#it’s giving feysand

[rhysiedarling]

BABE WAKE UP, A NEW FEYSAND FAVOURITE FANART JUST DROPPED 📣📣📣💥💥💥💥

🎨 by ignartcio on instagram !!!!! go check them out !!!!!!

[starrbirrd]

I'm going to piss off a lot of people by saying this, but so many of them who side with Rhys saying that he didn't tell Feyre that the baby was going to kill her because "it was too stressful" would have been singing a COMPLETELY different tune if he had given her an abortion without her knowing. Y'all only like HIS choice because the fetus lived.

[depressedreader209]

so true tho

[velidewrites]

That’s my girl.

— Feysand as Sophie and Howl from Howl’s Moving Castle 👒

Part 2/3 of my birthday gift for the lovely @azrielshadowssing! You can find Part 1 here.

[the-lonelybarricade]

Modern AU where Elain comes in from her garden one evening. The temperature dropped when the sun set, which was hours ago. She's freezing and doesn't hesitate to throw on one of Graysen's hoodies she finds strewn over the back of a chair.

The scent strikes her, it's different—better than usual. Did he get a new cologne? She presses the fabric to her nose, takes a deep breath, and wanders into the kitchen to ask him what the brand is.

Only to pause when she sees him chatting to a man ducked in the cabinet below their kitchen sink. He withdraws, wrench in hand, and she assumes he's there to fix the leak Graysen swore he could handle himself. He lifts his body up. The light hits his red hair first, then his handsome face.

There's a brutal scar slashed across his left eye, but that's not what makes her gasp. Its his full lips, the most perfect pair she's ever seen, stretching into a grin as his eyes scrape over her, lingering on the hoodie she's wearing.

And she knows, if not from his smug smile then from the way he arches a brow, that it doesn't belong to Graysen.

[achaotichuman]

If Feysand and IC aren’t responsible for Spring and Summer being sieged by Hybern, even though they weakened Summer and threw Spring into chaos. Weakening defences and practically opening the gates for Hybern.

Then Tamlin isn’t responsible for Amarantha’s, his childhood predator and the woman who has sexually harassed him literal centuries’, actions.

[hrizantemy]

I’m genuinely curious what the Inner Circle would have done if Nesta got better and ended up with someone that wasn’t Cassian. Because I’m convinced that part of the reason they even cared about her was because she was Cassian’s mate and they wanted to force her to be with him.

[foxcort]

sometimes i think about how the acotar books could've been a great way to show that "love doesn't heal trauma" rather than whatever points sjm was trying to make about abusive relationships and sa. instead of tamlin being abusive, she could've written that feylin's individual traumas kept them from reaching out to each other. or that feyre felt suffocated by the perfect, idyllic and alive spring court when she felt the opposite on the inside. or that tamlin felt overwhelmed by the sudden influx of responsibilities as he's trying to rid himself of the nightmares from utm. they try to make it work. they try to replicate some of the dates and dances from book #1 but there's an almost tangible shadow over their relationship now. and maybe one day feyre sees a memorial for andras or a likeness to one of the high fae living in the spring court to one of the high fae she killed utm, and has a panic attack. and this serves as the catalyst that severs feylin's relationship and reveals that yes, their love broke a curse, their love saved prythian but it couldn't (and shouldn't) heal them.

[bettdraws]

I am sorry but can people stop saying feysand are these godly characters who can do no wrong? I think that is what makes me cringe about them. I LOVE wicked characters, but not if they pretend to be self righteous and fair when they’re not. I need them to be self aware at least.

The people who justify Nesta being trapped inside a floating house saying it was for her own good are the same people who HATE Tamlin for doing essentially the same thing to Feyre. This makes no sense to me.

[cateyesinlove]

💫When Emerie falls in love ✨

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Art by @isis_villalobos_art

Commissioned by me

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Part two of three of Valentine’s Day commisions! Hope everyone is having a delightful day 🥰❤️

I am IN LOVE with how this commission turned out my dearest @isis_villalobos_art did the best of the jobs 😭 my girls look so beautiful and in love 🫶🏽 This two own my heart and as it hurts me to say this “crackship (😭) “ owns my heart, the possibility of this is like so slim but I will hold the gwynerie fort strong for us

See you guys later for part three 👀❤️ CANT wait! Let me know if you guys might know who it is about

[toporecall]

The inn scene (chpt 48) of ACOMAF but from Rhys's POV. Enjoy :)

Read below or on AO3

“You’re shivering so hard the bed is shaking,” I said. I was crowded to the edge of the mattress, as far from Feyre as I could get in this small room and this even smaller bed, trying, despite myself, to give her space. 

