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In the end I hope it's you and me (in the darkness I would never leave) - Chapter 2
A Feysand fic. Mates UTM. It's all very inconvenient.
Read Chapter 2 on AO3, snippet below...
The High Lord sighed, running a hand through his blue-black hair. The gesture made him seem so normal that Feyre felt a sliver of her anger ebb.
“Unless I am mistaken,” he said eventually, with an easy arrogance that suggested he believed he never was, “it’s a…bond”.
His violet eyes glittered with stars before he tore them from her gaze, stepping away from her and walking over to a bureau where he poured a splash of ochre liquid from a crystal decanter into a tumbler.
“A bond?” Feyre echoed, the word uncomfortable in her mouth. Not as uncomfortable as the godsdammed tugging at her chest as he walked away, though. She’d only ever heard of one type of bond between the Fae and surely… “You mean like a…a ma-”
“Don’t say it,” he interrupted, his voice like gravel. But it was confirmation enough.
we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (36/?)
Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches.
Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence
Rating: Explicit
Chapter Word Count: ~3k
ch. 1 - 10 | ch. 11-20 | ch. 21-30 | ch. 31 - blue dress on a boat | ch. 32 - rusting my sparkling summer | ch. 33 - this city screams your name | ch. 34 - i'm the best thing at this party | ch. 35 - the thrill of hitting you where it hurts | ch. 36 - stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror
This fic turns three today, and with any luck, this will be the last of its birthday updates. Thank you to everyone who's shown it love, in particular those of you who've stuck with this cranky toddler since it was just a tiny little one-chapter-long newborn. I'm continually blown away by the positive reception its gotten, and I'm so hyped to have every last one of you along for the ride as we hit the final stretch!!!!!!
Some text in this chapter is lifted directly from A Court of Wings and Ruin.
Read on AO3 or you can find the thirty-sixth chapter below the readmore.
Warriors in gleaming golden armor waited for us on the balcony outside Helion's white stone palace. Just before we'd left, Rhys had shifted me into another one of his mother's airy, open-backed gowns, and now, he stepped closer to me, resting a hand on the curve of my spine.
The commander approached us, a crimson cloak billowing behind him despite the Day Court's constant, oppressive heat. "The High Lord expects you in his study."
No greeting—not even the most perfunctory welcome for a visiting High Lord and his emissary. I hadn't expected this to be a social call, but it set me on edge for our closest ally to treat us so openly as a threat.
"Best not to let your saber-rattling keep him waiting," Rhys drawled. "Let's get on with it."
With hands drifting towards their swords, the guards surrounded us as we made our way through the sun-drenched halls. Not that it would do much good if this meeting did devolve into violence—Rhys could wipe them all out with half a thought. I schooled my features into a bored, aloof mask to match Rhys's and prayed we'd sort this out quickly.
We stopped outside an open door in the heart of the palace. With the light bouncing off the polished armor of the warriors in front of me, I couldn't make out much beyond a large shaft of sunlight streaming in from a glass skylight in the ceiling.
"I'd like to speak to the Cursebreaker first," Helion said, his voice drifting into the hall. "Alone."
My eyes darted to Rhys, whose jaw tightened. But making a fuss would get us nowhere, so he dutifully stepped back. The warriors parted to clear my path inside.
A tang of magic stung my nose as I stepped across the threshold, and the bridge connecting my soul to Rhys's went silent. Helion had warded his study against daemati. Prudent and not altogether unexpected, but my stomach clenched as I forced myself forward. The door swung shut behind me.
A massive sundial on a raised dais dominated the room. It was made of brass, embossed with impossibly intricate runes that covered its surface, and at this hour, a slim shadow pointed towards the back wall. I wanted to pause and admire the metalwork, but I didn't dare drag my feet.
Helion's gaze burned from where he sat behind a desk carved from the same stone as the palace. I made my way past massive bookshelves—the study held thousands of tomes, a paltry number compared to the size of his libraries—and he regarded me with the piercing eyes of an eagle.
A great, golden eagle—with very sharp talons.
Stiff-backed, I took the seat across from him, folded my hands in my lap, and waited.
"Well?" he said.
"If you believed my story about shooting Lucien Vanserra in self-defense, then you wouldn't have called me there. What is it that you want to know?" I said.
Those amber eyes blazed like a forge. "Everything."
"Remove my glamours if you must, but if you want the truth about why the spells were cast in the first place, you'll have to bargain for it."
Helion's braids fell over a shoulder as he regarded me. Nothing stopped him from throwing me in the dungeon and torturing the answers out of me, but a carefully worked bargain could ensure I didn't lie again. Keeping the alliance between Day and Night intact required trust.
