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A Feysand Fic (Rated T)

You can also read this on AO3.

I apologize that this is so short. The holidays have been pretty crazy.

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Chapter Two: Mother

Her name, he soon learns, is Feyre, and after that first meeting the two are nearly inseparable. 

It took shockingly little to cajole her into abandoning her chores every day to join him in whatever activity he was doing. Honestly, most of the servants seemed relieved to be rid of her. 

(Apparently his new friend was a bit of an unholy terror.)

When his father was away— which was most days— Rhys would spend every moment he could teaching her how to play his favorite games or watching her hungrily devour the snacks he brought along with him. 

(She was very, very good at eating snacks.)

The only one he couldn’t hide his new friend from, however, was his mother. 

“And who might you be?” She had said the first time she caught the two together. 

“Mother,” Rhys said quickly. 

He felt…panicked. It wasn’t that he’d been keeping Feyre a secret exactly, but he also hadn’t gone out of his way to seek her out when his parents were in residence. His mother, he was sure, would accept his peculiar little friend, but his father…

Well. 

His father was another matter entirely. 

“Mama,” he tried again, softer. “This is Feyre. She’s my friend.” 

Though he didn’t say the words ‘please be nice to her’ they were heavily implied. 

Her reply was only to look at them with a sort of exasperated fondness and Rhys was left with the impression that she saw Feyre the same way one would their child bringing home a stray cat. With amused resignation. 

“I see,” she said with faux seriousness, as if she were meeting an important dignitary. “Well met Feyre.” 

The girl in question only stared up at his mother, wide eyes landing on the wings tucked neatly behind her. Rhys frowned…before dipping into her mind—just on the surface—to see what it was that had his companion so slack-jawed. 

The answer came swiftly and was so obvious in hindsight. 

Of course. 

She had never seen an Illyrian before. Had, in fact, never seen a winged fae of any kind before. Not so long ago, any fae had been relegated to the realm of bedtime stories and warnings every parent used to scold an unruly child into obedience. And even after the death of her family and informal adoption into Velaris, she had never truly come across the more…fantastical of his kind. To her, the Lady of Night might as well have been a creature right out of one of her childhood faerie stories. 

And later, when his mother had left to attend to some business elsewhere and the two were once more engaged in a bitter battle of marbles, she whispered to him, “Can she fly?”

On the surface of her thoughts he saw imaginings of a beautiful dark lady soaring through the sky. 

He thought his mother would’ve loved that image. 

“Oh yes,” he said with a smile. “You wanna see?” 

[silume]

A Feysand Fic (Rated T)

You can also read this on AO3.

I just figure, after the day we've all had, that we deserve a distraction.

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Chapter One: The Human

Rhys doesn’t think much of her at first. 

She is human, like so many of the servants in Velaris. His father didn’t trust his own kind in his home the way he did humanity. Not because he thought highly of them per se, but because he knew they were utterly at his mercy with no magic or power of their own. 

He only catches sight of her on occasion, always trailing after an older servant doing…whatever servants did. All he knows is that she is tiny. Even tinier than him (loathe as he is to admit it with how many comments his father makes about how scrawny he is). With ratty hair the color of burnt sugar and a fierce expression that reminded him far too much of a wild animal. 

But still…sometimes, he thinks he can…feel her. That smallest hint of her mind before she is inevitably pulled away to help with one chore or another. A flash of tenacity. A peek of frustration. A flicker of anguish. Her thoughts tasted like…heat. Like sunshine and raindrops and ozone. Like the taste of a coming storm on a hot summer’s day. 

Usually he was kept isolated from his fellow fae (family excluded of course). Locked up in his father’s palace with only his mother and the servants for company. The High Lord wasn’t exactly eager to experience a repeat of the first time his son’s powers had manifested. When he had torn through a courtier’s mind like wet paper. His father had been so incensed that Rhys hadn’t said a word against the mandatory lessons with Amren afterwards. Nor had he protested when every other fae in the House of Wind was barred entry. 

For their own safety. 

Not the humans though. Because, of course the servants didn’t count. What did his father care for the lives of his pitiful human servants?

And so he had found himself drawn more and more to this girl. The only one his own age he had seen in…possibly ever. Though it isn’t until he catches her stealing scraps from the kitchens that he finally has the chance to speak with her. 

