#feysand mentioned

[anime-villian-irl]

"id let the world burn for you"

"I'd kill for you"

"id die for you"

"I'd sacrifice the world for you"

BORING!

Yawn snore snore. Honk shoo honk shoo.

I got twelve other guys ready to that for me. You already do that. You already destroy the world I would just happen to be there while you did.

The real question is.

Would you save the world for me?

Would you put aside your hatred for humanity and put my love for it Infront? Would you save the world because I love the world? Would you stop killing because I hate killing? Would you find a way to live because I want you alive?

Death and destruction are easy as hell. Do you know how fucking easy it is to kill someone? To blow up a building? Shure security is in the way but if it wasn't there it would be easy as hell.

You'd do the basics Shure. But would you do the hard thing and save the world because I asked you to?

Would you push aside your hatred of everyone but me because I asked you to nicely?

Would you?

[ater-love]

Three brothers and three sisters is not lazy writing

Three brothers and three sisters is fate

[feyres-divorce-lawyer]

feyre: heavily implies that rhysand was raping her

tamlin and lucien who watched her be objectified, humiliated, degraded, tortured, coerced, and sexually assaulted by rhysand for three months, not to mention he has killed thousands of innocents and his public seat of power is called the court of nightmares: believes her

feyre: ugh wow i can’t believe they would think such a thing about my totally wonderful mate who has never done anything wrong in his entire life. i’m gonna destroy their home

[lainalit]

The 'Feyre has her art friends like ressina' argument many feyre stans make for saying feyre has friends outside of the IC is really funny to me because I'm pretty sure that SJM forgot about them and they will never be seen or mentioned again in the future books

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

Actually speaking of the HoW library, if its a place for female trauma survivors to heal how come Rhysand didnt put Feyre in there when he got her out of the spring court? I guess its meant to be for victims of sexual assault which Feyre isnt (i mean she is, but Rhysand in acomaf is specifically saving her from her realtionship with Tamlin who sucks but never sexually assaulted her, and also neither he nor the narrative perceive it as such so who cares), but it seems rather cruel to turn someone whos suffering away from that kind of place just because they dont have the right kind of trauma. So how come she had to spend all this time with Rhysand and his friends (who have all barely managed to heal from their respective traumas in over 500 years) instead of spending it with all these other women who can understand her and teach her how to live with her trauma? Man its almost like he was taking advantage of her when she was incredibly vulnerable or something

[thesistersarcheron]

For @officialfeysandweek’s sixth prompt, First of Their Kind.

Pairing: Feysand Word Count: ~1.6k Chapter: 1/2 Rating: E Tags: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Calanmai, First Meetings, Prophetic Visions, Song: The Prophecy (Taylor Swift), What if I wrote an AU of the faerie soulmate books but made the soulmate trope even more omnipresent and overt?

Feyre Archeron was born with a Soul Mark running the length of her left forearm. From wrist to elbow, she is marked with a magical tattoo that sets her apart from ordinary mortals—a tattoo that is said to reveal the first words her soulmate will say to her. A tattoo that is only worn by creatures born of magic.

Because only faeries have Soul Marks.

The nursery rhymes and bedtime stories from an age before the wall warn of what might happen if a mortal is cursed with a faerie mating bond. Feyre has spent nineteen long years concealing her Mark, fearing those possibilities, because it seems her faerie is already hunting down his mortal soulmate.

There you are, his words read, chilling and ominous. I’ve been looking for you.

——— Read the first chapter on AO3!

[bindinglove]

me when i remember that the events of ACOMAF from the time feyre is taken from the spring court to the time of starfall is literally only two months, like bro all that happened in a two month span ??? HUHHHHHHHHH

i was listening to the audio book and was gagged when feyre said that you’re like tripping rn

[wallflowers-in-the-wind]

Every time I come across an art piece of Feyre under the mountain in that tissue paper cloth I die inside. Because the art is wonderful but it’s portraying a horrible moment Feyre suffered through and it’s usually set up as ‘such an important moment when RhySAnd protected her’. And usually she’s drawn to look confident and brave. It’s nowhere close to the malnourished human that is being forced to wear that see through cloth, had her body painted, was forcefully drugged, and made to dance against her will. The one we all read about in the first book.

