#i did heavily consider this before i went with the shadow wraith thing in

[rosanna-writer]

Ok, but in this scenario is there a boating accident in which mermaid!Feyre has to rescue the idiot prince from drowning? Has she secretly been in love with him for years from afar and longs to walk among the other Fae of Velaris? Can mermaids even shift form to the appropriate parts needed for sex!?

Ok. So.

Do I have any plans to write mermaid!Feyre? No. Have I thought about this too much? Yes.

Putting this under a cut because I think it'll get long.

You CANNOT convince me there isn't weird shit living in the Sidra. River that passes through a magical city??? There's no way it's just some normal fish and plants in there. And since we know the Spring Court has water-wraiths living in at least one of their lakes, I think it stands to reason that there are some river mermaids living there. (Love at First Sight's for Suckers almost had Feyre as a Sidra water-wraith instead of a shadow-wraith!)

IN ADDITION

SIDRA. RIVER. BOAT. RACES. ARE. CANON. (In ACOFAS Rhys says, "I’d grown up in these houses, attending the parties and feasts that lasted long into the night, spending bright summer days lazing on the sloping lawns, cheering the summer boat races on the Sidra."). Drunken party boy prince falling off a boat and into Feyre's arms??? It's a perfect meet cute. There's even potential for a childhood-friends-to-lovers story if Feyre's a Sidra mermaid (just the thought of her being the first person Rhys seeks out every time he gets a chance to visit Velaris during breaks in his training in Illyria......it's so cute)

Look at the boathouses of Philadelphia and tell me they don't give you Velaris vibes:

But if you're a mermaid purist and insist that Feyre needs to live in the sea? As @thesistersarcheron would remind you, the Night Court is bordered by the sea on three sides. There is a LOT of untapped potential with things like pre-High Lord Rhys serving in the Night Court navy during the war, mermaid!Rhys and NightCourtSailor!Feyre, and the general aesthetic of the cold, icy sea in the far north Night Court.

Mermaid sex just requires some imagination:

I think a dude from Crescent City also has a pouch that opens up??? I'm not really a Crescent City fan so idk for sure, don't quote me on that. But in general, I think the concept of a hidden pouch (with or without a dick inside and regardless of gender, mermaid!Feyre penetrating Rhys would be hot, for example) more or less solves the mermaid sex conundrum.

And finally, we can't talk about Feysand and the sea without a mention of MB's lovely tentacle sea monster Rhys Feysand fic: High Tide Came And Brought You In (and in addition, if you're interested in a non-oceanic Feysand story about lesser fae Feyre secretly being in love with Night Court prince Rhys, Bejeweled is one of my favorites)

[thereluctantinquisitor]

"I keep waking up unable to breathe" Deryn and Cyrus?

In which Cyrus is haunted by the events of Haven, and Darren just happens to be the only one nearby. (I kinda just assumed that was for Darren and Cyrus? If not, I apologise, because that’s what I went with!) 

Approx 1700 words, most under the cut

Fire. Screams. Bloodon the ground. Ash. A sky blacker than the burned husks of the buildings. Reaching.Desperate. Pulse pounding. Feet moving without reason, running in a direction.Any direction. A demon shrieks hatred beyond the wall, setting teeth to sting, clenchedso tight they crack and turn to dust. Fingers fumble – a blade drawn from its sheath.Metal catches the flickering light, red and hot and spreading with the wind.Snow mingles with soot on the tongue, stinging the eyes, shedding tears.Ruinous. Ruin. Pain. Fear. 

Fear ofdeath, or fear of being the only one to wake after the slaughter?

