grimseverity

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Isn’t it crazy how Feyre went from giving jewels to a spring court citizen so they could pay the tithe to destroying the Spring Court and citizens dying as a result?

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Yes cuz the rest is all excuses, refusal to acknowledge one’s wrong doing on Feyre’s part, buildup with no payoff, and ill timed spicy scenes

And one girl boss moment for Elain and Nesta against a main villain with no fucking name

re-reading ACOWAR and it seems the only things I care about is FeyrexLucien at the beginning and then unhinged!Tamlin during the High Lords' meeting.

that's it, that's the highlights of the book

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I need more scene to do for my Evil Rhys series. Peeps help me out, what other scenes are exemplary of Rhys’ manipulative, predatory, and over all malevolent nature?

So far I have:

• Him Daemati-ing Feyre to drink the Faerie Wine

• Him twisting her arm to force a deal

My next piece is going to be her seated on his lap UtM, and I also have ideas for the Weaver cottage. But do you guys have anymore that I’m missing. Doesn’t have to be against Feyre either xD

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It’s damn if you do damned if you don’t.

Cuz it’s either Feyre IS mind controlled to not think these thoughts and Rhys is evil, or Feyre ISNT mind controlled and is legitimately so emotionally dense enough to refuse to think on her own actions. And you get hate for bringing up either one of those two outcomes

Which one is it? XD

"I didn’t let myself consider." 🫠

And then I get hate just for saying that I think Feyre is pretty clearly being mind-manipulated by Rhysand.

Well this is one of the main reasons I don’t fully blame Feyre for somethings. (Dont fully blame her because yeah, I absolutely do that for other things, just like I blame Rhys. the destruction of the Spring Court wink, locking up Nesta and using her as a weapon wink wink.)

But let’s really talk about this moment.

When Feyre is finally on the verge of thinking about the fact that Tamlin literally saved her life, risked everything for her… she stops. She cuts the thought off. She just says, "I didn’t let myself consider."

You want to tell me that’s not psychological conditioning? Not influence? Not manipulation?

She wanted to think about it. She started to. And then she just... didn't. Almost like something was stoping her!!

But sure, go ahead and pretend she was 100% free in her choices.

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lol Is this supposed to be one of your many beef-causing hot takes? Or is it just rage bait like all the rest of your content?

When you reblog a post, remember to add something worthwhile xD

When you think of Tamlin’s power exploding at Feyre, remember Rhys twisting her broken arm.

When you think of Tamlin not reacting to Feyre’s torment UtM, think about Rhys being the center of that torment, drugging and SAing her for no reason other than to stick it to Tamlin.

When you think of Tamlin binding Feyre to the manor, think of Rhys warding the Moonstone Palace and warding her with a shield that prevented Cassian from kissing her.

When you think of what Tamlin said about Feyre at the High Lords’ meeting, think about Rhysand suicide baiting him for no reason, AND what Rhysand said about Feyre’s thoughts about Tamlin during ACOTAR.

When you think about Tamlin’s alliance with Hybern, remember it was to protect his court, get Feyre back, and gather information, whereas Rhys allied with Amarantha to keep one third of his court safe, leaving the rest to rot.

When you claim Tamlin lied to get Feyre over the wall, remember Rhys nearly fed Feyre to the Weaver, had her lie to Tarquin, and lied to her about her goddamn pregnancy.

When you demonize Tamlin, you better sure as hell put Rhys under the same microscope, otherwise I can’t take a word you say seriously.

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The goddesses

They must be free of the Night Court so they may spread their wings

Nesta, Emerie and Gwyn by mftfernandez [instagram]

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Can you IMAGINE the kinds of amazing Night Court fashion we could get if SJM wasn't hell bent on putting Feyre in as little clothing as possible, and Rhys in boring-ass black?

(I reallllly tried not to pull from AI crap on Pinterest. If I missed something, PLEASE let me know!)

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The devastating difference between how much time it takes to write something vs how fast people read it lol

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remember that bit in acotar when tamlin was showing feyre his mother’s rose garden and talked about his parents’ mating bond and how his mother turned a blind eye to all her mate’s cruelty bc of the nature of the bond. i genuinely believe that’s foreshadowing of feysand’s relationship. rhysand’s tyranny is just gonna get worse.

