i see people criticizing SJM for making Tamlin the villain, and I don't understand. he was described as violent and abusive, with temper problems and a bad leader who doesn't care about the well-being of the people.
THIS is the character, your interpretation of him doesn't matter. you don't change the fact that the character's creator made him a villain who abused a woman and his supposed best friend.
when you argue for him, you make it clear that you don't think his abuse of Feyre and Lucien and his neglect of the people of Spring Court was a problem.
Hi, it's CoN rhys and First Kiss anon, come to terrorise you with more weird promp requests😈haha. Okay so like no pressure at all lol, but would you consider maybe writing a Hades/Persephone type fic for Feysand? You're such a brilliant writer and I love all your fics. But seriously no pressure at all. Bye! 🖤
Hello sweet thing! I finally got inspired to start on this after reading @asteria-of-mars's latest masterpiece, and I have to say I'm enjoying it! I think you're my lucky charm anon because your other prompts First Fall and Fuck You, Feyre Darling are now two of my favourites. Anyway here's a soft and Gods inspired piece x
Pomegranate Part 1
Rhysand strolls through along the border of the Spring Court and gazes over the fields of flowers. Although he will always favour his own territory, even the Lord of Night has to admit that Spring is pretty.
It is twilight now and the dusk is settling in. The girl in the field notices Rhys watching her, and smiles shyly. He lifts a hand, and she walks over to him.
“Hello you,” she says. Her voice is soft and high, like falling petals, and it seems to reach right into Rhys.
“Hello little one,” he says back.
“I’ve seen you walking around here,” the girl tells him. “Do you come to see the wildflowers?”
“Yes,” Rhys replies, “although there is one particular blossom that is much more beautiful than the rest.” His eyes wander to the fresh bloom on her cheek, and he is not lying.
The girl drops her gaze as she smiles, and the loss of her blue-grey eyes is more than Rhys can bear. His hand darts out of its own accord, and gently lifts her chin.
“You have such stormy eyes, for a season so tranquil,” he says. She ignores him.
“I know who you are,” she tells him. “My father says to stay away from you.” Rhys’s brow furrows.
“Your father… did not like my father.” His face lightens. “Then again, I did not much like him either.” He grins, and the daughter of Spring tilts her head to one side to watch him. “And you?” he says. “What is your name?”
The girl feigns scandal. “What a question!” she says in mock horror. “Give you my name, so you might enchant me to follow you?” Rhys’s lips curl upward.
“I could just steal you away right now. No one would know.”
“My father would come after you.”
“How would he know it was me?”
“Because he didn’t like your father.”
Rhys’s eyes light. “But he might like me if he got to know me. Many find that they do.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
Rhys is grinning again now, despite himself. He puts his hands in his pockets.
“But you know my name?”
“Yes Rhysand, I do.”
“Mm. It sounds so good when you say it.”
“Well maybe I’ll have you follow me around.”
“I might do it anyway.”
“Still think my father might like you?”
“I’m not scared of old Tambourine.”
The girl giggles at that, and the sound of it rings in Rhys’s ears for minutes after.
“I’ll tell you what,” she says. “Come and see me tomorrow. If I spend a bit more time with you I might decide to trust you with my name.”
“Spend time with me now, I’m not doing anything.”
“Well I am,” she says. “Now go away and leave me be.”
“I don’t think I can leave my court two evenings in a row.”
“Then you’ll never know my name.”
“But that’s hardly fair!” Rhys protests. “You already know my name, should I not have something of yours?”
“Fine,” she says, and steps in close. Rhys barely has time to be surprised, before she stands up on her tip-toes and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Now you have something of mine too.”
And with that she wanders off, leaving Rhys standing in the field of flowers with his fingers on his face.
The next day, Rhys walks through the Spring field but didn’t see the girl. He thinks about the way that he had teased her, and wonders if she might have stayed home and laughed at him. Then something grabs his ankle, and he almost falls.
“Hello you,” the girl says. Rhys stares down at where she is lying amongst the long stems.
