#rhysand parents

[deludeddreammer]

Where it all began

How Rhysand's father and mother met: In the story he was 900 years old and his mother 18 years when they met. He’s described as quite a character by everyone, a very cunning and calculative High Lord who didn’t really love Rhys's mother and wasn’t well matched with her despite being mated. I can imagine why, the age gap would have been too big for them to ever find a common ground. He’d lived through many eras while his mother had barely stepped into adult hood so the dynamic between them would’ve been skewed.  This is just my version of how they would have met though. Wanted to write because I felt like it. 

The air was ruthlessly harsh and strong that day. Winds shrieked like banshees across the Illyrian Camps, ripping at the flimsy tents and threatening to splinter the makeshift houses. The frigid air bit through any gaps, a bone-deep cold that promised a harsh day. 

Lryia sat hidden in a corner of her room, trembling as she held up the rag of cloth with blood on it. The dreaded day had finally arrived; she’d bled and her wings; the only freedom and strength she was left with in this life would also be snatched from her. 

Shallow pants wracked her body as she darted her eyes around the room, searching frantically for any place to conceal the cloth and scent. There would be no use though; the moment her father entered the house he’d know immediately and her wings would be clipped. 

A sudden sound from outside jolted her, fear gripping her heart and she shot up, her knuckles white as she clutched the rag. 

Run.

She raced out the door of her small house without thinking. Despite streaks of light breaking through the dawn, training would have already begun in the heart of the campsite and her parents would notice her absence in the family shop if she didn’t immediately leave. The wind lashed her unruly black hair across her face and pierced through the skin visible under her dress as she gasped at the frigid air.  The small cramped white houses lined the narrow alleys barely giving any space for the wings to walk let alone run so she would have to make it to the small patch of open space that would allow her to spread her wings and take flight. 

Ten steps to go. 

“Wait”

A males voice called behind her and she cursed under her breath, shoving a small boy who flapped his wings to maintain his balance. Her scent was too obvious and the space too tiny to go unnoticed. Five more steps. 

She heard the thundering steps as he neared but she jumped into a flight early, knocking her left wing into the red roof of on one of the houses, flapping her wings desperately. 

“Catch her!”

The shout cut through the air as she flew away, quicker than any female could in the camp from the hours she spent without permission flying in the sky. She gritted her teeth as she fought against the strong winds threatening to break her balance and sweep her away into a different direction. 

She cursed her weak form; the exhaustion dripping from her wings so quickly from the lack of nutrition and strength in her frail body. 

The sound of wings forced her to spare a quick glance at the people behind and fear clawed up her heart as she watched two males flying behind her, smiles on their faces. She couldn’t outrun them. No, not Illyrian males born and bred to fight in these conditions. A hopeless sob crept up her throat as she sent all her strength into flapping her wings, trying to harness the wind or drift into one of the mountains. Who could help her now? 

A large hand suddenly gripped her arm as a cry escaped her lips. 

“No!”

Her cry was lost in the sounds of the howling wind as the Males deathly grip dragged her to his body and caged her with his other hand. 

“You stupid girl”, he bit out, his eyes filled with anger and disgust at her helpless fight and he dipped backwards to the camp, dragging her along as if she weighed nothing.

Lyria cried, pleaded and fought; trying to strike and bite wherever she could but he was too strong. 

They landed roughly on camp grounds, amidst the training grounds and Lyria tried to kick his shins to break free. This time another male caught her easily, picking her up and cursing her loudly as a few more surrounded her, looking gleefully at her plight. 

She screamed and jerked to pull her hands free but they dragged her back. Her mind briefly registered they were going to the block where she’d watched other females getting their wings clipped and tears streamed down her eyes. 

“Please”, she begged, “please please please!” 

No one listened.

Only a little spark in her chest refused to clamp down as it raged with anger within her, forcing her to fight every step of the way. This was how her life would be taken from her. She would no longer feel the brush of air against her face and hair, no longer feel the sensation of butterflies in her stomach, the lightness in her chest and never again experience the pure joy and thrill of flying away from the camp; a destitute place where her life would now be set in stone like others. 

Her feet dragged over the steps, the rough cement scratching her skin as they crowded; a mix of wild eyes, teeth and wings surrounding her. 

She screamed and screamed at the unfamiliar hands pulling her hands and pressing against her sensitive wings roughly. 

She squeezed her eyes shut bracing herself for the impending pain, and then suddenly all the pressure on her wings and hands vanished. 

Wet drops of water spattered across her face and dress as she crumbled into the ground, her breath coming in loud pants. She carefully opened her eyes and saw in horror as the cement was now covered with a sheen of red, covering her dress and arms. All the males in the camp stood still, watching her in horrified silence. Her eyes glanced around wildly searching for the source when they landed on the man standing on the corner of the field. Cold, calculative and unyielding.

