wasn’t my original plan, but it just… kind of happened. The past two months have been pretty hectic, and I’m really trying my best, But when you go through bs, it seems like you’re alone. A quote I’m gonna be using in this pretty much sums up what I’m going through. And I feel like it fits in this fic too well. So, I hope this comes across well. While writing this part, I actually cried, like, semi-broke down 😭. This hits a real personal note to me, and I hope you guys understand it. So, FAIR WARNING! I’m trying my best to not look at the situation, but how I’m going to get out of it. And your “now” won’t be your “future.” Anyone can come out of a crappy situation and thrive. You just gotta go through the storm. And all that sappy stuff, lel. 💕

PS, This, as well, was on a whim. No planning, drafting, or prethinking about plot before I write…. just gonna try to spot all the spelling errors this time 😂

le’Enjoy!

•

8:01pm

It’s feeling like elephants are sitting on my chest, since getting back to the car. I’ve never, necessarily, had problems with my breathing being under control. But sitting here; watching the car lights from main road dance across my windshield, I find that I’m constantly reminding myself to take breaths. The more I force myself, it seems, my breathing gets more shallow. I’m repeatedly feeling on the inside, each attempt to grasp at anything stable. I’ve always been able to zone out, and let my mind center on my sane points. But, as of recent, there’s nothing to feel. Numbness has replaced any form of joy to my life, leaving me a drained form of myself.

From the library, past… past MC’s house, to the highway that took me a few miles away from Hartfeld.

Familiar roads allowed for the holes to appear slowly into the wall I temporarily built up, within a 30 minute time span. I parked, went inside and felt the anxiety creep its way back in. My mind tried to put itself back together, but seemed conflicted with the storm’s leftover mess that wasn’t letting up. Every time I attempted to collect my emotions, regain what stability I believed consumed my existence, something happens to throw my progress out the window to clean, discard, and replace. One fall after the next.

My hands were still, wrapped around the wheel. Never leaves, but tightens every so often. I could feel myself tense up, veins more visible, and the white peaking through from the grip I’d had. I needed to focus on something, Anything.

There’s like… maybe over 30 cars in the parking lot.

40?

Just turned red…

Counted off 5 cars turning right at the light.

…now 6,

7?

Yea, 7.

Turned green.

White… Toyota

Um, think it’s a Camry.

The left side’s light always seems to last lo-

• knock, knock •

Now, just realizing the knocking happening next to me, I’d subconsciously whipped away any traces of emotion left on my face to greet who it’d been. To my surprise, I was greeted back with a less then stable face bundled up in her jacket. Unlocking the door, Abbie walked to the passengers side. I opened the door for her, as she climbed in, with semi-urgency. “W-wow, it’s a lot colder than I thought I’d be today.” She said with a bit of a stuttery smile. It had been getting colder since fall started creeping in, but the temperature rarely came to mind, with everything else taking up room. I tried my best to disguise any strain that I’d been feeling earlier, to save face. “Yeah, falls been catching up on us.” mentioning with a halfhearted smile. As I began fiddling with the knobs; turning switches to adjust the heat, she cleared her throat before she began breaking the silence again, “James,”

Looking back up, her face, almost immediately tensed up. Actually looking at her, you could tell she’d been worn out. She looked as if she’d been crying, and her eyes grew puffier the more seconds passed by. Abbie seemed very resilient at times. But in this moment; just like everyone else, I was stunned to see her so weakened. “Abbie. MC’s going to be oka-“ “Don’t lie,” The cracking in her voice was low, but audible enough to ring throughout my head. “James, ?Kaitlyn and Zack told me everything. I went to meet up with everyone, got inside and… and everyone was just, falling apart. Chis pulled Tyler to the side. And I’ve, I’ve never seen him look so broken. Zach couldn’t even look me in the eyes, and Kaitlyn could barely get enough words out without breaking down mid sentence…” The more she spoke, the more the reality of the situation sunk back into me. “…They told me you left, and that’s not like you. So I had to find you.” She’d been turned directly to me, eyes swelling. Looking down at my steering wheel, my hands at some point fell back into position. Feeling myself tense up, still forcing myself to control my breathing enough to speak, “I just, it was hard for me to stay in there for much lon-“

