#Feysand au

[shadowdaddies]

a continuation of the Batboys Band AU from elenana.art on Instagram

[velidewrites]

Wow, Feyre, your hair looks just like Starlight!

— Feysand as Sophie and Howl from Howl’s Moving Castle ✨

Part 1/3 of my dear friend’s @azrielshadowssing birthday gift! I love and cherish you so much - I hope you like this little Feysand treat! 💕

You can find Part 2 here!

[violetasteracademic]

The Manuscript: Velaris Memorial Hospital Part One

Summary:

Feyre Archeron has been trapped in a waking nightmare since leaving her ex-fiancée, Tamlin Thornwood. And every time it seems like she may finally be able to turn the page and be met with a new chapter, she only finds that it still isn’t over. In the age of him, she wished she was thirty And made coffee every morning in a French press Afterwards she only ate kids' cereal And couldn't sleep unless it was in her mother's bed Then she dated boys who were her own age With dart boards on the backs of their doors She thought about how he said since she was so wise beyond her years Everything had been above board She wasn't sure

Warnings: DV, implied SV, sexual harassment, attempted sexual assault, hospital setting, referenced cancer, referenced children with cancer, heavy subject matter, discussions on mental health

Word count: 4,610

Read the chapter here on AO3

Thank you so much to @nikachansstuff and @rosanna-writer for giving such care and attention to beta reading for this piece. It was a massive undertaking and I'm so grateful the work is where it is now with their incredible eyes!

[foundress0fnothing]

touching you i catch midnight

For my love, @beesays. Happy Holidays! It has been such a joy to get to know you better over these last few months, and I hope you enjoy this feysand modern AU, second chance romance l've cooked up for you. You are such a wonderful fandom friend and I am sending you so many hugs this holiday season 🎄

Thank you to @violetasteracademic for beta reading for me! 🫶 babe 💕

Also many thanks to @acotargiftexchange for putting together this wonderful event. Y'all are the absolute best!

Summary: It's been 10 years since Feyre left her hometown—and everyone who lived there—behind. Now she's back, working at her sister's event planning company, and throwing a birthday party for her ex's mysteriously MIA fiancée. Lucky her.

This is chapter 1 of 5.

title from Audre Lorde's “Recreation”

Read below the cut or here on ao3!

November 1st

Feyre leaned against the brick wall at the entrance to the rooftop, tiredly scanning the space to see if she’d missed anything. String lights? Check. High top tables with dried flower centerpieces? Check. A truly excessive number of  black, white, and maroon pillar candles arranged strategically to bathe darkened corners with a glowing warmth? Check. A cascading flower arch of green and gold and burnt orange and deep maroon that she had spent far too long trying to assemble? Check. A tension headache and the niggling sensation that she had definitely forgotten something? Check.

Nesta glaring? Also—unsurprisingly—check.

Her sister stood next to her after having come up from the restaurant downstairs. “It’s a little gauche, no?”

“You approved the design,” Feyre scoffed. It was just like Nesta though—only her eldest sister would open an event company and then be critical of everything the clients requested. Valkyrie Events had been open for a full year, and as far as Feyre knew, Nesta was unofficially banned from getting involved with anything client-facing when it came to the decorating side of the business.

Nesta shrugged. “It’s not my fault if the clients have bad taste.”

Feyre rolled her eyes. The space was fine—lovely even, not that she was trying to praise her own work. Emerie had found a newer restaurant in the city that rented out their top floor and rooftop bar, and Valkyrie Events had taken over the space early that morning for the event. The lights and the candles and the autumnal colors Feyre had set up all spoke of warmth and joy and family, and when the event started in a few hours, they would look even more magical against the darkened city skyline. Perfect for an engagement party. 

She felt some small part of her strain at that thought.

But she shook her head. What could have been—and what was narrowly avoided—wasn’t worth dwelling on. Not right now, in any case. 

No, now she only wanted to make her way back to her studio, take a too-hot shower, and curl up under the covers with Netflix and a glass of wine until she fell asleep. She could worry about love another day.

And so with a wry snort at Nesta’s impossibly high standards, Feyre made to push off of the wall to head back downstairs, but she felt her sister’s hand grab onto her own before she could actually move anywhere.

“I need you to stay today.” 

Feyre groaned, slumping back against the brick and turning a baleful gaze onto her sister. Nesta had enough grace to look slightly apologetic as she said, “Deirdre called out with the flu or something. I can’t have her puking all over the canapes tonight.”

“And you can’t make do with one fewer server tonight? I’m sure the couple will be too wrapped up in each other to notice if someone only stops by with food every five minutes instead of every three.”

“We’re already down a server. Roslin’s taken the day for a family event, and Gwyn, Em, and I are already thin enough with everything else.” She sighed, and then, as if it pained her, said, “Please, Fey.”

It was the echo of what Feyre had said to Nesta one month ago when, fresh off a break up with her ex of almost a decade, she begged her sister for a job. She had finally left Tamlin, but it was at the cost of everything she owned and any financial security she might have hoped to fall back on. She couldn't even stay in the same city; he had managed to use his family’s money and influence to make it so that even the most run-down Starbucks wouldn’t hire her.

And so she had gone back to Velaris where she had grown up, back to her sister who had managed to put down roots and make a life in a place that had been nothing but cruel to her when she was a child. Where Feyre had run, Nesta had stayed and built something—and a new family—that was worth staying for.

To hear Nesta tell it, Valkyrie Events was built out of a combination of strategic late night planning sessions with her two best friends, Emerie Castello and Gwyn Berdara, and their unquenchable feminine spirit. Emerie had confided to Feyre that actually, the three of them had been stoned out of their minds when someone—probably Gywn—voiced the idea, and then they spent the rest of the night messily scrawling down ideas on their fridge white board.

But however it had come to be, Velaris had welcomed the woman-owned company eagerly. They had thrown events for a handful of the other small businesses in the town, a few of the local celebrities, and once, memorably, the mayor’s reelection celebration. A year in now, it was rare that a month went by without Valkyrie Events organizing two or three parties every weekend. As the business grew, the three original friends began to hire some women from the jujitsu classes they took at the Y who were looking for a fresh start until there was a comfortable roster of employees to work events so that no one woman lost her entire weekend, every weekend, to celebrating someone else’s joy without having a chance to make some of her own.

And so it had been an act of kindness—not a need for more employees—that Nesta and her friends agreed to take Feyre on as a decorator. She had an artistic eye, sure, but had never worked as a server, had no experience designing a space, and didn’t have any contacts with other small businesses or local friends to leverage into new opportunities for the company.

Feyre was grateful—she was. Nesta had given her a couch to crash on while she built up some savings, a job, and now, a chance to actually do something worthwhile for the company. The event that night was the first where her work would actually be seen by the clients; the last month had been a marathon of shadowing Gwyn, mocking up plans for events just to get used to the way the company worked, and meeting all the big names in the event-planning world of Velaris. 

Today was an engagement party for some wealthy duo who had met as teenagers and apparently loathed each other on sight, only to slowly find their way together when they were randomly paired as roommates at Prythian U. That was the story they had relayed to Emerie when booking Valkyrie Events, anyway. Feyre didn’t know if she believed it—it was too cute, too much like a cheesy romance novel plot to actually be real—but it wasn’t her job to question it.

Although it was apparently going to be her job to serve it. 

“Are you sure?” Feyre whined in a final attempt to get out of spending the night bringing mini crab cakes, petit fours, champagne refills to unfairly rich, unfairly happy people.

Nesta grimaced at Feyre’s tone. “Uniforms are downstairs. We should have something to fit you.”

“You’re going to make me wear a uniform? But I’m already staying late.” Feyre drew out the last word petulantly, savoring the way Nesta’s eye twitched.

“Fey.” Nesta gestured at the paint-spattered overalls that Feyre was currently wearing. “Be serious.”

“Fine, whatever, boss. I’ll wear the stupid uniform.”

“There, there, Fey. You look great in black. And who knows,” she said, smiling bitingly, “maybe it’ll be fun.”

–

It was not fun.

Feyre had spent the final hours before the event running around to help Nesta take care of a few final things—lighting candles, making sure the bar was stocked with enough glasses, frantically gluing a wayward twist of flowers from the arch that was already threatening to droop and pull the whole structure down with it. 

And now she was standing in a bathroom stall, holding the black server’s uniform in her hand and contemplating the feasibility of a short standing nap before she had to plaster on a smile for the clients. Pros of the nap: sleep. Cons of the nap: literally everything else. 

She knew she only had a few minutes, tops, before Nesta came looking for her, and the interruption to her sleep would put her in a shit mood for the rest of the day. And all that, only for a standing nap, leaning against a bathroom wall? She wasn’t sure that she wanted to acknowledge that new low today.

As she grimaced at that thought, her dozy musings were interrupted by the sound of a voice that was strikingly familiar. Feyre froze, straining to place it.

“Are you sure it’s not too much, Viv?”

Viv, whoever she was, assured the familiar voice that it wasn’t too much and that she looked great, and then the two slid into easy chatter about friends and coworkers and weekend plans.

They were guests for the event that night, clearly, and probably family if they were here so early, but Feyre couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew the voice.

She peeked through the gap in the stall door and caught sight of a wine-red dress, a mane of long, blonde hair, and then, as the owner of the voice turned, a profile that caused Feyre to inhale sharply. 

Morrigan Datiles. Feyre recognized her. How could she not? They had been like sisters, once. 

Mor hadn’t noticed the sound, or if she had, hadn’t cared to investigate it, and so Feyre stood still, waiting until the two women finished primping and walked out of the bathroom.

Forcing herself to kill some time so that she didn’t accidentally bump into Mor in the hallway, Feyre pulled on her server’s uniform, grimacing unconsciously as the black fabric stretched tightly against what few curves she had. All the while, her mind was racing. Why was Mor here? And who was the party for, if Mor was a guest? 