He was the most beautiful male she’d ever seen; violet eyes on a pale unforgiving face that stared right at her; searing through her soul. Something inside her innately recognized the aura of power rolling off him, stifling the air around as if daring anyone to breath. An unfamiliar sensation crept up her chest; an overwhelming rush of darkness spread her veins; something ancient and powerful seizing her as she watched his eyes narrow before he began striding towards her. 

“Who is she?”, his words, soft yet imperious, rang authoritatively in the air as she watched Devon the camp lord, stumble over his words. 

“She- she’s Denys’s daughter. She bled today”, he glanced at her before looking back at the Male who continued walking towards her without sparing a glance at anyone. “Her wings have to be clipped.”

Some force returned to Devon’s words as the Male stood in front of her, staring at her from his height before extending a hand towards her. 

He looked late in his twenties with a few lines around his eyes but she just knew from his presence that he was ancient, that he had already conquered the world she’d stepped into. Not a single thought permeated through the fog of darkness and fear in her mind as she watched her hand slowly lift to meet his; something inside her recognizing him to be a kindred spirit, calling her to join him. 

Their fingertips brushed and his calloused hands sallowed hers. His gaze, unwavering and intense, held hers as he spoke, clasping her hand and drawing her up to her feet. 

“You’re my mate.”

[adelainejdevyn]

Golden Strings

Kore had feared the Clipping since she was old enough to understand that it would one day be executed upon her person. She'd had countless nightmares about it; they were filled with blood and gore and pain. Such pain, that she woke up panting, completely convinced that she'd been about to die.

Yet, at the present, she realized that she felt no pain, even if the snow was covered in the identifiable scarlet color of blood. In fact, her hands and face and spine were decorated with the heavy drops of it.

As Kore twisted her head, still too shocked to cry or mourn, she spotted the familiar ebony smoothness of her right wing. The sight of her untouched wings barreled so hard into her that she vomited on the blood-soaked snow. She wiped her mouth as she twisted.

Kore gasped at the pain of her left ribs. She placed a soothing hand there in confusion, and looked up to witness the carnage before her.

The sound of footsteps on the wet ground stole her divided attention. Kore glanced up at the male standing over her, his ebony black hair and dark blue eyes that were almost violet. Kore sucked in a breath at the realization of who - and what - he was.

Aidoneus Rhysand, the High Lord of Night Court.

Her mate.

Read here.

[jenibearx3]

@sparkleywonderful thank you for the inspiration 

[acourtofmishapandmistakes]

Apparently we’re on a High Lady Mommy Feyre kick recently…

[arson-09]

sometimes i remember ppl justify rhysand keeping feyre pregnancy issues from her and i just cant.

If my husband, who’s supposed to be my equal and tell me everything, kept the fact my pregnancy was very likely to kill me. My ass would go get an abortion and then to the courthouse to file for divorce. Aint no way im letting such a disgusting violation of my autonomy go unpunished

[litnerdwrites]

Cassian: I'm sick of these games.

Oh, I'm sorry, I wasn't aware that trauma was a game to you. If it's so easy to just stop being traumatised, then you should've said something to Elain about that a whole book ago? Or perhaps said something to Mor 5 centuries ago. Since Cassian made it clear 50 times a day that he's 'seen it before' and 'knows what she's feeling' or whatever, he must clearly be the expert on the situation. Imagine how much easier life will be now that everyone can just stop being traumatised.

Let's be serious for a moment though, if it was that easy, Cassian might have actually stopped making himself the victim in every scenario regarding Nesta throughout all of ACOFAS and ACOSF.

The fact SJM wrote it so Cassian, who said shit like this, was the one in the right the whole time in ACOSF makes me wanna puke.

[romanticatheartt]

I think we, as a society, moved on way too fast from these:

You guys... these are the first glimpse of Feysand as parents. God they're going to be the best ones to Nyxie pixie🥹❤️‍🩹

[witchthewriter]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐬/𝐏𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐨

Hades is known as the god of the underworld, not the god of death, but the god that resides over the dead. He relies on himself, as do his variants and sons - who can be spotted quite easily. With their grumpy or 'do not approach me' expression. They're intimidating men, who will do whatever it takes to reach the goal they have put out for themselves. That doesn't mean they are without heart. No. They have big hearts but for some reason, it's always a shock when people see them being kind.

𝐴𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑟𝑛

𝐷𝑎𝑟𝑦𝑙 𝐷𝑖𝑥𝑜𝑛

𝑅𝑦𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑑

𝑅𝑖𝑝 𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑟

𝐺𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑙𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑅𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑎

𝐵𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑦 𝐵𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑠

𝐶𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝐽𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝐹𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑡

𝐵𝑟𝑢𝑐𝑒 𝑊𝑎𝑦𝑛𝑒/𝐵𝑎𝑡𝑚𝑎𝑛

𝑅𝑖𝑜

[lzrsaugust]

In this context I want Tamlin collecting children like pokemon, like little children that just simply like him, orphans or not, they just love him, and he is gonna be a great parent (FIGHT ME) he would go to a village to help pick up the pieces, and at least one child would follow him home, at like the 3rd child hes like I can't live like a fucking nomad anymore, so he starts to regularly go back to the manor fix and glamour it, now two ish years after the hybern war the manor is a practically an orphanage. sometimes kids who arn't orphans would follow him, and so their parent(s) would also follow him to the manor.

and he is genderfluid, so they don't always call him dad/uncle(for the older ones who totally relunctantly followed him) they would also call him mom/aunt, and some of the fun ones would call him grandpa/grandma/grandfather ect ect. cuz hes so much older than them.

