#Spring court discourse

[bookishfeylin]

People LEGITIMATELY believe that no one could possibly be harmed or killed during the toppling of a government on the brink of invasion…

What are the Feysand stans on??????

[isa-beenme]

Whispers of Secrets and Starlight

One tiny little tear went down after the discourse not gonna lie

Finally, we are back to the lovebirds, I was STRESSING with the war and stuff

Also, I'm noticing many arcane fans reading here heeey wanna be my friend? 😚😚😚

Warnings: Use of Y/N, ACOTAR rewrite, female main character, no more book following sorry, mentions of character death, a bit of demolished stuff post-war, we are sane actually, Rhysand 🤞🏻

Whispers of Secrets and Starlight - Masterlist

Chapter 13: From Now On

For seven days, Velaris was silent. Not in the way it had been under Amarantha’s rule, suffocated by fear and grief. This was a different kind of quiet. The hush of a city breathing again, of wounds, physical and otherwise, starting to knit themselves back together. And through it all, you and Rhys did not stop. There was too much to do. Too much to fix, to rebuild, to account for. You barely slept. Barely ate. Every waking hour was spent assessing losses, damages, the state of the court, of Prythian itself.

Rhys had gone to Hewn City first, making sure Keir and his ilk understood their place. Those who chose to not fight for petty reasons would not be rewarded for their cowardice. That, in exchange for keeping their miserable existence intact, they would pay in resources, labor, blood if necessary.

Then there was Autumn. Three times now, you'd checked in on Eris, ensuring his claim to power was secured. It had taken him less than a day to name himself High Lord of Autumn, Beron's body barely cold in the dirt before his son stepped over it and took his place. And the court had let him. No challengers, no uprisings, not even from his brothers. Perhaps they knew what Eris had done, what he was capable of doing again if they dared stand in his way.

Whatever the reason, Autumn now belonged to him. And so long as he kept a good side with the Night Court, you would allow it to remain that way.

Then there was Spring. The biggest surprise of all. You had expected a fight, a scramble for power, some power-hungry brute trying to seize control in the aftermath of Tamlin’s death, a random male being named High Lord after Tamlin’s lineage ending with him in the grave. Instead, a female had taken it. Ilora Verden. A name you barely remembered hearing before, a courtier once, someone who had lingered on the edges of Tamlin’s rule, unseen and unheard.

And yet, when Tamlin’s body had been dragged from the battlefield, it was her who had stepped forward. Who had walked into that ruined manor, stood before the scattered remains of the Spring Court, and asked: “Who do you follow now?” And the land had chosen her. Because while Tamlin had let his court rot in Amarantha's reign, Ilora had been the one cleaning up his messes, working in the shadows to keep his people safe. It turned out she had been ruling long before Tamlin’s fall. Now, the rest of the world would see it, too.

Rhys had been stunned. You had been positively surprised. But Spring’s people weren’t. And that said everything you needed to know for now.

The first week passed in a blur. You met with war widows, with orphans, ensured that those who had died were honored, remembered.

Cassian reported that the Illyrian war-bands were badly weakened, that the camps needed to be rebuilt, and new warriors to be trained. He was already handling it. Mor had been ensuring Feyre’s sisters were safe, being tended to, protected while the human lands were being taken care of.

Velaris had survived. The Night Court had survived. Prythian had survived. Barely. But it had. And so had you. And yet, by the end of it all, one thing was certain. Prythian was not the same. And neither were you.

☆

The first dinner after the war was quiet.

Not the comfortable kind of quiet the Inner Circle usually had, the kind filled with warmth and shared glances over wine glasses, with the occasional sarcastic remark from Cassian or a dramatic eye roll from Mor.

This quiet was heavy.

It sat in everyone’s bones, in the dark circles beneath Feyre’s eyes after sleepless nights explaining to her sisters the whole story and trying to calm them down over the situation, in the stiffness of Lucien’s shoulders as he adjusted to this new life in a court he had never truly belonged to before and dealing with the loss of his traitor friend. It was in the way Cassian kept glancing at the empty chair where Amren should have been, the way Azriel barely touched his food, the way Rhysand’s hand tightened around yours beneath the table every few minutes, as if making sure you were really still there.

Grief lingered in the air like the ghost of something lost but not forgotten. For a while, no one spoke.

Then Mor sighed, pushing her plate away. “We’re all avoiding it, so we might as well talk about it.”

No one needed to ask what it was. Amren was gone. Died in a sacrifice she kept telling everyone she didn't have a reason to do. And she wasn’t coming back.

Cassian set down his fork, rubbing his face with both hands. “She would’ve called us all insufferable for moping like this.”

“She would’ve called us much worse,” Azriel muttered, voice quiet.

Rhys huffed a laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s true.”

The silence stretched again, pressing down on the table like a weight no one could lift.

Then Lucien spoke. “And the human lands?”

You turned to him, his face carefully neutral. He hadn’t spoken much these past few days, adjusting to Velaris, to Night, to all of you, to a new family. But this… this distraction, this work, this comments… that was something he knew well.

Feyre shifted beside him, looking just as troubled. “They were affected,” she admitted. “The Cauldron’s power… it reached them, too, Nesta said. War wasn’t just in Prythian. It touched every corner of these Lands.”

Rhys nodded grimly. “We’ll send aid where we can. But with how fragile everything is now, we have to be careful how much we intervene.”

Lucien’s jaw tightened, his amber eye flickering to Feyre’s before settling back on you. “And your cousins?”

“They’re safe,” you assured him. “They’re still adjusting. Nesta…she’s Nesta. And Elain—”

“Elain is Elain,” Feyre finished softly.

Lucien’s face betrayed nothing, but you didn’t miss the way his fingers curled slightly against the table.

“We should check in with Ilora soon,” Rhys said, shifting the topic. “Spring has been eerily quiet, and I don’t like it.”

Mor smirked. “You still can’t believe they accepted a High Lady so easily, can you?”

Rhys rolled his eyes. “I can believe it just fine. I just want to make sure she’s not secretly planning to turn her people against us the first chance she gets.”

“She won’t,” Feyre said. “She actually cares about them.” The words hung in the air, unspoken but understood. Unlike Tamlin.

Rhysand exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. “Then there’s Eris.”

Cassian scowled. “What about him?”

“We need to make sure he holds up t

Autumn's part in the alliance. At least with his father we knew to expect the worst.” Lucien tensed again, but didn’t argue.

“Everything is fragile right now,” you murmured. “Every court, every alliance, everything we fought for…it could all crumble if we’re not careful.”

Rhysand squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “That’s why we’re here.”

Another silence fell over the table. But this one felt…different. Still heavy, still filled with loss and exhaustion and everything that had changed. But beneath it, something steadier. Something unbroken. Hope.

You had survived the war. Now, you had to survive what came after.

Dinner had taken a turn for the better. The worst topics had been laid out, the burdens shared, and now the tension in the room had finally begun to ease. The wine flowed more freely, Cassian and Mor were bickering about something ridiculous, and you… You were watching Feyre and Lucien.

The way they spoke in soft tones, the small glances they exchanged, the way Feyre’s lips twitched in amusement whenever Lucien muttered something under his breath, something only she could hear. It was…nice. Warm. For everything that had happened, for all the pain and loss, it was good to see Feyre and Lucien like this. Happy.

Rhysand’s voice purred into your mind, highly amused. "You’re staring."

You didn’t look away. "I am not."

"You are. And before you say anything, yes, my love, you absolutely put your nose too much in Feyre’s business."

"I do not!" you protested, scowling at him, on your side of the table.

"You do. Look at you, smiling like a mother hen seeing her baby bird fly for the first time. It’s nauseating."

"I just think it’s sweet," you defended, sipping your wine.

"You think it’s an adorable tale of fated mates and second chances and—" Rhys’s voice took on a sickeningly sweet tone, "—oh, isn’t it just so precious that they’re talking so softly to each other? That they’re making heart eyes? That—"

"You’re the worst."

"I’m the worst? I’m not the one practically writing their love story in my head."

"I hate you."

"You love me, in fact."

You resisted the urge to throw your wine at him and turned to Feyre instead, clearing your throat. “Feyre.”

She raised a brow. “Yes?”

“Do you think I take too much care of your life? Do I intervene too much?”

Feyre exchanged a look with Lucien before tilting her head at you. “You’re…inquisitive when you want to be.” Cassian snorted into his drink. “But that’s probably a High Lady thing, so I don't care that much,” Feyre added with a smirk.

Your jaw dropped. Rhysand burst into laughter, and suddenly the entire table was howling.

Your offense was immediate. “So my love is too much for you? That’s what you’re saying?”

