climbthemountain2020

[climbthemountain2020]

Poseidon look at me 👀

Okay, but you'll have to beat the butter king on level 18 to actually see any reports.

Whennnnn we driiiive in your carrrrrr I'm your babyyyyyyy

[climbthemountain2020]

Living in Your Letters

For our very last day of 13 Days of Feysand, @popjunkie42 and I bring you Feysand letters, written for @reverie-tales

Read them here on Ao3

This has been so fun to do, and we hope you all enjoyed our manic Feysand posting!

@popjunkie42 I love you to the moon and back, and I am eternally thankful that you are a part of both my fandom life, and my real life.

ccpop OUT

[climbthemountain2020]

always in this twilight

Read on AO3

Chapter 6: in sickness and in health

Summary:

One night under a new moon, Feyre fumbles with a spell. Reading in Latin was never her strong suit. Now she's summoned a demon who insists he's in her service until their unknown bargain is fulfilled. Even worse - he insists her botched spell included their marriage vows.

For @climbthemountain2020 and also for @fuckyesfeysand's August fairytales and myths prompt!

Thank you to @lady-bluebird-luv and StormDruid for the inspo!

CC I tried to cram in as many fave tropes as I could. I hope you enjoy! I am sad our creative party is coming to an end but I've loved every minute.

Read on AO3 or under the cut.

The forest had been a labyrinth of snow and ice.

The kind that will give you frostbite when you stay out too long in it, idiot, Feyre thought to herself, still tapping her feet to keep her blood flowing.

Not only had she lost hours of daylight looking futilely for juniper berries and rose hips, she had also dropped her collection of firewood when a wolf from the local pack took a bit too much interest in her.

The firewood or the wolves? It had seemed a simple choice at the time.

Now she was stuck here, at the village tavern. Forced to take shelter in the last place she ever wanted to be.

She had shed just one outer layer, her thin woolen coat, the snowflakes like stars on the expanse of black before they melted. Cold had forced her from her propriety, and she had propped her leather-clad feet on the stone of the large hearth, not caring if the fire melted her soles in an attempt to save her frozen toes.

The fire crackled, occasionally bursting high up the chimney when the blizzard winds whipped up. Although the windows rattled, the room stayed warm, smelling of stale ale and baking bread.

Feyre sipped at the tea that had already gone cold in her cup, staring straight into the fire. As calm as she tried to look, it was impossible not to feel the eyes of the village men on her, to listen to the tone of their muttered conversations.

When she had first arrived, only a few others had been seated, staring at her but nodding with politeness and glassy eyes.

As the darkness settled, more and more had come streaming in, some already deep in their cups. Now, after an hour under their cold stares and whispers, she wondered if a fire alone at her little cottage would have been worth risking the wolf’s teeth.

Of course, these days, she wasn’t quite alone -

“Miss Archeron.”

The voice was rough, her name spat out around a tongue heavy with ale.

Feyre took deep, stilling breaths, working to not betray her panic.

She knew she was doing everything wrong.

It wasn’t just that she was the only woman in the tavern. Or that she was the healer the women called when their husbands came home with violence in their blood, a quiet witness to all the town’s secrets. And it wasn’t only that she was a lady living alone in the forest - not a wizened old widow looking for peace, but an unmarried young woman, looking down her nose at the small village’s hard-worn traditions.

But if Feyre had to guess what they hated about her the most, it was -

“Oi, witch!”

This voice was younger, louder, more inebriated. A low, dangerous laugh went up amongst the men scattered throughout the bar.

Feyre turned around in her chair slowly.

A man, hulking and broad with a sour face, stood over her like a looming mountain.

“Alderman Hawthorne.”

His thick fingers twitched into massive fists.

Just last week, she had seen the handiwork of those fists herself on the new young Mrs. Hawthorne’s sallow skin.

St John’s wort and a calendula poultice twice a day for the bruising and cuts.

And if you ever need anything stronger…you let me know.

“It’s awfully late for you to be here in the tavern. Alone.” He sniffed, his eyes glassy and dark. “S’not safe, Miss Archeron.”

Feyre swallowed. She kept the porcelain cup held tightly between her fingers. In a pinch it could be hurled at someone’s face while she reached for her real weapon -

“I lost my firewood in the forest. I thought I could rely upon Thomas’s generosity here while I warm up before going home. Surely you and all these gentlemen will look out for my well being, Alderman?”

Anton Hawthorne blinked, a frown forming between his eyebrows. “And what were you doing out in the forest so late at night, Miss?”

Every eye was on them, the energy crackling in the room. “Finding medicines for my stores. Even in winter the forest provides, Alderman. And, a lady has to eat.”

Feyre kept her voice clipped and loud. Still, the man blinked heavily, as if puzzling if she was mocking him.

“The woods are dangerous. It isn’t right for a woman to be out alone there. Why, just the other day, Shelby here found something quite disturbing on his hunt.”

Shit. “Oh?” she asked.

“Deep in the woods. Blood, everywhere. In a circle dug in the snow. Wax from candles all around and three squirrels skinned inside out.”

Feyre shrugged, her heart beating under her cool exterior. “Sounds like dinner to me.”

