“You ever think about how we’re only 7% of this city? […] Like, black folks are 7% of this city. And then you take whatever, 1% or 2% considers itself, like, punk or indie or folk or, you know, just not what you see on BET, like, you ever realize just how few of us there really are?”
Medicine for Melancholy (2008), dir. Barry Jenkins
She dies a little when he says sorry. So that’s it? Another apology? Is that all you’ve got for me today? He doesn’t know any better, the sinner will melt his skin into your bones if he could. There is lava everywhere and we can’t share a day without finding flaws to make us jump. There is enough distance between us to make the sun and the moon seem like two love birds who should’ve pushed a little harder to show up all at once. And while we’re on the topic of day and night, you’re on my mind daily and you’re the reason why it’s hard to sleep. I keep telling myself that there’s enough hope out there to save myself from who I used to be. I keep waking up with a belly filled with regrets and maybe that’s why I skip breakfast and lunch. I have a basket of poetry for dinner and it’s the only thing that ever fills me up. The weight of my soul doesn’t match up with the weight of my body, I guess I don’t eat enough. I do eat enough apologies though. Another I’m sorry and I’ll be full again. Some would say I’m full of shit. What’s a writer to a poet? Just someone who’s better at bullshitting. Maybe I’m kidding myself and there’s just a whole other world behind these doors that I’ve nailed shut. Behind the blinds before the sun comes in, behind my lies before the truth sinks in like black coffee that wasn’t brewed right, so we’ve been spilling the beans and claiming that ink is all we know. Some say that eyes are the windows of the soul, I have eyes dipped into ink and written into oak, which parts that I’ve shown, which hidden parts speak out the most? Those are the bits of who I am that I love to death. I want a lover that knows my words inside and out before I even have a thought. I want a lover that knows the size of the ocean and claims that it is intense enough to cut deep space open with nothing more than another I’m sorry. I want a lover that would tell me there’s no need to feel sorry for how you can’t be, rather… you should feel sorry for who you couldn’t be when you needed to be that person. Baby, mistakes come in three. For every broken heart, you’ve got to write. For the company that misery demands, you must love yourself. Wake up and eat your breakfast, smile a little today. Everything’s going to be okay. And no, we don’t have to fall in love. I don’t have to be your lover to be your lover. We don’t need anything to our names. We don’t need the stars. We don’t need the poems. We don’t even need the feeling of home because as long as you’re trying, I think that speaks enough for the sun to rise and for the moon to be full. They say that we should stick to the familiar, if you take a risk and fail then you’ll just end up miserable again. But what about the what if? What if we risk it all and get away with it? What if we make it through all of this without even a small scratch? There is hope where you see pain. Where one sees ugliness, another sees beauty. Where you’ve been blind, I can show you the way. Where you’ve been mute, I can speak you into my truths. Where you’ve been deaf, I can feel the vibrations. Where you lost yourself, that is exactly where I’ve found you. Alone, alone, alone. Lonely, lonely, lonely. Wouldn’t you know? The prettiest stars usually end up clustered. A universe within a universe within a universe. I want to love you like that. He doesn’t bat an eye every time a tear falls through the fingers she loaned him to warm up his night. Another brush of his lips and there will be a smile waiting for him at the bottom of the glass, another piece of his heart and she will see that the world doesn’t only turn when you hear the words you want. how did we end up like this? an ocean of regrets trying to forgive where we became two hearts beating for three. that’s the thing about jealously though, we feed on sentences we believe should be for us and curse the light for showing up too soon. But, the sun dims when you enter the room, the clouds always seem to have something better to say when every pocket is full. I over think each minute until we are a hypothetical season trying to love through winter and wondering where summer goes when the hugs go silent. I think the thing that hurts the most is thinking about how much I don’t think about you anymore– every unanswered goodnight, each letter I saved to play for the stars to reflect on those lost, another day of finding footprints towards places I can’t hear your laughter. what do you call a dream that keeps on coming back? a love you can’t see, but still finds its way into the core of your veins? an equation that only feels complete when your memory meets me for coffee? a day that doesn’t end until I hear the dial-tone of a call that said they would never hang up? I thought I found a home in you, but we were both running from the people we didn’t want to see, avoiding situational errors caused by the same hands that promised to love the earth tenderly, the same harmonious effort to extract positivity from an open wound. we knew we were going to sink, we just wanted to test out the water. we knew the first i love you was going to hurt, I just wanted to see how many people I could leave behind until I lost myself. baby, home is a list of people that are never coming back. maybe I don’t want to be yours, maybe I don’t want to be mine, but someday has a lot of questions to answer for.