Feyre didn’t want to think about the answer to those questions. Thinking about those questions meant thinking about Mor’s family, and then seeing Mor’s family, and then serving Mor’s family, and there was too much messy history between all of them to make that in any way easy.

But still—she had to know.

Feyre stepped out of the stall, washed her hands, and then opened the door into the hallway, peeking around to make sure that the coast was clear. She could hear the hum of the kitchen and the buzz of conversation from the bar, but the path to the offices behind the restaurant where Valkyrie Events had set up shop for the day was mercifully clear. 

Nesta looked up from her computer at the sound of the door slamming as Feyre closed it behind herself.

“What.” Her sister had a way of saying the word that felt more like a threat than a question, and Feyre had to steel herself to avoid cringing and backing out of the room.

“Who is the event for?”

“I don’t know, some couple. I don’t remember their names.” Nesta shrugged, disinterested.

“It’s literally your job, Nes.” 

“And?” 

Feyre was reminded why Nesta wasn’t allowed to talk to clients.

“You could ask Em,” Nesta offered. “It’s her cousin.”

“God, you’re the worst.” Feyre rolled her eyes, but pulled out her phone anyway.

Feyre: Em, who’s the event for today? 

Em: My cousin, Az.

Azriel Moreno.

We reconnected a few months ago

Why

Did you know him growing up

Feyre clicked the screen off without answering, closed her eyes, and took a few calming breaths. 

They didn’t work. 

“You have me working an event for Azriel Moreno?” She whisper-screamed. “Do you remember who his brother is?”

Nesta looked up from her computer. “The gym bro idiot?”

“Not that one—although it’s interesting that you remember Cassian, and we’ll be revisiting that later. The other one.”

“Rich asshole?”

“Yes. Well, no—his name is Rhysand,” Feyre corrected, belatedly remembering Nesta’s disdain for the man. It had been so long since she had said his name, and it felt awkward in her mouth.

“Weren’t you friends in high school?”

Flashes of art class and coffee runs and late night study sessions flickered in Feyre’s memory.

“Yep. And then we weren’t.” She paused, and then turned her best youngest sister pout on Nesta. “Please don’t make me serve this party. Not if they’re all going to be here.”

Her sister looked pained. “Feyre, we need…”

“I know, I know. I just—” She waved her off, and then sighed. “I just didn’t want to see him again. And not like this,” she said, gesturing down at the server’s uniform. It wasn’t awful, as uniforms went—it was black and comfortable and well-made—but it certainly wasn’t what she would choose for a reunion with everyone.

Nesta arched an eyebrow. “Do you have an issue with working for Valkyrie Events?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Maybe he won’t recognize you? It’s been what? Nine years?”

It had been ten. Almost as long as she had been with Tamlin. 

“Maybe.” Feyre sighed. “I’ll be ready to help with food prep in a few minutes, then. I just want to touch all of this up.” She gestured vaguely to her head, thinking of the brush and the makeup she was pretty sure were still at the bottom of her art kit from some gallery event she had attended with Tamlin before everything fell apart. There was no way out but through apparently, and she figured she might as well try not to look quite as bedraggled as she felt.

Her art kit was in the car, and it didn’t take her long to find everything (plus a travel-sized deodorant that she had also left there—bless past Feyre for being too lazy to unpack), and make her way back to the bathroom.

She stared at her reflection. Her eyes were tired, their blue-gray leaning more toward a dull slate, and her freckles stood out sharply against her skin. Her all-nighter to get the decor done was catching up with her, and she grimaced, watching her face contort into a mockery of itself and decided to tackle her hair before attempting any makeup.

Her braid hung limply over one shoulder, a mess of flyaways and frizz, and Feyre slipped the hair tie off to start finger combing it out. It fell in gentle, honey-golden waves, and as she brushed it and let it frame her face, she hoped that, between it and the intervening years, it would be enough to make her unrecognizable. She had tied it back in a braid almost every day in high school after all, too tired from the early cafe shifts she’d work before school to do anything more than get it out of her way. 

As she continued messing with her hair, she let her mind wander, wondering what everyone would be like now that so much time had passed. Mor seemed the same—exuberant and joyful—but more polished, comfortable with herself in a way that warmed Feyre’s heart to see. She imagined that Cassian too would be the same as she remembered him—affable and easy going, brotherly almost. Azriel was a surprise, though—she couldn’t picture the broody, darkly handsome teenager as a husband, even if she had just spent the last day preparing what was to be a party to celebrate exactly that.

And then there was Rhys. 

Was he married? Or dating? She grimaced at the thought of seeing him there with a date. Not that he shouldn’t have one! Feyre squinted at herself in the mirror, admonishing her reflection for her instinctive jealous reaction. Why wouldn’t he be dating? Even in high school, there had always been a bevy of women following him around, just in case he deigned to notice them. He was handsome and intelligent and rich—it was inevitable that he had found someone with whom to share a life.

She imagined he would have taken over his father’s tech company as well—it was what had been expected of him, even a decade ago, and for all the teenage rebellion that brought them together, Feyre didn’t think that he would actually go through with bucking that responsibility.

She could still remember the day he sauntered into her art elective sophomore year. Picturing the Self Through Pastel, the class had been called—a needlessly complicated way to indicate that they’d be working on portraiture with pastels, Feyre thought—but still, she had worked doubles at the cafe all summer to afford the materials for it. Finding that no one else was sitting at her station on the first day of class, she had resigned herself to a semester of exclusively painting self-portraits and had just begun to sketch out the rough contours of her face when the door to the art room creaked open to reveal a tardy Rhysand Ashcroft: senior, soccer star, soon-to-be homecoming king, and someone who had absolutely no business taking her art elective. Without so much as a word of apology to Ms. Alis, the teacher, Rhys had sauntered over to the empty spot near Feyre.

“This spot taken, darling?” He leaned his weight against the wood frame that held their station’s easels, the audacity of the movement immediately irritating Feyre. Because of course it wasn’t enough that she had to scrimp and scrape all summer to be able to afford this elective in the first place—no, now she’d get to spend the whole semester trying to make something worthwhile for her RISD portfolio while fending off distractions from a future business major frat bro enrolled in what she was sure he considered a blow-off class.

“No.” She shifted her side of their station as she said it, causing him to pitch forward slightly before catching himself against the stool.

He gracefully lowered himself onto it as if he hadn’t almost eaten shit. He looked her over, a smirk blooming on his face, and said, “What a warm welcome, darling.”

Despite herself, Feyre smirked back, and even now a decade later, the memory still made something in her warm.

Maybe she should just Google Rhys to prepare herself for whatever the night was about to be.

Just as Feyre was about to pull out her phone, she was interrupted by the sound of the bathroom door opening. She sucked in a horrified breath as she caught a flash of red and blonde out of the corner of her eye and quickly looked down to let her hair obscure her face.

But she wasn’t fast enough, and Mor had always been good at sniffing out the truth. 

“Feyre Archeron.”

Feyre sighed.  “Hi, Mor.”

[climbthemountain2020]

Feysand Halloween 🎃🎃🎃

I ALMOST FORGOT DAY 7: au!

This is my favorite thing, mostly because I giggled the whole time I was drawing it. Do I headcanon that Rhys would purposefully and unironically find the most un-sexy character and make the costume unnecessarily sexy? Yes. Yes, I do.

Happy @officialfeysandweek everyone!

[shallyne]

Fairytale AU

Where Rhys, Cassian and Azriel are stumbling upon a tower, the tower that legends talk about because two sisters (Nesta and Elain) are trapped in there and the one who defeats the dragon gets to marry the princess. One of them. But what the legends never told was that there was a third sister(Feyre), the one who was turned into the dragon by a sorcerer. (Because Feyre protected her sisters and fought like a tiger when the sorcerer first found them and so he doomed her into protecting her sisters forever or die). Cassian and Azriel are ready to fight the dragon with all their might but once Rhys locked eyes with the dragon, he felt that there was more behind the creature, felt a tug towards it.

Somehow they save all 3 (probably Amren with some fancy magic spell) and live happily ever after

[littlest-w01f]

Artistic

For @acotargiftexchange

This is my gift for my lovely recipient @cinmawrites

ACOTARGIFTEXCHANGE MASTERLIST

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven

Rhysand sat in the backseat of his car, his long legs stretched out as he gazed out the tinted window. The city lights blurred past in a mix of colours. His mind wandered to Feyre, as it often did these days. After their almost kiss a week ago, he couldn't seem to shake the memory from his thoughts.

That tantalizing moment when their lips had hovered mere inches apart, the electricity arcing between them. It was clearly more than just professional admiration that drew him to her. There was a gentleness about her, a vulnerability hidden beneath that fierce determination. It called to him, awakening feelings he thought long buried, mushy feeling.

Rhysand sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He needed to focus on the matters at hand, not dwell on forbidden fantasies. Yet, even as he told himself to push aside his feelings for Feyre, he couldn't deny the constant ache in his chest whenever she was near.

As the car pulled up to the coffee shop he frequented, Rhysand gathered his thoughts. He needed to focus on the high-stakes meeting taking place today away from the Publishing House, not dwell on a certain captivating intern.

Rhysand stepped out of the car, the cool evening air a stark contrast to the heated turmoil brewing inside him. He straightened his crisp black suit, smoothing out any wrinkles as he made his way into the dimly lit coffee shop. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee enveloped him, momentarily distracting him from his inner musings.

Inside the bustling coffee shop, Feyre sat in her seat, the sketchbook Rhysand had bought her set on her table as she sketched, pencil gliding over the paper, her latte and muffin near her.

