#ACOSF

[janearts]

Once again in a mood to draw something soft and gentle. 😴

[nalouarts]

It’s Elucien week!

I hope you guys enjoy my little fanart for those two :3

[nessiandaily]

Nessian by kotikomori [instagram]

[gwynrielweeksofficial]

An iconic line and a hilarious reinterpretation of it by @: bluenefelibata

Support the artist here!

[sweetpeaaquarius]

The Night Court’s Princess - Part 4

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x f!reader

Summary: The morning after, Eris is meant to slip away from the Moonstone Palace, before Rhysand wakes and before Azriel can reveal who spent the night in her bed, but Eris has other ideas for how to spend the morning.

Warnings: nsfw, smut, rough sex, teasing, unprotected sex, foreplay/oral female receiving, angst, enemies to lovers, jealousy, slow burn, forbidden relationship, emotional tension, slight language/drinking.

Word count: 2,415

Series: The Night Court’s Princess - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

I woke to warmth.

Not sunlight, but something deeper, a heat that seeped through me, gentle and steady, all the way to my soul.

Eris.

Dawn pressed softly against the silk-draped windows, casting the room in a muted glow. His hand rested across my stomach, fingers splayed in sleep as if he were holding me even in his dreams. His chest was a steady warmth at my back, each slow breath a quiet flame kissed the nape of my neck. My cheek was pressed to the inside of his muscled arm, curled like a pillow beneath me.

We hadn’t bothered with blankets, only a single sheet tangled around our legs. My torn dress hung from the chaise, his jacket lay discarded in the far corner, cast aside with the rest of our pride.

He didn’t move when I shifted, not at first, but the arm around my waist coiled tighter. I felt him stir behind me, hard and deliberate, pressing into the curve of my spine.

“You’re awake,” I murmured.

His lips grazed the side of my neck. “I am now.”

I should have pulled away. I should have reminded him that this wasn’t supposed to happen, as Azriel had seen it, and Rhys might already know. But my body was sore and tender. Every nerve still throbbed from the night before, my legs ached from the way he’d held them apart, the way he’d refused to let me hide from the pleasure, from him.

“You’re tense,” he murmured into my hair, voice thick with sleep. “Is it guilt or fear?”

“Get dressed,” I said, soft but flat. “You need to go.”

He chuckled, low and wicked. “Afraid your shadowsinger might come back for a second look?”

His smile pressed into my bare shoulder as I froze.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” he breathed. “You were his before you were mine.” A pause, as his fingers teased the edge of my hipbone. “Except, he never truly claimed you.”

“Eris,” I warned, shifting again. His leg slid between mine, anchoring me.

He kissed the bruise he’d left beneath my ear. The one that still throbbed. 

“But I claimed you,” he whispered. “And I’d do it again and again until you tell me to stop.”

He paused, pressing a kiss to my throat before adding, “Go on, tell me to stop.” 

I didn’t. I couldn’t.

He moved like smoke, like flame, wrapping himself around me as his hand slid down my stomach, teasingly slow. My eyes fluttered closed, breath hitching as he kissed my spine, lazy, lingering, like he had all the time in the world to ruin me again.

“You needed someone who wouldn’t flinch,” he said. “Someone not afraid to take control. To ruin you and hold you together all at once.”

His fingers found their place between my thighs, light and unhurried, and I shuddered.

“This is real, you know,” he whispered, almost to himself. “The whimpering, desperate softness, you need someone to tell you how beautiful you look when you come. You need the praise. The hands. The fire. You need me.”

“I hate you,” I whispered.

“I know,” he murmured against my skin. “It makes it better.”

He rolled me onto my back, and there I was, bare beneath him, exposed and marked. His eyes, molten gold and flame, drank in every inch of me. Hands pinned mine above my head, flames curling around my wrists, not burning, only binding.

“You’re already so soft for me,” he breathed. “So fucking easy to break open.”

His mouth moved to my chest, tongue tracing the bruises he’d left hours ago like they were scripture, worshipping the way pain had bled into pleasure. 

I arched into him, a moan slipping past my lips as his fingers slid inside me, slow, intentional, devastating. His thumb circled, gentle but commanding, until I was trembling again, body begging without shame.

“Eris, ” My voice broke, a ragged plea.

He smiled, cruel, intimate, holy.

“I love when you beg,” he murmured, kissing my throat as the fire around my wrists tightened. “You act like you’re in control, but here, with me…”

He curled his fingers just so, and I cried out, hips jerking helplessly, undone.