Soulmate words were treasured. People spent their whole
lives waiting for their treasured phrase, that magic moment.
Stiles had spent his whole life plagued by his words. He
wondered just what he could do, to disappoint his soulmate so completely in
their first meeting. He had approximately ninety nine self-confidence issues
and they were all because of those damned words, printed in elegant script
across his heart.
‘Words cannot describe
how pathetic you look.’
What a pretentious way of putting it. Of putting how much
Stiles disgusted them. Did Stiles say something first? Did he babble
uncontrollably like he’d do sometimes when he was excited? Did they have a
paragraph on their body somewhere? Did he fall, spill something, break
‘Words cannot describe
how pathetic you look.’
What could he possibly do to be worth that? What was wrong
with him, that he was destined to disappoint his soulmate so completely within
moments of their first meeting?
When kids were young, one of the first things they learned
how to read was their soulmate words. It was a moment of pride, to be able to
know what phrase would signal your fated meeting. His teachers had flinched
when they learned what his words were. His mom looked ready to cry whenever
they were brought up. Scott had given him a sympathetic look.
Now Stiles got dressed without looking in the mirror. He
refused to look down in the shower, to see the black ink spiraling across his
chest. He hide under layers of clothes, smiled and dodged questions about his
words. With every day, every interaction, he waited for the moment that would
surely kill him. He waited in dread for some stranger to speak those words and
end him just as surely as any blade or bullet. It was on his mind constantly,
plaguing his every move. Was this the moment? When he tripped and fell, was
that what ruined it before they’d begun? When he didn’t know the answer in
class, was that the moment his soulmate decided he wasn’t worth their time?
So you think you've summoned a demon through the Ouija board
Oh snap! After playing on the Ouija board, all these creepy things are happening inside your house! You’ve summoned a *dun dun DUUUUNNNNN* DEMON!!!
I’m here to tell you that no, no you didn’t. You did not summon a demon.
Think of it this way. Demons are the opposite of angels. Could you accidentally summon an angel? Do you think that with some letters on cardboard you could accidentally invite an angel into your home? And in doing so, have that angel trapped in your home while strange things happened all around you?
No. Angels have way better things to do. So do demons.
BUT, hypothetically, you just used the Ouija board and now weird things are happening in your home! What is going on??
You have a poltergeist. A poltergeist is any spirit that is able to control things in our world, such as turning off and on lights, throwing things, or scratching you or walls and furniture. Poltergeists can be good or bad. Most are good, and are just using your energy to try to get your attention one way or another. Unless you are being physically harmed, assume the poltergeist is friendly. They are just communicating the only way they can. I mean, if you suddenly went invisible and mute, and tried to tell someone you were there, you would throw stuff too.
If you do have a demon in your home, they would not resort to just turning lights on and off. They are far, FAR more powerful than poltergeists. Symptoms of a demonic haunting are:
-very deep scratches or wounds on your body. And not like cat scratches, deep cuts
-being awakened or disturbed by low, dark voices or growling
-feeling like you want to stay inside all day, not wanting to be outgoing
-a feeling of dread or a sick feeling in your stomach when entering certain rooms
-a deep aversion to anything religious
-any religious items kept around the house will fall of the walls, or be smashed
-having a priest enter your house and they feel attacked or are physically attacked by an unseen entity
-all the poltergeist activity listed above happening frequently. Daily. Constantly.
If none of these things are happening to you, then you’re all good. But I gotta say it again, YOU WILL NOT SUMMON A DEMON THROUGH THE OUIJA BOARD.
YOU WILL NOT SUMMON A DEMON THROUGH THE OUIJA BOARD.
