Ive Seen A Lot Of Beautiful Things With A Heavy Heart.

“I’ve seen a lot of beautiful things with a heavy heart.”

— Albert Camus

The soft spring air drifting across the eastern meadows let Tamlin drift away on the puffy white clouds that scattered across the soft blue sky. The warm breeze and bright sun on his skin refreshed him and left him floating off into a warm daze. Feyre’s hand kept him anchored to the moment and the ground. Otherwise, the high fae very well might have begun floating. He rubbed his thumb over her palm in slow circles.

Her fingers were calloused, but he didn’t mind that in the slightest. Each groove in her thumb or line in her palm was the mark of some injury or achievement. High Fae could endure life altering pain and it would barely leave a mark unless the weapon were made of a particular caliber. Tamlin still felt every wound, but there were scars he could not show.

He liked hers. They were marks of being living and real. She was something that he could hold onto when everything around him erupted in storms. Feyre was no darling. She had her thorns, her bolts, and her bruises — but the more that he learned of her, the more dear to him she became. She never stopped fighting, whether it was for the last piece of chocolate cake or his time and attention. Only recently had he seen her truly relax.

He heard her words and contemplated them - before answering.

“It was a childhood dream of mine,” He said slowly, biting his lip. “I didn’t always stay at the manor and my Mother and I sometimes took days near the lake in a small cabin when I was small. Being with her was different. We were a different family than what everyone saw at court. There was no greater bliss than spending evenings on the dock by her side and drawing with glowing chalk late into the night.”

“I guess I can’t say I wanted a whole new family.” His brow wrinkled. “I just wanted to be away from the spectacle…the scrutiny.”

He opened his eyes and turned his head to face her, shyly catching her gaze. His soft green eyes piqued with both curiosity and nerves.

“I’d like to think we would be.” He whispered. “That paths cross for a reason. What do you think, Feyre? Do you believe in fate?

@thehighlordofspring sent: ‘it feels nice…being here with you.’

Feyre was coming to terms with her freedom now and even so it felt weird to sometimes not think about her family even though she could feel the hole in her heart where they should be. Looking up at the clear blue sky she turned her head to change her view to the male laying next to her. Tamlin, she once thought of him as her jailer, but now she had a completely different view of him. He rescued her in a way from the life that she was living and she was thriving in his court.

One hand reached out to touch his as she looked back up at the sky a little smile touching her lips. "It feels nice being here with you too." She closed her eyes enjoying the feeling of the sun on her skin letting it tan her further than she had already become living here. He could leave her in this field and Feyre would take a nap on the plush grass dreaming about all of the things this meadow made her want to paint. "Do you ever wonder what it would have been like if you were born to a different family?" She asks quietly not daring to look at him.

"Do you think we would have been like this if you were born human like me?" Now she opened her eyes rolling her head over so that she could study the planes of his face from her view.

𝗑 - 𝗑 / 𝗑 - 𝗑

various medical starters

“Hold onto my hand, okay?”

“Don’t look at it. Keep your eyes on me.” 

“You were sick. I didn’t want to leave you.” 

“Can you hear me?”

“I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m going to change out your IV now. It will be quick.”

“I can’t breathe.”

“It’s probably just swelling, but we could check for a break if it would give you peace of mind.”

“What did you take?”

“Where are you, will someone find you if you pass out before I get there?” 

“Having nightmares that get that bad… that’s not normal.”

“You should be at home.”

“Keep talking to me, alright?”

“How did you get [injury]?”

“– Was that a gunshot? [Name]?”

“You might have to stay in bed a couple more days.”

“I made you soup. I wasn’t sure if you’d want it.”

“Your fever is very high. I’m [name]. We’re friends, you called me and asked me to come over.”

“Maybe we should head to the ER.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“Take it in sips, to start with. Go slow.”

“I think you’re concussed.”

“It’s too bright.”

“I’m really cold.”

“I’ll come and pick you up, just stay there.”

“So, what are you in for?” (said inside a hospital, probably)

“People speak of grieving their dead, but they are silent for those that remain. How do you grieve the one who still breathes? You don’t. You can’t. You can only learn to live without them — as seconds turn to centuries. People are not possessions. They cannot be replaced when lost.”

Tamlin, to Feyre, a ballad of thorns and roses