This idea was supposed to be a three-shot, but I have no patience or self-motivation so I know I'll never get it finished if I write it all and post it in a bulk. So here's the first chapter, and sorry if it feels like it wasn't written to be an opening chapter - it wasn't. But things will pick up in later chapters. This might be a short story, might be a full length one; I don't know. I have no chapter plan. I'm winging it - making it up on the spot. I've missed doing that, to be honest.
The concept is basically that there are thousands and thousands of subspecies of human in this world, and they all live together in relative harmony. Magic is something well known and acknowledged in society, and different subspecies have different types of abilities. Rhys, Cassian and Azriel are Illyrians, the Archerons are witches, and we go from there.
I hope you like it, because I can safely say this was dredged together from the most far-flung snippets of ideas and concepts in the deepest darkest corners of my strange, strange mind.
(Apologies if this all seemed to ramble a little. It's late and I've had a stressful day.)
Disclaimer: I don't own the ACOTAR series.
It was August, and the as-of-yet beautiful weather had now consented to let a thunderstorm clear up its mess. The night sky was veiled by clouds, so the three girls walking through the muddy fields couldn't see the stars, but the youngest girl liked to imagine that the great forks of lightning lit up the sky with all the brilliance the stars possessed, like an over-dramatic understudy.
The rain came down in sheets, with brown hair dark with water pasted to pale foreheads as they walked. The middle child - the youngest of the three in spirit - completely ignored the entire point of the rubber wellies she was wearing and leapt into the nearest puddle. The splash soaked her already-wet scarlet robes brown, and the eldest sister clucked her annoyance. The youngest just smiled.
"That's going to interfere with the magic, Elain," the eldest chided.
"Yeah, it will," the middle child replied. "The rainwater'll help my herbs grow. No need to be such a killjoy." Her sister sighed.
The youngest asked teasingly, "And I suppose your divine powers have told you that?"
"Yeah." The muddied one's tone was playfully belligerent. "It's called the divine power of a botany textbook. Oh, and common sense." She cocked her head, and flinched when the motion sent damp clumps of hair flying into her eye. "I thought you were the one who always went on about this."
The youngest laughed. "Sorry if I've gotten used to you two talking in fucking riddles all the time. It gets really annoying eventually."
"Your lack of creative wordplay is hardly our fault," the eldest one objected. "Now shut up, both of you. The next lightning strike will hit in a few seconds, and you want to be ready. Have you got the bottle, Feyre?"
The youngest rolled her eyes and produced a large glass bottle apparently from nowhere. It seemed to shimmer with a sort of iridescence that was independent of any light source. "It's right here, Nes."
"Good," the eldest said stubbornly. "Then let's begin." She glanced up. "Cauldron knows when we'll get another lightning storm again. . ."
.~*~.~*~.~*~.
"You know, it's said that this beach has such golden sands because every year on Midsummer's Day faeries come here to dance and cast their magic."
Feyre didn't even have to look over her shoulder to know who it was. "Piss off, Rhysand."
"Now that's just rude," he commented, coming to sit down next to her. She reflexively flicked shut the small painting pad she'd brought, so he couldn't see the painting, despite the fact the thin paintbrush and palette that was still cradled in her lap betrayed what she was doing. He raised an eyebrow at her actions, but didn't comment.
She resolutely looked away, towards the sea where her sisters were splashing about and laughing at each other. "I take it you had the same idea as we did?"
"To take advantage of the rare Velaris sunny day and enjoy it while we still can?" He folded his arms behind his head and lay back against the ground. His wings twitched as they came in contact with the burning sand - Feyre remembered how Rhys had once told her that Illyrian wings were especially sensitive to temperature changes. Something to do with a primal mating ritual evolution hadn't seen fit to rid them of.
The sheer number of subspecies of humans in Prythian occasionally boggled her mind.
"Effectively," she answered, not quite able to keep a smile off her face as she looked back down at her sketchpad. She flipped it open again, and went back to painting. "Elain begged us."
"I can see why." He hummed for a contented moment, and then asked, "So you're not swamped by work today, then?"
She swallowed. Rhys was a passing acquaintance - alright, friend - she'd made from the University of Velaris, one she didn't know very well. He didn't know about the financial situation her family was in, or what they'd had to do to get out of it; any jokes he made about her overworking were borne of her intense commitment to her studies whilst inside the university. He didn't know how many jobs she worked, or how hard she did outside of school, or the fact that despite what prowess her magical abilities might give her, she still struggled to make ends meet.
The comment still hit a little too close to the mark, though.
"Not today," she said with forced lightness, suddenly finding the meticulous blending of the green and blue hues of the sea to be an intensely fascinating task, rather than an outright bother.
Rhys followed her gaze, and stared at her painting of the scene for a moment, before looking at the water himself and asking sympathetically, "Not one for the water, then?"
"Oh, I am." She jabbed the brush, bristles flecked with white paint, at the depiction of her sister's dark silhouette, until the sea spray shimmered around Nesta like a curtain of glitter. "I'm just not in the mood for swimming today."
"Some weird witchy ritual preventing you from interacting with water, huh?" She could hear the feigned nonchalance in his voice, and knew he was just winding her up, but she needed the distraction, so went along with it.