IF YOU USE A OUIJA BOARD AND YOU START TO NOTICE DEMONIC ACTIVITY, IT DID NOT COME FROM THE OUIJA BOARD. IT CAME FROM YOU.
And like I’ve said before, demonic possessions or hauntings only occur to people who are deeply religious, and have grown up knowing and fearing demons. If you do not have demons in your religion, or are not religious, you will never have to worry about demons.
But theouijagirl, what about Zozo???
Zozo seems to be a demon, but I can almost guarantee you that you are not talking to him. Let’s say Zozo is a demon, and likes to spend his time hopping around Ouija boards and deliberately freaking people out. Then Zozo is a huge MORON. Then Zozo is a powerless, weak demon that feeds off the dumbest form of fear possible. Go home, Zozo. Go home.
Or, if this isn’t the case, then you have a trickster spirit trying to scare you by pretending to be Zozo.
And now that you know this, if you are on the Ouija board and encounter someone claiming to be Zozo, you know you are dealing with a regular trickster spirit or the most moronic, idiotic, pathetic demon to ever crawl out of the Underworld. You are totally safe.
I hope this is informative for you guys. Feel free to send me an ask if you have any questions!
lbr if erik’s mum was still alive charles would not HESITATE to call her every time erik started something megalomaniacal like
“hello, frau lehnsherr? its charles again…oh not too bad, trapped under a bit of fallen debris but hey, what can you do? and your lovely self?…oh good, good…excellent, I am so pleased that turned out…well you know I absolutely hate to call you at this time of night but erik’s having a bad spell again…yes the debris was him, I’m afraid - oh, he’s looking this way - ERIK! erik darling I’ve got your mother on the line, do you want to-? no? oh dear, he’s shaking his head…well I can have the plane in germany in just a few hours if you’re fit to fly…yes, haha, maybe it WOULD be easier if you just moved over here…well if you want to, I know a fellow who- oh, wait a mo, erik’s lifting the debris and he’s turned the cameras off, looks like he’s changed his mind on today’s ‘kill all humans and take over the world’ plan…well nevermind, thank you anyway love, always a pleasure talking to you…yes, I will make sure he calls you back later…okay? great, okay. auf wiedersehen, bye.”
Here is part 5 that you’ve all been waiting for! I’m extremely sorry for the long wait.
Warnings: some swearing, dirty talk.
To say that you’re embarrassed that Luke knows you’re falling for him is an understatement.
You don’t leave your house for three days and you ignore all phone calls and texts. The embarrassment of it all is too much.
You’re on your fourth day of moping when Emma shows up at your house. She frowns at the sight of you when you open your front door.
“Jesus Christ, (Y/N), what the hell happened to you?” She asks, her eyebrows furrowing as she takes in your sweats and messy bun. You have makeup that’s been on for a few days now and is probably smudged.
“Luke and I had a fight. He knows I love him.” You croak, wiping your nose with the sleeve of the hoodie you’re wearing. Emma sighs, walking inside and pulling you into a hug. “Sweetie, I told you not to let him back in again. All he ever does is leave when things get rough.” She says softly. “I just want my best friend back. I don’t care about a relationship or sex, I just want my best friend.” You mumble. Emma pulls back. Before she can anything, however, another knock plays into your ears. You sigh, moving to open the front door. Calum is standing there, his arms crossed.
“Oh, another band member sent to break my friend’s heart, lovely.” Emma says sarcastically. Calum glances at her and rolls his eyes. They’ve never really liked each other; it started once when you brought Emma to movie night at one of the boys’ houses and has been going on ever since. You all used to tease them and say it was just sexual tension, but nothing’s ever happened between Calum and Emma. He turns back to you. “Is Luke here?” He asks.
“No?” You say, a hint of confusion in your tone. Calum sighs, pulling out his cell phone. “He never came back to the bus.” He tells you. “They had a fight, feelings got involved. He left, like every man always does.” Emma tells Calum for you. Calum scoffs, looking at her again. “Seriously, Emma, I don’t have time for this.” He tells her. “Time for what?” Emma asks. “Time for all your men-hating comments. My best friend is fucking missing.” You bite your lip, waiting for Emma to make another comeback, but it never comes.