As Rhysand approached, he spotted Feyre immediately, her profile etched in concentration as she worked away on her drawing. The soft glow of the shop lights danced across her features, accentuating the delicate lines of her face and the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Rhysand paused, mesmerized by the sight of her, a warm, comforting feeling spread through his chest.

Their eyes met across the café when she looked up, and Feyre felt her heart skip a beat. He flashed her a rare, genuine smile, one reserved only for those closest to him. It transformed his usually stern features, making him appear younger, more approachable. "Fancy meeting you here," He said, voice deep as he approached her. "Mind if I join you for a bit? My meeting got postponed, and I have some time to kill."

"Not at all," Feyre replied warmly, her eyes sparkling with delight. "I could use some company while I work. Please, sit down." Suddenly hyper-aware of every little detail, the warmth of her skin, the slight tremble in her fingers, the way her heart raced at his proximity, for their work, they had managed to be professional for now, but this was out of it. "Wait... You said a meeting? You... You never have meeting on the weekends..." Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, she was sure from the time she used to schedule his meeting early in her internship, he'd tell her to keep everything off the weekend.

Rhysand chuckled softly, running a hand through his tousled dark hair. "You're right, I don't usually schedule meetings on weekends. This one was... Unexpected." He paused, considering how much to reveal.

"It's part of another venture I'm involved in, separate from the Publishing House. Nothing for you to worry about though." His tone remained light, but there was an undercurrent of something else, a hint of danger, perhaps, or deep secrets. "Family business."

Feyre raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the cryptic mention of family business. She knew Rhysand was a private person, but this seemed different, like there were layers to him she was only beginning to peel back. "Family business, huh?" She repeated, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms, a playful smirk on her lips. "Sounds mysterious. Judging by that suit you're wearing."

She gestured towards his attire, her eyes roaming appreciatively over the sleek fabric that hugged his broad shoulders and lean physique. The subtle play of muscles beneath his clothes was impossible to miss, a testament to his physical prowess. Feyre quickly looked away, feeling a flush creep up her neck at the unintended intimacy of her gaze.

"And speaking of family... How's living with my cousin been treating you?" Rhysand questioned sipping on his coffee.

"Living with Mor has been... Interesting," She replied, happy for a distraction from her previous train of thought, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "She's not exactly what I would've asked for in a roommate three years ago but she's perfect. Late night parties, spontaneous road trips, constant matchmaking attempts..." Feyre shook her head fondly. "I'm grateful to have her in my life."

Rhysand listened intently, a small, enigmatic smile playing on his lips as he absorbed each word. He liked hearing about Feyre's life outside of the office, learning the details that shaped her personality and experiences. "Matchmaking attempts, eh?" He teased, raising an eyebrow. He wondered if she'd tried to set her up with someone.

"I'm glad she has you to balance her out. You two complement each other perfectly." His gaze lingered on Feyre, a warmth in his eyes that went beyond mere politeness. "Mor speaks highly of you, you know. Says you're the best thing that's happened to her in a long time." Rhysand leaned against the table slightly, angling his body towards her. "I can see why. You have a way of bringing out the best in people."

A lovely blush coloured Feyre's cheeks at Rhysand's words. She ducked her head shyly, peeking up at him through her lashes. "That's sweet of you to say, Rhys. And of Mor. I'm lucky to have her in my corner."

The awareness of his growing attraction for Feyre was undeniable now. He admired the delicate flush on her cheeks, the manner with which she peered up at him. It was intoxicating, this gentle vulnerability she exuded. Rhysand's heart quickened at the sight of Feyre's blushing cheeks, her shy yet captivating demeanour. He found himself drawn to her innocent beauty, the way her eyes sparkled with warmth and curiosity. "You deserve all the luck in the world, Feyre," he murmured, his voice low and husky.

Lost in thought, Rhysand barely registered the bustling activity around them. All he could focus on was the enticing curve of Feyre's lips, the way her hair fell in soft waves around her face. A sudden urge to reach out, to brush that stray lock behind her ear, nearly overwhelmed him.

Feeling the intensity of Rhysand's gaze, Feyre nervously licked her lips, wondering what was going through his mind. There was a palpable tension between them, a shared awareness of the forbidden desires simmering just below the surface.

Unable to resist the magnetic pull, Rhysand gently brushed the errant strand of hair behind Feyre's ear, his fingertips grazing her heated cheek in the process. The contact sent sparks racing along her nerve endings, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

"You're lovely when you blush," He murmured, his voice dipping as he spoke. Feyre shivered, the husky undertones of his voice sending shivers down her spine.

Feyre's breath caught in her throat as Rhysand's touch ignited a fire within her. The heat of his fingers seared her skin, leaving a lingering imprint that seemed to pulse with life. She sighed, savouring the sensation, the gentle caress that spoke volumes about the unspoken connection between them.

With a regretful sigh, Rhysand pulled away when his phone buzzed, realizing he'd lingered far longer than intended. "I should probably get going. Meetings won't reschedule themselves, no matter how appealing the company may be." He offered a wry smile, coffee in hand, trying to hide the disappointment in his eyes. "Walk with me to the end of the block, will you? I hate saying goodbye in such a hurry."

Feyre nodded, feeling a pang of her own at the prospect of parting ways so soon. "Of course, Rhys. Duty calls, and all that." She picked up her bag, placed everything back inside, and shrugged on the coat she had draped on the chair.

As they neared the end of the block, Rhysand slowed his pace, seemingly reluctant to reach the point where their walk would come to an end.

"Feyre, may I ask you something personal?" His intense eyes searched hers intently, a flicker of uncertainty beneath the surface of his usual composure.

Caught off guard, Feyre hesitated before nodding. "Of course, Rhys. What is it you want to know?"

"Have you ever wanted to do something outside of business?" Rhysand's question hung in the crisp winter air, heavy with unspoken implications.

She considered her answer carefully. "Outside of business?" She repeated, a small, enigmatic smile playing on her lips. "Well, I did once dream of being a famous painter, spreading my art, of traveling the world, of experiencing different cultures and ways of life... I want to see the world... I've never really been anywhere."

Her words trailed off, a faraway look entering her eyes as memories surfaced. Rhysand listened intently, captivated by the glimpse into Feyre's aspirations.

"But those dreams were put on hold," She continued, her gaze refocusing on him. "Life had other plans, and I never quite got around to pursuing them."

"Those "Other plans" often derail our deepest desires, don't they?" Rhysand mused, a note of melancholy in his voice. "It's easy to let responsibilities and obligations crowd out the things that truly make us happy."

Feyre agreed, a hint of melancholy creeping into her tone, "Well, what were your dreams? Is there something you wanted to be if it wasn't for your business?"

Rhysand's expression softened, a wistful glint in his eyes as he pondered the past. "If I'm being completely honest, I always had a fascination with the sky, the universe... Stargazing, astronomy..." Rhysand revealed, a hint of embarrassment colouring his voice. "But ambition and duty took precedence over those whimsical pursuits."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Who knows, maybe someday I'll revisit those interests, find a way to incorporate them into my life without sacrificing everything else."

Their eyes met, understanding passing between them like a silent agreement. In that moment, Rhysand felt an overwhelming urge to bridge the gap between them, to show Feyre just how deeply he connected with her hopes and fears. But propriety held him back, and he contented himself with a gentle squeeze of her hand before releasing her.

"Well, I really must be off," He said, taking a step back. "Thank you for the lovely chat, Feyre." With a final nod, Rhysand turned the corner. Feyre watched him go, a strange mix of longing and trepidation swirling within her.

Feyre made her way back, lost in thought as the city lights blurred past. Rhysand's words echoed in her mind, the idea of finding happiness in her passion despite life's obstacles. It was tempting, almost intoxicating, to imagine a future where she could pursue her passions without restraint, she held her sketchbook close to her chest as she walked.

When she arrived at her modest place, the familiar sounds and scents of home provided a comforting contrast to the whirlwind of emotions still churning inside her, she was grateful that Mor was out spending the night with her girlfriend, leaving the place to herself and her thoughts. She settled onto the couch with a thick blanket.

As Feyre curled up on the couch, she opened her sketchbook, letting her pencil dance across the page, continuing with the sketch. Her mind wandered, reliving the moments with Rhysand, capturing the play of light on his features, the intensity of his gaze. Rhysand's face emerged on the paper, his striking features captured in loose lines and shading. She added details - the subtle arch of his eyebrows, the playful curve of his lips.

As she drew, Feyre found herself slipping further into the fantasy, imagining Rhysand before her, alive and breathing. Her hand moved faster, refining the portrait until it almost looked like him. Almost.

With a sigh, Feyre set the sketch aside, her fingers tracing the outline of Rhys's face one last time before breaking contact. She knew it was futile to indulge in such daydreams, no matter how tantalizing they might be.

She then picked her mini pallet of paint, dipping a brush in the pigment, it felt funny, painting Rhysand with the supplies he'd bought her.

With deliberate strokes, Feyre began to add colour to her sketch, starting with the rich, dark tones of Rhysand's hair. She mixed a blend of blues and purples, adding depth and dimension to capture the mesmerizing swirls of his locks. As she worked, Feyre found herself losing track of time, the world fading away until only Rhysand's image remained, brought to vibrant life on the canvas.

Hours slipped by unnoticed as Feyre painted, her focus entirely consumed by the piece unfolding before her eyes. The colours blended and merged, creating a stunning likeness of Rhysand's hair. The sketch was breathtaking, to say the least. A subtle smirk played on his lips, as if he knew the secrets hidden in her heart.

A sense of longing washed over her, the desire to bring that sketch to life, to have him stand beside her and whisper promises of a future together. She carried the incomplete painting to her bedroom window, gazing out at the star-studded expanse above the city. At that moment, Feyre couldn't help but wonder if Rhysand was also standing under the similar stared sky, gazing up, his thoughts drifting to her as hers drifted to him.

