#feysand is canon | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

popjunkie42 · 5 months ago

Text

Painted Blind - Chapter One

Amazing commission done by the brilliant, beautiful and talented @witchlingsandwyverns!!! (thank you I love you!!!)

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind. Nor hath love's mind of any judgment taste; Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste: And therefore is love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd. -William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream

What Feyre Archeron wants is simple: enough food, gold and safety to take care of her family. But when a terrifying fae beast crosses the wall and enters the human lands, she finds that simple, safe life slipping out of reach.

Part one of an ACOTAR re-telling inspired by the Greek myth of Psyche and Eros.

Read on AO3

Thank you to @witch-and-her-witcher and @rosanna-writer for the beta reads and encouragement. I have been working on this for a long time...over a year...and the support has been amazing!

It's here! I haven't built it up too much or anything and am now nervous! Don't look at me!

I hope you enjoy...this will be a journey <3 Snippet of chapter one under the cut!

Unhappy the land that is in need of heroes.

-Bertolt Brecht, Galileo

Woodsmoke and stale ale hung heavy in the air as I gently shut the back door to the tavern.

The noise of the place hit me like a jolt. I was used to the twilight quiet of the forest, and the cold and empty winter streets outside. The deep boom of men’s laughter and shouts, the clatter of the kitchen, the drowned out sounds of a fiddle in the corner. Wood groaned under my feet, the floor sticky and worn as I edged around the walls in the shadows, angling towards the roaring fireplace.

This was not a place for young women like me. Certainly not my first choice of accommodations for the night. The brazen, lingering stares running up and down my body reminded me of that every step of the way. But the heat of the fire along with the surrounding warm bodies was worth it when I began to feel the tips of my fingers again.

Ten minutes ago I had been elbows-deep in blood and entrails, the squelching sound drowned out by the laughter and warm light of the tavern behind me as I worked. One dunk of my bloody hands into a frozen bucket of water to wash off made me rethink any fearful self preservation I might have had left.

Survival was like that. Blurring the edges of what should be a simple, safe decision.

But I wasn’t making cautious decisions these days. Outside, chill winds whipped up the fresh frozen snow and threw it against anything in its path. My cheeks smarted and burned with it even now. The cold had taken the easy prey and then the difficult prey, and now I was forced deeper and deeper into the woods every night to find something, anything for my family.

My fingers and toes started to ache as the frozen digits warmed back to life, tingling with pain. I knew the barkeep’s goodwill would only last so long once he saw me and knew I wouldn’t be purchasing anything. Even if the growling of my stomach battled the sounds in this loud room, as the smells of fresh bread and ale and mutton wafted through the room amidst the more unpleasant scents.

But it wouldn’t do to leave the deer unattended for long, not when there were desperate men and other predators just as hungry as me and attracted to the scent of blood. I had more of the deer to skin, and it would be hours until the dawn sun touches this place.

Cracked skin, split nails, a cramp in my stomach. Usually that was all I had to show for my nights buried in snow up to my knees or huddled in bare tree branches. But tonight, at dusk, luck was with me and I had taken a deer as it crept towards the half frozen river.

It had walked directly under my tree and straight ahead of me, presented like a ready gift from some long forgotten god. I was so weak with cold and hunger my hands shook as I readied my bow. But my arrow hit true.

Still, the deer had been larger than I could usually handle. I spent too much time with my feet buried in new snow, making a rough bower, then gutting it and finally taking the head before it was light enough for me to carry back in slippery sprints.

My body was screaming with exhaustion by the time I spotted the low night lights of the village. But there was nowhere in our family’s small cabin to keep a bleeding body. Certainly not if my sisters had anything to say about it.

More eyes shot to me as a glass smashed and I jolted like a spooked rabbit. I rubbed life back into my hands, trying to calm my nerves. Now that I wasn’t shivering and fighting the cold, exhaustion threatened to set deep in my bones. It was almost two o’clock in the morning. Nesta and Elain would be fast asleep, cuddled together for warmth in our shared bed.

The anger in me burned, like the bitter nettle tea Elain brewed to keep our stomachs warm in between meals.

Two men had been watching me, talking low and close to one another for too long. I wove between bodies and chairs to find another spot further away from their gaze.

My life was always like this, for as long as we had been in the cabin. Forced out of our richly appointed manor by my father’s debtors, the old place now just a dreamy blur in the fading memories of my childhood.

The days were never dull, that was for certain. I ricocheted between life and death, forest and hearth, starvation and sustenance. I walked the woodland paths that fed and sheltered me, forests that held monsters or the stark winter seasons of starvation. Poisons and fanged beasts and untrustworthy men. Fruit and herbs, glistening springs, growth and life and death. Three pathways: death, bare survival, or thriving life, all converging to a crossroads, and sometimes I ran so quickly between them I got whiplash.

Sometimes, in the twilight hours between sleep and waking, I remembered when it wasn’t always so. I remembered a childhood filled with dresses and lavish meals and even stolen cookies with petal pink icing that smeared all over my face. I couldn’t recall, now, the last time I tasted sugar. Or had days on end with a full belly, without a care in my heart. That life was over now, and this new one demanded sacrifices. Like drawing the attention of unsavory drunk men in order to stay warm enough to bring breakfast to my family.

My eyes cast over the crowd. I wasn’t entirely alone. Isaac Hale was here, with his father and brothers, doing an excellent job of ignoring me completely. Old Hobb, at least, had given me a tip of his floppy felt cap from his station at the bar, several tankards in tonight. He had already reached the next stage of his drunkenness and would doubtless start a fight or an oddly unslurred lecture soon.

I didn’t mind - I had been subject to many of those lectures, and sometimes found them helpful. The old hunter was one of the few men in the village who had ever shown me kindness, catching me some years back when he caught me slicing through the intestines of my rabbits as I tried to skin them.

The cold, snow-burned skin on my cheeks was now hot and burning on my face as my blood ran warmer, waking from its sluggish sleep.

If I was lucky tonight, Isaac would continue to ignore me and the rest of the bar would be too drunk to notice or remember me. And if they did focus on me too long, I had been practicing since I was fifteen - the stance I had, one that was quiet but not small. Forcing the tiredness from my face the best I could, setting my jaw and keeping my hunting knife in easy reach.

I wouldn’t be prey tonight. I was the hunter. And if anyone chose to test me, my hunger and desperation would only make me more fierce.

At least, that’s what I told myself, to keep from breaking apart.

Just as I was thinking about moving back into the cold to finish my butchering, the front door of the tavern swung open with a blast of cold wind.

And silence fell.

Read the rest on AO3

#acotar #feysand #acotar fanfiction #psyche and eros #acotar retelling #canon divergence #acotar fanfic #greek myth inspired #my writing

114 notes · View notes

rosanna-writer · 27 days ago

Text

Out of the Woods (1/3)

An AU that diverges from canon after Rhysand leaves a head spiked in the garden. Aware of the unsnapped mating bond and unwilling to get between another High Lord and his mate, Tamlin hands Feyre over to Rhysand. Panicked, shocked, and desperate, Rhys scrambles to gain Feyre’s trust, find her a hiding place, and cover his tracks before returning Under the Mountain. And then learns the hard way that Feyre Archeron can never leave well enough alone.

A huge thank you to @amnevitahwritesstuff for the beta read and encouragement, and to @thesistersarcheron for dropping a casual "huh I wonder what would have happened if Tamlin knew Feyre was Rhys's mate the whole time?" in my comments section like a year ago. And a happy @officialfeysandweek to everyone!

Some text is lifted directly from both A Court of Thorns and Roses and A Court of Mist and Fury, and just a note that I've chosen not to use warnings for this fic.

Read the first chapter Here on AO3 or under the cut.

We'd been speaking of the blight, and Tamlin shot to his feet so quickly that for a moment, I thought I might have summoned it. His claws gleamed in the midday light as he snarled at the open doorway, canines elongating.