His face darkened. “We don’t take kindly to your type. It’s not right for a woman to be alone here, with all the dangers in the woods. If you came into the village, we could find someone to take care of you.”

Feyre’s blood went cold.

The Alderman’s eyes were dark, glassy with drink. “In fact, the Elders have been talking about putting it to a vote. The weather is getting worse out there, and we have a responsibility to protect what’s ours.”

On her hip, a gnarled, polished stick of oak hung under her skirts. Her fingers itched towards it.

It was a shame, really. She liked her little cabin. The creek that ran through the forest behind it, the family of owls that lived in the tree beside her bedroom window, the little copse of lavender and lamb’s ear that grew in the summer.

Chairs scraped loudly on the wooden floors as three more men stood slowly behind the Alderman.

The oakwood tingled at her side.

Feyre took one breath. Another. And Hawthorne lifted a single foot to move towards her -

In a breath, the door to the tavern swung open and everything plunged into darkness.

The door hit the wall hard, a crack echoing through the dark. A gust of bitter, frozen wind stole every fire in the room. Glass shattered, ale spilling from upturned tables. A few men cried out. Against the moonlit snow, Feyre barely made out a shadow at the door.

When the fire flickered back to life, the shadow stood beside her.

Stupid prick.

In the blink of a moment, everything in the room had changed.

Feyre hoped the other men wouldn’t clock the smell of sulfur, shocked as they were.

Beside her, the most beautiful man she had ever seen smiled sweetly and threw an arm around her shoulders.

“Darling! There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

-Happy to see me? The smooth voice purred inside her mind. Raven-dark hair glistened over a perfect face - sharp cheekbones, a high proud nose, sensuous lips. All a beautiful package to hide something sinister beneath.

Feyre wasn’t fooled. She gritted her teeth, watching as the Alderman and the men all took cautious steps backwards.

-I had it under control. And there was no need to be so dramatic.

-I live for it, my little witch.

His smile was feline as he turned back to the gaggle of drunken, disturbed men. “Good evening, gentlemen. Sorry about the door. I was just getting back from my trading trip to the coast and was terribly surprised when I arrived home to a cold and dark cottage. I simply knew something must be terribly amiss. I turned right around and rushed into town. Imagine my happiness to see you all entertaining my lovely wife while I was away.”

Wife. Feyre’s eyes widened as he said the word out loud.

-I hate you.

-You know, a demon can tell when you’re lying.

Alderman Hawthorne had gone still, or as still as a man who had been pounding back ale since noon could be. Feyre almost felt bad for the simple man, confronted with a demon and a trickster on a hazy mind.

Rhysand’s arm was heavy on her shoulders. “Are you alright? I know I haven’t been to town to introduce myself yet, but surely Feyre darling has shared the news of our blessed nuptials.”

The burning in Feyre’s face only matched the angry red blotches growing on the Alderman’s cheeks. “So it’s true then, you’re married? My Martha said she saw a man about, but - ”

Rhysand smiled, bright and broad. “Yes, it’s true.” He looked to Feyre, his stunning blue eyes glowing with mirth, and pulled her closer under his arm, his grip like iron. “It took such convincing. But this beautiful, gifted, kindly, upstanding -”

“Impatient.” Feyre muttered.

He turned towards her, so only she could see the solid black of his eyes, burning red hellfire flickering deep within. When he smiled, his canines were long and pointed, glistening in the firelight. “Now darling, you must learn to take a compliment. You’re far too modest, and it’s important these men understand how very, very talented you are.”

The Alderman was gruff. “Well. Congratulations. To both of you.”

It wasn’t the surprise or even the reservation in the eyes of the men that upset her.

It was the disappointment.

She had lived in this village for one year, always under the threat of the Alderman and his collection of witless Elders.

Whether Rhysand’s arrival would fend them off or send everything to a boiling pitch, she couldn’t foresee, even when she asked the bones and stones.

It was just like her, really, to somehow confront her problems with something even more ridiculous.

And the demon was proving hard to get rid of.

“Thank you, Alderman. But I suppose it is late, and we must be getting home. Have to keep that marriage bed warm, you know.”

-I’m going to find a spell that will trap you so deeply in the bowels of hell -

“Thank you all again for taking such good care of her.” Rhysand grinned, all mirth gone from his eyes as his long fingers curled tightly around her waist. “I know I can trust you all with what’s most precious to me.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Feyre burst into the cabin, her anger raging like the blizzard outside.

The demon followed, shutting out the storm. “Darling, whatever could be the matter? I thought I handled your little upset quite nicely.”

“I didn’t ask for your help!”

Gritting her teeth, Feyre ignored the slinking demon behind her and set about poking around for any scrap of wood around the fire.

Nothing - not even twigs.

Stupid - she’d been so stupid. And distracted. It wasn’t her fault she was losing her touch. If this ridiculous, carousing, infuriating demon hadn’t barged into her life -

“You’re thinking very, very loudly right now.”

Feyre whirled around and threw one of her shoes straight at his head.

