first line meme

I’ve seen lots of other fic writers doing this and it looks fun. I’ll go in chronological order of date posted, newest to oldest, as it is on my Ao3 account. For the collection of one-shots I included the individual lines for each separate fic. And since I don’t have that many fics, I figured I’d cheat and do all of them. lol

It seems I’m fond of the short, punchy intro line. haha

  1. Thousands of midnight wings beat the gloom-gray sky. 
  2. Purging my stomach couldn’t cleanse the guilt from my blood. 
  3. I looked myself over in the full-length mirror, Nuala and Cerridwen hovering at either of my shoulders
  4. Where is she? 
  5. I was freezing cold, but I was sweating all the same. 
  6. Finally, an escape. 
  7. The studio was filled with the sounds of children packing up their painting kits and chattering about their newest creations. 
  8. I walked into the living room of the cabin and found Rhys stark-naked on the couch with wings spread out on either side of him and a devilish smirk on his face. 
  9. I winnowed back to my room in Velaris, taking a deep breath of the cool, sea-licked air. 
  10. I woke to golden sunlight pouring into our bedroom in the Velaris townhome. 
  11. The bell tinkled above us as Rhys and I slipped into our favorite shop across the Sidra. 
  12. It was the night of the Blood Moon, and the people of Velaris were out in droves like I had never seen them before. 
  13. I stared at my canvas, a frown decorating my lips. 
  14. The Heir of Fire was encased in iron and ash. 
  15. Ding ding ding ding ding. 
  16. She took his hand, gripping it hard. 
  17. My mate and I collapsed in bed beside each other, the massive blankets swallowing us up as we plummeted into their depths. 
  18. “Wait … you can swim?” I asked, staring blankly at my mate, who was lounging on one shoulder against the door frame, a smirk on his lips. 
  19. “So, have you heard the latest news?” I asked, leaning back in my chair with a smirk. 
  20. We had been dancing all night. 
  21. I’m not breathing as the clock ticks on. 
  22. 1 2 3 4 colored houses on a quiet street.
  23. Nesta was tired. 
  24. She was safe, she was safe, she was safe. 
  25. It was almost pathetic how easy it was to take out the sentries around Tamlin’s manor. 
  26. A month. 
  27. Over the next two days, Lucien refused to attend a single meeting without Elain at his side. 
  28. It was very hard to focus on flying with Nesta’s lips on his neck. 
  29. He was losing his Cauldron-damned mind. 
  30. Everyone was surprised when Elain threw Cresseida against the wall. 
  31. It was hot. 
  32. The moment Nesta laughed, Cassian knew it was the most beautiful sound he had heard in six hundred years. 
  33. Her breath stopped when she saw him approaching over the swaying green grasses. 
  34. The ever-summer evening was beautiful. 
  35. It was tearing her open from the inside out. 
  36. It was quiet. 
  37. The two children stood before a great wall of light. It sparked purple and white, blinding them with its intensity. 

She Wolf


Summary: Into the forest I go, to lose my mind and find my soul.


A/N: I’ve been writing too much drama. Here, have a magical, animalistic smut-fest.

NSFW | Feysand | Dual POV (third person)

One of the bittersweet traits of his love with Feyre was that he knew, deep in his bones, that she would never be completely his. He loves her more deeply than anything he has ever known. And he knows she loves him with the same burning force. Their dance of passion was akin to the moon chasing the sun every night. But she was not leashed to him. She is the wind, and the stars, and the sun, and the moon. All things wild and untamed. Completely free. And he would have her no other way.

She dances at the waters edge, letting her paws dip slightly into the cool surface before using her water magic to trot across the lake. O, what a sight she was to behold! Fur shimmering as white as snow. Starlight dancing off her coat and coalescing like dew drops in the air around her.

He deemed that Feyre was like liquor – destructive, dangerous, addictive. Each time they kissed, he sank a little deeper. Each time he touched her, he gripped a little tighter. Each time he pushed inside her, he fell a little harder. Time was becoming blurred. His love for her consumed him every night in the dying of the light and he couldn’t fathom how he had ever survived up until this point without her by his side.