The house, usually so full of busy footsteps and servants chattering and so much life had gone silent.

The way the forest did when a raptor passed overhead.

And like a field mouse, I wanted to scurry under the table and tremble until it was safe to emerge. Or just start running and hope for the best. Lucien swore and drew his sword.

“Stand down,” Tamlin growled, all command. The voice of the High Lord. “He’s here to collect what’s his, and we will not stop him.”

“You can’t be serious,” Lucien hissed. “We’re not really going to—”

“No one will ally with us if we try to stop him. You know the laws.”

Lucien sheathed his sword, even as the baldric of long, serrated blades appeared from thin air across Tamlin’s chest. I snatched one of the knives from the table, and neither one of them made any attempt to stop me.

Perhaps because a measly steak knife would do no good against whoever was coming. Someone awful enough to frighten them, even as Tamlin slouched in his seat and picked at his nails in a vain attempt at looking unaffected.

They hadn’t been like this with the Attor. Or the naga or the Suriel or the Bogge. My grip tightened around the knife.

Footsteps sounded from the hall. Even, strolling, casual.

Tamlin continued cleaning his nails, and Lucien sat down, tension radiating off his body. He’d curled his hands into fists and bent his knees like he was ready to fight or flee a moment’s notice.

The footsteps grew louder—the scuff of boots on marble tiles.

And then he appeared.

No mask. He, like the Attor, belonged to something else. Some one else.

And worse…I’d met him before. He’d saved me from those three faeries on Fire Night.

With steps that were too graceful, too feline, he approached the dining table and stopped a few yards from the High Lord. He was exactly as I remembered him, with his fine, rich clothing cloaked in tendrils of night: an ebony tunic brocaded with gold and silver, dark pants, and black boots that went to his knees. I’d never dared to paint him—and now knew I would never have the nerve to.

He stopped in the doorway and stared and stared at me. For a moment, I could’ve sworn pure shock flashed across his features, but the look he leveled at me was pure predator. As if I were nothing more than prey to him.

“I remember you. It seems you ignored my warning to stay out of trouble,” he purred, like a cat playing with its dinner. He turned to Tamlin. “Who’s your guest?”

“Feyre Archeron,” Tamlin said. He said my name with a heavy finality, like a judge delivering a death sentence.

“Did you really just give that— that bastard her name? Lucien cried.

“Names have power. It’s Rhysand’s right,” Tamlin said.

I braced myself for an attack—slashing talons, snarling and growling. But Rhysand just laughed—a lover’s laugh, low and soft and intimate. A shiver skittered down my spine.

“A bastard? Is that really something you ought to call a High Lord of Prythian?” he said.

My heart stopped dead. This High Lord, with darkness rippling from him and violet eyes that burned like stars, could only belong to one place.

The High Lord of the Night Court had come to Spring.

With the hand that wasn’t holding the knife, I gripped the table as my knees threatened to buckle under me. Rhysand’s eyes slid to me, and his perfectly shaped lips twitched for just a moment.

But Lucien was undeterred. “This isn’t the Night Court—you have no power here. So scurry back to Amarantha’s bed where you belong.”

“Enough. If you can’t behave yourself, leave us, Lucien,” Tamlin said.

Lucien moved slowly, as if he were fighting the High Lord every step of the way. I’d never seen such anger smoldering in his expression. Rage and, if I wasn’t mistaken, a hint of betrayal.

But he obeyed. And cast one last apologetic look at me before the dining room door shut behind him. Something told me I’d just lost my only ally.

I tried not to tremble at the thought.

Tamlin turned back to Rhysand. “My apologies, High Lord. The Spring Court wants no quarrel with Night, and we won’t keep you from taking what’s rightfully yours.”

“She’ll be pleased to see the brutal war-band leader finally learned his manners. And just in time for you to join the rest of us.”

“I’m obeying the old laws, nothing more and nothing less,” Tamlin said tightly.

“Now?” Rhysand said, arching elegant, groomed brow. “They’ve been dead for centuries. I don’t see what would cause a change of that stone heart of yours after all this time.”

“What are you talking about? I burned them when— Oh, you wouldn’t know, would you?” Tamlin barked a humorless laugh, the harshest sound I’d ever heard him make.

Rhysand’s face became a mask of calm fury—terrible, fearsome, and heartbreakingly beautiful—as he stalked towards the High Lord of Spring. Tamlin raised his claws but made no other move to attack. I nearly ducked under the table to shield myself from whatever was coming, but I didn’t dare so much as breathe.

“Explain yourself.”

“I hardly believed it myself when Lucien told me he saw the mating bond—a High Lord and a human girl are far from equally matched. The clever magic of his mechanical eye doesn’t lie, but I thought it was a trick nonetheless. You and your mistress, forcing me into a war with the Night Court if I dared attempt to save my lands.”

I’d hoped they’d both forget I was there, but Rhysand turned and stared at me again. Really looked, as if he were searching for answers written in my eyes, my face, my body.

I raised the knife, though I knew he’d kill me long before I could bury it in his chest.

An invisible, talon-tipped hand pressed its way into my mind. I couldn’t move. Against my own volition, my muscles went taut, and the knife dropped from my hand and clattered against the floor.

One swipe of those mental claws and who I was would cease to exist. And I could feel them rooting around in my mind, flipping through my thoughts and memories like the pages of a book. Everything laid bare to him, no matter how private or personal.

I would have vomited if I had enough control over my body to do so.

“Leave, Rhys,” Tamlin said. “You can do this elsewhere.”

It wasn’t—I noted—a plea for Rhysand to release the magic binding me. No, Tamlin hadn’t lifted a finger. Perhaps I meant so little to him that he’d hand me over to appease a monster. Perhaps…he hadn’t cared, after all.

I would have whimpered at the thought if I’d had the freedom to draw breath. But even my heart only beat as Rhysand willed it.

“Tell me who she is,” Rhysand demanded, a slight frantic edge to his voice. The first crack in his cool demeanor.

“Feyre Archeron is your mate.”

The talons in my mind stilled but did not release their hold on me, and Rhysand’s eyes widened in pure shock. Tamlin grinned wolfishly.

Like he’d just delivered devastating news to his worst enemy.

I heard Rhysand’s voice inside my head, far softer and gentler than anything he’d said aloud. If I’d been able to move, the sound would have stopped my trembling.

Has he hurt you at all? You can be honest with me, love.

No. If anything, he’s protected me.

I felt a rush of relief—Rhysand’s relief, not my own. Whether he’d deliberately shared it with me or it had just traveled along some sort of connection between us, I couldn’t say.

Those invisible claws caressed my mind, then pulled out gingerly and vanished. My knees finally gave out, but Rhys moved with inhuman speed and caught me by the shoulders before I could sink all the way to the floor.

He hooked his other arm under my legs, cradling me against his chest. Too overwhelmed to fight, I merely tried not to sob or scream. Rhysand had seen everything—I hadn’t known it was possible to be violated so deeply in my own mind.

And yet, I had the strangest urge to bury my face in the crook of his neck.

“We’re finished here,” Rhysand said coldly. “Needless to say, if you breathe a word about her to Amarantha when we meet again, I’ll reduce your court to ash and skin your pelt for fur-lined mittens.”

He sounded like he’d go to war over me. I could barely understand it—faeries looked down on mortals, and a human girl should have been far below a High Lord’s notice.

But Tamlin had called me Rhysand’s mate. A bond so deep, it made even marriage seem insignificant in comparison, he’d once said. But plenty of husbands considered their wives little more than property—and I had no doubt Rhysand guarded his belongings jealously.

If I was no more than a thing to him, then perhaps I was a valuable one, at least.

“I have no desire to see Feyre harmed, either,” Tamlin said, though he didn’t even get up from his seat. “Take care of her.”

Rhysand inclined his head. “I’ll see you Under the Mountain.”

And with that, he carried me into the void between worlds, like a bride over a threshold.