“What was the fight about?” Calum asks you. “He knows I’m falling for him.” You admit. Calum frowns.
“I know, I know. Bad timing.”
“Yeah. Like, really bad timing. You were supposed to feel something for him months ago, not now.”
“I know, Calum.”
You give him a pointed look and he stops criticizing your feelings. “Alright, well fuck. Luke does this sometimes; when things get to be a bit much for him, he disappears for a few days, sometimes weeks. None of us know where he goes or what he does, and no one asks when he comes back.” Calum says. “Okay, and that’s (Y/N)’s problem, why?” Emma asks, back to the snarky remarks. Calum looks up towards the sky, as if asking for some angel to swoop down and make Emma nice.
“It’s not. I just figured she would wanna know.” Calum says. You shrug. “I thinks it’s definitely over for Luke and I. As much as I miss my best friend, we don’t work. Ashton was right, we’re better off without each other. I hope you find him or whatever, but I’m not going to contact Luke anymore.” You tell him, your voice strong but your heart hurting. Calum nods, stepping back away from your door.
“Alright. I’ll see you around, (Y/N).” He glances at Emma. “I don’t wanna see you around, Em.” He says, smirking. Emma throws up her middle finger as Calum walks away. You shut your front door and turn to Emma.
“Do you wanna do something? Go out to eat or maybe see a movie?” She asks. You bite your lip. “Honestly, I’d rather just stay here for now. You don’t have to stay, though. I’ll come to work tomorrow, promise.” Emma nods. “Okay. Call me if you need anything.” You nod, watching her leave.
Just as she leaves, your cell phone starts ringing. “God, everybody wants to talk today.” You mumble to no one in particular, picking the phone up. You answer it, sighing.
“If you’re calling to blame me for Luke’s disappearance, give me a warning so I can mute you first.” You say. Ashton scoffs. “I’m not going to yell at you, (Y/N). I’m calling to invite you to this gathering we’re having at my house tomorrow.” He says. “What kind of gathering?” You ask, walking to your kitchen.
“Like a party type thing, but only with a few people.”
“Is Luke going to be there?”
“Probably not. Did Cal not make it to your place yet?”
“No, he did. Just left, actually.”
There’s some noises in the background, some instruments playing. “I’ll see if I can make it. Text me the address and time to be there.” You tell Ashton. “Will do. Bye, (Y/N).” You end the call and look for something to eat, biting your lip as you open cabinet after cabinet.
Hanging out with the boys sounds like a good idea to you. You always have fun with them, and right now, you could use some fun.
You’re regretting your decision to come to the gathering the second you pull into the driveway. Maybe seeing the boys isn’t a good idea. You haven’t seen the three of them in a long time and you don’t want it to be awkward.
But yet, you still get out of your car and walk up to the front door. You don’t even get to raise your fist to knock on the door before it’s flying open, revealing Ashton. He grins at you, his dimples deeper than ever.
“You made it!” He says, pulling you inside. You smile. “Thanks for inviting me.” He shrugs, pulling you through the house and to the back yard. The back yard is full of people you recognize from the tour crew and the people who help the boys make their albums. Michael is grilling something on the grill, cringing when he nearly burns a burger. Calum is singing a song you don’t recognize. A guitar plays to the left of you, and when you turn to look at where it’s coming from, you sigh.
Luke is there, his head angled down towards the guitar. “Guys! (Y/N)’s here!” Ashton says. The soft sound of the guitar cuts off abruptly. “Ash, you said-” You start, but he cuts you off by suddenly pulling you into a hug. “He just showed up an hour ago. I honestly didn’t know he would be here.” He whispers in your ear before pulling away. You frown, glancing back at Luke. He avoids your gaze, looking anywhere but at you.
You decide to go talk to some of the tour crew members, having not seen them in awhile. There’s a new guy to the team. He’s your age and once the conversation starts between you two, it doesn’t stop. Your laughing and enjoying each other’s company for over an hour until you go inside to get a drink.
