#✲ FEYRE ARCHERON [ dynamic ] RHYSAND

[hugevanserrass]

not feyre starting their little intervention with "no, it's not a scolding. think of it as a discussion." and then a few pages later she legitimately says "you're going, even if you have to be tied up and hauled there."

and then when feyre tells nesta they are tearing her apartment building down, nesta thinks to herself "one of the few choices she'd made for herself, stripped away."

like be real are we really not supposed to read feyre as the villain here bc she totally is one

[romanticatheartt]

acotar ships and their dynamics

Feysand:

Nessian:

Gwynriel:

Elucien:

[bloodofthefates]

[starfall-spirit]

Read on Ao3 // Fic Masterlist // SJM Omegaverse Masterlist // Dark Feysand Masterlist

Summary: If there was one thing Rhys was well aware of, it was that his life expectancy as a kingpin was a short one. Unless he wanted his uncle seizing power the moment he bled out, he was in need of an heir. An Alpha heir at that.

The only way he could guarantee such a thing was by breeding an omega, a designation nearly extinct in the world they lived in. Regardless, he would acquire one—no matter how unconventional his means may be.

OR;

The Mafia Omega Auction Fic

CW: Rhys is still mean, this is dub-con at best.

Chapter IV

Feyre

Men like Rhys—men who snapped their fingers and bent the world to their will—all had one thing in common. Appearance was everything. Stepping into the walk-in closet she assessed the row of suits in front of her. Black, perfectly pressed, expensive. He’d be livid to find them carelessly crumpled and tossed on the floor to fill out her nest. Pulling one suit jacket halfway off the hanger, she hesitated.

What would the consequences be? And could she handle them? She’d cleaned herself as best she could without taking the time to shower, but there was no denying she was sore from her punishment. And going right into a heat the pain might not register the same way, but she would certainly feel it when the fever and craving faded.

Then again, heats often sent nearby alphas into rut. Would he even realize she’d used them before the week was behind them? He’d be too tired to be angry then. Unwilling to think on it longer, she shook her head and pulled down half the jackets and several dress shirts tucked away behind them.

Meticulous as she was, her nest still didn’t take long to complete, seeing as she’d completed the foundation before bed last night. The shirts and jackets ended up in a semi-circle around the top and sides of her nest, almost immediately changing the scent of it. Something tightened in her belly, but she really didn’t want to think about that either.

By coincidence or consequence of having Rhys’ scent so concentrated around her, a hot flash began to wash over her, the ache between her legs morphing to a different kind. “No,” she whimpered. She knew what she’d find when she reached beneath the nightgown she’d just put on. The slick was already dripping down her thighs.

Feyre bolted for the shower, grinding her teeth when the cramping started, melding so terribly with that half-pleasant twisting from before. She sobbed, barely feeling the cold spray even as it soaked through her skimpy pajamas and settled in her bones. Vaguely she recognized movement outside the shower stall, but with the doctor gone it could only be one person and there was no use in fighting the fate he’d rewritten for them. Stepping into the large stall with her, he pulled the showerhead down and adjusted the water until it was moderately cool before kneeling beside her and stripping her once again.

“Little omega.” Her tears only fell faster at the endearment and she found herself leaning into his chest, numb as he washed her down. “Daddy’s gonna take care of you.” Her whole body jerked when the showerhead and his fingers came down between her legs. “Easy, sweetheart.” Changing the setting to soften the spray, he cleaned her there too, chuckling when fresh slick coated her the moment he moved the showerhead. Reaching up, he shut the water off, ringing out the excess water from her hair. Drying himself in a hurry, he returned to her with a large fluffy towel that felt like it had just been warmed in the dryer. She’d never appreciated the texture of something more. She’d hated showering during and after her heats when she was going through them alone. All of her towels had been old and cheap, nubby and abrasive in their age.

“I’d love nothing more than to spoil you rotten, but I won’t tolerate you fighting me constantly.”

Rhys lived in the lap of luxury. She could too, but only so long as she was a docile pet to him. Another cramp hit her like a punch to the gut and her knees buckled.

Rhys already had her up against his chest. “Shh. I’ve got you, darling.” Feyre barely heard him, head stuffy, ears buzzing. Alpha. Protector. Mate. She tried to shake the thought, but it had already made itself at home, each title sinking little hooks in her brain, there to stay. Alpha. Protector. Mate.

He’d keep her safe here. For the first time in her life she could have a truly safe space. More comforts than she dared dream of. If he’d give her that, she could be a good girl. Could give him a baby. Wasn’t that all he was asking of her now?

He stopped in front of her nest, setting her on her feet just long enough to strip her of her towel before guiding her back against the pillows. “Let Daddy in your nest now?” She nodded quickly, pressing a hand between her legs. Towel discarded, he sank to his knees in front of her, curving his hand over her own to guide her clumsy fingers to her clit. “Pretty baby, made the perfect little nest. Such a good girl, using Alpha’s clothes to fill it out.”

“You’re… not angry?”

“That my little girl wanted my scent in her nest?” He chuckled. “No, darling. I’m not angry.” He kissed the tip of her nose and his smirk softened. “I’m going to get your plate off the dresser. If you eat all of it, I’ll give you a special treat before I knot you again.” He slid back so his head was even with her core, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh, lips wet with her slick when he pulled back. Looking into his eyes… she’d never felt so much like prey. “I think it’ll be just as much of a treat for me.”

She eyed the plate of finger foods he brought back with a frown.

“You need to eat, darling. I know it’s the last thing on your mind right now, but you aren’t going hungry through your heat.” Begrudgingly, she nibbled at a cracker and cheese slice. He sighed at her slow progress, but didn’t rush her, just rubbed small circles over her lower belly to try to ease the cramping that had set in before her shower.

The pressure hurt before it helped, but he just hushed her, offering little bites of food to distract her until the plate was empty and the pain slowly began to twine with something else. The scent of her heat was far past subtle at this point, but still it grew. The rumble of Rhys’ growl was just barely audible, sending another shock of arousal through her.

Chemistry. Just chemistry. An omega reacting to an alpha during her heat.

Why did that excuse already feel so flimsy?

“Now that my little wife has eaten…” He slid down to the bottom of the nest, parting her legs again. “My turn, darling.”

Feyre froze, any comprehensive thought falling away to make room for that one word, a mantra in her mind.

Wife. Wife. Wife. Wife. He wanted—

His laugh was a shock of warm air against her cunt. “You thought I’d put my baby in you and not lay proper claim? Not a chance, silly girl. Now, relax. Let Daddy have his treat.”

He started slow this time, almost an apology for the way he’d so brutally claimed her after her punishment. He was devoted in his task, the only sound leaving him his pleased growling and soft praise. As for Feyre, she couldn’t manage more than whining and pleading for him to stop after the first orgasm washed through her. It wasn’t a punishment, but his recent attention was pushing her closer and closer to overstimulation and the demand of her heat did nothing to improve the situation.

“Rhys, Rhys, Rhys. Rhys. Please!” He pushed her over the edge a second time and she screamed, unsure what she had resorted to babbling until she finally recovered from the crashing wave of her climax. “Need you. Need your knot. Daddy, need your knot, please.”

He shushed her softly, kissing a trail up her body until she was forced to taste her own slick straight from his lips. In her state, she honestly couldn’t care less. “Hush, pet. I’ll give you what you need when you’re ready.”

She moaned as he pushed two fingers into her, squirming at the pressure even as he continued to soothe her. “Rhys.”

Another finger and she tried to retreat, whimpering when he pulled her back to her place beneath him.

“Poor baby,” he cooed, voice dripping with condescension. “Knows what she wants but doesn’t think she can take it, hm?” Feyre sniffled, nails biting into the tender flesh at his wrist. “We’re gonna fix that right now.”

“I can’t—”

“Shh. The first time was a punishment, little one. But you’ve been such a good girl for me, haven’t you? My baby knows she needs a knot.” It only took a few seconds for Rhys to withdraw his hand and line up against her, dragging the head through her slit. “Easy, pet.”

“Not your—” Winding a hand in her hair, he leaned down to claim her mouth, quieting her protest at the name. The words died there, replaced with a long moan as he claimed her inch by unforgiving inch, seating himself to the base in one steady stroke.

His lips slid over her neck, hips shifting just enough to tease her with his knot. To remind her how desperate she was to have him locked inside of her once again. “Let me hear it again, little one,” he ordered, setting a steady rhythm. “Tell Daddy what you need.”

“Knot,” she panted. “Need filled up, Daddy. Want you to knot me.”

He cursed, voice low and rough at her ear. “So sweet. So good for me, asking for what you need. Precious girl.”

His pace quickens, a few sharp thrusts her only preparation before Rhys pushed all the way in, his knot already swelling. She whined, scraping her teeth across his neck, feeling herself clench around him. Rhys just groaned, nipping her earlobe in reprimand. “Take me so well. Fuck, Feyre.”

His constant praise settled something within her, soothing an ache she hadn’t recognized until that point. “Please,” she breathed. One last thrust of his hips and he drove her over the edge, blinding pleasure tearing through every inch of her from head to each curling toe. Her orgasm kept rolling through her, fed by his own release the moment he spilled into her, knot locking in place.

She must have blacked out, because the next time she opened her eyes she found Rhys easing out of her, his fingers replacing the thick length of him to push the cum leaking from her back into her core. She whined softly, trying to shift her hips away from his touch. “Hush, darling. Need to keep you nice and full if you’re going to give me an heir.”

She couldn’t hide the shiver that ran though her, but refused to acknowledge what that revealed about her.

Biology. That’s why the idea isn’t entirely abhorrent. Why some parts of it all were pleasant.

She pushed the thought from her mind, instead watching her alpha rearrange the ruined nest to a near replica of its original state.

Attentive, she couldn’t help but think. A good quality in a mate.