A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby trees, chilling Feyre to the bone. She sighed and shut the window to keep the frost out, pulling in the curtains, she wondered if it might snow, she wanted it to, to wake up to a world blanketed in white. Feyre wrapped her arms around herself, shivering slightly as she returned to the warmth of her room.

As Feyre retreated into the cosy sanctuary of her bed, the chill of the night still lingered on her skin. She wrapped herself in plush bedcovers, the soft fabric providing welcome comfort against the lingering cold.

She settled in, with a hum, she turned off her bedside lamp, pulling a soft silk eye mask she had recently bought over her eyes, she giggled softly, kicking her feet under the covers, loving how cold they were. She loved winter, the cosiness of being all snuggled up in bed. She relaxed pretty soon, snuggling into a fuzzy bat plushy Mor had gifted her as a gag almost a year ago.

[fieldofdaisiies]

Strokes of Fate | pt. 2

paring: Feyre x Rhysand | type: fluff | words: 3,2k words | warnings: none | masterlist

"You?!" Feyre‘s eyes widen in surprise, arms falling to her sides. 

Simultaneously, an expression of utter confusion spreads over Morrigan‘s face, gaze sliding from her friend to her cousin. 

"I am just as surprised as you are." Rhysand’s violet eyes brush over her body, his voice still as polished and sensual as the last time. "But I have to say, I am very delighted to see you again." 

He chuckles, the sound a low, guttural purr. "Or let me rephrase that: I am delighted the big girl could take care of herself and get home safely."

She really, really needs to fight the urge to flip him off. Or to be even a little more immature and slip out if her shoe and toss it at his handsome head, completely ruining his perfect, rich person hairstyle.

"And I am delighted that the rain didn’t ruin your immaculate appearance or heart your ego," Feyre instead fires back, a triumphant grin on her lips now. But it vanishes quickly - the moment Rhys opens his mouth again. 

"Thank you very much for the compliment, I appreciate it a lot. Especially coming from you, an artist who has an eye for beautiful things." Amusement glows so brightly in his eyes, it reminds Feyre of the stars in the night sky. And his smile, nothing but cocky and taunting could -would- make her knees wobble under different circumstances. Not right now. Now, it makes her bristle. 

But if she had met him under—

"You know each other?" Mor asks, her tone a hint incredulous. Her gaze ping-pongs between her cousin and her friend, the papers in her hands long forgotten. 

"Briefly," Rhys comments and then steps aside, revealing the now blank wall behind his office desk. "But not important now. You think you can work your magic there, Feyre?"

A million ideas already spark in Feyre‘s mind but it is a painting that someone commissions so she needs to ask him first what he would like to see. What kind if picture he would like to have. 

"I think I definitely can. But first of all I would like to know what you would like to see? What are you ideas? Wishes? Visions?"

A flicker of impressiveness passes over the CEO's face. 

"Visions," he ponders out loud and rubs his palm over his chin. "Why don’t we sit down together and figure out my visions." He extends his hand, gesturing at the black sofa. "Let me offer you something to drink." Not a question.

Feyre claims a seat on the black couch, crossing one leg over the other. "Just a water, please." 

He grabs a jug from the desk and fills up a glass. With a smile and the tilt of his chin, Morrigan gets her cue, and walks to the glass door. "I‘ll leave you to it then. If you need me, you know where to find me, cousin, Fey."

With wide steps, Rhys strolls to the couch and claims the seat next to her. He gives her a sidelong glance and smiles. She is beautiful - utterly beautiful. Breathtaking. So breathtaking he truly needs a moment to catch himself - no one has ever knocked him of his feet quite like her and that confuses him.

Handing her the glass, Rhysand’s eyes touch hers. "I want something…it‘s difficult. I don’t want something that I connect with work. But something that represents me?"

Feyre almost wants to blurt money, but she keeps calm, nods a little and waits for him to continue. But he doesn’t. Not immediately. Rhysand tips his head back and closes his eyes for a moment. He exhales a deep breath and Feyre watches the heavy rise and fall of his solid, chest - the sculpted muscles are even visible through his white shirt.

Greek god, sparks in her mind - that’s what she would also connect with him. But thank God, her mouth stays closed. Again. Saying that out loud…she would leave and never return.

"It is hard to describe it," he mumbles and folds two fingers over his mouth.

"Think about what makes you happy? What brings you joy? Who brings you joy?"

Rhysand immediately thinks of Az and Cassian - his brothers, not through blood but through what is in their hearts.

But as much as he loves them, having a painting of the three of them in his office…he‘d rather have this at home. Maybe he’ll just ask Feyre again for a painting — it would be a phenomenal chance to see her again and—

A chuckle leaves him - has this young artist already bewitched his heart? After a few minutes of talking to her. That seems impossible. But he can't deny the fact that she intrigues him. Immensely. 

Feyre has noticed the shift in his demeanour, the corners of her lips quirking up. "Do you know it? Do you know what you want?"

When he meets her gaze, he indeed knows it.

"Sometimes I just look at the stars and…listen. I manage to block out everything else - no noises from the city, no bustling crowds, no loud thoughts." He inhales deeply. Feyre’s focus is on him. "I think I want a sky full of stars. A night sky. One that is not touched by city lights, not ruined by them. You think you can do this?"

Feyre nods eagerly. "Of course I can do this." She is excited and loves the idea. "I like concept."

It is wonderful . She had no idea he would be so…so thoughtful and would like something so…simple. 

Rhysand slowly leans back, arms braced on the backrest of the couch. He runs his gaze over once again, silent admiration etched upon his features. 

"Tell me something, darling," he starts, his voice nothing but a purr. "Have you always wanted to be a painter?"

"Yes." The answer comes as quick as a shot. "For as long as I remember, I’ve always wanted to be a painter."

He smiles and it is heartwarming. Feyre reaches for her glass and takes a sip. "What about you? Did you always want to become…an owner of a company?"

He huffs a laugh, the sound bittersweet. "Honestly, no. But I had no choice. My father owned this company and before him his father - my grandfather was the founder of it. I had to take over."

Feyre wants to tell him that there is always a choice and that it is bullshit that he had to do it, but the look in his eyes tells her that if there truly had been another option he would have chosen it.

She wants to ask about his father, but Rhysand is faster.

"So little Feyre was also already a painter? I bet your family refrigerator was covered in your paintings and drawings."

"It was," she hums, recounting the memory of her mother’s eyes lit up each time she drew something for her - one of the few moments were she showed affection for her youngest. But Feyre shakes off these thoughts and instead says, "I remember once being so bored, I painted on the little cupboard my sisters and I had in our room." She chuckles and a look of nostalgia passes over her face. 

"Elain loved it immediately. Nesta was a bit shocked at first but then loved it as well."

Rhysand smiles, loving how her face lights up at the mention of her sisters. 

"So I guess, I‘ll make a few sketches. Then I‘ll send them to you and start painting?"

"No."

"No?"

"I want you to paint here, Feyre."

Feyre’s eyes widen. "In your immaculate office?"

He laughs, the sound rich and amused. "Yes," he says, "in my immaculate office. I have enough space here and it will be much easier than to transport the painting here once it is done."

It makes sense. Somehow it does. But painting with audience? She doesn’t know if she likes that, but she agrees anyway.

And so, Feyre returns the next day, is led into his office by Morrigan whom she chats with a bit. Rhysand is in a meeting and will only get here later. Feyre likes this, knowing she has a bit of time alone.

She unpacks her colours, all her utensils, and with a pencil she starts to outline a sketch on a canvas.

"Good morning, darling." The low rumble brushes her skin like a feather.

"I see, you're already working."

"And I see you have a very good eyesight."

Hand holding a cup of coffee, the other stuffed into the pocket of his pants, Rhys walks to his desk, gaze sweeping over her, halting and then he chuckles. He sits down, brings the cup up to his lips and drinks. His chest warms oddly. Not due to the warm brew, but due to her presence and then hint of teasing in her voice. It is nice having her here, he thinks. 

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

Feyre returns a few times in the following days. On Monday to start with the base. On Wednesday to finish the base. And on Thursday to start with the details. And once again on Monday to continue with the details. 

She is focused, sitting crossed-legged, nibbling on her lower lip and there is definitely colour on her nose. Her adorable nose— 

Rhysand shakes his head. What has this female done to him. He breathes a chuckle, the end of his pen between his teeth, watching her over his screen. 

She truly is the most beautiful woman he has ever seen and he has seen many women in his life already. But she is—

"How old are you?"

The sudden and slightly loud and sharp question startles the artist and Feyre meets his gaze with slightly widened eyes. "Twenty-one," she tells him. "Why?"

"Shit," Rhys says, the curse slipping through his lip before he can stop it. "You are incredibly talented for your age." 

"Talent has nothing to do with age, mister." She laughs a little, trying to brush off the compliment but a blush still graces her cheeks.

"How old are you?" 

"Guess." He smirks.

Feyre lifts her brush and tabs the clean end of it against her chin, acting like she is deep in thought. "Hhhm, I would say fifty-five." She grins at him. 

A low growl parts the CEO‘s lips. "Careful, darling." 

But Feyrelaces her face in innocence. "What? Are you not fifty-five? Are you older?"

A guttural laugh that sends a chill down her spine leaves him. "Cruel, wicked thing."

Her answering laugh is hoarse, smokey like a fine whiskey and it not only does things to Rhys‘ heart. His blood heats and his tongue pokes out, licking over his lower lip.

Her eyes follow the movement, but Feyre quickly says, "How old are you then? Really?"

"Thirty-three."

"Well, I was close," she quips and her focus moves back to the painting, starting once again. He has to laugh to himself and also eventually tries to focus on his work. The stress is on tries. Because he fails. Because she -Ms Feyre Archeron- is a huge distraction. But not an unwelcome one. He likes having her here. It is a wonderful distraction in all honesty.