***

We emerged in a wood. Somewhere I could feel in my bones was older—more aware—than anywhere in the Spring Court. The Night Court, perhaps. But I wondered if we’d left Prythian entirely.

“I’m sorry,” Rhysand said, before I could ask. “Fuck. I am, so so sorry.”

“Put me down. Please,” I said.

I’d almost expected him not to, but he did, moving slowly and bracing an arm behind my shoulders until I was steady on my feet. Then he stepped back and left a healthy distance between us.

His violet eyes had gone wide and wild. Desperate.

And yet…when he spoke again, his tone gentled, as if I were the feral creature that might bolt or lash out at any moment. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

I believed him. But nothing else made a lick of sense, and I’d never known a forest as quiet as the one where we stood. No birdsong, no distant breaking branches, no hum of insects. It set my teeth on edge.

“Then what do you want with me?”

“My first priority is keeping you alive. There is quite a lot you don’t understand and very little time to explain. So…may I?”

The invisible talons hovered at the edge of my mind but did not pierce it. Rhysand looked at me expectantly.

The silence between us stretched on and on. But those talons did not encroach any closer. I waited to feel them slashing through the very core of myself, but…they never did.

He was waiting for permission, I realized. It set me at ease just enough to say, “Alright.”

A party, somewhere underground. A throng of fae dripping in finery—jewels, elaborate clothes, displays of wealth and power. The crowd parted, and my eyes landed on a surprisingly plain, redheaded female.

Amarantha. The woman I’d come here to kill tonight.

I gasped, realizing it had been a memory. That he had been the one intent on killing Amarantha.

Gods, hadn’t Lucien said that was the woman whose bed Rhysand warmed?

“It’s a painful memory, but one you need to see,” Rhysand said.

There was a gentle pressure against my palms. Caught up in the vision, I hadn’t realized I’d reached out and clasped his hands, and he’d squeezed back. I didn’t let go; the touch was…grounding.

It was a wonder my hands didn’t shake with rage as I plucked a glass of wine from a try proffered by a passing servant. How unfair—how monstrously unfair—that she sat here tonight in a gown of glittering rubies smiling and surrounded by sycophants, thriving and unpunished after all the lives she’d ended. The human slaves she’d killed, the soldiers she’d tortured in an attempt to break me…they all deserved justice.

I couldn’t wait to see her brain leaking out her nose.

But her mental shields were damned difficult to tunnel through. I slunk to a corner of the room, grateful for once that no one wanted to come make small talk with the High Lord of the Night Court. Breaking her defenses would take all of my mental concentration.

I didn’t bother listening to the speech as a toast. It was probably some utter bullshit about ushering in a new era of peace. No, I just kept digging, desperate for a way in. But to avoid arousing suspicion, I lifted my glass along with everyone else.

I sipped my wine and realized my mistake the second the bitter taste hit my tongue. Poison. The well of power I drew from, a vast sea of magic, began to drain away.

In the last few seconds my power was wholly my own, I wiped memories, flung out shields, and cried desperate mental warnings to my friends to stay away. And then it was done. I’d become her slave.

The memory faded, and when I came back to myself, I realized my nails were digging into Rhysand’s hands. He didn’t seem to notice or mind—his violet eyes bored into mine with single-minded intensity. “She intends to help the King of Hybern tear down the Wall and invade the mortal realm. Now do you realize the danger you’re in?”

I nodded weakly. “She’ll kill my family.”

“It gets worse,” he said, and the next memory sucked me under like a riptide.

Another party, a masquerade this time. I sat at Amarantha’s right side, and the lingering scent of what we’d done together in bed still clung to me. She hadn’t let me bathe—had wanted the smell clinging to me, marking me like a brand.

I might as well have attended the revel with a sign around my neck declaring me her whore. And if it continued to keep my court and my family safe, I’d endure a thousand more humiliations.

But I wasn’t the one she was most interested in that night. Tamlin had been foolish enough to slap her hand away when she’d tried to touch him. He should have known how badly that would enrage her.

“I’d sooner touch a human—sooner marry a human—than ever touch you,” he said, the fool. “Even your own sister preferred Jurian’s company to yours.”

The crowd tittered at that—some in shock, others in excited anticipation of the coming bloodshed. By bringing up Clythia, Tamlin might as well have been digging his own grave.

“You’re lucky I'm in a generous mood,” Amarantha drawled. Dangerous words. “I’ll give you a chance to break the spell that binds your power to me.”

Tamlin, the idiot, spat in her face. She laughed.

“I’ll give you seven times seven years before you join the rest of us Under the Mountain, my dear Tamlin. If you want to break the spell before then, you’ll have to find a human girl to marry you. And not just any girl, one with ice in her heart, willing to kill a faerie. Maybe after sending your sentries across the wall like lambs to slaughter, you’ll learn your lesson. Your courtship can only begin after she’s murdered one of your men in an unprovoked attack, killing for hatred alone. Perhaps then, you’ll understand my grief for my sister, and you’ll change your mind.”

This time, as the memory faded, another one pulled me in immediately.

In the dream, I saw a hand. A beautiful, human hand painting flowers on a table. Such a simple thing, but whoever she was, she was living in relative safety if she was painting something entirely ornamental. Something beautiful.

There was still hope.

I tried pushing back an image—the night sky. Stars and the moon. It had been so long since I’d seen an open sky, but the thought of it had kept me going for nearly fifty years. I wasn’t sure the human would receive it, but…I had to try.

“There’s more,” Rhysand said aloud, as the talons in my mind retreated again, “but that’s the gist of it. There isn’t time for me to explain the details right now.”

I just gaped at him as I tried to process all of it. The girl with ice in her heart had been me. But so had the painter from his dreams. His mate.

No wonder Tamlin had thought it was a trick—he’d known I was another male’s mate. Winning me would save his lands…only to earn the ire of the wicked Night Court.

Lucien’s words came back to me. The Night Court, of course, manages to remain unscathed.

But that was all due to Rhysand’s sacrifices. I didn’t quite understand what it meant to be mates, but I had his loyalty. That might be enough to keep me alive. And I needed to get a warning to my family, a message to flee to the Continent before Amarantha made it below the Wall.

I straightened my spine. “What are you planning?”

“To fake your death. Enough people have seen you that I’m sure word of your existence will get to her eventually. When I go back Under the Mountain, I’ll say you fled for the Wall and were eaten by some creature before you could make it home.”

As sound a strategy as any, I supposed. He’d need evidence if it was going to work. My blood, perhaps. Locks of my hair, torn up clothes with my scent still clinging to them. Anything to fake a struggle.

“I don’t know what happened to the body that belonged to the head you left in the garden,” I said, reaching for the buttons at my collar, “but if you’re in need of a mangled corpse, a faerie bled out in the manor after Amarantha took his wings. Tamlin buried him nearby.”

I slipped off my tunic, leaving me in just my pants and the thin undershirt I wore beneath it. And despite the gruesome turn the conversation had taken, I watched Rhysand’s eyes trail down towards my chest, then very quickly back up to my face.

Pig.

Rhys laughed—a real one, I realized, not the affected one meant to intimidate that I’d heard in the dining room. It might have been the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard. “Oh, most definitely. But you didn’t have to think it quite so loudly.”

I tossed the tunic at his face, and he caught it handily. In an elegant movement that spoke to refined manners, he folded it over his arm like a dinner jacket.

“If we’re faking my death, where am I to hide in the meantime?”

“Here, in the forest to the east of the sacred mountain Amarantha claimed as the seat of her court. Neutral territory. In this wood, there is no High Lord, and the law is made by who is strongest, meanest, most cunning. She does not dare touch these creatures or disturb this wood.”

If Amarantha wouldn’t set foot here, I shuddered to think what monsters lurked among these trees. Something far worse than the Bogge or the naga or even the Attor.

So much for thinking Rhysand wouldn’t throw me to the wolves.

“You won’t be entirely without help,” he said, sounding almost…affronted. If he had wings, they would have rustled. But he’d clearly been listening to my thoughts again, so I couldn’t help but scowl.