"I have half a mind to feed your corpse to Meallan just for walking into my court and making demands."
I shrugged. "Dead women don't tell tales."
"Then let's hear it, Cursebreaker. What do you think you can negotiate out of me?"
"For each glamour you break, I'll provide a full, truthful explanation. In return, you'll share a secret of equal import. Nothing we discuss in this room will be shared unless we both consent to it Not even my High Lord will know unless you grant me permission."
Helion, an emissary before he'd taken the throne, had honed his bargaining skills centuries before I'd even been born. And he'd gotten me alone for a reason. I waited for a counter offer.
But he merely said, "I agree to those terms."
A patch of skin on my shoulder warmed, itching like a sunburn. A tattoo appeared for Helion in the same place, the magic etching a sunburst tattoo that peeked out from the bright white bolt of cloth he wore. The sleeve of my gown covered mine.
I stretched out my left hand, resting it on Helion's desk, and warmth from the stone seeped into my palm. "Go on and cleave the glamour, then."
Light filled the room, whiting out my vision entirely. More heat blazed along my hand, traveling up my wrist and forearm, burning away the glamour until the delicate swirls of my tattoo appeared alongside the band of ink that Rhys always left visible on my ring finger.
At the sight of it, Helion snorted. "Did Rhysand promise he'd make you High Lady one day?"
"The Night Court's magic did."
The High Lord of Day went deathly still in that way of the fae, and hope bloomed in my chest. When we'd last visited, Amren hadn't found anything in the libraries beyond a few vague references to ancient High Ladies and ceremonies to swear in a co-ruler, but perhaps Helion could assist with a deeper search.
"How?" he breathed.
"It appeared the first time I stepped into the Night Court. When I consulted a Suriel about it—"
"You trapped a Suriel?"
"I don't understand why your kind don't do it more often," I said, lifting my hand from the desk. "Regardless, according to the Suriel, it's an offer from the court's magic. Only half a bargain until I offer something in return, but it's unclear what the magic wants from me."
Helion leaned back in his chair, crossing muscled arms over his broad chest. "I've never heard of such a thing. If our own bargain didn't compel you to speak the truth, I wouldn't believe it."
"Then I think you'll understand why we've chosen to keep it hidden until we have more answers."
"I can't fault you for that, though I'm relieved it doesn't appear to pose a threat to my court."
With a lazy wave of his hand, Helion summoned a pocket in the air. A form of magic only performed by High Lords, perhaps; I'd only ever seen Rhys reach between realms in that manner. From it, Helion withdrew a book, its pages yellowed with age and the cover gilded with swirling runes that resembled the ones on the sundial behind me. He placed it on the desk with gentle, reverent hands.
It fell open of its own accord, and a wind swept through the study, turning the pages.
"You shared vital information about the Night Court's magic," Helion continued, "so in accordance with our bargain, here is the Day Court's closely guarded scholarship on the nature of spell-cleaving."
I pulled my chair closer to examine the complex diagrams that charted the flow of magic, and as I progressed, another soft gust of sun-kissed wind turned each page. Helion went silent, letting me read.
A spell could be cleaved with brute strength alone, but that required a deep well of power. By studying the nature of magic, the direction its streams ran, a clever spell-cleaver could find cracks and weak points to exploit. With enough strategy, even the weakest among the fae—including those not from the Day Court—could break the strongest of spells.
It still required at least a scrap of magic. And I had none.
Helion had found a loophole. As a human, I had no use at all for information about spell-cleaving, and the bargain ensured I couldn't pass it on to another faerie and compromise the security of the Day Court. Despite agreeing to an exchange, I'd gained nothing of value.
Perhaps I needed a few more centuries as an emissary before I learned to play diplomatic games half so well.
Helion made no move to rush me, and I took my time absorbing the wealth of information before me. Even though I'd never put it to use, I wanted to memorize it all, just in case.
When I finished, Helion returned the book to the pocket between world for safekeeping. "There's a second glamour on you as well."
"Remove it if you'd like," I said.
Another flash of light and wave of heat. When it faded, I didn't notice anything different about myself, but the telltale twitch of Helion's nostrils told me he'd detected the change in my scent. His brows drew together in a puzzled expression. "Did someone rub themselves on you?"
"Rhysand did, in a manner of speaking." I pressed my lips together to hide a smile.
"If I'm not mistaken, you smell like him."
If Helion had sensed the glamour on me, then he'd doubtlessly noticed one on Rhys as well. We were fortunate that he'd let Rhys enter his court at all, and we'd never intended to hide the truth of our relationship forever. "I do, and you'll find that his smell resembles mine now. That's been the case since I accepted our mating bond on Calanmai."
