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l3visthighs · 3 months

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Hey lovely Alyssa ✨

I hope you're doing well!

The Leviana fanarts you post are always amazing & I wondered if you could tell us more about your OC Ilyana? I'm really curious about this cutie!

Smooches 😘

Val, hi! 💕 how’re you doing?

Thank you so much for your question about Ilyana. It makes my heart so happy when people show an interest in her.

I have a little story I’ve been working on for a while for her & Levi. It’s just never seen the light of day because I don’t have a lot of confidence in my writing/storytelling. So it’s been more of a project just for me. :’)

I’ll insert a few paragraphs of it here though just to give a little more insight about her (her background, her personality, etc) <3

Year 843:

That day had finally come; the day that Ilyana Hoover dreaded every single day since her adopted brother, Bertolt, had told her that he wanted to become a warrior. Today was the day she watched him inherit the Colossal Titan. She couldn't believe it, she didn't want to. Thirteen years. Thirteen years is all she had left with him. For years she had tried to talk him out of it. But here she is now. Watching him train for his upcoming mission in Paradis with the now Armored Titan and Female Titan. She's going with them on their mission. She had already decided that long ago; she told herself no matter what the outcome was today that she would be there for him. She knows her brother. He's emotional, sometimes weak, and anxious. No matter what role they decide to give her in the mission, she would do it, she would go. If only to protect him.

"I really don't think you should come along, Ilyana. It's going to be dangerous. We don't know what these island devils are capable of. Stay here and look after mom. She needs you." He pleads with her that evening.

"You're really lecturing me over it being dangerous? Bert, you're scared of your own shadow most of the time" She sighs. "If I don't go with you and something happens to you, I wouldn't be able to live with that. I already made up my mind. I don't trust Reiner to protect you, either. You and I both know how hot headed and emotional he can be at times. Mom will be just fine. She's got dad here to watch over her. You know he'd never let her roam the streets alone."

He shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose. She's right. He knows she is; and he knows there's no convincing her otherwise. His sister has always been stubborn. A bit hot headed herself at times. He knows she just wants the best for him. She's always been protective of him. But he can't help but wish she'd believe in him, just this one time. He knows he can handle himself. He's been through the training, he knows what to expect; what he's getting himself into.

Ilyana always knew she was different from the others of her kind. Born a Marleyan but adopted at a young age by an Eldian family; the Hoover family. They’d found her alone on the street one evening and decided to take her in; a few years later came Bertolt. She never knew her real parents, nor what had happened to them. Every Marleyan here was disgusted by the Eldians. She had watched her family be talked down to, pushed around and spit at walking down the streets. But growing up and living in an Eldian family made her feel much differently towards them. She had read the history books, heard all of the rumors; But she refused to believe they were all as bad as the people of Marley had made them out to be. She loved the Hoovers. They had always treated her like their own. The least she could do in return for everything they'd done for her is watch after their son, her brother; blood relation or not. She would protect him with her life.

————————

TLDR: Ilyana Hoover is a Marleyan; she was adopted by the Hoovers at a young age. She’s extremely protective over her brother, Bertolt. She finds herself feeling super sympathetic towards all Eldians; including the ones on the island. Shes confident, not afraid to hold her own ground/speak up for herself; but can also be extremely hot headed & rash. (Which causes for some bickering with Levi later on in the story) she travels to the island with the Warriors as a spy.

(Also all artwork of them is done by the lovely @/catyypss)

#moots <3 #val✨#y’all if you read this please be kind it took a lot for me to post it #disappearing into the void now

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writtenonreceipts · 5 months

Text

Based on the prompt received here and the song “too close” by jp cooper.

AO3 Link

This’ll probably be my last update for a while, jsyk

Warnings: mild angst, but it has a happy ending (spoiler). 3.8k words.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

eyes like stars, she brings me home

Autumn came to Velaris with its usual grace. The mountains were turning from the vibrant green of summer to the burnished gold and warm brown of the changing season. Usually by the third week of September you could drive up through the mountains and see the leaves change before your eyes. Combined with the way the sun always seemed to shine day in and day out, the drive up to Ramiel was one of Rhys’ favorites.

At least…it had been.