A tang of magic stung my nose. I shivered at the way the spell skittered along my skin, though there was something oddly familiar about it. Like I knew Rhys’s power.

I glanced down at my arm, which had become a blur of color, like I was made of half-mixed paint. When I tried to focus on a specific part—my fingers, my elbow—my attention merely bounced elsewhere. I’d seen something similar before.

“A glamour?” I guessed.

“The scraps of power at my disposal aren’t enough to completely glamour you, but you’re…camouflaged. Not entirely invisible, but the creatures here will pass you by as long as you don’t draw attention to yourself.”

I’d manage. Out of habit, I moved quietly through the woods anyway, intent on not scaring away any game. I knew how to keep myself hidden.

A pack appeared at my feet, laden with supplies. A small tent, some rope, a flint, a bedroll, a bandana, another set of clothes. The sort of things I would have killed for when I was hunting in the woods.

“There’s no knife—she limited my magic so I’m unable to summon weapons. And I can’t give you food, either. But this should be a start,” he said.

I picked up the pack and slung it over my shoulder. “Will I see you again?”

“I don’t know,” he said, face darkening. “She rarely lets any of us out from Under the Mountain. And give it a wide berth—get too close, and her sentries guarding the entrances will spot you.”

I’d be alone in the woods—besides the more fearsome creatures, it wasn’t all that different from my life below the Wall. And at least this time, there was only one mouth to feed.

“So is this…goodbye?” I said, hating the way my voice wavered.

“For now. If you stay in the forest, you’ll be close enough that I’ll be able to reach your mind. We can speak that way when I’m not…” He trailed off, but his wince and the memories he’d just shown me spoke volumes about whatever duties he carried out in Amarantha’s hellish court.

“And you’ll answer my questions?” There was so much I needed to know.

“I won’t keep secrets from you, especially not after rifling through your mind earlier. I’m sorry for the harm it caused.”

Something told me Rhysand didn’t apologize very often. That he’d bothered, with time running so short…

“Thank you,” I said with a nod. “You should go.”

My jacket was still folded over his arm. He lifted his other hand and started to reach towards me, then dropped it as if he’d thought better of it. His fingers curled into a fist at his side.

“I’ll find you again as soon as I can,” he said. It sounded like a vow.

His violet eyes held mine until he faded completely into mist. It was just me and the moss and gnarled trees and lichen. And somewhere…the unholy creatures that called this place home.

Day after day, I’d survived and kept my family alive by stepping into the trees and putting my feelings aside. Without even a sigh, I set off to find somewhere to camp.

#feysandweek2024 #feysand #feyre archeron #how many different ways can we divert canon???? NOT ENOUGH APPARENTLY #out of the woods

57 notes · View notes

captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship · 7 months ago

Text

This is Feysand in a nutshell

Even more proof? Just check out any feysand written by @the-lonelybarricade or @separatist-apologist

Case closed

#feysand #rhys is a wife guy #the best fics are him tricking Feyre to marry him #it’s a canon event at this point

79 notes · View notes

rizzoreads88 · 6 months ago

Text

Rhysand/Azriel similar scenes & reactions...

At the end of Acotar when Rhysand and Feyre are saying goodbye to each other we see this moment happen..

Now as l was rereading acowar I noticed a similar scene with Azriel & Elain.

After coming home from their visit to The court of nightmares Elain comes down the steps and is talking about the visions she's having (this is before they figured out she is a seer) and azriel asks her what she sees..

She tells them what she sees and this was Azriels response in the next page..

Notice how His eyes churn while he studies elain.. there is emotion in them .. and then he just winnows away without a word. Why would he just leave without saying goodbye? Azriel doesn't just up and bounce in the middle of conversations let alone without saying goodbye or giving some sort of reason..We know azriel wasn't thinking about her powers because he doesn't figure out she's a seer until 50 pages later.. so what was azriel feeling or thinking in that moment looking at elain that caused him emotion and to just leave without a word?

More importantly why was Mor staring at the space long after he was gone? Seems like she's thinking about what just happened in that convo and why azriel reacted that way?

This is just another "HUH" instance between Elain&Azriel. Another moment that alludes to something else going on but we don't know what yet.(there are a few scenes that exude mate behavior between elriel but for this post I just want to focus on this specific scene and how it’s interesting that it’s similar to rhysand scene in acotar)

Now if you know me l have been saying for quiet sometime I truly believe elain and Lucien will mutually reject their bond. I've always said I hope elain and azriel are that couple that choose love over a mate bond.

However I can't deny there are a few things that point to the possibility of them being mates as well. (I have a few theories on how this could play out). I find these scenes interesting since Rhysand and Azriel have similar reactions but we don't know why Azriel has that reaction yet..

HOFAS SPOILERS BELOW

Now I know in his Bonus chapter for Hofas Azriel says he doesn't have a mate. BUT what if elain is his mate he just doesn't realize what he is feeling is a mating bond because as of now she is mates with Lucien.. so he doesn't even think it's a possibility they could be mates because as of now in the story we haven't met anyone who's had more then one mate. So he's just feeling something deep and doesn't realize what it is... or simply maybe a mating bond hasn't snapped for them either yet.

Everybody likes to think it's a "ridiculous" theory that elain and azriel could be mates too but let's not forget..

TOG SPOILERS BELOW

For 6 out of the 8 TOG books Rowan & us the readers were told Lyria & Rowan were mates as well. Rowan often questioned what he felt about Aelin because he felt strongly about her but had already had his Mate who died ( he didn't know Maeve messed w him yet).

So let's not act like any of this with Elain & Azriel isn't in the realm of possibility

#hofas #acotar #acowar #feysand #elriel #azriel #elain x azriel #canon #elain archeron #elriel month #pro elriel

57 notes · View notes

hrizantemy · 1 month ago

Text

"Nesta is Illyrian. She doesn't have an excuse" now hear me out what if she’s and I know this is gonna sound crazy. Not Illryian.

#he’s is just grasping for straws at this point what #that made no sense #also you are canonically racist towards illryian women and men so that was not a compliment #anti acosf #anti acotar #anti feysand #anti inner circle #anti rhysand #nesta archeron deserves better #pro nesta #anti amren #anti azriel #anti cassian #anti night court #anti nessian #anti morrigan

28 notes · View notes

ofbreathandflame-archive · 1 year ago

Text

and also just to add one thing my last point:

i think the toxic canon thing really forms a basis for the foundational problems of the series - narrative. its one of the reasons i believe feyre often gets dubbed an 'unreliable narrator.

because in theory - feyre is not made purposely to be unreliable. honestly - the problem is that the story makes feyre's thoughts declarative for the series as whole. feyre tells us one thing, and the story shows us another.

for example: when the story tells us 'tamlin didn't fight for me,' - its implying that tamlin has the tools to do so. bc the story establishes an entirely difference scenario. we learn that (1) amarantha is madly obsessed with tamlin, so she keeps him next to her every night and (2) tamlin doesn't really have skills to navigate utm. what im saying is - feyre says these things about tamlin which are dubbed 'canon' but they don't actually reflect the reality of the situation. the story gives us to no solutions as to how tamlin could have actually helped feyre under the mountain. and i should also add that feyre couldnt have left ANYWAY -- she made a bargain. had she not did her part, the trials, her life would have just been forfeit.

and then on the flip side - we get told that rhys had to bring feyre to those parties and drug her so would forget (which is dubbed canon) but the reality of the scenario doesn't reflect that. rhysand never had to make feyre dance or embarrass her infront of everybody.

why? let's look at the established information:

rhysand disables the guards through his daemati abilities, so feyre is safe in her cell:

“No more household chores, no more tasks,” he said, his voice an erotic caress. Their yellow eyes went glazed and dull, their sharp teeth gleaming as their mouths slackened. “Tell the others, too. Stay out of her cell, and don’t touch her. If you do, you’re to take your own daggers and gut yourselves. Understood?”Dazed, numb nods, then they blinked and straightened. I hid my trembling. Glamour, mind control—whatever it was he had done, it worked. They beckoned—but didn’t dare touch me. Rhysand smiled at me. “You’re welcome,” he purred as I walked out.”