"Lucien attacked the Lady of Night." Helion's face went ashen.
"He and Tamlin believe I'm in need of rescue."
"Tarquin suspected the same."
News of the blood rubies had doubtlessly spread across Prythian by now, but I hadn't considered the possibility that Helion and Tarquin had spoken directly. Historically, Day and Summer had no particular ties. Perhaps now, with two untested High Lords who'd each taken the throne Under the Mountain, that might change.
Telling Helion we'd stolen the Book of Breathings only increased the likelihood that word would reach Hybern. With no more glamours to remove, I might manage to hold onto a few secrets.
"As with the tattoo on my hand, Rhys and I agreed to hide our bond until we understood more. A High Lord mated to a human is unusual."
Helion studied me for a long moment, staring as if he could find the answers written on my face. I resisted the urge to shrink like a mouse hiding from some great bird of prey, folding my hands in my lap as I waited for him to speak.
After a long moment, he said, "Congratulations."
I'd never heard a less convincing well-wish.
"The bond snapped the moment we crossed paths in the forest on Calanmai. I accepted it immediately. So when Rhys snarled and warned you to keep away from me Under the Mountain...it was the protective instinct of a newly mated male."
"Very well," Helion said quietly. "It grieves me to learn that Lucien may lose his life for the mistake, but he took a risk trespassing in an enemy court. As much as I wish you could have resolved the situation without violence, Lady, you have every right to defend yourself. The Day Court will not side with Spring in this matter. Our alliance with Night remains intact."
A note of bone-deep sorrow entered Helion's voice—not stress, exhaustion, or concern about the possibility of more violence breaking out across Prythian. If Tarquin had concerns about the growing threat across the sea, then so would Helion. But this seemed...personal.
"Are you and Lucien friends?" I blurted out.
Helion's power rippled through the air, shimmering heat that would cleave my very soul into mincemeat. "Is that the secret of equal import that you're after?"
"Perhaps," I said, my mouth suddenly dry.
"I'm aware the bargain magic compels you to keep this secret, but if you breathe a word of what I'm about to tell you, I'll rip you apart with my bare hands."
A chill slid down my spine. I couldn't call for Rhys through the bond, and if I tried to run for the door, the High Lord of Day could kill me before I'd even taken a step. "Understood," I breathed.
"During the War, I saved the Lady of Autumn from Hybern's beasts. It was the beginning of an affair that lasted for decades, until Beron got wind of it and punished her. Approximately nine months after the birth of Lucien Vanserra."
I couldn't imagine how I'd missed seeing the features of my former friend's face in Helion's. The proud slope of their noses, the roguish grins, their deep, rich voices...all the same. Even Lucien's skin was darker than his brothers', a golden brown not entirely unlike Helion's umber.
"You weren't High Lord when Lucien was forced to find refuge in Spring," I said. "Now that that's changed, would he have a home in Day?"
Helion didn't break my stare. "Not if it puts his mother's safety at risk."
"If there's a way to get them both out of danger, the Night Court will offer whatever assistance we can. I'll hold my mate to that." I had no business making such a far-reaching promise, but I couldn't stomach the alternative. Now that Helion had told me the truth, it wouldn't be right to do anything but side against Beron.
"I've long suspected Rhysand had a few glimmers of light he was shrouding in all that darkness and secrecy," Helion said, "but knowing the Cauldron blessed him with human-hearted mate confirms it."
I managed a wan smile, even though Rhys deserved better. After fifty years of sacrifice to limit Amarantha's path of destruction in whatever way he could, the entire world thought of him as a bedtime story they told children to scare them into behaving. Perhaps it didn't matter; the people who mattered most to Rhys knew him inside and out.
But I'd never stop wishing for everyone else to see all the good in Rhys that I did.
"Now that you've removed all of mine, you can pull the glamour off him to confirm my story, too." Even if Rhys minded me revealing our secret, we couldn't hide from Helion now.
Helion nodded, and a hazy, warm breeze nudged the door open. "Rhysand, we have need of you."
With easy, unhurried steps, Rhys strolled into the study as if it were his own. His gaze flicked to me, a slight tightness around his eyes as he examined me for any signs of harm. Almost out of habit, I reached down the bond for him, but with Helion's wards still in place, my mental hands found nothing at all.
I leapt from my seat, crossing the room to meet him. Though he hadn't waited outside for very long at all, the separation had left me with an emptiness in my chest. Getting closer to him would ease it.