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no because imagine if a guy staged a coup achieved autocratic power and then said "yeah that coup I lead and staged? That was bad im killing those who did the coup" and thats rhysand killing the illyrian war bands who followed his lead and sided with amarantha (of which he is the high lord of the territory and [in which their land is colonized] publicly allied himself with)

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We are of like mind xD

If you're still doing it, Nesta × Clare Beddor

Fingers twined together, she holds their hands up into the light filtering through the canopy of trees. Nesta presses a kiss to Clare's bare shoulder and tucks their hands against her chest, covered only by a sheet.

"Your sisters wouldn't approve," Clare says with a flush on her cheeks.

"Which part? Laying in the ground? Sneaking off? Having time to myself?" Nesta scoffs. It's not like they don't do it either. Feyre with her hunting, which Nesta has grown tired of reminder her of the dangers of it. Elain with her beloved Grayson.

"No. Me."

Nesta smirks and rolls her eyes. "They'd love you more than me, if they knew you."

"Nesta!" Clare bumps her shoulder against Nesta's, suddenly shy. "They love you too. You're their sister."

The scoff that leaves Nesta’s lips shows her incredulity. As time goes on, she and her sister are more and more at odds. None of them can agree on how to solve the problem of their circumstance. She sighs, and kisses Clare’s knuckles.

“Let’s talk about something else,” she hums, pressing her lips against Clare’s and initiating a different wordless kind of conversation.

These moments are stolen, comfort insulated by a warble of anxiety at the thought of being caught. Clare washes away her worries with kisses upon kisses in the sunshine.

***

Feyre is missing. Feyre was taken.

Fuck, Nesta hasn’t quite parsed through what she saw and a bitter part of her doesn’t believe it. With every passing day, her memory grows hazier and hazier, and the state of her living gets better and better. Faerie trickery at its best. Nesta holds onto that moment with tooth and nail—it was a faerie beast that took Feyre, she quietly repeats over and over.

Feyre had mentioned a mercenary in town. Nesta must find her before she moves onto the next town or job.

“Nesta!” Clare comes running towards her, cheeks flushed by the crisp, cool winter air. “Nesta, we need to talk.”

“I can’t, I have to…” Nesta glances around the town square for the mercenary, but Clark gets in her way, grasping her hand and squeezing it for her attention.

“Tomas Mandrake has asked for my hand in marriage and my father intends to say yes.”

Nesta’s eyes widen and her heart sinks. “No,” she gasps and with that, her focus and her tether to her sister snaps, forgetting all about faeries.

***

“I want to go home.”

Nesta doesn’t wait, already packing what little she owns. This damned place is not her home, and it isn’t Feyre’s no matter how much she lies to herself about it. She’s been here five minutes, and sure, Nesta will give her credit for saving the world, but home is about comfort and not posturing or chasing a man. Or being chased by one.

She shoves her clothes in a satchel with violent frustration.

“No, you need to stay here. With us. With Cassian,” Feyre insists.

“I don’t give a fuck about Cassian! I want to go home. I miss our house, I miss our town, I miss what we were before all this.” Nesta throws her hands up in the air. “I miss my friends.”

“You don’t have friends,” Feyre snaps back, already defensive about her new Court. Nesta can see it in her eyes, how she takes every word personally and is likely filtering it through whatever prisoner’s bond she has with Rhysand. Faerie or not, males are all the same.

“I had one, and one is enough. I’m going to see Clare.”

Clare always saw Nesta for herself. Not for the things she could do, the role she needed to play or anything else that can be taken by others. Clare was her grounding point. Clare was a part of her home.

“You can’t,” Rhysand appears in the doorway of the first room she’s been assigned.

“Fuck off. I will do what I please, High Lord.” Nesta spits the word with absolute vitriol.

“I mean no, you can’t go see her because she is dead.”

Nesta’s head whips towards him, anger and grief rising like a tidal wave. She approaches Rhysand, and Feyre dares get between them. She jabs her finger in his direction.