“My hair is wet,” she replied, still shaking. Not a lie, but not entirely the truth either. It was freezing in the room. I was nearly shivering as well, though I had a little more meat on my bones to keep me warm than Feyre did. There was no way either of us would be sleeping without more warmth. My head spun at the idea of touching her here, alone in this room. The Court of Nightmares had been one thing—and I’d had a hard time getting the feel of her, the sounds she made out of my head since—but that had been a game, an act. This would just be us.

I didn’t let myself think any further before I scooted across the bed, closing the space between us and wrapping myself around her. I draped a wing over us both, trying to seal in what little warmth we generated.

“No expectations, just body heat,” I said, laughing under my breath as I repeated her words from earlier. I could nearly feel her scowling into the dark.

Moving a hand to her stomach, I pulled her into me and wrapped my other arm across her chest. She’d been eating better since she’d come to live at the Night Court, started training too, and her body had been changing but I was struck, as I often was, by how small she seemed. How fragile, even as a fae. I tangled my legs through hers and breathed in her scent. 

It was foolish to tempt fate like this—to allow myself to think, even for a moment, that I might get what I want. But I couldn’t help myself; I felt so pulled to this creature. To her scent, her soft skin, her heartbeat under my arm. I couldn’t possibly get close enough to her.

Mate, mate, mate, the word echoed through my skull—through my entire being, urging me to flip her over, sink myself into her and claim her as mine. But I couldn’t—wouldn’t—until she knew the truth. I knew she wanted me too, though. I could see it in the way she looked at my mouth while I spoke. The way she’d smiled on Starfall. She’d even admitted it just a few minutes ago, I reminded myself, even if that somehow already felt like a dream. I can’t stop thinking about you, she’d said. I was getting closer every day to telling her the truth. I almost had tonight when I—

My thoughts were interrupted suddenly by a jolt of heat, of desire, radiating through me as Feyre dragged a finger along the wing I had draped over us. Goosebumps broke out across my skin and I shuddered, tightening my hold on her involuntarily.

“Your finger…is very cold,” I ground out. It wasn’t until I spoke that I noticed my face was nearly pressed into the skin of her neck. I imagined running my tongue along that beautiful skin, hearing her sigh. Did I just imagine it or did Feyre tilt her head so I could do just that?

Another finger gently scraped my wing again and I tensed against her, hand splaying across her stomach. She knew. She knew what this was doing to me. Which means she’s either entirely evil or…

“You cruel, wicked thing,” I purred, doing my best to sound nonchalant. I gave in halfway to the temptation her neck offered, grazing it with the tip of my nose and relishing the sound of her breath catching at the contact. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you manners?”

“I never knew Ilyrians were such sensitive babies,” she said and slid another finger across my wing. 

And with that, there was no more hiding it. I could feel myself harden, pressing into her ass. Her heart beat faster in her chest and I could practically feel the heat radiating from her blushing cheeks. But, to my surprise, she didn’t shy away. She raised two fingers and ran them down my wings again. 

I stifled a groan and slid my hand under the bottom hem of her shirt, just enough to stroke teasingly across her stomach. I felt everything in me nearly melt as she closed what little space was left between us, arching against me and grinding herself against my hard cock. 

“Greedy,” I murmured, inhaling the scent of her as I let my lips just barely graze the skin of her neck. “First you terrorize me with your cold hands, now you want…what is it you want, Feyre?”

I just needed her to say it. Just say it once and we could stop this charade we’ve been playing at for far too long—that we don’t want each other, don’t need each other. Just say ‘I want you’, I mentally begged, but only to myself.

I trailed my fingers across her breasts tantalizingly lightly, continuing to stroke idly across her stomach, moving lower and lower. She said nothing but sighed into the dark room, her breaths starting to come out in sweet little pants. Gods if I could only hear her moan, just for a moment…

I dragged my teeth across her neck, relishing in the way her breath stuttered. “What is it you want, Feyre?” I bit her earlobe gently. 