“My favourite flower,” he said. “I almost stepped on you.”
“The evening is warm, come and lie down with me.”
Rhys glances around, and finds the field empty again. He gets down on the ground and lays his long legs out beside her. Above them, the sky is peaches and cream.
“Why are we lying on the ground?” Rhys asks. The girl surprises him again by taking his hand and lacing her fingers through his.
“Because from here you can hear things growing in the earth,” she says. “Listen.”
She closes her eyes and breathes deeply. Rhys tries to listen too, but is distracted by the freckled serenity of her pale face in the stretching shadows.
“You’re not listening,” the girl scolds, without opening her eyes. “Don’t you know it’s rude to stare? We hardly know each other.”
“But you’re holding my hand,” Rhys points out. Now she does look at him, and he could drown in the ocean of her eyes.
“I’m a child of Spring,” she says, and then gives him a smile so lovely his heart breaks. “And Spring is the season for love.” He falls for her, just a little, right then and there.
Rhys rolls onto his side, and brings his thumb to her lower lip without letting go of her hand.
“My court is Night,” he said. “No wonder we’re friends.”
The girl shoves Rhys lightly in the chest. “Night is for lust, not love,” she teases. “And we’re not friends yet.” She goes to pull her hand out of his, but Rhys catches it back and she lets him.
“Then tell me how I can be your friend.” The girl’s eyes sparkle.
“Visit me again,” she says. “My father is very… protective. And I am lonely.”
“I can do that.”
The girl picks up his other hand now. “Visit me everyday.”
Rhys laughed. “I’ll visit you every day, for a month. If you tell me your name.”
She frowns at his fingers, even as she strokes his knuckles.
“For six months,” she says.
“Four, and I’ll give you a kiss.”
Rhys grins at that. “Deal,” he says. He untangles his hand from hers, so he can slide it behind her hair and cup the back of her skull. The daughter of Spring looks up at him through lidded eyes.
“Your cheek, Rhys,” she whispers.
“But nights are for lust,” he says, and then kisses her open mouthed and hungrier than he meant to. She tastes of rosewater and sweet pear. The girl’s arms twine round his neck and pull him closer, and without thinking he rolls her on top of him. Her weight is delicious along the length of his body, and the evening breeze blows her honey hair across his face.
Finally, the girl pulls back and looks at him from above. He tucks a curl behind her ear, and she flicks his nose for taking more than she had offered. Rhys thinks she might tell him off, but instead, she just says, “Feyre. My name is Feyre.”
PS Big time thanks to everyone who reblogged some of my fics after I asked for some extra love for them!!! I appreciate it so much and hope you enjoy this new thing. I reckon there might be... seven parts.
heyyy!! can you write a fic or one shot of rhys returning from under the mountain and being unhinged and just spilling all the tea about feyre being his mate to mor because in the acomaf rhys mentions this ?
So um I'm back!!!! Also I made a lil tweak in ur prompt cuz I wanted to write what was going on in Rhys's mind as he winnowed away from Feyre, I'll write Mor's reaction to him spilling all the tea soon. Hope you like it nonie 💕
She's my mate
Beautiful, strong, courageous Feyre who threw the wyrm’s bone at Amarantha just because she could, was his mate.
She was his mate.
She was his mate.
She was his mate.
Rhysand knew that he was undeserving of love, but-Feyre- she consumed his thoughts.
Her tired face filled every corner of his soul as he stumbled away from her on the balcony for the tightness of the mating bond suffocated him like an incurable ache.
He had suspected that they were connected from the very first moment he had seen her on calanmai but never in his wildest dreams would he have guessed that she was the most important person in his life.
Rhysand was frantically running away from her- trying to put as much distance between them as possible for he knew that if he had waited even a moment longer, he would’ve damned the consequences and told her the incriminating truth.
After all, he knew that her returning his love was merely wishful thinking- she was already happy, with the murderer of his family, of all people.
She had died for him- for Tamlin.
She loved Tamlin and not him.