“JAMES, THAT DOESN’T MATTER!” Wide-eyed, My eyes darted back up to her. Her face had gotten a hint redder than normal, and her expression was drenched with frustration, annoyance, worry, and concern. She had been trying to do what everyone felt was impossible; break through the walls I built up when placed in these circumstances. I understood what she was trying to get accomplished, but of all moments, now wasn’t the time. “Abbie,” Attempting to bite back any amount of sternness in my voices, I continued, “… I know how your feeling right now, this isn’t easy on me either. But the last thing we need to be doing is losing it on each other.” It seemed like everything I was saying, though, was just fueling the fire. “What an excuse. So is this your way of ‘solving the situation?’ Running off and hiding in your car?” “No, but staying in there isn’t going to make it any better.” “So, what is staying locked up in here is proving? All I see is someone running away from their problems!”

I could feel every ounce of me radiate irritation. It was getting harder to swallow it. “So do you truly believe I don’t care about MC? Really?” “If you did, you’d be in that room waiting for her! You already took her for granted before, and to think I thought better of you James. I had high hopes, but she’s given you way too many chances for you to get your act together… and you just SIT HERE! You may have had a lot on you plate, but she’s literally given every chance to fix her schedule to make time for you. And all she can get is a few texts, Time you give her for newspaper club meetings? You literally stand her up to work on some dumb paper when you knew she’d been sick. And no apology? Nothing?”

I’d still been staring at the steering wheel as she spoke. The more she yelled, the tighter my grip had gotten. What she didn’t understand was that this was literally killing every inch of my being inside. It felt like I was falling in this hole; ever since Vasquez passed, plummeting. Im just ready to hit the bottom, look at the distance I have to climb, and start climbing, but there isn’t a bottom. I just keep falling. It never ends. This constant torment doesn’t seem to have an end. And I just want it to be over. Everything emotion warped around in my head together; anger, fustration, sadness, guilt, irritability, brokenhearted-ness, fear, heartache, pain. It all reeked in my body, consuming me as all I could hear in my head was yelling. Abbie’s voice faded out, and all I could here was my subconscious talking: It’s your fault, you should’ve been there, you did this, where were you, she needed you, you weren’t there, your no good for her, she’s wasting her time, your taking her for granted, she deserves better, let her go…

“God James, I would thought you’d learn better from everything you put her through. Even with Vasq-“

BEEEEEEEEP!

“BE QUIET!!!!!”

I slammed my fist into the wheel instinctively. I needed the voices to stop, the agony to stop, I just needed to be able to hear thoughts that were my own. She jumped, looking shocked towards me. She didn’t expect such a response from me.

“Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet, it’s not true… it’s not true. I care… I care, I swear.” I’d kept repeating this to myself, extensively tight clutch on the steering wheel, hunched over it.

“I care, I swear I care about her… I love her so much, God. Please, make her okay, i swear I’ll do better I care I care I care She means the world to me she does I need her”

I kept repeating it, over and over again. I needed what I believed to overpower what was going on in my head. But I didn’t have the strength to keep up the facade. They were right, it was my fault. She’s been so stressed because of me. I didn’t deserve her, I should have been a better partner, a better friend, a better boyfriend… I didn’t notice Abbie grab me from my stance and held me. She had been the one consoling me this time around. The hold I had over my emotions just gave out. It felt as if me as a person broke, shattered for the first time, as I was left to face my emotions, instead of disguise them.

“I’m so sorry, MC. I’m so fucking sorry, I’m sor-ry I’m so- I’m so-rryyyy.” I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Dropping my face into my hands, my heart wrenched and I dissolved in myself. Shaking, all I could do was replay what she’d told me, making my soul call out for her more;

”I’m fine James, it’s just a small cold. Nothing I… *sniff* can’t handle!”