She races against the wind, paws barely touching the grass before pushing off again, vivid colors dancing all around her as tantalizing scents and hidden trails lead her on a path made for no one but her, and she howls in exhilaration at being so wonderfully alive.

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All those Feysand baby Headcanons got me hella inspired.

Wut I need to read these Feysand baby headcanons/fanfics!

@feysandsmut ​ honey these right there and there are lit 💯👌🏼✔✔ both @sarah-bae-maas and @sarahviehmann have an amazing written ♥

Thanks for the tag! Here are links to my three fics that feature something along those lines (I don’t do a lot of pregnancy/kid fics for reasons but this is what I’ve got):

Dessert – Smut leads to Rhys’s realization that Feyre is pregnant

Queen of Stars – Feyre tells Rhys she is pregnant during a Winter Solstice celebration

Children of Prythian – A one-shot in which Feysand’s daughter has a crush on Azriel

Unbound: A Nessian Fic (6/10)


“The Cauldron rendered Nesta and left a piece of itself in her, ruthless and destructive. This is the story of how Nesta put herself together again.”

Chapter One

Rating: M (Eventual E)


Nesta enjoys the day with Cassian but they know they can’t dance around each other forever. War is ahead, and their time is running out.


It took half a minute after Nesta had awoken for her to remember the previous night. She sat up in the plush bed, thick covers pooling around her waist, eyes wide. She bit at her lip and reached up to where Cassian’s mouth had been only hours before. It was as if he’d left an imprint on her, the feel of his hands and lips on her body still fresh in her mind, his scent clinging to her clothes and skin.

What they’d done– What he’d said…

Embarrassment flooded through her, that he’d been witness to the sounds that had left her mouth at the draw of his teeth over her skin and his hands running over places of her body she’d never thought she’d want to be touched. And the way he’d said her name…

Nesta cleared her throat and flung the covers off before she’d let herself go down that rabbit hole. There was no sense in thinking about that. Not when she had foolish Illyrian captains to intimidate.

She washed her face quickly in the bathroom at the end of the hall and when she returned, from Cassian’s room, she heard the heavy splatter of water against tile and a low, baritone humming. He was showering, then, in that wide room of his.

Nesta ignored the thought of his broad, tan shoulders dripping with water. What his hands might do to her there in the steam…

Nesta cursed and shut herself in her room to find something to wear. Curse him. Curse him and his wingspan. And his smirk, and the sound of–

She groaned aloud.  It felt like she was spiraling off the edge of the cliff and no one but Cassian and his damned wings could save her.

A few minutes later and she’d plaited her hair around her head like a crown. It might as well be a crown. Symbols of power could be just as effective as outward statements of it. In the stack of Mor’s clothes was a distinctly Night Court outfit of nicer make and fashion, all in shades of deep burgundy and gold.

Luckily the pants didn’t quite pinch as much as the other pair had, hooking around her waist at least somewhat comfortably, with fine silk pants that blossomed out over her hips to hook again with taffeta cuffs at her ankles.

When she stripped out of her sleeping shirt, she paused, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

Her cheeks were flushed a deep pink and there was a glimmer in her eye, a light she hadn’t seen in… too long. Before, she’d been full of dark, bitter anger and strength she’d used to bar herself from feeling much of anything. Feeling anything was dangerous in times like these.  The drive was still there and she could turn anyone around with a single word if she wanted to, or send them to their knees.  It was easy to separate herself from that now, though. It didn’t feel so terrible to let her guard down.

She’d filled out in the weeks since her Making, had grown used to her longer legs and the grace, the strength in her new form. Her breasts were full again with the healthy weight she’d regained thanks to Cassian’s training, and even her arms were no longer sickly thin, but lined with trim muscle.

And there, just under her jaw, she caught the faded red mark of Cassian’s teeth, the flesh he’d sucked and licked until he’d marked her as his.

Suddenly that prospect didn’t seem so unappealing. Of belonging to someone. Of having someone else belong to her.