Even banishing that train of thought from her mind as well, Feyre found herself inching over in the nest, seeking his warmth, the comfort she knew she’d only find wrapped in his arms. She loathed everything about it.

His scent caught in her nose, the rising ache, in her core even before she could manage to clean up, how her nerves and worries melted away the moment he started to purr for her.

“Not fair,” she pouted, nose buried in his neck.

Rhys sighed. “I know, pet. I know.”

~~~~~

Taglist: @littlest-w01f // @whatishowedyouinthedark // @ninthcircleofprythian // @sajirah // @acourtofladydeath // @lulling-night-sky // @edgyellie // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @darling-archeron // @goddess-aelin // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiya-whitethorn // @acotar-fanns // @jealousveronya // @acourtofwips // @reverie-tales // @gwynkyrie // @corcracrow // @thelovelymadone // @rosanna-writer // @toporecall //@popjunkie42-blog

[potatoplace]

Omega Needs - Chapter 4

Feylin, eventual Feysand

chapter 3 chapter 5 series masterlist

Story Summary: Feyre presented as an omega after being changed into a high fae Under the Mountain. Her heats have been hellish, and Tamlin has neglected certain aspects of her presentation. After the disastrous wedding ceremony, how will Feyre’s omega handle being away from her Alpha?

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, talk of UTM stuff, that's all I think

Words: ~4.1k

Author's Note: well, it's not as far into the week as I wanted to get, but I'm happy with how this chapter turned out! Not proofreading, as usual lol. More to come in the next few days :) I wanted to say thank you to everyone who's read my story so far, it means so much to me to see every like and comment. Enjoy! Also I hope Rhys and Feyre aren't feeling too OOC, both of them are more influenced by their biological urges, the main change so far is in Feyre being more submissive, when she's normally such a firecracker. She'll still have her moments, no worries, just wanted to give a bit of an explanation.

18+ only pls

🩵💚🩵💜🩵

Feyre’s bath was heavenly. The view was perfect, the temperature of the water was just right, and Nuala had brought in a tray holding a lovely teapot filled with a lovely jasmine tea, which she was tempted to ask for a container of to take home to Spring, as well as a few different kinds of cookies.

She stayed in the bath until the tea was gone and the sweets were eaten. Her skin was pruney, but she didn’t mind. She dried herself off and tied her hair up in a towel, walked over to the wardrobe and swung the doors open. The inside held an assortment of clothing, matching sets of tops and bottoms, all of which were cut in a comfortable but attractive looking fashion. There were also a few silk dresses, nightgowns, dressing gowns, thick leggings, and buttery soft looking knit sweaters. There were a few different pairs of satin slippers on the floor of the wardrobe, all varying in color that matched the sets of clothing. Feyre pulled out one of the nightgowns, a midnight blue with silver stars embroidered at the hems, and slipped it over her head, amazed at how well it fit her body.

Although, maybe she shouldn’t be seeing as Rhys had chosen clothing… well, scraps of cloth, for her before, and her body truly hadn’t changed much in the past year.

Shaking her head, she grabbed a matching, sheer dressing gown, then padded over to the bed and bent down slightly, touching the indigo comforter, and instantly sinking down onto the bed. The blanket was possibly one of the softest fabrics she had ever touched. Tossing the dressing gown on the end of the bed, she pulled back the covers and slipped underneath, deciding that she was worn out enough from the day events to take a nap before dinner.

The pillows were just the right marriage between firm and fluffy, Feyre couldn’t help but loose a sigh as she pulled the blanket up over her chin. The pillowcases were violet in color, and she wondered if Rhysand had a hand in decorating her room. With the shade of his eyes all over the room, she thought it was highly likely. If he did have a part in it, well, he did a good job. Especially with the bed, not forgetting the fabrics waiting to billow down and create a beautiful canopy.

After a few minutes of laying in a haven of comfort, Feyre slipped into a deep sleep as her body gave in to the emotional exhaustion from the day.

🩵💚🩵💜🩵

It was a few hours later that she was awoken by a soft knock and the door swinging open, Cerridwen holding a tray with a few dishes stacked on top.

Feyre sat up in the bed, wiping the sleep out of her eyes when the smell hit her- something was absolutely mouthwatering, and her stomach rumbled. It was then that she realized she hadn’t eaten all day aside from the cookies earlier, having been too nervous to eat before the ceremony, and, well…

“That smells wonderful,” she remarked as Cerridwen crossed the room and placed the tray on the table. “What is it?”

“There’s a bowl of beef stew, a few slices of bread, and a slice of cake. Oh, and a couple of different drinks that I thought you might like.” Feyre grabbed the dressing gown and slipped it on, walking over to the table and smiled at the shadow wraith.

“Thank you for the food, Cerridwen.”

“It’s no problem, Feyre. Thank you for everything that you have done. It means a lot to all of us to be back home,” she said with gratitude in her eyes, and Feyre blushed lightly. “Especially… especially for the High Lord.” Cerridwen shook her head, clearing her thoughts, then made for the door. “Enjoy your dinner, Feyre.”

Feyre watched the door close, then turned back to the tray of food. The stew looked as delicious as it smelled, thick with chunks of beef, onion, carrots, potatoes, and two other root vegetables. Feyre was guessing they were native to the Night Court, as she’d never seen anything similar to them back in Spring. One of them was blue inside, with varying rings of varying color spreading outward and the skin removed; the other was a solid dark brown with a black skin.

She sat down and immediately picked up the spoon, taking a bite of the stew. Flavor exploded in her mouth as the spicy, earthy flavor overtook her tastebuds. Quickly, she spooned another bite into her mouth, and sighed after swallowing. It was absolute perfection, so rich and comforting.

Feyre picked up a slice of bread going to tear a piece off and butter it separately, as she had been drilled into doing over the past year back home. But…

Ianthe isn’t here right now.

No one is here to see her butter the whole slice of bread and dip it into the stew, taking the biggest bite that she possibly could.

No one is here to see that she finishes stew and bread within 15 minutes, an entirely unladylike act back home for the size of the bowl.

The cake was a nutty flavor- pistachio, if she was correct- with a vanilla buttercream, and absolutely delightful. Feyre was only able to finish half of the slice, her stomach feeling on the edge of bursting.

Stuffed as she was, she looked towards the three cups on the tray. One of them was water, which she took a small sip of. The next was a bubbly apple juice, light and sweet on her tongue, similar to the sparkling fairy wine they had at holidays. The last was a warm and creamy chocolate drink, staying warm in its enchanted mug, adding to the contentment building in her chest.

Even if the day had been bad, nowhere near the outcome she was hoping for, she had just eaten a delicious dinner with a gorgeous view.

She climbed back into her bed a few minutes later, watching the sun set over the mountains as she lay facing the open wall, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

🩵💜🩵

A knock sounded on her door, waking Feyre from her peaceful slumber. “Darling, breakfast will be ready in a half an hour,” Rhysand drawled through the door before she heard his footsteps receding down the hall.

She sighed and threw the covers off of herself, stretching her body taut before getting up and heading over to the bathroom.

She slipped her nightgown off over her head, tossing it on the large counter on the far end of the bathroom, and her hair up in a bun with a tie she found in drawer in the counter, then sank into the warm water of the bathtub. She reveled in the beauty of the morning light shining on the land before her for a few minutes. She washed herself quickly, not wanting to linger too long and risk Rhysand or someone else possibly stumbling in on her in the bath to hurry her along to breakfast.

Feyre toweled her body off and went to the vanity, rummaging through the drawers until she found a brush and smoothed out her hair, wild from sleep. Then she moved over to the wardrobe and picked out a pair of black leggings, and a dark blue knit sweater so soft she wanted a blanket made out of it. She picked out a pair of black flats, slipping them on and walking to the door, steeling herself for whatever is to come during this meal.

She exited her room and headed down the hallway she believed to lead to the table she’d seen in the room they’d first arrived in yesterday.

Hopefully, today would be the same as yesterday, with Rhysand being a tolerable level of flirtatious and pushy. She wasn’t sure she would survive the week if he turned back into the major ass he had been Under the Mountain.

The smell of eggs, bacon and fruit grew as she drew closer, and then she was back in the grand hallway, staring at the gorgeous blonde woman in a sleek black dress seated next to Rhysand. They both turned to look at her, and the blonde squealed, got up, and ran over to Feyre. The moment her scent, citrus and cinnamon and entirely alpha, hit Feyre’s nose, anxiety began to build in her gut. The only other female alpha she knew was Ianthe, and she had nothing but veiled disdain for Feyre in the year that she’d known her.

She stopped right before her, and held out her hands. “It is so lovely to finally meet you, Feyre. My cousin has talked quite a lot about you in the past year, and I’m glad this day has finally come!” The woman grabbed Feyre’s hands, encompassing them with her own. “My name is Mor, I’ll be joining you for breakfast if you’re alright with that!”

Feyre’s first impression of Mor is that of sunshine in a bottle, always ready to be opened and spread joy on those around her, and the building dread within her dissipated. A nice female alpha. She looked a sigh of relief, and squeezed her hands lightly. “That sounds lovely, Mor. It’s nice to meet you too.” The blonde smiled widely at her, and dragged her over to the table where Rhysand was still seated, and a nice selection of food was waiting to be eaten.

“Good morning, Feyre,” he said with a smile, and Feyre almost sighed again. It seemed like today was going to be a nice day, if the attitude these two were giving off was genuine. Then his scent washed over her, the blissful combination of citrus and sea, so perfectly alpha.

It may be more trying than she thought, through no true fault of his own.

“Good morning, Rhysand,” she replied, the corners of her mouth tilted up. Feyre started dishing out food for herself starting with the eggs, and motioned to put some on Mor’s plate as well.

“Yes, please, Feyre,” she said, pushing her plate closer to the dish. Feyre scooped eggs onto her plate, then moved to Rhysand’s. “Thank you, Feyre.”

“I’ll dish my own up, darling, but thank you,” he said with a slight smirk, grabbing the spatula from her and putting eggs on his plate.