She cried out, a breathy little moan that went straight to my cock. She arched her back more, pushing into me harder. I ran my fingers across the skin just above her pants. Say it, Feyre. Just say it.

“I want a distraction. I want—fun.” She was breathless and it was hot but not hot enough to completely distract me from the sting of the words. It caught me off guard and my hands stopped moving. Was I completely wrong? Maybe when she’d said she couldn’t stop thinking about me she really did just mean physically? 

But no—we’re mates. We’re fated, I thought. Maybe she was still too in denial to admit that to herself, to allow herself to feel it. But in the meantime, maybe just a taste…

“Then allow me the pleasure of distracting you,” I said, forcing myself to sound casual when I felt anything but. 

I slipped a hand under the top of her shirt, circling one of her already hard nipples. She was breathing so hard now, her pulse pounding.

“I love these,” I said onto the skin of her neck, my hand sliding to her other breast, caressing her nipple. “You have no idea how much I love these.”

She groaned from somewhere deep in her throat and it nearly undid me. I wanted her undone. I wanted her screaming, begging, crying out in ecstasy because of me. I pinched her nipple lightly and she groaned again, grinding herself against my now rock hard cock and I hissed air from between my teeth. God damn.

“Stop that. You’ll ruin my fun,” I snarled.

She tried to twist in my arms though, tried to slide her hand between us. I pushed myself against her ass even harder, closing any space she might have to fit her hand in. I couldn’t let her touch me. I was barely holding it together as is—if she got her hands on me I wouldn’t be able to stop myself. And, as much as it was killing me in this moment, I couldn’t fully have her until she knew the truth. Both for her sake and mine. Because if I had her once and she rejected me after…I’m not sure how I could possibly live with that.

But I wanted her. I wanted her more than anything and anyone I’d ever encountered. And I could at least make her feel good, feel beautiful and wanted and relaxed for one moment in her almost constantly miserable life. And she’s here, pressing herself against me and sighing and smelling like a fucking goddess and I know this will play on repeat in my head for decades.

“I want to touch you first,” I ground out, my voice almost unrecognizable even to myself. “Just—let me touch you.” I squeezed her breast and nearly came at just the sound of her breath catching in her throat again. 

I slid a finger along the waistband of her pants. I could smell her, smell her arousal. If she would just give in…

I rolled her nipple under my finger, my index finger of my other hand tracing back and forth across her waistband. She wiggled her hips, grinding against me again, clearly trying to get my hand to move where she wanted it. But I wouldn’t give in without more from her. Back and forth my finger traveled across her waistband, so so close to where she wanted me.

“Please,” she finally whimpered. 

Finally. 

I smiled, letting her feel it against her neck. “There are those missing manners.”

I pushed my hand under her pants, letting my finger glide so lightly across her sex. And at that touch alone, she groaned from deep in her chest. I nearly did the same, snarling at the feel of how wet she was for me already. 

Toying with her just a little more, I circled her clit, not quite giving her what she wanted yet. She wiggled her hips again, clearly impatient, rocking herself against me. I circled just a few more times before finally flicking my thumb over her clit. 

She cried out, almost certainly louder than she meant to, and I laughed softly. “Like that?”

She moaned in reply and the sound reverberated through my bones. I wanted that sound again and again. I was determined to make her do that over and over and over. 

I ran my fingers down through her wetness, teasing around her entrance and she tried to buck against me.

“Please,” she whined again, stoking something like pure male satisfaction with me. Yes, I thought, beg, plead, whine, want me. 

Feyre arched and rocked her hips, grinding herself against me again. I hissed, my calm, cool, collected charade beginning to collapse rapidly. I pushed a finger inside her. She was tight, warm, wet. She was fucking magnificent.

“Fuck, Feyre—” I groaned. Yep, definitely falling apart. 

She started rocking her hips, fucking herself on my finger.

“Fuck,” I exhaled, burying my face in her neck and kissing up toward her ear. She kept moving her hips, chasing her own pleasure. I slid a second finger inside her and she moaned so loudly I was sure everyone in the building must have heard her. Good, let them hear. I moved my fingers in and out, matching her rhythm.