Nesta let her fingers drift over the bite, well aware of the ache between her thighs at the constant reminders of what it felt like to dig her nails into his shoulders and feel his broad torso pressing hers into the wall…

[Read the rest on Ao3]


Elain wakes slowly, consumed by how nice the sheets and the sunlight feel against her bare skin. The moment is quiet and still and she languishes in sleepy contentment, feeling Lucien shift next to her.


She freezes, panic shooting through her veins. Lucien. She’s in Lucien’s bed and she’s naked and he’s next to her. The night before shoots back to her with mortifying clarity, and Elain manages not to groan out loud at her own stupidity. Cauldron, what must he have thought?

Last night, she’d been—well, drunk was a strong word. It was exceptionally hard for high fae to get drunk, in fact, and Elain knew because she’d been trying all evening. But she’d been tipsy, and had unfortunately begun to dwell on how frustratingly slowly her and Lucien’s physical relationship was progressing, despite it going remarkably well in all other ways. He’d been out late taking care of something in the village, and Elain, in a prolonged moment of boldness bordering on ridiculousness, had stripped naked and posed provocatively in his bed, waiting for him to come back.

And then she’d promptly fallen asleep.

In the daylight, her own stupidity is nigh unfathomable. She barely dares to breathe with the fear of waking him, but sits up just enough to eye the floor next to the bed. Her dress is right where she dropped it. If she can sneak out of bed, put it back on and get to her own room—but what then? It’s not as though Lucien didn’t see her when he came home, there’s no undoing this, no avoiding that conversation.

Elain is momentarily so paralyzed with indecision, holding a sheet to her chest with a tightly fisted hand, that she doesn’t hear Lucien shift again behind her.

“Good morning.”

His voice is rough with sleep, traced with what might be amusement—Elain turns, a rush of embarrassment rising in her throat. He’s propped up on one elbow, languid, casual. Smiling at her.

“Good morning,” She manages, clutching the sheet.

Lucien regards her for a moment, cocks his head slightly. He’s beautiful, the light flattering the cut of his cheekbones, lending a gleam to his mussed red braid and a little highlight to his gold eye. Focus, Elain.

“Come here,” he murmurs, not a command but an affectionate little request. It catches Elain off-guard, and she doesn’t resist when his arm snakes across her waist and pulls her to him, the sheet between her and his obviously bare chest. He nestles into her neck with a satisfied, sleepy little noise. He’s disarmingly warm, arm still slung around her, and Elain finds the tension leaving her body against her will. Lucien’s scent is thick around them, sweet and smokey at the same time; she can feel the weight of him next to her, the fuzzy sensation of him through the bond. It’s absurdly pleasant, it makes her want to melt even as confusion wracks her—where’s the questioning? The teasing, at least? He can’t possibly be so unconcerned with this situation.

Finally, she can’t stand it. “You… didn’t wake me up when you got back last night.”

“You looked peaceful; it seemed a shame to disturb you.” He almost mumbles it, like he’s so sedate with contentment it’s too much effort to articulate.

Elain nearly laughs. Peaceful. That’s one way of saying nude, she supposes.“Are you going to ask why I’m naked in your bed?”

“I wasn’t, no.” She can feel his breath against her collarbone. “If you’d like to tell me, I’m not opposed to it, but I’ve been enjoying it too much to question it.”

It’s almost annoying, how thoroughly his acceptance of this thwarts her mortification. She huffs, and it ruffles his hair. “I’m trying to be embarrassed, Lucien.”

“Mm.” A lazy adjustment of his head, his nose brushing under her ear. “Why would you be that?”

“Why would I be embarrassed?” Elain half-cries, drawing back so he’s forced to look at her. “Maybe because I’m naked in the presence of a man I’ve barely touched before, because I was trying to drunkenly seduce him and instead fell asleep?”

Genuine surprise flickers across his face, followed by sheer delight–Elain covers her face in her hands; Mother, she shouldn’t have said anything, here it comes–

That’s what happened?” Lucien says, almost dissolving into laughter. “You were trying to seduce me?” His voice goes up a whole octave on seduce. Elain’s face is so hot it hurts and he tries to pull away from him, bury her head into the covers. “Elain, Elain, sweetheart,” he soothes her quickly, still chuckling as he moves to hold her, presses a kiss to her forehead.“You’re adorable.”