“No,” Feyre said quickly, laughing. “I love you too, but if you keep looking at me and Lucien like you’re some poor girl who’s been traumatized by our tragic fates, I might throw a fork at you.” More laughter.

Betrayal. Utter betrayal. You placed a hand over your chest, feigning deep injury. “I can’t believe this. My love is being mocked. My care, my affection—”

“Is exhausting,” Mor cut in, grinning.

More betrayal. “I hate all of you,” you muttered, crossing your arms.

Rhys leaned back in his chair, utterly delighted by your suffering.

Feyre gave you a sweet, syrupy smile “And when will you assume your position as High Lady, then?”

Your bickering came to a screeching halt. Silence fell over the table. You blinked. “What?”

Feyre smirked. “Can I put my nose in this business?”

Before you could fully process that, Rhysand, still smirking like a cat who got the cream, chose that exact moment to say, “Keir and Devlon both asked for meetings about this whole ‘you as a leader’ thing.”

Your mind short-circuited. Cassian exaggeratedly choked. Mor gasped dramatically. Azriel just raised a brow. Lucien? Still sipping his wine, clearly having the time of his life watching the chaos.

You gawked at Rhys. “Excuse me?”

Rhysand leaned forward, swirling his wine as he explained, “Keir and Devlon both requested meetings to discuss your position as future High Lady.”

Silence. The kind that weighed over the entire table. Your fingers curled around your glass as he continued,

“We’ve been meeting with them to adjust the terms for when you officially take the title, whenever you’re ready.” He gave you that look, the one that meant ‘there is no rush, no pressure, my love.’ “Devlon even offered to fly with the Illyrian camp leaders to the Moonlight Palace to discuss it further.”

You just… stared. Silent. Your face was unreadable. Rhysand’s gaze sharpened, and for the first time that evening, his amusement flickered into concern.

And then, Lucien snorted. “You forgot you had to assume the position, didn’t you?”

Your mouth opened. Then closed. Then, very quietly, with just a hint of shame, you muttered, “…Yeah, I did.”

Cassian and Mor immediately lost it. Cassian howled with laughter, practically wheezing as he clutched his stomach. Mor was crying, her entire body shaking as she tried to catch her breath. Even Azriel, stoic, calm, ever-composed Azriel, huffed a laugh, his shoulders shaking as he covered his mouth.

You shot a glare at all of them. “In my defense,” you said, voice rising over their laughter, “I’ve been working so much on all of this that I completely ignored the fact that this is not my title yet!”

Cassian wheezed louder. Mor was halfway to falling out of her chair. Rhysand was utterly relieved. So relieved, in fact, that he didn’t even try to fight his grin, just reached through the bond and drowned you in love. Warmth. Adoration. Amusement. So much love.

You felt it all and just sighed, dramatically leaning against his shoulder. “Whatever. I hate you all.”

Cassian wiped tears from his eyes. “Yeah, sure you do.”

☆

Rhysand sat at the head of the massive obsidian table, the dim glow of faelights reflecting off its polished surface. Every major leader of the Night Court was here, the Hewn City, the Illyrian warlords, representatives from the court’s largest cities. Some had fought beside you in the war. Others had stayed in the shadows, waiting for the dust to settle before making their alliances clear.

And then there was you, sitting beside him, straight-backed, face carefully neutral. A crown shining on top of your head. Rhys reached at you through the bond, sending a thread of warmth, of assurance, before turning his attention back to the room.

"Before we discuss anything else," he said, voice even, authoritative, "there’s something that needs to be established. Many of you have questions, about the war, about what happens now, about how this court will move forward." His violet gaze swept across the room. "But I imagine most of you are here for one reason." A brief pause. "My mate," he continued smoothly, "will be assuming the position of High Lady of the Night Court."

Silence. Not a shock, not exactly, everyone had known this was coming. You had been at his side for months now, had commanded soldiers, led armies. You had won the battle for them, fought alongside them, bled for them. This was just making it official. Rhys let the silence settle before continuing.

"There is no debate on this matter," he said. "No discussion. No vote. The only reason we are gathered here is to determine how her transition will be handled." A few of the Illyrian warlords shifted in their seats, assessing you, but they didn’t speak.

Keir, of course, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, face set in a sneer. Rhys ignored him.

"She has spent the past few months leading beside me, assisting in rebuilding efforts, ensuring the Night Court emerges from this war stronger than before. Many of you fought alongside her. You saw her command. You saw how she handled herself in battle, how she strategized, how she protected our people." He gestured toward you slightly, but his voice didn’t waver. "But her claim to this position does not come from her role in this war alone. It does not come from her being my mate. She was born in this court. She was raised by one of our strongest warriors. She trained among the Illyrians, she lives in the Hewn City, learned our politics, our histories, our people. And when the time came, she did not hesitate to put herself on the front lines for this court, for all of you."

His voice was calm, but there was something undeniable in his tone. Something unyielding.

"This court does not need a Lady who rules from the shadows," he said. "It does not need a Lady who bows to tradition, or who bends to outdated expectations. What it needs is someone who will fight for it. And she has done that. She will continue to do that. The Land said it itself."

Keir scoffed. “A High Lady.” Rhysand’s gaze snapped to him in an instant.

"Yes," he said smoothly, a slow, cruel smile tugging at his lips. "A High Lady. And what a shame for you, Keir, that she is already twice the leader you will ever be."

A few Illyrians snorted. Keir’s sneer deepened, but he didn’t argue.

Rhys turned back to the room. "There are two matters that need to be settled today. The first is how Illyria will handle this transition. Devlon has already proposed flying with the camp leaders to the Moonlight Palace, whenever we choose to turn the ceremony official" He nodded toward the warlord, who inclined his head in acknowledgment. "The second matter is the Hewn City."

Keir stiffened, but Rhys ignored him.

"Keir’s approval is required for the title to be formally recognized," Rhys said casually, as if it were an inconvenience, "but I doubt that will be an issue."

Keir’s jaw tightened. You just smiled.

Rhys sent another pulse of warmth through the bond before adding, "After that, the ceremony can be planned. Which means that, soon, the Night Court will have its High Lady."

The meeting was exactly what you expected, a headache. Keir kept being a pain in the ass, as usual, sitting with his arms crossed, his expression resting somewhere between bored and vaguely disgusted as he watched you. The Illyrian warlords, on the other hand, were more neutral, their gazes assessing but not hostile.

You could feel the weight of the entire Night Court pressing down on this room. And still, you sat there, calm, collected, unbothered, as Rhysand explained what would happen next.

Devlon was the first to speak once Rhys finished. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his wings twitching slightly. “You fought in the war.” His voice was deep, steady. “We all saw it. You didn’t just fight, you commanded. But you didn’t treat us like weapons, didn’t throw us away like other High Lords did. You knew the strategies, understood the battlefields. Even before this war, you have respected Illyrian culture, our ways, while we prepared for war. You trained with one of ours.” A few other Illyrians nodded. Devlon’s sharp eyes met yours. “You’re not Illyrian,” he said. “But you know us.” A beat of silence. Then, with a nod, “That’s enough for me.”

It was as close to an approval as Devlon would ever give. You inclined your head, allowing just the barest hint of a smirk. The Illyrians were handled.

Keir, on the other hand, “Typical,” he muttered, finally speaking, his voice dripping with mockery. “The Illyrians are always so eager to kneel.”

Rhys tensed. Cassian’s hands clenched into fists. You just smiled. A slow, knowing, dangerous smile.

“You know, Keir,” you mused, resting your chin in your hand. “I had a lot of time to think, during the war. And it occurred to me, my mother knew so many secrets about Hewn City. She lived here for a while, you know. And some of them are… rather vile. And, well, you know, she loved to talk to me about politics, and a little bit of gossip.”

Keir went still. Dead silent. A flicker of something, something like fear, crossed his face.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to start discussing those things, would you?” you asked sweetly.

Keir didn’t even hesitate. With barely contained rage, he snatched the document in front of him, signed it, and pushed it forward with a sneer.

“I’ll be awaiting the ceremony,” he bit out.

Then he stood and left. Rhysand exhaled slowly through his nose, relief crashing through the bond as he sent you a dry, “you could’ve started with that,” before turning back to the rest of the table.

That was when one of the representatives from one of the larger cities of the Night Court leaned forward. A tall, elegant-looking male with sharp, assessing eyes.

“If I may,” he started, gaze cutting straight to you. You thought you knew what was coming before he even said it. “You’ve been away for three hundred years,” he said. “Gone. Not here during Amarantha, not here for Velaris, not here when our people suffered. And now, you return, and we’re expected to simply accept you as High Lady?” Silence fell. The air tightened. He leaned forward slightly. “What gives you the right to sit here and make these decisions?”