“You are responsible for this.” She doesn’t know how, but she will find out. “You are a curse upon those that I love. Everything you’ve done to hurt will be returned to you tenfold.” Every word that leaves her lips is a new weave into the tapestry of her Curse. “I will see to that. Where is her body?”

Feyre tries to intervene, but Nesta’s rage is a white hot blade.

“Where is Clare?”

“Under the Mountain,” Rhysand says, and Nesta grabs her bag.

“Nesta!” Feyre shouts, trying to make her stay.

Nesta doesn’t wait. These are the consequences of Feyre’s actions and perhaps Nesta’s own inaction. She doesn’t have the mind to work through it, only enough anger to get out of here before they try to lock her in.

***

Nesta buries Clare’s body by the sea; they’d always teased about escaping their monotonous lives to create an even more boring yet fuller existence somewhere by the shore. They’d rot away, happy despite having to work twice as hard to survive. They wouldn’t have to hide. No one would ask questions.

“I love you,” Nesta whispers, hand over her heart. “I’m sorry I never could say it.”

[grimseverity]

I feel this

A Rhysand hater til I die…

Until it comes to TamSand & then rooting & raving🤣🤣

Sorry not sorry.

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This ship and concept convinced me that Nesta should’ve been a lesbian 100%

If you're still doing it, Nesta × Clare Beddor

Fingers twined together, she holds their hands up into the light filtering through the canopy of trees. Nesta presses a kiss to Clare's bare shoulder and tucks their hands against her chest, covered only by a sheet.

"Your sisters wouldn't approve," Clare says with a flush on her cheeks.

"Which part? Laying in the ground? Sneaking off? Having time to myself?" Nesta scoffs. It's not like they don't do it either. Feyre with her hunting, which Nesta has grown tired of reminder her of the dangers of it. Elain with her beloved Grayson.

"No. Me."

Nesta smirks and rolls her eyes. "They'd love you more than me, if they knew you."

"Nesta!" Clare bumps her shoulder against Nesta's, suddenly shy. "They love you too. You're their sister."

The scoff that leaves Nesta’s lips shows her incredulity. As time goes on, she and her sister are more and more at odds. None of them can agree on how to solve the problem of their circumstance. She sighs, and kisses Clare’s knuckles.

“Let’s talk about something else,” she hums, pressing her lips against Clare’s and initiating a different wordless kind of conversation.

These moments are stolen, comfort insulated by a warble of anxiety at the thought of being caught. Clare washes away her worries with kisses upon kisses in the sunshine.

***

Feyre is missing. Feyre was taken.

Fuck, Nesta hasn’t quite parsed through what she saw and a bitter part of her doesn’t believe it. With every passing day, her memory grows hazier and hazier, and the state of her living gets better and better. Faerie trickery at its best. Nesta holds onto that moment with tooth and nail—it was a faerie beast that took Feyre, she quietly repeats over and over.

Feyre had mentioned a mercenary in town. Nesta must find her before she moves onto the next town or job.

“Nesta!” Clare comes running towards her, cheeks flushed by the crisp, cool winter air. “Nesta, we need to talk.”

“I can’t, I have to…” Nesta glances around the town square for the mercenary, but Clark gets in her way, grasping her hand and squeezing it for her attention.

“Tomas Mandrake has asked for my hand in marriage and my father intends to say yes.”

Nesta’s eyes widen and her heart sinks. “No,” she gasps and with that, her focus and her tether to her sister snaps, forgetting all about faeries.

***

“I want to go home.”

Nesta doesn’t wait, already packing what little she owns. This damned place is not her home, and it isn’t Feyre’s no matter how much she lies to herself about it. She’s been here five minutes, and sure, Nesta will give her credit for saving the world, but home is about comfort and not posturing or chasing a man. Or being chased by one.

She shoves her clothes in a satchel with violent frustration.

“No, you need to stay here. With us. With Cassian,” Feyre insists.

“I don’t give a fuck about Cassian! I want to go home. I miss our house, I miss our town, I miss what we were before all this.” Nesta throws her hands up in the air. “I miss my friends.”

“You don’t have friends,” Feyre snaps back, already defensive about her new Court. Nesta can see it in her eyes, how she takes every word personally and is likely filtering it through whatever prisoner’s bond she has with Rhysand. Faerie or not, males are all the same.