Elain is about to protest that she is not adorable, that there is nothing adorable about this situation and cute forehead kisses can’t fix it, but she’s suddenly distracted by the fact that the shift in Lucien’s position has left him on his stomach and the sheet pushed down around his thighs. 

And also, he’s not wearing any pants.

Elain isn’t as bashful as she once was, but Mother save her, she can see Lucien’s entire ass. She feels her mouth drop open, quickly comes to her senses and claps a hand over her eyes with a little squeak. “Lucien! Why are you naked too?!”

He’s laughing almost too hard to respond. “You were; I figured my stripping down was only fair.” Elain, still with a hand firmly over her eyes, has to bite back a hysterical giggle; her mate is ridiculous and does not need encouragement. “And maybe you’d become mysteriously allergic to all clothes and I shouldn’t risk exposing you,” Lucien adds. “Which I wouldn’t mind at all, by the way.”

She wants to hit him with a pillow, but there’s a lot of nudity happening in this bed, so she does the safe thing and pulls the covers over her head with a groan. “You absurd man–go put pants on, for the Mother’s sake,” she says through them.

She can hear the smirk in his voice. “Wasn’t the goal of this endeavor to get me out of my pants? You’re contradicting yourself, dove.”

The risk is worth it. One hand holds the sheets and the other blindly lobs a pillow at his face, eyes still screwed shut. 

He’s still laughing as he fends her off. “Alright, a moment, please, pet.” The mattress shifts under him as he gets up, and Elain hears him cross the room and open a dresser drawer. “Next time you decide to seduce me maybe send me a formal invitation, that way I won’t be so late I miss the whole thing. On nice stationary: ‘Dear Lucien, your seduction has been scheduled for ten PM, in Elain’s room.”

Elain has to smile at his absurdity, and feels like… maybe she should open her eyes a little. Just to check. He didn’t tell her not to.

He’s rifling through the drawer with his back to her, and she tentatively gets a second, more thorough look at his ass, at the slope of his leg muscles and the powerful lines of his back, where his braid hangs down over a series of scars. Maybe he can feel her looking, because he glances over his shoulder just long enough to give her a cheeky grin, and tosses her something she doesn’t identify until it lands on the bed. It’s a shirt. He’s still on his invitation bit: “Please RSVP so she doesn’t get naked for no reason again,” he goes on.

Elain tentatively ignores her embarrassment and plays along. “What would I tell you to wear?” While he’s still turned away, she relinquishes the blanket to quickly slip on the shirt–it’s long enough on her that it might as well be a nightgown. It smells pleasantly like Lucien and the wood of the dresser. “Formal dress doesn’t seem appropriate.”

He laughs. “What would you like me to wear? Anything in particular you’d like to strip me out of?”

“I could tell you to just arrive already naked. That would save time.” Emboldened now that she’s at least decent, Elain gets out of the bed and gathers up her clothes from the floor. “But you’d have to walk from your room to mine nude, then.”

Lucien’s slipped on loose trousers, and ties them up as he shoots her a wolfish grin. “You know I’d do it.”

“That’s why I wouldn’t ask! I don’t want you to traumatize poor Alis.” She stifles a smile as she passes him, heading towards the washroom.

“Where are you going?” He asks, and she pauses on the threshold.

“I have to put this on.” She raises the bundle of her clothes, full of ties and layers and things she needs privacy to wiggle into. Not like he hasn’t seen everything now, she thinks, flushing a bit, but she’d like to return to some semblance of modesty. “I can’t very well walk all the way back to my room wearing only your shirt,” she adds, awkwardly.

Something shifts in Lucien’s face, something playful and a little predatory as he steps towards her slowly.

“So don’t.” His voice is a lover’s murmur as he gets close enough to kiss her, close enough that Elain can feel the warmth of his only half-clothed body. “Stay here wearing only my shirt. It looks good on you.”

Elain is about to decline, but his hands find her waist and his lips find her neck and the words slip through her fingers like water. For all that they haven’t done very much together, Lucien has still managed to figure out which spots under her jaw turn her into a boneless mess.

“I’ll have breakfast sent up for us,” he murmurs into her skin, persuasive, as he braces one arm up against the doorframe to better pin her there.

