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[darling-archeron]

Best friends and nothing bad happens to them 🤍

[darling-archeron]

ok what’s your florence + the machine song. mine is rabbit heart (raise it up)<3

[darling-archeron]

'Beyond the door, a winding stair lit by black nephrite lamps, and far below, the place called Nowhere where the Dead drift down, where nothing is exactly forgotten.' — @nestaarcheronweek

[darling-archeron]

His High Lady ♥️

[darling-archeron]

I’d like to present: Lucien giving away his coats

Acotar, Chapter 39:

Acomaf, chapter 65:

Acowar, chapter 7

Acowar, chapters 11 & 12

[darling-archeron]

Someone on Reddit mentioned the boys carrying people w their toes, like birds. So.

(Also he’s gripping Lucien’s hair to keep it from whipping against him.)

[darling-archeron]

@nestaarcheronweek | Day 02: Metamorphosis

Human ✦ Fae ✦ Valkyrie 

Nesta went through several transformations throughout the series: she started out as Feyre's angry, bitter, human sister; later she was turned into a fae, stole the cauldron's power and struggled with the trauma left by the war; and currently she has become a valkyrie, a warrior, and has finally begun to heal from her traumas. 

This amazing art was done by 0jem0 and I loved how it represents this different phases of Nesta character arc.

Art by: 0jem0

Commissioned by: @melphss

Characters belongs to: Sarah J. Maas

[darling-archeron]

“We deserve each other. And we deserve to be happy”

[darling-archeron]

Creator Highlight #3 - @reverie-tales

Welcome back to Feysand Creator Highlights!! We want to take a moment to recognize the amazing individuals in our fandom who kindly use up so much of their freetime and creative energy to share their work with us!

Today we want to highlight @reverie-tales

If you've ever had the pleasure of interacting with reverie-tales, you know that she is the sweetest human being to possibly ever exist. And the chances rae high that you have interacted with her, because if you check the comments of almost any feysand work, the chances are high that you'll find her there with supportive comment for its creator.

Reverie-tales has made an art out of spreading kindness and positivity in this fandom and today we want to take all of the light she radiates and send it back on her for a change!

Because on top of being an exceptionally sweet person, she is also extremely talented!! Reverie-tales has blessed us with a wealth of Feysand stories that will fill your heart to bursting and make you grab some tissues. We've highlighted a few of our favorites below!

I Get to Love You - This is the story of a male who loved his mate, his High Lady, and the mother of his child, told from his perspective. A glimpse of selected events mentioned in ACOSF from Rhysand's POV. Three chapters that can be individually read as one-shots. 

Starlight -Every night Feyre, a star above the Prythian sky, wholeheartedly shines her light, looking forward to watching her Prince of Night below—that is, until unexpected trouble finds her. (A Stardust AU)

Paint Again - Set in a modern alternate universe, Feyre is struggling to paint because of her grief. That is, until she receives an unexpected email that reawakens her love of painting.

You can also find more on her masterlist!

[darling-archeron]

i thought of you and where you'd gone (the world spins madly on)

The Spring Court. Rhys should have blown it off the damn map the moment Feyre had been trapped there. The moment she halted her own wedding. Maybe even the moment that their mating bond snapped into place. But she’s there now, and Rhys can hardly breathe. All he sees is Feyre asking Tamlin to take her home. He’s going to be sick. His mate, his High Lady, in the clutches of that beast—again. It’s no different than his first night back in Velaris from Under the Mountain. or, what happens right after Rhys tells the Inner Circle that their High Lady is spying in the Spring Court.

rating: t

words: 1,578

a/n: i mean, we all saw this coming, yes? incredibly on brand for me. feysand has taken over my life, and i hope you can all reap the benefits of that. enjoy!

read on ao3

“You mean to tell me,” Mor breathes, “that my High Lady is now surrounded by enemies?”

“I mean to tell you,” Rhys says, dark power thrumming beneath his skin, threatening to break through flesh and bone and blood, “that your High Lady made a sacrifice for her court—and we will move when the time is right.” Blackest night swirls through the town house like smoke. Cassian and Mor exchange concerned looks, and they’re not just for Azriel, wings shredded and body pale. 

