#exhibit A: feysand

[velidewrites]

“Sometimes love can be a poison” is such a raw fucking line we don’t talk about it nearly enough. The way we’re first shown a kind of love that utterly destroys you down to your very spirit — only for the rest of the series to go on to prove that one day, you will find a love that’s going to be your salvation. No one talk to me

[nestaians]

feysand sex scenes will haunt me forever, i swear

climaxing at the image of ur child, blowjob at the camp to drown out sounds of injured soldiers -happened bc u decided to take a petty revenge, getting a freaking at the library which is sa victims safe place, CoN scene, fucking in sky in broad daylight

they have an exhibition kink okay but time and place for things. fae can smell that shit

the fact that mountains shake every time rhysand climaxes like why are ppl of nc being tortured like this?

i would move the fuck out, how am i suppose to sleep when these fuckers cant stop fucking like rabbits in heat

do tsunamis occur when summer court high lord climaxes? do snow storms happen when winter court high lord climaxes?

[lovemyromance]

No bc here's the thing,

I would've been open to Elucien if SJM hadn't introduced Elriel. If SJM had left the current stalemate of their mating bond as is, but had never had Azriel:

Rescue Elain so heroically

Give Elain his most prized possession

Give her a solstice present

Want to worship on his knees for her

Get so defensive over Elain

Like if none of that shit ever happened, and Elain & Lucien continued to avoid and ignore each other - I might've agreed that maybe Elain will come around and warm up to her mate someday.

But that's not what happened. The moment SJM had another MMC save Elain, spend quality time with her, give her his most prized possession, get her a gift on solstice, think about worshipping her - it was over for Elucien.

Azriel has stepped into the role Lucien was meant to play in Elain's story. He has exhibited more mate behavior towards her than Lucien has - and more importantly - SHE has exhibited more mate behavior towards him than she has towards Lucien.

Explicitly, it has been written how "a mate should be able to sense what is amiss" and how "males typically got jewelry for their mates." And then we see Azriel doing both for Elain.

If that ain't in your face blatant foreshadowing - idk what it could be.

If you consider the current state of things, there's no room in this series for another epic switch up like Feylin to Feysand.

Feyre had three books to fall in love with tamlin, fall out of love with tamlin, get over her "hate" for Rhys, fall in love with Rhys.

Elain has one book. She does not have the time to fall in love with Azriel, fall out of love with Azriel, get over her hatred of the mating bond, fall in love with Lucien.

Not to mention - that storyline has literally been done in this series already!!

If Azriel hadn't existed, then maybe Elucien stood a chance. But unfortunately, SJM chose to write Azriel instead of Lucien in all these key moments with Elain.

It wasn't a mistake. It was a choice. A purposeful decision on her part.

And people can deny it all they want. But they should ask themselves:

Would they rather have preferred Lucien to heroically save Elain from Hybern....or would they have preferred him to go off on a mission elsewhere and only appear at the end of the battle with a missing queen while another male saved her?

Would they rather have preferred Lucien to figure out what Elain's powers were and free her from this murky realm when even her sisters couldn't figure it out.... or would they have preferred him to sit quietly while another male figured it out and earned her trust instead?

Would they have preferred that bonus chapter to be about Elain & Lucien running into each other at night and sharing an almost kiss .... or would they have preferred Lucien to be sleeping upstairs while his mate had a tryst with a different man?

Be so fr right now. Because at least I am fully able to admit that if Lucien had been written in any of those ways above - I would've shipped Elucien.

Can y'all do the same?

[sunrise-superiority]

Friendly reminder that canonically, Cassian and Nesta are both horrific at communication. Nesta fears vulnerability, and Cassian trips over his words and says the wrong thing (Exhibit A: The “I am shackled to you” quote that everyone LOVES to yank out of context). This is just one of many reasons why I’ll always love them more than Feysand.

[8bitrosethorn]

I know the plot of the next ACOTAR book

Your girl’s back with a new theory and this time, it’s more receipts from ACOFAS. Continuing with my theory (link) that the next two novels in the ACOTAR series will be about Elain and Mor (in that order), I went back to look at the structure of ACOFAS and for any more clues on Elain’s book 🧐

Last night, something hit me on my latest reread. I wanted to look at how Cassian’s introductory chapters unfolded through a lens of what we now know of his and Nesta’s story in ACOSF, and use those parallels to look closer at Azriel and Elain’s chapters (as narrated by Feysand).

So let’s dive deeper…

THE EVIDENCE

Exhibit 1

In Chapter 2, we start with Rhysand’s POV. Here are the first 3 sentences.

🔻 Cassian was already pissed — the start of ACOSF has Cassian and Nesta both frustrated and at their lowest/feeling like failures (Cassian with the Illyrian problem, Nesta with herself/her sisters/her father's death).

🔻 the Illyrian Mountains — training and the climax of ACOSF all surround them and Ramiel (which is also featured in Chapter 3 when Cassian flies by it).

🔻 the gray peaks — characters in ACOTAR are continuously referenced with repeating colors, and Nesta’s most notably is gray (sometimes referred to as steel, which is a fun double entendre with weaponry).

And in Chapter 3, we have Cassian’s POV. Here are the first 3 paragraphs:

🔻 Devlon and his warriors — the Illyrian warriors are antagonists against Nesta in the Blood Rite

🔻 the murmurings of discontent — the motivation for that growing threat that Nesta faces in the Blood Rite and the patriarchal legacies that the Valkyries are upending

🔻 hell of a weapon against enemies in battle — Nesta’s new trove of weapons she Made: the greatsword, sword, and dagger.

In both of these chapters, there are other recurring themes and imagery, including The Blood Rite, Ramiel, fire/campfires/embers, and more interestingly, Cassian visiting his mother’s unmarked grave, something that Nesta literally does when she visits her father’s grave at the very end of ACOSF.

Every major plot that Nesta and Cassian faced as a couple was explored in the first two chapters reintroducing Cassian for the spinoff series.

Using this evidence, we can deduce that the next chapters exploring Azriel will feature the same sort of foreshadowing, setup, and potential payoff in the upcoming novel (which I predict will be Elain’s book).

Exhibit 2

In Chapter 7, we start again with Rhysand’s POV. Here are the first 3 paragraphs:

🔹 You really do know how to give Solstice presents, Az — We all know about the necklace for Elain at this point. But also interestingly, Elain gives Azriel two significant Solstice gifts, one of which he keeps by his nightstand to longingly look at every night, the other a pair of earplugs (which we can deduce will have their use in the upcoming book).

🔹 wall of windows — something I’ve noticed (and want to dive deeper on later) is that both Azriel and Elain are often associated with windows.

Azriel: grew up in a lightless, windowless room; stares out the window of the townhouse to the garden during ACOFAS, presumably to watch a gardener at work; in the HOW lounge area, his unofficial chair is nearest to the window.  Elain: during her time after becoming Fae, she sat near the bay windows in the HOW; during ACOFAS Solstice, she watches the snow fall outside the windows before Azriel joins her there; her smile was described by Nesta as being as bright as the setting sun beyond the windows.

Windows can symbolize freedom, desire to explore, and pathways to the outside world. They also focus on providing sight, something very important to a Seer who can look beyond the world in front of them to something more, but I digress!

🔹 private — Azriel is described as the most private, secretive of the Bat Boys (with both his emotions and his lovers), so I thought it was worth noting.

🔹 awash in the hues of the early morning — only one character is consistently described as glowing like the sun at dawn (even by Azriel himself, no less).

🔹 might as well have been stone — there is a wealth of repeating imagery of Elain associated with stone: sitting on a stone bench with her father surrounded by blue and pink flowers (haha, I see you SJM), Elain washed onto the stone floor by the Cauldron after becoming Fae, Elain hearing a heartbeat through stone, etc.

🔹 just after dawn — I see you again, SJM 😏

🔹 that sleep had been futile — although this is about Rhysand being tired, there is a wealth of sleep imagery surrounding both Azriel and Elain. Most notably Azriel’s inability to get a goodnight’s rest the past year as he’s been thinking of Elain at night. And Elain, who says she feels like “she’s always dreaming these days” in regards to her Seer powers.

I also want to dive into the sleep imagery surrounding these two and their potential Sleeping Beauty ties. But alas, a post for another day.

🔹 Tamlin and his borders — Conflict with the Human Lands, similar to Cassian’s with the Illyrians and the growing discontent, which then ties into the next part of the chapter.

Rhysand and Azriel move on to the next conflict at hand: Vassa, the Human Lands, and the sorcerer-lord’s curse, which they discuss after deeming Cassian to handle the growing Illyrian conflict, leaving Azriel to “continue to watch [the human queens]” and the “strange gathering” happening in the human lands. We also learn that the curse on Vassa by the sorcerer-lord might be woven into [Vassa’s] very blood (put a pin in this).

Finally, Rhysand and Azriel turn their attention to how they might get a handle on the situation to the south:

🔹 As our human emissary — While Lucien may have been considered the human emissary to the Night Court during ACOFAS, per Mor in ACOSF, Lucien can no longer be trusted as he is now living with Vassa and Jurian in the human lands. Does this perhaps leave an opening to a new human emissary of the Night Court? Maybe even Elain, who could convince anyone with a few smiles.

🔹 the tenseness — interesting of Rhysand to point out considering Azriel is usually impossible to read. Something is stressing him about this situation causing some sort of internal conflict

🔹 shadows veiling half of himself from the sunlight — an interesting parallel to the iconic carved, wooden rose scene in ACOSF when Nesta places the rose the exact same way, half-hidden in shadows.