“I had one, and one is enough. I’m going to see Clare.”

Clare always saw Nesta for herself. Not for the things she could do, the role she needed to play or anything else that can be taken by others. Clare was her grounding point. Clare was a part of her home.

“You can’t,” Rhysand appears in the doorway of the first room she’s been assigned.

“Fuck off. I will do what I please, High Lord.” Nesta spits the word with absolute vitriol.

“I mean no, you can’t go see her because she is dead.”

Nesta’s head whips towards him, anger and grief rising like a tidal wave. She approaches Rhysand, and Feyre dares get between them. She jabs her finger in his direction.

“You are responsible for this.” She doesn’t know how, but she will find out. “You are a curse upon those that I love. Everything you’ve done to hurt will be returned to you tenfold.” Every word that leaves her lips is a new weave into the tapestry of her Curse. “I will see to that. Where is her body?”

Feyre tries to intervene, but Nesta’s rage is a white hot blade.

“Where is Clare?”

“Under the Mountain,” Rhysand says, and Nesta grabs her bag.

“Nesta!” Feyre shouts, trying to make her stay.

Nesta doesn’t wait. These are the consequences of Feyre’s actions and perhaps Nesta’s own inaction. She doesn’t have the mind to work through it, only enough anger to get out of here before they try to lock her in.

***

Nesta buries Clare’s body by the sea; they’d always teased about escaping their monotonous lives to create an even more boring yet fuller existence somewhere by the shore. They’d rot away, happy despite having to work twice as hard to survive. They wouldn’t have to hide. No one would ask questions.

“I love you,” Nesta whispers, hand over her heart. “I’m sorry I never could say it.”

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Would have loved to see Tarquin actually provide the Book and aid the Night Court because of Feyre’s truth and kindness, and actually point out how weird Rhys is for oversexualizing her in that scene.

Rhys needs more call outs

Imagine how fucking awesome the Summer Court trip in ACOMAF could’ve been if Feyre actually heard Rhysand’s full plan, reluctantly agreed to go along with it, but…

After spending time there, after actually getting to know Tarquin and Cresseida, she changes her mind.

Feyre sees the flaws in the plan, realizes it’s wrong and chooses to go against Rhysand and Amren.

She talks to Tarquin, takes the risk. Rhys is furious.

But then Feyre’s decision proves to be the wiser one and Rhysand is forced to reckon with that, respect that. To stop treating her like a pawn or a weapon, and start seeing her as an equal.

Suddenly, Feyre has agency, morality, and spine all in one scene.

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I kept my chin up. I wouldn’t let the others notice that weakness—wouldn’t let them know how much it killed me to be so exposed to them, to have Rhysand’s symbols painted over nearly every inch of my skin, to have Tamlin see me so debased. Rhysand stopped before a table laden with exquisite foods. The High Fae around it quickly cleared away. If there were any other members of the Night Court present, they didn’t ripple with darkness the way Rhysand and his servants did; didn’t dare approach him. The music grew loud enough to suggest there was probably dancing somewhere in the room. “Wine?” he said, offering me a goblet.

Alis’s first rule.

I shook my head. He smiled, and extended the goblet again. “Drink. You’ll need it.”

Drink, my mind echoed, and my fingers stirred, moving toward the goblet. No. No, Alis said not to drink the wine here—wine that was different from that joyous, freeing solstice wine. “No,” I said, and some faeries who were watching us from a safe distance chuckled.

“Drink,” he said, and my traitorous fingers latched onto the goblet.

- Chapter 39 of A Court of Thorns and Roses

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This is distinctly why I refuse to write mating bonds and ascribe Fey any sort of gender beyond pronouns. I even go out of my way to refuse to use the word male or female.

They’re creatures of nature and magic, not elven republicans.

Can we talk about how SJM uses “fae males” as a way to push the idea that “men have violent urges that need to be quelled, let them be men this is peak man”, whereas the “fae females” are subject to the most painful periods and their duty during a mating bond is cooking?

This is only the tip of the iceberg and I hate how SJM has convinced so many readers that this is what feminism looks like. It’s just repackaged conservative red pill media.