That was not protection. That was not love. Please don’t romanticize SA.

[separatist-apologist]

I Knew You Were Trouble

Summary: After a disaster on Earth sends humans to live on colonies on different planets, Feyre Archeron's life has become impossibly difficult. The Federation meant to protect and provide for human refugees has abandoned them on a hostile planet that forbids them from hunting and has segregated them from the rest of the population.

When her older sister starts an accidental fire in an attempt to revitalize the barren land, Feyre comes face to face with one of the infamous, dreaded Horde Kings. They strike a bargain- her servitude for her sisters life. Now, trapped in his horde, Feyre has to acclimate to a new life and the demands of the man who took her- and hope she can survive him.

Based on the book Captive of the Horde King.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Read on AO3

Rhys stepped into the tent, dragging in the cold air with him. Feyre was waiting, standing in the middle of the tent in the nightdress that she hated. She’d had a whole speech planned for this moment (mostly yelling) that immediately evaporated from her mind when he entered their shared tent. She’d forgotten, for one, just how large he was. 

He was also covered in an inky black substance that looked suspiciously like congealed blood. Feyre wanted to face him down, but…she turned her head, unable to stomach the sight of it.

Behind her, Rhys barked out an order, causing two males to drag the large bathing tub in a moment later. 

Steaming buckets of water filled it nearly to top, the heat warming even Feyre’s bones from where she stood. She didn’t look when he undressed with a grunt, his heavy belt hitting the floor with a loud clank of metal and tinkling of gems. His boots went a moment later before she heard the soft splash of water and a louder groan.

“You left.”

She turned, then, hands on her hips. He was looking at her through narrowed eyes, nostrils flared with what appeared to be indignation. Rhys only jerked his chin upward, his silence frustrating. It was tempting to start yelling again, but Mor’s words filled her head and instead, Feyre marched to the tub despite her roiling stomach, took the clean rag, and poured a small amount of soap into it. It wasn’t lost on her that he tracked her every moment with a wariness that felt, frankly, unwarranted. 

Dipping the cloth in the water, Feyre began wiping at the blood on his bare chest. Rhys’s clawed fingers curled around her wrist, highlighting the difference in size between them. “You don’t need to do this,” he murmured, eyes searching her face.

“I want to,” she lied. In truth, Feyre wanted to be nowhere close to all that blood. The color was helping a little, though beneath all the black was his own blood from a deep gouge across his chest. 

“What happened?” he asked. 

Feyre bristled. That was none of his business and yet when she tried to jerk away, he only tightened his grip. “Tell me.”

Feyre swallowed hard. “There are…other creatures who live on your planet. People, I guess? I don’t know what they are, but we fear them because if they capture us, they…” She didn’t want to say that, either. Their eyes met and Feyre knew Rhys was aware of the kind she spoke of, just as he knew what they did. 

“Gerutan,” he murmured. “What did they do?”

“We keep our gate locked but sometimes…anyway three people were outside the gate and dragged away. A woman, her brother and her mother. They…” Feyre swallowed. She didn’t want to remember it, didn’t want to picture the wounds all over their bodies. The rape of the women that had left them wide-eyed and mute. 

“I am familiar with their ways, kalles. Were you harmed?”

Feyre hadn’t realized she wasn’t really looking at him anymore, but right then, she saw the promise of violence in his gaze.

“No,” she breathed. “It wasn’t my family. I was just…the only one who was willing to end their suffering.”

His lips formed an oh as he realized what she’d done. “That was brave.”

“It wasn’t,” she disagreed, forgetting he was still holding her wrist. He released her so she could continue wiping away the blood sticking to his chest. “I prolonged their suffering because I didn’t know how to give them a merciful death.”

“It haunts you.”

“Wouldn’t it haunt you?” she snapped. Rhys only watched, nostrils flaring.

“I will teach you, then.”

“You’ll what?”

“Teach you,” he repeated, clearly cemented in his decision. “So next time you hold a knife to my throat, you are not so afraid.”

Feyre narrowed her eyes. She didn’t believe him for a moment. “You’re going to show me how to kill you?”