“Don’t you have obligations to take care of?” A weak protest–it comes out almost as a gasp.

There’s a smile in his voice. He can feel her crumbling. “Nothing that can’t wait a bit.”

Since she woke up, Elain has primarily wanted to wash her mortification away in a long bath, put on something very modest, and pretend this never happened; she knows he certainly wouldn’t fault her if that’s what she did now. But she is also rapidly recalling why her less sober self was dead set on seducing him last night. And eating breakfast with him in his bed–really, any activity that would allow her to keep looking at him shirtless like this–is very, very appealing.

She huffs, and surrenders. “You win. I’ll stay.”

He grins, moves to kiss her properly–but Elain meets it with a grin of her own and ducks under his arm, darting out of reach. 

“You have morning breath,” she says lightly, by way of explanation. She’s such a pushover when it comes to him that she feels obligated to give him a little trouble sometimes.

With the way he’s smiling at her, he knows it. “Then I’ll just be a moment.”

Lucien goes to brush his teeth, and Elain dives back into bed, burrows under the sheets warm and happy and waits for her mate to join her.

Caught by the Sea



AN: AGAIN. THIS IS NSFW. This is for @illyriantremors , and I promised I’d write this for her like two weeks ago and I kept procrastinating LOL. But this ended up being SUPER FLUFFY and is based on a headcanon that Feyre and Rhysand kind of have a thing for public sex? And they did it in the Summer Court and got caught and now have to be reminded every time they visit NOT TO GO TOO CRAZY. So here’s some fluffy smut wherein Tarquin catches them having sex. Enjoy!!!

Feyre pursed her lips as she gazed at the palace of the Summer Court, something deep within her aching at the thought of being away from home for an extended period of time. She hadn’t left the Night Court for more than a few hours at a time since she’d returned from the war with Hybern, since she’d brought the Spring Court to its knees.

At least she had Rhys with her.

Not that they could do anything, she knew. Not with their relationship with Tarquin being so newly healed, so precarious. They’d been invited to the Summer Court for three days as a gesture of goodwill—three days of meetings and a parade and a festival celebrating the end of the war. She and Rhys could make it three days. She’d been able to go weeks without touching Isaac Hale. Surely, they both had enough self-control to make it three measly days.

Rhys tapped on the wall of her mind, the essence of him dragging a single finger across her barriers, knowing exactly how and where to press to beckon memories of black silk sheets and silver handcuffs into her mind. She dropped the wall immediately.

You seem on edge.

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YOU CRAZY WONDERFUL WOMAN YOU!! This was just as hysterical as it was steamy. Thank you!

Hi love your fics. You know the sacrifice title fic from earlier. Could you write it with feyre getting injured and Rhys trying to heal her xxx

Hey, sorry, I’m not doing fic requests right now because of school. But good news! Someone wrote a fic exactly like this not too long ago (and it’s good)! You can read it here

Odd question but have you read any good ACOTAR/TOG crossover fics? I’m dying for one.

Ehhh, this isn’t really my thing. It gets on my nerves when people try to smash the two together, even with different magic systems and worlds and rules. Like, more power to anyone who wants to have a go at it, but it’s not the sort of thing I usually read. That said, there are a couple on Ao3, one of which follows the theory that Dorian is Feyre and Rhysand’s son. I found that idea intriguing even if I didn’t continue reading the fic. I’d poke around there and see what you come up with! 



“I can use the stairs.”

Elain huffs. “Lucien, that’ll take you an hour.”

“The first hour is always Cassian and Nesta bickering while Rhys makes bedroom eyes at Feyre, anyway.”

Elain smiles against her will, but doesn’t let her mate make any headway towards the enormous staircase of the house of wind. “Luciennnnnnn,” she intones, holding him back by the arm, “Come on. Even Amren has to get flown up. Trust me, your dignity is not suffering more than Amren’s.”

“Amren doesn’t have a giant Illyrian with a personal vendetta to—“ the booming sounds of wings cut him off as two figures in black descend with a leathery snap before them, siphons glinting. “—To make my life difficult. Hello, Azriel.”