And so the days pass, Feyre returns and keeps being a distraction. Not much work gets done on Rhys' side, but the painting is nearly finished by the end of the second week and the CEO hates this.

Because it means she won’t return here again. He won’t have her sitting in his office anymore, painting and chatting with him. And that thought…it makes him sad and his heart feel somehow cold.

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

The last day, the day she finished the painting is inevitable. And Rhys wants time curse all the Gods and the universe for letting him be stuck in meetings the whole day, not getting a single chance to spend at least five minutes with Feyre.

He will only see her again the next day. They will hang up the painting and he will pay her. That is it. 

And there last day together was wasted due to him not being present. Or so he thinks.

"You are still here?“ The tone in his voice reveals his honest astonishment. It is Thursday evening, already past eight, the city outside already entering the night.

Feyre tips her head back, meets his eyes and nods. Then her gaze moves back to the large canvas in front of her. 

"I am adding the very last touches." She smiles. Rhys watches her.

"No boyfriend waiting for you at home who might get worried now?“ 

He has to shoot his shot, Rhysand thinks and casually leans against his desk. He watches her closely, how she reacts, if her body language gives her away. 

"Thank god, I don’t,“ Feyre chuckles, eyes not once leaving the painting. But then she lifts her eyes, a wicked glint in her eyes when she meets his. "Thank god, I no longer have him waiting for me at home."

"Him."

She lifts her hand, brush in-between two fingers, and waves him off. "Not important — or no longer important."

A chuckles escapes the CEO and he crosses his arms in front of his chest. "He sounds like wonderful guy."

Feyre huffs. She dips her brush into a new bowl of paint, and continues with the task at hand. Until—

"Oh god, you want to go home?!"

Not exactly a question, rather an observation. She sits back on her heels, eyes wide open, shame coiling in her gut. Oh god! She is keeping him here and he wanted to leave already and she completely ignored it. 

But Rhysand shakes his head. Feyre ignores it and bounces up on her knees. "I am so sorry. I completely forgot about time and I—"

"Darling." His purr interrupts her rambling. He hasn’t seen her that giddy before which makes him think she must actually feel bad about the keeping him here. Which is, to put it into his words, absolute bullshit. He was working until now anyway. He often stayed in his office until that hour.

Rhysand smiles at her. "Are you hungry?"

She wants to say no, but obviously her traitorous stomach must release the loudest growl on the whole universe in just this moment. 

"I guess that is answer enough," he laughs and looks so delighted and happy in this moment, almost as if having dinner with her sounds like one of the best things to happen to him this evening. Unbeknownst to Feyre, it truly is. 

"If you insist," Feyre smiles and slowly rises to her feet. She stretches her sore limbs from having knelt on the floor for hours and Rhys can't avoid to marvel at her. 

"Pizza?" he quickly asks to distract his brain and finds her eagerly nodding at him. "Then pizza it is."

"Yes!" she silently cheers but he hears her and has to laugh quietly to himself, searching for his phone and dialling the number he, by now, knows by heart. "Any preferences?"

She has already made herself comfortable on the couch, her feet resting on the small table, a contented smile on her lips. "Surprise me."

And he does. He orders what he thinks she might like, or rather hopes and prays she will like. His own favourite pizza. She has to like it.

And when she moans around the first bite, he knows he made exactly the right decision. 

"God!" Feyre expresses, speaking with her mouthful. She doesn't mind and neither does Rhys. "I have never eating anything better. This tastes like…everything."

His heart warms and he smiles around the bite he is currently taking. "I am glad it does."

"Maybe you are not only rich, spoiled… You can't be that bad, if you have such a great taste in pizza." She grins and Rhys really fights the urge to flip her off. He only bites down on his lower lip and gives his head a shake. "I feel honoured about this compliment."

They exchange a few things about their lives, and for quite a while Rhysand talks about Cassian and Azriel which Feyre loves to listen to. Then the topic moves to Amren, who created the former painting for his office. 

"Where do you keep it now? Won't she be disappointed that you took it off?" Feyre asks.

"Nah," Rhys says and closes his pizza box. Feyre does the same, placing it on top of his. "I'll keep it in my guest room in my apartment. The room she often sleeps in when she stays in this part of the city, so all good."

Feyre chuckles and wipes her hands down her thighs. With a sigh, she rises from the couch. "I think the paint should be dry by now."

He watches her as she walks over to the place she has been working at for the past two weeks. 

"Can I see it? The finished painting. Or do I have to wait for the great reveal tomorrow."

"If you're still in no rush to get home you can look at it now?"

"I'm in no rush," he says in his deep, sensual voice, an unreadable emotion passing over his face. 

"No girlfriend waiting for you at home?" Feyre teases, the payback for his earlier question.

His eye gliding over her body, leaving heat in every place they touch. "No, there hasn’t been one in a long time," he finally admits.

Feyre shrugs a shoulder, "Hm."

He ignores her reaction and only looks at her, admiration etched upon his features. She is wonderful, Rhysand thinks.

Mischief sparks in her eyes and she lets her lips curl. "What are you waiting for? You said you wanted to see the painting. I doubt you can see it from where you are standing, Mr CEO."

"Darling," he drawls and grins. "Not only artistically talented but also a smartass." He pushes off the couch and with long strolls walks up to her, hands stuffed in the pockets of his pants. 

She grins at him and then turns back to her work of art. 

She stands next to the painting, observing it, and has to admit she is very happy with it. A night sky with the moon and a few stars, and one or the other shooting star — nothing special. But for Rhys it is. It is perfect. Better than anything he could have every imagined. 

He moves in closer. So close, the warmth of his body reaches her and his breath fans the back of her neck. 

"Stunning," he mumbles and is not only talking about the painting. It is truly incredible. A pure and star-covered night sky, not ruined by city lights.

"Look at the stars."

"And listen," Feyre answers, her voice breathy, and when she turns to him, there is a fire in his eyes that she has never seen there before. A fire that also ignites something low in her abdomen. 

tags: @girlinglass999 @autumndreaming7 @a-frog-with-a-laptop@honeysuckle-daydreams13 @thelovelymadone @azriels-shadowsinger

[itsthedoodle]

the tragic story of the vienna sausage

Summary:

“Feyre, before we do this, there is something you should know.”

She looked at him incredulously, trying to ignore the throbbing between her legs. He thought now was the time for confessions? Sighing, she looked at him expectantly nonetheless.

“My cock… it’s not like other cocks.”

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: none

Many thanks to @rosanna-writer for spending her lunch break beta reading this pure chaos of a oneshot 🩵

Read on AO3

“You’ve plagued my dreams for so long.” 

Feyre had no actual recollection of how they had gotten there. She only knew that they’d met at a ball several hours ago, and she had been captivated by his aura the moment she’d laid her eyes on him. Rhys could command a room just by being in it, which didn’t really surprise her given his station. They had been introduced to each other, had hit it off right away, had danced all night long, dances during which more than just a few whispers about them had been heard, and had decided to go out for some fresh air. A ballroom wasn’t the best place to strike up a conversation, especially with the presence of eager eyes and ears, so anything remotely meaningful Feyre had wanted to tell Rhys had come rushing out of her the moment she had felt him stand next to her on the enormous balcony. 

She had confessed that she loved the night sky more than anything else, and he had told her he knew the perfect spot on this estate for stargazing. She had all but begged him to take her there, so they had gone to the fountain in the center of the rose maze, and had sat there for who knows how long.

If anyone had been looking for them, neither Feyre nor Rhys had known anything about it. 

Rhys had started tracing constellations in the sky, meanwhile Feyre had been busy tracing the constellation of stars in his eyes. He had simply looked away from the sky for one moment, had turned his head to look at her and whatever he must have seen on her face had made him risk it all and kiss her like a parched man finally tasting water again.

She had kissed him back, and the rest had conveniently left her brain.

She looked at Rhys now, looked at his flushed face and the silky hair she couldn’t bring herself to stop touching. He was so beautiful and she wanted him so bad that she could hardly make sense of her own thoughts. 

His shirt had been thrown somewhere behind him — or behind her? — she didn’t particularly care, and the top of her gown had been lowered down to her waist, her chest peppered with so many bruises she didn’t even know how she would cover them. That was a problem for future Feyre.

Present Feyre simply wanted to fuck the gorgeous man in front of her.

She ran her hands on his bare chest, the planes of it covered in strange markings she didn’t understand, moving them low to his abs and ending at his pants. She couldn’t wait to taste him. 

She started to unbutton them when he put his hands on hers. 

“Feyre, before we do this, there is something you should know.”

She looked at him incredulously, trying to ignore the throbbing between her legs. He thought now was the time for confessions? Sighing, she looked at him expectantly nonetheless. 

“My cock… it’s not like other cocks.”

She suppressed a snort. Wasn’t that what every male said? Though Feyre had to admit, Rhys wasn’t like other males. He was different. There was something about him she couldn’t put her finger on. 

“I’ll be the judge of that.” She said, unbuttoning his pants, lowering them and his underwear. 

As they fell to his ankles, she only had enough time to register two things: 

Rhys looked anxious, and his cock was abnormally large and long. 

She blinked down at it, unable to form a coherent sentence. While she usually hated the “how will it fit?”, she was seriously considering whether it would actually fit.

She forced her brain to come up with something to say. “Not like other cocks, huh?”

Rhys gulped. “I’ll show you. Please promise me you won’t bolt.”

Feyre nodded, keeping her eyes on her unusual prize. She was horny, and she wanted him to fuck her, but she had to figure out something regarding that—

The cock, already at a size she couldn’t quite grasp, started elongating, with Rhys standing up from his spot on the fountain and putting distance between them with every inch it gained. 