For the last nine years he and his friends had made a point of driving up the canyon with plenty of coffee, cocoa, and spiced donuts between them. The tradition started right after Rhys had gotten his license and he wanted to celebrate. So he and Cassian and Azriel piled into his ratty old Corolla (father wouldn’t give him any money for a car as he hadn’t earned it) and they drove the canyon with a mountain of donuts and drinks between them. And then Mor joined. And Amren. And then there was Feyre.

Feyre Archeron with her waves of dark blonde hair, infectious smile, and the wit to shut even Cassian up on occasion.

He hadn’t meant to fall in love with her at seventeen, really. She was always meant to be his friend. The one he could turn to on the worst of days. The only one who knew about the nightmares that came after his mother died.

He hadn’t meant to fall in love with Feyre Archeron. But some things couldn’t be helped.

Over the course of nine years, Rhys played his part perfectly. He never teased Feyre too far, never touched where he shouldn’t, never let on how deep his feelings ran. It wouldn’t be fair to Feyre or the rest of their friends to disrupt what they’d grown accustomed to. To break up the friend group or make things awkward or—

So Rhys kept his feelings to himself. And Azriel, because Az always stuffed his nose where it didn’t belong. And Az tended to know things he had no business knowing.

When Feyre first started dating Isaac Hale, Rhys thought that was good. It would help him get used to the idea that she really wasn’t his to have anyways. And then Hale broke her heart and Rhys was the one to pick up the pieces.

“He was never good enough for you,” Rhys told her one night.

They were in their sophomore year of college—Rhys in business and Feyre art history—and remained unseparated. Mor chose to go to a school further south that specialized in psychology, Amren was always busy with law, Cassian starting his gym, and Az dropped out to do trade in mechanics. It was just he and Feyre who saw each other consistently. Strange, Rhys would come to think about, strange that somehow it turned to just the two of them.

Feyre let out a long sigh as she leaned back into his couch and looked at him sideways. “You have to say that.”

“It’s true,” Rhys said. He nudged her with his shoulder.

They often found themselves here. Together at his place finishing homework or cramming for exams. Or on nights like tonight, just trying to tread water in preparation for the next week.

“He was an ass,” Rhys continued, “and you’re better off without him.”

Rhys could list off all the things that were wrong with Isaac if he wanted. He’d curated the list long ago and had consistently added to it over the last five months of the miserable relationship.

Instead of replying, Feyre only leaned her head on his shoulder and tucked her legs beneath her. Some reality show was playing on the old tv Rhys had rescued from a dumpster last week. Neither were paying much attention to it though. And that was fine.

Rhys much preferred the quiet, leisurely moments like this with Feyre. Where they could just simply be and he could almost convince himself that something would change between them. He was getting too close to that line of thinking, though. He knew he couldn’t risk his friendship with Feyre. Nor would he do anything that would potentially screw it up. She was too important to him.

So they stayed like that until the night grew late and Rhys had already made the vow that he would never be the one to hurt Feyre.

…

Nine years.

He’d been in love with his best friend for nine years and he knew he was an utter idiot. Who let themselves be in love with someone for nine years and never do anything about it? Rhysand. And he was an idiot for it.

He’d tried dating other women and had been in a few somewhat serious relationships. Serious for him at least. The three-month mark was that magical moment where everything went to hell in a handbasket and the relationship would end and he’d be right back where he started. Still in love with the same girl.

He was twenty-eight years old and nothing had changed.

Until Feyre started dating Tamlin Doyle.

And Rhys had a sickening knowledge that this would be different. That this relationship was the one that would truly break him. Because Feyre was happy. He saw it whenever he saw the two of them together. Saw it when Feyre’s face lit up whenever Tamlin texted or called. She’d even started hanging out at his place more and more. It soon got to the point where Rhys was lucky to see Feyre once or twice a week.

He tried to use it as his own chance to distance himself from Feyre. To let it be the perfect excuse to move on, to find someone knew and let Feyre have her own life.

And it would have worked, if Autumn hadn’t swept through the city again and a certain hadn’t taken the warmth of summer in one fell swoop.

Rhys, a stickler for some traditions, didn’t think anything of it when he texted Feyre one Saturday morning to invite her on another drive up the canyon. Because it was Feyre and this was what they did. The drives, the talks, the time spent falling back into what they knew.