A dark laugh rumbled from his chest. “No, kalles. You cannot kill me. I will teach you to kill others.”

“You don’t think I could kill you?”

He reclined back in the tub, inclining his head as he closed his eyes. “I trust if you did manage to kill me, I would have deserved it.”

There would be no prying more out of him, at least on that front. Feyre would believe it when she saw it, though. She expected he’d put some rusty knife in her hand, show her a few maneuvers just to say he’d upheld his end of things and then send her on his way. Feyre dunked the rag back into the dark water to continue washing him. 

“Where did you go?”

He peeked open an eye to look at her before closing it again. “Reports of gerutan near the horde,” he murmured, chilling her blood. Here, too? “We hunted them down.”

That explained the gash on his chest. Feyre was careful as she removed his own blood, too, breathing through her nose to keep the revulsion down. Was it his blood that disturbed her, or the fact that he was injured? Feyre didn’t know and didn’t want to examine it too closely 

“Are they dead?”

His smile was savage. “They are.”

“Good.”

He peeked open that same eye, watching her as she slid lower. Feyre was intentionally ignoring his cock which was easier in the dirty water. She didn’t have to see it, at least. Rhys, though, wasn’t having it. Dipping his hand in the water, he grabbed her wrist again and cleaned himself using her. 

At least he wasn’t erect, she reasoned. Why did it disappoint her?

It didn’t.

It didn’t. 

“I told you I would not touch you until tomorrow night,” he reminded her, as if that was supposed to make her feel better. Feyre sighed, rising to her feet so she could wash his hair. They both had to wait for the water to be dumped and fresh water brought in. It was never going to stun her how wasteful it all was.

She didn’t make eye contact with the very naked Rhys as they waited, gaze pinned to the fire crackling at the back of the tent. It didn’t seem to bother him. Perhaps because he knew she was about to wash his hair, too. When he got back in the tub, too smug for her liking, Feyre dunked him as he spluttered out a kasikkari why? 

Feyre laughed, causing the very wet Vorakkar to turn, face slack. “Again,” he murmured as the smile faded from her face. “I want to hear you laugh again.”

Feyre immediately scowled. “You can’t demand that.”

He appeared thoughtful for a moment. “What about a bargain?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say no, but Feyre was curious what he intended to give up in order to see her smile again. Last time he’d handed over her name in exchange for a bowl of broth, and that was apparently sacred to him.

“What kind of bargain?” she questioned, squirting soap into his thick, dark hair. Rhys groaned softly when her nails scraped over his scalp. 

“I will send three beveri to your village each month. If they skin it well and dry the meat, that’s enough to survive on without having to ration it out.”

Feyre’s heart galloped in her chest. “They won’t know how to skin it.” She’d tried to show her sisters, but Feyre still didn’t know how much they’d absorbed. She could see Elain and Nesta hacking away, frustrated with the gross process of removing skin from meat. 

“I’ll send a warrior to teach them,” he murmured, “but you will give me two things.”

“What do you want?”

Craning his neck, Feyre saw exactly what he wanted. “This is your home, now. I would like you to make yourself part of my horde as my Morakkari.”

Feyre almost told him she had no say in the matter, but it was clear that Rhys wanted more than just forcing her into being his wife. He wanted her agreement, her participation. 

“And what else?”

“You will eat,” he informed her with a relish, backing her into a corner. “Not just broth, but meat too.”

He had her. If Feyre declined, she was actively participating in the starvation of her sisters. She also proved to him that it was never about her family—it was always about thwarting him. In truth, it had always been about both. He held her gaze without blinking, mouth pinched as if he expected her to decline.

“Deal,” she whispered. 

He exhaled softly through his nose, his disbelief plain even as he turned back. “Good.”

Feyre continued washing his hair, and then his body again because she knew he wanted her to, and this time when her fingers dipped beneath the water, she saw his cock was semi-hard, though mostly unthreatening. He’d promised to wait until tomorrow, and in some ways, it felt like the best she could have hoped for. He’d brought her to be his wife, and…

And why?