”I’ll be okay James, I promise.”

”Geez, so mushy.”

”… but I love you too, my darling.”

•LAST •NEXT

[azrielsiphons]

ACOMAF Hunger Games AU chapter 4

IT HAS ARRIVED. ENJOY. REBLOG. DISCUSS.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Chapter 4

“I’ll be seeing you, Feyre darling,” Rhys called out.

Feyre shot him the finger without looking back.

_______

Feyre followed after Alis with murder written all over her face – fitting, considering the circumstances. She saw other tributes and handlers watching her but she didn’t care one bit.

That prick had the nerve – the absolute nerve – to say he was thrilled about what they were there to do. She had hoped that at least some of the other tributes from the outer districts would have a moral compass like her and Lucien. But no. Everyone in the world was just as fucked as the Capitol, they just didn’t wear all the fancy clothes.

But not her. No, not her – she decided right then and there. She would never lie and pretend that what she was doing was okay. She would be truthful if nothing else. She would do what she had to do, kill who she had to kill to make it home to her sisters.

But she wouldn’t lay prostrate in front of the Capitol in the process.

“You know dear that was quite the spectacle,” Alis murmured as they weaved towards the furthest styling area where the District 12 stylist – Amren – was located at. “We could hear you all the way back here. Lucien tried to come get you himself but I insisted he stay.”

Alis continued to ramble and Feyre didn’t pay her a lick of attention. She just kept her eyes forward, ignoring the people watching her.

They finally reached the stylist room and Alis entered with a flourish.

“We’re back!” She sing-songed. “Sorry for the delay, dearest Amren, there was–”

“I know what happened,” a woman said as she turned to face Feyre head on. Feyre almost took a step back away from the woman. For a number of reasons.

What Feyre noticed first was that she was absolutely stunning in a way that took one’s breath away. She had a sleek and blunt asymmetrical bob, a chiseled jawline, and unnaturally silver eyes – more of the Capitol’s fashion. What shocked Feyre the most though were her surgically altered ears: there were pointed at the tops, peaking out through her dark hair.

What Feyre noticed second was that despite how physically small the woman was, her presence was almost suffocating. She could command any room without ever saying a word just in the way she carried herself. It was borderline overwhelming.

“We could all hear your little meltdown,” the woman continued in a deadpan tone. “You’re certainly the dramatic one, aren’t you?”

Feyre gritted her teeth together, lifting her chin.

“Not dramatic,” she snapped back. “More like enraged.”

Amren’s face didn’t move a muscle, but something in her eyes lit up at Feyre’s words.

“Enraged, you say?” The Capitol woman moved closer to Feyre as if she were stalking her prey, and Feyre had to force herself not to move. They were almost chest-to-chest when Amren finally stopped. “What kind of person are you, Feyre Archeron?”

Feyre blanched. “E-Excuse me?”

Amren rolled her eyes. “What kind of person are you? Surely you can describe yourself.”

“I uh… I don’t think I know.”

“That’s a terrible answer, try harder,” Amren snapped. “Think, Feyre. What kind of person are you? Not who you want to be or who you used to be or who you think you may become after these games. What kind of person are you right now?”

Feyre froze. Amren seemed to stare into her very soul, the silver in her eyes seeming to swirl like a storm. What kind of person was she?

“I’m…” Feyre opened and closed her mouth like a fish while Amren just waited.

What kind of person was she? A person who killed kids? A person who wanted to die just to make all of the rage inside of her still? A person who would bury her best friend in order to get back to her sisters? A person who volunteered for her sister in the Reaping? A person with a darkness inside of her that itched to get out?

“I’m… lost.”

Amren cocked her head to the side just slightly.

“I’m lost in the darkness and I can’t get out,” Feyre whispered. “And… I think a part of me doesn’t really want to.”

There was a split second of pure silence and Feyre wondered if she had said the wrong thing.

But then Amren grinned – a wicked, feral smile.