Feyre fought a frown, unsure why he wouldn’t let her serve him, but mentally shook it off. Probably something to do with being magically bound to a psychopath through a drink served to him, so none of Feyre’s business.

She grabbed a pair of tongs and grabbed a few slices of bacon for herself and Mor, then passing them off to Rhysand again. The same cycle continued for the large bowl of fruit that Feyre was most excited to have, made of chunks of apple, melon, and a few varieties of berries, some of which she hadn’t seen in Spring.

Mor busied herself with pouring glasses of water for the three of them, and once they had their food, the three of them tucked in.

After a couple of minutes, Mor broke the silence. “So, Feyre, what’s your favorite color?”

Feyre choked on her food slightly, not expecting the question at all and threw a questioning look at Mor.

“What?” Mor asked, laughing breezily. “If you’re to be here every month, I’d like to know some things about you! Sooo, your favorite color?” She repeated enthusiastically.

Feyre thought for a moment, not having ever truly thought of what her favorite might be. She had loved all colors equally her entire life. Well, up until a year ago that is. But after a second, thinking back on the painting on her drawer of the dresser… “Probably a dark, midnight blue. What about you?”

“Definitely red, it’s the color of love and passion, so I’ve always been drawn to it. And I happen to look amazing in it.”

Feyre was just happy she hadn’t worn any red today, not wanting to deal with the color any more than she had to. “Now that, I’m sure of, Mor. Though I’m sure you could pull off any color if you tried.” Feyre turned her head to Rhys, asking “Which is your favorite, Rhysand?"

He lifted a hand to his heart, a pained expression on his face. “Feyre, still calling me Rhysand? You know only my enemies call me that, darling. We may not be friends, but I wouldn’t consider us enemies at this point in time.”

Feyre rolled her eyes. “Fine, what’s your favorite color, Rhys?”

A smile spread across his face, and he answered “Midnight blue as well, funny coincidence darling.” He winked at her, then continued “The color of the night sky is something I’ll never stop loving. There’s just something so entrancing about it.”

It was Mor’s turn to roll her eyes, “Of course that’s your favorite, you’re the High Lord of the Night Court, cousin.”

“That may be, but the color is magnificent either way, Mor.”

Feyre couldn’t help but smile, watching the two interact as she took a few more bites of her food. It was nice to see Rhysand’s friendly side come out, playful but not flirtatious or masking danger.

“Feyre, do you have any hobbies?” Mor asked, drawing her back into the room.

“Oh, umm…” Feyre paused, unsure of how to answer. “I liked to paint, but I haven’t in a while. Recently I’ve taken to reading. Beyond that, I haven’t found much that interests me.”

Mor frowned for a moment, then slid a smile back on her face. “Well, we can change that if you’d like! If you need anything, you can ask either of us or the twins for it, and- oh, do you like shopping?”

Shrugging her shoulders, Feyre said “I don’t really know, I didn’t have the money to shop for anything nice before… as a human, and since then all of my things have been provided for me without me asking.”

“Well, then, if you’d like I could bring you some catalogs from my favorite stores! That way I’d have an excuse to go get something for myself when you wanted something,” Mor added with a wink.

“As though you need an excuse to go shopping Mor,” Rhysand said playfully.

“Oh, like you don’t enjoy shopping for home décor,” She countered in a teasing tone, and Rhys narrowed his eyes at her slightly. Mor wiped her mouth with a napkin, then stood up. “Well, it was wonderful to meet you Feyre. I have a meeting to run off to, but I hope I’ll see you again this week!”

“The same to you, Mor. And I’m sure that we’ll see each other again soon,” Feyre said, meaning her words. And with that, Mor walked off into the the hallway, leaving Feyre alone with Rhysand.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” She asked, and Rhysand quirked a brow at her, questioning. “Seeing as I know how to read, you can’t follow through with your plan to torture me with it.”

Rhysand loosed a sigh, his shoulders hunching slightly. “I do not intend to torture you during your time here, Feyre, physically or otherwise. In fact, if you’ll allow me to, I would like to apologize to you.”

Feyre frowned. “I suppose you can, it does not mean I will forgive you, however.”

“I am not looking for forgiveness, Feyre, I am simply hoping to apologize for my actions, now and whenever else you will allow me. What I did to you and how I acted Under the Mountain…” He paused, looking for the right words. “It was and is unforgivable, no matter the circumstances. I regretted my actions even as I was doing them, and now as well, having you here under the coercion of a bargain that I twisted your infected, broken arm to force you into making. Worst of all was the way I used you during the revels, no matter the reason why, I cannot ever undo the trauma and pain I inflicted upon you. Feyre, I am truly, deeply sorry for how I have hurt you. If you wish, I will release you from the bargain today and return you to Spring right now.”

Feyre’s eyes were wide by the time he had finished, the sincerity of his words shocking her. Most of all, she was shocked at his willingness to revoke the bargain.

“I…” She started, but could not find the words. The omega inside of her was begging her to forgive him, please the alpha in front of her, but the emotional part of her, the part that was damaged and forever changed? It could not simply forgive his actions.

“There is no need to answer me anytime soon, Feyre.”

“No, it’s not… I’m just surprised, is all. I… I will not forgive you now, but I can see that there is a difference in you from a year before now. As for the bargain…” Feyre paused, and Rhys waited, hardly breathing. “The bargain did save my life, no matter how you convinced me to take it, I would have died without it. As of right now, I am fine with continuing to honor it, as long as you offer me another bargain that you will break it if I ask you at any point in time.”

Rhys smiled at Feyre, a broad, toothy one that made him so handsome it nearly took Feyre’s breath away. “It’s a bargain, darling. And thank you.” Inside the unmarked space on her left wrist, a small ribbon of black tied in a bow appeared, a matching one on Rhysand.

“Would you…” Rhysand hesitated. “Would you be willing to try and be friends? At least, friendly during your time here?”

Feyre considered it for a moment. “As long as you do not make any more bullheaded comments about my alpha, then I suppose that would be doable,” She agreed.

Rhys chuckled and nodded his head. “I will do my very best to be polite about him, Feyre, I promise.” He stood up from the table and extended his arm closest to Feyre, and his scent washed over her again. “Now, would you be up for a tour? I would like for you to be able to do more than bathe and sleep, if you so choose.”

Feyre stood up as well, and grabbed his arm lightly, not entirely having planned to do that. She could, after all, walk on her own and follow him. “That sounds nice, I’d like to have more places to hide from you if you do end up being an ass.”

Rhys chuckled at that, and began leading her down the opposite hallway from where her room was.

🩵💚🩵💜🩵

The tour took about an hour, granted a lot of that was Feyre exploring the library, a massive, gorgeous room that had a large mural covering the entire far wall.

Rhysand had explained that the mural told the story of the creation of the Night Court, up through the midway point of his father’s rule.

Feyre was entranced by it, similar to the mural back in the Spring library, so much so that Rhysand had to practically drag her away from it, back to the rest of the moonstone palace.

After that, she was most interested in the kitchen and large bathing pools, the latter of which she may have been tempted to use if she didn’t have such an amazing bath in her room already.

“This is our final stop,” Rhys said, swinging the door in front of them open to reveal a relatively bare room, only furnished with two wooden chairs with padding.

Feyre’s face contorted, her mind going to the worst, before Rhys caught sight of her expression and quickly said “It’s a small training room, suitable for beginners magic training, as well as mental shielding. I was hoping that you would be willing to train your magic, if you haven’t begun already in Spring.”

Feyre’s cheeks heated quickly, and she turned away from him and the doorway. “I don’t have any kind of magic,” she stated in a small voice.

“They may not have manifested yet for some reason, Feyre, but you were given a kernel of power from each High Lord.” He walked around her so she faced him, and he lifted her chin with two gentle fingers. “Not much is known about Made fae, but I would reckon that you will have a well of power to rival any one of us, just waiting to be coaxed to life.”

His gentle tone and scent was like a balm on the sting of embarrassment at having no magic to show for what she was gifted, and she nodded her head, his fingers dropping from her chin.

“Would you be willing to try? If you’re uncomfortable attempting to use your magic with me, we could at the very least go over magical theory and how to begin accessing it. Or even just the shielding,” he suggested.

Feyre nodded her head again. Both of those sounded like reasonable, kind enough options for him to offer. “That sounds fine, but… Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why offer to train me? Why offer to help me protect my mind from you?”

Rhysand sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I want you to be able to protect yourself Feyre, even if it is from me. I was not lying when I said I came to call in the bargain because I was worried for you,” he said sincerely.

“As long as you’re not an ass to me during the shielding, both will be fine. I would… I would like to know if I have any magic,” Feyre said hesitantly, a spark of hope igniting in her chest. Something that she hadn’t felt in quite a while, besides the hope for Tamlin’s mark, though that was hardly ignited anymore, especially with the disastrous ceremony now standing between them… Mother, they have so much to discuss when she gets home.

“Of course, Feyre, I’ll be as gentle as I can. As for the theory…” he trailed off, and had suddenly pulled a book from nowhere, and handed it to Feyre. “You can begin reading this today, and we can go over however much you’ve read tomorrow after breakfast.” Feyre turned the book over in her hands, admiring the leather cover that was stitched with silver thread. “It’s a book on the formation of magic as fae age, as well as the beginnings to understanding how to access the magic within you. Read as much or as little as you like."

“Thank you,” Feyre said, clutching the book to her chest.

“Or course, darling. Now, I’ll show you back to your room from here, but after that I’ll be in meetings until dinner this evening, so lunch is yours to take wherever you wish. Just call for Nuala or Cerridwen, or talk to me,” He tapped his temple, “And it will be set up for you. And of course, feel free to help yourself to anything in the kitchen if you’d like.”

They made their way back to her room, both of them stopping outside of the doorway.

Her curiosity got the better of her, and she blurted out the question, “Did you help decorate my room?”