Her mind was blank. She wasn’t sure if she was dreaming or if she had eaten something that was affecting her clarity. Her head was spinning and her heart was threatening to jump right out of her chest. 

Rhys was now on the other side of the center of the maze, and his cock was long enough to touch her nonetheless, and Feyre—

Feyre ran for her life.

She ran faster than she had ever ran before, and just when she thought she had put enough distance between them, she felt something brushing her ankle. She looked down, screaming at the sight of Rhys’s cock wrapped around her ankle.

Feyre fell, face on the grass. The cock released her ankle.

“Feyre please, I just want to talk. Let me explain.”

Her face was hurting from the impact, and she could feel her nose bleeding. Ignoring the pain, she used that moment to her advantage, standing and running again, without a single clue as to where she was going, seeing as she was in a freaking maze. 

Feyre was aware of the ridiculous sight she was making at the moment — running from a prehensile cock and its owner, boobs out and swinging this way and that.

She stopped in front of a narrow path, the only way forward. It was a tight space, and chances she would be hurt in the process were high, but she couldn’t climb up the tall rose wall, so she went in. The skirts of her dress kept getting stuck in the thorns of the roses, but slowing down would mean the cock would catch up to her. While she was horny and would admit she could be talked into letting a prehensile cock fuck her, she was also terrified of how that would work to begin with. Would it hurt? Could he control the length? If that was the case, why hadn’t he just kept it to himself in the first place? 

That’s right, she thought to herself. Because he’s a decent man willing to give his partner a choice. 

Rhys… poor Rhys. He had begged her not to bolt. She had told him she wouldn’t and had done just that at the first chance she got. 

“Feyre please,” he pleaded with her from what she thought was from the other side of the maze wall. “I swear I just want us to talk. You deserve an explanation.”

She did, she was aware of that. She also knew he deserved to be heard. There had to be a reason for whatever was going on. Who was she to judge someone’s physical condition? And besides, how bad could it be? She was scared, but at the same time she was also curious about it. 

Making a decision, she slowed down, catching her breath. She was a big girl. She could do this. 

Turning around, Feyre went to the exit of the path she was in. 

As expected, Rhys came out of the parallel path, his cock now at its usual length.

She suppressed a snort. While she had been busy running naked from the waist up, he had simply decided to run entirely naked altogether. 

The man was gorgeous though, like he had been carved by an artist. Even his cock was gorgeous. 

“I’m sorry I grabbed your ankle.”

Feyre nodded. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance to explain yourself. I was just…”

“Scared? Taken by surprise?” he said with a knowing tone. 

She nodded again. 

Rhys sighed. “You wouldn’t be the first. It’s a hard thing to explain.”

Feyre raised an eyebrow. It was a hard thing alright. Rhys caught what she meant and laughed. 

“Has it always been like that?” she asked, genuinely curious. 

Rhys shook his head. “No. A witch pretending to be a priestess cursed my family line centuries ago because I rejected her advances. It’s been like this ever since.”

“Is there a way to break the spell?”

He looked at her for a moment, taking in her appearance. “The key to breaking the curse would be a willing sexual partner who knows about it and accepts me nonetheless.”

Feyre hummed. So that would explain why he had told her. Did that mean—

“I know what you’re thinking. There hasn’t been a willing sexual partner in quite some time. You’re the first one to even agree to hear me out.”

“That must have been painful for you.” she said, approaching him. 

He snorted. “Emotionally and physically, yes.”

Sighing, she stopped in front of him. “Look. The thought of it terrifies me, I won’t lie. But I’m also curious.”

“You… are?”

His unsure tone broke her heart. No one deserved to be feeling what he must have felt all these years. 

“I am,” she said, bringing her hand to his cock, stroking it. It was smooth like velvet, which she wasn’t expecting considering how long it could get and how she had been running away from it until a few minutes ago. “I’m also still very turned on.” She went down on her knees, eye level with it. “I’d say that’s a good sign, right?”

Rhys was looking at her like he couldn’t believe his luck, and she used that moment of shock to lick a long stripe up his shaft. 

He groaned, and she took him fully in her mouth, one hand gripping him and her other hand finding its way to her clit. 

As she sucked and stroked, she felt the world tilting, a weird sensation in her head. She faintly wondered how it would feel if the cock elongated while inside her before her world went fully dark. 

 “Feyre?”

She groaned, feeling warm all over. She was lying somewhere soft. Had Rhys carried her inside the mansion from the rose maze? 

She forced her eyes open, blinking several times, waiting for her eyesight to adjust. Rhys was by her side, her hand in his. He looked disheveled, stressed, tired, and fully clothed. 

“Rhys?”

He sighed, sounding relieved. “Hello Feyre darling.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I was so worried about you.”

“What happened? How did I get here, did you carry me here from the rose maze?”

“The… what now?” he said, wholly confused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve been lying here for a whole week. The fever only broke an hour ago.”

“What fever?”

Rhys blinked. “You don’t remember anything?”

Feyre shook her head. 

“Well,” Rhys started, “You got bitten by a venomous snake. Madja gave you the antidote on time but the fever needed a while to fully break — you seriously don’t remember anything?”

“No, I don’t,” She said, sighing. “I must have really been out of it.”

“You kept mumbling things about stargazing and… prehensile cocks the whole time?” he finished with a confused tone. “I’m just glad you’re okay, darling.”

He leaned in to kiss her gently and she returned it. Had it all been a dream?

“Rhys?” she asked tentatively, “can I be honest with you?”

“Always.” He answered immediately. 

“I’d have been curious and willing to give it a shot, but I’m glad you don’t have a prehensile cock.”

[acourtofmishapandmistakes]

What if Fedra and Rhys lost the baby and Nyx did not exist? I want the angstttt

(Also I know this is a sensitive topic, you don’t have to even consider it if it makes you uncomfortable)

Hey there! Thanks for being my first fic request - even if it is a dark one.

To be honest, I've never written angst before so this is new for me and may be very.... not great... but I tried my best at dipping my toes in. I did keep it on the shorter side just because I am learning how to best write angst/despair so feel free to give notes.

That being said, here is my interpretation of if Feyre and Rhys lost their baby and little Nyx hadn't become part of their lives.

Please keep in mind that everyone processes grief differently and this topic is incredibly heavy. Take what you can while taking care of yourself. Be kind and gentle with your mind and body.

Content Warning: Miscarriage/loss of a child

For more fanfics and writings check out my fic blog @a-court-of-fics-and-errors

Feyre sat in the armchair of the sitting room, her chin resting on her knees, curled to her chest. She leaned her head against the back of the chair, her gaze fixed on two raindrops racing down the window. The world outside was still cold as March melted into April, the days blurring together in a relentless, gray march forward. She felt as if time had ceased to hold any meaning.

She watched the smaller raindrop hit a long slide, racing quickly downward. The slightly larger raindrop followed, colliding with the smaller one, absorbing it, and continuing its path until it pooled on the windowsill.

The sitting room was dark, shadows creeping in from every corner, with only the cold, gray light from outside seeping in. Feyre closed her eyes, taking a deep breath in and out, allowing the world to close in around her.

Rhys stood in the entryway to the room, his forearm propped against the doorway as he looked at his mate. She was without color, the soft pinks of her cheeks reduced to a muted gray, her eyes sunken and faded, and her hair lay loosely around her shoulders. Nuala and Cerridwen had bathed her a day or so ago after she’d been sitting in the chair, unmoving. They told him she hadn’t spoken during her bath, only stared ahead, lost in her own mind. He had no doubt she knew he was standing there, but she lacked the strength to turn and look at him.

Rhysand considered breaking the silence, walking in, sitting down, and holding her. But instead, he turned and walked back down the hallway. That's how it seemed they were now, ghosts of each other, passing in the halls and never quite touching.

Rhys turned into his office, papers strewn about everywhere, untidied and listless. He sighed to himself and began gathering papers from the floor, snatching and balling them up, throwing them into the basket. After the first few, the balling and throwing became more intense. He started ripping pages, then stacks of pages, until he was breathing heavily, throwing them across the room, tearing books off shelves in rage, and ripping their spines. He continued until almost every book had been pulled from the shelves, standing in the middle of the room, panting, holding back a sob as he pressed his mouth and chin into his palm.

Azriel cleared his throat, and Rhys whipped around, suddenly aware of his outburst.

Rhys looked around the room and then back to Azriel, who looked nowhere but at him. “Now not a good time?” Azriel finally asked.

Rhys coughed, running his hand through his hair. “No, no, it’s-” he started, “it’s fine.” A pause. “Now is fine.”

Azriel gazed around the room. “You’re sure?”

Rhys moved towards him. “Yes, yes, please, come in.”

Rhys tossed a ripped book off the sitting chair, motioning for Azriel to sit down, which he did. Rhys took his usual spot in the chair across from him, sitting down and leaning forward, his forearms on his knees. Azriel just stared at him. Rhys pulled his lips into his teeth, rubbing his hands together, fidgeting as he waited for his brother to break the silence.

“How are you doing?” Azriel finally asked.

Rhys sniffled slightly before leaning back, running his hands up and down the lengths of his thighs. “I’m fine.”

Azriel looked at him as Rhys continued to fidget. “Are you?”

Rhys sniffled again, his left leg bouncing rapidly as he pressed his hands into his thighs, looking up towards the window where the rain ran down in droves, considering his answer.

Without words, Rhys pulled his lips into his teeth again, looking towards the floor and shaking his head no. Azriel looked at him knowingly. “I know.”

Rhys continued to shake his leg, feeling his eyes burn as tears filled them. He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand as he tilted his head to the sky, willing the tears back in and clearing his throat to avoid the sob. “Rhys-” Azriel started, “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.” Azriel leaned forward, bracing himself on his thighs.