“What the fuck are you doing?” You jump, startled by Luke’s voice. You turn around to face him, the island the only thing between the two of you.
“What?” You ask. “Why are you flirting with that new guy management hired?” Luke asks. “Because he’s nice and cute. He’s funny, and he doesn’t seem like he’s going to walk away when things get rough.” You say, your voice firm. Luke scoffs. “No, this isn’t about me right now. This is about you, fucking flirting with some loser.” He’s gradually stepping around the island to get to you and ends up pinning you against it, his arms on either side of you.
“Are you actually jealous right now?” You ask, your eyebrows furrowing. “No, I’m not fucking jealous, (Y/N)! I disappear for a few days to clear my head, and when I come back all the feelings I had for you before came rushing back, and I’m not fucking ready to deal wth those feelings yet, so if you could please refrain from flirting, that’d be great.” Luke snaps, his voice raising a bit. “You’re jealous.” You state, crossing your arms over your chest. Luke scoffs, a scowl forming on his face. He leans in closer.
“I could take you right now, you know that? I could kiss you right now and you’d fucking melt, (Y/N). And then I’d fuck your right here in this goddamn kitchen and kiss every inch of your body and frankly, I don’t give a shit who would hear or walk in, but I know you do, so I suggest you stop flirting and stop being so bratty before I eat you out so good, you’ll be trembling for days remembering it.” Luke whispers, his tone sharp. You don’t even know what to say back, because, God, this man is filthy with his words. Luke bites down on his lip, his jaw clenching as he thinks of everything he could do to you right here in his best friend’s kitchen. “You wouldn’t do that.” You say, your voice soft. Luke smirks.
“You’re right, sweetheart, I wouldn’t. You like things private. But my threat got the exact reaction I wanted it to. I can see your thighs clenching.” Luke says, and you almost roll your eyes again but decide against it.
“Now, go back to the party and tell that fucker to go away.” Luke says, pulling away from you and stepping back. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding in after Lukee jogs upstairs.
His mood swings are really starting to get to you. You never know if he has feelings for you or if he’s in best friend mode. You don’t know what he’s feeling or thinking most of the time, and this on and off thing is starting to make you exhausted. You’ll have to get him to open up to you later. But for now, you’re going to enjoy the party.
It’s my first collab on this blog. The lovely @cookies-and-jams is the original mind behind the plot. I edited and added ceratin details I felt that were missing.
So…I present to you “Broken Cinderella”.
Genre: smut,angst, fluff
Warning: Language, future smut
School is nothing special to you. It’s
close to hell on the earth. You know like is for
Jughead. You were the Jughead of this school. A misfit. But high school was
meant to be something special. A happy memory, a happy place. Sadly, that wasn‘t
the case for you. Especially if you are a transfer student in the middle of the
school year. Especially then. When you stepped on the school‘s marble floor,
the heavy stone crushed all, even little, hopes everything will be alright.
Rich students glare at you every times you walk alone, not that
anyone was tlaking to you anyway, in the hallways so you hide your gaze behind
the thick frames of your glasses, hoping that no one would see the fear in your
eyes. You are also hoping thatthe bully doesn’t see you.
But, you’re usually not very
fortunate…actually, you are not fortunate at
all. And that moment made this fact even more clear.
Pairing: McCree x Reader Word count: 2K Warnings: none, fluff! Masterlist
McCree x reader for 234. “Can I hold your hand?” Please?
a/n: whaaaat, an author’s note at the beginning of my story?? :0 Anyways, this is a story that was requested, just know that while writing this, I had Evan Rachel Wood’s version of If I fell playing the entire time. Also, should I start just a general tag list along with the designated story tag list??
As a seasoned member of
Overwatch, you weren’t unaccustomed to the goings-on of your fellow members.
You knew about the spontaneous lifting contests between Fareeha, Zarya and Reinhardt
whenever they’re all in the training room together. Knew about Junk’s boba
obsession and you even knew about McCree’s ability to flirt with any female on
Synopsis: Destiny has a funny way of working, even going so far as to bringing two unlikely friends together. Member: Taeyong + Reader Word Count: 3,414 Notes: I got tired of this sitting around in my drafts so here’s this shit. This is a prequel to an even bigger fic that’ll be posted eventually, set in the same universe as this fic so ;)), ye. enjoy.