“Oh yes, Feyre Archeron,” she purred. “You will be my finest creation. We’re going to show the Capitol the Queen of Night that you are.”

Feyre shivered.

“But first…“ Amren continued. "We need to take care of those eyebrows.”

________

Rhys sat in his chair completely still while a Capitol woman with tattoos on her face to make her look like a zebra waxed every inch of his body. When she asked him about his chest tattoos he only glared. She hadn’t said anything else since then.

Which was fine by him. He was content to sit and brood while he had the chance to. And brooding was all he had been doing for the past three hours since he had spoken to her.

Feyre.

Feyre Archeron from District 12, the girl who volunteered for her sister and looked at the Capitol with as much disdain as he did. The girl who completely shocked him by being so brutally honest about her feelings about the Games when that kind of talk is what got tributes killed very early on. The girl that could be a vital asset to their rebellion.

If only she didn’t think he was a Capitol sympathizer like the rest of the world.

It didn’t help that she had to be gorgeous either. Fiery and feisty and brutally honest. Self-sacrificing if her actions at the Reaping said anything about the rest of her character – and he had a feeling they did.

He couldn’t help but be completely floored that somebody else at these Games hated the Capitol as much as he did.

A small part of him told himself to stay the hell away from her and let her believe the façade he was putting on for the Capitol. To not spare her another thought and continue with his plans.

And yet another part of him said tell her. He was drawn to her the moment he saw her which was why he had helped her out when those Careers pricks had been tormenting her. He could see in Amarantha’s eyes that Feyre would be her most savored kill when the Games started.

Rhys’s fists tightened on the arm rests of his chair as he remembered the way those two men had looked at her – Attor and Jurian. It wasn’t any new concept in the Games for women to be abused in horrible ways by the male tributes. The Capitol never did anything about it though, only panned the cameras away for an hour or so.

Rhys knew in his bones he would rip apart those three if they so much as looked at Feyre in the Games.

He would rip apart the entire Capitol to protect those who saw the Games for what they were: sanctioned murder in the name of entertainment.

But how could he protect the one tribute who saw things the way he and his family did if she was one of his opponents in the Games?

And how could he keep the mask on around her knowing she could aid their cause?

_________

Nine hours.

Nine hours Feyre sat in a chair while a Capitol woman named Nuala – who looked like a walking talking shadow somehow – waxed her entire body, gave her skin treatments upon skin treatments, cut and styled her hair after deep conditioning it, fixed her nails and got rid of all the callouses on her hands and feet, and basically made her body as perfect as it had been when she was a newborn. Before the hunting and the starving and the dirty water.

Feyre stared in the mirror with her jaw dropped. Amren stood over her shoulder smirking, but Feyre didn’t care if her reaction looked ridiculous.

She was... completely new.

Every trace of evidence that she was a hunter from District 12 had been wiped away. She looked youthful again, her eyes looked brighter, her hair was shiny and healthy, her skin was crystal clear and evenly toned. Her hands had never felt so soft in her entire life. It was unnerving.

“I look...” Feyre couldn’t find the words.

“Like a fresh canvas,” Amren finished for her.

Feyre met her gaze in the mirror.

“I read your file. It mentioned you were an artist. I like metaphors.”

Feyre didn’t let herself think about how the Capitol got information for her file.

“What are you going to paint on me?” Feyre asked softly.

“The night sky. You say you are lost in the dark, but I say the darkness is where you will find yourself. I refuse to dress you up as an innocent doll and present you to the Capitol like some sort of prize.” Amren spat – literally spat on the floor. “You said it yourself: you are enraged. Let the Capitol feel that rage within you.”

“Aren’t you supposed to make me... I don’t know... likeable?”

“Fuck likeable,” Amren said bluntly. “They want to make you a killer? I’ll give them a killer. And I have a feeling that you won’t mind them being a little afraid of you.” Amren smirked and Feyre felt a chill go down her spine.

“Couldn’t you get in trouble for talk like that?” She whispered.