The pain that he felt at the thought transcended everything he had felt while Amarantha tortured him, his breaths became shallowed pants as he realised that he may never see Feyre again for she was with Tamlin.
However, she was happy, that was all he wanted, for Feyre to be happy and safe.
He knew he was being selfish. How could he not, when winnowing away from her had felt like being stabbed in the chest over and over again.
He had abandoned her-left her to fend for herself as a newly made fae in a land of wolves. He knew she could look after herself but- he had seen the ghosts behind her determined eyes, all he could do now was pray that Tamlin takes care of Rhysand’s mate.
If there were such things as gods- it seemed that they hated Rhysand with a burning passion, otherwise, they would’ve granted him a seed of happiness, nevertheless, he was going home- to his family, whom he had also abandoned, to Velaris which he had protected only to leave the rest of his court in the hands of the red-haired bitch.
He knew that he deserved the pain and emptiness he felt at Feyre's absence, after all his fate was to suffer-and suffer he would.
As the darkness cleared, he realised that he was in the townhouse- he was home. Then why did it feel like he had escaped from Amarantha’s cruel reign only to end up in the hands of a far crueller torturer?
He felt empty, a shell of a man he once was.
He stumbled into the foyer and spilt his guts all over the floor.
He was weak and trembling as he managed to pick himself off the floor with the help of his powers. He braced a hand on the wall as his mouth filled with saliva, his body was failing him miserably, yet he didn’t care. He hated his pitiful existence.
Mor found him like that- the most powerful High Lord in the history of Prynthian- shaking from exhaustion and puking his life out after fifty years of being trapped under a mountain.
She ran towards him, shouting his name like a prayer. With a snap of her fingers, she cleaned him and the floor up, only to have Rhys collapse into her arms.
He was deathly pale, shivers racked his sweat slickened body, his pupils were blown wide open.
He was delirious, yet the only coherent thing he whispered was, “She’s my mate.”
Mor was frozen in shock, she managed to snap herself out of her reverie to demand, “Who?”
As soon as the words left her mouth Rhys’s face crumbled with indescribable sadness. His eyes welled up with tears, shoulders drooping from the weight of the world as the tears fell like an ocean of sadness had been released at the mere mention of his mate He swallowed before whispering reverently, almost to himself,
gwynriel pirate au pt 7-god may be a man but the devil comes in the form of a women
check out the other parts if you want :) pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6,
Feyre, feyre, feyre. Feyre fucking archeron. The name of the women before them reverberated through out her body, echoing against her ears, clouding every thought in her mind.
Gwyn was going to rip this bitch to shreds. why must the archeron’s be such a huge part of her life. One she consider her family, the other was love gone sour but the youngest archeron, the pain this women caused her was tenfold to anything Elain could have given her.
She hardened her self to the memories that arouse, let her anger burn through any remaining hope to salvage what they once were.
Her history with the assassin was long but her seconds was longer, she scolded herself for being so selfish.
Gwyn looked over to Nesta and struggled intensely not to go to her. To anyone else she appeared as she always did, cold, indifferent, unbothered. But gwyn saw the slight twitch of her hands, and narrow of her eyebrows. the way she dug her nails into her palms and the almost imperceptible change of her breathing. This unexpected visit had shaken her second and Gwyn knew first hand she didn’t do well when she wasn’t in control.
Nesta permitted seeing her sister all of once a year and gwyn had forced her to spend an hour with her just a few short weeks ago.
And while she was looking at Nesta, Nesta was staring at the strange interaction going on between Feyre and The Shadowsinger’s own second.
Gwyn’s mind was spinning, going over every way this could possibly go wrong, there were quite a few if shew as being honest. Her gaze cut to Azriel, his features gave away nothing except she knew recognition when she saw it.
Azriel did not know her, but Rhys sure as hell did.
Feyre’s eyes locked with Rhys’s, there was tension there, hatred even if they couldn’t look away.
“You look as radiant as ever Feyre, darling.” His voice was light, it was teasing with a hint of mockery. Although it would be impossible to dispute that Feyre was beautiful, even in the dingy light of a grotesque bar she couldn’t help but draw the eye to her.