So when she texted him only a few moments after his message he was already planning on swinging through the coffee shop for their regular order. It wasn’t until he actually read the words that he realized things weren’t going to be as they always had been.

Feyre: with tamlin today. Srry.

The words plain and simple with no way to misinterpret them. Except all Rhys could do was stare at them. She’d said the same thing last week and on Thursday when they’d all met up for drinks. She was busy. She had work. Tamlin needed her.

Twenty minutes later when he picked Mor up to go with him instead, he tried telling his cousin about what happened.

“She always comes for the canyon runs,” Rhys said, pulling out onto the narrow two-lane highways that wove through the mountains.

From her seat, Mor sipped delicately on her coffee, snorting with disdain.

“Well, you don’t know Tamlin very well, do you?” Mor muttered. Her mouth tilted into a frown as she glared out the front window.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rhys asked.

Mor only shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Just give her some space, yeah? I’m meeting her for lunch next week, you don’t have to worry about her.”

“Mor,” he insisted. He returned her glare as best he could while not careening the car over a cliff.

“Tamlin doesn’t share very well,” Mor said, she offered him a small smile, “you know Feyre, if she needs help, she always comes to you.”

Except Rhys didn’t like that response. He didn’t like thinking about Feyre and Tamlin. About whether or not Tamlin was good for her or if she really was happy. Rhys didn’t like not knowing if things really were alright with Feyre. And if she was, couldn’t she at least text him?

And maybe it wasn’t his business. Maybe he really did need to give Feyre space. Let her have a relationship outside of him. Let her choose who she was—outside of him.

It made him sick; he couldn’t deny that. Because what if…what if she found someone else, someone that…

These were the exact thoughts that he needed to shy away from. That he needed to ignore. Because Feyre, his Feyre, had a life to live and she never did anything she didn’t want to do.

So Rhys kept driving. He drove through the mountains and watched as the colors of summer faded from the bright greens and lush life into the amber of fall. All the while his mind lingered on the what if’s of him and Feyre.

…

New Year’s Eve and he was spending it alone.

Rhys snorted to himself and shoved off the couch where ESPN was playing reels of the last big football game. It was nothing new, the channel had been on all night, the one thing that didn't show updates about the night of news. It made it easier to ignore reality.

He went to his kitchen, neat with its black cabinets and gray marble. Nothing stacked on the counters. Sterile as Feyre would say.

He winced.

Maybe that should be his resolution. Not to think about her. Not to let her consumer him. To move on. Ten years was ten too many after all.

He poured himself a drink, ice clunking gently a he tossed a few cubes it. He downed half the whiskey before even shoving from the counter then poured himself another.

It was the first New Years he hadn't bothered to do anything. And he'd had plenty of opportunity. Mor and her girlfriend were hosting a party together and Az was finally admitting to him and Gwyn being together. Though Rhys wasn't surprised about that. Cassian and Nesta were newly engaged and despite being homebodies every other damn day of the year they’d both tried dragging him out.

After the third rejection everyone had stopped bothering him. Except Gwyn who kindly sent him an emoji of a cat in a party hat and an attached message: you had the right idea. Why are we friends with these lunatics???

That at least made him smile.

Rhys shook his head and took another sip of his drink. Already he could feel a gentle numbness spread through his body. Not that he minded. He’d rather get plastered in his own apartment then at a party where he knew he’d do something stupid. Where Feyre was sure to be with Tamlin damned Doyle. This was better. This was the only solution to his feelings. Stepping away. Moving on. And he wouldn’t try and draw a line between Feyre and their other friends. Not when she didn’t even know a line needed to be drawn and for what. That he was a bastard who didn’t even know how to act on his own feelings?

He stared at the television as another reel started of the Seahawks game. They’d blown their lean, unsurprising, and the reel showed failed pass after failed pass. At least he hadn’t made that bet with Varian over the game.

His watch said eleven forty-five. He should just go to bed, there was no reason to stay up til the tick of the year. Maybe he should go to the airport and catch a random flight out. New York or LA or…

A knock at the door pulled him from the thoughts of leaving. He glanced again at his watch. Forty-seven. Who the hell?

More urgent this time, the knock wasn’t going anywhere.