🔹 elegant and cold as the legendary dagger at his side — elegant and cold are repeating descriptors for Azriel and Truth-Teller’s significance after HOFAS has only grown. 🗡

🔹 “He is Elain’s mate.” — one of our next conflicts: Elain’s mating bond (which is also supported by Azriel’s BC).

🔹 “invasion of her privacy” — interesting to me that privacy is brought up again… perhaps alluding to something secret or forbidden?

Towards the end of their discussion, Rhys and Azriel move on to Cassian's favorite subject, Bryaxis:

🔹 “No word on Byraxis, I take it.” / “Do you want me to hunt it down?” — Like hunting for the troves in ACOSF, I believe Azriel will hunt Bryaxis down in the next book. Given how he’s an ancient, shadowy monster, I’d be curious how Bryaxis could perhaps provide incite into Koschei 👀 Also, what does Bryaxis want installed in the library? A goddamn window.

🔹 beneath this mountain — perhaps we’ll see underneath another mountain explored, given Eris’s parting words to Cassian and Nesta at the end of ACOSF 🏔

🔹 My brother had a sly, wicked sense of humor — this also aligns with Elain, whose Solstice presents to Az have both been cheeky and made him laugh.

From this chapter alone, we can see the major plot points building: Azriel spying on the human lands, Vassa’s curse and Koschei’s control over her, Bryaxis still on the run, Truth-Teller’s significance, and Elain’s mating bond.

Which finally leads us to Feyre’s chapter where Elain is front and center.

Exhibit 3

In Chapter 15, Feyre and Elain visit the weaver’s shop while looking for Solstice presents for their family, where a very interesting conversation goes down:

🌸 the weaver paused the loom — similar to the the curse woven into Vassa’s very blood, weaver imagery surrounds the conflicts of both Vassa's curse and Elain’s mating bond, especially as mating bonds are described as threads, particularly as one tied to a rib by Elain. This also aligns with the multitude of Sleeping Beauty imagery surrounding Elain.

🌸 my sister’s gaze — lol, I mean, I love when SJM does this over and over. We know Elain’s gaze is special as a Seer.

🌸 “I call it Hope.” — Elain, who is constantly described as hope and having a different sort of strength, which aligns with Azriel, who Rhys declares taught him how to hope. Perhaps Elain and Azriel are connected by an iridescent, living silver thread that is bright despite the darkness?

🌸 “I made it after I mastered Void.” — Elain’s Seer abilities are often described as the murky realm, a void that she needed to be freed from when Azriel recognized her powers. She declares in ACOSF she can start reacquainting herself with her powers to help the Inner Circle. Since Nesta stepped in, we haven’t seen her truly do this yet. Also… the weaver Made it 😜

From this small conversation, we can see SJM is playing with classic Sleeping Beauty fairytale imagery and how it connects to Elain as not just a Seer, but as a light in the darkness. I believe for Elain’s book where she finds her voice, we will see her master the Void, aka her Seer powers, and perhaps weave something made from Hope, like a mating bond and healing Vassa’s curse.

CONCLUSION

SJM clearly laid out the stories to be explored in the next books with ACOFAS, a plan she said she’s had for years. This does not mean that we won’t see more from our other favorite characters (looking at you, Nesta and the Valkyries).

But based on the evidence I shared last time that Elain’s book is unequivocally next, here we can see that the storylines set up in ACOFAS were paid off for Cassian and Nesta in their book.

So, I can without a doubt say we know what’s coming:

Elain’s book, where she will explore the main conflicts of the growing threat in the human lands as possible human emissary, her mating bond with Lucien, her feelings for Azriel, mastering her Seer powers, Hope vs the Void, and breaking Vassa’s curse.

I can’t wait for the book announcement in the months to come for our favorite flower girl 🌸

Next time, I’ll explore Mor’s first chapters in the Hewn City and why I believe her story will be paired with the defeat of Koschei (There was no light in this place and eternal darkness dwelled in the Hewn City, anyone?).

Thanks for reading 💖

[feyres-divorce-lawyer]

@night-courts-shadowsinger Rhys never sexually assaulted Feyre wtf

Violent Foundations

An Excerpt from The Tragedy of Feyre Archeron: Decentering Female Trauma to Garner Sympathy for a Male

Feyre’s relationship with her canonical endgame, Rhysand, is one constantly painted in a romantic light that intentionally attempts to blind the reader to the innate violence that surrounds the pair. With every gifted crown, gown, and house, Maas tries her hardest to cover up the horrifying foundations Feysand, their fandom ship name, was built upon.

Exhibit A

A Court of Thorns and Roses | Ch. 37

Torture: Rhysand twisting Feyre’s exposed bone.

Is when someone in an official capacity: Rhysand as Amarantha’s second puts him in a position of power. The fact that he can even be in her cell for definite amounts of time, freely interacting with her, says enough.

Inflicts severe mental or physical pain or suffering on somebody else: Mental pain and suffering aside, Rhsyand inflicts physical violence on Feyre. Her vision blacked out due to how severe the pain of her bone being twisted, several times, were.

For a specific purpose: Rhysand is torturing Feyre in order to get her to accept a bargain: two weeks spent in the Night Court, the court Rhysand is High Lord of, in exchange for her arm to be healed from the injury she sustained completing her first trial.

The bargain scene, for all intents and purposes, fits the definition of torture; all conditions are met with individuals that match.

Exhibit B

Her trials aside, a majority of Feyre’s time Under the Mountain is spent non-consensually dancing in a sexual manner. It starts with Rhysand sending two shadow wraiths to take Feyre her cell, strip her naked, and paint her. They then proceed to dress her in two sheer panels of gossamer, ignore her demands to be clothed in something else, and physically restrict her from taking the panels off. Though this act is not torture, it is still a violation. She is made vulnerable by two individuals she does not know, in a place she’s endangered in.

A Court of Thorns and Roses | Ch. 39

Rhysand reveals she is so scantily clad in order to be his escort to a party. Feyre’s sexual assault and humiliation at his hands begin here. On their way to the party, she is already self-conscious about the outfit she was forced into, and by the time they arrive, it is very clear that she does not want to go.

A Court of Thorns and Roses | Chapter 39

It is very important to note that Amarantha was not the one who ordered this. Rhysand chose of his own volition to take Feyre to the first party, and by doing so put Feyre on Amarantha’s radar outside of the trials.

A Court of Thorns and Roses | Ch. 39

Exhibit C

Rhysand, perhaps knowing she would not do as he asked otherwise, makes Feyre drink faerie wine, a substance that her human body is not built for and intoxicates her quickly.

A Court of Thorns and Roses | Ch. 39

At no point during this encounter did Feyre choose to drink the wine. In fact, one could interpret that her mind echoing Rhysand’s instructions and her fingers moving to do as he wished is evident of him using his daemati powers to further influence her actions. Regardless, the fact that she said and thought “no” four times is enough to say Rhysand drugged her and this causes her to black out.

Exhibit D-1

Feyre wakes up in her cell still dressed in nothing and is disoriented to the point of regurgitation, remaining sick for most of the day. She finally finds out what happened during her blackout from Lucien.

A Court of Thorns and Roses | Ch. 39

Exhibit D-2

A Court of Thorns and Roses | Ch. 39

Rhysand sexually assaults Feyre night after night after night presumably for the entirety of time she was Under the Mountain after her first trial. He continuously drugs her with the wine and she continuously blacks out, leading to gaps in her memory that are never explicitly stated to have returned. Please note that Feyre consented to none of this. She had no power, no agency, and no personhood at Rhysand’s hands. Her becoming dependent on the wine to stifle the horrors of what was happening to her doesn’t change that fact. She considered her blackouts a mercy, you do not seek reprieve from things you enjoy.

Exhibit E

At a particular party, Feyre gets an opportunity to meet Tamlin in a secluded place, and it becomes the only time she enthusiastically consents to being sexually touched by a male. They’re caught by Rhys, however, and he takes it as an opportunity to assault Feyre, again.

A Court of Thorns and Roses | Ch. 42

This is another violation of Feyre’s consent. Note the language being used here: pries, forcing, pushed and thrashed. She doesn’t want it, Rhysand knows she doesn’t want it, yet he did it anyway. Later on, he says this was to have a reason why the paint on her body had been disturbed but he had the ability to magically correct the paint, and if scent was the issue then it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

Conclusion

You’re free to engage with literature however you choose, but denying Rhysand sexually abused, assaulted, and humiliated Feyre doesn’t make it untrue. Maas may attempt the same via retconning and placing reason over impact but it does not change what she wrote.