Ducking easily, Rhysand frowned, entirely unruffled, as he stood back up and leaned against the kitchen table. He was dressed immaculately: the modest, high-necked dark wool suit of human make somehow fitting his solid form in a sleek and sensuous manner. Now, away from prying human eyes, he let more of his true self leak through, although Feyre knew he still used a glamour to protect her against his true nature. Whatever beastly form that took.

Limbs were long, like they stretched out to meet his shadow. His features were hollow and sharp, with fingers and teeth that ended in sharp points. The blue of his eyes was now swallowed up entirely in depthless black that shined yellow-red when reflected just the right way against candlelight, like a cat stalking her in the forest.

The only light now came from the moon reflecting off the snow into her windows. Silver and soft, it caressed his form like a lover up and down his body, ending on two pointed horns atop his head.

Even after the summoning, when he swore her spell had him entirely under her control, she still found herself unsettled by him. “I wish you would stay out of my business. I wish you would go back to where you came from!”

“So ungrateful. Because of my little performance you didn’t have to spill all the blood in your quaint little tavern. And why do I always have to remind you: you summoned me?”

Feyre grumbled. “I didn’t mean to. And you know it.”

“Ah yes - the classic ‘I misread the spell to summon a demon to do my bidding.’”

“I didn’t! I mean, I did!”

Her cheeks heated, even in the frozen room.

Elain would never make that mistake. Certainly not Nesta either. Their disappointed faces hovered in the front of her mind, constant reminders of her inadequacies.

Nesta always warned her - don’t work on impulse, and never cast angry. Plan your spells, memorized in advance, and never, ever forget about the new moon and flip open the nearest spellbook while half-frozen in the forest after a hunting trip.

Rhysand grinned, feral and triumphant. “And yet here I am. Freed from my shackles, at your service until my bargain is fulfilled, back on the planet after so many centuries. And you won’t even let me into your bed for a little fun.”

“I’m not looking for fun,” Rhysand rolled his eyes, as if to say: obviously. “And if I was, inviting a slimy, annoying demon like you into my bed wouldn’t be it.”

“But Feyre. We’re married. You spoke the words! Before the gods and all the underworld. Husband and wife. And entirely unconsummated.” Rhysand pouted - actually pouted.

“I didn’t ask for that either!”

“Well.” He looked to his cuticles. “It’s not my fault you went playing with a grimoire under a new moon and forgot your grammar.”

Unable to look at him any longer, Feyre huffed and retreated behind her changing curtain.

Before, she would have said her cottage was perfect. Cozy, open, intimate.

Now it was entirely stifling, without any doors to hide behind.

Especially when she needed to change without him leering.

Not that she had any desire to shed a single layer.

The cottage was frozen. Feyre wondered if it was warmer outside. At least a layer of snow could provide some insulation.

Her breath fogged in the cold. Her fingers shook as she frantically tore at the tiny buttons of her dress.

-You know I am at your service, don’t you wife?

“Shut up,” she mumbled, teeth starting to chatter.

Feyre layered on her longest white nightgowns, and the wool socks that came up to her thighs. Not caring about her appearance, she threw on a knitted hat and gloves as well.

It had been a long time since she had gone without basic comforts. Haunting her memory always were thoughts of a cabin so run down she could see the light through the walls, the floors that never stayed clean, the hunger that gnawed at her belly. But back then, at least she had her sisters to huddle round for warmth - even if Elain snored and Nesta used her elbows when she needed to move.

Tonight - well. It was going to be a long, hard night.

Even though she had on three layers and then some, and that this was her own house, she still slipped out from the dressing curtain with shy steps.

She wouldn’t, couldn’t trust what she saw on his face. Demons were notorious for their seductive, tricksy natures - showing humans their dreams and then snatching them away once they bargained away their souls.

So that hunger in his black eyes, the gently parted mouth as he watched her - all that was just trickery.

Feyre looked away at the intensity of his gaze and rushed to her bed, climbing under the cold blankets.

Most nights she didn’t care where he slept. Didn’t even know if demons did sleep. And if she left an extra blanket on the sofa, it was only so the ghost of her mother wouldn’t call her a terrible host.

“Are you comfortable, darling?”

Her breath misted in front of her. Her nose was running already, cold and numb.

The bed dipped beside her. She went to yell but it was hard with her teeth chattering so much. “What…do you think…you’re doing?”

Even on the other side of the mattress, she could feel him. Big and solid and warm - burning like a furnace, the sheets already toasty from his lightest touch.

Rhysand smiled, his eyes as dark as the room. “There’s more than one reason to invite a demon into your bed, Feyre. Besides, I’d prefer not to be released from our bargain due to your untimely death.”

He waited. She shivered. Her toes were numb.

“F-f-fine. But only for warmth.”

“Of course.”

Any stubborn, angry retort left her as soon as he smoothed into the covers behind her, wrapping her in his arms, back to chest.

He was just so warm.

Feyre let all that fire heat her skin, fill her veins. Her breaths fell into rhythm with his, slow and deep. She felt her body relax, shifting so their legs twined together, tucking her frozen toes under his calves. She tried not to think about his sharp teeth so close to her neck.

They were quiet for a long time, no noise but the snow falling softly outside.