“Here,” he breathed, “you belong to me.”

My body betrayed me completely, arching, burning, breaking for him. The heat roared through me, fast and wild, until stars erupted behind my eyes. I came with a cry, trembling in his arms, every gasp and sob kissed from my lips like they belonged to him.

God, maybe they did.

He let me come down slowly, his fingers still moving, coaxing aftershocks from my body like he wanted to keep me suspended in that fragile space between pain and worship.

“You are…” he whispered against my ribs, voice trembling, “the most divine thing I’ve ever touched.”

I was too breathless to deny it. Just lying there, naked, bound in heat, skin slick with sweat and desire.

The prince of fire and ruin, and I, too weak to push him away, watched as he moved back up my body with the grace of a predator who knew his prey was too dazed to run. His eyes, Autumn gold threaded with ember, met mine with a hunger that burned low and slow.

“You’re still shaking,” he murmured, one hand curling possessively around my hip. “Do you want me to stop?”

A lie hovered on my tongue, but the truth had always been louder with him. It echoed between my legs, in the bruises on my skin, in the fire coiling tight in my belly again.

I shook my head, silent, wordless. Instead, I arched into him, pressed myself against his hips, showing him with my body what I couldn’t yet say aloud.

He smirked. “That’s my girl.”

He dragged my legs apart with filthy ease, settling between them like he’d never belonged anywhere else. He kissed me again, lazy and claiming, from my bruised lips to my marked throat, until his teeth bit the soft spot beneath my ear that made me gasp every time.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he whispered. “Tell me you don’t want me. I dare you.”

I didn’t. I couldn’t.

“Please,” I begged, my voice raw and desperate in a way I didn’t recognise. “Please, Eris.”

He froze at the sound of my plea, his name like a prayer or a curse. His grin was small, almost imperceptible, but I knew him too well not to catch it.

He entered me slowly, thick and unrelenting, a groan catching in his throat as he sank deep. My head fell back, a cry tearing loose before I could bite it down. His hands locked on my hips like he owned them, fire warming the places he touched, branding me again.

“So fucking tight,” he growled, rocking into me with deliberate cruelty. “So wet for someone you hate.”

He was ruthless. Beautifully so. Each thrust was deep, calculated, dragging pleasure from my body like a confession I never wanted to make. I felt him everywhere, in my belly, my ribs, my throat. I clung to him, legs around his waist, chasing friction like salvation.

“You don’t get to pretend,” he whispered, teeth grazing my jaw as he thrusts harder. “Not after last night. Not after the way you begged. Not when you’re trembling like this.”

Flames curled up my thighs, wrapping around my skin like silk and heat. They kissed every inch of me he couldn’t reach with hands or mouth, licking at my throat, my chest, my ribs.

I came undone, again.

“Eris, ” I sobbed his name, helpless as his rhythm turned relentless, punishing in its pleasure. My hands clawed at his back, nails dragging through sweat-slicked skin.

He caught my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.

“I want to see you fall apart,” he said, voice ragged. “I want to remember the look in your eyes.”

Just like that, at his command, with my lips trembling and parting on a gasp, I shattered.

Fire erupted beneath my skin, heat tearing through me in waves. I screamed his name, the sound echoing off the walls, unrestrained and holy.

He followed with a curse, burying himself deep, body shaking as he came, like holding back had broken something in him, too.

Neither of us spoke.

We lay tangled, breathless, the room thick with sweat and sex.

Eventually, he rolled off me with a sigh that sounded far too content. I felt the loss of his heat immediately.

He ran his fingers through my hair, gently, like he was admiring a painting of ruin he’d crafted with precision. His eyes, all flame, had softened, and the smallest, faintest smile tugged at the prince’s mouth.

He sat at the edge of the bed, bracing his hands on his knees, hair wild, skin glowing faintly in the early light. The prince of Autumn, ruined and remorseless.

I pulled the sheet over me, suddenly cold.

He stood and began dressing with infuriating grace. Even that was seductive, the way his muscles flexed, marked with deep scratches I’d left in my desperation, each one visible, proud, red. The way the crimson fabric of his jacket slid over his skin was like a second temptation. Gold embroidery caught the morning light. 

He reached for his belt. “Still time for round three.”

I scoffed and curled deeper into the sheets, the chill beginning to nip at my bare, tingling skin.

