#feysand twilight AU

[velidewrites]

A messy breakup forces 20 year old Feyre Archeron back to her old hometown of Forks, Washington—back to the life she thought she'd left behind. What she doesn't know, though, is that Forks has changed in her absence, its blue-tinted fog stained by fresh, crimson blood. Luckily, Feyre is ready to join the hunt.

🩸Pairing: Feyre x Rhysand

🩸Rating: Explicit

🩸Tags: Twilight AU

Chapter 1/5 || Read on AO3

Or continue for a snippet below!

***

“Who’s he?”

Ressina follows her gaze—then smiles. “Ah, yes. Can’t blame you for losing your focus, honestly.” She leans in closer. “That’s Rhysand Blake. He’s…” she motions over her face, as if the movement is telling enough. It is. “Like I said. There’s no point in even trying.”

Feyre hums. Rhysand. “What’s his major?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I don’t see him around much—not that I was looking, of course—so he probably takes evening classes. He’s somewhat of an enigma, really.” Ressina narrows her stare on her again. “Something tells me that did nothing to discourage you.”

Feyre flashes her a smile. “Who doesn’t like a little mystery?”

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added/removed, I’m basing it off the announcement post 💕): @azrielshadowssing @damedechance @melting-houses-of-gold @rosanna-writer @itsthedoodle @reverie-tales @sanfangirl @separatist-apologist @asnowfern @thelovelymadone @foundress0fnothing @thesistersarcheron @wilde-knight @popjunkie42-blog

[mmvalentine]

Let Me Touch You Pt 3 | Feysand

High school AU. Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

In art class a week later, Rhys and Feyre sat much closer together. The art teacher had looked at both of their work, and asked that if they were going to do each other's portraits, they actually sit next to each other. Feyre was not thrilled. She set up her easel between them so even though she was near him, she wouldn't have to look at him. At least she was back by the door where she liked.

Rhys seemed to smirk at her, and Feyre could have thrown her paintbrush at his head. There was an easy arrogance to him that had always irritated her, maybe because he had always been this pretty.

Feyre sighed. She really did have to try harder not to hate him, since he was Mor's cousin and Mor was her only friend here and blah, blah, blah. She reluctantly wheeled her thoughts around. Maybe... he was actually just smiling at her. Maybe... she interpreted anyone's prettiness as arrogance. Maybe she was right and he was a cranky prick.

Feyre had studied at Mor's most days this week, with and without Rhys. It was becoming part of her routine, and the best part of her day. But even after seeing him at home... she couldn't quite put her finger on why he unsettled her so. She didn't like being unnerved like this. It felt like the air changed and was harder to breathe, or the lights were wrong and her eyes hurt. What was he doing that made her feel like this? It was better when she could avoid him. At the moment, this was rather difficult.

Even with the canvas blocking out his face, Feyre was so aware of Rhys. Could see the shadows move in her peripherals as he worked standing up. Could smell the earthy clay he was using. Could faintly hear the music he was playing through his headphones.

On the canvas, her painting was actually coming together nicely. She had found the perfect shade for his twilight eyes, and was painting in black of his hair. If she narrowed her focus right down to her artwork, she could see a face that she could imagine being friends with. In fact, as she painted the curve of his lips, it felt strangely intimate, like she was really touching his face. But then he said, "Feyre can you show me your ears, I'm making them" and somehow, she felt the words slid right down her spine. And she remembered she could never be friends with someone who made her feel like this.

Still, it was a shame. She hated to admit it, but Rhys was a delight to paint. She wondered how he and Mor were so close, when Mor was sunshine incarnate and Rhys was black hole. She lived to be around people, and he never seemed to be able to leave a room fast enough. She was funny and quick, Rhys was caustic and always getting in trouble. At least he never seemed to cause trouble in art class.

xxxxxxxx

Rhys was a bit embarrassed. He now had four models of Feyre, in various positions, sitting on his desk. One walking, one cross-legged, one with a paintbrush and concentrated brow, one sitting at a table with a book. The first one was difficult, but as he got to know the shape of her, the other three came quickly. And now he had four Feyres like a stalker, and he had moulded her hips and hair enough times that it kept him up at night wondering what the real things might feel like under his clay covered hands.