At the sight of my unhidden tattoo winding its way up my forearm, Rhys's steps faltered. He took a sharp inhale to confirm the change in my scent, just as another wave of heat made his own glamour fall away.
"You told him?" Rhys said, ignoring Helion entirely.
I raised my brows. "Is that a problem?"
His fingers wound through my own, and he drew me closer. Although were were in another High Lord's palace on a diplomatic visit, I let myself lean against Rhys, just as I would at home. He took a deep inhale, drinking in our scents which had merged upon my acceptance of the bond, and the embroidery on his tunic brushed the bare skin of my back. "Only because you robbed me of the chance to roar it from the rooftop myself."
"The bargain we struck will keep the news confined to this room unless I will it, so don't consider your plans for perching on our chimney to crow at passersby dashed just yet."
"Duly noted, mate." Rhys pressed a kiss to my temple.
Helion's amber eyes twinkled with amusement as he watched us. He'd leaned back in his chair again, lounging with the lethal grace of a lion. "May the Mother bless this union. I'd never thought I'd see the day, Rhysand."
"Neither did I," Rhys said quietly.
"The Lady of Night has explained the situation, and I have no further quarrel with your court. Regardless of how this ends for Lucien Vanserra, the treaties and trade agreements that Day has with you will remain in place. We will, however, need to discuss the situation with Hybern sooner rather than later." A shiver ran through me at the casual use of my title—so strange to hear it uttered outside our Inner Circle. The squeeze of Rhys's fingers in mine told me it affected him, too.
My mate inclined his head. "I look forward to it."
"In that case," Helion said with a grin, "glamour yourselves again so you don't stink up my court, and get home safely."
“Is that mate of yours going to stand in the cold all night?”
I blinked, wondering if she’d somehow sensed the thoughts between us. “Who says he’s here?”
Nesta snorted.
Feyre has spent the last two years of her life trying to be the perfect girlfriend for Tamlin. She's pushed away her friends, her sisters, her father… she even quit her job and started going to UCLA on his paycheck. Everyone who used to know her insists that she's losing herself, but Feyre knows better. Tamlin is kind, funny, smart-- even rich and handsome, as if that matters. Feyre is lucky to have him. Sure, she'd like him to respect her interests and loved ones a little more, but no one is perfect. Certainly no one who would go for her. Tamlin is the best she's ever going to have. Right?
TL;DR: Feyre leaves her toxic relationship with Tamlin and immediately lands herself a mega-rich Hollywood prince charming. AKA Rhysand
In the end I hope it’s you and me (in the darkness I would never leave) - a Feysand fic
Finding herself cornered by the infamous High Lord of Night, Feyre Archeron is very aware of three things: her delusion in thinking that the painting supplies her father sneaks in with the shipments would continue to go unchecked; how much of a fool's errand attempting to run away had been; and the strangest tugging sensation under her ribs...
⋆˙⟡
Or a mates UTM story, but Feyre is High Fae, born to a Hybernian merchant father and a Day Court scribe mother.
Read on AO3, excerpt below.
The High Lord’s mouth quirked up a little more as she held his gaze, amusement dancing in his depthless eyes. He raised an eyebrow, and Feyre frowned in response, confused as to why he still hadn’t said or done anything to apprehend her, drag her off to his queen and her court of monsters. He smiled properly now, white teeth flashing. He was certainly charming, she acknowledged. Who needs weapons or power with a face so disarming?
Feyre pretended that the skip in her heartbeat was a coincidence. His head tipped to the side slightly, listening, and smiled even wider as her heartbeat stuttered again. Or was he listening to her thoughts? She’d never been sure whether the stories about his mindreading abilities were true, or just a myth designed to instil nightmares.
She noted his eyes taking in her bare feet, and again wished she’d had the sense—the decency, even—to wear some shoes, if only so that she could’ve thrown one at his perfectly sculpted head. The dazzling grin that stretched across his face was confirmation enough for Feyre that it seemed the mindreading nightmare was indeed real.
“Twenty years old, huh?” Cassian bounced his spoon between his fingers. “Rhys doesn’t go for anyone under a hundred. My point being, if you go through the heat, I would be more than happy to—“
Heat?
I didn’t hear him finish that sentence because a blur flew across the table and sent him crashing backwards. The next thing I knew, Rhys was on top of Cassian with his hand in a fist, landing blow after blow in a way that didn’t appear sportsmanlike in the slightest.
A cozy ACOMAF rewrite that explores Feyre’s stubbornness, Rhysand’s yearning, and the limits of sexual tension
“Is there anyone I can call? A parent, or a boyfriend?”
Tears welled in her eyes. “No, no, I’m okay. I’m fine, I promise.”