Cyrus shot upright, breaths coming in gulps that pushed frantically against the inside of his unwilling chest, begging for space. He clawedat the fabric of his shirt, soaked through, too tight, too—

“… Cyrus? Are you all right?” The voice was soft; so quiethe barely heard it over the sound of his own blood beating in his ears.Sweating, Cyrus swung his legs hastily off the side of the bed, foot catching thesheets, tripping him as he tried to get up. The ground caught him in its hardembrace, striking hard, and for a moment he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe, or get up, orblink as the floorboards mocked him, sweat dripping from his face onto the hardwood. No, not sweat���

“Fucking… fucker…” Cyrus gasped, then  struck the ground withthe side of his fist, frustration welling up beyond the panic, hisheart beating furious against the injustice of a foot snaggedin sheets. It seemed so minor – so ridiculous– compared to what he had just relived behind closed eyes. Yet, in the pits ofhis rage and frustration and sour-spit fear, he curled in on himself, frozen,one leg trapped at an odd angle against the side of his bed, the other folded beneath him, arms shaking.

And he wept.

Dark locks hung over his eyes as he tipped his head forward,ashamed and bitter, more resentful of his own pathetic image than the memory ofmonths-old slaughter. It was not soft or restrained, but angry and heaving,coughs wracking his chest as he lowered himself down to the cold floor.Useless. Pathetic. It was all in the past. Those deaths were in the past. The demons, the dragon, the fire and ash,the burning, the pain, the fear. It was done. Over.

So why wasn’t he?

He felt Darren before he saw the boy, unable to raise hishead, not proud enough to look at anything other than his curled fists pressedhard against the ground. The blond dropped to his knees at Cyrus’ side, handshovering uncertainly over his shaking form as if he were volatile.Dangerous. That’s what people said, after all. That was what they called him.

They didn’t care.

“Hey…” Darren’s voice was soft, hesitantly reaching outwhere his hands failed to breach the distance. They were the only two in thebarracks, the other members of the squad opting for a late night at the tavern. Even still, of allthe people to catch him like this, Darren was the last person Cyrus would havewanted. The others all saw him as something half-done; he could tell. ButDarren? The kid almost looked up to him. Or at least never wrote him off,even when Cyrus gave him every opportunity to do it. “Just uh… breathe deep,okay?” Darren continued, voice trembling. He was afraid? Why? “I-I… do you need meto get someone? Something?”

Sharply, Cyrus shook his head, still refusing to look up,tangled, useless. He wished he could claw the memory out of his skull; scratch itoff the back of his eyelids. Anything would be better than this. Anything thatcould make it stop just stop—

Gentle hands moved about his snagged ankle, warm even through the cotton. It took Cyrus amoment to register that the pressure was not from the tangle of sheets, andbefore he knew it, Darren had freed his foot and was carefully lowering his leg to theground. It was such a small thing. Stupid, really – a gesture that shouldn’t really mean anything...

... but it did.

“Um… I know you don’t really like to talk about… stuff,” Darren murmured, moving tosettle beside Cyrus, his back leaning against the edge of the bed. “But it canhelp. Sometimes. I mean, that’s what everyone kept telling me. I didn’t thinkit was true, but in the end, they were kinda right. Just saying what’sbothering you out loud can make you feel better. Not all the way…” Hegave a small, self-conscious shrug, cheeks colouring the longer he spoke. The boy was not used to the sound of his own voice carrying through silence. “But you don’t have to make it all the way.Some of the way is okay, too.”

The painful sobs had slowed to shallow, half-drawn breaths,and Cyrus was all too aware of the ache in his chest that ran far deeper thansimple exhaustion. Shakily, he managed to tip, leaning heavily against the sideof the bed, letting himself sprawl out on the floor, sweaty and shivering allat once. The kid’s words drifted in the space between them, hovering awkwardlylike a guest unsure of how to politely leave. But Darren didn’t push or rush or try to talk his way out of the silence. He just sat in it with Cyrus, bearing half the weight. Weight Cyrus just couldn’t carry. Not tonight.

"I keep waking up feeling like I can’t breathe."The confession fell from Cyrus’ lips before he thought to stop it, and once it left, he was surprised to find he had no desire to take it back. Instead, he letout a long, shaky breath, and let his head tip back against the mattress. “It’sdriving me fucking crazy.”