2. feyre is given a hot meal in her cell everyday - which again, establishes her cell as a relatively safe place:

“From that point on, each morning and evening, a fresh, hot meal appeared in my cell. I gobbled it down but cursed Rhysand’s name anyway. Stuck in the cell, I had nothing to do but ponder Amarantha’s riddle—usually only to wind up with a pounding headache. I recited it again and again and again, but to no avail.”

and even after she has to dance every night, this does not change:

“I awoke ill and exhausted each morning, and though Rhysand’s order to the guards had indeed held, the nightly activities left me thoroughly drained.”

so - the whole point of taking feyre out of cell is instantly negated, as her cell was never a place of torture. if anything - the only person actually making her cell a place of horror was rhysand. when he drugs her, she becomes so sick that she can't keep the food down; he leaves her essentially naked in her cell, so she's cold and shivering, and her leaves her so exhausted that she can't even think about the solving the riddle.

3. nuala and cerridwen have the ability to walk through walls and actually usher feyre through utm without ever being seen or caught:

“a tapestry that hadn’t been there a moment before falling over us, the shadows deepening, solidifying. I had a feeling that if someone pulled back that tapestry, they would see only darkness and stone.”

so when we get this line in maf:

“So we endured it. I made you dress like that so Amarantha wouldn’t suspect, and made you drink the wine so you would not remember the nightly horrors in that mountain.”

or his explanation in tar:

“Working Tamlin into a senseless fury is the best weapon we have against her. Seeing you enter into a fool’s bargain with Amarantha was one thing, but when Tamlin saw my tattoo on your arm … Oh, you should have been born with my abilities, if only to have felt the rage that seeped from him.” I didn’t want to think much about his abilities. “Who’s to say he won’t splatter you as well?” “Perhaps he’ll try—but I have a feeling he’ll kill Amarantha first. That’s what it all boils down to, anyway: even your servitude to me can be blamed on her. So he’ll kill her tomorrow,”

none it actually make sense. we are offered several solutions to how rhys could have respectively helped feyre without sexually assaulting her. like for (1) if he wanted her to forget, he could have given her the wine in her cell (2) he didn't have to bring feyre to those parties. amarantha doesn't even remember feyre is there until rhys brings her, and she never finds out about the food or the guards. (3) nuala and cerridwen can actually walk through walls and veil feyre, so whose to say they couldn't have sneaked feyre from utm (4) rhys can mindspeak which means he could have always just talked to feyre without visiting her cell. (3) his plan of 'making tamlin angry makes no sense as the book already established that amarantha was warded against physical attacks, hence why it makes no sense for the story to demonize tamlin for not fighting back as there's no established canon way he could have. it also makes rhysand's display of fighting amarantha pretty much pointless as if he could have just killed her, he would have just done it earlier. its also why i don't forgive the kiss bc the only valid motivation was rhysand's jealousy which literally is why i can never forgive the kiss. he (and tam) put her in the situation by bringing her there in the first place and putting the paint all over her body (and he literally prove that he could altered the paint at any time so it served no benefit but to dehumanize feyre.

soooooo that's what i mean when i say people take canon without factoring into the story as a whole. if the story doesn't actually have things that back up declarative 'canon' statements, its not useful.

#anti sjm #anti rhysand #anti sjm: feyre archeron #anti feysand #tamlin #anti acotar #anti acomaf #canon discourse #anti feyre

286 notes · View notes

romanticatheartt · 21 days ago

Note

Does Feysand fall into the “I can fix him no really I can” trope? I know it’s common for the “bad boy” romantic archetype to be the centre of such a fixation but I didn’t get that sense from Feyre while reading ACOTAR.

No.

The whole purpose of acomaf was Feyre realising everything Rhysand did to protect his loved ones and his people, is exactly the length she'd go if the situation calls for it.

She didn't fixed anything, she got to know him and she accepted him with all his flaws. He never shows the real him to anyone until her and that happened slowly. He showed her every part of him and Feyre saw his reasoning because she understood him.

But this doesn't mean she would agree with anything he does as we saw in acosf that she has no problem to call him out if needs be. Their relationship is not the type where she tries to fix him, if anything he tries to be better for her and visa versa.

#but is he really a bad boy???#like what is the definition of it #I mean he has done some fucked up things and he has been cruel but #he has his reasons...#he didn't do them out of malice #Idk I'm not really sure what “bad boy” means here #feysand #pro feysand #anon ask #in conclusion #they're not that sorta couple #and they definitely don't give off that vibe #I wanted to bring canon text but... it's really not needed #if anyone reads the books properly they'll realise it #and anon if you didn't got the vibe #then congratulation on understanding literature lmao #most people in this fandom don't have the reading comprehension

21 notes · View notes

babybemydownfall · 2 months ago

Text

things that shimmer in the dark Part III: Feyre ( Part I - Part 2 )

His dark blue eyes held me captive. “We both know this is not a good idea, don’t we? But every single fibre of my being is telling me otherwise. I can’t just… stop. Can you?”

NSFW, as always. Read on AO3 or under the cut. And thank you all so much for the comments, shares, likes. <3

I didn’t see Rhys again until the following day.

He had left my bed shortly after we’d both recovered, citing mounting concern over Hybern and people to see and plans to make. None of which I doubted. I did get the sense, though, that he was forcing himself to go when really, he wanted to stay with me and do it all over again. It was in the lingering kisses he left on my bare skin; his hesitation which was so unusual, and yet so endearing.

And I would have let him, in a heartbeat. Again, and again, and again…

I had thought about him almost every minute since. If I didn’t know better, I would have said he’d bewitched me: put a spell on me to make me crave him as much as my next breath. It didn’t help that my bedroom smelled like him - citrus and salt and sex. That I could still feel him all over my body, an imprint I suspected would never truly fade. What had happened between us had changed everything. I had been stupid to ever think otherwise.

“I care about you Feyre… More than I should.”

Because it wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t just something to fill the time, or the hole inside my chest. We fit together like we were made for each other, which was inexplicable and magnificent and absolutely terrifying. Being with Rhys, I had never felt so comfortable, so desired, so seen. Just like I knew who he was, right down to his bones - he knew me too. Inside and out. Maybe that’s what being together under the mountain had done to us. Maybe there was some kind of ancient magic at play, entwining our lives from that very first moment at Calanmai. Or maybe he and I were-

I stopped myself whenever my mind tried to go further down that track. The fact was, he had disappeared without another word. He wasn’t there for dinner; wasn’t home when I went to bed, nor present at breakfast. I had no idea what he was thinking, if he was regretting it. Would he want to go back to normal now? What was normal for us? And if our friendship was entirely ruined now, I couldn’t just leave Velaris. I had nowhere else to go. I needed him - and he needed me too, in his upcoming war.

I spent the whole day churning over these thoughts. I had grown so used to feeling empty; now I had so many conflicting emotions inside me I thought I might burst. I honestly wasn’t sure which was worse.

After I’d tossed and turned that night and eventually fallen asleep, I woke at some point from the most vivid dream. Rhys was on top of me, inside me, making love to me in the moonlight - and every part of my physical body was throbbing, most of all my core. I had never really touched myself before but I had no choice. I needed to finish. I was so, so close.

After a quick check that my shield was firmly intact - which it was, thank goodness - I threw off the covers and slipped my fingers into my underwear. My other hand grabbed my aching breast, my thumb brushing over my rock-hard nipple through the silk of my nightgown. I collected moisture from the pool inside myself and rubbed firm, frantic circles on my already swollen clit. My eyes stayed squeezed shut, keeping me half in the dream: lost in Rhys and the smell of sweat on his skin and the noises he made against my neck as he fucked me, rolling his hips into me again and again, building and building until-

I cried his name as I came, the dream so visceral I could almost feel him finish too. It was one of the longest and most intense orgasms of my life - paling only in comparison to his mouth on me, to his cock inside me, filling me so exquisitely.