She sighed, loudly and theatrically. "Rhysand, I've told you before: Just because a witch or wizard has magic, it does not mean they have any obligation or desire to use it. Some of us don't have enough magic to use." She made eye contact with him, and suppressed a smirk at the glint in his eye. "We've been over this."
"But you use magic," he observed.
"I do." She turned back to her painting. "But that's beside the point. The point is that not every witch or wizard participates in every rite of passage or ritual, anymore than every Illyrian is a cocky, swaggering idiot with biceps bigger than their brain." She gave Rhys a pointed look. "Although you and Cassian do try to convince us all of such things."
He held her gaze for precisely five seconds before they both burst out laughing. Rhys stood up, brushed the sand off his trousers, and presented her with a deep, exaggerated bow. "Always a pleasure, Feyre."
"I wish I could say the same!" she shouted at his retreating back, though her smile belied her words. He made a rude gesture over his shoulder; unseen, she stuck her tongue out at him.
"Very mature, Feyre," she heard Elain's voice comment, and she shot her an innocent look. Her sister's body stood between her and the sun; Feyre squinted to look up at her. Elain had her hands on her hips.
At her sister's raised eyebrows, Feyre relented. "Oh, go back to splashing about in the sea," she grumbled, and shrieked when Elain flicked freezing water in her face.
Again.
.~*~.~*~.~*~.
Late that afternoon, when the sky was turning violet, then crimson, in a blaze of fiery gold, Rhys ducked into the tattoo shop, silently cursing Cassian to his last, dying breath.
Although his friend would argue that in no way was he at fault for this, not when it had been Rhys's idea to have another competition. And perhaps it had been a bad idea, but in his defence, he'd always won before! Flying through the mountains was his passion and pastime, and he had been able to fly the fastest of all three of them for years.
But since starting at the university, and been introduced to the gargantuan workload known as "homework" he'd, for one, regrettably been unable to keep up the hobby he'd once enjoyed daily, and, for another, been completely unaware that Cassian had been picking up the slack in his absence.
Prick.
So now, since he'd lost the race and the bet, he was fulfilling his end of the deal, and getting another tattoo. Not that he didn't like getting tattoos, but the idea of having a permanent mark of his own arrogance and ignorance on his body wasn't an appealing one.
The door to the shop creaked as he swung it open. The sound set his teeth on edge, like something out of a horror film. But the place was well lit, with spider plants and cacti arranged around the receiving room in a homely sort of way, and it was very clean and welcoming. He awkwardly approached the front desk. "I made an appointment here, under the name Night, for today?"
The woman at the desk - her nametag read Alis - checked the computer. "Yes, it's here. Paid all in advance?" He nodded, and she typed something out. "Very well. Take a seat by the window and flick through some designs. Someone will be out to assist you in a moment."
Rhys nodded, and went to sit in the seat next to the cactus in the corner. He stared at it for a while - he was fairly sure, even in beautiful and diverse and magical Velaris, that cacti weren't meant to be blue - then began to flick through the sheets of designs.
Maybe he could get a tattoo in white ink, so it looked like a scar? Then he might not have to explain when it meant to anyone curious enough to bother asking. But no - he was sure his darling cousin, the overseer of this ill-fated bet, would find a way that the idea broke the meticulously planned out terms and conditions of theirs.
So if not, then he might as well get something cool. Something that complimented the numerous tattoos he already had over his chest and shoulders. Something like that design there, with the three concentric circles spreading outwards like ripples in red, amber and green, and the little blueish-black curls that formed tangents to the outermost one. Yeah, that would do.
No sooner had he decided that he heard a familiar cough. He jerked his head up to see Feyre Archeron raising an eyebrow at him, standing in the doorway through to the back rooms.
"Rhysand Night?" she asked, sounding like she was trying to suppress a laugh. "Have you decided on a design?"
He nodded, and jabbed a finger at the selected one. "This one. Protection," he added, reading the name of it aloud. It was probably modelled off an old, disused rune from the old dialect of Velaris that meant something along the same lines.
Her eyebrows rose even higher, but she nodded. "Come on through, then."
"Wait. . ." He choked on the word. "You're the tattoo artist?"
She crossed her arms in an oddly defensive position, though her voice was forcibly neutral. "Yes. What of it?"
His face burned at the thought of having to explain the bet to her, his and Cassian's antics, and decided she didn't have to know. "Nothing, darling," he said instead, throwing in a wink just to cover up his nervousness. He was sure his hands were sweating.
"Alright. . ." she let the word trail off, her face that particularly annoyed expression she seemed to reserve for Rhys and Rhys alone. "Come on through then. And bring the sheet."
Rhys did.
He left a few hours later, his collar bone stinging. Feyre had been quick and professional, but she rarely initiated conversation, so it'd been up to him to lessen the awkward silence when it got too much for him to bear. And she spoke with him easily enough (barring the subtle jibes she made in response to his own) but whenever he brought up her frankly odd mannerisms as the hours passed, she clammed up instantly.
But he'd felt the itch of magic in the air. He assumed it was something to do with that.
He didn't think about the strangeness of the situation again until the tattoo, quite literally, saved his life.
Let me know what you thought!