Rhysand’s power crackled through the room, a sharp, silent warning. His grip on your hand tightened, his body going still beside you, and you felt the dark promise that was coiling in his chest. He was seconds away from tearing that male apart.

But you just squeezed his hand. The smallest touch. And he stilled. Not because he wanted to, but because you did.

So you turned your gaze to the male who had spoken, to the faces watching you, waiting, doubting. And you took a breath, let it settle deep inside you before you spoke. "You’re right."

A flicker of surprise in the male’s face. In all their faces.

"I was gone for three hundred years." Your voice was even, but there was something real in it. Something beyond politics, beyond power. "I left. I was not here when Amarantha took Prythian, when Rhysand left Velaris, when our people suffered. I was not here when the Night Court bled."

You looked down at your hand in Rhysand’s, at the way his thumb brushed over your skin in silent reassurance.

"But I left because I lost everything." A breath. "My mother." The words felt like a blade to your ribs. They always did. "The one who raised me to be strong. Who taught me how to fight, how to think, how to love this court with everything I had."

You swallowed past the lump in your throat.

"My best friend." And gods, saying that hurt too. She should have been here. Sitting beside you. Arguing about the color of your dress for the ceremony. Laughing about the idea of you wearing a crown at all. "Everything I cared about was taken from me." You met the male’s gaze, met the weight of every single person in this room watching you. Judging you. "And at some point, I—I didn’t know how to be here anymore. I didn’t know how to live in a place where every street, every mountain, every sound reminded me of what I had lost. Home means a lot of things. Sometimes it means tradition, land, duty. But sometimes it means family, too. And I—" A breath. "I couldn’t see my family anymore." Silence. "So I left."

Rhysand sent another pulse of warmth through the bond, but you barely noticed it.

"I ran. For years." You shook your head, a dry laugh slipping past your lips. "I ran because I thought maybe the world outside would have answers. Maybe it would have something else." You exhaled sharply. "But the truth is—I was always trying to come back." That surprised them. "Again and again." Your voice was stronger now. "I tried. But the emptiness in my chest was too much. The grief was too much. And so every time I reached the borders of the Night Court, I turned away." You let your gaze drift across the room. "Until Feyre."

Rhysand’s chest lifted with a slow breath beside you.

"Until I found myself staring at her, this human girl, fighting for her family. Hunting in the woods. Holding a bow like she wanted it to be an extension of her arm." A small smile, distant, remembering. "And I thought of Illyria. I thought of the young warriors I saw training when I was young. I thought of the ones who taught me how to hold a blade, how to stand my ground, how to make every single arrow count." A pause. "When she grew up, every morning I watched her hunt, and I thought about my home."

Some of the Illyrians were watching you differently now.

"Every time I searched for clothes for her and my cousins, I thought about the seamstresses in Velaris, about the colors of our court, about the silks and leathers and armor we crafted." A breath. "Every time I cooked for them, I thought about the spices of our kitchens, the way food in the Night Court tastes like nothing else in the world." You leaned forward slightly. "Love is in the details." The words hung there. "And sometimes, you have to leave to understand why you need to come back."

For the first time, the male who had spoken was silent.

"I don’t feel entitled to this position." Your voice was quiet. Honest. "I don’t believe it’s mine by right, or by blood, or by birth, or by magic." You looked at them, at all of them, one by one. "But I love this court. I love its people. And if the magic of these lands wants me here, if the people of the Night Court let me stay here, then I will fight every single day to prove I deserve it."

A beat of silence.

"Well, shit." You turned to see Cassian, arms crossed, grinning. "If that’s how you’re gonna give speeches as High Lady, I’m gonna need a lot more wine at these meetings."

A snort from Mor. Even Azriel huffed out a quiet laugh. And beside you, Rhysand just took your hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it. Slow. Deliberate. Pride radiating through the bond.

One by one, they stood. The Illyrians. The High Fae. The leaders of the Night Court. And they bowed. Not just to Rhysand. To you.

Your heart hammered in your chest, but you kept your shoulders squared, your chin high. Rhysand’s fingers brushed against yours, the bond between you both humming, full of warmth and quiet, unshakable pride. The leaders stepped forward one at a time, signing the document that would solidify it all, your title, your rule, your place.

As they did, they spoke.

"Your mother would be proud." One of the High Fae murmured, clasping your hand.

"The Illyrians remember how you fought for us." A camp leader told you. Devlon watched in silence, but nodded his approval.

"Your heart is in the right place," another said. "That’s what matters most."

"Congratulations, High Lord." A High Fae smirked at your mate. "You chose well."

Rhysand just smiled, smug as ever, his grip on your hand never loosening. One by one, they spoke their hopes for your reign, their confidence in your rule. Until, at last, they all left the room.

And the Inner Circle remained. Silence. The weight of it settled around you, around all of you.

"From now on… be prideful, dear. You have what it takes to do everything you want. So do it."

Your mother's words echoed in your mind, as if they had always been there. As if they had been waiting to be spoken to. You turned to them, your family.

"From now on, this is my home again." Cassian blinked, caught off guard. "From now on, I stop running." Mor’s face softened. "From now on, I will make my time here count."

Azriel watched you, unreadable, but there was something warm in his shadows. You exhaled, something in your chest unraveling, finally settling into place.

"I know I was gone, I know I took too long to find my way back." You looked at each of them, really looked at them. "But I’m here now. And I swear to you, I’m not leaving again. What waited until tomorrow starts tonight. It starts to Night."

And Rhysand just pulled you in, held you close, and whispered against your hair "I knew you'd come home."

☆

The moonlight spilled into your bedroom, casting everything in a soft silver glow. The war, the meetings, the weight of everything, it was all outside of these walls. Here, in this bed, there was only him.

Rhysand’s arms were around you, his body warm against yours, his wings partially unfurled across the mattress. His fingers traced slow, aimless patterns across your back, and when you shivered, he smiled against your temple.

"I can’t believe you forgot you weren’t High Lady yet." His voice was filled with laughter, but there was something deeper there, something tender beneath the teasing.

"I was working too much," you mumbled, pressing your face into his neck. "And you weren’t exactly reminding me."

"I thought you knew."

"Well, I didn’t." You huffed, lifting your head to look at him properly.

And he just looked at you. His violet eyes, soft as the stars outside.

"I’m proud of you," he whispered.

The words sank into your bones, into the deepest parts of you, filling all the places that had once been hollow.

"You’ve always been my High Lady," Rhys continued, his knuckles brushing over your cheek. "But today, you stood before all of them and proved it to yourself too."

You swallowed hard, leaning into his touch. "And I’m proud of you," you murmured, tracing the lines of his face, committing them to memory, like you hadn’t already done it a thousand times before. "For fighting for our people, for leading us through all of this, for being the best mate I could ever ask for."

Rhys closed his eyes for a second, like he was feeling those words the same way you had felt his.

Then he kissed you. Slow, unrushed, a kiss that wasn’t about claiming or passion, but about love. And you melted into him, hands sliding into his hair, fingers caressing the sensitive part of his wings, feeling him shudder beneath your touch.

"We should go somewhere," he murmured against your lips.

"Go where?"

"Anywhere." His nose brushed against yours. "Just the two of us. No responsibilities, no war, no court politics, just us. After we accept the bond, I mean."

Your heart ached with the sweetness of it. "That sounds perfect."

He smiled, kissing your forehead, then your nose, then each of your cheeks, worshiping you in the way he always did, in the way he always would.

"Then it’s settled," he whispered, pulling you closer, wrapping his wings around you both, sealing you into this perfect moment.

And as you buried yourself into his warmth, his love, you knew… You were home.

You settled deeper into Rhysand’s embrace, the comfort of his warmth surrounding you, the quiet of the night making everything feel suspended in time. The flicker of candlelight danced softly around the room. After a long pause, you turned your head to look at him, your fingers gently tracing the lines of his jaw. "What about kids?" you asked, the question slipping out almost casually, though your heart beat faster as the words left your lips.

Rhys’s eyes softened, and he chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "You’re thinking about that now?"

"Well," you began, your voice quieter, more thoughtful, "We’ve been through so much, and I’m—" you hesitated, trying to find the right words, "I’m just wondering when you’d want kids. How many, maybe?"

Rhys laughed, the sound so warm, so comforting. "I haven’t been thinking about it much," he admitted, running a hand through your hair. "We’ve got time. We’ve already been through so much, and I want to enjoy this, us, before diving into everything else. But I’d be lying if I said the thought hasn’t crossed my mind."

You smiled, a little teasing, as you ran a finger over his chest. "How many?" you asked, intrigued by the idea.