When Rhysand spoke again, his voice was quiet, sincere. “You know, I am truly in your service. You could have asked me to fetch some firewood. Hell, you could have had me fill the house with coal and light it with dragonfire.”

Feyre hadn’t thought of that. Her cheeks heated with embarrassment. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Do I have to do all the work in our relationship? You know, they say communication is the most important part of marital harmony.”

Feyre huffed, but there was nothing behind it. She was too tired and too worn out from the cold to fight him any more tonight.

And if she noticed him rubbing circles against her belly with his fingers, she didn’t say anything.

It felt…nice.

Finally, her teeth stopped chattering. She moved, just a little, settling his arms in a more comfortable spot higher on her ribs.

He was right, as frustrating as he was. Feyre had relied on herself for so long, she had forgotten what it was like to ask for help. And despite their auspicious beginning, many witches would kill to have a powerful demon like him in their service.

Maybe, just maybe, something good could come from this after all.

“Rhys?” she said, her voice quiet in the dark.

“Yes darling?” His voice was close, his face nuzzled into her hair.

“If you’re bound to me by a bargain, why won’t you tell me how to fulfill it?”

He breathed for quite a long time, his breath ghosting along her hair, the silence stretching between them. Feyre felt her mind go fuzzy, the shadows moving in, sleep coming to her like a warm embrace.

Perhaps he needed her to collect souls. Perform ritual sacrifices to appease a vengeful god. To seduce her, to trick her, to win her over to his dark and nefarious dealings. There could be any number of terrible things he'd ask from her before the end.

As she slipped into sleep, she felt his arms tighten around her, gentle and firm.

“Don’t worry about a thing, wife. Your husband will take care of it.”

[climbthemountain2020]

OH MY GODDDDDD

Happy 13 Days of Feysand @popjunkie42 and @climbthemountain2020!

[climbthemountain2020]

I never like to get too personal on here, but today, my sweet girl of 14 years left us and I'm absolutely heartbroken. I can't stop thinking about how much I'm going to miss her, and I thought maybe I could share her and other people could remember her, too.

Thanks for being the best girl in the world.

[climbthemountain2020]

Feysand | Ao3 | Drabble 5/Big Fluff

Another fluffy little feysand snippet. This has been the most fun ever @popjunkie42. I am truly so lucky to call you my friend. <3

Hold Me Close Now, Lest I Fall

Feyre could practically taste the salt of the sea in the air tonight, the breeze warm and light and lovely as it came in off the ocean past the cliffs of Velaris. The sun was mostly sunk behind the surrounding peaks, the sky a luminescent glow of purples and blues studded with blooming stars. 

She leaned back in the reclining chair, letting the soft winds toss her hair and the fabric of her dress lightly over her skin. It was a truly beautiful night, and she always liked having a reason to spread out on the rooftop deck of the River House. Her hand splayed over her belly, fingers spread and pressing gently in response as she felt the tiny kicks from the other side. Feyre smiled. 

They were strong now, the skin stretching and her belly adjusting every time the little one moved. It wouldn’t be much longer before she’d get to gaze upon their little face, pick out which features favored whom, reflect on how their eyes crinkled, and who their trilling laugh reminded everyone of. It was one of her favorite parts of motherhood—parsing out all of the things she loved best about her mate with all the best parts of herself and finding them nestled snugly within the heart and flesh of someone entirely new.

She slowly dragged a finger up the side of her stomach, prodding gently again when she felt the undulating response. An elbow, perhaps, or a foot, bumped her back. She tapped the bump with her fingers and it drew back, almost as though it knew and understood the game they played. 

She did this for hours sometimes when the baby was active during the night. Unsurprisingly, he or she much preferred to sleep during the day and play once the sun went down. Truly their father’s child.

She heard the approach of wingbeats before she turned, grabbing her water with one hand and sipping while keeping the other planted on her belly to continue the game.

“You’re still out here?” a voice called out across the roof veranda, deep and teasing. Feyre looked up and watched his approaching silhouette in the near-dark.

“Where else am I going to be?” she volleyed back, voice light.

He brushed his hand through his dark curls, longer than she’d seen them in years, pushing them out of his face. He gave her a lopsided smile. “Thought you might be hungry, raiding the kitchen instead.”

Feyre scoffed. If she could move any faster at this point, she might have gotten up to give him a loving shove. She had been eating just about everything that wasn’t nailed down this time around. This baby had a penchant for sweet things, and she was certain every local bakery was monitoring the pregnancy just as closely as she was, if only for inventory purposes.

“Where are the others?” she asked as he pulled up a chair, sitting next to her and extending his wings before relaxing back. 

“Oh, they’ll be here any minute.” As if summoned, raucous laughter suddenly pierced the night, coming closer. On the darkening horizon, she could make out multiple figures, wings beating in the air softly and elegantly. It was a sight she’d never tire of, but she missed being in the sky herself so sorely that she found her throat tightening at the image. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

“You alright, Mom?” 

She nodded tightly. Nyx had truly become the sweetest male, strong and kind and brave, but always her little boy. Even if he wasn’t so little anymore. 