She could have picked a better moment to ask than when he was drying the water from his naked body, but Feyre simply blurted out her thoughts without thinking that he’d turn that massive, muscular body toward her and she’d look at him.

Really look at him. 

“You want to know why you?” he asked, incredulity seeping into his tone. 

“Yes,” Feyre replied breathlessly, eyes stuck on his muscular torso. “There were others…right?”

“No,” he replied flatly. 

“Lovers, surely,” she prodded. His eyes narrowed.

“Yes, lovers,” he agreed. “No one who ever made me want a wife.”

“Until me.”

He nodded his head, sliding his hand down the same torso she was struggling to drag her eyes away from. He’d realized she was staring, which meant Feyre had to physically turn to not look at him, even though she wanted to. 

She’d forgotten he didn’t sleep in clothes. Rhys merely walked into her field of vision, flopping himself into the bed so he could lay on his back, one hand behind his head. 

“Until you,” he agreed, tail resting against his powerful thigh.

“Why?”

He shrugged powerful shoulders. “You were not afraid of me or my warriors, though you should have been. You were brave—no one else would have faced down a Vorakkar, especially knowing I might have decided to take blood as repayment. And you were loyal, not telling me who started the fire despite your fear.

“I wasn’t afraid of you,” she lied.

He smiled.

“Of course not,” he replied. Feyre remembered that first day, though, and how he’d called her brave. He’d already been decided by then, had known he wanted her simply from all that? Feyre’s heart thudded all over again, her own thoughts betraying her.

No one had ever looked at her and found her special. Strange, perhaps. Slightly off-putting for sure. But special? 

“Lay with me,” he murmured, interrupting her thoughts. “I have missed your warmth.”

“Will you tell me about your hunt?” she questioned, curious about this part of his life.

“Are you bargaining with me?” he replied, eyes bright with unmistakable hope. 

“No. Just asking,” she replied, laying beside him so their arms touched. She suspected he would have preferred if she laid against him—would have likely given her something for it—but Feyre was content just to talk to him. “I met Morrigan.”

He chuckled. “Tell me everything.”

Feyre did, thinking that just as soon as she finished talking, Rhys would reciprocate. However when Feyre turned, out of breath and things to say, she found his eyes were closed and he’d put himself to sleep. She was tempted to poke him in the ribs and ask why he’d bothered when he wasn’t going to listen anyway.

She had the sneaking suspicion hearing her talk had been the whole point. She’d accidentally lulled him to sleep. Feyre hadn’t realized she was staring at him so intently it pulled him from whatever dreams he’d been happening. Rhys didn’t open an eye as he murmured, “thinking of stabbing me again?”

“No,” she admitted. She’d been thinking about the curve of his mouth and how soft he seemed when he slept.

“Then lay with me,” he grumbled, turning to his side to drape a heavy arm around her. “I’ll find you in my dreams.”

What did that mean? Feyre was antsy, afraid to sleep and wake up for her wedding—the tassimara—that would be happening tomorrow. There were too many unknowns along with too many things she was afraid of.

Like sleeping with him. Reaching between her legs, Feyre was frustrated to find that even without the salve, her skin was mending itself quite nicely. It was still sore, still delicate, but not as bad as it had been that first day.

Wiggling from beneath Rhys’s grasp, Feyre gave up fighting him and slathered in on her thighs. Something told her she was going to need it tomorrow, if only to make fitting him comfortable. She’d seen the size of him, and in her mind Feyre couldn’t help but compare him to Isaac in her mind. 

Which was unfair, given the girth and length of the Drakkari male sleeping soundly in the bed that belonged to them both. Still, she did, because she’d enjoyed her time with Isaac and it was the only frame of reference she had. He’d been…well at the time he’d seemed quite prominent to her. Now, though…

“Why must you torment me,” Rhys grumbled as she stood there, mind consumed with what it would be like to lay beneath him. “Get in bed, kalles.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” she retorted. One of his eyes opened, narrowed to a slit as he watched her march back to the bed like it had been her idea anyway. He grabbed her around the waist, dragging her against him. 

“I am,” he replied, burying his face in the nape of her neck. 

“If you’re hoping for obedience, you’re going to be disappointed,” Feyre informed him, her words interrupted by a yawn.