Amren only shrugged. “More than likely. Unless you win, that is.”

“You think I can win?” Feyre asked, raising her brow. “Me? A nobody from District 12 against a bunch of Careers?”

“Now that wasn’t your answer when I asked you what kind of person you are,” Amren snapped. “You said you were lost in the darkness. And do you know what kind of animals dwell in the darkness, Feyre?” She paused dramatically. “Predators.”

Feyre took a long look at herself in the mirror. A predator. That’s what she would become. That’s what Amren was going to present her to the Capitol as. No one from District 12 had ever done something so bold. It would be an affront to the Capitol - to the King himself. A statement.

Feyre decided then that she really, really liked Amren.

“What about Lucien?” She asked, turning to face Amren head on. “How will you dress him up for the darkness theme?”

Amren only grinned. “Lucien won’t be having the same theme as you.”

Feyre’s eyes widened. “But – but tributes have to go through the Tribute Parade as themed pairs,” she spluttered.

“I’ve decided to change that this year,” Amren said simply. “You and Lucien are two very different individuals who bring something different to the Games. Putting you together as a pair means less individual attention from sponsors – especially since you two are already in the last District. Setting you apart, making you noticeable, that’s what will make sponsors notice you.”

Feyre’s mouth parted. She looked at Amren in awe.

“You really give a damn about us, don’t you?” She almost whispered.

Amren smiled, her unnaturally white teeth gleaming under the harsh lights. “This is my first year in this position,” she answered. “The Capitol is aware that my tastes run... perpendicular to the typical Capitol stylist so that makes me dangerous. But they wanted to spice up this year’s tributes, so they decided to give me a chance finally. I was able to pick which tributes I wanted to work with.”

Feyre chuckled. “And you picked District 12? The tributes that are expected to dress up like coal or mining tools every year?”

“Yes, I did. Because of you.”

Feyre paled. “Me?”

“I saw what you did for your sister. I also saw the way you glared at Alis on that stage and believe me when I say that every other tribute did as well.” Feyre went to speak but Amren trudged on. “I picked you and Lucien because I saw something in you I have never seen in the Games before. I saw someone who will fight from their heart.”

Feyre was lost for words. She tried to convey her gratitude as much as she could to Amren, but Amren only gave her a nod and spun on her heel.

“Well come along then. I’m to deliver you to Lucien and Alis, who will deliver you to Suriel, your ever so lovely advisor.”

It worried Feyre just how much Amren’s voice dripped with disdain when she spoke of Suriel, the only surviving District 12 Hunger Games winner and her and Lucien’s Games advisor.

Feyre grabbed the black fitted jacket that Nuala had left for her to go over her white tunic with laces tied across her chest that was tucked into skin tight gray pants. Moving in the soft materials with her now completely hairless skin save for her eyebrows and head felt... unnatural. She squirmed as she walked.

They took a side door out of the styling facility and Amren led her silently down a silver corridor and into an elevator. They rode 12 floors up and Feyre couldn’t help but look out the glass back of the elevator as they rose over the Capitol.

It was nighttime now and the lights were stunning on the surface level, but... it bothered her that they blinded anyone from the view of the stars.

The elevator reached the 12th floor and dinged before the doors open. Feyre stepped out but then turned back to Amren.

“You aren’t coming?” She asked as her stylist just stood where she was.

Amren shook her head. “I’ll join you all when you start working on strategy and training in two days. I need to work on your outfits for the interview tomorrow and of course the Tribute Parade at the end of the week.”

“Oh,” Feyre said, hoping she didn’t come across as pathetic. But she wanted Amren by her side. At least to remind herself that someone here besides Lucien gave a damn. “Well... thank you.”

A smile seemed to play on Amren’s lips for the briefest of seconds, then her resting bored face returned. She simply gave Feyre a slight nod before pressing a button and disappearing behind the doors.

Feyre sighed, already feeling lost all over again.

“Feyre!” Lucien shouted behind her suddenly.

Feyre whirled to face her friend and her jaw dropped.