Rhysand didn’t respond, still looking towards the sky, pressing his eyes shut as he shook his head back and forth and wiped his eyes.

Azriel continued, “None of us can,” a silent pause, “Losing a child, I-” he paused again, searching Rhys’s face for a response as he continued to bounce his leg and squeeze his eyes shut, “losing a child has to be the biggest heartbreak anyone can feel.”

Rhys, unable to speak, finally opened his eyes to Azriel, who looked at him with such sadness that it caught him off guard. Rhysand sniffled again, trying to find anything to say back. He finally got out, “I just don’t know what to do.”

Another pause, as the world shifted around them and time seemed to stop. “I don’t-” Rhys continued, “I can’t fix this.” He shook his head, casting his eyes to the floor. “I can’t fix this for anyone. I can’t fix it for her. I can’t-” He started to spiral, a sob stopping him as he let his head fall into his hands.

Azriel remained seated across from him, watching the High Lord sob and sob until his cries were merely silent. How could he respond to this? After months of waiting, expecting, and anticipating, of daydreaming and wishing, there had been no babe. Instead, there was a lifeless body, pulled from Feyre too early, and Nesta arriving just slightly too late, only being able to bring back one. No one blamed Nesta. If Feyre had died, Rhysand would have died too. But it seemed as though it was harder to live now than to die then, and Nesta felt responsibility for that, regardless of how much the rest of them had reassured her she had made the right decision.

“There’s nothing to fix,” Azriel finally said.

Rhysand shouted, “There’s everything to fix!” He stared up at his brother, his eyes bloodshot, hands out, almost pleading. “There’s- there’s so many moments I should have done something, said something. I just- it’s my fault it’s like this. I should have said something.”

Azriel never broke eye contact with Rhys as he wailed out the words of blame. “Rhys, you can’t do this to yourself.”

“What else can I do, Azriel? Tell me. What else can I do for her?” Rhysand pointed towards the sitting room where Feyre still sat, hearing the destruction in the office but not having the energy to move and check.

Azriel looked towards the room. “She is grieving. She needs time,” he reassured him.

“She can never forgive me. She will never forgive me,” Rhysand stammered out, dropping his head to his hands once more. “I failed her. I failed both of them.”

Azriel looked at his brother, a father whose child was stolen from him, and would never get to see the world. Rhysand, who had spent every waking moment for the last nine months thinking about this unborn babe, his hands constantly searching for his mate's pregnant stomach, smiling at kicks and praying to whoever was listening at night that both the babe and Feyre be safe. But it seemed the gods had left them.

Rhysand’s frantic eyes looked to his brother for any form of reassurance and Azriel stared back, unsure of what to say.

Suddenly Rhys stood, pushing his palms into his eyes as he sniffled through another sob, releasing a deep exhale. “Azriel,” He finally said, looking down towards him, “How do I move forward? How do I-” he paused, “How do I live like this when it feels like my body is burning alive, and like-” a sob, “like my heart was ripped out of my chest.” He looked towards the sitting room, “I can feel her dying in there, every day. I feel her, her whole body is screaming and tearing itself apart, her mind, it’s-” he brought his hands up, shaking them around his head, “it’s so loud and it’s so hateful, and she blames herself. She’s constantly screaming and she’s shattering and I can’t do anything about it.” He stared at his brother, who remained in the chair. “She hasn’t spoken, she hasn’t said anything since that day and yet inside she’s just screaming.” Rhys pulled back another sob.

“Have you talked to her?” Azriel finally asked.

Rhys looked at him, intensely, “What would I say?” he shook his hands and head in almost disbelief, “What would I say to her?”

Azriel waited, looking around the room before finding his brother's face again, “Anything.”

Rhys shook his head, stifling out another sob and walking to the window to stare out at the rain. From behind him Azriel said, “The world is very bleak for her. And she’s lost, Rhys. And you might not be able to tell her the way back, but you can at least find her in the woods.”

A few tears escaped Rhys’s eyes, sliding down his cheeks. He didn’t wipe them away. Azriel stood, walking towards Rhysand who didn’t turn until Azriel was next to him. Without saying a word, Azriel pulled Rhys into a tight embrace, rubbing his hand up and down his back as his brother sank into him,

letting heavy sobs escape his lips as he choked out wail after wail. Azriel held him, feeling his body rise and fall as he heaved out the incredible sadness kept in the deepest recesses of his body. Azriel held him until Rhys had found exhaustion and had lost all of the tears he could muster. Azriel held him.

Rhys pressed his forehead into Azriel’s shoulder as Azriel pressed a kiss into the side of his head. “I know,” he whispered. “I know.”

What felt like hours passed in a few minutes before Rhys finally pulled out of the embrace. Azriel took his brother's face in his hands, looking him deeply in his eyes before simply saying, “You have to find her.” Rhys nodded, his eyes shutting as Azriel dropped his hands to his sides, turning and silently leaving.

When Rhys opened them, he was alone in the room, surrounded by the destruction. He wiped his face clean, stifling another few sobs before exiting the office and making his way down towards the sitting room where Feyre sat in the same position he had left her. Mustering up courage, he stepped through the entryway, walking up to her and dropping to his knees in front of her. He reached out to touch her, to take her hand, and when he did she did not grip back.

He ran a gentle thumb down the length of her now bony hand. “I don’t know what to say. And I don’t know what to do.” Rhys finally started after silently searching for the words. Feyre didn’t turn to him, her eyes slowly blinking shut and back open as she continued to watch the rain outside. “I have so many things I wish I could do- I have-” he paused, trying to pull back the tears again, “I have so many things I want to do for you. To help you.” He shook his head, squeezing her hand, “But I can’t. I can’t fix this my darling.” He looked at her, as tears filled her eyes, but she still did not face him. “If I could take away this pain for you I would. If I could do anything, if I could meet with the Mother herself I would fall to my knees and beg her to bring him back to us. I would trade my soul to her just to make this different than it is now.” A single tear fell down Feyre’s cheek as he continued, “I would burn the world for you, my darling, I would-” He paused. “I can feel how you’re breaking, and I know that it hurts. I know that this is unbearable, and I don’t know what to do- I just- I don’t know what to do.” He shook his head, pressing his lips to her hand while he squeezed his eyes shut, tears flowing down them. “I should have done so many things, I should have said something, I should have-” He stopped, “I can’t take it back. I can’t fix it. But my darling, if I could, I would do anything just to bring him back to us. Just to have him here, even for a second.” He let out a sob, which was followed by another and another until he completely let go, “I’m so sorry,” he let out between cries, “I want him back.” Rhys let himself fall back as he pulled his legs to his chest, sobbing into his own hands. Feyre’s hand fell to the chair as tears fell in heavy succession from her own eyes.

“I wish he was here too.” Feyre finally said, her voice cracked and broken. “I want my little baby boy.” And with that she had finally broken. Her body heaved in sobs as she brought her hands to her face. Rhys, eyes wide at her response, finally realized what had happened and rushed to her side, pulling her close as he knelt by her. Her sobs mixing with his as he held her. She continued to repeat, “I want my baby back.”

Rhys pressed his face to her hair as she curled into his chest. “I know, Feyre Darling,” he cried into her quietly, “I want him back too.”

[velidewrites]

That’s my girl.

— Feysand as Sophie and Howl from Howl’s Moving Castle 👒

Part 2/3 of my birthday gift for the lovely @azrielshadowssing! You can find Part 1 here.

[violetasteracademic]

Velaris Memorial Hospital

A Grey's Anatomy x TTPD inspired Three Brothers and Three Sisters Three Part Fanfiction

Hey. Life is horrible and scary. I want to share a teaser for a project I have been pouring my heart and soul into that I hope some of you might find some joy and reprieve in.

These stories are tightly woven together and designed to be read in order. Fesyand, Nessian, and Elriel's journey's will be posted individually and chronologically, and occur on an overlapping but staggered timeline. However, there are incredibly heavy themes and topics that may not be suitable for all readers. I will do my best to ensure each individual story can be enjoyed on its own if there are topics you would rather avoid. Please read the content warning for all three stories and take care of yourself first. This collection is coming soon if I can pull myself out of this black hole, but here is a synopsis of each story ahead!

Part One:

Feyre Archeron is an art therapist for the children's cancer wing at Velaris Memorial Hospital. After leaving her abusive fiancé and moving back in with her sisters, her plans to heal and move on with peace and privacy go up in flames when women begin to come forward with sexual harassment allegations against her ex, Tamlin Thornwood.

If she doesn't come forward with her own story of abuse and testify against the man who harmed her and so many other women, he stands a chance at winning his countersuit for defamation and wrongful termination. Terrified of what her patient's families will think of her if they find out the truth, struggling to forgive herself, and suprised to be falling for the absolute wrong man, Feyre has to dig deeper than she ever has before to find her strength.

Rhysand Noctis is the owner and CEO of Eventide Enterprises. After losing his mother to cancer, he has felt adrift. No amount of money and acclaim has been able to give him the sense of home and belonging he has lost.

When an old family rival, Tamlin Thornwood, is tangled up in a scandal and lawsuits, Rhysand learns that Velaris Memorial Hospital is in trouble. The only non-profit hospital in Velaris and the place that cared for his mother has lost all of their donors and board members. Rhys decides to purchase the hospital and dedicate his time to restoring its reputation and making it a safe place for women and the community of Velaris to work and receive affordable care.

A chance encounter sends Feyre and Rhys colliding towards each other before they realize how inextricably their personal and professional lives are already intertwined.

CW: Domestic violence, sexual assault, sexual harassment, child death, trauma, mental health, explicit sexual content.