“Sleep,” he mumbled. Feyre wanted to argue, but since he’d been gone she’d barely slept at all. Every noise woke her up if the cold didn’t pull her from her dreams. Even with the heavy furs, there was something about having his solid form beside her. 

Feyre slipped into dreams easily, tumbling deeply and when she woke, it was to bright sunlight and her piki quietly trying to rouse her. It might have been pleasant had Mor not sauntered in, eyes painted gold and her lovely body on display, to announce, “WAKE UP MORAKKARI!”

“I hate you,” Feyre grumbled, tossing a pillow in Mor’s direction. In response, Mor gripped her by the ankle and pulled her out of bed.

“You don’t,” Mor replied cheerfully. “The Vorakkar has informed us that you agreed to eat everything he sent over. How did he convince you?”

Feyre pushed herself up only to plop back down on the cushions at the table. “We made a bargain.”

“What did he give up this time?” Mor asked, glancing at the piki with a knowing smile. Were they conspiring? All three watched, prepared to tell Rhys if she didn’t uphold her end of things. Her defiance was at an end—Feyre knew if he said he’d send food to her village, he’d do it. She wondered if he’d ever let them join the horde, too. 

It was worth asking once they were married, she decided. Nesta would hate it, but Elain…Feyre thought Elain would love how open everything was. She’d be able to plant things, could possibly work in the kitchen if she wanted. Elain would like the simplicity of horde life, Feyre thought. And Nesta would get used to it. 

She took at first bite of fresh meat and had to bite back a moan with the flavor burst against her tongue. She’d never had fresh meat like this—dried meat, yes, but actual fresh meat? Sometimes she’d gobble down half raw, unseasoned meat simply because she was starving and food was food.

This was something else.

Mor looked immensely smug, crossing her arms over her chest. “Was it worth it?”

“Yes,” Feyre admitted, deciding she would never tell them what Rhys had given in return. She didn’t know if they’d approve, besides. She often felt the expectation was that she assimilated completely while Rhys simply continued on as he was.

If he wanted to be her husband, then Feyre wanted to see him adhere to some of the human customs and ways, few as they were. Wasn’t that fair? Why did she have to do all the giving while no one else did? It was just another thing to talk to Rhys about when everything was said and done.

Feyre ate until Mor physically made her stop, brown eyes wary. “I don’t want you to throw up.”

Feyre didn’t think that was the worst prospect. If she threw up, would he still want her? Probably, actually. He’d tell her it was a cultural show of love or something stupid and she’d never know if it was true, or he just wanted to get her naked and beneath him.

Feyre sat still and let the piki work, grateful that Mor produced a longer dress for her to wear. It was still a little too sheer for her liking, though Mor was quick to remind her that it would be dark out, and no one would notice too much.

No one cares, was the tone, though. Feyre wanted to not care, too, but something about everyone seeing her body felt deeply violating. She wanted to tell this to the people around her, but they didn’t understand. Nudity was just another normal part of their life here. 

Before the dress was slid over her body, Feyre was made to stand totally bare while Nuala and Cerridwen painted her body in the same golden swirls Rhys was covered in. The markings of his family line and his horde, Mor explained solemnly. She had enough grace to only look when she needed to, helping them with their lines when they were confused about the order.

And to tell Feyre to stop moving when her piki took that animal hair brush and unceremoniously began painting her nipples gold. Feyre had protested, and Mor, cheeks flaming, had explained it was simply part of the ceremony. When he took her to bed, he would lick the gold paint off. Custom this, tradition that—it sounded like he wanted to taste her and needed an excuse to do so.

By the time they finished painting her face and weaving beads into her hair, night had fallen and Feyre was hungry again.

And nervous.

But mostly hungry. 

Rhys came in a moment later, eyes sweeping over the scene before they fell on Feyre. Mor rolled her eyes, punching him lightly on the shoulder as she barked what sounded suspiciously like an order in the Drakkari language. Rhys’s upper lip curled, but he otherwise remained silent.

For a king who didn’t accept feedback, she sure did let the people around him tell him what to do. 