[theegemini92]

Tamlin Under The Mountain

So this theory has been bothering me for so long … I know this may never happen because sjm needs her coins/ TV deal so she won’t want to piss off the Feysand stans and write Tamlins POV from when he was UTM to present but I know deep down that when they were UTM, Tamlin asked Rhys to look after feyre. I’m sure he asked him to help her and keep her safe. Yes there’s a probability that he may have also asked someone in his court other than Lucien but that person could’ve not been trust worthy, look at what ianthe and others did to him? This is why he doesnt have an IC, it’s not easy to trust just anyone. Back to Rhys, the time Tam kissed Ferret, Rhys was the one who found them, it was as if he was Tams look out. I know that his reason to help Tamlin was so Tamlin will destroy Amarantha. Rhysand has been using Feyre to fuel Tamlin’s anger so he’s ready to attack. (And who knows Tamlin better? Rhys and tam were close years ago. Rhys knows when to push this males buttons, he knows that it takes a lot to get Tamlin angry. Which means Tamlin is not a naturally angry person, he’s always goaded into it. He’s always pushed and pushed or in stressful situations. Exhibit A is when ferret goaded him into exploding) Rhysand tells her he only touches her arms and waist so he can claim innocence to Tamlin and protect himself. This part is the part where I say Rhysand is NOT YHE MOST POWERFUL HIGH LORD ‼️ he protects himself by doing the opposite, by drugging her and putting her in skimpy clothing?

I would love multiple POVs of every HL and what they went through UTM. If RHYSANDS fear was having to be inside Amaranthas cooch, then I DREAD what others like the winter courts went through. Having a mask on your face for decades I’m sure isn’t the only physical torture and trauma. But hey everyone loves that photo of naked Rhys in chains 😒 fuck the death of the summer court heir and his father..!!!

[nobibiname]

Elain’s Soft Power🌸/ ✨different strength✨ and the Cauldron bond

I’ve said this elsewhere but wanted to have a complete post to drive this point home, HOFAS spoilers, you’ve been warned.

Back in CC1&2 we learned that thanks to the Asteri, there’s a lot of obsession about “breeding”, esp among the Fae, on Midgard. And then we learned why: to create the strongest food source for them.

Now in HOFAS, enter Bryce in Prythian, we find out these same Asteri corrupted the cauldron .

So at this point honestly, yeah I was surprised that the majority of the fandom didn’t call out the mating bonds in prythian, and start looking at them more critically. What is the meaning of a mating bond from a corrupted cauldron? What will be the ultimate point of them?

Remember when in ACOMAF Feyre asks Rhys “why not make them mates?” One of the things he says is “… probably to produce the strongest offspring” (paraphrasing)

Strongest for what? the point of the Cauldron mating bonds is breeding, the strongest food for the Asteri. That’s it.

The mating bond is not what the Fae believe it to be. It may have been sacred at some point, but now it’s just the outcome of a magical calculation resulting in highest calories for intergalactic parasites.

I think for this reason it was really important (thematically at least) for Feysand and Nessian to fall in love first. They just “happen” to also have a mating bond. If their relationships mainly hinge on the bond, the romance is diluted. And we have plenty of examples of failed relationships of mates, (Rhys’ parents, Tamlin’s parents). I also want to acknowledge that the Mother’s power is also still there to some extent (we see that when Nesta gives up her powers and gets to keep a bit from a “gentle hand”) , and could have guided those bonds, but it doesn’t change the fact that the main point of the cauldron now is still food for the Asteri.

Lastly this also shows courage in rejecting a Cauldron bond, it’s actually an act of defiance. Asserting your will over your own fate, a “fuck you” to the Asteri and their corrupted manipulation of a sacred object and institution of Fae culture.

And I wonder is this the “different strength” that Elain will exhibit? Rejecting her cauldron bond. I think we’ll find out exactly why she hasn’t yet, and I actually think whatever the reason, that takes strength too. She’s stuck between a lot of willful minds and stubborn powers. Sticking to her guns is probably not easy. But also is this a strength that maybe Feyre and Nesta don’t have? I’m definitely speculating here, but maybe resisting the cauldron’s will like this could be something beyond them?

Elain is heavily foreshadowed to be a Gardner of magic of sorts; cultivating and growing with her magic, rather than fighting. So maybe rather than yielding to the cauldron’s will for her, she might assert her will on the corrupted cauldron and heal it? The ivy around the gates of her mind growing so strong around the iron to be able to crush the iron itself….

It would be in line with both how she’s foreshadowed, and how Feyre sees her. She will still be the gentle dreamer, but strong in her soft power.

I might never have been the biggest fan of the mating bond, (though I acknowledge it’s a staple of the genre) but given what we now canonically know about the history of Prythian, I urge the fandom to view “who you want to be mates” through a different lens. Bc that word truly no longer means what we thought it meant.

[asnowfern]

Crimson Starlight

Summary: His fingers twitch before clenching into a fist at the side of his body. He wears a nostalgic smile as amethyst eyes take in every detail, lost in every smudge and swipe of water colours. A secret conversation between him and the long gone artist. 