The plan forms after that. It’s fast and dirty, and Rhys is grateful, because he can’t think. Not for the chorus of where is she where is she where is she coursing through his veins, consuming every thought. His inner circle knows their parts well, though, so it’s quickly decided amongst the five of them that Azriel will heal and then make his way to surveil the human queens in the mortal realm. Cassian will begin rallying the Illyrians. Mor and Amren will begin the arduous work of strategizing, work that Rhys can’t begin to conceive of right now.

My mate my mate my mate 

Between giving orders, Rhys stares at the door to the town house. If he squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep enough breath, maybe he’ll wake. Maybe Feyre will breeze through the door with a bright, warm smile and a paint-stained apron. Could it all be a dream? A nightmare? 

It’s Mor’s voice that breaks his concentration on the locked door. “Elain and Nesta are in the House of the Wind. They’re safe, but…” she trails. Her hand lands on Rhys’ shoulder. “I’ll go back to them tonight. Madja is with them now. I don’t know what to expect. When Feyre was Made, it was…different, wasn’t it?” 

The mere mention of his mate’s name sends a bolt of panic from the crown of his head all the way down his spine. Where is she where is she where is she

“Rhysand,” Mor says softly. “Their healing will not be easy.”

He shakes his head, trying desperately to think clearly, to hear anything Mor says. Feyre’s sisters, thrown into the Cauldron human and jerked from its waters Fae. Her sisters who didn’t ask for this, weren’t prepared for this life, weren’t even dying before they were Made. But then the darker part of his mind, the part that’s been cleaved in half and pasted back together by the King of Hybern thinks: Her sisters who let her risk her life and go into those woods over and over again. 

No. Nesta and Elain are his mate’s family. That makes them his family, which means that Rhysand will protect them with all the power and resources that the Night Court possesses. Even if Lucien is Elain’s mate, Rhys will guard her from the Spring Court. 

The Spring Court. Rhys should have blown it off the damn map the moment Feyre had been trapped there. The moment she halted her own wedding. Maybe even the moment that their mating bond snapped into place. But she’s there now, and Rhys can hardly breathe. All he sees is Feyre asking Tamlin to take her home. He’s going to be sick. His mate, his High Lady, in the clutches of that beast—again. It’s no different than his first night back in Velaris from Under the Mountain.

My mate my mate my mate

Silver rims his eyes, but he will not break down in front of his family. Not when they’re hurting as much as he is. Rhys rises from the leather armchair that’s been holding him up since they got back and offers Mor the closest thing he can to a smile. 

“Rest, everyone. We have work to do starting in the morning, and it’s been a hell of a night.” Swirls of inky black night waft from his skin. “Of course, you’re all welcome to stay here. Your rooms are always available.”

Amren is the first to leave. Her voice is gentle, or as gentle as she can muster, when she departs for her apartment. “Get some rest, Rhysand. She can handle this.”

Then Mor, but not before helping Cassian get Azriel to bed. “I’ll send Madja as soon as I get back to the House," she says softly. Rhys nods. “I will rip Tamlin apart if Feyre is in danger. You say the word, and I’ll do what I should have done months ago.”

He knows it’s not just duty toward her High Lady speaking. Mor, the only blood family he has left, would kill the High Lord of the Spring Court for Rhys any day. But the anger in her voice, the hurt in her eyes—this is all for Feyre. Her friend. “I know, Mor,” he replies. “Get some rest. And if Nesta and Elain need anything, call for me.”

It had been one of her last pleas: Save them, get out with my sisters, GO!

“Will you be able to sleep tonight, cousin?” Mor asks, headed toward the town house door. 

Rhys shakes his head. “But I’m used to waking nightmares.” He shrugs, wanting solitude. Wanting to be alone so he can finally break. So he can reach for his mate across the bond and know that she’s okay. 

My mate my mate my mate

It thunders through his skull, rattling every vertebrae threatening to tear through his wings. 

“Goodnight, Rhys,” Mor says, and then she’s gone. 

And the High Lord of the Night Court climbs the stairs to his bedroom alone.

After a scalding bath, hot enough to burn right through skin, Rhys lies on the bed. Their bed. It’s big enough for him and Feyre both, including wings. There’s enough space amongst the sheets for him to wrap his mate in his arms, fuck her until they’re both so spent they can hardly move, and then sleep sprawled out and safe. But now, even with his wings spread completely, there’s an emptiness, a cold pressed against his body. Staring up at the ceiling, Rhys wills the nausea and anger to subside—but they don’t. 

