rel x

anonymous asked:

1. i loVE YOUR HQ/TG AU IT'S PERFECTION TBH and 2. how are bokuto and akaashi's masks designed (if u don't mind me asking)

here’s a quick sketch! akaashi’s one looked better here tho.. OTL [TG AU]

So are we just gonna glaze over the fact that Jim Hopper, tough cookie/secret cinnamon roll, was an orphan?

Draw With Me [Feyre x Rhysand Modern AU]

!!! it’s here !!! thanks anon (also ur not weird for being a slut for angst because I am too!)

I have this automatic instinct to apologize for how i write and what i write, and I’m determined NOT to do that anymore. I will say i am sorry for how long this took me (school is GETTING IN MY WAY), and I REALLY hope people enjoy it even though it’s not perfect!! I had a lot of fun writing this and building a backstory for it - Also it’s nearly 6,000 words, so hold on to your hats!

I don’t want to spoil anything (HELION), so please feel free to read and give me your thoughts - i’m debating writing a second part depending on interest. :) thanks!!

Word Count: 5764
Read it on: [ Fanfiction ] [ AO3 ]

Draw With Me

I was the first to enter the classroom.

It was 7:40AM on the first day of classes, and the hallways were already filled with students and professors as they made their way to their destinations. I had just breezed past two people, students I assumed, who were hovering in the hallway near my classroom.

I was practicing an introduction in my head, just in case, Hi, my name is Feyre Archeron and…

And what? I wondered if I should mention my age… or my preference for paints…

Caught up in my own thoughts and believing that other students had already entered the classroom, I just waltzed right in.

And slowly stopped in my tracks because… I was the first. And the classroom was completely empty. Whirling around, my eyes caught on the nondescript black clock above the door.


I knew I was early since class began at 8AM sharp, but… I had passed students and professors on my walk here. Well, since I was already here, I might as well choose my seat.

My eyes roved over the classroom, and while shrugging my backpack off, I picked my way over to an easel stationed on the western side of the classroom.

Just before I reached the easel and stool, two students sauntered in – the same two that I had breezed past just outside the classroom. They quickly surveyed the room and selected a seat, just as I had.

The female student was beautiful; she had warm brown eyes, and her long, blonde hair was braided and fell down the center of her back. She had chosen to sit at an easel nearby me, but closer to the door.

The woman eventually looked up and caught my gaze, and I narrowed my eyes at her.

Her brown eyes remained impassive as she just shrugged her narrow shoulders, her floor-length sundress rustling along the tiled floor, and gave me a small, guilty smile. Sorry.

Hmm. She didn’t look wholly repentant. They had purposely waited for someone else to enter the classroom first, but why…?

“The first always gets noticed.” The other student answered my unspoken question.

What does that mean? My eyes snapped to where he was seated across from me on the eastern side – in a chair with a drawing pad on his lap, twirling a pencil between his fingers.

Now that I really looked, I noticed he was also very good-looking, even with the hood shadowing parts of his face. He was dressed more simply than the female student, and I wondered if they were together. He wore a slate-colored, cowl neck sweatshirt, slim-cut black pants, and black combat boots.

I tilted my head, confused, but he didn’t seem inclined to say anything more. As I assessed him, I couldn’t tell whether he was an ally or a foe; his expression was mild but unreadable, although my predator’s instinct warned me that I was likely facing another predator.

However, his slumped position in the chair seemed relaxed enough, with both legs sticking out in front of him. I had no idea what to say or whether to ask him what he meant, but I figured, perhaps I would find out soon enough. So I ducked my head behind my easel and continued setting up my things.

After all, we were in the advanced introductory drawing class at a prestigious art university, the Velaris School of Design. Months after submitting my application and portfolio on a whim, I received a heavy, cream-colored envelope containing my acceptance letter as well as other important documents, including a course schedule. A note clipped to the schedule stated that I had been placed into a more advanced drawing class, but I had been more than thrilled that I had been accepted into the university at all.

When I’d opened the letter, Elain had been home tending to the garden but when she heard me screaming, she ran into the house and screamed with me. Then we called Nesta, who surprisingly picked up on the first ring.

“I had a feeling it was good news,” Nesta declared after I finished speaking, and then she added, “Congratulations, Feyre. You deserve it.”

She had sounded happy for me, proud, even. It was rare for Nesta, the coldest of us three, to show feeling, so her praise meant a lot to me.

I was shaken from my reverie by the sound of students gradually filing into the room, some in pairs and trios, and others streaming in alone. I fiddled with the arrangement of my pencils and graphite sticks, glad I had gotten here early so that I had a chance to observe my fellow classmates.

As I cast a wandering gaze around the room, I could easily identify which students had money, and which didn’t. Nobody noticed me, and nobody bothered to introduce themselves but I was happy to keep to myself.

I also noted that there weren’t enough easels, so students who filed in later would only have the choice to sketch on chairs loosely arrayed around the podium. Or stand.