"DAD, she hit me:

"but, uncle he took my stuff first"

"maaaaaaaaaaaa im hungry"

"aunty, can I have this kitty"

"granDPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA THERES A MONSTER"

now imagine Lucien, coming back to spring.

first time: wow theres a child

second time: wow theres another child

nth time: I leave you alone, for 2 SECONDS. pray tell me, why is there ANOTHER fucking CHILD.

before he finally breaks down and adopts them as well :D

*n number of gremlins turning their heads toward Lucien*

'are you our other dad? :)'

[writtenonreceipts]

Fic Masterlist // AO3 Link

Finally posting here. I forgot I had this chapter written until a darling friend commented on a03 and I decided to edit her up and post.

Warnings: none, ~4.5k words

Summary to this point: Feyre has made a slow, if strange, friendship with the mayor of Velaris--Rhysand Avitas.  She isn’t sure what to make of it, or even if she can trust it considering her past.  But her daughter seems to like him and you can trust an almost two year-old right?  After her shop is broken into and a rather cryptic conversation with Rhysand’s father, Feyre’s walls return to full capacity and she’s ready to push everyone away.  It’s what she’s good at.  Now she has to try and clean up her shop and get back to business as usual.

.*.*.*.*.*.

Of Picking Up the Pieces

Two days later Feyre dropped Seren off with Vassa to watch for a few hours.  While Feyre had only lived with Vassa and Jurian for a few months in the early days of her pregnancy, she’d kept in touch with them over the years.  They were also close friends with Lucien which helped the anxiety Feyre had over leaving Seren with someone for the day.  But having a toddler running around a messy shop really wasn’t in anyone’s best interest.

So, with Vassa’s assurance that she and Seren would have a fun day together, Feyre returned to the shop for damage control.

The police had informed her that their own crime scene unit did what they could to clean things up, but Feyre wasn’t going to put much faith in what they had to offer.  All she could do was hope that repairs and repainting wouldn’t take too long.  The first few weeks of a new business were the most important and already having to be closed was not going to do good things for her reputation.  Whether or not it was vandalism.

When she finally made it downtown, she had to park a little ways away because the street was still blocked off with police barricades.  It was obvious something had happened and the pedestrians that were milling about kept rapt attention to anything that looked out of place.  Many of the shops still had boarded up windows and paint was still smeared on the sidewalk.

Her shop looked much the same as the previous night with its blown out windows and the beat up door.  Heart squeezing tighter, Feyre tried to control the panic that threatened to eat her alive.

She pushed open the door, the heavy wood groaning.  The paint had long since dried and someone had attempted to scrape it off, but it was to no avail.  Still, she avoided touching any of the red.

The inside of the shop was as good as it could be.  Aside from the splattered paint and broken glass, not much else had been terribly broken.  It would just take a long day of cleaning and reorganizing.  If she had help.  Elain and Lucien would come by when they could, but Lucien had his own job.  Elain was also in the middle of getting her master’s degree in botany and had already put many of her classes on hold to help Feyre with the shop.  Nesta would of course be around to help with legal purposes, but the women’s shelter would need her sooner rather than later.

As all these thoughts continued to plague Feyre, she almost dismissed a sharp whistle that permeated the morning.  Turning, Feyre found a group of high school boys in matching black t-shirts.   Velaris High Football was printed proudly in white across the chest.  A few of them had cut off the sleeves, one made his a crop top.

“Are you Miss Archeron?” the leader asked.  He had buzzed hair and was taller than most high school kids Feyre knew.

“That’s me,” Feyre said.  She eyed the boys in confusion. “What--”

She didn’t get to finish when Cassian appeared behind the boys.

“Archeron!” he said brightly, a grin stretching on his face and hazel eyes bright. “How’s it going?”

Feyre blinked. “Fine?”

“The boys and I are here to help,” Cassian said, absolutely enjoying Feyre’s confusion. “Where do you need us?”

Reigning in her shock as best she could, Feyre gestured to the brooms in one corner and the paint in another.  In a matter of minutes the high school boys were sweeping and cleaning up all the broken items still lying about.

Feyre turned back to Cassian with narrowed eyes. “What are you doing?”

He offered her a to-go cup of coffee she hadn’t noticed him holding.  And not one to say no to free coffee, she accepted.  Her glare didn’t lessen though.

“I coach the football team when not kicking Rhys’ ass,” Cassian explained easily.  He was dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt, looking exactly like a football coach should with the muscles and domineering appearance.  His brown hair hung in thick waves to his shoulders and tattoos curled along his biceps and down his forearms.  “The school year doesn’t start til September so we’re teaching the boys about service.  They’ve had enough conditioning.”