“Am I satisfactory?” Feyre heard herself asking. She tried to sound defiant, proving that she didn’t care if he liked how she looked, but she knew he caught her insecurity. Rhys took a step toward her before clenching his fists at his sides.

“You look like a Morakkari,” he finally said, a tendon straining in his neck. “Come.”

Feyre could see firelight in the distance, mere pinpricks in the rolling hills beyond the camp. It was clear no one but the pair of them were there. Feyre took just a moment to admire him in the glowing light from their tent. He’d painted over his markings with the same gold and beside the two weapons he had strapped criss-crossed over his back, he wore only a pair of well-made pants with the same beading clinking over the seams. 

He looked like a king to her. Granted, Feyre didn’t know what kinds were supposed to look like, technically, but she assumed they must have carried themselves the way he did. There was a confidence to him that she found herself drawn to, even when it would have been to feel nothing for him at all.

The air was too cold for her liking. She half turned to see if she could find a cloak, but Rhys caught her wrist and pulled her toward him. “No running, kalles. Not anymore.” “I wasn’t…” she started, her voice embarrassingly breathless. He arched a brow, catching her tone, but otherwise didn’t comment on it. They simply walked beneath bright stars, their only point of contact his fingers wrapped around her wirst.

He took her to his pyroki. Feyre balked, digging her sandaled feet into the ground. “Please,” she whispered when the beast turned its blood-red eyes on her.

“Bryaxis won’t hurt you,” he murmured, releasing her arm to hoist her up onto the creature by her waist. “He is loyal to you as he is to me.”

Feyre didn’t bother to ask him how he knew that. Rhys swung up on the beast after her, one arm wrapped around her middle to hold her firmly between his thighs. There was no point in wondering if he was erect—he was, just like always. Feyre might have squirmed away had it been possible, first of all, but Rhys’s body radiated heat and she was cold. The horde king wrapped his arms around her.

“No fear,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Just as a Morakkari should be.”

She’d take his word on that given she was very afraid, personally. What did Feyre know about being a wife? A queen? Nothing. She knew nothing at all, truly, and in a few moments she’d be shoved center stage before people who expected something greater than she currently was.

Panic rose in her throat. Could Rhys feel it? His large hand spanned over her thigh and as she began to spiral, Rhys’s thumb began to rub reassuring circles over her skin. 

It helped a little. Feyre focused on breathing and keeping her limbs relaxed, hoping to avoid any more chafing. They weren’t going far, besides—the lit pyres that dotted the hillside came into view rather quickly, illuminating the gathered crowd of the curious horde.

They’d only seen glimpses of her. Only heard snippets of her voice, likely yelling at their leader. As their faces came into view, Feyre felt more than a little shame over the whole thing. There was a wariness to them as a whole as Rhys slid off Bryaxis before lowering her before them.

Reverence, too. This was Rhys’s choice, and even if it made them nervous, they would respect it. Feyre vowed she’d try harder, if only so they didn’t look at her with such careful expressions. It felt reminiscent of the human village and how everyone found her strange and a little off-putting. It made friendships nearly impossible. 

She didn’t want to live the rest of her life just as lonely and isolated as she’d been before. Seeing Mor’s face in the crowd alleviated some of her fear. The Drakkari female flashed her a beautiful smile before offering a subtle thumbs up, which Feyre had taught her days before when they’d exchanged information between their two cultures.

She couldn’t help her own half laugh, fear slipping as her face split with a smile. People were watching—Rhys was watching, too, and when she glanced up at him, she saw what looked almost like awe staring back at her. 

He’d told her he wanted to see her smile, to hear her laugh. It was in her nature to do the opposite—to scowl up at him and suppress the small moment of joy she felt. But Feyre wanted to do something easy, something appreciative…so she smiled up at him, too.

His fingers curled over her shoulder, squeezing lightly as if to say thank you. Feyre exhaled, her breath clouding in front of her face, as the crowd bowed their heads in respect while parting so the pair of them could pass. Long tables laden with more food than Feyre had ever seen in her life was arranged in rows of three, all before an erected dais with a heavy chair seated atop it. That was clearly where Rhys was supposed to go, but there was nowhere for her. He made his way up while his horde took seats on comfortable pillows, still holding Feyre’s shoulder.