Rhys’s grin grew, his gaze heavy and intense. "Maybe two... three? Honestly, I think I’d be happy with however many you want. It’s not about the number, it’s about us building a fanily together."

You blinked, feeling a rush of warmth at his words. "Well, I already have a bit of a plan," you said, your voice teasing now. "Maybe start with one... and then see where it goes. We could make it an adventure. Make a whole frontline of mini us."

Rhys raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing. "An adventure, huh? I like the sound of that. Do you plan on training for this adventure anytime soon?" He leaned down closer, his voice lowering to a whisper, his lips brushing against your ear. "Because I think I know a few ways we could start practicing..."

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, the heat between you two rising instantly. You caught his gaze again, feeling the tension, the pull of desire that had always been there, simmering just beneath the surface. The soft, teasing touches, the lingering kisses, this was all part of the same game, the beginning of something.

You let out a soft laugh, lips curling. "Well, I suppose we have plenty of time to train. We need practice if we want to make it right."

Rhys smiled wickedly, his hand sliding down to your waist. "Plenty of time," he murmured, before capturing your lips in a kiss that was fierce, slow, and full of promise. And as the night deepened, the world outside faded away. It was just the two of you, together.

Taglist: @rcarbo1 @raisam @itsinherited @romantic1stories @nebarious @mystirica-18 @willowpains @xelladarlingx @lucilia9teen @lifetobeareader @hjgdhghoe @carmenadkins78 @lreadsstuff @oiolabomdia @jaybbygrl @traiitorjoe

[mistresskayla-blog1]

A Sweet Stroll

Characters: John & Margaret Thornton

Lyn's Writing Event - Week4 - Day 23 (late submission)

May 23rd: Week 4: Rain

Characters:  John Thorton x Margaret Thornton (fem reader perspective)

Fandom: Richard Armitage – John Thornton – North & South

The character of John Thornton and Margaret Hale were created by Elizabeth Haskell. Adapted for television by Sally Welch.  

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: fluff, kissing, rain, public affection, romance,

            The day opened warm and sunny, and John gathered the arrangements to take Margaret out on a wonderful spring picnic. Margaret was busy with his mother that morning holding discourse at the local women’s labor group. And John smiled to himself that he had such a head strong woman to hold his heart. Her bravery and courage inspired him to no end, even if it was a bit muddled during their courting. Relieving himself of some of his ego allowed his heart to open up further and love her all the more.

He thanked God every day for her, even though he was a thoughtful man and didn’t prescribe to theology in the devout sense. John Thornton was a respectable man, but a progressive one, in work and in life, he liked to see things grow into better outcomes for everyone. Margaret gave him that peace and reassurance, so he loved to plan these little outings to make her feel special and loved.

Dixon was busy preparing the basket for John, as he awaited Margaret’s return. It was a wonderful late Saturday morning; the hour was approaching luncheon and Margaret still had not returned. John sighed at his pocket watch, clicking it closed and returning it to his vest pocket. He looked out through the front window scanning the street for a carriage, or her strolling. He wanted to make sure she was safe, afterall, as his wife, Margaret is very important to him.

Dixon came into the front parlor with the basket, “There you are, Mr Thornton, its all ready, where is Margaret, beg your pardon, Mrs. Thornton.”

John smiled at Dixon warmly, and subtly, “I have told you to call me John, please Dixon, you are as much my family now as you ever were hers.”

Dixon rung her hands slightly less and tried to smile, “Yes, yes of course, Mr.. John. Beg your pardon.” Dixon went back to the kitchen at the other end of the house. John’s smile broadened a bit more, as she left him. His eyes scanned the streets again, and a carriage drew up, stopping at his door. He went to the door and opened it, as his mother and Margaret stepped out of the carriage. Margaret beamed up at John from the doorway. His mother looking as she always had, contemplative.

“Mother, Margaret, how was the meeting?” he said, towards the open street. His mother bolstered past him in the doorway, “We shouldn’t speak openly about it John, not in the common street”, she shook her head.

John faked a response, not at all perturbed, “Yes, of course mother, sorry about that.”

His mother rested in the parlor and Dixon brought her some tea.

Margaret got up to John at the door, and her eyes smiled well beyond her lips, “Hello, my dear,” She brushed a kiss on his cheek, as she brushed past him, he turned instantly and grabbed at her arm, keeping her in the entryway away from his mother’s gaze. His lips brushed hers in a needy way, the door closing behind them and Margaret felt lightly flushed, John held her to him, dropping his hat from his hand.

They parted, moments later, and John grinned happily. Margaret looked at him sweetly, “I should go out more often it seems,” 

John chuckled, “Please do, it gives me reason to pine for your return.” Margaret giggled under her breath.

“Do what do I owe such affection, then?” Margaret queried.

“I am taking you out for a spring picnic, its all been arranged”, John said beaming.

Margaret looked to the windows, “I think it is a lovely day for it, when can we leave”

“Now, if that suits you.” John replied. Margaret’s hand reassuringly squeezed his arm.

John picked up the rather hefty basket and held it to him, as he escorted Margaret out the door.

“We will be back soon mother,” he called to her, through the open door.  Then promptly closed the door behind them.

John and Maragret strolled down the sidewalk and towards the hilly woods above the factories of Milton. John had toured this section many times before on his thoughtful walks and he found a lovely tree to post under. You could see most of Milton from up on that roost, and the clouds were gathering playfully about the sunshine now when they crested the hill. A spring breeze played Margaret’s skirts, and she spun a bit enjoying herself. John set the basket down, unraveled the blanket and sat down, watching her. He opened up the basket and tore off a bit of bread chewing it quietly as she danced.

“Its such a beautiful day, John. Thank you for doing this,” she came to sit next to him. Smiling with her bright eyes and noble heart. He felt the draw to kiss her again, but instead looked down and cleared his throat.

“Are you hungry?” John asked her. Margaret looked to the basket, “I will be, but not right now. I am too full of this wonderful air,” She breathed it in and tipped her head back letting the break in the clouds coat her face in sunlight. Her eyelids closed, John moved to kiss her again, his lips just skirting along her, as they moved over her cheek and down her neck. Margaret momentarily startled, looked at him, “What are you, doing?” she asked giggling.

“Trying to kiss my wife, is that a problem?” John asked, his eyes shyly smiling, as he looked at her. Margaret threw her arms around his neck and pulled him down to the ground. He chuckled and kissed her again, deepening it, his need growing and shrinking in intervals he no longer could deny himself. Margaret felt her passions rising as well, but she knew this was an open place and not discreet.

Despite that they both kept kissing and then both flopped down on their backs looking up at the tree foliage blowing in the breeze. A greyish cloud passed over the hill, and John looked over at Margaret his hand on his chest, sighing happily, “Margaret, I love you so much more than I thought possible,”

Margaret watched the grey cloud move swiftly past them, looking over to him, and getting lost in those dyer blue eyes of his, “I completely understand, it is the same for me. More joy, more love, more everything.” She propped up on her elbow, hand on her cheek looking at him sweetly. John rolled to his side too, his arm reaching over her hip. The warmth of it seeping through her skirts. He moved to kiss her again, and another cloud loomed over them silencing the sunlight. A low rumble did not come from John’s chest, but from the clouds above.

Suddenly sheets of rain poured down on the happy couple’s picnic. And Margaret squeaked in alarm, Sitting up abruptly, and gathering the blankets while John scurried to close up the picnic basket, they both cowered against the trunk of the tree now, water dripping through the leaves onto both of them. They both laughed as they got soaked, and John set the basket down between them and kissed Margaret again, his hands framing her face. Margaret’s hands moved to his chest in a loving manner and the two kissed under the tree’s canopy, the drip drip drip, hitting they’re faces and getting them wet.

The cloud passed just as swiftly as it had come, within minutes and John and Margaret strolled back down the hill, a bit disheveled and considerably wetter than their adventure had started. Still in love and still just as sweetly smiling as they headed for home.

(THE END)

Taglist:

@scariusaquarius @middleearthpixie @sweetestgbye @riepu10

@legolasbadass @evenstaredits @lathalea @enchantzz

[sjmgirlie]

Cobalt Blue 🦋

So I was doing a bit of a ACOWAR re-read and found something interesting. When the autumn, and spring courts and human troops come into the final battle scene, Grayson’s family crest is cobalt.

“And one… one of mortal men in iron armour. Bearing a cobalt flag with striking badger. Graysen’s crest” ACOWAR page 623.

So Elain wearing the cobalt dress in ACOMAF might have been in relation to Graysen, BUT, we know Azriels siphons are the same colour. Could this be foreshadowing that Elain’s love interest when she was a human was Graysen, and then Azriel when she’s fae?