A lost history of the world's most iconic female impressionist artist and her first ever sale of an art piece. 

~~~

OR Vampire Rhys and human Feyre falling in love in 1880s Paris.

Rating: M, some blood and violence

WC: 4.2k

Read on AO3

A/N: Happy Feysand Week everybody!

Written for day 2 of @officialfeysandweek2023 prompt: Hobbies Because she likes to paint🎨 and he likes blood🩸 (The link is tenuous I know)

Thank you so much to @octobers-veryown for helping me check on the art history stuff! Love you💜

THE FEYRE ARCHERON EXHIBIT

Defying English societal norms and her middle class background, Feyre Archeron propelled to notoriety at a private art gallery in 1889, rendering critics of the community speechless with her stunning use of colours and bold impressionistic still life paintings. Eventually, paving the way for the self-taught artist to win the gold medal at the 1900 Exposition Universelle in Paris. 

Come celebrate with us one of the most prolific and trailblazing female artists in history.

***

She watches from her corner in the cool exhibition as the man enters the room. His tailored jacket clings to his broad frame, the first two opened buttons of crisp white shirt reveal whorling black ink and tantalisingly teases lean muscles underneath. His presence is commanding even  as his steps hitched in the middle of the exhibit, sharp violet eyes zeroing in on a portrait hung at the opposite end of the room, almost hidden from view from the general public. As if, it's a portrait which only he knows the existence of.

The lights of the museum seemingly follows him as he strides towards the painting, an aureate glow reflecting off dark skin with every step. He looks up at the smeared bright colours tracing three distinct lifeforms, the brush strokes in a distinctly different style. 

His fingers twitch before clenching into a fist at the side of his body. He wears a nostalgic smile as amethyst eyes take in every detail, lost in every smudge and swipe of water colours. A secret conversation between him and the long gone artist. 

A lost history of the world's most iconic female impressionist artist and her first ever sale of an art piece. 

===

A deafening crack of thunder over Hyde Park snaps Feyre out of focus, her hand twitches and sends dark shades of brown splashing over delicate painted hands. Ruining what was supposed to be portraits of her sisters. Matching storm in crystal blue eyes narrows as she swears, her mind races on how she could correct the misstep and salvage the painting.

Another clap of Zeus's lightning bolt sends rain down on the garden. It quickly soaks the canvas sitting and accumulates water on her precious paint. Dismayed, Feyre closes the easel and gathers her materials. Within the next minute, she ducks into a small stand and relies on the small red brick structure above her for shelter. 

Assessing eyes surveys her now damp canvas and sculpted lips curl inwards in dismay. Canvas are expensive, paint all the more so. For them to be wasted and ruined by the rain. The number of meals she may have to skip out on to recuperate the losses. 

She stares idly at the splotchy colours as her mind overlays new images of how the painting could look like. Her hand pauses in mid-air as she reaches for a new brush. It is something different, something new. 

Leaving no further room for doubt, she lowers her brush to the canvas in a smooth decisive stroke. With a slight curve to the lips, her brushes levels swipe after swipe, adding more colours, more shapes, more shadows. More. 

Suddenly, her hand stills. Feyre inhales sharply.

A chill runs down her spine and raises the hair at the back of her neck. Feyre shivers as she looks up, surprised that night has fallen in what had to be hours since she escaped to the shelter. 

As fast as it came, the pressing fear lifts from her chest and returns her breath back to her. Her fingers tremble as she dumps the brushes into her cup, quickly rinsing out the paint. 

"That's a beautiful painting," a low, silky voice says from behind her. 

Despite instincts screaming at her to run, Feyre turns towards the source of the voice and her mouth goes dry. 

The man is impossibly beautiful. 

Sharp sensual lines trace his facial features, his mouth pulls into a smirk with a hint of white gleaming through. He draws himself closer, wrapping her in a sea of salt and citrus. She feels her back practically arching towards him in response - closer, closer. 

He leans, not into her but towards the canvas, pausing for a stretched second. When he finally turns his gaze on her, the world quietens. For there are no colours that Feyre could mix to emulate the violet in his eyes. No, not just violet but the varying shades of blue and purple. It is like a galaxy, drawing you in until nothing else matters. 

"Hello, darling," he purrs. 

The words break the enchantment and Feyre steps away, her back colliding into a pillar. The stone cold surface spurs her into action, hands flying to keep her belongings. 

Rough calloused fingers gently close around her wrist. He asks lightly, "What's the hurry?" 

Feyre fights to keep her eyes open, fights to not lose herself in the smooth silk of his voice. She breathes out shakily, "I don't want any trouble. Just let me go and you'll never have to see me again." 

"Why would I ever want that?" He returns sharply, her hand remains rigid in the air even as he releases it.

A tension locks in her jaw as she pushes down the primal fear. She lifts her chin slightly, "Well, then what do you want?" 

"I want," he pauses as if to collect his thoughts, his eyes drifting back to the coarse board sitting on the easel, "I want to see the finished work." 

"Why?"

"Because I might like to buy it." 

The words sound genuine and takes her by surprise. She swallows the lump, her heartbeat kicking up a notch, "You're lying."

The man studies her for a moment, she resists the urge to squirm under the intensity of his stare. Finally, he asks, "Can you afford to let me go on the possibility that I might be telling the truth?"

Hot wells of embarrassment burn her cheeks as he touches on a sore subject. She has never sold a painting. Without the easy privilege that comes with wealth and titles, a female artist with no formal training or connections can never sell or exhibit.

Forever an amateur. 

She straightens her back to raise steely blue eyes to vibrant violet, saying carefully, "I'd consider it if you're telling the truth."

The edges of his mouth flick upwards, "Let's set up a meet when you've completed," he hands her a card with a name and address in Grosvenor Square, "We can discuss over dinner." 

He lifts her hand to brush his lips, spreading warmth over her frigid knuckles. Feyre swallows thickly, "This time, a week from now" 

He glances up, his lips lingering a touch longer than what is probably appropriate before drawing himself back to full height, "Very well, bring the completed piece and a couple more of your favourite ones. I will send a carriage to you at seven pm next Tuesday." 

She nods and gives her address down in Bayswater, her mouth set in a grim line. The man steps a respectful distance backward, giving her slight how, "I'll be counting down the minutes before I am able to see you again…"

"Feyre"

His eyes twinkled like stars in the night sky, "till then, Feyre darling." 

Feyre looks up at the blanket of clouds as she walks home, her hands clutching tightly onto the easel. She hopes that she did not just invite a murderer into the home of her and her sisters.

===

Feyre stares at the intricate designs etched into the wooden door. She shifts slightly and readjusts her grip on the numerous covered paintings sandwiched between her arm and body. Taking a deep breath, she raises her hand to grab the knocker. Only for the door to swing open to reveal her mysterious buyer - Rhysand, from the card, her brain reminds her.

Her eyes unwittingly drags up and down the male. He, Rhysand, has shed his jacket today. The sheer white shirt hangs loosely on his body but does little to hide his muscular physique. With a teasing smirk and another caress of his lips against the back of her palm, he leads her down a tastefully decorated corridor. 

The tight trousers, Feyre thinks, was definitely a conscious choice on his part. 

"Is there no one else here?" She asks as they enter a dining room, her head swivelling around, noting the lack of people around.

"Why, Feyre," Rhysand teases, smiling widely to reveal sharp pearly white canines, "are you enquiring after my marital status?" Feyre is about to scoff when he croons, his eyes slightly darkened, "Fortunately, I remain a bachelor." 

This time, Feyre does scoff, settling her paintings down with a huff, "It doesn't concern me if a potential art dealer is a married man or a bachelor. Although," she nods her head in gesture of her surroundings even as he bends at the waist to carefully study the pieces, "you don't seem like a very discerning collector."

Rhysand draws to his full height as he smiles wanely, "There hasn't been art that made me want to collect as much as yours."

She withholds a frown to mark his sincerity, announcing, "I have not yet decided if you're conman or a predator." 

He lets out a barking laugh, "Darling, I am sincere in my offer, but," his voice drops into dark velvet and awakens a dangerous heat in her, "make no mistake about it. I am most definitely a predator." 

With her hackles raised, she meets the darkened stare with her own, "And what makes you think that I'm a prey?" 

"No, you're not," Amethyst eyes glint as he dips his chin in agreement. Then as fast as a switch, he drops the heat and speaks formally, "Fifty pounds for the painting from the park and a thirty percent commission on all future sales."

Though she is sure her eyes are round with disbelief, she forces the breathlessness out of her voice, "Let's talk terms over dinner."

Dinner goes smoothly, a simple yet elegant affair. Servants slip in and out only to bring in food. Gentle clanks of chinaware bounce around the room as they eat. 

"Paris?" Feyre asks incredulously, her dessert fork hitting the plate loudly, "You want me to move to Paris? With you?"

He shrugs, the very picture of nonchalance, "Is there anywhere else better to be?" 

Her jaw clamps down on the delicate pastry. He is right, of course. The city of light is the epicenter of Europe's art scene - the birthplace of the often condescended upon impressionism. A place she could flourish much better than stuffy London. The marginal freedom she could attain as a female artist. 

Her sisters are comfortable with the small inheritance they've received with their mother's death. She could modestly live off the money Rhysand is offering for the painting for a couple of months. She could entrench herself in the landscape, learning and absorbing. She could actually be an artist. She could, she could, she could. 

Her heart lifts ever so slightly in hope and excitement.

She could.

===

Feyre wrestles her hands behind her back as she observes the casual art dealers surrounding her. It's been a few weeks since her move to Paris and things have progressed well enough that when she heard about Helion Spell-cleaver's private art exhibition, she paid the small fee and signed up for entry. 

"Look, Dagdan. It's the same distinctive wild brushstrokes as before. This must be Rhysand Night's artist then," a low voice sneers from a distance, "the new star."

Feyre releases the iron grip on her hands and forces them open and relaxed. Her back straightens with every stretched beat as she turns to the pair, schooling her expression into one of impassion.

Dagdan and Brannagh. 

Hailing from the upper echelons of French government and strong familial ties to the leadership of the society of French artists, the sibling duo made their debut at the last Salon with a piece Feyre found to be derivative. A pale attempt to pander to the recent commercial success of mixing impressionism elements into classical art styles the Salon prefers. A view that is sometimes whispered clandestinely around the community but never to their faces.

"Yes," the brother tuts, his elbow tight around his sister's, "and the same obscene mix of colours. But the price that it fetched? They say it's avante garde but I don't get it. Perhaps the perception of the common," his eyes flick disdainfully at the slightly frayed material of her plain cotton dress and distinct lack of a corset and bustle, "just isn't something that we can understand." 