Tamlin wasn’t even close. He had given me pleasure, and at the time I had thought nothing could ever be better. But Rhys was something else entirely. And I needed more. He had promised a thousand ways to make me feel good: I wanted them all. No matter that I had only just left the Spring Court. I knew in that moment I was never going back, consequences, reputation and heart be damned.

And that realisation was so calming, my body so relaxed, that I sank straight back into a safe, dreamless sleep.

Late the next morning, Mor paid me a visit. I had heard from Nuala and Cerridwen over breakfast that Rhys, Cassian, Azriel and I were to depart for the Human lands after lunch. We would cross the Wall to pay a visit to my sisters and try to get a letter to the Queens, asking for a meeting regarding their half of the Book. I barely had chance to think about what that meant for me, and how I felt about seeing my family again after everything that had happened, because Mor was chatty as always, lounging on my bed as she helped me decide what to wear.

“I’m not coming with you,” she told me as I changed into a turquoise top and loose pants, in the Night Court style. “I dragged Rhys out with us last night so I could inform him after a few drinks.”

Even at the mention of his name, I felt my blood surge in my veins. I was glad I was dressing behind the privacy screen so she couldn’t see me blush. “Is that where he was?” I asked, trying to sound only mildly interested. “I didn’t see much of him after we got back from the Weaver’s cottage.”

A lie. I’d seen more of Rhys than I should have - and the images that sprang into my mind made me flush even harder.

“He was in a good mood, actually,” Mor said thoughtfully. “Unusually cheerful, given everything that’s going on with Hybern right now.”

I smiled to myself, out of view. Perhaps he wasn’t regretful after all. “Oh, really?” I asked noncommittally.

“Yes. Although he turned into a pretty morose drunk by the end of the night, so all felt right with the world again.”

I wasn’t sure what to make of that, but I was dressed now so I stepped back into the room and let Mor appraise me.

“Oh Feyre, you look amazing,” she remarked, standing up from the bed. “Your hair, your make up - that pink colour on your cheeks really suits you.”

“Cerridwen did a good job,” I said modestly, unused to such attention. I had never had a female friend before, until Mor. And she was so lovely, and I was obviously still in some kind of daze from the past twenty-four hours, that I reached out and gave her a hug.

“Thank you,” I murmured. “For being nice to me.”

“Don’t be silly. I hope we’re all nice to you here. Even Rhys.” She looked at me seriously. “He is one of the good ones, Feyre. Even though he’s all muscle and power and he likes to brood like a teenager sometimes. You can trust him. I swear it on my life.”

I smiled at her and as she turned to leave, I said: “I know. Thanks Mor.”

After she’d gone, I realised it was lunchtime and I had barely eaten breakfast. I hoped to at least get a snack before we had to depart.

I walked down the stairs and into the kitchen, wondering what time we were supposed to be leaving and when Rhys would eventually show up - and there he was. He was leaning over the table, his back to me, reading from some papers. The house was otherwise still, empty.

I stopped dead in my tracks but too late: he’d already heard me. Or maybe he’d scented me, or felt me through the shimmering gold thread that bound us together. Either way, I didn’t breathe as he turned around. His spectacular violet eyes took in my outfit first, rising slowly up my body - pausing over my bare midriff, my breasts - until they finally met mine.

And then the air between us seemed to set on fire.

Desire swept through me from head to toe. I could feel the dark thrum of his power: it called to me, enticing me closer, like we were one and the same. And the way he was looking at me, into me - Gods, I might as well have already been naked and spread out before him. He was going to devour me.

“Feyre,” he purred. “Good afternoon.”

He was holding a small white cup which he took a drink from. The liquid inside was very dark brown and smelt like nothing I’d ever encountered before.

“What’s that?” I asked, willing my voice not to betray me. I felt like his prey; like I had to buy myself time before my inevitable end.

“Coffee. Have you ever had it before?”

“No.”

He stepped towards me and held out the cup. The scent of him overwhelmed me. “Try it. It’s delicious. And very good for a hangover.”

I deliberately avoided touching his hand as I took it from him. I was sure his skin would burn mine, such was the heat between us.

He watched me intently as I took a sip. It hadn’t escaped either of our attention that my lips were now where his had been just seconds ago. But the coffee was bitter and disgusting. I made a face and he grinned.

“It’s an acquired taste. It comes from the tropics - far overseas. A rare treat here in Prythian.”

I eyed him warily. He seemed remarkably relaxed. I felt so tense I might snap in half any second. “Are you hungover, then?”

“I was earlier. I’m fine now. Mor coerced me into going out last night.”

“I heard.”

He took in my outfit again, correctly guessing that I’d had her help to put it together. Starlight and longing swirled in his gaze.

“I was going to invite you,” he said casually, “But one drink and I would have had you up against the wall, in full view of every single Faerie in that bar.”

I gasped. My body - my soul - trembled.

“Actually, that’s a lie,” he went on. “I would have done it stone cold sober. What did you do with yourself instead, Feyre darling?”

I didn’t know what to say - whether or not to tell him. Whether I could even speak. But he had just been honest with me, and there was no point pretending I wasn’t thoroughly shaken by him. I knew he knew how insanely aroused I was.

So I sent him a picture down the bond - of my half-bare body, my fingers between my legs. And I sighed his name into his mind, just like I had done out loud last night. Perhaps I’d also managed to send feelings, because suddenly his god-like composure was gone: he visibly shuddered, and I felt his desire roar. He took the cup from my right hand and discarded it to the floor. Neither of us even flinched as it smashed on the tile, our focus entirely on him as he lifted my fingers to his nose and inhaled deeply.

“I have washed since then,” I managed to murmur, half offended, half utterly entranced. But Rhys very clearly found my scent there still because he closed the gap between us, his other arm sliding around my waist and forcefully pulling me into him.

We collided. He was rock solid.

“All fucking night, Feyre,” he confirmed, his voice rougher than I’d ever heard it.

“And did you…?”

“No. I have self-control, it seems.”

I smiled then. He was so smug sometimes.

“Do you?” I asked sweetly.

I reached up to kiss him and my hand down to touch him at the same time. It was an attack, and even the great Rhysand wasn’t prepared. He groaned into my mouth, his hips bucking helplessly; I snuck my fingers into his pants, wrapping them around his cock, thick and hot and throbbing in my palm. Fuck, I wanted to taste him; to see the look on his face as he watched me take him all the way to the back of my throat. But I also needed him inside me. I needed relief from the ache that had been building there ever since he’d left my bed. I needed him to fill me until I nearly split apart; until there was no room for anything else beyond us. Feyre and Rhys.

And he knew.

“Do we have time?” he growled, dragging his mouth along my jaw to my ear, biting and sucking there for a moment before he moved on again, his teeth grazing their way down my neck.

“I don’t know,” I breathed, my head falling back as flames scorched me everywhere he touched. “You’re in charge.”

“Mm. Then we have enough.”

I felt his big hands on my thighs and then he was lifting me, striding towards the wall by the stove until my back hit it. His eyes met mine for the briefest moment and confirmed: no further foreplay required. I was in a permanent state of being soaking wet for him.

Then our clothes vanished and he thrust inside me, all the way to the hilt. Again, and again. Long, deep thrusts, reaching places inside me I didn’t know existed. I moaned with each one, and he grunted into my shoulder, and as his pace quickened our sounds got louder and louder, echoing through the kitchen and no doubt the house as well. This was what I needed, more than anything else in the world: this fullness. This exquisite pleasure which went on and on - the crest of the wave, just before the crash.

The orgasm I’d had yesterday when he’d stretched me had been something entirely new. It was fucking heavenly - and it was happening again.