I’m not going to get into the discourse with Lucien being her mate. Because that could still be end game for all we know. But I truly think there would have to be so much retcon to make us forget 4 books of moments with Elain and Azriel and basically none with Elain and Lucien (he isn’t even around half the time). Like I would be chocked that Azriel was even dragged into Elucien to only complicate the plot more. They already had a complication with Graysen. And Azriel has been dragged around with Mor enough as well. But I noticed people like to say Lucien saying that he’s not always there to see his mate with distain in his voice is the same as Cassian about Nesta. But we forget that Cassian went to the Archeron estate in his bonus for ACOMAF and was about to kiss Nesta until she kneed him in the sensitive area. So ya… he didn’t want to talk about it. We don’t get bonus context why Lucien says that. Needless to say Lucien has no cobalt.

Anyways, I know Gwyn as a priestess also has an invoking stone that she wears, so I went searching to see if we get any information about the colour in ACOSF. Because regardless if I’m Eriel leaning, I still want to get all the facts straight. So I found the passage:

“Gwyn’s eyes matched her stone almost perfectly, right down to the shadows that now veiled her expression” ACOSF page 167

so still blue, because she has teal eyes, but not the specific blue that was used between Az-Elain-Graysen. And why is it important? Because Elain CHOSE to be graysen’s fiancé. She wanted to marry him even after turning fae. Choice is a reoccurring theme with Elain.

Now you might think, hey, this imagery doesn’t really matter. But the flowers, flames and night sky on the cabinet WERE important. SJM had to retcon the flames for Nesta with silver flame power in order to change Lucien being her mate. Also works because Cassian has red siphons though. Elain is correlated to flowers and automatically people think spring court or something. I don’t agree, because there are flowers in all courts, and spring is the only one where they are just there all the time. Elain is a GARDENER, her love of flowers is past aesthetics. It would be like saying Nesta should be at Day court because she loves reading and that’s where all the massive libraries are (Nesta would love it though).

Anyways, I personally don’t think the cobalt blue being the family crest for Graysen and siphon colour for Azriel is a fluke. I think it alludes to something. But, as all theories, it could be wrong.

The fact that Feysand, Nessian, Eriel and Vassien having titles between them also isn’t a fluke. This is another form of imagery that alludes to something. But again, maybe Sarah has some retcon to do. We really don’t know 100%, but with how ACOTAR has been set up, it feels to me it’s at least leaning this way.

[acourtofthought]

About who MC of the next book will be....I honestly agree with you. I mean, taking out ship discourse, all the arguments I've seen to support Az being the MC for the next ACOTAR book are using points from the CC series. But guess what....I've never read CC! I don't know what the heck a Starsword is or whatever connection that has to Bryce or whatever. And I bet there are plenty of people who've only read ACOTAR. (1/2)

Happy Saturday!!

I have found, not just in the book world, that people struggle to think outside of what they know.

For example, I remember getting into an argument with my mother who had been a teacher. Two years ago, my kids school announced that in two weeks time, the teachers would be getting a day off for a mental health day and I was discussing how that is inconvenient for the parents.

I know how hard teachers work, I truly do, But around here, children are expected to go to school 180 days and as parents, they plan on their children being in school as scheduled. So it's very difficult for a working parent to suddenly make plans to keep their children at home outside of the already "budgeted" for sick days, snow days, etc. It's an extra day where a working parent either can't be present for their employer or they need to pay for childcare.

But my stance upset my mother because she thought I wasn't respecting how hard she worked (even though she had retired so it was a moot point), that parents should be expected to take care of their own children.

I wasn't arguing against the fact that teachers worked hard or that parents shouldn't be responsible, just that it did put working parents in a difficult situation that they hadn't been expecting. But she was only focused on what she knew as a teacher and not how she might have felt as a working parent who lost income by this surprise mental health day.

When it comes to the fandom, I think there's a bit of that mentality because the fandom thinks in terms of what they know because they are in the fandom. Understandable but I do think it's important to step back and remember the many people who aren't immersed in the world of SJM in the same way. Something you understand with not having read CC.

Yes, there was a bit of buildup for Az's future story in SF (his name was mentioned often but that doesn't equal buildup, it simply means he shared dialogue and Cassian's plotlines). Hell Emerie was mentioned 421 times and no one is claiming she's getting the next book.

But it's not just about SF or even the crossover which happened months after SF. It's about the ACOTAR series in it's entirety (something I think fans forget when they focus only on SF) and there has been SOOOOOO much buildup for both Elain and Lucien. Two characters with unexplored powers. Two characters with an unaccepted mating bond that snapped. Two characters who haven't found a court to call their own. Two characters who have not gotten to share their traumas though their traumas happened on page since books 1 and 2 and beyond (versus both Az and Gwyn where we were told of their traumas after the fact. I'm not saying that lessens their traumas, simply saying we didn't experience them with the character in "real time", at least not Gwyn's trauma that was the reason for her going to the library).

We watched Lucien nearly killed by Rhys and almost killed again in the second trial, saw that he was whipped for helping Feyre, watched him being pushed down by Tamlin, read as he was forced to flee Spring, witnessed his SA by Ianthe, we witnessed his sadness over Elain and his past when Feyre slipped into his mind and he was given a POV (actually, SJM had Feyre slip into his mind on three different occasions in the actual book, that means just as much as an Az bonus), we saw his brothers try to kill him yet again, it was revealed that he has an unknown father, he met Elain's father and has untold stories with that, he developed a friendship with a female who, at the end of SF was about to be called back to Koschei, was living in the human lands but then was permanently stationed in Spring.

With Elain, she was taken against her will and forced into a Cauldron. Changed into an entirely new species. We had the chance to read how traumatic that experience was for Nesta but some do believe SJM is just going to skip over Elain's experience in favor of Az. Skip over Elain finally being able to talk about the loss of her father. Skip over Elain finally making a decision about her bond and her fiance and Az's rejection. Skip over Elain finally proving that she is capable. Skip over Elain finally finding her home.

I understand that SJM wanted to tell Nesta's story first but Nesta is also an Archeron sister. SJM has always spoken of wanting to tell the stories of these three sisters. So why would she skip over the final sister in favor of Az who the fandom knows is a capable warrior, who knows he belongs in the NC despite his struggles? Who isn't even fully aware that he has a mating bond?

Does it really seem like SJM would bench a FMC in favor of a guy? That Az's story is more important than the 24 year old who was violently taken from the life she knew and forced into a new one, where she recently lost her father and her friends and her fiance, is possibly struggling with her snapped bond and she just doesn't get a voice until Az has his story told?

This isn't meant to sound Anti Az because he deserves his HEA too, I'm just not sure his story is more important to tell than Elain's at this moment. Or even Lucien's.

Because regardless of what we learned of Az in SF or the CC (like you said, some won't read the crossover and from a publishing standpoint that means the next ACOTAR book still has to make sense for those readers), that doesn't erase what we were told of Lucien and Elain long before that.

The layout is:

Elucien bond plot introduced in 2016

Lucien being abused by Tamlin in 2016

Elain being made introduced in 2016

Lucien having to flee Spring /Koschei / Vassa / Helion as Lucien's Father / Lucien meeting Papa Archeron / Eris showing sadness over his relationship with Lucien introduced in 2017

Graysens Rejection / Seer powers Discovered / Elain killing the king / Elain's fathers death introduced in 2017

The IC needing Spring's borders protected / Lucien living with Vassa and Jurian introduced in 2018

Elain's powers gone dormant / Elain moving quietly being mentioned / Elain mourning Graysen and her father introduced in 2018

Elain's powers still dormant / Elain starting to stand up for herself / Rhys and Amren saying others have underestimated her / Elain reminding others of her trauma / Elain not fitting in with the NC / Elain being made for Spring, her scent a promise of spring / Reminder of Elain wanting to travel to the continent / More mentions of Elain moving with stealth introduced in 2021

Lucien commanding Cassian with a single word / Lucien being permanently stationed in Spring to be their eyes and ears because they need a strong ally / Lucien's "father" wanting to ally with Koschei / Lucien's friend Vassa ready to be called back to Koschei / Mor not able to get the peace treat signed in Valhallan / Lucien's brother becoming a character heavily involved in the plots and visiting the human lands where Lucien is living introduced in 2021.

Az got buildup in SF (2021) and he is part of the crossover (2024).....but she's playing catchup for him because he didn't have a lot setting him up to be an eventual MMC before that.

His newly introduced plots (of which they are still a little unclear outside the Illyrians) don't automatically take precedence over Lucien and Elain's plots. It doesn't mean she's pushing Elucien to the side in favor of Az.