To make matters worse, he knew by now that Feyre didn't like him. Didn't know exactly why, but she had started coming over on a regular basis to study with Mor, and she seemed to stiffen whenever Rhys walked in the room. And she barely ever spoke to him, directed most of her questions at Mor and avoided eye contact. So the fact that he was making models of her like a proper psycho did not make him feel good, class assignment or no.

Luckily, the way Feyre had set up her easel meant she couldn't see what he had made. He wondered if he could give them straight to the art teacher for marking without ever showing them to Feyre.

Not that they were finished yet. They had limbs and hair and clothes, but he hadn't been able to do their little faces. He started, and got the general shape of her cheeks and chin. But as many times as he had looked over at her, there were still parts of her he didn't know. Her eyebrows. Her forehead. Her ears.

"Feyre, can you show me your ears, I'm making them."

Rhys sighed inwardly. That sounded much more ridiculous out loud than it had in his head.

Nevertheless, Feyre had stuck her head round the side of the easel, and tucked her long, gently curling hair behind her ears so he could see them.

Gods, even her ears were perfect.

"Thank you," he choked, and wondered if ears could be a fetish.

Feyre disappeared again, but then a moment later popped back out.

"Actually," she said, "it would be great if you could just look at me front on for a minute. I've been mostly seeing you in profile while I've been painting."

Rhys shifted so that he was facing Feyre- and so that he was blocking her view to the four Feyres. "Like this?" he asked. "Yeah that's fine," Feyre said.

Rhys tried to sit very still for Feyre, and found himself staring again. Her eyes moved between her painting and his face, and at some point he noticed a blush slowly creeping over her face.

"Are you okay?" he asked her. "Yes," Feyre said curtly. Then, reluctantly, "You know, you're... really pretty." Rhys' eyebrows shot up. "I'm what?" Feyre shrugged. "Just like, objectively."

Then she disappeared behind the easel, leaving Rhys to wonder if that was progress.

****

Highschool is so excruciatingly awkward and I don't miss it at all?!

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-babies @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @teddytdr

[aelin-and-feyre]

Ten Minutes Ago (Part 3)

Feysand - Cinderella au

Masterlist

“I am the Suriel,” the creature repeats when Feyre is too shocked to reply.

She had heard of Suriels—all-knowing beings who can grant any wish and answer any question if you trap them. They are known for being hideous beings who wander the woods outside homes in search of food. Stories of the Suriels were used to both scare and enchant children. But they were just a fairytale.

“Suriels aren’t real,” Feyre says when she finally finds her voice. The figure makes a sound like a clicking tongue.

The black, bony hand descends from her shoulder to grasp her fingers and pull Feyre to stand. “I am plenty real,” the figure counters. It draws back it’s hood and Feyre almost falls back in horror. “Is this real enough for you?”

She has half a mind to run back to the house and lock all the doors. But she doesn’t, simply takes a small step back in unconscious self-preservation. “What do you want from me?” She asks timidly.

The Suriel smiles, a generous term to call the blackened gums and crumbling jagged teeth the are revealed by the widening of thin, cracked lips. “You should be wondering what you want from me.” Grabbing a vine from the garden wall, the Suriel secures it’s bony ankle in a loose circle of the vine. “I am trapped, and thus your wish is my command.”

Feyre can’t help but raise an eyebrow skeptically. “Why are you helping me?”

The Suriel glances sideways at the farmhouse. “I want Amarantha Hybern to stop getting everything she wants.”

It’s good enough for Feyre. She brushes off her skirt and straightens to her full height, remembering from her childhood stories the words one must recite to a Suriel. “Suriel, you are under my control and as such, I have a request: I wish to attend the prince’s ball tonight.”

From thin air, the creature summons an invitation, addressed specifically to Feyre Archeron. She gasps and gratefully accepts the small piece of paper. The Suriel’s milky eyes narrow. “But that’s not all you’ll be needing.”

“It’s not?” Feyre’s utter confusion must show on her face because the Suriel just sighs sagely.