Rhys caught my scream inside his mouth; tasted it with his tongue as I exploded around him, as he fucked me even harder and I came and came, and then he did too, rough and wild and with the night sky pouring out of him.

I couldn’t see but it didn’t matter. All I wanted was his kisses, his air, his arms holding me tightly. We had disappeared together and I wished we could do so forever: to a place where this was all there was; a place I wasn’t lonely, or sad, or empty. Because Rhys had given me a lot of things in the short time I’d known him, but this feeling of peace, of contentment - however brief - was the one I cherished the most. The gift that made me feel whole again.

Slowly, as we found our breath, the darkness receded. He looked so utterly ravishing with desire still painted all over his perfect face.

“That was… unexpected,” he said softly, the corners of his lips curving upwards.

My head tilted to the side as I considered him. “Was it?”

His smile broke free and my heart missed several beats. “Perhaps not. I wasn’t sure how you were feeling, after yesterday.”

“You could have asked.”

“I could have,” he conceded. He slowly pulled out of me and lowered my feet to the floor. I immediately missed him. With mild alarm, I felt the very beginnings of my craving return.

Rhys cleaned us up with a slight wave of his hand and returned our clothes in neat piles on the kitchen chairs. We dressed quickly, not speaking. Somehow it didn’t feel safe to - not until we were no longer naked together. Anything could have happened.

As he made the broken coffee cup vanish, I leaned back against the table and said: “Mor told me you were ‘morose’ at the end of last night.”

I didn’t realise that had been on my mind until the words were out of my mouth.

He looked at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he moved closer, and as I lifted myself to sit on the tabletop, he gently pushed my knees apart so he could stand between them.

“I’m worried,” he confessed, his palms coming to rest on my thighs, mine on his forearms. We couldn’t be this near each other and not be touching. It seemed impossible. “This… Us… You are consuming my every thought at a time when I have a lot of shit to get done.”

“I thought you were good at compartmentalising.”

His smile was back. “Usually, yes. But you… You are ruining me, Feyre.”

A little shiver of pleasure went through me, hearing that I affected him just as much as he did me. “So, what do you want to do? Stop?”

He lifted his hands, sliding his fingers into my hair. His thumbs traced over my eyebrows, my cheekbones. “Yesterday, and just now… I felt something again. Something good, for the first time in far too long. And I want more of that. Of you.”

His dark blue eyes held me captive. “We both know this is not a good idea, don’t we?” he went on quietly. “But every single fibre of my being is telling me otherwise. I can’t just… stop. Can you?”

It was the easiest question I had ever been asked.

“No.”

His gaze fell to my mouth and I met his kiss halfway, my body rising into his. I wanted him again already. What on earth was wrong with me?

Fortunately, Rhys had more sense. He dragged himself away from me a moment later with a groan that I felt in my core. “We should get ready to go. The others will be here soon.”

I took a deep breath, trying to clear my head, and nodded. “Yes. But I’m hungry. That’s why I came down here in the first place.”

“Not to see me? I am wounded.”

I swatted his arm. “No you’re not.”

“No, I’m not. What do you want to eat, darling?”

I wasn’t exactly sure when that word had become affectionate instead of patronising, or said simply to annoy Tamlin. But I knew I liked it when Rhys called me his darling - and I didn’t want him to stop that, either.

“Anything. Just not coffee.”

He laughed and crossed the room, heading into the parlour. Not long later he returned with a small platter of cheese, bread and fruit. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.”

As I ate, he went on: “Today is a big day. Meeting your sisters, sending this letter… We need to be on our best behaviour.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I will be if you are.”

His grin was infectious - I felt my own face mirror his.

“You are beautiful,” he murmured, with a slight shake of his head. I could tell he wanted to reach out and touch me again, but fortunately for us both, he resisted. “The Night Court is lucky to have you.”

I am lucky to have you.

That’s what he meant, and I knew it. But I didn’t have chance to reply because suddenly we heard several loud thumps on the front door.

Rhys held out his arm to me. “That will be Cassian and Az. Are you ready?”

I stood up tall and took a deep inhale. Was I ready to see my sisters again, after everything that had changed since I went under the mountain? Was I ready to spend time with Rhys and his brothers and pretend we were nothing more than mere friends? Was I ready to face the future, the inevitability of war?

No. But with him, I could do it. I would do it. Just yesterday morning, he had knelt at my feet and called me his salvation.

What I had learned since then was that he was mine, too.

II TBC...

#feysand #feysand smut #feysand fanfic #feysand fic #feyre x rhysand #feysand canon

26 notes · View notes

lainalit · 7 months ago

Text

Everytime one of the rat boys approach a Archeron sister

#can these old men leave these young women alone #nezriel are the only ones who are allowed to interact #it feels almost incestious #like cassian and mor #anti nessian #only nessian in acomaf and acowar are canon #sjm critical #anti rhysand #anti ic #anti inner circle #anti elriel #anti feysand #acotar critical

49 notes · View notes

acomaflove · 7 months ago

Text

Feyre: what do you commonly use your magic for besides manipulating shadows?

Azriel: controlling my allergies.

Feyre:

Feyre: what.

Azriel: I can’t be a spymaster with the sniffles.

937 notes · View notes

rhysiedarling · 1 year ago

Text

Feyre: Bro-

Rhysand : No, no, no, hold up, rewind.

Rhysand : My tongue was down your throat just a second ago and now you're calling me bro??

#this is canon #or maybe its just a modern au #feysand #rhysand #acotar #feyre archeron #sjm

193 notes · View notes

popjunkie42 · 3 months ago

Text

Chains Chapter Three

Read on AO3

Summary:

Lucien steals Feyre away from the safety of the Night Court as she and Rhys train in the Illyrian Steppes. Winnowing her to the Spring Court and Tamlin, Feyre must contend with the consequences of leaving while held against her will.

An ACOMAF Chapter 47 divergence.

Chapter Three: Your Sharp and Glorious Thorn

Feyre faces her fate alone, locked in a bedroom in the Spring Court.

Love to @witch-and-her-witcher and @foundress0fnothing for reading this chapter twice 😅 Sometimes I am needy.

Thank you all for the comments and great response to this story! I think you might love this chapter. I hope you do. The pressure is real...

Read the beginning of Chapter Three under the cut:

From the corner of the room, I watched the soft colors of dusk deepen into night between the snarled branches of a rose bush.

My bedroom in Spring had been destroyed. Furniture shattered to splinters, the carpet torn by clawed hands, the wide door to the balcony ripped free.

Two sentries had led me here from the dining room. Eyes averted, hands respectful but firm on my shoulders, urging me forward. Did they remember me, I wondered? What did they think of the former lady of the house now reduced to a prisoner?

Or perhaps I was wrong, perhaps my treatment was nothing unusual in Spring, in Prythian…the thought made me feel even more alone, my well of anger chained within me like my hands.

I had stopped in the doorway, my ragged mind taking a moment to catch up, to take in the evidence of violence, so strong I felt it like a mark on my skin.

The window no longer had a view of the hedged gardens, but was replaced with the dark and twining black branches of a rose tree - its flowers blood red, the largest branches as thick as my wrist. Growing so close only pinpricks of light came through, dappling over the room.

“Not here.”

I jumped at the voice behind me. Hadn’t even heard him approach - had been relying too much on my fae powers once again.

Tamlin’s broad shoulders were hunched. He looked…exhausted. But he didn’t look at me as he tilted his head, motioning for me to follow.

Probably for the best. He would find no sympathy from me. I hoped he did feel wretched and regretful. Hope it haunted him all night and kept him from sleep.

I wondered for a moment if I had ever made his life easier, better. Did he sometimes remember the regret he had in tearing down my cabin door and bringing me to his court?

The sentries lingered as the High Lord opened the bedroom down the hall. A clean room, a mirror to the old one, gold and sage and plush white. As if the room beside me wasn’t the perfect portrait of the blood-stained brutality that was soaked deep in the soil, that fed the grass and hedges.