“Just a little emotional, is all,” she replied. That wasn’t anything new, either—she’d spent half this pregnancy fighting back tears over one thing or another. When she’d gotten the letter about Elain’s second pregnancy, she’d been so happy she cried about it nonstop for a week. Everyone understood and expected it now.

“Dad and Azriel hung back to practice dives with Aida and Sylric,” Nyx explained with a smile, just as the first wave of arrivals hit the roof. Two teenage girls tumbled in first, wings pulling in as they shoved each other across the roof deck. The competitive cousins—long, dark braids and bright blue eyes making their relation unmistakable—didn’t miss a beat in their lively arguing. 

“I touched down first, Meira,” the taller of the two said, braids swinging as she walked into the light.

“Yeah, because you shoved your updraft at me, cheater,” the other spat back. “Aunt Feyre! Nyx! Who won?” Feyre sat up in the chair—no easy feat���as her second born, Ryka, and niece stepped fully into the light. They truly did look more like siblings than cousins, and they certainly argued like sisters.

“Can’t it be a draw?” Feyre asked, wincing a bit as her back twinged. The girls stared at her, aghast.

“Tiebreaker competition,” Nyx declared, clapping his hands together and standing. The girls groaned but walked through the door he opened into the house as he turned back to his mother with a wink. She mouthed a thank you at him as he closed it behind them. In the distance, she could see the others approaching—three males and two smaller forms.

Feyre stood as the children landed, Cassian and Azriel right behind them. Aida’s bright red mop of hair was a wild tangle as she grinned up at Feyre, her front tooth and a single fang missing. “Aunt Feyre, I did a loop!” The pride in Azriel’s eyes behind her just about sent Feyre crying again as she bent down to the sweet six-year-old. 

“Those wings are getting strong, hmm?” she asked, smiling conspiratorially. “Soon you’ll be flying loops around everyone.” Aida nodded enthusiastically, grabbing back for her dad’s hand and tugging him into the house.

“I’m hungry,” the youngest said, the spitting image of Nesta, but with wings and the chubby cheeks of youth still hanging on. He was only five, but he was tall and already broad for his age. Still, Cassian effortlessly grabbed him and hoisted him onto his shoulders. 

“I’m sure we can find something, as long as Auntie Feyre hasn’t stashed all the treats away.”

“I’m not too pregnant to punch you, Cassian,” Feyre threatened halfheartedly. He guffawed as he walked away.

“Hittin’s not nice, Auntie,” the boy murmured, resting his head down on top of his father’s, tired eyes fluttering under the glow of the faelights.

“That’s right, Sylric. You tell her.” He turned back to grin as he opened the door, ducking down as they walked through. Both he and Sylric tucked their wings in tandem as they made their way through it.

It was just her and Rhys on the roof now, and she closed the gap between them, tucking an errant curl behind his ear as he smiled at her.

“Good flight?” she asked, trying not to let the jealousy peek through.

He nodded. “Great night for it.” He bent low, placing a kiss on the high swell of her stomach. “How’s the littlest tonight?” he asked, brushing a hand down the side of her stomach and grinning when he was drawn into their game of prod.

“Restless,” she responded, not wanting to rush through or waste any moment of pregnancy but also ready to have some freedom again. She knew Rhys understood, with this being their third time through it. His fingers pressed into the muscles of her back and she nearly moaned with the relief.

“Have you eaten?” he asked, not stopping the circles he pressed into her back.

“Only everything I could find,” she answered, laughing into his chest.

“When we get back to the room, I’ll give you a proper massage. Then run a nice bath.” 

Feyre hummed. There was nothing nicer, especially in these last few weeks. Even if what she really wanted was the wind in her hair as she climbed closer to the stars. Her mate’s loving fingers and a bath would have to do. Not that it would take much convincing, but perhaps she could persuade him to occupy her mind and his fingers in other ways, too.

“That sounds lovely,” she whispered, his hands moving to her neck as she relaxed into him, the loud sounds of their family echoing up from the open windows below. She could never have anticipated a life like this—could never have dreamed that her wish for a family and a house and table full of people and love would be possible. She let the contentment she felt slide down the bond, smiling again when she felt adoration blooming back. 

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” he said, pressing a kiss into her hair. “But first—”

Feyre yelped as Rhys grabbed under her back and legs in one fell swoop. She barely had time to catch her breath and laugh before they were shooting up towards the moon. It had been a long time since they’d flown this way—her arms twined tightly around his neck as they rocketed up high over Velaris.

“What? Not convinced I can hold my mate?” Rhys teased, quirking a brow as he looked down on his wife.

“I’m certainly a bit more unwieldy these days,” she said lightheartedly back. In response, he hefted her up and easily wrapped his arms more tightly beneath her as she laughed. She trusted him, though—more than anything—so she tipped her head back and closed her eyes.

The breeze felt just as nice as she’d imagined it would against her face, Rhys easing into a glide high above the glittering city. It was delightful, everything she remembered, and absolutely perfect.

After a few minutes of silence, Rhys nuzzled her cheek, pressing another kiss to her lips.

“Not much longer now,” he murmured, his fingers brushing the swell of her stomach from the side.

“I hate to rush it, especially since it’s the last time.” They’d agreed three was a good number, and they were ready and excited to experience what growing together as a family was like. 