Sounds of students chattering and chairs sliding filled the room; the familiar sounds of art tools clattering was both comforting and nerve-wracking at the same time. Sunlight streamed in overhead through narrow, horizontal windows on the northern wall and panes of long, vertical windows on the eastern wall of the room.

I glanced at the clock again; there were still 5 more minutes before class started.

I tried to look preoccupied with the materials I had laid out, and my mind wandered again…

It had been years since Hybern’s War, and luckily, my family and I had made it out alive – well, me, my two older sisters Nesta and Elain, and my father. My mother had died of disease during the early years of the war, but before she passed, she had made me promise to take care of our family.

I always wondered why she didn’t ask Nesta, or Elaine…

But I promised her. I said yes, and… I’d learn to provide for my sisters and my father, on my own. Alone. I hunted and killed, did things I wasn’t proud of…

As the war raged endlessly, the borders and lands of Prythian had been bent and disrupted, including our hometown. We lost our home, but saved our most precious family valuables along with whatever we could. It was many years before the war ended, but afterwards, the country slowly rebuilt and reknit itself because the High Courts of Prythian all united for the cause of rebuilding our war-torn lands.

As the war was winding down, my father took advantage of society’s momentary lapse in maintaining law and order, and he slowly began to rebuild some of his prior fortune. The money he slowly accumulated was just a fraction of the prior wealth we had all known, but it was more than we had had in a long, long while.

I still remembered and resented my father had been a lifeless husk, useless after his wife, our mother, had passed into the void…

However, even though it took a while, he saved enough money to eventually move us to Velaris, the City of Starlight. The city had been closed off for hundreds of years, but after the war, the High Lord of the Night Court had welcomed all those who wished to seek refuge.

Moving us to Velaris was perhaps the best thing our father had ever done for us. Within a year and a half, Elaine had met and married well to a serious but kind man named Graysen Tolliver. And Nesta was off doing, well, whatever it was that Nesta did – within a few months, she had quickly enrolled at a university in Velaris that focused on literature and knowledge.

But now I was here, in this classroom. It wasn’t the time to be thinking about the past.

Better to be grateful for what I had now, and the future.

I took a swig from my water bottle to try and clear my mind, noticing that the students near the door were starting to shift nervously and whisper in a hush. My eyes snapped to the focus of their attention – a woman now sweeping into the room, who I assumed was our art professor.

Her bright red hair was streaked with thick strands of white, lending evidence to her older age. I noticed her eyes next, which were ice-blue and hawk-like, as if she could simply see right through you. She wore a long, slim, navy-blue gown with pearls dotting her ears and silver bangles on her wrists.

Briskly, she stepped onto the podium with a no-nonsense demeanor. She commanded most of the room’s presence, as the students around me silenced near instantly.

I didn’t know too much about our art professor, only that she was renowned for her skills and that many lords and ladies often commissioned incredible works from her. So perhaps, it was to be expected that the fire-haired artist would feel so intimidating to students in an introductory art course.

I took a moment to relish in that thought – finally, finally I had the luxury of taking art courses, of honing artistic skills beyond my penchant for painting. I had worked hard, fought hard for my family, and now I finally had the chance to do something for myself. To attend university, and pursue art…

The professor stood on the podium. Clasping her hands behind her back, she cleared her throat. Every single pair of eyes in the classroom was already on her.

Her hawk-eyes were initially trained on the door, but eventually her penetrating stare roved around the room. “Well, it seems like most of us are here. Welcome, students. My name is Anaxandra Agnes. I do not want to waste precious class time with too many words, so I will assume you have all perused the syllabus before you stepped over the threshold. If not, there are copies of the syllabus on the table in the back.”

She gestured towards the stack of syllabi with one hand, and some students turned to look towards where she pointed. Then she clasped her hands behind her back again.

Professor Anaxandra Agnes began pacing slowly in a circle. “For today’s class, you will be showing me what you can do. If you are serious about art but cannot handle the pressure or expected to get an easy grade, you should probably leave now.”

She paused, and the whole room held their breath, collectively wondering if anyone would leave.

Instead, the door creaked open, and the whole room directed their attention to the tall, dark-haired man that slipped into the room, wearing an impeccably cut black tunic and pants. I craned my neck and watched as he immediately slunk off to a corner, seeing all of the eyes upon him.

Nobody got up to leave, so Professor Agnes continued. “I also don’t tolerate tardiness” – she turned and looked pointedly at the male who had just entered – “and contrary to popular belief, there is such thing as stupid questions.”

“My apologies, Professor. Prior engagements ensnared me.” The gentleman in the corner sketched a bow. I was surprised to hear that he sounded confident and that his voice was rich and deep, like red wine.

Recognition crossed her face, and to everyone’s surprise, the professor huffed a sigh and placed a hand on her hip. “Oh, Rhysand. You know I don’t like to make exceptions, either.

Even though I could barely see him, I was willing to bet money that the tall man – Rhysand? – was smirking.

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