“You’ll need a way to get to the palace—like a carriage, you’ll need one of those,” the Suriel waits expectantly until Feyre repeats the wishing phrase. It then glances around the garden and spots a large pumpkin in the corner. “Oh, I suppose that will do.” It waves toward the squash.

Feyre watches, mesmerized as the pumpkin floats through the air. It lands on the driveway where it doubles in size, then triples until it is taller than Feyre. It’s vines twirl and shift to prop the pumpkin off the ground. It changes color and shape to create a gleaming carriage standing before them, stunning in the soft twilight.

“Woah,” Feyre breathes, the invitation still clutched in her hands like a lifeline.

“Woah, indeed,” Suriel laughs crookedly, “Horses come with the carriage wish—they’re a package deal.”

Feyre perks up. “We have horses in the barn,” she’s about to run get them but the Suriel shakes it’s head, looking around the ground.

“Ah, here we are.” It flicks it’s hand again and four mice scatter from the carrot patch as the magic hits them. They transform quickly, growing bigger with more muscles, pointed ears, and hairy tails. Feyre has to step back a couple feet so as to not be trampled by the four white steeds.

The Suriel rounds them up and easily attaches them to the carriage. The dog, Bryaxis, bounds over to them and the Suriel claps. “Oh, I do love dogs,” it exclaims in it’s scratchy voice. With one more flick of the wrist, Bryaxis is flying over to the carriage’s front seat. He morphs along the way into a well-dressed man, his suit matching his black fur.

“And finally, footmen to complete the deal.” This time, two bunnies morph into people who walked swiftly to the door of the carriage and open them towards Feyre. “Okay, off you go,” the Suriel instructs and begins to shoo Feyre away, already kicking the vine off it’s foot. Halfway to the door however, the Suriel stops short. “Oh no, that will not do,” it muses, glaring at Feyre’s dirty and ripped blouse and skirt. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, the whole grungy, dirty thing is in style right now but I think we’re going to try something different tonight.”

Feyre leads the Suriel back to the vine. “Suriel, you are under my control and as such, I have a request: make me look like a princess.”

The Suriel rubs her hands together thoughtfully, looking Feyre up and down and weighing the options. “Okay…” With one more flick, Feyre closes her eyes and lets a cool wind whip around her.

When she opens her eyes again, she is no longer in her tattered, old working clothes. In it’s place is a beautiful white ballgown. Her hair is clean and curled, her body free of dirt. She lifts the skirt to see clear glass slippers.

“Glass?” She questions.

“Old trick,” the Suriel winks, “Perfect fit and super comfy. Now hurry you’re going to be late!” It guides Feyre into the carriage and the bunny footmen close the doors behind her, leaving a small window to see out of.

“Wait! What if Amarantha or the girls recognize me?” Feyre worries. The Suriel places one long finger on Feyre’s forehead and she feels magic wash over her.

“No one will recognize you that you don’t want to,” she assures.

They are about to go when Suriel gasps and summons the carriage to halt. “Oh, Feyre!” It feels weird to hear someone say that name again. “I almost forgot—this spell will only last so long. With the last echo of the last toll of the last stroke of midnight, the spell will break and everything will return back to what it was before, so you have to get out of the castle gates before then. Got it?”

Feyre nods. “Thank you, thank you so much.”

Suriel smiles again in that grim fashion. “You’re very welcome, now go see your violet-eyed stranger.”

...

Prince Rhys is panicking. The party has started, he’s been introduced, and now is expected to pick a partner for his first dance. The only problem is that his mystery girl isn’t here yet. He glances from face to face but she is nowhere to be found. Cassian and Az notice his distraught look and send him sympathetic smiles.

“Rhys, it’s time,” the High Lord reminds.

“I’m still contemplating, just give me a moment please, father,” he responds, frantically searching for the girl but to no avail. He is about to give up when a sound comes from across the room.

Rhysand looks up to the top of the grand staircase where the doors just slammed shut. There, standing in a beautiful white dress, stands his mystery girl.

She glances around the room, startled by the loud door and all the people looking at her. She’s nervous, he can tell, even as she smiles softly—the blush on her cheeks is visible from where he stands.