He nodded, and she knew he understood. In a flash, a series of images floated from his mind to hers—Nyx years ago, helping Ryka learn to fly, then another of Ryka and Meira helping to teach Aida and Sylric. The last image was fuzzy—not a memory, but a hope. Another little mop of dark hair and bright eyes, small wings fluttering valiantly in the breeze as their family held him aloft in the skies. Feyre was there this time, holding chubby hands as they soared across the Sidra.

Her throat tightened, eyes burning, but excitement bloomed in her chest, mixing with that of her husband’s as they paused on the image together.

“There’s no shame in looking forward to what’s still to come,” Rhys whispered in her ear as they circled the mountains that protected their city, drifting slowly back towards their home.

Her hand smoothed over her stomach again as the lights of the River House came into view, and a firm prod hit the palm of her hand. She leaned into Rhys’s chest and smiled.

There certainly was much to look forward to.

[climbthemountain2020]

I'm sorry this is so funny.

Jurian, literally every time he opens his mouth:

[climbthemountain2020]

always in this twilight

Read Chapter 5 on AO3

Chapter 5: tear the world apart

For @climbthemountain2020, this is a lil bit of what I know some of you wanted Chains to be. 😈

Read on AO3 or under the cut

The village of Windhaven buzzed with energy in the deepening twilight, but I only had eyes for the distant, unmoving mountains.

“Regiments from the main settlements are ready to join and arriving within the hour. Azriel will have the rest by daybreak,” Cassian said, walking up to stand beside me.

“So long?”

Cassian stayed still beside me, his face a cool mask. “It’s ten thousand troops called for the first time in fifty years. It takes a few hours.”

A few hours.

It had been six hours and thirty-two minutes since I had seen my mate. Six and a half hours since Lucien had snatched her from the forests of Illyria - a burst of panicked magic from Feyre pushing me back just as Lucien winnowed her away.

Six and a half hours of absolute agony.

“Let’s go over the plan again,” I said, staring deep into the jagged snow-covered mountain depths.

Control. It was not an exaggeration to say that it was the guiding theme of my entire existence. Five hundred odd years of keeping a leash on the power running in my veins. The secret of Velaris. The mask I wore Under the Mountain. With power like this, and stakes so high - even one slip could be catastrophic.

And now, that control was hanging on by the barest of threads.

The last time Tamlin had been near members of my family, blood was spilt and my world changed forever, the wound never healed.

Cassian knew all of this, had lived it too. He also knew, to a small extent, how great the control I was exerting now, over every fevered nerve.

The only thing that had stopped me from winnowing to the Spring Court and razing it to dust was Azriel’s firm hand on my shoulder.

His shadows had seen Feyre - safe and fortunately alone, kept in a locked room after some choice words to Tamlin on her return.

I had made Azriel kneel and swear to it on his mother’s life.

Feyre was safe, for now. Alive.

In my next breath I told Cassian to gather the Illyrian troops.

Now he stood before me under a cold night sky in Windhaven. If he had nerves, they didn’t show. I knew he was using some of that crackling energy to keep his composure as neutral as possible around me. I was so on edge, the mating bond riding me hard, it made me want to knock the wary look off his face with my fists. Instead I focused on what I had been doing endlessly since Feyre’s scream cut off with a cry - scanning every edge of Spring for a way into her mind.

“Rhys. I have to ask. Are you sure?”

The beast roared in me, angry, protective, seeing just another body standing in between me and my mate. I turned away and closed my eyes, breathing deep through my nose to calm my instincts.

“Spring paid in blood four hundred years ago. Apparently it wasn’t enough.” I opened my eyes to the sky - black and cold, the stars sharp and crisp like they were watching. “I will make sure all of Prythian knows better than to come between me and my mate.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The pressure surge from winnowing in ten thousand Illyrian soldiers where they hadn’t existed a moment before was…intense.

Trees cracked and the wind stirred the clouds above. We flew above the gates of the Spring Court, not a sentry in sight but the manor lights glowing.

I let the darkness in like a rushing wave.

The moon would not look again on this sight for many days, at least.

There was no light save the torches lit on the path to the manor, and the glowing syphons of thousands of Illyrians in formation behind me.

Forty-nine years buried underground. Centuries beyond spent without my mother and sister by my side.

No force on this earth would keep me from my mate.

My mind reached out, seeking hers.

-Feyre?

Silence.

This absence only made my blood boil hotter.

The temperature was dropping rapidly in the dark, and the wind kicked up, tearing at the branches of the trees. I watched it take the heads of hundreds of roses in the garden - kicking up the vibrant petals in a maelstrom and scattering them about the manor lawn like snow.

A bright light suddenly cut through the sea of black. The manor doors were opened.

Tamlin took a step out - pale as a ghost and armed to the teeth.

With the flick of a finger, I wrenched the metal gates open.

If she couldn’t hear my mind, I could certainly announce my presence in other ways.

I felt that violent power of Spring stir around me as Tamlin strode through the gravel, his broad shoulders heaving. The boundaries of magic stirred together, spring and night, like two growling dogs circling one another. Pounding my wings, I let a blast of air whip around him, cold and frozen.