Lucien was... clean. Feyre couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her friend without dirt somewhere on him. And his long red hair was shinier than hers, thick and healthy now – no doubt thanks to the same treatments Nuala had given her own hair. His lips weren’t chapped anymore, his skin was glowing, he looked like an entirely new man. Even his bad eye seemed to look better.

“Woah,” Feyre managed to say.

“Woah is right,” he replied, looking at her as if she were a stranger. “Who the hell are you and what did you do with Feyre?”

“I could say the same thing about you!” She exclaimed. “I don’t see a bit of coal dust on you. And your hair!” She couldn’t help but step forward and touch the red hair, awed at how soft it was to the touch.

“Pretty cool, right?” He asked with a slight grin.

Feyre didn’t grin back though. She dropped Lucien’s hair and stepped back almost immediately.

What are you doing? She thought to herself. They pamper us like this because we’re pigs being fattened before we’re sent to the slaughter. You may have to kill Lucien before this is all over with, don’t forget that.

Feyre cleared her throat and looked over Lucien’s shoulder.

“So is he here?” She asked. “Our advisor?”

Lucien’s smile dropped immediately. “Oh yeah, Suriel is here. And... he’s an interesting character.”

“Interesting how?” Feyre asked, immediately on the defensive.

“Interesting as in I am the most remarkable and thought-provoking creature to ever walk the earth,” a stranger’s voice suddenly said, rounding the corner behind Lucien and walking up with a smile.

Feyre literally took a step back in fright. This person didn’t look like a person. They had been surgically modified to resemble an actual walking skeleton. His face seemed as if they wasn’t any skin covering the bone, and the rest of his limbs were so thin his skin was almost translucent. He wore a long flowing black robe of some sort and his eyes were so sunken she wondered if he had gotten any sleep in the last month.

“Feyre Archeron,” the man said, annunciating every syllable of her name deliberately. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Suriel and I am your advisor. I know you’re graced to be in my presence, but do keep it together.”

Suriel smiled at her and Feyre had to suppress a shiver at the gleam of his teeth.

“Hello,” she said half-heartedly. “It’s a pleasure.”

Suriel’s grin only widened. “Oh come now Feyre, lying doesn’t become you,” he said bluntly. “I thought you were the feisty one!” He exclaimed. “Such heart, such love and dedication it must have taken to volunteer for your sister,” he said overdramatically. “I was so moved.”

Feyre didn’t miss the sarcasm. Her fear gave way to irritation.

“So I take it you’re going to be a real ass for the next week, aren’t you?” She snapped. Suriel’s sunken eyes widened. “Look you can be as loony as you want, I don’t really care. You won the Games 33 years ago, what do I care how you cope with the nightmares you undoubtedly have.” Suriel’s nostrils flared. “But while Lucien and I are here,” She took a step closer to him and lowered her voice to an almost growl. “I want you to know that I expect some damn good advising. I plan on one of us winning these Games and by God you are going to teach us how to make that happen. Got it?”

Suriel stared down at her for a moment and she could see his shock – and perhaps some admiration – written on his face even through all the modifications. That shock soon turned into annoyance and nonchalance all over again.

“Well you are certainly no fun,” he finally mumbled. “The last 60 something tributes I’ve had the pleasure of advising were more fun than you two. Such spoil sports.” Suriel pushed Feyre aside as he made way towards the massive kitchen in their tribute apartment. “Does anybody else want champagne?” He called out over his shoulder. “I personally am dry as a desert right now and it does not become me. A queen must stay hydrated you see. Did you know that--”

“Shutup!” Feyre screamed. Lucien just sighed and dropped his head. “Are you kidding me right now? You’re supposed to help us! Instead you’re offering us champagne?”

Suriel froze, sighing loudly as he set the champagne bottle back down on the counter.

“Help you?” He asked, pursing his lips at her as if he were talking to a child. “You expect me to help you win the Hunger Games against a group of Careers? You two? Two District 12 kids who look like they haven’t eaten a full meal once their entire lives?”