Heyo. Again I’m gonna start this off by apologising for the lack of updates on this, I haven’t even been that busy, I’m just lazy like I have no excuse haha. Thanks to anyone still following this, I really do appreciate it and without messages and stuff this honestly wouldn’t have gone past the first chapter xx.
Feyre had been working for a few weeks at Mor’s coffee shop now. She worked most days when Tamlin was home, and every day when he was out of town for business. Mor loved having Feyre around to laugh with and had even told her last week that her coffee making skills had considerably improved, but Mor would still politely refuse when Feyre offered to make her a coffee.
It was long hours and the morning rush could be hectic at best, but Feyre enjoyed the challenge and it occupied her lonesome thoughts. When Tamlin was home he would disappear into his study for hours or be lost in his own thoughts when they decided to go out places for dinner. Feyre didn’t want to talk to him about his work though as she knew it would just worsen his mood, and he had made it very clear he hated talking about work with her.
Feyre had walked in one morning to see Mor attempting to decorate their specials board with crude attempts at stick figures. Feyre hadn’t meant to laugh but it caught her by surprise.
“I know I’m not very artistic but you know it’s bad when even your stick men get laughed at.” Mor huffed.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed but … does one of them have two heads?”
Mor sighed, “No, it was supposed to be a Christmas hat.”
Hesitantly, Feyre reached for Mor’s chalk, “May I?”
Mor looked surprised but handed the chalk over. She left to keep setting up chairs and tables while Feyre drew. She had a number of paints and canvas’s at home but she hadn’t felt any desire to paint lately, but Feyre got lost in her own drawing and hadn’t even noticed Mor peering over her shoulder.
“Oh my god it looks fantastic!” Mor squealed, making Feyre jump.
Feyre looked it over once, it wasn’t amazing. Done with cheap chalk and in just a few minutes, but it passed for a Winter wonderland scene with snowflakes, reindeer, and people huddled around a fire holding cups of steaming coffee. From then on Mor always got Feyre to decorate the boards after she had written on them.
Mor would sometimes leave Feyre alone for a few hours when it was quiet so she could run some errands and the trust Mor had in her blew Feyre away. Even if she wasn’t always left by herself. Most days Mor’s friends frequented the store such as Amren, a small but wicked looking woman who awed Feyre but also made her want to avoid eye contact. Amren was nothing but friendly towards Feyre and would always leave her an especially big tip so Feyre made an effort to make small talk. Amren owned her own jewellery store where she made her own accessories and was an old friend of Mor and Rhysand’s family.
Rhys’s brutish looking friends, Cassian and Azriel, were also usually hanging around the shop. Their favourite table was hidden away in a dark corner where Azriel would all but vanish in the darkness, but since Feyre had started working, Cassian would drag Azriel to tables that were closer to the counter so they could talk. Despite their imposing looks, Feyre found both of them to be quite friendly towards her and it wasn’t long before she found herself smiling before they had even entered the shop as she could hear their booming voices approaching from halfway down the street. They ordered the same thing every day, just a black coffee for Azriel, no sugar, and Cassian always had the most expensive and extravagant, whipped cream topped coffee they served, complete with chocolate and caramel syrup.
Rhys had so far kept his distance.
One morning after Lucien had dropped Feyre off for the day, Mor had been telling Feyre about an awful customer she had once had when the door swept open. Mor stopped mid sentence to beam at whoever had just entered. Feyre had her back to the door but she knew who it was was from the intensity of the gaze she felt was trained on her back.
“Well look who finally decided to come and check up on his shop.” Mor teased.
“You know I’ve been busy Mor. As I’m sure you’ve also been, training Feyre to make coffees that surpass even your own.” Rhysand purred.
Mor scoffed, “Who told you that?”
“Next time I’m locking him outside in the cold.” Mor laughed despite her icy tone. “Seriously though are you just passing through or staying for a bit?”