Darren’s response was preceded by a pause long enough tomake Cyrus wonder if the boy would even speak, but then he figured Darren was justgiving him room to keep going if he wanted to. “Is it a nightmare?” he asked,blue eyes wide and so utterly free of judgement. It twisted something dry andcynical inside of Cyrus’ gut, but he pushed the sensation aside. On any otherface, Cyrus would never have believed such an expression. But on Darren’s? Well…

“Haven.” It sounded so small. So inconsequential. A singleword that haunted his dreams. But to his surprise, Darren just nodded, his ownexpression drawing tight. Grim. It didn’t suit him, so Cyrus continued. “The shit we’ve seen… that we’regoing to see by the time this is allover…if I can’t get over Haven, how the fuck am I going to keepit together when the rest starts piling on top?”

“I don’t know.” Darren’s reply was honest. That was allCyrus could really ask for. “But… you don’t have to just lie there and bemiserable all alone in the dark. It’s okay to say something.” His tone shifted, hinting at concerned accusationas he turned his head to regard Cyrus. “How long has it been happening?”

Cyrus considered lying, but what was the point? “Since... well, on the wayto Skyhold. After Haven. Out in the snow. We were low on food, and…” He let hiseyes flutter shut. He was exhausted. “Youknow that sick feeling you get? When your stomach is empty? That happened a lot and it… made everything worse. The memories. They just came rushingback. I could see it all again. Smell it. Cooking meat. People trapped inbuildings. I didn’t remember until that moment – I must have blocked it out or something- but it had made me sick. I threw up while we were waiting to die in theChantry. And I… and I couldn’t…”

Cyrus shuddered, but before that feeling of impossible dreadhad a chance to overwhelm him, Darren threaded his arm under his, sliding in close. Such asmall, innocent gesture, but they sat there, arms linked, sprawled on the dustyfloor of the barracks, and for a just a fleeting moment it didn’t all seem too hard. It wasn’t all too much.Shit, after all, the kid was there, moving from one day to the next. He was stronger than peoplegave him credit, and in more ways than one. Cyrus felt something squeeze hishand, and he realised Darren was holding it, the way one friend holds anotherwhen they are standing on unstable ground. “It’s okay,” Darren said gently.Cyrus wasn’t sure if he always spoke so softly, or if he was just that unsure of what to do. “Whatever itis you couldn’t do… you don’t have to do it. Not alone, at least. That’s why we’reall here, right?”

Then, he smiled. Despite sitting on the floor in themiddle of the night, tangled with someone sweat-soaked and pale as a wraith, Darren rearranged his features with more sincerity than Cyrus had ever mustered in hisentire life, and smiled. It wasalmost too much; Cyrus had to look away, his icy gaze staring out into thedark, pulling menacing shapes from the shadows. Only, with Darren sitting there beside him,he knew they weren’t real. Somehow.

“Yeah... right.” Cyrus sighed, fatigue washing over him suddenly andswiftly, bleeding him dry. “You should get somerest, kid. Training’s hard enough for you when you’re not half asleep.”

At that, Darren let out a soft laugh, nodding, his tousled hairshifting with the movement to drape at some other odd angle. “Yeah. That’s true. Butthat’s okay, too.” He shifted slightly, sliding his arm out of Cyrus’ andgetting to his feet. “See, you’re always pulling me up off the ground outthere. On the training field. On missions.” Darren turned and looked down atthe still sitting man, his gaze warm. Kind. Whenwas it ever anything else? Then, without further hesitation, he held out his hand. “It’s about time Itook a turn, right? Gotta pull my weight sometime!”

Cyrus stared at the offered hand incredulously, then relaxed slightly,shaking his head and letting his lips slide into a smirk. “You… have a fuckingstrange way of looking at things, you know that?”

Darren just grinned as Cyrus took his hand and let thedeceptively strong boy haul him to his feet, bracing him when he stood. “I know. But strange isn’t so bad,is it?”

They stood for a moment, Cyrus regarding the boy, handsclasped, unsure of what to say. Then, with a sense of finality, Cyrus nodded, squeezed Darren’s hand, and let go.

“No, kid. No, it isn’t.”