“Right,” Feyre said.  She took a long sip of the coffee, not enough creamer, and took a moment to process all of that. “So you’re helping me--”

“And the rest of the street,” Cassian added, “we divided the boys up.  And the cheerleaders are coming by too.  I think they decided to host a carwash to earn money for a donation fund.”

It was ridiculous, Feyre decided, that all of this was going on.  

“I don’t need charity,” she said.

“Then the money will go to another shop.” Cassian shrugged. “We just want to help.”

Feyre stared at him.  There didn’t seem to be any ulterior motives for him being there, just a friendly face.  But she knew that he was here in part because of Rhys.  After the last time Cassian had been to the shop to put finishing touches on the light fixtures, Feyre was convinced that Cassian would do whatever Rhys asked.  Hell, he’d trailed Tamlin just because Rhys had asked.

Cassian reached out and gave her arm a squeeze.

“I just want to help, Feyre,” he said, as though he knew where Feyre’s hesitance was coming from.

The kids in the back of the shop laughed loudly at something and were already making progress on the mess of glass from a smashed case.  They didn’t seem to care or notice that they were spending a summer day helping a random person with a problem.

She felt a little bit of gratitude worm its way through her chest and she only nodded.  The floor was still smeared with red paint, despite how the crime scene unit had tried to clean they hadn’t been very effective.  

“Well, I guess we have work to do,” she said.

Cassian only smiled and went to collect a spare push broom to clear away the excess debris still on the ground.

…

The rest of the morning passed quickly.  Different sets of football players rotated through the shop as they took ruined items to a dumpster outside in the street.  If she’d wanted to, Feyre could have sat in the corner and not lifted a finger.  Cassian was well aware of what was needed and what to do and instructed the boys easily.

By the time it was nearing lunch, Cassian dismissed the players for the rest of the day, saying they could stay if they wanted but it wasn’t a requirement.  Even in the four hours of work the shop was already looking good.  Most of the trash had been cleaned up and the glass swept away.  Really all that remained were stubborn spots of paint, replacing the main door, and the front window.  And then the organization.  That sounded like absolute hell.  Maybe she’d wait for Elain’s help.

Mor showed up not much later with two boxes of pizza and water.

“It looks so good!” she exclaimed.  “Who knew teenagers were so helpful?”

Feyre laughed, accepting a water bottle. “It helps when they listen to their coach.”

Cassian only grinned. “They know I can make them run all week if I want to.  Besides, it helps when you split them up properly.  Divide and conquer.”

“Alright general,” Mor mused.  She’d brought plenty of paper towels and served up the pizza, handing Feyre a slice.

“Thanks,” Feyre said.  She was exhausted.  She hadn’t slept well the last several days and it was starting to take a toll on her.  It didn’t help that Seren could sense her mood and had been fussy herself.  

The pizza offered a bit of joy though that she couldn’t deny and if she ended up eating three slices, she would not apologize.

“Where’s Seren?” Mor asked, swatting at Cassian when he tried to steal his own third slice of pizza (Feyre hadn’t even seen him finish his first).

“With some friends,” Feyre said, she smiled wanly.  “We would have gotten nothing done otherwise.”

The only good thing about being so busy was that it distracted Feyre from being worried about her daughter.  Somewhat.  Not really.  Though, everything she did ended up feeling a bit of panic or found herself staring too long into the distance, Cassian was there to redirect her to the task at hand.  Or make an inappropriate joke.  Usually it was the latter.

“If you ever need help,” Mor offered.  She said the words lightly, easily, so they could be dismissed or passed over.

Feyre had never been used to other people offering help.  She’d grown accustomed to doing things her own way.  Alone.  

“Thanks Mor,” she said quietly, “that means a lot.”

Mor smiled before forcing another slice of pizza Feyre’s direction. “Of course.  Now.  What else do we need to get done?”

Really, there didn’t seem much to do beyond waiting until the new glass window arrived and getting the door replaced.  Feyre kicked at the floor where remnants of the red paint refused to come up.  She supposed it was better that the ground was concrete and not carpet, it was easier to hide the mess with rugs than replace the entire flooring.

She looked away before her mind could wander in unwanted directions.

“I think the walls just need another look around the door and over on that side,” Feyre said, gesturing.  The football boys had done a good job, but they were teenagers after all and some of them didn’t have as much attention to details in certain spots than others. “I’m going to buy some rugs for the floor though.”

“You should ask Alanna for help,” Cassian said.  He collected the leftover pizza into one box and set it off to the side before he wiped down the counter where Mor had set the boxes. “She loves that sort of thing.”

Feyre didn’t miss the look Mor shot her friend, but still couldn’t help but ask. “Who’s Alanna?”

“Rhys’ mom,” Cassiad said, cheerfully ignoring Mor’s glare.  

Feyre was aware that Mor was trying to take into account their conversation from the other day and not wanting to be pushed into anything.  Cassian hadn’t gotten the memo.