Golden-haired, with his jaw set and his claws out, Tamlin finally stood close enough I could see his bloodshot eyes. “Rhysand. Why are you here?”

There would be no doubt what I wanted any more. The mating bond had taken me, fully and completely, and it would not be sated until we were both free of this place.

And then I felt it - just a flicker in the manor, stifled under magic and glamors - the buzzing mind of my mate.

Panicked. And absolutely furious.

A vicious, bottomless anger: the mirror to my own.

Kicking up more dust than was absolutely necessary, I finally set two feet upon the ground.

My eyes flickered to the manor. Lights burning bright.

Inside, one of them illuminated my mate, waiting for me.

I smiled.

“Hello, Tamlin. Would you let Feyre darling know that I’ve arrived?”

[climbthemountain2020]

wellbutrin

[climbthemountain2020]

not evil anymore i want to be loved now

[climbthemountain2020]

Drawing Rhys as an old man is literally so disgusting and you should post all your drafts so I can see how far this freak obsession of yours goes 👀

Face that's giving Darling, I'm working right now

[climbthemountain2020]

Silver Foxsand is telling you to behave 🫵

(speedpaint under the cut)

[climbthemountain2020]

Okay, we're going in. Hahaha. The dirtiest (still somehow tame??) picture I've ever drawn. Unedited both beneath the cut and on AO3!

I love youuuuu @popjunkie42

[climbthemountain2020]

Bonus points if you can tell me why!

[climbthemountain2020]

[climbthemountain2020]

Feysand | Ao3 | Fluff to the Extreme

The next installment of Feysand drabbles written for @popjunkie42 for our Leo Season Celebration!

Tell Our Stories on These Walls

Rhys was sprawled out in front of the roaring fire, its golden light dancing across the floorboards. The heat seeped into his bones, loosening muscles wound tight. The soft throw blanket under his head smelled faintly of Feyre—lilacs and oil paint—and it was almost enough to entice him into closing his eyes for a few short minutes…

“Rhys?”

Her sweet voice bounced softly around the room. 

Rhys.

In his head this time, he could hear the amusement in her voice. Did you fall asleep, love?

Me? Never.

He cracked an eye open, her face swimming above him. She was beautiful, the firelight catching in her eyes and softening the freckles that dotted the bridge of her nose and cheeks. There were 183 of them. He’d counted them more than once on nights he couldn’t sleep, tracing his eyes over the best gift he’d ever been deemed worthy of receiving. 

Well, one of them.

“Nyx is down—out like a light tonight,” Feyre mused, sliding down onto the couch beside him, his arms wrapping around her as naturally as breathing. She leaned into him, sighing with contentment. Rhys loved the way her body relaxed against his, like it waited until it knew she was with him, that she was safe and home. 

“He’s always exhausted after an afternoon up at his aunt and uncle’s. I swear Cassian might as well start training him now with how much he likes that ring.”

“And the weapons in it,” Feyre added dryly.

“His flying has gotten so much better,” he mused, eyes focused on the dancing flames. Nyx was actually starting to get off the ground recently, and Rhys smiled every time he thought about the way he’d furiously flap his little wings. Rhys always waited for the second he’d gain any height off the ground—watching his whole little face light up with pure, unfiltered joy was something that filled his chest so thoroughly with pride and love that it almost hurt sometimes.

“He is,” she agreed quietly. He knew that Feyre always watched on nervously but excitedly. He didn’t blame her. It was her first time watching a child with Illyrian heritage—especially one that held the pieces of her heart outside of her body—as he learned the most sacred gift of his genetics. It was a gift, but one that could be nerve-wracking. He remembered the way her fingers would tighten around his whenever Nyx got more than a few feet off the ground, her lips pressed so hard that they paled even as she smiled.

It was silent for a moment between them, just the logs crackling and their breathing in the air. It was silent in the River House, just the soft pop of the firewood and the distant hush of wind against the windows. No more periodic wake-ups, no more bedtimes that lasted hours and hours. 

As though hearing his thoughts, Feyre spoke.

“It’s so quiet now.”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Rhys chuckled softly. The quiet returned, but Rhys could feel Feyre thinking beside him, her brow furrowed just barely. He knew his wife’s tells, the minutiae that only her mate would recognize.

“What’s on your mind, darling?” he asked, holding her tighter. When she tilted her face to look at him, his breath caught. He hadn’t been prepared for whatever emotion swam in her eyes—a mix of nerves and happiness, a blend of quiet hope and tentative excitement.

“I want another baby.”

Whatever Rhys had been expecting, it hadn’t been that. His heart stuttered. His fingers twitched slightly where they rested on her hip.

He hesitated too long, and he saw the look in Feyre’s eyes begin to shut down.

“Sorry—I just–” she fumbled for the right words. “He’s growing up. He’s becoming a person all his own. And I love watching that, and I love seeing him grow. I love all of this.” She grabbed his hand and placed it over her heart. “I love what we have—what we’ve built. I want a big family, a full table. I want to do all this with you.” 