It could just mean she's planning ahead for what comes after Elain and Lucien's story and the crossover isn't necessarily some sort of trump card when we have no idea exactly when or how SJM plans on introducing what happened in the CC into the ACOTAR series or when the next ACOTAR book will start on the timeline. The crossover doesn't eliminate the very real threats they were facing in their world in SF and if people are saying that she can "shelve" Elain and Lucien's stories regardless of the buildup they had in books 1, 2, 3 (etc), then why can't Az's story also be temporarily shelved regardless of the page time he got in SF / the crossover so she can first tell us Elucien's story and take us to other courts outside of the NC? Wouldn't the series ending in the NC make the most sense?

Shouldn't they deal with threats on their own world before they really start worrying about threats from outside their world?

You're right though (in regards to your second anon), whatever story she tells next is fine. But the arguments saying why it has to be Az don't make sense to me because if she could sideline Elucien then she can do the same to Az.

[eyra]

hi it’s me, the anon, back to discuss :)

yes by the end of book 3 we have wrung out the rhys/feyre novelty and we are parched for something new. acofas was a cute little transition from the end of book 3 to the start of book 5, it really just sets it up a bit so that we can start Nesta’s story with some context.

re: Tamlin. Agreed, in book 4 he is pathetic and I pitied him too. Sad. He has a lot to work on and we all wish him well on his healing journey. I hope the spring court has a good therapist. Lord knows they all need one. You should see the Rhys/Tamlin ship discourse lolll people are feral with that. I think once Rhys is no longer being portrayed as dark/morally grey (bc from Feyre’s pov he’s perfect) they just become uninteresting and not really relatable anymore. Three books was enough, and sjm did the right thing with book 5 imo. Although I’m very curious what your take on Rhysand in book 5 will be…

Oh boy. You’re in for a ride. You’re gonna eat up acosf. It’s totally brainrot but with layers, which is just so fun and quite an emotional rollercoaster. It’s self-indulgent for sure. And cringe in so many ways that it’s like, alright this is unpolished and not always flattering in a kinda refreshing way after the monotony Feysand fell into, aka boring healthy married life (no shade to married folks, that was just a joke). And yeah, the spice level is definitely turned up a bit, so I think you’ll enjoy.

Anyway I can’t say more I don’t want to spoil anything.

You should also see the Azriel/Eris crack ship discourse. People get weird with that. But don’t look into it until after book 5 bc you’ll get spoilers for sure.

Keep us (me) updated on your book 5 journey!! 😈🖤

🗡️👑📖

YES ANON. ok I’m like 70 pages into book 5 and straight off the bat rhys and feyre can absolutely do one. like bore off with your holier than thou attitudes! just because you’re married and trying for a baby, that doesn’t make you better than everyone else! and rhys specifically is being an asshole to nesta for reasons I honestly can’t get my head around. rhys, who apparently was sooo good and patient with feyre when she was Going Through It. and now he’s having a meltdown because nesta likes a drink. wow sorry about it…. also how have we gone from “we have so much money it’s actually obscene” to “nesta’s bar tab is going to bankrupt my family” in the space of like 8 pages? why is everyone being so mean to her when she was literally the one who killed the king and also her dad just died… let her LIVE omg.

you’re so right about rhys - once he became perfect he became boring. it’s the way it goes. and I don’t want to read about a happily married straight couple. that’s not why I’m here.

rhys/tamlin….. hmm tamlin deserves better I fear. and azriel/eris is insane. azriel/cassian on the other hand… also seeking: mor/nesta, tamlin/a hot wife, rhys/a personality.

[freyjas-musings]

So I posted a funny reel about Feyre and Lucien returning to Night after destroying the spring court on my IG (she was pretty clever in the way she executed the entire thing anyone who wants to argue can do so with the wall)

This one moral police came into the comment section about how I have "Forgotten" the injustice that was done to the civilians of spring court.... I have deleted the comment but it had me thinking ...

Here is the deal and I want everyone to please pay attention .... " Spring Court" isn't REAL .... TAMLIN isn't real .... FEYRE AND LUCIEN ARENT REAL

These are fictional books with fictional scenarios.... don't be a weirdo who judges real people based on humorous takes on fictional characters and situations unless its a social issue which affects real people ... And no I am not offended or frustrated ... I am amused ... It takes a lot more than that to affect me ... the locus of my identity is interior to me ... 😅😅

I see this with other things too.... If you dislike Azriel you are a feminist ... Nope, not true at all especially if you are an Elain apologist at the same time ... You can empathise with Elain and her behaviour towards Lucien and Nesta based on her trauma while simultaneously disregarding Azriel's unresolved childhood trauma of 500 years and the affect its had on his behaviour?...

That's not Feminism that's just an ordinary stan who doesn't like Az ... Please feel free to leave the word Feminism out of it ... Hate Az for the character traits and own it as a personal preference... its not going to make it any less relevant ... That's totally justifiable (don't attach pro women agenda thats when it becomes weird and politically incorrect)

"Choice" is another famous word in this fandom ... I don't know how young you kids are but as someone who has had multiple relationships before settling in with my husband I can tell choices change for different reasons ... so the entire discourse on choice at a given time is already a failed concept... That isn't Feminism and most certainly not when the same bunch weaponize another character's SA ... you are just an ordinary toxic child throwing a tantrum trying to manipulate your way into making your point 😅

Don't use fictional nonsense to judge real people its stupid and borderlines on delusional

[blackjackkent]

Quick camp chats before heading out on the road again. (I'm thinking about making straight for the creche actually, since Rakha definitely thinks it's the most important thing to do right now, and then circling back for final nautiloid map stuff on the way to the Underdark.)

Rakha questioned Gale much more thoroughly about Karsus and the fall of Netheril; even though it happened a long time ago, she's still hungry for any new knowledge, more pieces in her picture of the world. I think this is probably not the last time that he ends up just discoursing to her on some random subject or another; if there's one thing Gale can't resist, it's an attentive student, even if it's one fully capable of ripping his throat out in the wrong moment. He also explained, much to her disappointment, that there's no way she would be strong enough on her own to channel the Weave as they did together - that it requires intense study even for someone with a natural magical gift like her. She's quietly bummed about this; she was taken with the idea of showing it to Wyll.

Having talked to Dammon, we have the option to ask Karlach directly about the engine in camp. She's not willing to give the full story until the Paladins are dead, but does explain that it prevents her from touching anyone and how upset that makes her, that she can't have a hug. Rakha spends a lot of time thinking about this afterwards. She has had sex with Lae'zel and she has had Astarion's weight on her as he sucked the blood at her neck, but beyond this, her experience with physical contact of any sort is... limited. But Karlach's longing for it is obvious. It must be comforting, she decides. Like the blanket of the Weave around her. Like Wyll's hand on her arm was, last night.

Astarion is indignant about Gale's orb: "To think, Gale's had this devastating orb within himself the entire time, and only just mentioned it? Who'd keep a secret like that from his friends? You can't trust anyone these days." It takes Rakha a little while to work out that he is being ironic. His response to the question "What do you think we'll find at Moonrise Towers?" amuses me, because his phrasing feels deliberately calibrated for Rakha specifically: "Who knows? Drow? Mind flayers? Death? Hopefully not ours. But maybe answers, if we can convince the right people to talk." Death and answers are Rakha's two favorite things in the whole world.

Wyll is super cute and kinda shy. "Since the party, I've had a spring in my step, and I've got you to thank." Sadly none of the (positive) dialogue options quite fall in Rakha's blunt conversational wheelhouse, but we'll go with, "It was a lovely evening. I hope we can share even more." Because it's true - talking to him was the best part of the party for her by far. She doesn't fully understand her own feelings, but she is realizing she feels better near him than otherwise. He smiles. "I'm sure we will. And when the time comes... I've got something in mind." He raises a hand to forestall her as she opens her mouth to ask questions. "Now, now - no prodding. You don't want to spoil the surprise. But I'll say this... it'll be worth the wait." The odd sense of pleasant anticipation with which Rakha receives this information is a rather new concept for her. She isn't sure what he means... but she is curious to find out.

He also tells her a little bit about growing up as a Duke's son in Baldur's Gate. Most of his descriptions of court and nobility are somewhat lost on her-- more interesting is his description of the transition into becoming Blade of Frontiers. She asks if it was much of a change. "Yes and no," he answers. "Father taught me the four pillars of power - courage, insight, strategy, justice. He reckoned I'd follow in his footsteps, first as a Fist Marshal, then as a Duke. Vanquish evil, maintain order, save the world. But a duke makes bedfellows with more monsters than he slays. Father called it 'diplomacy'. I called it 'hypocrisy.' In the frontiers, there is no posturing, no diplomacy. I slay monsters; I don't consort with them, even if I might look like one." As usual, Rakha tucks away these foundational tenets of his philosophy to consider for herself. Courage, insight, strategy, justice. None of them mean as much to her as violence, hunger, survival, death. And yet they are, perhaps, something to aspire to, if she should ever learn to control the beast... She wonders about that last statement, though. Wyll claims not to consort with monsters - but he travels with Astarion. He travels with her. He travels with Gale and that bomb in his chest. There are many in their group who could be called monsters. What does he see when he looks at them? Does he see his presence here as just another sort of hypocrisy, deep down?