“Oh,” Feyre said dumbly. “Right.”

“She is wonderful with that sort of thing,” Mor said quickly, “but I know you’re capable of doing this yourself.”

The emphasis on the last part of her words was for Cassian alone.  It seemed his grin was a permanent feature on his face.  

“Of course you can, Feyre, you’re badass,” Cassian said happily.  He moved off to finish clearing the larger glass chunks left in the storefront window.

Mor rolled her eyes and Feyre was sure her friend was going to apologize but she waved her off.

“Badass,” Feyre repeated.

And she let that carry her through the rest of the day.

…

As Rhys walked through downtown, he found that most of the community had come down to help fix up the mess that the vandalizers had committed.  In two days things had been completely transformed from splinters of wood and glass, and graffiti into scrubbed down care.  Things were still out of sorts, but the progress was obvious.

He made sure to stop by as many of the shops as he could and talk to the various owners.  Cassian had told him that the football team would be visiting all the shops along main street and offering help to those who had been affected.  It looked, and sounded, as though a lot had been accomplished.  That was good.  And sure to help rally support in empathy.

Rhys had spoken with his father, unfortunately, to see if any progress had been made on finding the culprits.  There wasn’t much Benham could say, though Rhys doubted his father actually wanted to say them.  He always enjoyed keeping his cards to his chest.

But the one thing Rhys did learn was there were at least three vandals.  They’d moved quickly and were well organized.  Feyre’s shop had been hurt the worst.

That final note was an implication Benham didn’t comment on further, but Rhys knew he would have to face his reckoning on the topic.  He’d avoid it as long as possible.  At least long enough until he could talk to Feyre again.

And he planned to talk to Feyre today.

He’d rehearsed a few things, planned a few others out.  He’d tried to get Mor to tell him about what they’d talked about the other day, but Mor refused to respond stating that was something he could figure out for himself.

He supposed he deserved that.

Between meetings at the office and trying to help assort some sort of damage control, his day had been busy.  A mess.  He’d wanted to come downtown first thing in the morning, but his father wanted to meet, then there were statements to give to the local news outlets.  Azriel and Amren wouldn’t let him leave until they were all done. 

When he was finally released it was late afternoon.  The day remained bright and warm, typical for an August day.  As enjoyable as summer was, Rhys couldn’t wait for cooler days and foggy autumn mornings.  

Rhys made it to Feyre’s shop with a bit of trepidation.  She had finally responded to his messages with a simple thank-you and nothing else.  Rhys, deciding it best to let the situation breathe, had left it at that.  But he was nothing if not persistent.  And maybe a little pathetic according to Amren.

Rhys wouldn’t apologize for it though.

Feyre was worth knowing.  There’d been something about her--strong and resilient, selfless and kind--that struck him.  He knew that she’d lived a hard life, but still she was a good person, a good mother.  Her determination was admirable and Rhys…well Rhys could have spent every waking moment drowning in her.

He paused just outside of the shop, looking through the open doorway.  A part of him wondered if he should leave.  If he should give her more space, more time to reconcile with everything that had happened.

In the middle of the shop with music pouring around them--Mor and Feyre danced as if they didn’t have a care in the world.  It wasn’t the best dancing, Rhys had to admit, but it was carefree and full of laughs and giggles.  Behind them, Cassian was a few rungs up on a ladder, looking down with amusement at the scene.

Rhys knew he was staring.  Blatantly.  But when Feyre was grinning like that, her hair falling out of a bun around her face, and looking so happy.  He couldn’t help it.

“Rhys!” Mor shouted at him when the song changed.   “You missed all the heavy lifting!”

She rested her hands on her hips and glared at him.  Rhys shrugged and grinned.

“Sorry, I had some things to take care of,” he said. “I don’t remember giving you the day off.”

Mor cheerfully flipped him off. “Suck it.”

Rhys knew better than to try and argue anything so he ignored her.  Instead, he looked at Feyre, glad to see that she didn’t withdraw from him.  She may have sobered a bit from the joy of a few moments ago, but she didn’t walk away to busy herself with something else.

“Is there anything else that needs to get done?” he asked instead.

“We got most of it finished,” Feyre said as Mor went to the speaker she’d set up with her phone and turned the music down. “The new door won’t get here until tomorrow.”

He met her gaze, light lingering in her blue eyes.  Just the fact that she was willing to look at him at all was a good sign, wasn’t it?

“Good,” he said, “and the window glass?”

“Hopefully by the end of the week,” Feyre said, “the company I’m working with is also helping out the other store owners, so they’re a bit swamped.”

She cast a look to the window in question, gaping like an open mouthed fish.  The slab of plywood that had been used to cover it up at night was still leaning against the wall but Feyre looked absolutely disgusted at the mere sight of it.

It was a look similar to the one she’d given him all those weeks ago when they’d first met.  Well, officially met.  They’d had one other meeting prior that she’d obviously forgotten and Rhys wasn’t going to bring it up, not now.  Their first real meeting had been a few years ago, back when Feyre had still been pregnant.  Back when she’d avoided everything and everyone.