Color rose high in Rhysand’s cheeks, the first time that Feyre had ever seen him look bashful, and he coughed awkwardly. “As a matter of fact I did. Are you finding it to your liking? I was attempting to make it as open and inviting as possible.”

Feyre smiled and nodded her head. “Yes, it’s lovely. The view from this side is spectacular.”

Rhysand’s expression mirrored her own. “It certainly is. Have a good rest of your day, Feyre,” he said in parting, and began to walk away.

Feyre turned the doorknob and began to open her door, but before entering her room, turned back to his retreating form. “You too, Rhys. I’ll see you at dinner.”

Rhysand turned around, flashing that toothy smile again, and winked before winnowing away.

She shook her head and entered her room, settling down into her bed, the book Rhysand had given her clutched tightly in her hands. She ran her hands over the cover, the feeling of the stitching comforting against them.

Without waiting another moment, Feyre opened the cover and began reading the guide greedily, wanting what Rhysand had talked about, wanting to be able to defend herself and access the magic he believed her to have been blessed with.

She wanted to be strong again.

🩵💚🩵💜🩵

Series taglist: @icey--stars

[ofbreathandflame-archive]

Why do Rhysand stans always pretend to be Feyre stans? It's always a bit pathetic bc they're like "I'm Feyre first" and then you look on the blog and they've gotten at least three metas about "why I understand what Rhysand did😔" or they're like 'we know he was wrong but"

Why aren't y'all just honest about what you like? If you know you are going always prioritize Rhysand feelings and actions, even when they objectively clash with Feyre's why are yall so adamant on lying about it. These conversations would be so much more fruitful if people just admit they enjoy the bad boy more. This literally happened with Darkling and Alina and as soon as Alina was disentangled from Darklina y'all called her everything but a child of god😂

Y'all love for Feyre is conditional on her love for Rhys. Feyre is bbygirl as long as Feysand is the name of the game. Which is fine for personal preferences, but is a bit taxing when you feel obligated to care for a character you don't like outside the dynamic.

[itsagrimm]

OF COURSE the archeron sisters have daddy issues. they are basically sharing first place at the daddy issues olympics.

how else would they end up comfortably with men 500 years their senior.

[mentallyinwalmart]

I often see “I’m still waiting for nesta and elains apology to feyre” and I’m sorry but if you are still caught up in that nonsense you are perpetuating the assumptions that caused nesta and elain to act the way they did pre-ACOSF. I think feyre is owed a lot of apologies by a lot of characters, but her sisters are at the bottom of that list.

there is a lot to be acknowledged between the sisters but to say they “owe” feyre something after what has happened in the last 3 books is to grossly misunderstand sibling dynamics and the nuanced relationships between these characters and what becoming fae meant to them. It’s also erasing their unique and individual relationships with poverty, their parents, and their siblings. they were ALL children. In my opinion, in a lot of ways, and compared to basically every other character, they ARE still children

[zipadeea]

feysand and merder are basically the same relationship and i refuse to elaborate further

[purple-writer8]

Heather - ACOTAR

Azriel x Winter Court Reader

“But I watch your eyes as she walks by. What a sight for sore eyes, brighter than the blue sky… she’s got you mesmerized. While I die.”

warnings: unrequited love, pining, evil thoughts, intrusive thoughts, lesser fae thinks shes not enough, hating on girl, self doubt, oblivious az

1.2k words

Masterlist :)

Crushing on the shadowsinger was a bad idea, you knew that since the moment you joined the Inner Circle centuries ago. It was a family, and familiar dynamics could very well be affected by your stupid little crush, but that didn’t stop your heart from beating for him.

You were a master of lies, Azriel’s second in command as Spymaster— you were good at being a chameleon— at lying. So you’ve spent your entire life in the Inner Circle, lying to everyone, hiding your feelings for Azriel because surely you were not worthy enough for the shadowsinger. 

He was one of the strongest warriors in Prythian, the only current shadowsinger, an Ilyrian. You… you were just a sneaky thief turned spy. A lesser fae from the Winter Court, with eyes so white, you were terrifying to your enemies. Fingertips so cold, that with enough conviction, whatever you touched turned into frost. 

You weren’t enough for Azriel, or anyone really. The High Lord had found you three hundred centuries ago, you had somehow snuck into Hewn City, and then you had stolen heaps of artifacts and sold them in the Winter Court for profit. You were stealthy and quick, something he had appreciated when Cassian and Azriel finally brought you to him.

Rhysand gave you two choices: to be handed over to Kallias as a criminal, or stay in his court and serve him— because he was sure you would excel as a spy. In exchange, you got a family, gold, clothes, and a warm bed. It was a no-brainer for you.

Azriel and you were a dream team and with time, your feelings for the shadowsinger went from admiration to adoration. Who wouldn’t adore him? He was perfection, he was everything, and he was the love of your life— you weren’t his, though. 

You had never expressed your feelings because, frankly, you were not sure that you could handle rejection. So you pined and loved him in silence, hoping that one day a miracle dawned on him, and he would somehow fall for you— a frosty lesser fae. You knew you two were not mates, but cauldron, you could wish and yearn. 

It was more than wishful dreaming, though sometimes you thought that just maybe— maybe he reciprocated your feelings. He was so kind to you, so doting, so careful.

Though, that all stopped when Elain Archeron dropped into all of your lives. You liked Feyre, and loved Nesta— but Elain, you hated her. The middle Archeron was perfection, everything you were not. She was soft, kind, beautiful, High Fae, and… Azriel liked her.

You knew it was bad that you hated her for being of his interest, but you had never once claimed to be a good person. Two years into her arrival and you could not stand the likes of her. 

You were sitting in the River House, playing board games with the Inner Circle, Nesta, and Lucien. Much to your delight, Elain hadn’t joined. It was the beginning of winter in the Night Court, and though you were made of ice— you weren’t immune to the cold. You shivered as you laid down one of your cards, and it caused Cassian to laugh at you.

“You turned my room into ice last winter solstice, and now you shiver?” He teased you, making you roll your white eyes at him. “Should’ve brought a coat,” Feyre taunted you, and you nodded. “Guys, I really thought it wasn’t as cold,” you chuckled, rubbing your cold as ice hands together to get some warmth, which was to no avail because there was no warmth inside you. Frost appeared in your hands at this action, causing you to groan. 

 Your heart stopped, though, when you felt a warm sweater wrapping around your shoulders. Your eyes flickered to Azriel, who gave you a small smile, “thank you,” you said softly.

 “It looks better on you than it does me,” the shadowsinger shrugged, his shadows coiling around your frozen hands, trying to warm you up. You smiled, about to answer, but his eyes snapped away from you, as did his shadows. Your eyes followed his gaze, meeting with Elain as she walked through the living room and into the kitchen. Your heart dropped, she was a sight for sore eyes, a sight for Azriel’s eyes. 

 She had him mesmerized, and you felt like you wanted to die. Inching away from Azriel, you continued your game, dropping his sweater unto the couch behind you. You were an ice fae, you could manage. 

When dinner came around, you were quiet all through the affair. You seethed in silence as you watched him drape the very same sweater he had given you, over Elain’s shoulders. The cold pulsed through your veins, and soon your utensils were turning into ice as you watched the scene unfold.

Elain told some story about her up-and-coming garden, and you got the urge to go and freeze her flowers to death. Obviously you did not. She was an angel, a good person. 

You kind of wished she were dead. You reprimanded your mind for being so evil. How could anyone ever love you? You were terrible… and not even half as pretty as Elain. Your thoughts were dark, and your heart made of stone-cold ice. Love was not something you would ever get. 

After dinner, you seethed outside. The snow that fell over you felt like fire on your skin, and you could feel your fingertips freezing as they created small snowflakes. “Come inside, it’s so cold outside,” that husky voice you worshiped spoke from the from door, causing you to turn to him.

His shadows rushed to you, swirling around your body to shield you from the snow. You turned away from Azriel, not wanting him to see you in your essence. Your veins shone black underneath your pale skin, your eyes glowing white, while ice slipped from your fingers and wrapped itself around you. 

You heard his footsteps crunching in the snow, then large wings wrapped around you in a protective manner as he towered over you. “Don’t look at me,” you mumbled, your eyes casting downward, not wanting him to see your eyes.

“Why?” He asked softly, scarred thumb wiping away frost that had gathered on your cheek. Then it clasped around your chin, tilting it upward so you looked up at him. 

His hazel eyes skimmed over your face slowly, “what’s wrong?” He asked softly, making you tilt your face away from his grasp. “Don’t.” You stated. You wished he knew, wish that you had been obvious enough, because you were so tired of pining for someone who did not love you back. 

“What?” He asked, a puzzled look happening upon his chiseled and devastatingly beautiful face. “You gave her your sweater,” you did not care how preposterous you were being, you couldn’t hold back. You had enough of this. 

"What? It’s just a sweater, does it matter?” Azriel asked, his shadows coiling around his ear to whisper in his ear. Jealous girl, jealous fae. 

 “You like her better.” The jealousy was pouring out of you, manifesting in ice that crawled all over your body. 

 “I can’t keep wishing I was Elain.” 

-

Part Two

Author’s Note:

IK the elain/azriel x pining reader is done a lot butttttt i love this song and i wanted to write my take on the triangle with heather as inspiration!

Taglist: @mybestfriendmademe

[hellwantfuckme]

azriel meeting his mate (headcanons)

author's note: this is just a silly little thing, not more than 1k words.

The first time Azriel sees her, his heart skips a beat. At first, for the first split seconds, he doesn't know exactly what has made his heart race like that. He forgot all the discomfort of tucking his wings tightly to his back to avoid hitting anything, trying to make himself smaller if possible. There was nothing in his mind for a few seconds, nothing. The only thing he was able to do was to look at her, standing with her back straight and hands in front of her, one holding the other. Her brown eyes opened slightly surprised as she realized the huge wings accompanying him and Cassian, probably also because of how large they were in general.