“Shh, baby, it’s okay.” A warm, tender feeling burst in his chest. She had no one. She needed him.
There’s a sickening ease with which she slides into this bizarre routine. She hates to think of it as giving up, but it’s too exhausting to constantly put up a fight. Maybe she’s dissociating, or something. She’d read about that in one of her psych 101 textbooks freshman year. Something about coping mechanisms, and trauma.
Relax, little girl. Let him in.
Yeah. Something like that.
WIP Wednesday - wrote some biblically accurate Rhysand this week
still unfinished - you can see my notes in the draft lol (still debating new usernames for this account and the A03 btw heheheheheh but I think I’ve got one :))
“Stop fussing and leave already”
“I need to redo my hair; we’ve run out of mouse.” He grumbles, twisting a little curl around his finger. It springs back in the middle of his forehead, and he groans.
“You use mouse?” I say
He rolls his eyes, taking a comb and trying again “how else would I get it to lie right?”
I look at the clock. He’ll be here all day at this rate. I sigh as heavily as I can, a real world-weary attitude. Rhys ignores this so I try again. “It looks great Rhys. Stop fussing. Who cares - Who is going to see you anyway?”
“Azriel.”
“And he needs you to look perfect?” I raise my eyebrows at him. I’m glad to finally have Azriel’s full name.
“I have to keep up appearances.” He mutters, swooping the offending piece back into the rest of his hair with a bit of water.
“Just admit that you’re vain and be done with it.”
He continues fussing, moving on to his eyebrows. I make a little exasperated noise at him.
“You look nice Rhys. Stop worrying.”
He turns around, and the curl springs back In front of his face. He flicks it away from his eye and leans back on the sink, smirking at me.
“Did you - say that I look nice?”
“I said your hair looks nice” I fold my arms over; chin tilted in defiance.
“No you didn’t.” The smile turns into a wolfish grin.
“If I stroke your ego anymore then your head will explode”
“Interesting word choice there, darling.”
I go bright red. I can see myself in the mirror, and it’s not flattering.
“Get out”
“I don’t think I can leave yet, I’m still feeling very insecure.” He croons, pulling a look of mock sadness, then looking expectantly at me. I glare at him, and he tilts his head, in that bird like way of his.
“You look very handsome today, ok? Now leave.”
“Am I not handsome everyday?”
I groan, then put on a false smile. “Rhysand you are the most handsome man I’ve ever know. There. is that enough ego boosting?”
“Am I not also cunning and intelligent? Surely, I’m not just a pretty face.” He glances at his fingernails, then pointedly looks at me.
“I actually might throw a shoe at you.” I turn around, and call over my shoulder as I go downstairs. “Leave when you want then, the shops will be shut soon, and you’ll have to go without your mouse for even longer.”
The threat seems to work, because he’s gone within the hour.
Summary: When our dreams become reality, do our nightmares?
Changes come knocking on our doors whether we welcome them or not.
Part 3 of my Dreaming of You Series
Notes:
I highly recommended reading the first two parts before this one!
A special thanks to @thesistersarcheron for cheering me on. This fic would be collecting dust in my drafts without your support! 🥹🩷
This is chapter 1 of 2!
Word Count: 2,906
Fluff and Angst, Dreamwalking AU
Chapter 1: And I still can't believe
Read on AO3
A tiny snippet below the cut.
......
When I was nineteen, I did let him love me.
The stupid prick misted the walls protecting my heart like nothing as if an inevitable thing to happen like fate had set it stone the moment I stepped into his dream all those years ago.
I did not fight it. How could I? The strange boy when I was eight grew into my best friend who understood and cared for me more than my own family did. And I in turn, understood and cared for him, too.
A human girl and a faerie boy fell in love despite centuries old walls erected between their realms meant to divide them.
His dream was our shared haven.
I stretched my arms in front of me, aching to paint the very said haven. I found the more joyous moments I spent with him, the more I wanted the moments brought to life through painting.
Perhaps, I shall do so when I wake.
Rhysand's breathy laugh tickled my ear and I turned to his face, finding amusement dancing in his sparkling eyes. “Are you listening to my thoughts, daemati?”
Tarquin was easy to like. She tried to fantasize about what it would be like if he took her home. Something told her he was a bad kisser. He’d go down on her, but it wouldn’t quite get the job done. He’d ask is this okay? at least one too many times.
Rhysand would be a good kisser. For a moment last night, she’d deliriously thought he would kiss her, and she was still curious what would have happened if she’d accepted his invitation for a drink.
She wasn’t supposed to be thinking about him, though.