“That’s it,” I murmured, teeth grazing the shell of her ear. 

She twisted the upper half of her body, meeting my eye for the first time, and I melted. I knew my own eyes were giving everything away. I couldn’t stop staring at her mouth, my hand down the front of her pants, her hips rocking on my fingers and against my cock. She was fucking perfect, moaning into the darkness as she leaned in and kissed me, biting down on my lower lip.

I groaned into her mouth—gone, just fully gone. I’d give her anything she wanted. I pushed my fingers in deeper, harder, relishing in the moans spilling from her open mouth and into mine. I swept my tongue against hers and nearly came at the taste of her. I could see how this would go: the way my cock would feel sinking into her, the way she’d moan and scream and whimper and beg me for more, the way it’d feel coming deep inside her. I could taste it all in the way she kissed me.

“You have no idea how much I—” I cut myself off. Control. Get some fucking control over yourself. I didn’t even know what I was going to say. How much I need you. How much I want you. How much I can’t wait to do this forever. She didn’t seem to notice, just whimpered into my mouth again.“Feyre,” I groaned.

I moved my fingers faster, desperate to hear more of those sounds. She was getting wetter. I could feel her inner muscles tightening around my fingers. And then she was coming, crying out desperately as I rode her through it with my fingers. I kissed her deeply, as if I could swallow every beautiful sound she made. 

“Fuck,” I swore against her lips again. 500 years I’d been alive. I’d had my fair share of women. Never, never, had a woman felt like this. 

I slowed my hand as she started to come down from her orgasm, panting hard and fast. I was breathing almost as hard, doing my best to calm my rapid heartbeat as I met her gaze.

“I wanted to do that when I felt how drenched you were at the Court of Nightmares. I wanted to have you right there in the middle of everyone. But mostly I just wanted to do this.” I held her gaze as I brought my fingers to my mouth and sucked on them, the taste of her sweet on my tongue. I nearly shattered. 

Her eyes burned into mine, heat and want and need radiating from her stare. She moved a hand to my chest to roll us over but I grabbed her wrist to stop her.

“When you lick me,” I said, voice gravelly with want, “I want to be alone—far away from everyone. Because when you lick me, Feyre, “ I peppered her neck and jaw with kisses, nipping at her skin, “I’m going to let myself roar loud enough to bring down a mountain.” 

Her hips stirred again and she breathed heavily.

“And when I lick you,” which would be as soon as fucking possible, hopefully, “I want you splayed out on a table like my own personal feast.”

Feyre whimpered and I pulled her against me. 

“I’ve had a long, long time to think about how and where I want you.” My fingers trailed down her abdomen, sliding beneath the waistline of her pants again. I almost went further, almost continued down to make her fuck my hand again, maybe to make her moan my name in that pretty voice this time. But she needed rest. We both did. “I have no intention of doing it all in one night. Or in a room where I can’t even fuck you against the wall.” 

She shuddered in my arms and I smiled against her hair. I wanted her, I wanted her with everything in me, but that was for another time. 

“Sleep,” I said simply, stroking her body soothingly. 

I listened as her breathing eventually slowed, then evened out, and she fell asleep. I kissed the top of her head lightly, smiling to myself. Mate. I knew she felt it, somewhere inside. 

And as I fell asleep with my mate in my arms for the first time, I replayed the night. I replayed those sounds, those breathy moans and whimpered pleases. And I thought of all the ways I could make her do all of that again.

[jmoonjones]

Nessian and Feysand from ACOTAR

(Nesta has secret little hearts but has a reputation to uphold thank you very much)

[intairnwetrust]

I've never understood people who say 3 Brothers x 3 Sisters is boring and unimaginative. You are aware that every couple has their own individual story, right? Each character has their own personality, has their own obstacles to overcome, has their own story and together each couple forms an overall picture.

People who say the 3 brother x 3 sisters trope is nothing special, okay I've never heard of a book serie that have this trope.

I'm 100% serious. People in the acotar fandom who say 3 brothers x 3 sisters is nothing special, boring or a cliché. Please give me book recs that have this exact trope. (I would prefer book recs in the fantasy genre after all, Acotar is also Romantasy) I will even give you a review when i finished the book if you wish.