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Feyre forces on a polite barely passable smile, interjecting, "Perhaps, the perception of the common is more suited for the masses. I couldn't possibly begin to understand the, er, beauty from a trained eye." 

"No," Brannagh curls a perfectly shaped lip in haughty contempt, "you really wouldn't." Her voice drops a decibel, "Mark my words, your name will be forgotten the day you stop offering extra services to your sponsor."

Her fists clenched into tight balls as they stalk away, the low rumble of their sniggers fuelling the burn in Feyre's cheeks. 

The words still haunt Feyre days later. She growls in frustration as she lifts a charcoal to paper for the umpteenth time that day. Her mind draws a blank. 

Obscene mix of colours. 

The charcoal breaks into pieces as it collides against the hard floor. Feyre bends her knees to pick up the pieces and inadvertently collapses to the ground. The cool sting of marble permeates through the fabric to reach her skin. 

She twists her body slightly to rest against the leg of the chair, her eyes falling shut. It's just to rest her eyes, she tells herself. The next time she opens them, she will be ready to face her canvas. She thinks as Brannagh and Dagdan's voices melt into a pot of derisive laughter.

==

"Feyre, wake up!" 

Large hands envelope her, pressing her against a stiff jacket while gently shaking her awake. Feyre whines at the intrusion, "Five more minutes." 

The pressure of fingertips on her lessens and a low chuckle reverberates pleasantly down her spine. "Wake up, darling."

Her lids flutter open and Rhys swims into vision, lines of concern carved into his face. The lines lessen as he takes in her waking form, gradually giving into tender amusement. 

"Rhys?"

"You had me worried for a moment there"

She groans, sitting up. A warm palm lingers on her back, lending her support, "What time is it?" 

"Nine," he answers, his brows pinched together. 

Feyre rubs the bridge of her nose. She is more than two hours late for their appointment, no wonder he showed up. She gives a woeful look, "I'm really sorry about this. I was just really tired." 

He doesn't say anything. Instead the arms which are still wrapped around her tighten and there is suddenly nothing else in her world but a salty sea of citrus. 

"I was so afraid that something had happened to you." The confession comes out in the slightest of whispers. 

"It's just an ill-timed nap," she murmurs into his chest, his confession prompting one of her own, "I've been having a block the past few days. Ever since the gallery." 

They lock gazes, Rhys searching her expression. But for what, Feyre cannot say. Finally, a familiar smirk returns, "I think I have a solution for that." 

Refusing to let her change out of her paint speckled dress, he ushers her into a carriage and sets them off with haste. The infuriating man refuses to let her sneak a peek out of the carriage window, even after they have arrived at their destination.

"Is this really necessary?" She huffs as he ties a scarf around her eyes. 

"Yes, now hush." 

With a last good natured hush, Feyre loops a shaky arm around her mysterious broker's elbow and follows. She relaxes after a couple of minutes.

"Hold tight, darling." 

"What, why?"

Feyre stifles a gasp as the ground beneath her moves upwards, leaving her stomach behind. With reflexes faster than what the other probably expected, she whips the blindfold off her head. 

Dark metallic structures whirl past her at impossible speed, bringing them higher and higher. She lurches forward as the contraception comes to a halt, only strong arms which are still circled around her shoulders keep her upright. 

She gingerly steps forward to move towards the viewing balcony. Every inch of her body thinks of nothing but to lean against that edge, "How? This isn't open to the public yet " 

He gives a mysterious smile of his, "I have my ways." 

She sniffs at the non-answer. But it doesn't matter, she peers downwards at the small dots that littered the streets of Paris, the shimmering glow of the street lamps glinting at her like stars. It is suddenly obvious why Paris is known as the City of Light. 

But to speak of stars.

She shifts her gaze upwards and reaches out a hand. She's so close to the stars, closer than she's ever been before. 

Colours burst in her mind, a cacophony of swirls and lines. Her lips relax and pull upwards at the image. She turns back to Rhys, "Thank you"

The male remains silent, his eyes are shaped like the moon and reflected wonder, "Do that again" 

"Do what?" 

His lips trembled, "Smile"

Her face splits open as a warmth fills her chest.

"Welcome to Paris, Feyre darling."

===

Feyre races down the street, swerving through Parisians, earning herself disapproving glances and tuts. She ignores them in favour of the paper scrunched up in her palm and the bursting excitement in her chest. 

Exposition Universelle, Exposition Universelle. They are actually going to showcase her art at the Exposition Universelle - the world's fair to show the progress and success of the French and they wanted to display her art. The art of a no-name, English female impressionist. Her entire being vibrates with excitement.

She barges through Rhys's door, her chest heaving as she tries to regain her breath. The brunette darts around before dashing up the stairs and into Rhys's study.

Never mind that she did not have an appointment. For what is an appointment in the face of such fantastic news?

Apparently, very important. She thinks as her eyes numbly take in the sight before her.

Her throat fills with pennies, her tongue becoming numb in her mouth. Blood roars in her ears.

Rhys is locked in a lover's embrace with another woman. Her head lolls back and her eyes are glazed. She sighs in pleasure as familiar large hands hold the back of her head in an iron grip, his full lips pressed to her neck. 

She should be mortified. Maybe even betrayed. Yet, a tight, blooming heat erupts in her stomach. Feyre's back hits the shelf behind her with a thud. Rhysand snaps his head dangerously towards her. His hand loosens on the woman, who slides to the floor.

Twin streaks of blood flow from his mouth and dribble down his chin. 

With her heart still pounding jungle beats, Feyre turns around and bolts. She barely makes it to the stairs before a flash of black snarls and sweeps her off the ground, launching them into the air. 

They land roughly at the base of the steps, hard arms absorbing the crucial impact from the ground. His heavy body pins her down. A guttural growl vibrates the narrow space between them. 

She should be terrified, horrified, petrified. And she is all of those things. Yet, her brain is still caught up in the way Rhys had embraced the woman, her moans and sighs of limp pleasure, the trail of blood running down his chin as he fixed her a feral, hungry glare. 

Teeth, no, fangs scrape up the surface of her cotton dress and rips the high collar. His hot breath tickles the length of her exposed throat and raises goosebumps. Another low snarl escapes his throat.

His pupils are blown wide open, a black hole consumes the vibrant galaxy she is used to seeing. No, this is not the Rhys she knows. A paralysing fear seizes her body.

He lowers his head once more, sharp fangs join the soft wet tongue, poised at her jugular. Feyre squeezes her eyes shut, a choked sob escapes her as pain erupts, "Rhys"

Immediately, the hard pressure lifts and is replaced by a pliable heat. The pain lessens. 

"I am so sorry, Feyre," she relaxes her eyes open to see sorrowful violet eyes staring back at her, "Sleep" 

There is nothing left to do but to let the darkness pull her under. 

===

Dear Feyre darling, There are no pretty words I can use to defend what happened, nor will I ply you with lies. The truth is I am an unholy creature, an undead monster of the night. I prey on humans and leech off them. So as much as it pains me, I understand if you never want to see me again. If it is agreeable to you, Helion Spell-cleaver has agreed to be your agent and will be awaiting your correspondence. My dear heart, in the short weeks that we have known each other, you have become everything. You brought beauty into the humdrum of my centuries of existence. A shining star in the endless dark sky. A brightness that I sully with my very presence. A fact I grew comfortable ignoring. But alas, reality has caught up and I can't pretend to be what I am not any longer.  Instead, I wish you the very best - at the upcoming Exposition Universelle and all future endeavours. I know you will shine, as you always have, and always will. Yours eternally, Rhysand

The paper remains crumbled in Feyre's hand as she reads it for the umpteenth time. Her heart grows heavier with every read, her heart that has no business weighing her down. 

An undead creature, an undead monster of the night. 

Nothing about that statement is wrong. The image Rhysand drew in his letter is one that matches her memory. Yet, it is also completely different from the image of Rhys in her head.

That Rhys is teasing quips and arrogant smirks. That Rhys is encouraging words and a confidante. That Rhys is soft smiles against the backdrop of the Eiffel Tower. 

She can't quite reconcile the two but she knows without a doubt that she isn't changing agents, not yet. She gives the River Seine a last glance, appreciating the glitters of setting sun, and stands up. Her body twists towards the main street when she collides head first in a hard chest, gasping.

Obsidian hair and pitiless dark eyes. 

"Congratulations on the exhibition, peasant." 

Sharp pain explodes in her abdomen. Feyre opens her mouth to scream but it is covered by a cloth. The cruel glint in Dagdan's eyes stands out in an otherwise nonchalant face. White hot agony spreads along her body as he twists the blade. Metallic tang fills her mouth.

No, she's actually going to die here. 

The exhibition. She's going to die before she succeeds. Her sisters. She is going to be abandoned in a foreign land without ever getting to see them again.

Rhys. She is going to die before she ever figures out how things could be resolved. A scream of pure terror and a primal growl tear her away from her thoughts. Air floods her nostrils. 

Inky blue-black hair, bright violet eyes. 

Rhys's face is dark with rage, his lips folded into a thin line. Blood splatters his cheeks and immaculate velvet jacket. Next to him, Dagdan sobs, clutching on to his severed arm. Brannagh kneels over her brother, her neck tilted up at the male, her face locked in fear. 

He turns a fearsome glare on them, his deep baritone blends with a beast-like growl, "Jump into the river and remember, we were never here." 

There might have been a splash but darkness edges her vision and her world is muffled, nothing but a rain of salt and citrus. It feels like she's falling deep into the vast ocean.

"Feyre," a devastated voice reaches out for her, shining a beacon of light, "I can't save you. Not without condemning you."

Warm liquid gurgles her mouth as she forces out the words, "I'm not ready to die."

She continues, sending the gentlest look she can muster into conflicted anguished shades of violet, "Do it."

===

She watches as the nostalgic smile wraps around the man like a fitted glove. Then the moment vanishes. Giving the dark frame and vibrant colours one last look, he straightens his jacket, flicking off a lint and leaves. 

She emerges from her corner, her mouth widens into a predatory smile. It is time to move. She smoothly navigates her way through the quiet crowd, memorising every guard location, every exit and every camera. 

Not that it matters much, so long as she does it right. 

She carefully looks around her surroundings before fixing her attention on the painting. She remembers the shaky hands and skittish strokes. Her first time blending colours in that manner, the first of many to come. Well, they do say you never forget your first. 

With a broad, catlike grin, Feyre grips tightly onto the painting and walks out of the doors and the museum goers' minds. Later, as the painting hangs proudly in their doorway, Feyre raises a crimson glass to Rhys, the galaxy eyes that she can never tire of sparkle at her. The glasses clink together lightly. 