“What are you doing?” He asks when he sees her stuff an entire pastry into her mouth.

(He’s actually quite impressed with this feat. He certainly couldn’t do that). 

“None of your business!” She tries to say, though it mostly ends up coming out as garbled nonsense with the dessert making her cheeks bulge out like a squirrel’s. 

Rhys frowns. “Yes it is. You’re in my house.” 

The girl angrily swallows her stolen treat and all Rhys can do is stare in amazement. He didn’t even know it was possible to swallow something angrily. 

“Well…!” She began, clearly struggling to come up with a clever excuse. “I’m hungry!”

He glanced down and suddenly took note of just how skinny her wrists were. 

“Don’t they feed you?” 

She shrugged. 

He saw so much unsaid in that simple roll of her shoulders. As if this were to be expected. And, for one terrifying moment, he suddenly wondered if it was his fault she didn’t get enough food. He was the High Lord’s son, the lord of this household when his father was away. Surely it was his responsibility to see his servants fed? Had he been failing in his duty? 

“I’ll feed you!” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. He glanced around frantically and spied a basket of pastries set aside for lunch. He snatched one up and offered it to her. “Here! Take as many as you want!” 

The girl frowned at him distrustfully. However, he saw the way those luminous eyes remained riveted upon the pastry in his hand. He knew she wanted it. He didn’t even have to try to slip past her defenses. There were none. Her mind was an open book. Every thought and memory laid bare for him to peruse at his leisure like the turning of a page. He felt her hunger as if it were his own. Saw her fighting with the other servants for scraps. 

But that’s not all he sees. 

He sees all her life laid bare for him. Her parents. Her sisters. He sees her happy moments with them. And then he sees them lost to the angry, roiling sea before she washes up on the shore of the Night Court. The only survivor. 

Here is a beautiful, tragic little creature who has known far more heartache than he could ever fathom. 

And he finds that he desperately wants to make it better. 

He offers the pastry to her again. 

“Please,” he says. “We have plenty. No one else will know.” 

She takes the pastry. 

Rhys sighed contentedly as he watched her devour it in only two bites. 

It was a start. 

[silume]

Bonded

Feysand | Rated T | Multi-Chap | AO3 Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3

Slide in Deeper Closer to the Bone

Feysand | Rated M | One-Shot | AO3

[silume]

A Feysand Ficlet (Rated M)

I wanted to write something for @officialfeysandweek but couldn't write anything that completely fit the prompts so this is what we ended up with instead. ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

You can also read this on AO3.

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Sometimes, when they found themselves bare and slick with sweat, Feyre would slip into her mate’s mind and stare up at the ancient shields she found there. Black iron gates, endlessly tall and thick and rusted shut with age.

Let me in, she would whisper. 

And they would always open. Every time. Always for her. Anything for her. 

The Lord of Night’s mind was a strange place. Old and dark and twisting like an ever-changing labyrinth. And yet she was always welcomed forth with the most loving of embraces. Her mind cradled like a precious jewel. A baby bird. Treasured and fragile. 

My love, his mind would whisper to hers. My mate. 

It made her feel powerful, having this terrifying, ancient thing open up to her and show her its belly. 

You’re mine, she would whisper gently, stroking against his mind with the greatest care. You’re so good. So strong. So compassionate. No one understands how much you care. But I do. I see every part of you and I love them. 

And Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court and the nightmare other courts whispered about in the dark, would shake and shiver and lay his throat bare for her. 

And Feyre, the once-human, would take him in hand the same way her mind would his, caressing and working him into a frenzy until his body was taut and his thoughts swirled with pleasure. 

Come for me, she would command. 

Yes, he would always agree. Only for you. 

He was, after all, helpless to deny her anything. 

And she would watch him stain her skin with his essence the same way his mind would press and push and envelop hers. Desperate to be close to her. To own her in a way no one else possibly could. 

The same way she owned him. 

And always would. 

[silume]

Hi, I'm Silúme.

This is primarily a secondary fanfiction archive outside of my AO3 account where I'll be dumping most of my fics. It's also where you'll have a chance to see any updates or sneak peaks of upcoming works as well as be able to contact me directly.

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