“Have you forgotten you’re from District 12 too?” Lucien asked, his voice low.

Feyre whirled to him in shock that he even bothered to say anything confrontational.

Suriel smiled a sickly sweet grin. “I try to,” he said bitterly. “And perhaps you two should as well. Forget the terrible parts of your life such as being from District 12 and try to convince yourself life is good before you die. That’s a good coping mech--”

Feyre grabbed the gold vase from beside her and chucked it at Suriel’s head. He dodged it just in time, but the vase shattered behind him. Everyone froze, and Feyre refused to tear her fierce gaze away from Suriel’s.

“What is the meaning of this?” Alis exclaimed suddenly, bursting into the room. Feyre and Suriel kept their eyes locked on one another, waiting to see who would look away first. “Feyre! That vase was expensive!”

“Oh please,” Suriel snapped, tearing his gaze away to look at Alis. “The Capitol is not short on money or vases, Alis, pry your gold embroidered panties out of your ass.”

Alis’s jaw dropped – and so did Lucien and Feyre’s.

“Now you listen here, Suriel,” Alis said in the most threatening voice she could muster, pointing her finger at Suriel’s face, “It is my job to take care of these children as they--”

“They’re not children,” Suriel hissed. “They’re adults. Now the two 13 year olds last year? They were children.” Feyre didn’t miss the dark tone he took on. “These two are grown and can throw vases at their asshole advisor if they want.” Suriel turned and looked at Feyre with a smirk. “Granted,” he continued, “I doubt they’ll have vases in the Games arena for you to throw at Careers, but nice tactic all the same.”

Feyre was at a loss for words. She felt like she had whiplash. Wasn’t the guy being a colossal ass two seconds ago?

“Go up to the roof,” he told her, suddenly serious. “Go up to the roof and scream bloody murder for about two minutes. Then come back down here with a better attitude and a willingness to listen to what I have to say and I might actually give you two some tips that will help you survive longer.”

It didn’t escape Feyre that he said ‘live longer’ instead of ‘survive.’

“Go up to the roof,” he repeated. “Now.”

____

Feyre let out a deep breath as the elevator opened up to the windy rooftop of the Tribute building. She pulled her hair away from her face as the wind whipped it all around her.

When the elevator doors closed she strode across the rooftop to the edge and inhaled sharply.

She hated it for being beautiful. Each building was lit up in golds and silvers. Everything was shiny and new and sparkled. It was exactly as she pictured a city should look like and then some.

But that intitial moment of awe lasted maybe five seconds. Then it began to make her eyes hurt and she looked up and away from the lights. Up at the sky.

The night sky that she looked out at a million times – the sky that gave her comfort no matter her circumstances. Feyre remembered the day her mother abandoned she and her sisters. When she realized what had happened, she’d ran outside in the dead of night to try and catch her breath and avoid Nesta’s rage and when she looked up at the sky, everything just... stilled. She was able to breathe again. To tell herself that she and her sisters would survive. They always survived.

And yet here in the Capitol... she couldn’t see the stars. The city lights were too bright.

“It’s a shame isn’t it?”

Feyre whirled around so fast she almost fell over at the smooth, seductive voice purring almost right into her ear.

Before her stood a smirking Rhys, and if she thought he had been beautiful earlier in the day when she met him, he was almost ethereal now. His hair was impossibly shinier, thick and luscious and pushed back with a few stray strands falling across his chiseled face. The dark bags under his eyes had evened out with the rest of his skin tone and he just looked... perfect.

He was wearing loose fitting pants that looked to be of the softest material and a tight short sleeve shirt with a low collar that showed off his broad shoulders and let his intricately designed chest tattoos show. He was the perfect male specimen.

It infuriated her.

“What are you doing here?” Feyre snapped, her defenses immediately rising and screaming danger! And yet she couldn't have willed her feet to run away even if she wanted to.

Rhys grinned, his violet eyes brightening.

“Well hello to you too, Feyre darling.”