I read dark romance and here it is pretty commen that you have a book series that each follow a sibling, be it that you can read each sibling's story as standalone or as spin off serie, but the respective LIs are not related with each other. They are often from the same social circle but that is. Not related, not sisters.

[sjmgirlie]

You will never be able to convince me that ACOSF was a good book. Let me explain.

1) It was a literal homicide for all the characters. Every. Single. One. I’m not sure if it’s because it’s from Nesta’s pov or what, but seriously, every single character basically became unlikeable? Rhys? Feyre (to an extent)? Cassian? Mor? Amren? Did Nesta really get much better?? Like no one was really likeable. Maybe Az being the only sane one. Elain showed some teeth which I liked but it still wasn’t the best.

2) Where was the plot? You’re telling me she only found troves and then killed one mortal/made queen? Before you argue, the fact we find out about Nesta’s literal powers in another series says a lot. Why didn’t we find out Nesta had silver flame power (WHICH IS THE NAME OF THE BOOK) in said book??????? Make it make sense. This book didn’t move the plot at all. Other than having the troves now. And killing the one crazy queen. The amount of times we were on the stairs was not needed. Nesta is a massive part of this universe, and yes, she can wield the troves. But everyone who is made can. So like what else could she have done? Something more im sure. I mean that’s why I think she was in HOFAS in the first place. To “conquer” the prison, get gwydion as her return of service, and show her powers. I get that the whole starborn thing needed to happen in HOFAS with Bryce but honestly Nesta needed more. And that’s another reason why people think she’s going to get another book, because what even happened in her book????

3) Nessian. Now here me out. Do we like smut? Yes. Do we like it when there’s actual romance involved? Yes. Did we truly get that? No. It’s been a while since I read this book because I just have no desire for a re-read. I’m sorry. But going from “my only regret in this life is that we did not have time. That I did not have time with you Nesta. I will find you in the next life” (ya I basically memorized it because I was kicking my feet at him saying that) to “I didn’t ask to be shackled to you either” after Nesta, a human turned fae, didn’t care about being called a mate? Like? Absolute homicide to Cassian’s character. Was the hike nice? No. Did he say nice things after she passed out? Yes. But like? I just think they deserved a better romance. And I just literally didn’t even know who I was reading when Cassian was involved. The guy that would crack jokes and just was loving? All of a sudden a mean person? To Nesta too? Like idk. It rubbed me the wrong way. They deserved better. The fact people actually want Eris and Nesta means it CLEARLY did not stick. Which means it was not convincing. No one says this about Feysand. They could have been FIREWORKS. But at times it genuinely didn’t feel like Cassian even liked her??? Where was the golden retriever energy? It was like the guy was on steroids the whole time and just blowing a fuse constantly. That was NOT the Cassian I remembered from ACOWAR. I mean idk maybe it was the fact the reluctant mate trope was just too difficult? The fact it started physically wasn’t my favourite either. Then it was so focused on that that it was like okay were are those romantic moments. “You’re not going to marry Eris” “no” “we will have no others” like that was romantic. Then the shackle thing literally happened the next day. Wtf.

4) Did I relate to Nesta’s issues and healing journey? A bit. But I just found it aggravating at times. I felt there was huge potential to dive into what it is to be the oldest sister. More into alot of things tbh. Her holding the line on Ramiel was a great moment, because she could finally protect people she cared about, but I wish that would have been implied more? Her journey seemed like a huge self insert and idk. It wasn’t as amazing as it could have been.

5) Nesta’s redemption? I don’t even like that word. I wanted people to begin to UNDERSTAND Nesta more. Not just be thankful she saved Feyre/Rhys/Nyx. Like a genuine understanding. Does Cassian? Ya I guess. Elain? It’s said she knew everything Nesta did and why. So yes she did. Az? Ya. He was literally the only one who wasn’t an asshole to her at any point lol. And I wouldn’t consider Elain and asshole to her either because she did just stand up for herself finally. Like imagine the comments you’d hear having Nesta as a sister (for real). But did anyone leave understanding Nesta, understanding why she was snarky and rude? No. Idk if that’s the point to create a divide or what. But seriously. I get Nesta to some degree now. Why did the characters not.