'Happy 120th anniversary, my love." 

[nestastits]

I too think Nesta knew all along that they were mates, as some people might think them exhibiting mate behavior is absent I agree on certain terms of the lore but I also think that they are the first and so far only couple out of any of the Mates that have shown Mates behavior from the beginning to currently, as in the instant connection, their constant attention on each other, the sexual desires, the tension and attraction was always reserved for each other and each other only from the beginning. I’m glad that I wasn’t the only one that felt like Nesta knew the whole time and the ulterior problem was actually that she feared making taking the next step. I feel like on the other hand the fact that Nesta never explicitly implies she knows could lead some people to think that perhaps she really is holding onto that last shred of humanity, which I think would add to neat details to her character but I think as the story goes that’s just not it.

THIS. They both had Mate energy from the start. Like they felt a need to protect each other and showed mate magic in acomaf and acowar plus their own book. I think a lot of people felt like they had too much sex and that what they felt was only lust😭which is not the case considering the inner monologue’s of both nes and cass. but Feysand had a lot of sex too and had a lot of sex that was spoke about. It just wasn’t always written in detail. I also wanna say the mating bond makes the people in it WANT each other all the time, so it makes sense for them to fuck like bunnies 🤣

I think people also thought that we were gonna enter acosf with Cassian head over heels in love with Nesta (which he is) but it wouldn’t make sense for him to act like this considering how things ended between them in acofas. I mean he straight up says that he would never put himself in a position to get heartbroken by Nesta again🤷🏼‍♀️. Many of the antis of them say he never treated Nesta like a mate, but forget Nesta didn’t always treat him like a mate. (They both act on their mate instincts but it’s not always spoken out loud or shown, a lot of it is in their internal dialogue. This makes sense cause they spend acosf denying themselves of one another until they just can’t) Now I love Nesta and she can do no wrong in my eyes but even I know she said some mean things to those around her (sometimes provoked). It’s okay for Cassian to say mean things to her that are born out of emotion too. She does the same to him. That’s part of their dynamic 😭and they were written as a enemies to lovers type of ship so.

Also think people expect Cassian to be blindly loyal to Nesta and for Nesta to be blindly loyal to him, but that’s not their dynamic (They know when the other does wrong and helps them through it. One of the many reasons I love them the most). And it wouldn’t make sense to make them blindly loyal when sjm received hate for writing Rowan and aelin like this and feysand sort of like this.

I think it would of added another dimension to Nesta’s character if she actually cared for her human life, but I don’t think she ever truly did. She feels anger about being turned unwillingly into fae, but at the beginning of acosf she says how she was starting to like being Fae and life in Velaris plus being almost part of the IC then the war happened and she let all her self hatred take over. I think the only Archeron sister we’ll see actually hold resentment towards being Fae is Elain which will be interesting to read.

[a-court-of-moonlight-and-ire]

A while ago I had a very lovely conversation with @feyres-divorce-lawyer about Tamlin and the way his stans treat him and Feylin and Ive been having a lot of thoughts about that. Essentially, we talked about how Tamlin stans will often claim to be 'better' in some way than Rhysand stans because they dont excuse all of their faves actions but I mean, do they? like actually? I dont mean to generalize because I have seen people who actually dont excuse his actions, but theres an awful lot of people who have posted some variantion of "well, atleast i dont excuse tamlins actions 😊" when they have either previously posted or will go on to post some variantion of "ugh I cant believe feyre would break up with a man who did nothing but upset her, when he was trying so hard and struggling and his actions werent even that bad" or worse, some variation of "feyre's sooooo stupid, if some handsome fae lord wanted me to just wear beautiful dresses and be his pretty little wifeling I would do as he says 😍😍" like hey dawg, I hate to tell you this but thats just straightup misogyny. You can indulge in your fantasies of being a rich magical victorian guy's tradfwife without implying that other women are stupid for not wanting that. Also if you think that and also complain about acomaf and feysand being bad because its just a self-indulgent billionaire's wife fantasy, please consider that you basically want the same thing but with a different aesthetic. Which isnt bad in it of itself obviously, I just find this kind of hypocrisy very annoying

The way I see it, theres a couple reasons why the (positive) discourse around Tamlin is like this:

Tamlin stans get harassed for liking him or even just debunking blatantly false claims from Rhysand stans (such as the claim that Tamlin said Feyre looked better when she lost weight while Rhysand said she looked better when she gained weight which seems oddly persistant, even though I dont think Tamlin ever commented on her weight in acotar, and Im pretty sure that he only commented on how thin she was in acomaf in the context of how bad she looked), so they get very defensive about him, which is understandable

Tamlin is out of character in acomaf which leads a lot of people to dismiss his actions that upset Feyre because "acotar!Tamlin wouldnt do that though!" and like, thats true and I get it but it doesnt really matter when we're talking about their relationship and Feyre's decision to leave him from an in-universe perspective. Like, imagine if someone in your life opened up about how their previously wonderful partner started to exhibit some abusive behaviours and you were like "nooooo theyre just being out of character right now, its fine, you should stay with him". And obviously its different when its real people vs fictional characters, but my point here is that its nonsensical to earnestly engage with this relationship from and in-universe standpoint only to then use an out-of-universe thing that doesnt actually factor into their relationship to explain why it fell apart

Tamlin is less bad than Rhysand, even in acomaf, and excuses for his behaviour sound less ridiculous to people who think more critically about these books, which most Tamlin stans do; "he locked her up in his manor, but only because she was going to get herself in real danger" sounds a lot less ridiculous than "he sexually assaulted her for months on end, but only in order to protect her from drawing Amarantha's attention (when she wasnt even paying attention to her in the first place)", but again, Feyre is still allowed to be upset by that. I feel like theres this line of thinking among certain Tamlin stans where theyre like "yeah, tamlin locked feyre up in the manor and it rightfully upset her, but later on in the series rhysand locked her in a magical shield that prevented her from having any physical interacting with the outside world and she was fine with it, so she shouldve been fine with whattamlin did" and its like no!! If we're using real-world standards, which I understand we are from acomaf onward, then Feyre does not need any kind of justification for breaking up with someone. Tamlin couldve been the most wonderful and perfect and non-traumatized boyfriend ever and it wouldve been perfectly fine for her to be like "hey man, im not really vibing with this" and leave

And this I think is the most important thing because its what the two previous points ultimately stem from; they buy into the foundation of the narrative that these books present, which is that Feyre needs a man in her life, she needs to pick one of these two toxic guys or else her life isnt complete and she wont ever recover from her trauma, she needs good sex and romantic love in order to stop being broken. And I get it, you do need to buy into the narrative in order to properly engage with it, but whats the point of being critical of the misogyny in these books if youre not going to take a step back and realize when youre just accepting it?

And this is where I would have to start getting into the misogynistic baggage thats attached to mainstream romance as a genre and how trying to do all those typical steamy m/f romance tropes (the MOST dominant man, sexually inexperienced fmc, dubcon/noncon, rough sex, etc etc) while also trying to be feminist is setting yourself up for failure as an author, and setting your audience up for failure when they discuss your work, but Im getting tired and this is a pretty long post so Im gonna stop here. If you are interested in my further thoughts on this, idk maybe send me an ask and I'll get back to it. For now, I'll say that I dont think its impossible to write an m/f romance thats feminist, but know for a fact that its impossible for SJM

[whisplion]

Some thougts about feysand x spring! reader

Because the spring court is in shambles at the time I feel like many citizens may seek shelter within other courts for a time. Our lovely historian is curious about the night court as previously Velaris was unknown to the outside world. While her feelings about the court’s high lord and lady is mixed her curiosity gets the better of her and she ventures off to the city where she finds a job at a local art gallery that hosts many types of art from all over Prythian. Unknown to her that their high lady just so happens to be having her own collection be shown at an upcoming exhibition.

[8bitrosethorn]

I’m going to say something bold: I know who the next ACOTAR books will follow and in what order.

Sarah J Maas told us already. And I have receipts. Not from interviews or old screenshots or interpretations, but actual receipts. From the books.

Starting with A Court of Frost and Starlight’s description on SJM’s site:

We know that ACOFAS bridges the events for the series. And the first novel post ACOFAS is A Court of Silver Flames, which focuses on Nesta and Cassian.

So let’s dive deeper…

THE EVIDENCE

Exhibit 1

In Chapter 2, we have Rhysand’s conversation with Cassian asking a very important question of Cassian: Are you … happy?

Cassian is the first character to be asked if they were happy and gave a response that showed a need for character growth, one that Rhysand observed and wanted to support.

And whose book, along with his love interest, was first in the upcoming novels in the series? Cassian and Nesta’s.

The first character to be asked Are you happy? was the first character to find his happiness in the first spin-off novel.

Exhibit 2

In Chapter 12, the question is again repeated, this time from Feyre to Elain, who asks her sister: Are you—all right?

Elain is now the second character to be asked if they were “happy/all right” and respond in such a way that indicates that no, they aren’t fully all right but they want to try. 

Elain’s book will be next as she is the second person to be asked the question by our narrators, Feyre and Rhysand. Who also happen to be SJM's stand-ins for propelling the narrative in ACOFAS.

Exhibit 3

And finally, in Chapter 18, Feyre and Mor are catching up Solstice morning and the subject of Elain and Nesta is discussed:

Feyre wants to “fix everything” for Nesta and Elain aka help them find their happiness (which is later supported by the Feysand’s infamous “let's focus on helping one sister before we start on the other” from their ACOSF Bonus Chapter, but I digress).

But they won't find their happiness in ACOFAS. The sisters must find it in their books, which Nesta did with Cassian in his.

And then for a third and final time, it’s now Mor’s turn to hear the same question, this time from Feyre: And you—are you happy?

Mor isn’t ready to answer honestly. At least, not yet. Because her time will come. In her book. Which will be third.