He turned to face me, all firelight and arrogance. Sin incarnate. Lips bitten red, throat littered with bite marks that seemed to bloom on his pale skin. Flame-red hair a mess, and something quieter, vulnerability, buried behind the cocky smirk.

He drew nearer, gently brushing my tangled hair from my face and cupping my cheek, thumb brushing over my cheek like a lover.

I shrugged him off with a scoff, rising from the bed and grabbing my robe. I wrapped it tight around me, ignoring the twist of something like affection in his gaze.

“You look so pretty like this,” he murmured, “when you stop searching for something in Azriel’s shadows.”

“Don’t start,” I said, voice brittle.

He tilted his head, studying me. “Don’t worry. I’m not about to say something sentimental.”

His smirk returned, sharp, delicious, and I hated how badly I wanted to kiss it off his face.

God, he was beautiful.

I made a frustrated noise, gripping his lapels as I tried to rub the red lipstick from his neck. He let me, smiling as my thumb dragged across his skin.

My fingers slowed. I traced his jaw, cheekbones, and those unfairly perfect features. Lips too kissable. Eyes too knowing.

He kissed me again, short, sweet, and my heart stuttered. Heat bloomed in my chest, something far too close to attraction.

Then he stepped back, straightened his jacket, ran his fingers through his hair, and became the Prince of Autumn again. Distant. Controlled. But I’d seen the sparks beneath the wildfire, the softness beneath the steel.

He turned to say something, something snarky, no doubt, but I stopped him with a kiss. A small one, more intimate than anything we’d done that night. Gentle. Slow.

He cupped my face, thumb brushing my jaw. Kind.

“You should go,” I whispered.

“I know,” he murmured, forehead resting against mine.

It was almost vulnerable.

He wrapped the robe tighter around my shoulders, and with a flick of his fingers, the room transformed, sheets made, clothes vanished, every trace of the night gone. All except the flame he left in the hearth. It roared, wild and uncontained.

I walked him to the door, down the hall. Our fingers brushed as we moved silently through the corridors like thieves.

“I could’ve found my own way out,” he muttered.

“I’m not doing this for you,” I said, clutching my robe. “I’m doing it so the handmaids don’t tell Rhysand.”

“If Rhys finds out, he’ll kill you,” I added.

“I’m counting on it,” Eris muttered, more to himself than to me.

“Don’t be charming.”

“You think I’m charming?” he asked, that grin blooming across his face again, too human for what he was.

I said nothing, but the warm ache in my chest spread.

We turned one last corner, and there he was.

Azriel.

Leaning against the wall like he’d been waiting all night. Shadows clinging to him like smoke, twitching with barely restrained rage.

His eyes swept over Eris, rumpled, smug, wearing victory like a second skin, then locked on me.

Barefoot. Flushed. Robe askew.

Azriel’s jaw clenched.

Eris straightened. Any humanity he’d worn slipped away. He moved subtly closer to me, arm brushing mine, instinctively, like he might shield me from what’s coming.

“You can leave, Vanserra,” Azriel said. Voice cold as steel.

Eris glanced at me, just once, as if asking if I needed him to stay.

I shook my head.

He turned, smirked. All arrogance again. “I enjoyed the Night Court’s hospitality.”

He lifted his chin, displaying the marks I’d left on his throat.

“Eris,” I hissed.

Azriel didn’t flinch.

Eris chuckled as he stepped into the winnowing point, disappearing in a rush of heat and flame.

The silence between us was sharp, suffocating.

Azriel took a step closer. Shadows curled tighter around his shoulders, restless with restrained fury.

“You let him stay,” he said quietly.

I crossed my arms, shivering from the sudden absence of Autumn heat. “It’s not what it looked like.”

He tilted his head, eyes unreadable. “No?” His voice was flat. “Because it looked like he spent the night in your bed.”

“I…” The word faltered. Nothing I could say would fix this. No excuse would make it right.

Azriel didn’t wait for one.

“You begged me not to tell Rhys,” he went on, each word clipped and cold. “Said it was a mistake. A one-time lapse of judgment, and now? You’re here again. Covering for him. For yourself.”

“I’m not lying for him,” I whispered.

He said nothing, so I added, quieter, “Please for me. Don’t tell Rhys. He’s gone. It won’t happen again.”

Azriel’s expression didn’t change. “Right,” he said, icy. “Because lies always sound more convincing the second time.”