[allthingsroleplay]

Stars Who Listen has gone through a revamp, and is planning on a re-launch soon! Stars Who Listen is a jcink premium roleplay, set in an alternative universe of acotar with entirely original characters. Characters have unique abilities according to their court ( spring, summer, autumn, winter, dawn, day, night & now with hybern ) with different species & sub-species purchasable in the shop.

We’re active, with plenty of events planned & plotting to write out! We use a profile app, have lax activity requirements for general members & are exclusively 21+. Keep an eye out on our tumblr for our discord link to drop very, very soon-- new reserves and members will be welcome into the discourse before you know it.

[brooklynislandgirl]

@lokitheliesmith {{from here courtesy of the legacy editor}}

Her brother nods in polite reverence, an assent to her wishes, but does not actually sit until the Princess herself does. He takes his place beside her and for a moment one sibling's knee brushes the other. Another sign that he's taken with their foreign noble; Andrew was always excruciatingly aware of everything. She will be such a púca about when they are safely entrenched back in the privacy of their dwellings. Perhaps tweak his patience enough to make him threaten to consign her to the sea. "I presume not to dictate a man's business, but I thank you most humbly." He looks to his hands a moment. "Is is so rare we have new company." She slants a tiny glance at the Princess, for all the world wishing she could tell the great lady that her sibling tends to keep to himself and doesn't court many a friend on this side of the sea. Spring greenery clashes against emerald as the women's gazes seem to find one another. And those very branches might have gone up in flames as modesty sparks fire in her cheeks as the Princess extends the Prince's complimentary discourse. She has no way of knowing if it is true, but she also has no reason to doubt the woman. "M-my great honour, your Highness," she replies and its all she can do not to be beside herself. The tea is a merciful lifeline. "If you permit me know some of your tastes. I would hate to suggest something that might fall far from your favour." And have the Princess feel she is unworthy. A glance is spared toward her brother who seems to be watching the ladies as he would horseflesh at the markets, seeking compatible spirit and temperament. Not flattering and not exactly true but near enough. "I could not think to speak on such things, your Highness. Things are far different back home." Andrew pats her hand. Head bowed, attention focused on his glove, she nods. "Yes, my lady. The harp as well, if you prefer. I should be quite happy to play for you. Is there any certain piece you enjoy, or perhaps another interest that you favour?"

[colorlesschristmastree]

24 and 10 😈

10. "Worst part of Fanon"

All the Rhysand's sister was [x character's] mate takes and theories, please let that girl rest. No she is not azriel's mate, no she isn't tamlin's. Free her. Oh also the way the a lot of people treat Cassian like a himbo or dumb or less intelligent than Nesta. Oh oh oh and the people who pretend Feyre can't paint. God they irritate the life out of me.

24. "Topic that brings up the most rancid discourse"

Just the majority of discussions surrounding Rhys utm, Feyre in the spring court in acowar, and the elriel vs gwynriel vs elucien discourse. I've seen that get kinda nasty too.

[bookishfeylin]

hello! I came here to say that I really appreciate your analyzes and how you make it very clear the breakdown of the romanticization of abuse that happens in Acotar.

(I needed a translator's help to write this, so I hope it's not too bad to understand. 😅)

Everywhere I look, I see very committed IC fans who won't even consider the arguments anyone brings if it's not praise for the favs. Honestly, it just makes me want to believe that it's a pretty superfluous and irrational admiration these people have.

Sometimes all I want to say is, “OK, if you want to like this character so bad, like him then, but be honest with yourself about his actions, ALL OF THEM, not the ones you choose because you think they're cute or because they're convenient to fuel your excuses. Don't make excuses for it."

This whole effort to defend these characters by saying that they don't do bad things or that the things that "seem" bad are justified because they are too good for it says enough to me. Accepting the fact that maybe the character you admire so much is actually not really good would be like failing the illusion they end up creating of a wonderful and perfect character, which they apparently cannot admit.

I'm not a hypocrite, there are a few things I've come to realize about some of the actions of some of the characters in Acotar were actually bad after some reflection on it. Sarah's writing showing Feyre's very influential point of view helps a lot to confuse the nature of some actions, I came to this conclusion after reading the saga for the third time, just to be sure.

I feel like I can never say enough about how Feyre's point of view (which romanticizes many actions) also played into the villainization of Nesta in this story, the suddenly so fantastical view of Rhysand, the normalization of how the Night Court works (seriously, how can someone find the way this court works cool just because most of the time we only see the “beautiful” part of it because is just what Feyre only came to see?) and many other things.

How can everyone watching Feyre plot to overthrow the Spring Court, full of innocent people, just for personal revenge on Tamlin? No one will hear me say that Tamlin didn't deserve Feyre's anger, but that doesn't include involving other people who have nothing to do with it. For example, my own personal experience lets me know very well what it's like to be someone who lives in a country led by someone I don't trust at all precisely because I know they have completely wrong ideals. For a few years my country was led by someone very bad and that left traumas in trust and in the way of a population live. Fortunately in my country there is a new leader and I already knew that things would get better, but I was left with a lot of confidence issues regarding the future of the country and the population even so, especially fearful about the amount of power a leader has and what can do with that, just keep in my mind the consequences that we have suffered until today because of the previous administration. All this I'm saying to argue about how perhaps the Spring Court faeries must have felt about this whole situation, the things Feyre had manipulated them into believing, after they had spent many, many years being ravaged by Amarantha's people and her curse. My opinion of Feyre lowered a lot after that action, especially since I don't even remember her having a second thought about it and showing any regrets for the consequences of her actions.

And that was yet another argument to be used against Rhysand as well. HE knew much better than Feyre about the implications of it all, and he loved that she did it anyway (and I can't get it out of my mind that she only does things because HE ALLOWS IT, and most readers gladly drink that sweet illusion of freedom and power that she apparently has. I can't help but think that it's Rhysand who offers the options for her to choose from, so he can offer all that are convenient for him in the end).

Dude, honestly, do any faeries act up to the big amount of time they've lived and all the experience they're supposed to have? I'm not even going to really start talking about Rhys (the real protagonist on my view) and all the points I'd like to make about him, including Sarah's awful approach to the very burden she placed on his character (both his actions before, during UTM and after, even as well his traumas), it's too much and I wasn't even planning to write that much.

After all, my plans were just to come here to tell you that I share many of your opinions and appreciate your analysis. Thanks so much for sharing them. I know it must be difficult to fight against the current (I feel like it is, since the vast majority still think everything is very fantastic in the most dubious parts of this saga).

(Many things are not mentioned here and I would like to do that one of these days, when possible. If so, more specifically cite each thing, like when I expressed my unhappiness about what happened to the Spring Court. I feel that would be a very interesting conversation to have with you. Anyway, I leave here a hug and show you once again my gratitude for sharing your thoughts with us <3)

Hi anon!

I agree with so many of your points here, and it’s truly crazy to me how few people outside of this little nook of the fandom notice or care about any of these things. But yes, by far the most insidious part of the endless defense of these characters is the treatment of her toppling the Spring Court, for reasons you already mentioned. I’ve talked about it both here and on Ao3, but her toppling the Spring Court REEKS of imperialism. The glorification of white people running around toppling governments is something that rubs me the wrong way and I’m glad I’m not the only one. A lot of people know that I actually really connected with Feyre in the first book and that I’m truly a Feyre girlie at heart but… yeah. This plotline was white girlboss feminism through and through and I’ll never be over the lengths fandom goes to to excuse it.

At any rate, thank you so much for the ask! And you are more than welcome to come back to my inbox again if you have more you’d like to talk about 🥰

[graysengross]

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[libidomechanica]

As the silver pin

A cinquain sequence

               I

Do louers proue? Is muffled thirty, crowned with a young to bed. As the silver pin. Juan felt sprung.

               II

Gang by men-slugs and little spoils longing for long eleven. And peanuts, singing, Die, oh!

               III

Twin o’ the Pincke and sickly swamp’d. Yet eyes let its virgin limbs, and of sleep; and contraction’?

               IV

And proud; your father by day and vain to him, at least that no wyf to-yeere! My hoped her own.

               V

Love in such a tree. Turn. And your slumbrous rest; and therefore must buys there laid; love, or the shot.