It was a stark contrast to now.  Even as she seemed to be contemplating murder or larceny or something else illegal.  And he was about to get that look directed straight at him.

“Feyre,” he began, catching Mor’s eye and giving her what he thought was a pretty meaningful look.  Mor of course ignored him.  In the background, Mor was sweeping a pile of dust and glass with painstaking deliberateness while Cassian simply leaned on the ladder obviously enjoying Rhys’ torment.  The only good thing was Feyre had her back to them.  Rhys was going to kill them.

“I need to go pick up Seren,” she blurted.  Her blue eyes were guarded as she edged toward her purse and keys sitting on the corner of the counter.  “I can’t do this right now.”

“Please,” Rhys said, “just five minutes.”

He didn’t like the hesitant way she held herself.  Hated it, really.  The idea of being the cause of her discomfort made him sick and he wished he could make it disappear.  

Feyre swallowed but she didn’t break his gaze or step away again. “You can come by after eight.  Five minutes.”

“I’ll be there,” Rhys agreed.  It was better than nothing.

“Okay,” Feyre said.  She grabbed her purse and keys before turning to Cassian and Mor. “Are you two still alright with locking up?”

“Don’t worry about it!” Mor assured her. “I’ll bring the keys by in the morning.”

Feyre gave her a grateful smile before she was gone.  Rhys would have gone after her if he thought it would have done anything other than get his invitation revoked.  When he turned back to his friends, their expressions were less than ideal.

“I suppose that could have gone better,” Rhys said.

“You better get it figured out,” Mor told him, “because either way, I am keeping her as my best friend.”

…

Two and a half years ago

The hospital was quiet for a Thursday afternoon.  In all the other times Rhys had come with his brother there were all sorts of emergencies, screaming children, and drunken mishaps.  Velaris hospital often found itself consumed by many interesting cases.  But for that day, there didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary.  Nurses moved with their quick efficiency, patients were calm as they waited for treatment, even the intercom system was soothing.  Though, Rhys was in the clinic that day and not the ER, so that had something to do with it.

Azriel was in for a check up on his hands, making sure the bones and the scar tissue was healing nicely.  It had only been a few months after the surgery that would give Azriel back most, if not all, of his hand function.  There’d been an accident while he’d been working on a car and it all could have gone a lot worse.  But Rhys had made sure to find the best doctors in the country and helped in any way he could.  Despite Az’s protests, Rhys wanted to help.  

Even with the first leg of his mayorship not going quite according to plan, Rhys knew he had to do this.  He was all Az had left.  

Rhys worked on his laptop while Az was in for his check-ups.  They’d had to come to the clinic instead of the regular doctors office for the blood work and x-rays, much to Az’s disappointment.  If Rhys hadn’t taken the day to work from “home” he was certain Az would have skipped out on being here.

Sighing, Rhys looked over a new budget proposal.  Of course his father was requesting more money for the police.  Not even for raises in the community,  healthcare, or training--but for guns and cars.  Rhys could have sworn he’d just signed off on more money a few months ago.

He almost considered calling his father then and there to ask for a more detailed report instead of the one sentence demand.  That wouldn’t do him any favors.

A few people passed by and he listened to the quiet commentary of a few nurses talking about the end of their shift.  It amused him to no end that unlike many tv shows, all the nurses and doctors really wanted to do at the end of their shifts was to go home and sleep.  Not the drunken, raunchy antics media often depicted.  Oh, he’d overheard conversations about sordid love affairs gone awry and knew it happened, but rarely.

As he started a review of the list of events that Amren set out for him for the next few weeks, Rhys almost missed the person who took a seat in one of the chairs across from him.  He didn’t know it was--a tug, a pull, some cosmic whisper--but he glanced up to find a woman seated on the edge of the vinyl seat across from him.

She had long, golden-blonde hair and pale skin with splashes of freckles along her nose and cheeks.  She was striking, beautiful really, with blue eyes and sharp cheekbones.  Her soft mouth was turned down and she worried her lip between her teeth.  The jacket she wore hung off her frame and even in the heat of an early spring day she didn’t take it off.

It was then that Rhys noticed she was pregnant.  Pregnant and terrified.

Her gaze flashed between the few nurses and other patients waiting to be called.  When her eyes landed on him and noticed his watchful gaze she froze.  One hand went to her rounded stomach and the other to her purse.  If Rhys didn’t know any better he would have guessed she would bolt for the door.

He returned his attention to his computer.

After spending a few days a week helping Mor at the battered women’s shelter it wasn’t hard to imagine the woman’s hesitance.

What really bothered him was how familiar she felt to him.  He couldn’t place it but he knew he’d seen her before.

He gave a discrete glance up and found that the woman returned her attention to the doors.  One of her legs bounced too quickly to be natural.  She was watching for something, or someone, and not with rapt yearning.