Did she sit at his feet, then? That felt strangely humiliating. She hovered for a moment, trying to decide if she’d just sit and endure or if she’d defy him before everyone and take a seat at one of the tables.

His arm snaked around her waist and with a definitive jerk, he ended the debate raging in her head to pull her into his lap. He chuckled, as if he knew what she’d been thinking, but said nothing at all. Sitting was the permission his horde needed to begin eating and talking while Rhys surveyed, lord of it all. 

“Did you eat this morning?” he questioned as food was brought to them on a tray? 

“Yes,” she agreed, watching as he took a piece of fresh meat from the golden platter. Rhys brought it to her lips and Feyre opened, noting how his fingers lingered on her lips for just a moment too long.

“I will have beveri sent in the morning. Five, to celebrate my new Morakkari. Your village will eat as we do.”

Feyre felt tears prick at her eyes. Twisting in his lap, she said, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know I didn’t,” he replied in that self-assured way of his. “But you would want me to.”

Feyre took a gulp of the heady wine rather than answer him, the golden goblet placed in her hand by the man she was supposed to marry. When did that happen, besides? As she drank and ate and watched, Feyre began to suspect that this was all that was necessary. A simple declaration letting everyone know she was claimed, a feast and then…

And then.

As she drained her goblet, it occurred to her that she could get so inebriated she was barely aware of what happened at all. He could do whatever he liked with her and she’d be blissfully unaware and half asleep.

He wouldn’t.

He could have taken her at any time, at any point, for any reason at all. And he hadn’t. He’d thought about her comfort, her enjoyment, and to Feyre, she assumed that meant he wanted her to enjoy it. If she lost herself to oblivion, he’d simply wait.

And maybe, deep, deep down, Feyre was curious. Her mind wandered once she said her goblet down, pleasantly warm and overall relaxed. Eating turned to dancing as musicians struck up a tune that was familiar enough that people cheered when they heard it. Someone began singing, deep and throaty, in the Drakkari language she was coming to appreciate while the drums picked up, holding a beat lively enough for people to dance to.

Behind her, Rhys smiled in her hair as a child tripped over their own tail in a clumsy attempt at dancing. Feyre, too, couldn’t hide her giggle as she turned to bury her face in his bare chest. Touching him felt easier, felt safe, even. 

She didn’t know how long they watched in silence like that. Only that with each passing moment, Feyre’s regrets began to melt away. Reclined against his body, she didn’t notice he’d begun to get agitated as the night deepened and the drums began to pick up. His fingers, once passive on her knee, began sliding further and further up her thigh while his mouth remained pressed to her neck, inhaling the smell of her softly. 

Feyre didn’t try to stop him, though she didn’t encourage him either. She simply allowed him to move that hand over her cold skin, higher and higher with each pass until the clawed tips were in danger of ripping a hole through the thin fabric. 

Feyre squirmed backward when he began ruching the material up over her legs only to find his rigid erection pressed against her spine. Rhys groaned in a huf before his teeth tugged at her ear.

“It’s time, Morakkari. I will wait no longer.”

“Time?” she asked as he swept her up into his arms. His horde watched the way they had been all night, but no one tried to stop him. No one was going to interfere. 

“Yes,” he agreed, his voice rougher than she’d ever heard it. “I’ve waited long enough. No longer.”

Feyre took a breath. Was she afraid?

No.

Excited.

[arson-09]

If feyre and rhysand were my high lord and lady, or if they became my high king and queen, i would simply just kill myself

[romanticatheartt]

acomaf - ch. 29:

They had never played a piece like it Under the Mountain—never this sort of music. And I’d never heard music in my cell save for that one time. “You,” I breathed, not taking my eyes from the musicians playing so skillfully that even the diners had set down their forks in the cafés nearby. “You sent that music into my cell. Why?” Rhysand’s voice was hoarse. “Because you were breaking. And I couldn’t find another way to save you.” ~ “I saw the Night Court.” He glanced sidelong at me. “I didn’t send those images to you.”