Rhys sighed, “I think I need to just sit down and clear my head. Wanna make me one of your famous coffees?”
“Coming right up!” Mor smiled.
“I wasn’t talking to you.” Rhys said, before flashing me a grin and taking his seat.
“How tragic. Disowned by my own cousin.” Mor said shaking her head. “He likes a cappuccino with two sugars.”
Feyre worked at the machine alongside Mor as she made other orders but Feyre could feel that violet gaze fixed only on her.
“How come Rhys hasn’t been around? Cassian and Azriel are always here.” Feyre asked Mor quietly.
“I think he’s just been really busy lately. He gets restless when he’s stressed so I doubt he wants to hang around here all day.” Mor replied as she turned on the coffee grinder.
The loud machine drowned out most sounds making Feyre nearly having to yell for Mor to hear her.
“Is it work related? The stress I mean.”
“Sort of. He works also as a spokesperson for the Illyrian community, making sure no one treats them badly.”
Feyre hadn’t had much experience with these Illyrians as she had only recently moved to town to be with Tamlin.
“Have people treated them badly in the past?” Feyre ventured.
“Oh Feyre, I wish I could say people in this town weren’t discriminatory but the world just isn’t like that.”
“I’ve never heard of Illyrians.”
“Well you live with Tamlin right? He lives in the flashy part of town, the opposite end to the Illyrian people so you probably haven’t ever seen them.”
Feyre finished making Rhysand’s coffee and moved to bring it out to him when Mor added, “He’s fussy about his coffees, sometimes I have to remake them a few times before he’s satisfied so don’t feel bad if he doesn’t drink it.”
“If he complains we’ll see how much he likes hot coffee poured in his lap.” Feyre said before freezing. Mor had turned the coffee grinder off just as Feyre had started to respond allowing Rhys to hear every word.
Deciding to play it off, Feyre continued on her path to Rhys and set the coffee down before him, arching her eyebrow in a challenge.
Rhys grinned up at her before painstakingly slowly, lifting the cup towards his lips. Feyre watched in anticipation and nearly screamed when he suddenly placed the coffee back on the table.
“It’s a little hot. I think I’ll wait for it to cool. Thank you.” Rhys said while giving her a cocky grin.
Swallowing her annoyance, Feyre marched back behind the counter with a grimace. Mor only laughed, before handing Feyre some new orders.
A few coffees later and Feyre looked up as an empty cup was set on the counter. She looked up to see Rhys gazing at her thoughtfully.
“… Was there anything else I could help you with?” Feyre asked, suddenly remembering that for all his jokes, Rhys was technically her boss.
“You changed the coffee.” Rhys said without any hint of emotion on his face.
Mor, who had been out the back gathering more stock, suddenly reappeared and miserably failed at looking like she wasn’t eavesdropping.
“I tried a different blend. Mor’s been encouraging me to experiment.”
Feyre felt the back of her neck dampen with sweat as Rhys failed to respond, only staring at her mutely.
“Did you like it? I can make another if you didn’t. I’m sorry, I know you like it a particular way-” Feyre babbled before Rhys cut her off.
“It’s okay. I liked it. Could you make me another?” Rhys asked, almost shyly. “Please?” He added as an afterthought.
Feyre nodded unable to speak she was so relieved. Rhys moved back to his table while Mor swooped in on her.
“That was incredible, you even got him to use his manners! I didn’t even see you change up the recipe.” Mor gushed.
But Feyre had already begun making a new coffee and wasn’t really paying attention to Mor.
“He always asks about you.” Mor said quietly.
“Nothing weird, just asking how you’re going at work. If you seem happy.” Mor continued.
Feyre said nothing as she went to take out the next coffee to Rhys. He smiled again at her as she placed it down and this time drank from it immediately. Mor watched them from the counter, an odd look on her face.
Over the next few days Rhys would come into the store and ask Feyre to make him a coffee. Sometimes he stayed to chat with her or Mor, other times he would have to leave quickly. Cassian and Azriel asked to try the special coffee that Rhys kept having but neither of them seemed to like it. When Amren asked to try it, she all but spat it back in the cup with an apologetic look at Feyre afterwards, “Sorry, I guess everyone likes their coffee differently.”