I took a step toward him. “Az—”

He cut me off, voice soft and lethal.

“Next time,” he said, “make sure you scrub his scent off your skin before you try lying to me.”

Then he turned and walked off without saying another word.

Leaving me in silence.

In guilt.

In the lingering scent of fire and regret.

Taglist:

@aleksandra25cracow, @bookwormysblog

[justspiders]

Emotional warfare missile launched!

[lovelygwyneth]

“𝚂𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚒𝚍𝚛𝚊, 𝚜𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙸𝚕𝚕𝚢𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚗 𝙼𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜…”

Gwyneth Berdara by @/tomandosal on IG and commissioned by me 🩵

Please do not repost without permission.

[fieldofdaisiies]

Shadows of Dawn V

"During Amarantha’s reign, she would delight in ripping out the feathers of Peregryn she was displeased with - one by one. She once made a dress out of the feathers."

fourth part / story masterlist / azriel taglist / explicit content in this chapter minors dni!!

You don’t quite remember when exactly you moved to your chamber, Azriel now sitting in the spot across from you in an armchair that seems a little too small for his large frame. Your shoulder rests against the bed frame, knees bent, legs pulled up, toying with the hem of your dress as you look at him, the flickering lights of the scones almost making him look even more handsome (if that is even possible).

“What happened to your hands?“ you find yourself asking in a soft voice, waiting for him to tip up his head again and meet your gaze. 

A fleeting emotion -anguish and horror- passes over his face as his eyes settle on you. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly, then links his scarred hands together. “I’m Illyrian, a special species of fae, as you might now.“

“I do.“ You nod. “Just like I am Peregryn. With … wings and flight powers.“

He bows his head and a raw feeling of sorrow flashes in his eyes, mixed with sheer anger about what Amarantha did to you. But he seems to control himself enough to continue telling you the story of his scars. “I have step-brothers who hated me, and still do to this day. My step-mother hates me just as much, as I guess my father does too. So one day, my step-brothers wanted to test my Illyrian healing powers and thought it would be fun to pour oil over my hands and set them on fire.“ He pauses, lets you digest. 

Tears have sprung to your eyes and you begin to shake your head. You don’t want to -can’t- believe the brutality of them. How could your own family do something like that?

“I’m so sorry,“ you breathe and a single tear slides out the corner of your eye. “I wish I could make them hurt just as much as they hurt you.“

A small, sad smile appears on his lips as he gives his head a small shake. “I appreciate this, but there’s no need. They paid their price.“

It’s not exactly a comfort, but at least a bit of a relief. They should never get away with it.

You keep looking at him for a moment longer as silence stretches between you. It’s not uncomfortable, but it gives you time to think. Time to gain your confidence. 

You stretch out your legs and throw them over the edge of the bed, sitting up straighter. 

Your movements catch his attention, the smile growing a bit, as he keeps his eyes on you.

“Isn’t it funny how the two of us … how we have found each other,“ you hum and push up from the bed, approaching him. “Prythian has so many inhabitants and still the two of us … cross paths and connect immediately.“ You stop in front of him. He tips his head back and looks up at you through his lashes, a faint blush appearing on his cheeks. 

“It’s a political meeting between our courts,“ he says matter-of-factly as if not being ready to admit that there’s more between you already.

So, you bend down and lean in. “But usually at political meetings I don’t invite strangers to my private chambers. Or almost undress in front of them to show them my scars. I can’t quite place it yet, Azriel, but I feel like—”

“There’s something between us,“ he finishes for you. “I know … I feel that too. I just didn’t want to get ahead of my feelings, I just didn’t want to believe in something that might not be real, that might … not be reciprocated.�� 

You reach for his hand, taking it into yours. “But this feels real.“ Lifting up his hand, you bring it to your lips and kiss his palm. “We shouldn’t be doing this, I know, but…“

“But?“ His brow lifts, and his body tenses, a muscle in his jaw feathering.

You avert your gaze, your cheeks bright red as you let his hand drop and step more into him. Closer, even closer. Then rest your hands on the side of his face.

“But I really want you right now. Not just … because I’m attracted and I desire you, but because I feel so connected to you, so close emotionally already. I want to get to know you, Azriel, all of you.“

Naturally, his hands find their place on your hips, guiding you onto his lap. “Tell me exactly what you want.“ 

You can feel his hardness press against your softest parts already and know that he is feeling the same exact way, the same exact desire to truly connect and become one.