Which leads me to...

CONCLUSION

SJM gave us the order of the ACOTAR sequel series when she had Feyre and Rhysand ask their closest companions: Are you happy?

And what order were they asked?

Cassian. Then Elain. Then Mor. 

And that’s the order we will get our answers. In their books. First, second, then third.

See you soon, Elain Archeron and Mor 🌸❤️

[sideralwriting]

Merry Christmas to you @reverie-tales! I’m glad I was your Secret Santa and I’m sorry if this fanfiction reaches you on Christmas day already. I didn’t like how the old fic was turning out so I decided for another twist. Tarquin had to go XD I hope it isn’t too heavy to read, I never wrote this many words ahaha.

Merry Christmas again and thanks to @acotargiftexchange for planning the event!!

Feysand fanfic, modern AU. Word count: 4115. TW: Tamlin & Ianthe (aka the manipulation squad), NSFW (my giftee likes a lil angst and good spices atm eheh).

Edit: Summary: Every aspect of Feyre’s life as fiancée of Tamlin is carefully approached by her future father-in-law but everything changes the day she runs into Morrigan.

What a treasure you are

Feyre got out of the SUV in front of her favorite museum on a sunny June afternoon. That was her favorite place and spent most of her free time there, which amounted to basically half a day.

Tamlin had sent Ianthe later that morning to escort her to her outings and she was trying to enjoy every bit of it. Not that her routine was any different since she finished college last year: wake up, have breakfast — her new obsession was avocado toast with only avocados and sesame seeds on an almost burnt bread slice— clean the house and get out of it before 1 PM.

Feyre saw Tamlin only when he came home later into the night and before he went to work, right before she was fully awake. She was grateful to him for working enough to allow them to have a life together, but she missed doing something, anything, even if it was in order to ease his stress. Tamlin's rage grew by the day. Out of frustration for his job as his father's  and Amaratha's assistant, for sure, nonetheless she was afraid. Feyre didn't want to admit it to anyone, not even herself, nor she wanted to admit that Ianthe was more the controlling kind of person than actually a family friend.

So she escaped her reality with a year-long membership to her favorite of the Prythian’s Spring Court Museums.

Feyre’s pale green dress with ridiculously big puffy sleeves had been Ianthe's "gift", accurately chosen to show off her fair skin and "bring justice to Tamlin's family name". Obviously Feyre hated it with burning passion. That day she didn't put any sunscreen on because she didn't think it would be necessary. She wasn’t Tamlin’s or his father’s creature to manipulate as they pleased. She wanted freedom to do as she pleased, without it to be judged and reported back to them. Feyre wanted to paint and paint, she wanted to be someone on her own, wanted to sell her paintings to sustain her family and travel to the mountain at least once. So she strolled through the art gallery, Ianthe a few steps behind her, waiting for her opportunity to start living again. She applied for every exhibition but her soon to be father-in-law had connections everywhere in the city and made sure she couldn’t take part in it even changing the dates of a few major events.

Feyre sat on a cream divan in front of the painting of a pink cherry tree, leaning against the highest part of the divan at her right.

Father-in-law. Husband. Tamlin’s wife. That’s what her life was bound to be the moment her father asked for a loan to the man. Feyre’s father was called the Prince of Trading before he lost everything because of a hurricane. He then asked Tamlin’s father, a collegue of his, some financiary help to pay off a couple of major debts… Creating a bigger one. Feyre’s wedding was to be an alliance between the traders. An alliance she loved at first, to help her family and being loved by a caring man. Everything started to change as Tamlin had more pressure, his temper started rising, they started arguing. What she hated more was that she couldn’t reply, nor help. Feyre had just to suppress her own frustration and avoid him as much as she could, bonus if she managed to endure Ianthe’s meddling. “Are you going to stare at that particular thing for long, Miss?” Mother above, the woman truly brought the worse out of her. Feyre turned her head slowly toward the guard and glued a dumb smile on her face.

“I’m sorry, Ianthe, what were you saying? This art piece is magnificent, isn’t it? The colors are so pale that you can feel the sadness-"

“I’m regretful to remind you of this in such a nice place, Miss Feyre,” the woman sure enough of her position that she interrupted her boss’ fiancée, “but Mr. Tamlin didn’t send me only for company. I’m here to accompany you to buy the new dress for Mrs. Amarantha’s charity party”. Right. Because why else would anyone approach her? Feyre sighed and got up from the divan. “You’re right, Ianthe”, she agreed, “you are not here for company.” The guard flinched and her cheeks reddened in anger. “Lead the way, now”.

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The little bell on the boutique’s door jingled as Feyre and Ianthe entered the place. They were greeted by a dark-haired woman with chocolate eyes. “Welcome to Windheaven, ladies. I’m Mrs. Hilda, the seamstress. How can I help you?”

Feyre explained to Mrs. Hilda what the occasion was and most of all who the host was. After the tailor asked her to undress and step on the platform at the center of a private room, the woman took her mesurements and started sketching, draping fabrics over Feyre’s waist and shoulders. Feyre took her time enjoying the fabrics and trying to remember as many details as she could for her next painting: lilac walls, dark brown partitions, a big fuzzy white carpet. Ianthe kept nugging at the tailor’s sketches and Feyre was glad that no one ever tried to do the same thing with her paintings… for now. How would things change after she got married? After she had to give Tamlin an heir?

She turned to avoid panicking in front of a stranger and most of all in front of her guard when she lifted her gaze and saw it.

Her first painting, her first sale. A lake of starlight with weeping willows caressing the white waters. How had it ended up there? Her dorm roommate bought it, did she sell it in turn? Did someone steal it? “How-” she starded, but right at that moment the door slammed wide open and a lean figure entered the room submerged in fabric rolls

“Who are you? Why are you here?” Ianthe yelled, “Have you no decency for customers? Ask for forgiveness and get out right now!” but neither the newcomer nor Feyre were listening to her since the first one put down the fabric rolls near Hilda and turned. Feyre had recognised those footsteps as soon as she heard them. They jumped as her heart did. Because in front of her, in a wonderful red dress and blonde ponytail stands her best friend. The moment their eyes met, tears started flowing down her cheeks, warm, big tears that mirrored the ones on her friend’s cheeks.

“Miss Feyre Archeron! It’s been a year since I last saw you.” The chestnut eyes of the blonde woman brightened as she hugged Feyre as thight as she could. “Mor…” She smelled of citrus as always and Feyre would be forever grateful for even that didn’t change in her friend. In Feyre’s own life. So she hugged her tighter because words failed her. “I know”, the first one said, “I missed you too, my dear friend”.

“This is outrageous! Get out or I’ll-“ Feyre glared at the stupidity of her guard and debated how to get rid of her once and for all. “You will do what exactly, Ianthe? I know this woman-“

“But she isn’t approved-“ “Silence, Ianthe. Last time I checked it was thanks to me you still had your job, so go breathing some fresh air.” Her heart kept thundering and her hands trembled, “And next time you interrupt me, you’ll be done for.”

“How did my painting get up there?” Feyre asked, sitting on the plushy carpet. Ianthe stormed out of the room and she got dressed in the frilly green dress. “Mrs. Hilda is my aunt,” answered Morrigan over a cup of tea. The seamstress saluted with a pencil in hand and a mischievious grin before returning to her sketches. Then, “Morrigan always told me about her ‘super-talented best friend forever’ and the day she bought it she gifted it to me so that it could bring me joy everyday. And it did.”

New tears thretened her eyes whe she turned from the middle aged woman. Obviously her old friend didn’t miss a thing, though. Mor gripped her hands together, “What happens, Fey? Tell me all about it”. Probably it was her memories or her friend’s presence or the tea, anyway she crumbled. She told her about her father’s debts, how she will have to marry Tamlin, how she had no control over her life, Tamlin’s behaviour. Even Feyre’s phone was closely examined by Ianthe everyday so it was better for Morrigan not to have it. The eyes of her best friend blackened as she told her about her life, stroking Feyre’s head in confort.

That day, Feyre left the boutique with more hope than she had in a while. She had to know that it couldn’t last long, though. As soon as her SUV reached the manor's parking lot, she knew something was up. First of all, Tamlin's own car was there too and it was only six in the afternoon. Second thing was Ianthe's smirk since she saw the other car too.

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December has always been Rhysand's favorite month. Lights everywhere glittering like stars, laughing people, warm beverages and snowball wars. He strolled through the city aiming for his favorite jeweler. Amren needed a new pair of earrings more than her life and Rhys was determined to buy his old friend the best pair Velaris had to offer. He was almost done with everyone's gifts, the pile of them from his family growing under his own tree. They got so excited that most of them tried to shake and even sniff the packaging to understand what the hell was inside of it. Somehow his Inner Circle has found him trustworthy enough to place everything at his home. Sometimes he regretted giving them the keys, but he loved them a lot. There was only one gift he still had to buy.

Morrigan's friend, Feyre, had lived with his cousin since September. They met a few times and even though her expression looked haunted most of the time, her witty replies made him loudly laugh. Pair that with how she called him a prick on different occasions and he had fallen in love. Hard and sudden. He wanted Feyre to start smiling again and wanted her to feel safe around him. He wanted to make her feel the most loved person on this planet. Mor and Feyre left for a three week holiday in Italy getting themselves drunk on shopping and nice food almost every day.

After purchasing Amren's earrings and a brooch, he found himself in front of his mother's boutique.

"My, what have I done for my son to come visit me at work?" his mother greeted him. "As if I don't come in here every other week, mother," Rhys replied, kissing the woman's cheek.

Hilda was finishing putting together a sleeve for the soft white dress on a stand behind her. "It's Morrigan's. I thought she would love a dress for Solstice day. Do you like it?"

"It will be perfect on her, your skills amaze me every time," he confessed, "what about that one, though? What is it made of?" A fine dress of the palest blue caught his eyes, shining in the low light from the ceiling, the trail pooled as a lake of stars. What kind of fabric was even that? "Feyre's dress. Oh, don't be so surprised, honey. She needed it after all she went through."

He sighed. "What happened to her, exactly? Morrigan threatened to kill me when I mentioned I wanted to ask Feyre about it." "Well…," Hilda hesitated. It wasn't like her and an angry calm set over him. What happened to the young woman? "Back in June she came in here looking for a dress. She and Mor recognized each other and an argument started between Feyre and the Miss who accompanied her. Someone sent word that a dress was no more needed and your cousin didn't see her again since Feyre showed up at her apartment and asked if she could move in. She was engaged, you see, had some arguments with her betrothed because of the other woman and called off the engagement."