Feyre never made Rhys’s coffee for anyone else from then on.
One morning, Rhys was sitting in his usual spot by the counter where he could talk, and more often, tease Feyre, when Mor rushed in.
“I’m sorry I’m late Feyre! Everything’s been okay?” She asked.
“It’s fine, everything’s been going good today except for that weird guy who keeps trying to talk to me.” Feyre laughed while motioning at Rhys.
Rhys just winked and said, “I can’t start my morning without a coffee and your sweet face anymore Feyre Darling.”
Feyre responded with her usual, “Prick”, before turning away to serve a customer.
“She seems to have warmed up to you.” Mor said breezing past Rhys.
When there was no longer any people to serve, Rhys joined Feyre and Mor at the counter. He was staring at the specials board which still showed part of Feyre’s Winter wonderland scene and now also had a drawing of a coffee with a Santa face dusted in the foam.
“Now I know you didn’t draw this Mor.”
“First, I’m offended you think I have no artistic skills. Second, I’m impressed with how well you know me. Feyre is our resident artist.”
“You’re very good, ever think about doing an arts degree?” Rhysand said to Feyre.
“I have… but I don’t really think it’s for me.”
“Why not? You clearly have the talent for it.”
“I already told you, I can’t.” Feyre said angrily.
She turned from him and went to clear some dirty tables. When she returned Mor and Rhys abruptly stopped their conversation.
“Well I’m going to go do a stock order, Feyre do you think you could update the specials board? Thanks!” Mor said chirpily before disappearing out back.
Fear seized Feyre as she wiped clean the board. Rhys hadn’t said anything since she’d finished cleaning and she didn’t appreciate the way his keen eyes watched her. Feyre held up the chalk just inches from the board but couldn’t bring herself to write anything.
“What’s wrong?” Rhys asked, concern tingeing his voice.
“Nothing. I just don’t feel like doing this right now.” Feyre was horrified to feel tears beginning to well up.
Now Rhys seemed really concerned. “Feyre?” He asked. “Are you okay? Talk to me.”
Feyre couldn’t even look at him she was so embarrassed. She fought with herself for what felt like hours. On one hand she wanted to tell Rhys about her biggest weakness. But on the other, she knew she could be mocked for it or even worse, lose her job over it, and Feyre did not want to stop seeing her friends.
She almost said nothing. Almost brushed it off with an excuse. But when she looked up at Rhys’s face, his eyes were so open and trusting. Nothing but understanding touched his gaze and Feyre knew he had already guessed as much.
“I can’t read.”
Rhys nodded as if he knew all along. “Does Tamlin know?”
“And he never thought to teach you? Or get someone else to?” Now there was anger laced in his words. It instantly made Feyre recoil.
“It’s not like that. I’ve never really had to learn. And it’s not like I’m completely stupid, I’ve memorised a few basic words.”
“I’ve upset you. I’m sorry, I don’t think you’re stupid at all.” Rhys quickly apologised.
There was an awkward silence before Feyre spoke again. “I had only just started school when my mother died. My father lost everything to his grief. I dropped out of school to help out around the house. I did paper rounds to get money for food.”
“Where is your family now?”
“A few towns over. When I met Tamlin he wanted me to move in with him almost immediately but I couldn’t leave my family alone. So Tamlin promised they’d be looked after if I went with him.”
“Is that why you’ve never applied to college?”
Rhys pondered this. He started saying something before dropping it entirely. Taking a deep breath he tried a different tactic. “First, let me say that I think you’re incredible for putting your family over your own education. And while it makes no difference to me, and it doesn’t change who you are, but, if you’d like, I could teach you.”
Feyre was speechless. To her, providing and looking after her family had been second nature. No one, not even her father or sisters had ever really thanked her for it. And while it had never caused her regret, Feyre had always hated that small illiterate part of herself. She owned a phone but could barely use it. She had a job but only because it consisted of little reading. It was this that made her reach for Rhys’s hand to shake.
Rhys held her hand for just a little longer than was necessary but it didn’t feel odd to Feyre at all.