Which is how he winds up curled over the toilet just like he was all those months ago before calling in Feyre’s bargain. What he wouldn’t give to see through her eyes, through that destroyed cat-eye on her palm. Even if she were sick, too. Just a glimpse, to sate the pounding in his head.

Where is she where is she where is she  

He squeezes his eyes shut and sees his mother and sister. Sees their wings ripped from their bodies, blood coating every surface like a velvet cloak. Then he’s sick again, heaving into the toilet as fresh tears spring to his eyes. “The things I love have a tendency to be taken from me,” he’d said once. Nothing changes. The Spring Court wins again. 

More sick.

It’s not the same. Logically, Rhys knows that. Feyre is brilliant—there’s no chance that Tamlin will suspect a thing. He’ll be too blinded by relief; the same relief that Rhys craves so much. Maybe he’s no better than that wretched beast of Spring, willing to do anything and everything for Feyre. No. Of course not. Feyre has always had a choice with him. Hasn’t she? The room spins, and Rhys can’t calm the chanting in his brain.

Where is she where is she where is she

Just weeks ago, he’d told Feyre that he would have torn apart the world to get her back from Lucien and Tamlin. Right now, he would happily start a war between the courts to have his mate safe in Velaris. 

My mate my mate my mate

Just when he can’t stand it any longer, when he’s about to winnow downstairs and drink until he can’t think anymore, until the noise quiets, he senses it. Blue-grey eyes and honeyed brown hair. The flash of freckles across a nose, and a rhythmic inhale and exhale. A soft shimmer down the bond. 

Feyre.

I am safe and well. Her voice is far off, but it feels like she’s in the bathroom with him. Like she’s threading her fingers through his hair and pushing it back from his clammy forehead. Whispering that it was just a bad dream. Rhys waits for more with bated breath. I’ll tell you what I know soon. A moment later, Are they alive? Hurt?

He lets out a strangled sob. The tears dribble down his face, and it would feel pathetic if he hadn’t already vomited like a child. Rhys takes a breath to steady himself. He channels the High Lord of the Night Court—he can’t give her the impression that things are falling apart after just a few hours. Then he sends his power back down the bond, gently. I love you. And that alone nearly breaks him. They are alive. They are healing.

That’s all he can bring himself to say. Tamlin won’t suspect anything unless he can somehow sense the mating bond that’s supposed to be broken. They have to keep their messages short. The bond has to stay concealed. Reason floods back through his blood stream like a drug. They will be okay. Feyre will be okay. 

Rhysand will let her be his spy. Because when she gets back home—and she will get back home, even if he has to burn the Spring Court to the ground—she will be his High Lady. 

And together, they can face anything.

[darling-archeron]

15 DEAD, 37 INJURED

[darling-archeron]

#dirty minds worldwide

[darling-archeron]

I know AI can be difficult to spot, but even as it gets better, if you want to know how you can tell the difference between true art drawn by hand and AI that was maybe rendered (a little) afterwards, look for symmetry.

Actual hand drawn art is symmetrical. Hair that blows off into the background on just one side? Probably AI. A necklace that stretches over one end of the characters body but not the other? Probably AI. Artists notice those details and will make them symmetrical, AI doesn't concern itself with those details.

The eyes are another one. AI eyes are usually a little cross-eyed or strange. If you stare at them, you'll notice mismatched pupils or more white on one side than the other.

I've been seeing more AI Lucien in the tags recently. I know no one in this fandom intends to support AI stolen from our artists (except for the people creating it and passing it off as their own), and I think just knowing the tells of AI makes us all better consumers of fan works. We should continue to support the artists who keep creating content because they love the same books as us, and whole-sale rejecting AI no matter how "realistic" you think it looks. It's stolen. I've seen AI generated images being passed around that were clearly fed @krem-does-stuff's art, which is a shame because she hand paints every piece she does and that takes time.

There is no skill, no talent, no love for the community in AI.

[darling-archeron]

“i can’t do this anymore” says a girl who is not only going to do it but do it well

[darling-archeron]

Artist : Ignartcio

[darling-archeron]

tis better to have booped and lost than never to have booped at all

[darling-archeron]

friendly competition among the shadow daddies

artwork by the amazing elenana.art on Instagram