Azriel didn't realize that her looking at him was a necessity until she did it for mere milliseconds and quickly returned to her brothers. As if trying to absorb every detail and difference.

Cassian had glanced at Azriel for a moment, the way Azriel's heart beat almost perfectly audible to him. Azriel had to make an impulse to keep his shadows under control, tucked behind his wings on his back. He didn't want, and had no intention, to scare any of the Archeron sisters and cousin, especially because they had let them use their home to meet with the queens, which was something to be grateful for.

Although the gods they wrongly say if he could stand to think about that when she looked at him. And she looked at him, fixedly. Her eyebrows curved in the slightest expressions of fear, barely a glint. But it was enough for Azriel to notice and, strangely, without thinking about what he was doing, tuck his wings to his back and his chin sunk a little, the hands he had hanging at his sides moved to hide behind his back, almost as if he were trying to make himself smaller to not scare her. And when some of the tension in her shoulders disappeared, and her expression subtly softened, Azriel knew he would kneel right there if it made her not fear him. He actually didn't notice the strangeness of all this, perhaps because she was clouding everything right now, because he didn't usually just... Act. His whole life had been governed by a single dynamic, thinking and analyzing before acting. But trying to make himself smaller had been an instinct, as natural as breathing, as hiding his hands behind his back when meeting someone.

Somehow he registered in a corner of his mind that Rhys, Feyre, and Cassian had noticed whatever was between him and her.

Feyre introduced her, Azriel didn't miss the hidden affection in her voice as she spoke of her cousin. Azriel was tempted to murmur it to see how it felt against his lips, in his language. And the name echoed in his head for what seemed an eternity until... it just clicked. Something clicked and Azriel didn't know what it was, he didn't know what it was that now made her so familiar when he was sure this was the first time he had met the woman. He didn't know why when he looked at her again, his lungs filled with air and then exhaled and felt like it was the first time he had breathed after an eternity.

She had blinked and Azriel found himself drinking in every reaction, every slight change in her proportionally sharp features. The orange light illuminating her olive skin was not bright enough to let him see what color her eyes were, if they were black or a brown so deep that it was confusing. Azriel wondered how she would look in the full sunlight, and under the stars of Velaris.

There was no fearful arch in her straight eyebrows now, there was no trace of discomfort in her, she simply looked at him and Azriel held her gaze.

Nesta, Feyre's older sister, said something about dinner being ready. And then she moved, with Elain behind her.

She blinked, looking away from Azriel, and finally gave a glance at Rhysand and Cassian. Although not a very focused one, thousands of miles from the kind of look she had given Azriel. She nodded gently in the direction where Nesta and Elain had gone. "you first" she said, a polite smile on her lips.

But Azriel didn't move for a moment, he stayed there, with his heart beating in his throat and finding all his muscles suddenly numb. She looked at him again, but this time it was too much for Azriel. He lowered his gaze and forced himself to walk, to follow Cassian's direction with Rhysand behind, while Feyre and she stayed behind. Not much, a considerable distance between him and his brothers and them.

And, what the hell just happened?

The question echoed in his mind as he blinked, moving one foot behind the other.

"Don't look at me like that," he heard her voice murmuring with a hint of embarrassment several meters behind him. She was probably talking to Feyre. And he didn't know exactly how he had been looking at Feyre, but he knew why.

[bloodofthefates]

x. this is all Rhys's fault #5,687 \\ @nightstriumph

Despite the late hour, the light glowing from the lamp-like bobbing orbs was enough to cast her shadow alone the multicolored surface of the moonstone floors of the mountaintop palace. It wasn't one of Rhys's residences she preferred, feeling liked they weren't entire allowed to be their true selves here with the weight of the Court of Nightmares dangling just underfoot but Feyre was glad for its isolation. Not nearly as intimate as the cabin, she enjoyed the openness here and felt like she could breath deeper when in need of a stolen moment away from the demands of protecting Velaris. Wisps of light gossamer fabrics trailed behind her as she walked barefoot along the low-lit hall, each color of the opalescent walls and floor refracted in the material's sheen. Feyre had sensed that Rhys was still awake, although barely just when she'd awoken along in bed and gone in search of him. Coming to the space he claimed as a makeshift study, she slipped inside of the space to find him hunched over his desk heavily distracted and clearly in deep thought. "I thought we came here to take a break from everything else..." She cooed softly, a sleepy smile spreading across her lips as she came to stand at his side, hand sliding into place across his shoulders as she squeezed affectionately in an attempt to draw his attention away from whatever was troubling him and instead directing it toward her.

[starfall-spirit]

Read on Ao3 // Fic Masterlist // SJM Omegaverse Masterlist // Dark Feysand Masterlist

Summary: If there was one thing Rhys was well aware of, it was that his life expectancy as a kingpin was a short one. Unless he wanted his uncle seizing power the moment he bled out, he was in need of an heir. An Alpha heir at that.

The only way he could guarantee such a thing was by breeding an omega, a designation nearly extinct in the world they lived in. Regardless, he would acquire one—no matter how unconventional his means may be.

OR;

The Mafia Omega Auction Fic

CW: Dark!Rhys, mafia AU, very much in the “omegas are property” type of omegaverse here. Non-con in future chapters.

Chapter II

Feyre

“I’m not sharing a room with you. You can forget that now.” The room was lovely of course. The whole villa was. Built for luxury, the two story home was all open space and clean lines, one room flowing smoothly into the next while the dark color scheme of blue and black dominated most of the property. At least the first floor, which was the only one she’d had the time to see before her captor’s tour led them to his bedroom.

“Omega.” 

That single word was an order in itself and she almost caved to it. Probably would have if she wasn’t so angry at his presumptuous attitude. “I’m already your prisoner. I won’t be your toy too. And I don’t care how much money and power and influence you may have in this city. I am not a thing to own and order about like one of your goons.”

Sighing, Rhys took her by the hips and forced her backwards until her legs hit the end of the bed and she lost her balance. Though her skimpy auction dress had been replaced with jeans and a loose top before they’d deplaned, Feyre still felt entirely exposed to him when he leaned over her, fists braced on either side of her head, the width of his hips forcing her legs wide. 

He was so damn big. Some tiny, yet not-insignificant part of her wanted to roll over and obey every word that rolled off his tongue—fall into the trap her mother had tried to push her into when Feyre first presented as a pre-teen, mere months after her sister had been sold off to some wealthy alpha looking for a sweet little broodmare.

But surely in this day and age, omegas could find more than a life of servitude, couldn’t they? She felt horrid even thinking it, but she was stronger than Elain in some ways. She could fight that instinct to bend to an alpha if she really wanted to. Keep her autonomy. There had to be a limit to an alpha’s dominance, surely.

“You will have a role here, Feyre. I doubt you’ll enjoy it at first, but you’ll cooperate.”

“Fat chance.” She made a swing at him, but he caught her by the wrist before she could actually land a blow, pinning both hands over her head with humbling ease. “Get your hands off of me!”

One sharp growl and she was baring her neck to him, crushing any hopes of fighting her instincts as an omega. “You’re going to listen to what I have to say, little girl. Or you’re going to end up with a very sore bottom. Is that clear?” She swallowed, hating how the command bled into her, setting her shivering beneath him. She was in no position to ask him to purr for her after being so difficult, not that she wanted to turn to him for comfort in the long run.

“What is my—my role,” she choked out, ignoring that base urge to lick up the column of his throat when he leaned in closer. He was a monster, she loathed the man. But he was also devastatingly handsome, and after so long hiding away from alphas… it was just her body’s natural response. It said nothing about her as a person—or her mental stability. “Why did you bid for me?” 

It was likely just a matter of the rarity of omegas. Having two in her family was unheard of; their family tree suggested it was a genetic “blessing”, but it hardly seemed to matter now. She just hoped this was about more than a rich guy wanting a trophy wife. She wanted to be worth more than that, even in this cruel world where it was so unlikely.

Rolling off of her, Rhys arranged her so she was straddling his lap, gently bending her arms so he could both cage her torso with his arms and keep her wrists clasped in his hand. “I won’t try to hit you again,” she mumbled. She had to put space between them before she did something stupid on impulse alone.

“Forgive me for doubting your honesty, darling.” The half-smile her comment earned slipped from his face. “As I said, this arrangement is purely for my benefit, but I expect you to cooperate. If you can’t manage that then there will be consequences.”

“Like a spanking?” she grumbled.

“Perhaps. The severity will suit the infraction, that I promise.” She wasn’t sure how honest he was being then, but she didn’t dare say as much. “All that said, it’s up to you just how unpleasant this has to be. I’d love nothing more than to spoil you rotten, but I won’t tolerate you fighting me constantly.”

“I can fight you sometimes, then?” She clamped her mouth shut immediately, flinching away as much as his hold would allow.

He chuckled. “Bratty little thing. I’ll let you decide the risk and reward in that.” Again, his humor slipped away all to quickly. “In my line of work there are many risks, and precautions I have to take. Contingency plans, if you will.

“There are more people than I care to admit who want me dead, Feyre. The next in line to take my place is an unfavorable option.” The pieces were coming together. She knew why she was here, and yet she still prayed he wouldn’t say it. She was barely nineteen. “You’re going to give me an heir, Feyre. Several if I have it my way.” And he would have it his way, she knew. Alphas always did. “Your next heat will be induced, unless your cycle is approaching in the next few weeks.”

Cold dread rushed through her at that. “You can’t force a heat.”

“I assure you, little one, a single injection and you’ll be begging for my knot within a few hours. When was your last heat, Feyre? And do not try to lie to me.”

She swallowed. “June.”