Rhys can almost feel his heart melt. He turns to his father. “If you would please excuse me, I think it is time for the first dance, is it not?” The High Lord nods and gestures to the dance floor impatiently.

Rhys looks back to the girl to find she is carefully descending the stairs, clear slippers peeking out from beneath her shimmering skirt. When she reaches the bottom, people are still watching her and she lowers into a curtsy, looking absolutely graceful and lovely.

She lifts her head and their eyes meet. His breath catches. She smiles wide, standing up to make her way towards him. Everyone looks in the way she is going and spots the prince who is smiling just as wide as he looks only at her. A path is created for them and then Rhys is standing there in front of her, his heart pounding out of his chest.

“You came,” he breathes.

She smiles shyly at him. “Yeah, I wasn’t sure if I would make it but,” she chuckles, “here I am!” She talks to him in a familiar way, not in the way someone would expect someone to talk to the prince, but Rhys cannot care less. He is staring into her beautiful blue-gray eyes and all he wants to do is dance with her.

“Dance with me?” He blurts ungracefully and she giggles a little, then glances around the room.

“But no one else is dancing.”

“They are waiting for me. Will you please dance this first dance with me?” The prince asks more smoothly, holding out his hand and bowing. The rest of the room gasps, including the girl. Rhys can’t see her reaction when she figures out who he actually is but he is sure it’s priceless. 

It takes her a moment but he soon feels the weight of her hand in his and looks up to see her curtsying low.

Rhys’ smile is so wide that it hurts as he straightens. He places his other hand on the girl’s waist and draws her close to him, feeling completely right with the world. Her eyes are wide still and she is blushing furiously as Rhys nodded to the composer and the song starts—a very familiar song.

“Ten Minutes Ago,” the girl whispers and Rhys nods, humming the beginning and taking the lead in the waltz. They dance gracefully around the space the guests had cleared for them.

“I asked them to play it as the first dance because I knew I would be sharing it with you.” Rhys hopes it won’t just be the first dance but he can’t assume anything.

“You’re the prince,” the girl whispers as they spin, staring into his eyes like she can’t believe he is real. “I’m so sorry Your Highness, I was so rude yesterday, it was completely out of line-“

“It’s alright, darling,” he soothes. “It was actually a really nice change of pace. Everyone always tip-toes around me. Besides, I got to meet the real you, not the proper and respectful you. I’m Rhys by the way.” Rhysand’s smile is contagious as he tries to elicit a smile from his dancing partner. She finally cracks a small grin and he feels very proud of himself. “I still don’t know your name…”

The girl shakes her head. “I hate to disobey the prince but I would rather keep my name a secret please.” She looks solemn, almost scared and Rhys nods quickly to relieve her fear.

“Of course.” The last thing he wants is to push her away. “Is there something else I can call you then?” The girl thinks about it as they dance and Rhys watches her. They twirl and spin, their bodies perfectly flowing together. He hums the tune of the song again and almost forgets that anyone else is there as he looks at this girl like she is the only thing that matters in the world.

As the song ends, he bows and she curtsies while the attendees applaud. “You can call me Clare.”

Masterlist

[bisexualdaemon]

for that shipping ask thing!!! 💢👅

Sorry I’m only just seeing this! I was sick *cries* 

**Ship that is most misunderstood: 💢

Ooof. I’m not usually into misunderstood/controversial ships....*but* I once consumed hundreds of thousands of words of AU fanfiction in the Bella Swan/Jasper Hale ship that was always an exciting ride. There’s a particular fic Son of a Preacher Man STILL on ff.net! So good. Almost always a love triangle between Jasper/Bella/Edward. Soooo if you’re into that Twilight Renaissance life....go read A Classic(TM). 

Honorable mention: my beloved Stucky (Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes) but that’s less understood than just secret canon, right?!