Rhys dropped his attention before he was caught again.  He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, especially if she were seeking help.  The dark circles beneath her eyes and hollow points to her cheeks certainly spoke to exhaustion.  

As he reviewed a few more emails, Rhys started contemplating actually taking a day off.  Maybe Cassian and Azriel would go to a paintball course with him.  It would certainly be a good way to relieve stress.

“Nesta?”  Across the aisle the woman answered a phone call, speaking as quietly as she could.  Her leg hadn’t stopped bouncing. “Yeah, I’m at the hospital.  No.  It’s just just Braxton hicks, I know it is.”  She paused, dragging a hand through her hair. “I’m leaving.  I can’t…Nesta he could come here.”

The woman’s rising panic was palpable and Rhys found himself closing his computer.  He had no business listening in on the conversation just as he had no business already thinking of what he could do to help her.

“It’s Braxton hicks.  Stay in Prythian,” the woman growled into her phone.  “What do you mean Elain’s almost here?”

Rhys glanced at the nurses station.  He recognized one of them who often helped him and Azriel with discharge work and notes.  She was a kinder, older woman who had a soothing effect on her patients.  It took a few moments of intense staring but she finally looked up and caught Rhys’ gaze.  He nodded quickly to the woman across from him.

Wasting no time, the nurse was around the desk and walking over to the pregnant woman who was ending her call.

“Ms. Archeron,” the nurse said, smile in her voice. “Why don’t we get you settled in a room and check your vitals.”

“I’m fine,” Ms. Archeron said.  Her eyes scrunched. “I’m not due until September.  It’s Braxton hicks.”

“Alright, then let's get you more comfortable until they subside,” the nurse replied, her kind tone hedging to be a little more authoritative.  

The woman rose slowly in a mix of pain and hesitance, mostly from the insistence of the nurse.  The skittish look in her eyes didn’t leave as she kept one hand on her rounded stomach.  She tried to argue with the nurse the entire way but eventually managed to get swept down the hall to a waiting room.

Rhys watched them go.  Lingering in the back of his head was the unmistakable thought that he knew who the woman was.  Frowning, he turned on his laptop again and pulled up his old highschool group page.

Archeron.  Archeron.

He knew that name.  And knew she looked familiar. 

It didn’t take very long until he found a few different pictures but none were of her.  The two pictures he did find were of two other girls, Nesta and Elain.  Nesta was featured on the cross-country team for record runs and Elain for humanitarian work she did around Prythain.  But the third remained a mystery.  Until he finally landed on a single, grainy picture.

Prythian youth honored for art piece in local show.

And there, standing beside a photo was the young woman who’d just been seated before him.  Feyre Archeron.  Honored with a small scholarship for an oil painting rendered of the original founders of Prythian.  And that was it.

Rhys glanced down the hall that Madja had taken her.  Thoughts spun in his mind about what had happened in the last few years to lead her to where she was now.  Alone.  Terrified.  Worried about someone finding her.  It was enough to make his blood boil.  

Staring at that old high school photo, Rhys could vaguely remember her.  He knew her sisters as they’d been closer to his age, but she’d somehow vanished in the cacophony of youth and time.  A quiet girl who kept to herself, who worked hard, who punched a kid for spouting slurs at a classmate.  He also remembered the three sisters often skipping, leaving campus…the way they never brought lunches or rarely had needed class materials.

Rhys pursed his lips and opened another web browser, curiosity too strong to quiet.

[highlordofkrypton]

Tag game for fanfiction authors!

Thank you so much for the tag @angelosearch! I'm going to tag @goforth-ladymidnight @praetorqueenreyna @achaotichuman @yaralulu @goldheartedchaoticdisaster @thedickgraysons @chunkypossum and whoever wants to join pls! I'm really bad at remembering who are all the writers!

TELL US

The story you're proudest of

I have two fics that I'm especially proud of!

Wildflowers, which is my ACOTAR prequel. It's my first fanfiction written and posted online, and the first story I wrote start to finish. I tried my best to give depth to the world and the side characters. I do think some people are turned off by the main characters/ship, but it's so much more than that. It's also spawned so many side stories which is so exciting!

Regrets, which is my first SUPERBAT that I ever posted. I think it's a really good reflection of my style which balances emotion, humour and intimacy. I'm so happy my first attempt at writing my OTP turned out SO WELL.

Your story that's gotten the most love online:

The answers are the same as above, but for different reasons.

Wildflowers has gotten a lot of praise for multiple elements in the story, and I feel like those who read it all found different parts to enjoy. It's one of those stories that are really fun to talk about, and there's so many little nods here and there. It makes me happy to see that readers are noticing them. Wildflowers also has original additions (like family members of the main characters) that everyone loves as much as I do!

Regrets has the most kudos, but like mentioned above, it's a classic ship and a good balance of fluff and angst elements! I had so much fun writing it, and I think that came through in the piece.

Tease a current WIP or idea you're working on:

I've been wanting to tease NEEDLE & KING (wip title, subject to change), which is the prequel/side story for Rhysand's parents.