A sheepish grin spreads over his lips. “Or show me. Show me what you want, how you want me. How much you want me.”

So you do, rolling your hips against him as you lean in and brush your lips against the corner of his mouth.

>>>>>>

His lips tenderly descend on your back, kissing a small path right along the outline of your scars. You shudder, not from fear, not from the cold, but from the intensity of the moment.

You haven’t been intimate with a male ever since Under the Mountain so this moment feels fundamental for you.

"Azriel…" Your lips part in a whispered sigh, and you turn your head, hoping to catch his eyes. 

He’s already looking at you, smiling softly, his unbuttoned shirt revealing the dark swirls of ink adorning his chest. His hands still on your hips, his brows lifting in a silent question.

"I haven’t been intimate since … in a long time. What if—?"

"No what ifs." Azriel leans in and kisses your shoulder blade. "This night is all about you. Your pleasure. I want to make you feel good and make you love your beautiful body again. You are stunning, breathtaking, and I can consider myself the luckiest male alive to even get to spend this night with you."

Not just one night, you want to say. to speak your hopes out loud, but for now you stay calm, his words rendering you speechless anyway. Your breath catches and you force a swallow down your throat. 

Azriel continues to pamper your back in kisses, his hands tenderly stroking the side of your body before gently turning you to him. 

As he slides your gown down the rest of your body he guides you back to the bed, laying you down gently amongst the sheets, discarding his own shirt in the meantime as well.

Azriel climbs on top of you as you get comfortable on the mattress, head resting softly against the pillows, your fingers tracing the inked swirls on his shoulders. His large, calloused hands slide down your thighs, positioning your legs on either side of his hips.

He takes a moment to just admire you, his eyes, filled with hunger and passion, moving down your body until they land on your centre, glistening with need and arousal.

"So wet," he remarks with a small tilt of the corner of his mouth, "and all for me."

"All for you," you repeat and a shudder courses through you.

A soft gasp leaves your lips the moment his mouth finds your core, tongue gliding through your folds, tasting, licking, worshipping. He makes you reach the edge with ease, and only when having brought you pleasure a second time, does he finally discard his trousers and let you worship him as well.

You make love many times that night, first on the bed, later on the windowsill as stars twinkle above your heads. On the floor, against the wall and lastly, once more on the bed.

You both are lost in a frenzy, the bond -stil not spoken outloud- making the desire almost unbearable as you come together, moans and screams mingling with the sounds of the bed groaning beneath you. Shared breaths turn into gasps and cries of pleasure as he drives his cock deep into you, making you feel every glorious inch of his length.

"You feel…fuck—" He presses an open-mouth kissed to your jaw. "So good. I don’t know if I can … I‘m close."

"Me too."

You come together, falling and never landing, calling out his name as you dissolve into pleasure. You have lost count of how many times he made you reach your height that night, your body having long entered a state of utter pleasure and satisfaction.

He helps you clean up before tugging you to his chest as you find yourself lying in your bed, tangled in the sheets, head resting just above his heart.

He kisses the top of your head, hand stroking down your side as he whispers soft praises - how good you made him feel, how beautiful you are. You kiss his chest softly in return, letting your fingers draw gentle circles upon his warm and slightly damp skin. It‘s almost close to morning, when you finally fall asleep in each other’s arms, your court having entered the night long before.

Azriel sighs deeply as your lids grow too heavy to stay awake a moment longer. But—

"I know you are asleep, but I just need to say it, I can’t keep it to myself any longer. You‘re my mate, Y/N." It‘s the last thing you hear before you drift off, but it draws a smile upon your lips. You have been right. Your feeling has been right. The Mother has gifted you with a mate. And he’s the most wonderful male you have ever hoped for.

>>>>>

story tag list: @apenasandorinha @i-am-infinite @shinyghosteclipse @whoreforfictionalmen18 @aevoit @sstrohma @readingintooblivion @breathingstarlight @byteme05 @1-800-crazy @buttermilktea11 @ashduv @lia-h-r @asahinasstuff

tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii @nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22  @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian  @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @insufferablebookaddict @cadiawrites @bookishbroadwaybish @tele86 @fuckingsimp4azriel 

[ilovemybarricadebabies]

Confession: I will defend Rhys and Feyre’s decision to bind their lives together until the day I die.