The words all came out in a rush, falling and landing with a massive impact inside his chest. The house had gotten quieter lately—Nyx was playing harder, more independent, and ready to crash every night when the sun went down. It was nice to have some autonomy back, though many of those nights Rhys found himself standing in his son’s doorway, staring at the perfection that they’d created. He and Feyre, all the best parts of them in one small body.

If he thought about it, he did miss the chaos of it all a bit.

His eyes flicked down to Feyre’s stomach. Despite everything, seeing her pregnant had been awe-inspiring for him. Never before in his life had he known joy like watching her grow their child, her belly rounding, her body filling out and happy and healthy the way it always should have been. 

But with those memories came the others, too. Rhys had never been more afraid in his life. Not being shipped to the Illyrian camps to train as a child, not when he’d fought tooth and nail to climb Ramiel, not through wars or Amarantha. 

He’d never known fear like what had faced him as he’d had to count down Feyre’s last days alone. Wondering if he was doing the right thing keeping the knowledge from her, hoping to let her enjoy being a mother for as long as she could. As long as they had before—

He blinked hard, her hands suddenly on his face and her body much closer to his.

“It won’t be like that this time,” she said, her voice confident and firm. He hadn’t realized he was projecting his thoughts so loudly. Her expression softened.

“You weren’t, but I can see it all over your face.”

He brushed a knuckle over those freckles. A constellation artfully painted across her beautiful face. 

His.

“You aren't afraid?” he asked. He had long ago abandoned trying to put on a false front in front of his mate. She knew when he was scared, when he felt joy. She settled into his lap, leaning her head against his chest so she could hear his heart. It was an old habit, started after the war with Hybern during the long nights of nightmares in the dark. Her voice was quiet in the room, but the certainty in it was undeniable.

“I am afraid, of course.” There was a time, long ago, where she’d have done anything to hide the vulnerability in her voice. Rhys would never take for granted the trust she’d allowed him—the gift of her heart, but also her faith. “But logically I know that it won't be the same this time. We've seen Nesta deliver a baby safely now.”

Meira had come, red-faced and screaming and perfectly healthy, into the world last year—wings and all.

“I know.” He knew. He did . But still his heart beat like the wings of a frightened bird. Sometimes, when he woke disoriented from nightmares, he could still feel that pain in his chest as she’d died. As she’d told him no goodbyes. He had never figured out if the pain had been the mating bond, cold and lifeless in his chest, or the slowing of his own heart. It was all the same, anyway.

Could he really do this again? Could he survive the fear?

She tilted her head back to look up at him, and Rhys pressed his forehead down against hers. Held her a little closer just to reassure himself that she was here. That Nyx was upstairs. That they were okay.

After a few moments, Feyre pulled back, bright eyes glittering. “No wings this time?” 

The laugh burst out of Rhys unbidden, bubbling from his throat like water from a fountain. He wasn’t sure how she could always do it, always pull him back from the dark.

“No wings,” he agreed, his lips pressing to her nose. 

“She might have them, anyway. Or maybe she'll be able to change them at will like you. Then she’ll be just like her father,” Feyre offered. Rhys froze.

“She?” Had Feyre spoken to Elain? Did she already know something? But she just shrugged, smiling.

“Just a feeling.” But Rhys was already imagining it. A little girl, the same wild dark curls as Nyx, wide blue eyes, and 183 freckles across chubby cheeks. A burst of something that felt like euphoria spread through him.

A little girl. A sister for Nyx.

A sister like…

The knot crept into his throat abruptly, less familiar now in all the centuries that had passed, but no less painful. 

His children would have a different life. A different father. A different world.

They would have everything.

Rhys could imagine them flying wild and low over the Sidra, the sun dipping behind the mountains and painting the yard golden as they swooped, giggling together. They would never know what it felt like to fight for the love of their father, to feel like they needed to hide parts of themselves from the world. They would decide if they wanted to train in Illyria or at home or not at all. They would be friends with whomever they chose. They would always be able to prioritize their happiness.

They would not grow up the way that he or Feyre had.

He'd give them the entire world.

Rhys looked at Feyre, staring at him with pools of silver in her eyes as he realized he’d lowered the wall in his mind entirely. She gave a small nod, chin wobbling as she laid back against him. 

She fit against him like an answer to a question. She tucked her hands between his back and the couch the way she always did, and Rhys smiled. 

Lucky. He was so incredibly lucky.

He'd give her the world, too.

“Let's do it.” The words were out before he’d had a chance to think twice. She looked up at him again, the hope in her wide eyes overriding all else. 

She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen.

“Yeah?” Her voice was a whisper, as though she didn’t believe it. As though if she spoke it too loud, it would all go away.

“Yes. I want to have another baby with you.” Watching the smile spread across her face was like watching the break of day after a lifetime of darkness. He’d once thought he’d never see that light again—never deserve it.

“Really?”

He nodded as she threw her arms around him, peppering kisses over his jaw and face. It hadn't been so long ago that Rhys hadn't imagined a future for himself at all, darkness consuming every part of him. Now, with the world wide open in front of him, he wouldn't second guess it.

He wouldn't waste a moment.

[climbthemountain2020]

My tumblr notes when mutuales clock in to like my posts