Azriel and Elain exchange polite hellos, but Cassian is sporting what can only be called a shit-eating grin.

“Cassian,” Lucien finally adds.

“Lucien. Darling.”

Elain tries not to giggle. Cassian delights in good-naturedly antagonizing her mate; Lucien always gives as good as he gets, but the odds are a little stacked today.

Cassian holds out his arms, expression smug. “Shall we?”

“I’m afraid I have to beg your pardon, Commander,” Lucien says with faux apology, their game begun. “But I was just about to ask Azriel to take me, and you to take Elain. I just thought it made sense, given that I’m heavier than Elain, and that Az, I’m told,“ —appraising glances at both Illyrians— “Has the larger wingspan of the two of you.”

Elain has to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing, and even Az’s spymaster composure cracks.

Cassian’s smile has tightened, and his mouth purses as he decides his retaliation.

“I understand,” he says finally, nodding. “It’s perfectly normal, the first time you feel something like this—“ he gestures between them, “—to be overwhelmed by it. If you’d rather seek shelter in Azriel’s arms for the time being, I won’t judge you.”

Lucien’s shoulders shake with suppressed laughter, but he stares up at the sky like he can will himself away from this conversation. “I’d really like to know why we’re having the meeting in a house that only four of the nine people attending can easily access,” he muses.

“And I’d like to know why you’re denying the passion between us, princeling.” Cassian puts an offended hand on his chest. “I won’t wait for you forever.”

Elain is reduced to a fit of giggles that makes Lucien smile wryly too.

“Shall we leave these clowns to their antics, Elain?” Az asks lightly.

“Alright, alright,” Lucien relents, laughing. “Let’s go, Cassian. My mate’s about to abandon me.”

But Cassian crosses his arms, mirth still in his eyes. “Oh, you think you can just get a ride whenever you like? That wingspan comment was rather offensive. I suddenly don’t feel like taking you anywhere.”

Lucien groans. “What now? Are you going to make me beg?”

“That would be a start.” Cassian examines his nails uninterestedly.

“Please, Cassian?”

Cassian ignores him.

“Please, Commander?”


Lucien rolls his eyes. “Please, o beautiful and powerful Illyrian warlord with shoulders that shouldn’t fit through doors and an abdomen made of solid steel.”

Cassian arches an eyebrow. “Getting closer. What are you asking me, Lucien? Be specific.”

Lucien heaves a sigh of defeat. “I’m asking you to wrap me in your big beautiful arms and take me. Is that the kind of homoerotic answer you were looking for?”

Cassian’s grin returns in full force, and his wings unfurl anew from his back. “Yep, that’ll do.”

Elain’s face hurts from laughing, and it only gets worse as the Illyrian sweeps Lucien off his feet, her mate going stiff and bristling at the motion like he’s an angry red cat.

“Be nice to him, Cassian,” she calls, as Az does the same with her (albeit more gently).

“Don’t worry, I know it’s his first time. I’ll be gentle.”

“If you drop me, I will set you on fire,” Lucien deadpans in response.

“If I drop you, you’ll be dead,” Cassian says cheerfully, and Lucien’s smart response is swallowed by the crack of air under Cassian’s wings as they shoot off into the sky.

‘“I’m asking you to wrap me in your big beautiful arms and take me. Is that the kind of homoerotic answer you were looking for?”’ – I’d say this was the most beautiful line I’d ever read in any fic ever…but then there is….every other line in this fic. 


Everyone needs to read this, seriously. I’m slain.

Swift Wings: An ACOTAR Prequel Fic, Part 1/5


Setting: The Illyrian Steppes, 500 years pre-ACOTAR

Summary: Bree is an Illyrian female dreading the day her wings are clipped. Determined to know what it means to fly, she sneaks out with her sister Emer to train. But an encounter with the most powerful Illyrians in the Night Court changes Bree’s hopes not just for her own future, but for the future of Prythian.

Ship: N/A

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,236

A/N: This fic is for @acourtofempireandstorms, who won a prize in my 3,000-follower giveaway! The character of Bree is her OC, and she also picked the setting and plot points. I hope you enjoy it!

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