“You have a year between them?” She nodded. “Once you’re settled I’ll call for the doctor. Start making your nest, pet.”

“And if I don’t?”

Clearly unimpressed with her pointless argument, he leaned in, the tip of his nose dragging across the tender skin beneath her jaw. “If you don’t nest, Omega, you’ll be feeling even more vulnerable and stressed all through your heat. I’m going to fuck you whether you make a nest or not. I already told you I want to make this easier for you. Stubbornness isn’t going to save you this time.” ~~~~~  Feyre made a half-hearted nest on the floor that night, though her captor had certainly done his best to coax her into the massive bed. If there was one good trait Rhys had it was basic respect for the creation and occupancy of a nest. Feyre might not be acting out at the moment, but she didn’t trust him. And until he gained her trust—which was never going to happen—he wasn’t getting anywhere near her nest.

With the fluffy blankets and body pillow beneath her she was perfectly comfortable on the floor, not to mention exhausted from jetlag. But she still found sleep impossible to reach. The heavy sigh from the bed an hour after the lights were turned out told her all of her tossing and turning was keeping Rhys up too.

“Feyre, come here.” She laid still, hoping he’d roll over and forget about her. No such luck, as a moment later two strong arms were hooked under her knees and back. She squeaked, but didn’t struggle.

Not when he was already purring for her. It immediately soothed her anxious energy.”New places are hard to sleep in, aren’t they, sweet girl? We’ll get you adjusted.” Against her better judgment, she melted into his chest, groaning softly when his fingers carded through her hair. “That’s it, darling. So sweet for your Alpha.”

“Alpha,” she murmured, nuzzling in just above his collar bone and letting his addictive scent wash over her. “Smell good.”

“So damn sweet,” he muttered again. “Eyes closed, sweetheart. Sleep now.”

“Purr?”

“Of course, darling. Sweet dreams.”

Taglist: @littlest-w01f // @whatishowedyouinthedark // @ninthcircleofprythian // @sajirah // @acourtofladydeath // @lulling-night-sky // @edgyellie // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @darling-archeron // @goddess-aelin // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiya-whitethorn // @acotar-fanns // @jealousveronya // @acourtofwips // @reverie-tales // @gwynkyrie // @corcracrow // @thelovelymadone // @rosanna-writer // @toporecall //@popjunkie42-blog

[serpentandlily]

Butterfly Fly Away

Butterfly Fly Away - Platonic!Reader x BatBoys

Summary: You’ve been bestfriends with Rhys, Cassian and Azriel since childhood but with the new additions to your Inner Circle, it's starting to feel like you are being replaced. When confronted, your three friends brush off your concerns, leading you to believe it’s time to move on and start a life of your own. But once you’re gone, the three brothers begin to realize just how much they need you in their lives. 

Based on this request.

Warnings: A mix of angst and fluff. 

❀⊱♡⊰❀

Butterfly Fly Away

❀⊱♡⊰❀

You let out a long shaky breath, sitting on the edge of your bed, looking around your now empty room in the Townhouse. You had packed up everything. Your clothes, your trinkets, the parchments full of scribbles from Nyx, the painting Feyre had gifted you of the whole family together. All of it.

Your chest felt hollow. The silence and emptiness was deafening. So many memories were made in this room, down these halls, in this city. The thought of leaving that all behind made your heart ache but the thought of staying here hurt worse. 

You had met Rhysand, Azriel and Cassian during your youth and struck a friendship with them. A friendship that had grown and grown into what felt like an impenetrable bond between the three of you. 

And they had always stressed how much importance you had within the family. The peacemaker, the mediator, the one who could end fights between them before they even began. Your magic was able to read the emotions of others, making you adept at talking others through their own feelings—of helping them understand why they felt the way they did. 

It was really the only thing you were good for. You weren’t a skilled fighter, or strategist, or politician. All weakness you hated considering your family was made of the most powerful fae.

But when it came to matters of the heart? Well, you were an expert. For everyone else anyways, considering yours was currently being torn apart. 

You had been there for each of them during the best and worst of days. Through the war, through Rhysand losing his family, through the forty-nine years without him. The four of you with Mor and Amren included had built a small family together. 

A family that was no longer around because they had all found another. And you had been left with none. 

Slowly but surely they had completely erased your spot in the family with the Archeron sisters. It wasn’t even that you didn’t like the three sisters. Each of them had a special place in your heart. But they changed the dynamic of the group so drastically. 

And you no longer felt like you belonged. 

Mor had felt it too, which was why she was more than happy to be sent to the continent to work on alliances there. Amren had found herself a lover and seemed content with keeping him all to herself. 

But you…you had nothing without them. Or at least, that’s what it felt like. 

You had tried to bring it up with them, had tried to hint that you felt a bit left out and neglected. But they had brushed you off, telling you it was time you “found a life of your own like they had.” You thought you did have a life of your own already. Here. But apparently that was not the case. 

You let out another sigh as you stared at the last three things you had to pack. You picked up the first one, a smooth rock—a red creek jasper. You still remembered the day Azriel had given it to you when you both were only eleven. 

❀⊱♡⊰❀

“You can do it, Az!” you shouted. 

You were standing underneath a very large boulder, holding a hand over your eyes as the sun shone down on you and Rhys. Cassian and Azriel were both on top of the boulder, wings spread wide as Cassian tried to direct Azriel on how to fly. 

Azriel’s face was nearly white and you could tell even from where you were standing that his hands were shaking. You took a few steps closer to the rock, holding your little arms out. 

“I’ll catch you if you fall,” you yelled up to him. “I promise!”

It was at that moment that Cassian decided he was over waiting for Azriel to jump and pushed the boy off the rock instead. Azriel shrieked, a sound he had never made before, and frantically tried to pump his wings but it was no use. He crashed right into you, sending you both sprawling on the ground.

“Y/n,” he gasped, rolling off of you. “Are you okay?” 

His eyes were wide with both shock and concern. They only widen more when you burst out laughing, clutching your stomach. It hurt, a lot. You were both eleven but Azriel was already bigger than you. 

“I told you I’d catch you!” The look on his normally unreadable face sent you into another fit of giggles. 

Later that day, Azriel had gone to the nearby creek and dug around for hours looking for the perfect rock to give you, knowing you liked collecting the cool ones you found. He had apologized numerous times, even though it had been Cassian’s fault, but he still felt guilty. He finally stumbled on a tiny, smooth rock that was a mixture of dark orange and red swirls.

When he came home that night and offered it to you as another apology, Cassian and Rhys had laughed themselves nearly sick but you had just smiled at the shy boy and squeezed the rock in your hand, holding against your chest. 

❀⊱♡⊰❀

It was the first gift Azriel had given you and it had stayed with you all these years. 

You wrapped it back in the silk handkerchief you kept it in and placed it in your bag. 

Your eyes moved to the next item. A scarf made from various scraps of fabric. Definitely not fashionable, but it had been a special gift from Rhysand.

❀⊱♡⊰❀

“Why do you carry that old blanket around with you still?” The thirteen year-old Rhys was peering at the dirty blanket in your hand with a sneer. “We’re not babies anymore, y/n. You should get rid of it.” 

You pulled the blanket closer to you—a blanket made up of random scraps of fabric, the only thing your mother could afford at the time. It was ratty, falling apart at the seams, but it was special to you. 

“It’s the only thing I have left of her,” you said, quietly, blinking away the tears that started forming in your eyes. 

Your mother had passed away years ago and your father, who had never loved her in the first place, had tossed out all her belongings. You had only managed to get your hands on the blanket before it was taken away.   

Rhys had said nothing else about it until winter solstice came around that year. You hadn’t noticed that he had snuck into your room and taken the blanket—bringing it to his mother to make into something a little better for you to carry around with you. 

❀⊱♡⊰❀

He had given you the scarf that night and every single snowfall, it was the first one you pulled out. You packed it away with a heavy heart. You were moving to the Day Court, something you had already discussed with the Inner Circle, and you would hardly have use for it there. 

The last item sat on your dresser, a white, stuffed pegasus toy—a gift from Cassian. 

❀⊱♡⊰❀

A knock sounded on your door but you ignored it, rolling over in your bed and wiping your tears.

Another knock.

“Y/n! Open up! I know you’re in there,” Cassian shouted through the door.

“Go away, Cass,” you managed to croak out through your tears. “I’m not in the mood.”

There was a pause before he shouted through the door again.

“What’s wrong, y/n? I can tell you’re crying!”

“Nothing, just go away!”

The door burst open and you shot up in your bed, cursing at yourself for not making sure it was locked. Cassian walked into your room, his eyes widening as he took in your appearance. 

“Y/n?” He asked, quietly, shutting the door behind him. “Why are you crying? What happened?”

A tiny sob broke through your lips and Cassian was at your side instantly, wrapping an arm around you. You both were only sixteen, but Cassian was already starting to look more like a male than a boy with how big he was getting. 

“Cyrus b-broke up with me,” you choked out. 

“Oh thank the gods!”

You glared up at Cassian, shoving him away from you.

“Get out if you’re going to be like that.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry, y/n, I just mean… Well, we all think you’re too good for him, you know. He’s an asshole.”

More tears poured from your eyes and Cassian pulled you to his chest again. “I am really sorry, y/n. I know how much you liked him.”

Cassian had stayed with you that night, holding you until you cried yourself to sleep. When you woke up the next day, a tiny stuffed Pegasus was waiting on your nightstand with a note attached to it.

‘I hope this little guy helps you feel better. But if you need to let off some steam, come find me in the training ring—Cassian.’

❀⊱♡⊰❀

You hugged the pegasus to your chest for a moment before dropping it into your bag with the last of your stuff. 

You were supposed to leave in the morning after a goodbye breakfast with the whole family, but the trip down memory lane had you feeling too upset.

You didn’t know if you could handle seeing them all, especially when they seemed to have no qualms about you leaving. 