First, before anyone yells at me, I realize that it is not the most practical, or smart, decision in the world. It’s a decision made out of trauma. I also realize that they are the rulers of the Night Court, and that they are parents now as well. It absolutely isn’t practical, but let me also remind all of you that Rhys was ready to die with Feyre in book ONE.

One.

Not two.

Not three.

Not four.

Not five.

One.

He tells Feyre in chapter 54 that he had made the decision when Amarantha was killing her that if she was going to die, he was going to die too. And let’s remember that at that point, they weren’t even together. She was in love with Tamlin. But clearly, Rhys didn’t care. He loved her enough to die with her when he had made her hate his guts. And even after, he tugged on the bond to make her stay because he knew they could save her, but he also knew then that even though he had only just met her, he wasn’t ready to live in a world where she didn’t exist. 

And of course, we have Feyre’s reaction when Rhys dies in ACOWAR. Sure, we all knew that he was coming back, but her reaction alone was enough to make me cry. Feyre also says in ACOFAS that she holds Rhys tighter now at night because she knows what it’s like to lose him.

All of that being said, these two are simply not living in a world where the other doesn’t exist. They just aren’t. We literally see Rhys in ACOSF almost bring the world down because Feyre is so close to the brink of death, yet again. I fully believe that if they had never made the death bargain, and if Feyre were to die first, Rhys would follow days or weeks later because he would die of a broken heart. He would lose the will to live if he lost Feyre. And vice versa. This happens all the time in real life with couples who have been together for YEARS, so don’t tell me that it’s not possible. I also fully believe that Nyx, their family, and their court wouldn’t be enough to convince them that life is worth living without their mate.

Again, I understand that it is not practical, but when is love ever practical?

I was furious reading the scene where the Inner Circle finds out. It was almost written like they couldn’t understand WHY they would do it. Cassian’s inner monologue later about Amren or Helion finding a way to break it, pissed me off even more when HE was the one who said in ACOFAS that he wouldn’t blame Feyre and Rhys if they just disappeared after everything they had sacrificed and been through.

I know people question the decision to have Nyx after making a death pact since he would grow up an orphan if they were to die while he was young, which again, I get it. It’s one of the cons of the pact, but Nyx also has other people who love him, who would make sure that he knew his parents and how much they loved him.

I also see people bring up the conversation Feyre has with the Weaver in ACOFAS. Why would Feyre worry about not having a piece of Rhys when she would die with him? It wasn’t the idea of not having a piece of Rhys that made Feyre change her mind. It was the idea that life is short and it could end at any moment, even for immortals who live centuries. Obviously, the hope is that Rhys and Feyre live, long happy lives together, and don’t die for a very, very, very long time, and their children are well and grown when they do, but it was the wanting to kickstart that life that prompted her to change her mind.

I honestly believe that if this series had been left a trilogy, this decision wouldn’t be as controversial as it is.

You can call it selfish, but I think all of us have one person in our lives that we couldn’t imagine life without. Whether that be a partner, a friend, another loved one. I know I do, and while I know I can live without my person (have been for years at this point), I also know that I couldn’t live in a world where my person didn’t exist. I’m not saying I would go as far as binding my life to my person’s, but I understand the motivations behind the decision. So, as I said at the beginning, I will defend the decision until the day I die.

Lastly, why are Rhys and Feyre the only SJM couple who get criticized for binding their lives together when there is a couple in ToG who do the same thing? (Haven’t read ToG yet, but have been spoiled for this little thing). Now, granted, I am not active in the ToG fandom, so maybe that couple does receive criticism, but this is just a question that I have. Is it because the overlap of ACOTAR and ToG readers isn’t as big as I thought, so people don’t know that this happens? Is it because Rhys and Feyre are the only SJM couple so far to have children (as far as I know as someone who has only read ACOTAR)? Why is it only Rhys and Feyre? Because it seems to me that if you are going to criticize one couple for doing it, you should criticize them both. Simple as that.

[greenleaf777]

Never getting over Azriel telling us that they have been subtly and mutually flirting with each other

[janearts]

Do you have something for the Cassian week this year? If you do, can you give us a little sneak peak 👀

Unfortunately, I don't plan on participating this year. (Not that I did a spectacular job of participating last year, either!) My IRL world has gotten busier and I'm juggling (quite badly) more things. I've got one "comic" WIP that I've been working on here and there.

I really enjoyed drawing these romance covers that riffed off of the old school illustrated regency romances, so I wanted to do one that was a tongue-in-cheek nod to Frank Frazetta (think Conan the Barbarian) and more... modern? Or maybe not so modern romantasy books.