When Rhysand sends music into her cell to stop her from breaking, not only does he save her, but it makes her see the place where she belongs. The place where her mate belongs. He didn't send her those images, but her soul did. The soul which is connected to him. So she subconsciously saw her found family and a life with her mate. In the same scene where they talk about music, we get more confirmation on them being mates.

acosf - ch. 58:

“What is it?” “Touch the top. Just a tap.” Throwing a puzzled glance at him, she did so. Music exploded into the room. Nesta leaped back, a hand at her chest as he laughed. But—music was playing from the silver orb. ~ Those golden threads between their very souls shone with the words, as if they formed a harp strummed by a heavenly hand. For it was music between their souls. Always had been. And his voice was her favorite melody.

Nessian bond is much more connected to music than Feysand. It's mostly because of Nesta's love for music and dancing. So in the same scene when Cassian gifts Nesta the orb, their mating bond also snaps for them. "For it was music between their souls." just like Feysand. Which was the reason Feyre saw those images from NC/Velaris.

acosf - Azriel's bonus chapter:

She angled her head, hair shining like molten metal. "Do you sing?” He blinked. It wasn't every day that people took him by surprise, but…"Why do you ask?" "They call you shadowsinger. Is it because you sing?" “I am a shadowsinger--it's not a title that someone just made.” She shrugged again, irreverently. Az narrowed his eyes, studying her. "Do you, though?" she pressed. "Sing?" Azriel couldn't help his soft chuckle. "Yes." ~ Azriel entered the warmth of the stairwell, and as he descended, he could have sworn a faint, beautiful singing followed him. Could have sworn his shadows sang in answer.

Gwynriel is going to have even more connection to music since both of them sing. Again Sarah used the same mating bond language she uses for her mated couples. Just like Feysand and Nessian, the exact scene when they talk about music or hear it, there's a mention of their connection between their soul aka mating bond...

Mhmm... I see a pattern here...

[shesalittlelost]

Unpopular opinion but I think a piece of art that focuses on the female character's state during a moment where she's made to drug and dance without her consent but tends to exaggerate the events is actually not worse than all the pieces that only care to show how hawt and sexyy the guy looks with the girl on his arm.

Like there is one that was particularly outrageous for me because it is objectifying Feyre so much that her face is literally cut out of the frame and only her waist down is left to serve as a background for everyone's beloved Rhysie to look pretty next to and I didn't see people losing their shit over that. So why is this art such a problem? Because it makes you uncomfortable? Well, yes, that is the point of SA. It is not supposed to be glorified, it is supposed to make us uncomfortable. You can discuss until the end of the days that what Rhys did utm wasn't sa and his motives behind it but the truth is SJM is the problem here. She does not handle SA with the seriousness it deserves so her fans feel the need to do it themselves and I don't see why that shouldn't be allowed.

[acotarfrustrations]

Not only planning to steal the book of breathing but PLANNING TO ROB THE SUMMER COURT OF JEWELS??? LITERALLY W H Y? THE IC IS LITERALLY FILTHY ULTRA MEGA RICH??? THERE IS NO REASON?? AM I SUPPOSED TO LIKE THESE PEOPLE???

[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.

[hunnyy-bunnyyy]

I can't help but think that the only reason Rhysand/Feysand stans claim to stan Feyre is because they like her, not as a character, but as an extension of Rhysand. In this essay, I will --

[highladyofterrasen7]

Ok people time for it:

Where

WHERE

In acosf or any other book was rhys “mean” or “horrible” to nesta?

Ok so he threatened her when she told feyre the truth about Nyx, and honestly she deserved that, it was not her place to throw the death of her and her unborn child in her face (she has on multiple occasions threatened feyre)

At the start the entire ic was fed up with nesta, why? Because she was spending their money, irresponsibly. And he had every right to be pissed at her for that. Feyre, amren and the others where just as pissed, they were on brink of war and had more important things to worry about then a 25 year old running around and spending money that wasn’t hers

Rhys tried to be civil and kind to nesta (go reread his pre-war speech in acowar) and it was only after her treating feyre like shit that he stepped in

So calm the fuck down and use your energy for actual good and stop coming for rhys and feyre just because they have stability and a family that loves them