Why wasn't Rhys aware of any of this? He picked out the phone but a gentle hand caressed his shoulder, the other taking away the phone. "You are trembling, Rhysand. Sit here. Sit."

"How can I help her, mom?"

"Be there for her. Support her but don't bring it up if she doesn't. " He sat there in silence for long enough that he was startled when Hilda sent him home. "Is this the only way?" he asked, getting up from the stool and pressing the second gift —a brooch of a Solstice flower made of rubies and diamonds— into her hand.

⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕   ⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕   ⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕ 

 Feyre was glad that Azriel and Cassian drived Mor and her back to Mor's apartment. What she didn't expect was for Tamlin to stand in front of it. Arguing with Rhysand.

“Give her back now, Rhysand. You won’t be enough for her anyway.” yelled Tamlin. “Oh really?” he turned towards the group, “And here I thought that she ran away to me because of my beautiful face and because she’s not an object.” The smirk he gave Feyre turned her from white pale to tomato red in less than a second. How could Tamlin still try to take her back? She broke every tie she had to her family, her father’s debt aside. He should respect her decision and yet he didn’t. It was at that moment that she noticed the open door between the two men and the chaos inside.

She felt her anger rise. Did Tamlin look for her inside? “Why are you here, Tamlin? I’m not coming back.” Anger and frustration filled her head as she walked toward the males. “I won’t be your wife. Go marry Ianthe instead, after all she has warmed your bed since we got engaged.” She sided with Rhysand, his steady warmth and scent anchored her. She looked toward Rhys’ face. “He actually has a beautiful face.”

Tamlin launched himself toward Feyre to grab her but Rhysand was faster. He circled her shoulders and pulled her away, while Azriel and Cassian pulled a yelling Tamlin toward the exit of the building. Her heart thundered. What had just happened?

“Hey, hey, look at me.” Rhys was calling her but she couldn’t look at him. Tamlin had just- “Look at me, Feyre darling. Good girl, like that. We’ll go for another trip just the two of us, okay?” Rhysand’s blue eyes were almost violet with the Solstice lights in the hallway. She fell in love all those months ago with how they seemed to shine just for her. She fell in love with how caring he was even without knowing what happened. Feyre nodded and Rhysand escorted her to his car.

⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕   ⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕   ⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕

Four days later they reached the destination. The log cabin Rhysand drove her to was in the middle of the highest mountains in Prythian. It faced a wide lake with a few other houses here and there, a thick layer of snow covering everything in sight, brightly lit by the sun. Peace and quiet reached her ears.. together with Rhys’ pants and grunts. Why was he even doing those sounds? They make her feel so tense and weak at the same time. She turned from the landscape to find Rhys pushing her luggage inside. A huff escaped from her lips as she walked to him, helping with pulling their luggages over the wooden porch.

“And this is why Mor was expelled from the common room the third year of college” finished Feyre drinking some wine in front of the fire. The rooms were full of wood and light colors, with a big hearth in the living room. She had propped her legs up on the sofa, a soft blanket over her, while Rhysand was in front of her on the same sofa. He was laughing at the stories she shared with his cousin, only once they talked about Tamlin and decided he wasn’t worth the thoughts. His brothers were already taking care of his charges anyway, so all she had to do at the moment was relax. And wine always made her relax.

“You know,” she braved to tell him, “I actually like you, Rhysand.”

He swung his wine once, twice. “It's Rhys. And do you, now?”

“I do.” She gulped. “I started liking you the day you brought me to a dance lesson instead of Mor,” Feyre laughed. “I didn’t know I danced so badly with Tamlin.”

Rhys was silent for a second. “He knew that you are a treasure, Feyre darling. Every man you will choose to settle down with has better to acknowledge it, or I’ll be the one to teach him.”

The blush on her cheek wasn’t from her drink. “Well, you already know it”. Rhysand sat up and leaned over her. Then he started brushing her hair. It was so normal but she felt like a starving woman anyway. She'd been since that day in September. “What is it that you want, darling?” she got up on her elbows. She could feel his warm breath against her lips, mere inches apart. She met his gaze and raised a hand against his face. She felt alive again as they danced like the first time. “You.”

The kiss was hungry and sweet, soft but demanding. Their lips tasted like the finest wine they were drinking. Rhysand felt Feyre melt under his love and he couldn't believe that he would find someone who loved him this much. He had lovers but he never felt like changing into a better person with them. Feyre moaned in his mouth and it was his undoing. Rhys got up and scooped her up in his arms. In what seemed to be a second, he was at the top of the stairs with Feyre on his lips. In his room there were already dim lights on. Feyre broke the kiss long enough to examine the bedroom and laughed.

"What? Not in a Solstice mood?"

"Oh no, who wouldn't love to have sex on a four-poster bed covered in cotton balls and yellow Solstice lights?"

He grinned, "That's the spirit, darling". Rhysand put her down and slowly, oh so slowly, proceeded to undress her from the pullover, then her shirt. The leggings were the last he pulled away. Feyre was left with her little red lacy underwear in front of Rhysand, who knelt before her. Feyre averted her eyes. How was it possible that she loved the man like this? How was it possible that he loved her enough to kneel at the sight of her? It was in that moment that he entangled fingers with hers. "Are you sure of this, love?"

"I am. Only, how can you love me when I called you a prick? What if you leave me, too?" "I'm not him, Feyre. I won't leave you" confirmed Rhysand. "And I've been called worse, don't worry. Let me show you how much I love you." She smiled laying on the bed: of course he had to be right every time. Rhys undressed quickly, coming on top of her. He kissed her lips, sucked her neck. His hands roamed from her fingers to her peaked breasts, circling around the top of one to the top of the other. Feyre arched her back and Rhysand sneaked a hand beneath it to unclasp the lacy bra. He kissed his way to the peaks and Feyre felt her belly melting and tightening at the same time.

"What is it that you want, love? Do you want me to kiss every inch of you?" He showed her how under her breast. "Do you want me to suck? Or maybe you just want me to touch you." A whisper with no sound left her lips. He kept licking and massaging down, down, all the way down to her core where he didn’t stop once. He enjoyed what he was doing but looking at him worshipping her center with his tongue was a sight she knew she wanted to paint. A warm sensation started to build in her head and she couldn’t think straight anymore.

“Rhysand…”

“Don’t call me like that”, his teeth scraped the interior of her thigh. “Try again, sweetheart.” This man. She was going to let him pay. Later.

“Rhys, please”. His tongue came back against her folds and she arched as he murmured praises for her bedroom manners. He was building Feyre up so much that she was almost at the end as Rhysand withdrew from her sight. “What. What are. You doing, Rhys?” She couldn’t think, could breath fast enough. “I’m getting ready for you, my love” and as soon as he said this, Feyre found him next to her on the bed, a condom on his dick. Between the soft mattres, the cotton balls and the strings of fairy lights, Rhysand looked like a fairy king out of her favorite stories. “Come up here”, Rhys ordered patting his thigh. Feyre did as he wanted, sitting right upon his member. But she had never been good at following orders without a little ‘Feyre-twist’ and that day it wasn’t any different.

She shifted, starting to kiss and suck Rhysand’s neck as he first did, her heands learning about tatoos and muscles she didn’t even know existed. She reached between his legs and began pumping. “Fuck, Fey. There, like this. You’re wonderful” He praised her again, his hands on her hips and trying to thrust into her. “Not like that, dear,” she purred into his ear, “let me show you how to do it properly.” With a grin on her face she moved him to her folds where Feyre created a new rhythm before getting down on his member. She felt her body stretch and adapt as soon as his head entered, a new rush of hot temperature creating again a fog in Feyre’s head. She took it all in before she began moving again. “You fill me perfectly, Rhys. Can you feel how much I want you?” He merely nodded, eyes heavy with pleasure. “Then don’t stop. You’re so good, please don’t stop. I-I love you too, Rhys”. They kept moving and praising each other until they broke at last.

Both panting, they hugged each other for a few minutes before taking a quick shower -it may or may not have included more kissing and asks about being a couple- and falling asleep hugging each other.

⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕   ⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕   ⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕ 

 Rhysand woke up before dawn between the arms of the most beautiful woman he ever saw. He traced her face with a light finger before casting a chaste kiss on her lips and leaving the bed.

 ⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕   ⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕   ⁕⁂♥⸙♥⁂⁕

Feyre woke up in an empty bed and felt as if everything had been only a dream. She put up the clothes Rhys had brought in the morning before and headed downstairs. She expected a few scenarios but not her new boyfriend mumbling Solstice songs under his breath while being submerged in coffee and biscuits and pancakes with blueberries and maple syrup. With his good trousers on. Only with the good trousers on. “Happy Solstice, Feyre darling!” He told her with the widest smile ever before twirling her around and kissing her. They were both laughing at the end of it.

“Happy Solstice, dear! Tell me now: did you cook all this?”

“Of course I did. I couldn’t let my girlfriend starve on the longest night of the year, could I? Now then, grab that bag and go change.”

The dress was stunning. It looked like it was crafted out of snow and light. “Where did you buy this dress?”

“That? Oh, my mother did it,” he answered before turning. His jaw dropped in a perfect O as soon as she saw her. Hair braided and barefoot in a dress of small pale gems, she felt crafted for it. “My-my mother has a boutique, the one where you met Mor back in June. This cabin is also hers.” He put a few plates on a table in front of the biggest window. The view showed the rising sun in a clear sky, over the frozen lake in a snowy landscape. Feyre made a mental note to recreate the landscape as soon as she was back, together with the previous night’s image.

She sat at the table. “You know Rhys, I wouldn’t mind being reintroduced to your mother and thank her for the dress.” Rhysand laughed “She already loves you, darling.”

[shallyne]

Feysand AU where Rhys meets Feyre at an art exhibition and she tells him how much she loves to paint and in a panic he's like "Me too!" and Feyre suggest they have a painting date. Rhys agrees and he tries to learn painting in like 2 days without any luck

Feyre already knew through their conversation that he didn't really have any plan about painting but she uses their date to get closer. Like holding his hand and showing him how to hold a brush or how to stroke directly you know

[shadowqueenjude]

Exhibit C of cringey Feysand smut: Mr. Downward Arrow coming to his son’s image💀

The last line never fails to make me laugh, how can anyone read this book seriously 😭😭😭

like I get the goofiest image in my mind