Cursing, Rhys trudged over to the door. It was probably Cassian and he was going to have to have another talk about boundaries. He should be allowed to skip out on New Years if he wanted to.

Rhys pulled the door open and froze, blinking at the sight before him.

There in a slim black dress that hugged each of her delightful curves was Feyre. Her hair hung down her shoulders, the curls and waves framing her high cheekbones making her blue eyes stand out stark against her pale skin. Her full lips were still stained with red lipstick, but the longer Rhys stared (he couldn’t help it) the more h realized something was off.

“Feyre,” he said, more surprised than anything to see her there. But concern soon took precedence as he noticed the way her mascara smudged and her eyes gleamed bright with unshed tears. She was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen and not even a poorly thought of New Year’s resolution would keep him from noting it.

“Rhys.”

His name was a bare whisper on her lips but familiar nonetheless. She’d always had this way of twisting the single syllable of his name, breathless and intent all at once. But this particular inflection—the one with lingering pain and edging with embarrassment—made his heart seize and his senses ignite all at once.

Rhys didn’t reach out to her, instead stepping aside for her to enter the apartment. She did, black heels clicking rhythmically on the hardwood floor.

“I thought you’d be at Mor’s,” she said, turning slowly to face him. If she’d thought he’d been there, then where had she been all night?

Even in the heels she was still small, not even eye level with him. He’d teased her for it before, especially when they used to spar together at Cassian’s gym. But that had been ages ago, another lifetime entirely. Back before Tamlin.

“But, I didn’t know where else to go,” she continued. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, staring instead at the small framed picture of Rhys and his sister on the small entryway table. “But I knew you wouldn’t say no.”

It was the unmistakable hitch in her voice that did it for Rhys. The way she bit her lip and wrapped her arms around herself. It wasn’t difficult to knew why she was here. After all, it wasn’t the first time she’d showed up like this—scared and upset. It made Rhys’ blood boil just to think about what Tamlin had done this time.

“Are you alright?” He asked first, because really that was the only thing that mattered to him. That Feyre was safe, that she wasn’t hurt, that she was here.

She snorted indelicately; her revere broken. She ran a hand through her hair, the strands tangling in her fingers. A flush rose high on her cheeks and she muttered a curse.

“Feyre, if he touched you—” Rhys began. Even though he and Feyre had grown distant in the last few months, Rhys still knew exactly the kind of person Tamlin was and the subtle ways he’d manipulated Feyre in the course of their relationship.

“No,” she whispered, “he didn’t.”

But that haunted look didn’t leave her eyes. Her lower lip trembled as she held back a wave of tears. It took everything within him not to go to her. And he wanted to. He wanted to take her in his arms, feel her soft curves against him, smell the lingering pain on her skin and feel the little calluses on the tips of her fingers. He wanted to—

He gripped his glass of whiskey harder, wondering if he should just set the glass down before he shattered it himself. Though maybe it was a good thing he still held it, a reminder of how much he’d had to drink and that it would not be a good idea to drive to Tamlin’s apartment and have a conversation with him. This wasn’t the first time Feyre had come to him teary eyes and visibly upset but Rhys would certainly try to make sure it was the last.

Feyre took a step towards him, her purse dangling precariously on one shoulder. “I broke up with Tamlin.”

The words hit him almost like a sucker punch. Rhys could only stare at her as he disentangled the simple words from each other and repeated them over and over in his mind until the made sense.

“You—”

“Broke up,” she confirmed. She tossed her purse aside where it thumped against the side of the couch and onto the floor. “He didn’t take it very well.”

Rhys’ jaw clenched. Tamlin lived close enough he could walk—

“It was last week,” Feyre said, taking a few steps closer to Rhys. Her words started pouring out of her as if she couldn’t hold them in any longer. “After Christmas and the shitshow that was. But he kept trying to text me and talk to me and when I tried to give him back his key—he said something to me that I hadn’t realized and I had to talk to you but I didn’t know how.”

She was close enough now that Rhys could see the flecks of blue in her eyes that reminded him so much of the stars and that smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. They were their own set of constellations that he’d memorized long ago.

“Feyre,” Rhys said, not following her words in the slightest.

Instead of answering, she reached out and plucked the glass of whiskey from his hands. She leaned around him and placed it on the table beside the picture of his sister and Rhys caught the scent of jasmine that she enjoyed so much.