But one thing was the same. The window, any light was nearly blotted out by the thick rose bushes growing outside. It was a wonder I didn’t see it from the outside, when I first arrived, this sharp monstrosity taking over the grounds.

Tamlin paused, swallowing as if the words were stuck in his throat. “Everything will be alright,” he said finally before closing the door.

I didn’t know if he was talking to me or himself.

With the snick of the heavy door locked shut, suddenly it was so, so quiet.

Something staggering was building inside me - not my familiar magic but something…devastating. Hot and cold battling in surges on my skin, inside me, panic choked like a strangled scream.

Before it could burst, I ran to the windows and threw them open, my shaking hands struggling with the latches. My fingers pulled and scraped at the cage of bark and thorns. But even when I managed to snap off a small branch, it bled milky white and acidic onto my fingers, a new twig of bark already growing to take its place.

When my hand slipped and a thorn the size of my thumb impaled into my palm, I collapsed into the corner into a gentle shadow. My hand gushed blood for far too long. I forgot that with my fae healing gone, even small hurts could overtake a body. I squeezed it until the worst of it stopped, still dripping onto the pristine white carpet beside me.

I didn’t know how long I was there, collapsed in the dark.

The blue chains around my ankles and wrists seared and scorched in an endless cycle, the pain radiating down my bones and through my spine, settling in a sharp headache at the base of my skull.

All the fear, anger and despair roiled within me under the pain. Even the scents of the room felt sickly, wrong. Suffocating. No breeze from the choked windows, a locked door at my side.

I remembered the feeling well. Here in the manor, smothered in the smell of flowers, but also –

The putrid damp of filthy water. A crunch of hay under me. The hours I spent walking in circles, fingers brushing up against jagged cold stone until they were raw…

I shook my head to try and dispel the memories. I was not underground. I was not Under the Mountain. I was not in a cold and dank cell reeking of vomit. I was in a room with a bed and the sounds of birds in the trees and I would be let out tomorrow.

I was going to get out. I was going to get out.

Groaning in frustration, I jumped in shock from pain as I ran my hands through my hair and the shackles seared against the skin on my forehead. If I could just focus, just calm for a moment, I could ride through the pain, get control of myself enough to think this through. But I couldn’t find a foothold between pain and panic, and so I passed untold hours longing for relief.

Twilight had fallen with barely a notice, darkness creeping in between the small spaces left between the trunk of the rose bush. Only a single candle was lit on a small windowsill. But I didn’t mind. I let the darkness soothe me, hide me, propped against the green wallpaper, wishing for sleep to wash over me.

I was no closer to sleep when a soft knock on the door and the click of the lock announced a sentry bringing me food and tea and water. I didn’t think I could choke down the rich courtly fare, but I chugged the water desperately. Searched the platter - no cutlery.

I settled back down with a cup of tea, soothing in my hands, and scanned the room.

A litany of fears had been marching through my mind, whipping my heart rate higher and higher. What if these stones, these chains, weren’t just hiding my power but taking it? What if they took them off me tomorrow and I was drained dry like an empty well? Was that Tamlin’s greatest wish - that I no longer risk his Court and unwanted attention by others? What if my powers would be no use to me in escaping this place?

I had been selfishly, shamelessly waiting to hear him - the crack of an angry winnow, the thunderclap of pounding wings, the unmistakable power of star-kissed night.

I finished the last sip of tea with a sigh, sugar at the bottom of the cup filling my mouth with overwhelming sweetness.

But what happened then, if he did come? What if he descended on Tamlin with an army of Illyrian warriors wreathed in darkness? What if he turned this manor to rubble and word went out across Prythian about yet another act of violence and wrath by the dark lord?

Perhaps I was worrying about the wrong things. As twilight turned to midnight, and the only sounds were the shuffling of sentries and a nightingale in the gardens, I felt a dreadful numbness steal over me. I couldn’t sleep, but I closed my eyes and listened.

Rhys wasn’t here.

Why wasn’t he here?

I knew he could winnow here, believed he could unravel Tamlin’s wards with a flick of his wrist.

It was silly of me, selfish to think – I had to be realistic –

Maybe Amren was advising him right now. Be cautious. Don’t start a war. Don’t burst into enemy Courts and start destroying things because then how would they respond in turn?

I was, after all, just an emissary. Most likely a poor one at that. A bumbling child that he had taken some pity on and kept around for our own mutual interests.

Reality hit me cold and harsh. I shut my eyes to it, grit my teeth. A deep, biting chill poured through my bones. The cold so deep I thought it might freeze and break me apart.

I had just thought, maybe this time – maybe somebody would come for me. Remembered how strange it had felt when Mor had lifted me in her arms like a child. How I had woken up to the dawn and mountains - upset and confused and numb, but also, safe.

I steeled myself against the panic, the self-pity.

When had I come to rely on him so much? That his absence felt unnatural, unnerving?

Whether he was coming or not, I couldn’t stay here. I would have to do it myself. Just as I had always done, before I met him and before I even came to Prythian. Staying here was against the question - not with my powers sapped, with the measures they had taken to hobble me.

I drew a deep breath into my lungs. I called upon whatever reserves of strength I had left. The last mile in the woods before turning in for the night, hungry and desperate. My body shivered at the quaking pain against my skin. I stood up to take in the room.

If I worked on the rose tree, I couldn’t open a space large enough to get out but I could take a branch for a weapon. Maybe I would fashion daggers out of thorns, maybe I’d save the milky burning sap for whoever opened my door next.

A weapon, a snare, a distraction. I knew from experience that none of it would matter without my powers. I wouldn’t get past the front gates.

Blue stone pressed against the pale bruised skin of my wrists. A tight fit, but…

I curved my thumb, hissing through my teeth as I pushed the stone against my bones. Willing joints and bones to bend. Black dots started to blur my vision against the burning agony of whatever poisoned magic they possessed.

A deep breath as I let up again, stone back to dangle on my wrist.

I had seen the aftermath of animals that gnawed their way out of traps. Coming hours later to discover blood and tufts of fur at some life or death struggle lived alone and in agony.

I would have to break my thumbs. If I could do it quickly, before the pain overtook me, my fae healing could return and I –

I tried to breathe around the panic, tried to listen and distract myself from my racing thoughts.

The sounds of the manor settling became softer and quieter as night deepened. Murmured voices from the conversation of sentries outside of my door. The distant sound of doors closing, servants going about their final duties for the evening as if this place hadn’t become a prison. The nightingale was calling desperately outside, joined in an occasional chorus by the soft answer of an owl somewhere on the edge of the forest.

I let everything settle inside of me. Quieting. Digging. Looking for that deep well of power within me once again - before I had to resort to this. Feeling the air around me - wanting to call the magic forth - whether fire from the candle or water from the dew settling on the rose petals - I begged something to speak to me, to pull it from inside me where it hid.

The nightingale had gone quiet. And through the woven tapestry of curled wood and thorns silver light was streaming in between the darkness - the light of the moon.

Of course. How ridiculous of me.

I hadn’t been able to summon the darkness before like Rhysand had, speckled with those jewel-like stars. But I reached for it, called for it, thinking of him, of the power I could always sense emanating off of him – of the vast and endless night skies peeking into my room.

The air pressure in the room dropped along with the temperature - my next breath coming out in a cold puff of air.

A crackling on my skin like lightning about to strike, all my hairs standing up on end. Before my mind could understand, the latticed prison of the rose tree snapped through the middle with a deafening crack.

A sharp sliver of onyx glass cut through the room, and Rhysand stepped out of it onto the carpet in front of me.

Even with my fae senses dulled, I could indeed feel that power off of him now, blackness twisting in the air like cold smoke with the promise of death.

His wide eyes quickly scanned the room. When he found me, he went still as stone.

Read the rest on AO3

#acotar #feysand #feysand fanfic #acotar fanfic #canon divergence #acomaf #spring court shenanigans

58 notes · View notes