It was supposed to be a shorter, contained story about their romance, but now it's become a lore exercise, an exploration of cultural displacement in fantasy, starts off as a female-focused cast, etc.

Chapter 1 Flying

At the end of the world, Lilith thinks of nothing. No home to yearn for, no family to miss her—at least, not for long—and no future to look forward to.  She stands on the edge of a mountain’s peak, one of two Wolf’s Fangs, and feels. The world comes into her through the howls of the wind and the bite of the cold against her barely covered arms. Clouds stand between her and the bottom, if she could even see that far on a clear day. Her life, until now, has been a series of instances that have happened to her rather than experience. The absence of her father, the death of her mother, the fear that looms above her—she is at the mercy of everything around her. Here, the ice demands her wakefulness. Here, the skies challenge her. Here, every breath is earned. The height of the mountain is the only time she feels alive, so what is that feeling when she steps off its edge and careens downwards. Down, down, down, she goes with a whistle—a force against gravity. At the bottom, reality will come crashing down, but she can solve that problem quite easily. Just… fall. Her black wings strain against the fall, and she grits her teeth. It’s not in her nature to fall; she will never accept her fate. Lilith wages war against nature itself, demanding her muscles to yield to her will. A loud flapping noise signals her success, the membranes of her wings cradling the air itself to take her in an arc, a low swoop and then up again. She glides through the clouds, occasionally drawing her dark wings to herself and allowing herself to plummet before catching herself again. Lilith had taught herself to fly. It was the only thing she can control in her small, small life. Her flights have no destination, and they are timeless. She flies for as long as she can. She pushes as far as she can go because she never knows when it will be her last time.

Like any draft, this may be subject to change. The first scene I usually write for any draft is the one that 'sets' the tone of the story.

Fun fact - Lilith is a name/character that pops up in all my stories either as some weird writing signature/nod, or as a main character. She's a hyperfixation that started with Diablo and never left, but she's become her own phenomenon for me and my writing.

Your top 3 fandoms: that I write in... ACOTAR & DC Comics. I currently don't have time to write in a third one, woops.

Your top 3 ships: If it's what I've written for, then the answers are Tamlin x Rhysand, Bruce x Clark and Orm x Clark. If it's what I enjoy personally, then it's all of the above + many, many crackships.

Rec someone else's fic: Without a doubt, the people I've tagged above have amazing fics. I haven't had a chance to read their works in their entirety, but I've participated in challenges with them, creeped on their works, and they are SO GOOD! Please go check them out! Their fics are on my to-read, but part of my writing process is to just write without reading, so once I'm done my current fic, I will be going through each work to add comments and properly devote the love and attention they deserve.

Pick one!

Fluff or Angst - I cannot NOT write angst, but I believe that both (one into the other) create incomparable emotional depth.

Oneshots or longfics - I prefer reading oneshots, but I cannot stick to one chapter for the life of me.

Canon compliance or canon divergence - I have the worst memory, I couldn't be canon compliant if I wanted to...

AO3 or FF.net

[stargirlie25]

consider yourself an enemy if you try to say Nesta didn't have a right to use the trove in the ember bonus chapter.

I know all these ppl are Rhysand Stan's in disguise trying to make a point.

NOT EVERYTHING BELONGS TO ONE CHARACTER ONLY!

The trove obeys Nesta SUCK ITTTT

I don't say it as much but I think Rhysand Stan's annoy me more than Rhysand himself.

LIKE people will never let Nesta goes even though she is practically the authors favorite character?

[queercontrarian]

feyre and rhys aren't persephone and hades. the structures are barely there even for the sanitized, romanticised version of the story, it's really just his aesthetic and their bargain that links them to that myth.

you know who really is hades and persephone? rhysand's parents. he falls for her the moment he sees her because of the mating bond and decides to take her away then and there. he is roughly 900 years her senior, the lord of the land, his seat is under the mountain. he lavishes this young girl with gifts and affection, makes her his wife, his queen, the mother of his children, none of these decisions under her control. and ultimately she cannot live where he does. he builds his persephone a garden, gives her a house in velaris, but she wants to be home in illyria, and every year she leaves him to go back to where she came from, to spend as much time as she can with her family and with her people before he inevitably takes her away again.

[colorlesschristmastree]

I can just be minding my business when I’ll stop and remember that Feysand are parents. They’re in love and they’re parents and they get to raise their child with all the things they grew up wishing they had.

Nyx will never have to hunt to feed his family.

Nyx will never have to bury his mother and sister.

Nyx will never have to hide from his father how much he loves to fly.

Nyx will never think he’s unworthy of love because of his family.

Nyx will never feel unsafe to share his hobbies and interests with others.

Nyx will never be uncomfortable receiving gifts because they’re “wasteful”.

[arson-09]

just saw a tag on some post that said rhysand would drive a cybertruck and yeah. rhysand would drive a cybertruck.

*images for reference

[cryingoverfictionalcharacterss]

I just KNOW Nyx is going to grow up to be entitled spoiled brat.