When she met his eyes, the tears had vanished, replaced by a fierce determination. It was the first real sign of the Feyre he knew that Rhys had seen in the last five minutes.

And then, before he could try and coax anymore information out of her, she kissed him.

The first brush of her lips was soft, hardly hesitant, but careful and sweet as she cupped his jaw with one hand. Rhys, hardly a gentleman, recovered from shock and kissed her back. He wasn’t gentle nor careful as he pulled Feyre against him, his hands going to her hips and digging into her skin.

He knew he should slow down; knew he should try and talk to her but that part of his mind had shut down completely. All he could think about was that Feyre was in his arms kissing him. Her words that she’d broken up with Tamlin was a near constant thrum in his mind. That she’d needed to talk to him. That—

Feyre broke away with a gasp. Her eyes were blown wide, lips pink and full. She stared at him with a mix of shock and desire, as though two different parts of her were warring with each other. As though she couldn’t believe what she’d just done.

“Rhys,” she said. And he knew she was going to try and apologize, was going to try and explain away the kiss, her actions. But Rhys wouldn’t have it.

He raised one hand to her cheek, brushing away a tendril of her hair. She was warm against him; warm and soft and real. How many times had he thought about kissing her? About holding her against him and feeling her heartbeat beneath his fingers. How many times had he thought about moments just like this?

Rhys leaned in again, brushing his nose against her, listening as her breath hitched in her throat and one of her hands flexed at his hips. He was doing this all wrong, moving too fast even as the world around them had slowed to a stop. All he could focus on were the stars in Feyre’s eyes as she blinked up at him, as though she were the one startled by her own actions.

“What did you need to tell me, Feyre?” he asked, voice rougher than he intended. It wasn’t as though he could help it. Not when she had that look in her eyes and not when her body fit so perfectly against his.

He didn’t know what he was waiting for, didn’t know that if her next words would send everything tumbling into hundreds of thousands of pieces. But he knew he needed to hear it whether or not it would break him.

He watched as she wet her lips, as she dropped her gaze and her lashes fluttered.

“I think I’m in love with you.” Careful and slow she enunciated the words so there was no way they could be missed or slurred or misunderstood. She met his gaze with her own and for the first time that night Rhys could see the apprehension, the worry, lingering there.

“You think?” he asked, one brow rising.

“I can take it back--” she began, but Rhys was already kissing her again.

“Don’t you dare,” he growled against her, the hand not cupped against her cheek moving to wrap around her, tugging her so impossibly close.

He deepened the kiss, tasting her sweetness and the lingering alcohol on her breath from whatever party she’d been at. She groaned against him and Rhys knew he would do anything and everything for her to make that sound again. All it took was for his tongue to brush hers and her hands were in his hair tugging with near urgency.

Rhys had been waiting for this moment for ten years. Ten years to kiss Feyre, to touch her as though it were the last thing he’d ever do. He’d already memorized so much about her but with the way his hands were dancing across her body and how his lips traced her jaw, her throat--there was so much more to learn about her.

Somehow, they stumbled to the couch without falling, leaving Feyre’s heels somewhere in the middle of the hall. And somehow, they fell together, Rhys going first and Feyre straddling his hips, that dress of hers riding so far up her thighs that it left little, if anything, to the imagination.

“Are you sure?” Feyre asked even as her hands trailed along the hem of his shirt, her fingers finding the bare skin of his abdomen. “About any of this?”

Rhys leaned into her until their foreheads were pressed together and his hands were settled low against her waist, itching to dip lower to the bare stretch of skin waiting for him.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” he said, pressed a slow lingering kiss to her lips. “I’ve been in love with you long enough.”

She chuckled wryly. “You love me?”

“From the first moment I saw you.”

Feyre stared at him; lips parted in surprise. Her fingers remained against his skin leaving hot pricks where they pressed ever so lightly. And then a slow smile danced across that beautiful mouth of hers.

“Prove it.”

So Rhys did.

The night faded into morning and the new year rose just the same as any other day aside from the two bodies that lay entwined together, right where they belonged.

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thanks for reading

#feysand #feyre archeron #rhysand #feyre x rhysand #acotar #going to disappear into the void now

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