Feyre could never be anything short of perfect. The irony of her being a trained murderer was not lost on anyone that knew her.
“You look about as well as the bottom of my shoe.” Her features were one of practiced disgust. And yet she was in a room with some of her greatest friends turned enemies and all she could do was stare at that boy. “What the hell are you doing here Rhysand?”
“I happen to find that the daily bouts of my life are none of your business anymore.” anymore. Clearly there was history here, but exactly what kind? Romantic or platonic, romantic or platonic.
Feyre stared back at him with a glare that could rival icy coldness of her sister, still clutching the lives of innocents on the thin line between life and death. A line she knew all too well.
This was going to be so fucking annoying. So gwyn took the opportunity to interrupt whatever that was, plastering a grin to her own face as she drawled, “Feyre archeron, so unlike you to be so distracted you don’t even say hello to a dear friend,” Gwyn gave her a look of mock surprise, “by a boy no less.”
She turned towards her with distain, “Yes, my apologies, hello Gwyneth. You too sister.” Nesta remained silent, thankfully, in order for all of them to walk out of here alive her second had to keep swords to herself.
“I remember mentions of a chat?” Azriel supplied quietly.
Feyre’s mood brightened, “ah yes thank you for the reminder, we were getting off track. I have a proposal.”
While she spoke, Gwyn’s eyes met Azriel’s from across the room. I know what you are about to do and I need you to please just follow my lead. Gwyn knew as well as any that the eyes told stories, she was praying that this wouldn’t be too much of a stretch.
She needed her pirate enemy on her side. I’ll be damned, gwyneth berdara used the word please.
You are despicable.
You love it.
Over my dead fucking body.
No need for the language your majesty.
I’ll use whatever language I want.
Azriel inched closer to Feyre, slowly pulling out a knife.
Stop, Azriel you have to stop. gwyn pleaded with her eyes.
Why? There’s almost twenty of us.
Yeah, we would need an army of hundreds to defeat that women.
Azrie scoffed, that’s impossible.
Beyond her being the greatest assassin of our generation, she’s-
Gwyn could almost see the wheels turning in his mind. She watched as he slowly but sure connected the dots, noting the way she radiated power.
I’ll be damned, she’s fae isn’t she?
That women can kill you without even lifting a finger.
Oh Berdara are you worried for me?
Gwyn was about to respond when her senses kicked in and she noticed it was abnormally quiet. She forced her gaze away from azriel’s to find everyone staring at them.
“It’s almost as if you want me to slit their throats.” Feyre sighed. “Now are you two done?”
She stayed silent so Feyre took it to mean continue, but really Gwyn was just contemplating all the ways she could cut out her vocal cords.
“Anyways, back to my proposition. Under the law, pirates are considered criminals, however her great majesty, the queen turns a blind eye to the deeds of your...folk.” She sounded disgusted.
“And here I was under the impression that you murdered for a living.” Nesta responded.
“I murder for the sake of the greater good, you murder for fun. We are not the same.”
“You are a delusional coward.”
“And you are nothing, not even worth an insult.” Feyre laughed. “At least our imbecile of a sister had the curtesy of retaining some magic, but you dear sister could not even light a flame if your life depended on it.”
“Ah yes Feyre Archeron the greatest assassin to ever live, a puppet on a string still craving the validation of a queen who cares nothing for you. Poweful fae who falls to her knees for the very same you think yourself better than.” Rhys to his credit did not react to the clear insult.
“You, my dear sister, are so much less than nothing,” She tilted her head and smiled, repeating her words. “and you believe you are everything.” Feyre grip on the knives she was holding tightened against the throats of Tarquin and Viviane. “It’s pathetic really cause you’re the only one.”
The archeron sisters stared daggers at each other, each refusing to back down.
Gwyn’s mask changed from insane adventurer to the pirate captain she occasionally had to be.