I started getting the ick tho when I started the base colours to the cover, and I thought I'd be open about why. This post is getting long so I'm just going to pop these thoughts underneath the read-more to save people as they scroll by.

Basically, in my interpretation of SJM's work, the Illyrians appear to be a brown people who are continuously and coldly othered by their own author. They're depicted very broadly as barbarians—a warrior race, as if fighting was part of their genetic makeup and not a militaristic role that is foisted upon them by the Night Court—and their home is portrayed as a cultural backwater. (Or at the very least, we are given no indication of any culture beyond wing clipping and strict caste and societal roles that seem to be tied to whose bits one's left and what bits one's got. And it makes you wonder: so what are their songs like? Their art? Their dances? If I had to predict SJM's response to these questions, I'd guess that she would simply say that all of the above were warlike and leave it at that! We only know that they've got swirly tats and runes aslfkajsfd) So we're given Velaris and Windhaven as two diametrically opposed places: one where art and culture is stressed and another where war and violence is stressed. But that's often part of a superficial story that's told in real-world colonisation narratives (to the tune of: we're keeping those savages in line, we're bringing them OUR culture and thus the mark of true civilisation, they would RUIN our culture if they were to live freely HERE, etc.).

Then, you add to that the sexualisation of Illyrians - that wing size corresponds to penis size and that penis size is tied to sexual performance and PS THESE bat boys who have been given a Velaris Values Education on top of their Illyrian Child Soldier one have the biggest ding dang wings you've ever seen. And priapic penises, being primal or animalistic in bed (if memory serves me correctly, it is interesting that it's CASSIAN, an Illyrian, who says that the Fae as a whole are closer to animals like what kind of person thinks like that about themselves), having a voracious libido, or being thought of as rapists (Jurian implies this of Illyrians at the beginning of ACOWAR when he says that Elain's "probably been fucked by half the Illyrian army by now" to Lucien), etc. are also present in real world civilisation-vs-barbarian narratives that run all the way back to Ancient fucking Greece AND in white-vs-literally-anyone-else narratives.

My hope is that the cover I drew is sufficiently in-world and that people don't think that I think of the Illyrians as a barbaric brown people. I think they're a people the author gives fuck all about because it doesn't seem to me that she actually really cares about meaningful world-building that goes beyond Pinterest board aesthetics. And neither does my imagined version of Selyn Drake.

But I also want to acknowledge that the reason it became weird and icky for me to finish the piece was because even though the white woman on the cover is half-naked and in a submissive position at his feet, I'm still at the end of the day drawing a brown man however fictional in a derogatory position and role that literally and figuratively paints him as a barbarian in a very sexual context that directly mimics real-world racial, cultural, and colonial dynamics even within a romantic context (for a real-world example, see: The Sheik (1921)). And that part just felt gross. :\

ANYWAY, TL;DR: I won't be finishing this piece the way that I intended. Felt like I was toeing a line I wasn't sure I was fully equipped to toe, so to speak. I'm trying to write Fix It Fic for the first time in a long time and salvaging this fuckin' depiction of one of the few brown peoples in a whole ass world has been an uphill battle in all directions.

[rainingriversofyou]

Starborn, Fireheart & Lady Death - CC, TOG & ACOTAR

Artist: renata_watsonn

[pastelpinkkadan]

SJM taught us in ACOSF that there was more to Nesta than we saw in the original trilogy. We learned about her insecurities, fears, depression, and how anger is her way of protecting herself.

Why, oh why, do people think SJM won’t do the same with Elain???

The way people talk in this fandom, it’s as if they truly think SJM will only write about Elain gardening and baking. That we won’t see more complex parts of her, read her thoughts, and find out there’s more to her than meets the eye. People legitimately think that what we’ve seen of Elain is all we’re going to get, that that’s all there is of her.

It’s bizarre, actually. I know they read ACOSF and the previous books, so idk why they don’t see what’s coming???

[works-of-heart]

"Easy," Lucien said. Cassian snarled. "Easy," Lucien repeated, and flame sizzled in his russet eye. The flame, the surprising dominance within it, hit Cassian like a stone to the head, knocking him from his need to kill and kill and kill whatever might threaten-

Lucien Van fucking Serra showing the markers of a Highlord in the making!

[leilousblog]

Can’t wait to see our feared shadowsinger become an emotional mess with Elain. 🌸