               VI

But up she sits when I have not wed. Then ceased, unmixed good dealer whom the sea. And wilt thought.

               VII

Young Juan wept, and limbs have seen me get the East had felt. She content, to charity and gay.

               VIII

Said, My life to chang’d to receive ourself will and eagle soar! And kisses reel: some fancies?

               IX

Don Juan’s nervy knees they who swore, across the lady’s chair? And half were rises, our bodies.

               X

And thus our foot mortal Wound. Themselves engrave it: and all ye gentle read. Grow old and rare.

               XI

Digestion; their last. And Zoe, whose lilies with such a florish lady, or whom we spake.

               XII

Why do ye were all the bren, as to her entangle home heaving and faste, which thinner, clear.

               XIII

About a still them? Head- foremost, that the dim stars, and dignify our chancellors endure.

               XIV

To understand. Or breast the cates. And I was aware that eve. Fain would not. But as I grants.

               XV

Grown shyer, whereto was lethal. Had reason mostly if we almost at last, surprise you?

               XVI

Was blue eyes swim: and the dead: succeed? Man, and whispering hand of silvery sacrifice?

               XVII

He discoursing I did practicable wenches. For Love in this poore I to my rose tree.

               XVIII

He knew him—could answer the clear. Sits Diotima, teach other. For the day is dark all else!

               XIX

I have a comfort of fire-tailed exhalation at the weather. Beside that of her friends.

               XX

Visions always backward and so that ye car’d a draught, mark me, Peona! The bow; a lover?

               XXI

Sudden growing day. His own, of lyes! I tolde me eek to gaudy day preach others and grange.

               XXII

A virgin lieu of loneliness, and yet inexperience, and to silence, then she crime.

               XXIII

The sweet milk doth hang from its swept. Tis time away my proud-hearted. And so, in general court.

               XXIV

Observation. When I felt her women is, ye most doth hang upon her teeth from the break.

               XXV

With all a spring. I designs above, edg’d Weapon from court we passed into Curls, and fish.

               XXVI

She is knowledge of another. Both a woman and up she good princess with a dying.

               XXVII

Like beast and white flocks: whether still rule of Air. But now to their best apothecary’s art.

               XXVIII

That has its harvesters of stone. And hardly compare, from Noah’s ark went round, as the boy’s head.

               XXIX

But the bacoun was they find? A nyght and shadow, Time; but ye do, certe. To rob joy of it.

               XXX

What stroke shal seye that in it. As chill winds were a fair would have success of those seemed to view.

               XXXI

Of life from vales do they prove the scrip of honey- feel of young, all outwent. Be still it back?

               XXXII

A most doth Love deny’d. On! I will I but at they master pure; gold is the delights me.

               XXXIII

To stay sweet some kept. In which you wander’d from the mountain-head, until, frete hem spitously.

               XXXIV

I’m become show should have had such English boy, and the old! A body like a museum.

               XXXV

Because they shift our back. Each side, what flaws in short or tails, for the fancy; for woman go?

               XXXVI

To chirche was as we rode besides alas! Hers. The mind was blights in one doth Love much-lament?

               XXXVII

Yet eyes surveys his beuie of Latmos was, he had a heap to her Feet. A squall came to do.

               XXXVIII

A plenty: so let it grew up with devocioun. The wakes the loth and a brooklet, scarce palls.

               XXXIX

Hair had my pith. And I from head grew their lords and whither! And had begun. Pen in a knot.

               XL

While, that been your head, a purple, cradle shell. Fest heaven kiss from place for a distant be.

               XLI

But me safe from the earth when shells, they wonder of Heaven hadde the grass! His new positions.

               XLII

Elsewhere half his murth’ring Foe! While gazing out o’ h—ll. When I ask it, she was you tend?

               XLIII

A dress, with ye so pale? In her down: her harp, who divested of the Handle think she smiles.

               XLIV

Taught a fall, the rude bones on my grievously on barren rocks. Better came to another.

               XLV

Happy! And she wasn’t success, but like a ball to lived, a crash of echoing starry Hope!

               XLVI

I state, and knew not blossoming from death-bed Alms are about us prate. So that any.

               XLVII

Or breathless day keep the wood, when then, oh, Heav’ns with odours. But if a chemical mixture.

               XLVIII

Which similar removed. But by nyght I cam fro Jerusals to him have not miracle.

               XLIX

Some leap’d. Melissa, for in hir lords of the vine; nor whatsoever ran on. Do I roam?

               L

I promiscuous swim: and though August. And that sublimer azure bloom upon his Breast.

               LI

Had bagg’d, and Codille. Should keep it, those eyes, and see but luckily, the pools that she knot.

               LII

That much employ’d in ever. Different me one who hath provisions and cram him instancy.

               LIII

On which he wolde he upon the places leisurely die. And I will make my bride with me!

               LIV

If in fact, we’re wedde a povre woman is inside of it. The Sun first—but mine: a real wife.

               LV

Meantime spindly thre level: some in their cares? Happy, happy, happy, happy, happiness?

               LVI

Nor dreams, before the seas, though unfit, twixt two sad, separate aim, and mortal! The firths of steel.

               LVII

Refusing hound, and, believe? Beat while, we kiss that language the tree, in spikes, orinda’s Lake.

               LVIII

For three years away.—With wings on either hat and heavenly fears their stock hath taught to night.

               LIX

Not in mediation that Fate inventions open? And all thy Guardian knot in vain.

               LX

By the alarmed heart really the Destructs, and nearest. From this slight as the greatness spread grey.

               LXI

Which something light in vain to do with singing, Die, oh! Yet held his rich. Nations, dreadful cry?

[jcinktinder]

Stars Who Listen has gone through a revamp, and is planning on a re-launch soon! Stars Who Listen is a jcink premium roleplay, set in an alternative universe of acotar with entirely original characters. Characters have unique abilities according to their court ( spring, summer, autumn, winter, dawn, day, night & now with hybern ) with different species & sub-species purchasable in the shop.

We’re active, with plenty of events planned & plotting to write out! We use a profile app, have lax activity requirements for general members & are exclusively 21+. Keep an eye out on our tumblr for our discord link to drop very, very soon-- new reserves and members will be welcome into the discourse before you know it.

[acourtofthought]

Honestly I hope Elucien is next so we can finally get the E/riel's off our backs (and hopefully out of the fandom since they're sOoOoOo against it) for good. Idk if I can do another 2+ years of discourse this intense kgjdn its making fandom and the stories straight up not fun anymore and it feels like there's no way to block it out??

I guess either way, whether it's Gwynriel or Elucien, we'd get some sort of relief from the craziness in the fandom.

But personally I do think it's time for Elucien's story. SJM has been building not only their relationship but their personal journey's since ACOMAF (2016) and it's time. It's time to decide Tamlin and Springs fate (probably happening in an Elucien book). It's time to reveal Helion as Lucien's father. It's time to free Vassa and the girls that have been trapped since ACOMAF (but we only learned about in ACOWAR). It's time for us to hear in Elain's own words how she feels about being made, the loss of her father, her mating bond, having stabbed someone, her powers, etc. It's time for Lucien to have a real home of his own. It's time for Elain to leave the Court where her sisters call her a dog and a pleasant companion. Where she's prevented from doing more by others. Where she had to remind her own sisters she's not a child to be fought over and they don't get to tell her what she can or can't do. I do realize I'm biased however I am surprised that anyone wouldn't think Elain is overdue for getting a POV.

Those things have gone on so long with no resolution that it's starting to feel weird. Seriously, how many more books can the characters talk about Elain ignoring Lucien, them leaving their mating bond in a stalemate and kind of just ignoring Elain for IC business in general. How many more books do we need to read about Tamlin being depressed and leaving Spring defenseless? How many more books does Lucien need to suffer an unaccepted bond and how wrong would it be if Az is given a HEA before him after Az had zero respect for Lucien's bond and zero respect for Lucien himself? Something about that would not feel fair 😂. Az will get his HEA but I'm not sure he deserves an immediate reward after not really caring whether he kills Lucien.

If Elucien isn't next, what would SJM even do with Elain's character? She can't have her start taking on a bigger role with the IC, then it wouldn't make sense for her to leave, it would seem like she was where she belonged. So is Sarah going to have her in the background gardening while the IC still never asks her to join in on meetings? Hiding in her room? There's no storyline for Elain until she has her own book. Elain won't heavily feature in a Gwynriel book but if she's still living in the NC, then SJM is going to have to come up with something for her because anytime Az meets with Rhys, Feyre, Nesta, Amren, Cassian, etc......Elain needs to be somewhere.

Gwynriel definitely has things to address, both together and as individuals, but really, they can wait a bit 😂