*Additional note: I don't typically like to use the term "anti" in this fandom, but it is best to be exceptionally clear that this is an abundantly anti-Tamlin piece. If seeing this character portrayed as a serial abuser makes you feel upset or uncomfortable in any way, please protect yourself (and me) by skipping this one.

Part Two:

Nesta Archeron doesn't need anyone to take care of her. After losing both her parents at age eighteen and becoming legal guardian to her two younger sisters, she gave up her dreams of going to law school and worked her way up from from an assistant with nothing more than a high school diploma and unmatched grit to become the head of public relations at Velaris Memorial Hospital.

When her younger sisters ex-fiancé scandalizes the hospital and leaves them without funding or a board of directors, she has to work closely with the new ownership, Eventide Enterprises, to save the hospital and prevent it from becoming for-profit like SkyView, their rival hospital in the financial district. She has full confidence in herself and her plan. However, Eris Vanserra, the head of PR and legacy staff at SkyView, is out for blood after Nesta won over the youngest Vanserra to Velaris Memorial and got an op ed published on the negative outcomes associated with for-profit care. That, and she now has to answer to Cassian- a man she has already sworn to hate before learning who he was, and is making her job- and life- an absolute pain in the ass.

Cassian is the lead financial strategist and project manager after Eventide Enterprises purchased Velaris Memorial Hospital. After having to drop out of college before sophomore year to deal with the death of his mother, he struggles to overcome the chip on his shoulder being in an industry where name, money, and education is everything. Restoring the reputation and the financial security of Velaris Memorial Hospital is not only personal, but professionally the largest responsibility he has had in his career thus far. Everything is on the line.

Complicating matters is his reliance on Nesta Archeron, the steely and fiery PR director working side by side with him to ensure the Starfall Ball is a massive success and wins back the hospitals donors. There is no denying that the difficulty maintaining their professional lines is fueled by both hate and attraction. But as they continue to work closely together, the layers peel back and they learn that they have more in common than they thought. Family secrets, generational trauma, and their deepest shames are somehow safe in each other's hands. However, lines are crossed that might be impossible to come back from.

CW: Extortion, blackmail, discussions of suicide, trauma, mental health, explicit sexual content.

Part Three:

Elain Archeron has always strived for perfection. After competing in pageants her entire childhood and teen years, she shocked everyone by using her scholarship to relentlessly pursue a career in the medical field as a labor and delivery nurse instead of fulfilling her mothers dream to go on to compete in the Miss Universe pageant.

She spent her early twenties working instead of dating, but her plan to get married and start a family is back on track now that has the "perfect" fiancé, Graysen Nolan.

However- the grueling hours, cracks in her relationship, and anxiety over what her life will look like when she becomes a Nolan begins to sink in. It's not easy for Elain to change her plans or take a leap, but when a tragic accident sends her life into a tailspin, she is forced to pick apart the shattered pieces of her soul and learn what unrealized dreams are truly hers and what belongs to the ghosts of her past.

Azriel Singer is an award winning photojournalist who has spent his life travelling the world. He has lived for the thrill of never knowing what comes next, being on the front lines of danger and history in the making. He is used to going to sleep in one city and waking up with a contract on the other side of the world, not knowing if he'll be headed into a war zone or march for justice.

When his brother Rhysand hires him for a six month corporate contract as the photographer on retainer for Velaris Memorial Hospital as they rebuild their image, his path crosses with Elain Archeron. In so many ways, she is his opposite. She has always wanted to travel, but has never left Velaris. She has always wanted to start a family, a thought that has only ever given Azriel night sweats. And she is engaged.

Azriel and Elain wind up forming a deep friendship, creating bets with each other to help push them outside of their respective comfort zones. The more they get to know each other more deeply than anyone has before, the more they question who they are. No amount of planning and on-paper perfection could have prepared them for a connection that pushes them both beyond the narratives they've written for themselves before meeting someone who can challenge them in all the most terrifying and most fulfilling ways.

CW: Fertility issues, child abuse, infant death, parent death, medical trauma associated with car accidents, birth, and premature birth, explicit sexual content.

This is my first time writing modern AU and contemporary romance. Thank you so much to @nikachansstuff and @rosanna-writer for offering to beta!

I truly hope I do it justice. I also want to reiterate that these are dark and very emotionally heavy stories. The characters will be dealing with issues that are deeply personal to me. They will sometimes be hard to understand and harder to love.

While I am not a mental health professional, I am a huge mental health advocate and that will come through in a blend of my own personal experiences and research, but mental health is extremely personal and not one size fits all. Nothing should be taken as mental health advice. Please reach out for professional help if you need, and don't give up.

This is by far the most terrifying but meaningful work I have done, and I am scared shitless and deeply excited to share it with you. This will not be for everyone, but I hope it will find where it is meant to go.

[damedechance]

» read on ao3 (5/5) » listen to playlist

Pairing: Feysand

Status: COMPLETE (read from ch 1 here)

Rated: E

Summary: rhys.exe has stopped working

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟRead below for a brief snippet:

5. prick.zip

“Feyre,” Rhys said silkily.

She still didn’t look, but she raised her eyebrows and tilted her face up towards him. He had her attention, then, as he started to fold his legs behind him. And then her eyes snapped towards his hands, as he gently nudged her thighs apart.

Watching him warily, she asked, “What are you doing?”

She still held her phone in one hand, but had moved it up and out of the way, a puddle of blue violet light spilling onto the wall beside her head and illuminating a swath of her hair. She watched him crawl forward in the space made between her legs, and held her breath.

Rhys braced his hands on either side of her hips, and the phone fell to the floor, clattering. Her fingers were still curved gently around the air, as if she hadn’t realized she’d dropped it.

“I’m bored,” Rhys said, barely above a whisper.

She was avoiding catching his eyes, looking somewhere off to the side as her lips pressed tightly together. Rhys angled his face down towards her.

“Play with me, Feyre,” he murmured against her ear.

Her eyes flicked over to his, just as she shifted down. Until she was almost completely beneath him, propped up on her elbows. Above her, her hair dragged against the wall as she slumped. Rhys pressed a soft kiss right beneath her ear, and her mouth fell open.

Her fingers pressed into the ground, and her pinkies brushed against the inside of both of his wrists.

Feyre finally let out a shaky breath.

Then, “Play with yourself.”

Rhysand laughed softly, then lifted a hand to run the pad of his thumb along the edge of her jaw. He curled his fingers beneath her chin, tipping it up, and against his knuckles he felt her swallow.

“If I do,” he said, “will you promise to draw me?”

A light gasp, and then she slipped even further down. Lying fully on her back, her knees pressing into either side of his hips, and her hair now splayed out around her head. A hand came up to the center of his chest, and he wondered if she was about to shove him away.

She didn’t.

“That was one time,” Feyre said. “Today, and only because–”

“Liar.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

[romanticatheartt]

Ok hear me out... Has anyone read twisted series by Ana Huang? because I was thinking an ACoTaR x Twisted crossover... but not like a full fanfiction just a description (?) of what it can be cuz I can't write for the life of me (I can't write in my mother language let alone in another one!)

Twisted Love x Elucien Twisted Game x Gwynriel Twisted Hate x Nessian Twisted Lies x Feysand

What do we think?

I mean Twisted Love is my least favorite of all the books (like very least) so I have to change many things of it to fit Elain and Lucien. Lucien is going to be so sassy and cocky (not like Alex who has a personality of a rock) and Elain is still a florist but ALSO a photographer. I'm pretty sure a modern AU Elain would be a great photographer as well!!

Twisted Games is my favorite out of all of them if I'm being honest. So Gwyn is a princess who likes to sing sometimes. She has a sister who's is about to be the future queen but is she? (yeah we're not killing Catrin in fact we give her a wife!!) and Azriel is her bodyguard.

Twisted Hate is my second Favorite and also the first book I read from this series (don't ask why I did that lmao). I always see Nesta in a modern au as lawyer!! She's studying and getting ready to become a lawyer. And Cassian is a sports massage therapist and a gym owner and happens to be her colleague and her trainer... he's a menace of course!!

Twisted Lies... well let me tell you the only reason I didn't liked this book as much as I wanted to, is Christian being so much like Alex but I liked the story in general and you can't tell me Stella and Christian doesn't give of Feysand vibes... Feyre has a art therapy degree and her dream is to open an studio but she's also a blogger on social media and tries to save money from their earnings but she has difficulty to reach a decent engagement. She also has a crazy stalker of an ex boyfriend that she still hasn't manged to get rid of (which is Tam/in). Rhysand is her landlord of the most secure apartment (she used to share it with Ressina, but now she's alone), and he's accepting the payment of her rent, which is way lower than the original price because she happens to be Nesta's sister who is his SIL and also Cassian's and Mor's BFF and you have to believe him that these are his only reasons... He has a security company and does other things as well... (and it's not illegal at all)

I mean as I go I'll defiantly add to the plot of each couple. But I'll start with Gwynriel because Twisted game was almost without any connection to the other books (and I love that book the most... and Gwynriel week is near) and from what I have in mind each one is going to be long lol

Lucien is a billionaire... cuz why not? Bat boys are adoptive brothers (Rhys' mother adopted Cass and Az) Azriel works for Rhysand but Cassian took a different road as you can see. Archeron sisters have a shaky relationship specially after their mother's death. Valkyries are bffs and went to collage together. Feyre, my baby, will go through it here as well. I'm not sure if I should keep Rhys' sister and mother alive and kill his father or kill them all... we'll see hehe

[climbthemountain2020]

For my bestie and unofficial definitely official wife @tunaababee

A scene from the most beautiful Feysand AU. If you haven't already read we will be everything we say, what are you waiting for??

Love you, Sonic!

[shallyne]

Feysandweek Day Three

That Universe where Feyre didn't call for help during her wedding

For @officialfeysandweek

Thanks to @disturbingly-silent helping me