Cassian didn’t need a secondary sparring partner to Azriel anymore now that he had Nesta. Rhys didn’t need help reading through correspondence now that he had Feyre. And those serene walks through the woods with Azriel? Well, those went to Elain now. 

You pulled out the copy of keys you had for the Townhouse and River House and set them down on the dresser in the room. You took one last look around, your heart breaking in your chest, before finally winnowing away.

❀⊱♡⊰❀

“This alliance with Vallahan could go two ways,” Rhys said, stroking his jaw. “They fight with us against Koschei and end this whole thing before it becomes a full blown war. Or they’re faking their support and have already sided with Koschei.”

“If they are, the results of that will be devastating,” Mor said with a frown. “Our armies are still so depleted and even with the help of the other courts minus Autumn, Koschei has triple our numbers if Vallahan has already sided with him.” 

Cassian let out a low whistle as he stared over the battle plans. “We’d be fucked. Utterly fucked.”

“We can’t win in that scenario,” Azriel piped up from next to Cassian.

“We can’t win without their help either,” Feyre said. “This decision is everything. Everything relies on this decision. You really couldn’t get a read on them, Mor?” 

Mor shook her head. “They were careful with their wording and vague. They were certainly speaking the truth, but it meant little.”

“Their mental defenses were too strong to get through without force. But if they are being honest and I break into their minds, we might as well kiss the alliance goodbye,” Rhys sighed. “If only there was another way to get a read on them. I hate going into this blind with only our own faith.” 

The room was silent as they all pondered what this meant for the battle against Koschei. 

“There is…someone who could help.”

Everyone’s head whipped towards Cassian. Rhysand waved a hand at him to continue. Cassian swallowed audibly.

“Y/n.”

That name had everyone sitting up straight. Rhysand raised an eyebrow at him, not understanding. Not until it clicked in his head.

“She can read people’s emotions,” he breathed out. “I… I never thought about her using it this way. I just thought it was good for—well, you know.”

“Just meddling?”

Rhys nodded, feeling a bit ashamed. The room went quiet again, everyone soaking in what Cassian was suggesting.

“Would she even help? You all basically ran her out of this court,” Mor huffed, causing tensions to rise. 

“Not this again,” Cassian groaned.

Mor stood from her seat, bristling at Cassian’s words. “I’m being serious. She has been your guys’ friend since you were kids. And you all left her in the dust even after she tried to tell you guys how she felt!”

When Mor had returned from the continent and learned of you leaving the court, she had been beyond angry at the three males for their treatment of you. She had written you several letters apologizing and you had welcomed her back into your life. 

But she was the only one you still talked to. 

The room was dead quiet. Each of the three males shared looks of guilt and embarrassment because Mor was right. They had completely taken you for granted and cast you aside once the sisters started having bigger roles in their life. And they had let you go without even trying to convince you to stay. 

“I miss her.”

Azriel’s voice was so quiet, like he hadn’t even meant to say those words out loud. 

Cassian let out a long sigh. “I miss her too.”

Mor glanced around at the other members of the Inner Circle before gesturing towards the door. “I think the boys need to discuss this amongst themselves.” 

Once the door shut behind Feyre, Rhys leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. “I hadn’t realized how much of an impact she had. Things haven’t felt right here without her.” 

“No, they haven’t,” Cassian agreed. “We really did kind of… forget about her. Not intentionally but still.” 

“Have you talked to her?” Azriel asked, looking at his High Lord.

“Have you?”

Azriel looked away in answer, feeling a bit of guilt. 

“Do you think she’s still in the Day Court?” Cassian asked. 

Rhys nodded. “Yes, Helion is quite fond of her it seems.” 

Cassian snickered while a ghost of a grin crossed Azriel’s face. It wasn’t hard to imagine you in Day. You had always been a beacon of light for the group and they knew how easily you made friends wherever you went. It came naturally to you as an empath. 

“Do you think…” Cassian trailed off, sounding a bit insecure. “Do you think she’d come home? If we asked?” 

“She didn’t even say goodbye before she left,” Azriel murmured. 

“We can try but I think we should be honest with her about our feelings,” Rhys said. “I’d hate for her to think we’re just asking her back so she can help us with this.” 

“She’s going to know how we’re feeling anyways,” Cassian laughed. “Remember?”

Rhys grinned, thinking of all the times you had caught them in blatant lies because of your abilities, all the times you meddled with their love lives and friendships too. 

There really was a you-shaped hole in the group now. The three shared a look of guilt. It was a shame it took this long for them to realize it. 

❀⊱♡⊰❀

Three knocks against the door of your small cottage woke you up. You groaned, sitting up and blinking the sleep from your eyes. You had gone to one of Helion’s illustrious parties last night and had not been expecting to be woken up this early.

You shrugged on a silk robe over your nightgown and made your way to your front door.

Your eyes widened in shock as soon as you opened it, staring at the three males you hadn’t seen in a little over a year. You stepped aside, wordlessly, letting them into your new home. The distance had not made the bond between the four of you shrink, even after all this time, it seemed.

They greeted you in their own ways. Azriel with a soft smile, Cassian with a booming hello and hug, and Rhys was a feline grin and pat on the shoulder. You strode to the kitchen as they took a seat in your living room.

“I need coffee,” you announced. “Anyone else?”

“Long night?” Cassian teased.

“Don’t even ask,” you joked back, pulling out four mugs as they all said yes to your offer.

It was silent while the coffee brewed, and their emotions were all over the place. Nervousness, guilt, hope and regret. Your eyebrows furrowed as you grabbed the mugs and set them on the coffee table, taking a seat on an armchair.

“No offense,” you started. “But why are you guys here? I haven’t spoken to any of you in over a year.”

“That’s kind of what we’re here about,” Rhys replied, rubbing the back of his neck.

You raised an eyebrow at them, taking a sip of your coffee.

“I’ll get straight to the point,” he continued. “We…We want you to come home.”

You nearly spit your coffee out. That was not what you were expecting him to say. After all, they didn’t seem very upset when you told them you were leaving the Night Court in the first place.

“Why?” you managed to choke out.

“I’ll be honest. We’re dealing with a situation back home and it made us realize how much of an importance you played, not just in our court but in our lives. We miss you, y/n. We regret how we treated you the past few years.”

“We all just got so caught up in our own problems, we didn’t even realize how much we were neglecting you,” Cassian added with a sincere frown. “You were such a constant in our lives and I guess we sort of took that for granted, assuming you’d always be there.”

“I tried to tell you how I felt,” you murmured, hiding half your face behind your coffee mug.

“I’m sorry for brushing you off,” Azriel said, quietly. “Truly. A lot was happening and like Cassian said, I just figured once we got through it all, things could resume as normal.”

“So why have none of you written to me in the year I’ve been gone?”

“After you left, Mor kind of chewed us out,” Cassian said, sheepishly. “We all just assumed you were mad at us and left because you needed space. I know it’s not a good excuse but well, you know more than anyone that we’ve never been great at communicating.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. That was the reason you meddled so much. To get them to talk about their feelings, express themselves. It was hard staying quiet when you knew how a person truly felt.

“We miss you and we need you, y/n,” Rhys cut in. “Things haven’t been the same since you left. I’m sorry it took so long for us to realize and I’m sorry for how we treated you. You’re our best friend, our sister. I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”

“Me either.” Both Azriel and Cassian interjected.

You thought about it, thought of the year you spent without them. While you had started anew, made new friends, had lovers, you did miss them dearly. It made you realize something about the bond you all shared, about your friendship in general. Life changes and sometimes people get preoccupied with other things but that bond you felt hadn’t shrunk, hadn’t grown any weaker. It was still the same as it had been the day you left.

They would always be your best friends, your brothers by name.

And their feelings were genuine. You of all people would know.

“Please come home,” Cassian begged. “I need you--we all need you.”

This house was not a home without the people you cared about. As much as you loved the Day Court, it wasn’t the same. Not without all the memories tied to it. And perhaps this had just made your friendship with them stronger, made you all realize how much you needed each other despite now having more priorities in your lives. You couldn’t fault them for finding love, for building families.

The three of them were nearly holding their breath with anticipation, waiting for your answer. A smile broke out on your face and their shoulders dropped.

“Okay,” you finally said. “I’ll come home. But I’m keeping this as my vacation house and you all owe me a years’ worth of mooncakes when we get home.”

Laughter filled the tiny cottage as they eagerly agreed to your terms. A new warmth spread in your chest. You were finally going home back to your true family. 

❀⊱♡⊰❀

[littlefeltsparrow]

Rhysand is really in no position to judge Nesta for “letting” Feyre hunt considering his background. Nesta’s failure to prevent Feyre from hunting in the woods at a young age is the primary transgression that he holds against her, yet he never considers that the Archeron sisters were all victims of the same hardship: poverty.

Rhysand has never had to worry about poverty once in his centuries long life, he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth after all. He occupies a place in society where he is afforded the highest amount of privilege and wealth that could be offered, he’s as upper-class as it gets. Not only that, he was also accustomed to a life of security as a High Lord’s son and heir and therefore cannot grasp the powerlessness unique to the Archeron sisters’ situation.

He’s enraged by Nesta’s decisions, and chooses to ignore the circumstances surrounding such decisions in order to vilify her further. Furthermore, he tends to place responsibility on Nesta’s shoulders whilst ignoring Feyre’s agency in the situation. Maas doesn’t lend their dynamic any complexity. She positions Rhysand as the ultimate moral authority and Nesta as the guilty party who is subject to his judgment and punishment. This is frustrating to witness because it’s yet another reminder of the narrative bias that puts Rhysand on a pedestal and asserts him as an individual who isn’t capable of being wrong or narrow minded.

[hrizantemy]