**Ship that you find most sexy: 👅

This is incredibly easy now that I have read Sarah J Maas because obviously Feysand (Feyre/Rhys) from the A Court of Thorns and Roses series is the unequivocal winner. I mean this passage alone from A Court of Mist and Fury: 

(SPOILERS BELOW OBVIOUSLY)

Rhys indeed leaned in to bring his mouth near my ear, well aware his subjects had not yet risen from the floor. As if they had once done so before they were bidden long ago, and had learned the consequences. Rhysand whispered to me, his other hand now stroking the bare skin of my robs in lazy, indolent circles, “Try not to let it go to your head.” - pg. 409

I MEAN COME ON?!?!!?!?! goddamn I love them. I LOVE THEM. 

Y’all I love ships so much so I wouldn’t mind more of these....

SEND ME SHIP QUESTIONS  🚢

[velidewrites]

A messy breakup forces 20 year old Feyre Archeron back to her old hometown of Forks, Washington—back to the life she thought she'd left behind. What she doesn't know, though, is that Forks has changed in her absence, its blue-tinted fog stained by fresh, crimson blood. Luckily, Feyre is ready to join the hunt.

🩸Pairing: Feyre x Rhysand

🩸Rating: Explicit

🩸Tags: Twilight AU

Chapter 2/5 || Read on AO3

Or continue for a snippet below!

***

This time, Feyre is prepared.

She feels him before he even speaks—feels the magnetic pull of his presence, as if his very soul is calling out her name. She feels the soft claws, prodding at the gates of her mind, and she no longer has any doubt they belong to him.

“I had no idea you were such a hard-working student,” Rhysand teases behind her.

She doesn’t turn to face him—she knows he’ll join her side whether she asks for it or not. “You’re back,” she simply observes.

“My family and I went on a brief vacation,” he explains, and sure enough, she feels him slide into the seat beside her. The movement is quiet, almost silent despite the heavy fabric of his jeans scratching the polished wood. Still, the library seems entirely empty of any sound. Not exactly a good cover for the conversation she’s planning to confront him with.

“It’s not very common to go away just before midterms,” Feyre tells him, hating to admit that she’s stalling.

Rhysand’s smile is positively feline beside her. “Well, maybe I’m an excellent student, too.”

Or maybe, Feyre thinks, fingertips brushing over the old book before her, you’ve already gone over this course dozens of times. Hundreds, even.

She finally looks up—looks at his youthful, handsome face.

How old are you?

Rhysand actually shifts in his seat under her scrutiny. “Are you okay?” he asks, brows knitting together, as if struggling to concentrate. “I can never tell what you’re thinking.”

Feyre angles her head an inch. “Well, how could you?”

Rhysand clears his throat. “You’d be surprised how easy some people are to read. But not you.” He looks into her eyes. “No matter how hard I try.”

Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added/removed, I’m basing it off the announcement post 💕): @azrielshadowssing @damedechance @melting-houses-of-gold @rosanna-writer @itsthedoodle @reverie-tales @sanfangirl @separatist-apologist @asnowfern @thelovelymadone @foundress0fnothing @thesistersarcheron @wilde-knight @popjunkie42-blog @areyoudreaminof @fieldofdaisiies

[velidewrites]

Okay so Crimson Moon is 5 chapters long in total and I was originally planning to just post it to AO3 with snippets here - would that work for you guys or would you prefer that I also post the chapters in full here?

[velidewrites]

The girl from her 9am class—Ressina, Feyre remembers—materialises beside her as if out of thin air. "The Blakes," she announces, her expression sour. "Don't get your hopes up. Their last name is pretty much all anyone knows about them." Feyre's gaze does not leave the strange group as she remarks, "I thought everyone in Forks knew each other." "Not this bunch. They're transfers from last year, like you—well, they're a lot more weird, I guess," Ressina says, eyeing the silent one, his attention entirely focused on the blonde beauty to his right. "Like I said, they keep to themselves," her new friend adds, an exasperated shade of pink blooming on her cheeks. "They won't give you the time of day." As if somehow summoned by her words, despite standing a good distance away, the violet-eyed man's brows flick up. Feyre watches as he angles his head, scanning the crowd slowly, until it finally, finally, lands on her. She smiles triumphantly before turning to Ressina. "Who said anything about their days?"

—Crimson Moon, a Feysand Twilight AU coming October 24th

Hold on tight, spider monkeys.