Her voice turned icy, her posture straightened, and she clenched her jaw, “Nesta stand down.” Gwyn ordered, dominance infused in those three simple words. She turned to Feyre, “How about we discuss in private where family and ex lovers do not intervene.”
“And ex friends are better?”
“Oh Feyre, sweetie, don’t get it confused, you are clearly here for a reason, my only concern is, have you come as my enemy or as my ally?”
“Me holding your crew hostage doesn’t give you a clue?” She droned.
“I’ve known you far too long to ever be fooled into making assumptions of your intentions.”
“I’m glad somebody here has some semblance of a brain.” Feyre shot a look in Nesta’s direction and then one to Rhys. “Now I am going to let you two go,” Feyre purred. “But do not mistake that for safety. Captains come.” Gwyn rolled her eyes to Azriel
What are we dogs?
Obviously we pale in comparison to the greatness of this women.
Gwyn laughed before she could stop herself. Everyone in the silent bar turned to look at her. Gwyn stared right back refusing to be embarrassed although she felt color flushed her neck. Azriel flashed her a smile, one that would send any ordinary soul to their knees. But gwyn wasn’t any ordinary soul, right?
They followed Feyre into the back room, watching her sit on the chair like a throne before speaking, “As I was saying my queen overlooks your faults for various reasons of her own but this fairytale you are chasing must be put an end to.”
Azriel crossed his arms, “and why is that?”
“Like I said the queen has her reasons, however, she is willing to make a deal with you two.”
“No.” No, no, no. Gwyn was done with the queen. Forcing the memories down her mind reacted like a moth to a flame repeating the mantra that got her to where she was today, never again she promised herself, never again.
Feyre ignored her. “Her majesty is willing to absolve you of all your crimes and keep both The Shadowsinger and The Silver majesty extremely well off for the rest of your lives.”
“What’s the catch?” Azriel questioned.
“You pirates, always so untrusting.”
“What’s the catch?” He repeated through gritted teeth.
“You allow the huge hall to be conquered in the queens name.”
“Why would we ever do that?” Feyre was many many things but she was not an idiot. There is no reason for her to ever believe either captain would agree to the fools bargain. So she waited for her to play the rest of her hand.
Feyre laughed as if they were beneath her. “Because you need me.”
Tagging: @imsointobooks @meher-sumedha @himadrij @gwynrielsupremacy @ipsa-est-lux-plenae @flora-shadowshine @allthebooksunderthemoon @valkygwyn @bookish-isha @lattristantketchup @generalnesta (If you want to be added or removed please let me know)
We just wanted to go over a few things concerning this page and the events in the fandom.
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Contrary to popular belief, @silvergriff and @moononastring do not host every single event.
You're more than welcome to host an event any time so long as it is within the world of Sarah J. Maas.
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on the one hand, we have Nesta stans judging all the moments that Feyre had lived her life, with her husband and her friends, ''caring little'' about Nesta and her problems.
on the other hand, we have Nesta stans saying that Feyre did too much for Nesta, which had clear self-destructive actions (which shouldn’t be considered female empowerment) and was depressed.
for me, the perfect thing would be Feyre to have abandoned her useless and abusive family in that cabin. since that didn't happen, I think Feyre did what she could for the family with what she had.
I believe arguing about SJM having practically made a porn book to talk about depression, or ignoring that Nesta has psychologically harassed Feyre for years or Nesta not showing an improvement in behavior with those she harmed the most (Feyre), is a more interesting discussion than a sister concerned about helping another.
You guys, I'm sorry to be weird and self-promoting but I just noticed that a handful of paragraphs about a HC I wrote literally on my way to work has just edged out my top 3 most popular fics in terms of note numbers and i'm dying a little 😂😂😂 so it's heaps cringey but here we go i'm gonna link some actual work I spent time and effort on
My personal faves:
Fuck You, Feyre Darling [ 1 2 ]
Fifty-Six: [ 1 2 3 ]
The Rules of the Game (I wrote this with @asteria-of-mars!)
And if you like Jurdan:
Teeth and Tail
Okay I'm done now 🙈