It truly is baffling how so many people can acknowledge Elain’s unhappiness in the Night Court—how she feels out of place and trapped—but then turn around and refuse to extend that same logic to Nesta, whose dissatisfaction is arguably even more glaring. It’s not hating on Elain to point out the double standard here. Both sisters are fundamentally unsuited to the Night Court’s values, yet only Elain gets the empathy and recognition for it.

Nesta’s dreams and desires have always been clear. She’s never been about the Night Court’s ideals of camaraderie or belonging. Nesta wanted freedom—freedom to explore, to travel, to chase her ambitions on her own terms. She outright said she wanted to see the world. She wanted more than Velaris, more than Illyria, more than playing house with Feyre and Rhysand in their self-contained little kingdom. Yet, instead of honoring that aspect of her character, she’s stuck. Why? Because of other people. Feyre and Cassian are the anchors chaining her to the Night Court, a place that has never been her home, a place that stripped her autonomy and belittled her at every turn.

What’s even worse is how this is framed as a “happy ending” for her. She’s supposedly “healed” because she found Cassian and reconciled with Feyre, but what about her dreams? What about her desires? Nesta Archeron deserved to be out there exploring new lands, learning new cultures, reclaiming her sense of self. Instead, she’s in a place where she has to constantly suppress the parts of her that don’t fit the Inner Circle’s mold, pretending that being tied to Cassian is enough to fulfill her when, let’s be real, it’s not.

The narrative doesn’t just ignore her longing for freedom—it actively erases it by shackling her happiness to Cassian and Feyre. It’s like her whole arc was boiled down to “you don’t need to travel or chase your dreams; you just need to learn how to belong in Velaris.” It’s suffocating to think about, especially when you compare how freely Elain’s discontent is acknowledged. Everyone is so quick to sympathize with Elain’s alienation because it’s “obvious” she doesn’t belong in the Night Court—but Nesta, who has outright said she doesn’t want to be there, is expected to grin and bear it.

It’s not hate; it’s just infuriatingly obvious that Nesta is not thriving in the Night Court. She’s surviving. She’s coping. She’s settling because of the people she loves, but it’s at the expense of the person she could have been. And the fact that so few people see it—or, worse, choose to ignore it—is my own thirteenth reason.

It’s absolutely enraging how at the end of Nesta’s healing book, she still has to earn love—whether it’s from Cassian, Feyre, or the Inner Circle—and we’re supposed to buy into the idea that this is a “happy ending.” How is it healing if she has to prove herself worthy of the people who should have loved her unconditionally? How is it growth if she’s still bending over backward to fit their expectations, rather than being allowed to exist as she is?

Take Cassian, for example. Their relationship is framed as some great love story, but the dynamic is painfully uneven. Nesta spends the entire book being berated, degraded, and humiliated—often by Cassian himself—and yet she’s the one who has to grovel for his love. She’s the one who has to change. At the end, it’s made clear that he hasn’t fully forgiven her, even though his own actions—his cruel words, his dismissal of her trauma—are never addressed. She saves his life, literally redefines herself through sacrifice, and still, it feels like she’s being tested, like his love is conditional on her “proving” she’s no longer the woman he once judged. How is that love? How is that a happy ending?

And Feyre? Nesta’s entire arc is twisted into some redemption for the harm she did to Feyre, but where’s Feyre’s acknowledgment of her own mistakes? Where’s her apology for the years she ignored Nesta, for the way she dismissed her struggles, for throwing her into a situation where she was humiliated and isolated? Feyre’s love is only extended when Nesta conforms to her expectations—when she becomes the sister Feyre wanted all along, not the person she was. Nesta has to save Feyre’s life, give up her power, and completely transform herself to be accepted. That’s not a resolution; it’s a transaction.

And let’s not even start on their father. He shows up, what, once to sacrifice himself, and suddenly we’re supposed to believe everything is forgiven? This man neglected Nesta her entire life. He let her carry the weight of their family’s survival, let her bitterness fester, let her fight battles he didn’t have the strength to face. But in the end, it’s Nesta who’s forced to let go of her anger, to remember him fondly, to forgive. Where’s the justice for her? Where’s the acknowledgment that his failings shaped so much of her pain? Instead, the narrative tells us that she has to be the bigger person, because heaven forbid anyone else take accountability.

Then there’s the Inner Circle. They despise Nesta throughout the book, openly mock her, and isolate her at every turn. And yet, by the end, it’s presented as some triumph that she’s finally “earned” their acceptance. Why does Nesta have to “earn” love and respect from people who treated her like an enemy? Why is she expected to grovel while none of them reflect on their own cruelty? The book frames this as her becoming part of their “family,” but it reads more like Nesta finally learning to make herself small enough to fit into their perfect little world.

This isn’t a happy ending. This is a tragedy of a woman forced to give up pieces of herself to gain conditional love. Nesta’s “healing” is nothing more than her being stripped of her autonomy, her rage, and her dreams, all so she can be more palatable to the people around her. And the fact that we’re supposed to cheer for that—supposed to believe that’s what she deserved—is not only insulting, it’s heartbreakingly obvious.

It is absolutely maddening how, after A Court of Silver Flames gives us Nesta’s so-called “happy ending,” the next book has her saving an entire world—a literal act of heroism—and yet she’s met with threats of execution. Meanwhile, Rhysand and Feyre have put the entirety of Prythian in jeopardy time and time again, yet their actions are met with excuses, understanding, and blind adoration. How is that even remotely fair?

Nesta sacrifices everything—her power, her autonomy, her very soul—to protect the people she loves and even those who have wronged her. Her act of saving the world should have cemented her as a hero, someone worthy of respect and admiration. But instead of gratitude or acknowledgment, she’s threatened? The hypocrisy is glaring. When Feyre and Rhysand risk the entire realm with their schemes, their gambles, and their alliances, they’re treated like untouchable saints. But when Nesta acts selflessly, it’s somehow twisted into something punishable.

Let’s not forget, Feyre and Rhysand—put everyone at risk. With the constant machinations, secret deals, and habit of withholding critical information have endangered not just their own court but the entire continent. Yet, no one ever brings up the consequences of their actions. They’re not threatened with execution; they’re celebrated as cunning, brave, and self-sacrificing.

But Nesta? Nesta, who saved an entire world at immense personal cost, is immediately vilified. It’s not even subtle. She’s never allowed the benefit of the doubt, never given the same understanding Feyre and Rhysand get on a silver platter. It’s as if the narrative can’t stand for her to succeed without reminding her—and the audience—that her love and sacrifice are still conditional. It’s a deliberate attempt to undermine her triumph, to ensure that no matter how much she gives, she’s never allowed to rise above the labels they’ve slapped on her.

What’s worse is that the Inner Circle’s hypocrisy in this moment is staggering. These are the same people who rallied behind Feyre and Rhysand through every bad decision and questionable gamble, but when Nesta makes the ultimate sacrifice, they threaten her life? It’s as if their love and loyalty only extend to those who fit their narrow idea of family, and Nesta—no matter what she does—will never truly be one of them. She can save worlds, bring people back from the brink of death, and give up everything she has, but it will never be enough.

This isn’t just unfair—it’s infuriating. The blatant favoritism Feyre and Rhysand receive compared to Nesta is a reminder that the Night Court’s supposed ideals of fairness and family are nothing but a facade. Nesta’s journey should have ended with her being celebrated for the hero she is, not treated as a disposable threat. But the narrative refuses to let her win, and that’s the real tragedy.

What’s even more infuriating is how people are begging for Elain to go off on the Night Court and the Inner Circle, yet when Nesta does the exact same thing, she’s vilified for it. The double standard is honestly exhausting. Everyone romanticizes the idea of Elain standing up for herself, calling out the hypocrisy of the Inner Circle, and rejecting the expectations they’ve placed on her—but when Nesta dares to push back, she’s labeled as bitter, cruel, or ungrateful. Why is it empowering for Elain to fight back, but when Nesta does it, it’s a problem?

Nesta has always been the one to challenge the Inner Circle’s hypocrisy. She’s called out their sanctimonious behavior, refused to play by their rules, and made it clear that she doesn’t owe them anything. And instead of being seen as someone standing up for herself, she’s treated as a villain for it. She’s punished for not falling in line, for not worshipping at the altar of Feyre and Rhysand, for refusing to be molded into their perfect little family. Meanwhile, Elain, who has spent the entire series quietly enduring, is suddenly being lauded as a feminist icon for maybe, possibly, calling out the same things Nesta’s been railing against for years.

The worst part is that the people who love the idea of Elain confronting the Night Court are the same ones who tore Nesta down for her anger and defiance. When Nesta lashes out, it’s framed as her being toxic or cruel, but when Elain hypothetically does it, it’s framed as a moment of empowerment. Why is Elain allowed to have righteous anger, but Nesta isn’t? Why is Elain’s potential rebellion seen as a triumph, while Nesta’s defiance is seen as a flaw?

Nesta’s anger has always been justified. She has every right to be furious with the Inner Circle for how they’ve treated her—for their judgment, their cruelty, their complete lack of understanding. But instead of being validated, she’s told to “get over it” and “be grateful” for their so-called help. Elain, on the other hand, is handed endless sympathy, and her potential anger is preemptively celebrated. It’s yet another way the narrative, and the fandom, refuses to give Nesta the same grace they so readily extend to others.

The truth is, people only like rebellion when it’s palatable. Elain’s quiet, subtle defiance fits the narrative they want to see: a meek girl finally finding her voice. But Nesta’s anger has always been too loud, too raw, too real for people to handle. She’s messy and unapologetic, and instead of celebrating her for it, they tear her down. It’s a double standard that perfectly encapsulates why Nesta’s story feels so unfinished—because no matter what she does, she’ll never be allowed the freedom and empowerment that everyone is so eager to grant Elain.