6) Nesta gaining friends was nice and I see why people cling to the Valkyrie. That was literally probably the best part of the book. And that’s saying something about the way the romantic pair was executed might I add. We weren’t obsessed with Feyre and Mor and Amren being friends. We were obsessed with Feysand. But the most you hear from ACOSF is about the Valkyrie.

7) Again. I never truly hated Nesta, but I didn’t necessarily love her after this either. I understood the character more, I saw her own dark thoughts, I saw how she felt, and I understood. But was she my favourite? No. I think her appearance in HOFAS, other than showing her powers (????), was to make Nesta more likeable. Because a lot of people still don’t like her. Like I said, I am PRO ARCHERON FOREVER, but I wanted more for Nesta. I wanted a lot for the girl.

8) The dreaded bonus chapter. I’ve said my opinion on this multiple times. Idk. It’s just hate for Elain that drives it tbh. It’s literally a copy and paste of the Nessian one from ACOMAF basically that if you put it in a plagiarism generator it would probably not pass. YET, it has literally desecrated the fandom. Completely. You literally can’t go anywhere without some ship war happening. And ya, I feed into it too being super pro Elriel because I love them. But damn. Imagine if this energy was put into, idk, theories of the plot? We would have figured out the Maas universe by now tbh. I wish it didn’t exist everyday. And to a lot of people it doesn’t, and I envy them. Life was simpler before the “did you read the bonus chapter” fiasco. And tbh I’m pretty sad that SJM hasn’t said a word about it. Or her publisher because it gets way out of line way too often. The actual love triangle has always been set up as Lucien/Elain/Az, and somehow we left the BC with a square??? Idek.

Overall, it just did not do Nesta or Cassian justice in my mind. It created way too many head canons, it made Cassian unlikeable in a lot of ways (why are you calling Mor beautiful?) and it just seriously destroyed a lot of characters.

I’m really hoping in Elain’s book we, idk, make amends finally? If I have to see another toe to toe battle between Nesta and Rhys I’m going to be sick. They are both right in ways, but I just can’t take it anymore. And this is what I mean about Nesta’s story not being one of UNDERSTANDING. Which is what she NEEDED. TO BE UNDERSTOOD. The rudeness, snarky comments, death glares etc just needed to be understood man.

[stargirlfeyre]

If Rhys’ mother was alive she would have made onesies for Nyx.

[hrizantemy]

THE DANCER AND THE MOON

The air was alive with the vibrant melodies that resonated from every corner, drawing in a kaleidoscope of dancers. Yet, amidst the throng of moving bodies, her attention remained steadfastly anchored to the lone dancer who seemed to transcend the chaos around her.

The woman moved with an effortless grace, her body fluid and sinuous as if each movement was an extension of her very being. Her limbs traced delicate arcs through the air, weaving a tale of passion and emotion that captured Nesta's undivided attention. There was a raw beauty in the way she moved, a magnetism that held Nesta captive, unable to tear her gaze away.

As the music swelled and ebbed, the dancer's expression shifted, reflecting the myriad emotions coursing through her. There was joy in the curve of her smile, longing in the arch of her back, and a hint of melancholy in the depths of her eyes. Each movement seemed to tell a story, a silent narrative that spoke volumes to those who cared to listen.

Nesta found herself drawn into the dancer's world, swept away by the tide of emotions that pulsed through the air. For a fleeting moment, she felt a connection, a thread of understanding that bound them together across the expanse of the crowded street. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the dance unfolding before her.

How had she even ended up here? She had been walking, lost in the turmoil of her own thoughts, consumed by the familiar ache of anger that always seemed to simmer just beneath the surface whenever her sister's name crossed her mind. Yet, as if drawn by some unseen force, she found herself drawn to the heart of the festivities, the music pulling at her like a siren's call.

And now, here she stood, a silent observer in a sea of swirling colors and laughter, her eyes trained on the lone dancer who seemed to dance for no one but herself.

Feyre had extended an invitation with forced cheerfulness to Nesta, an attempt to bridge the ever-widening chasm between them. And so, begrudgingly, Nesta had accepted, though the prospect of spending an evening in their company filled her with dread. As she stepped into the warmth of the familiar interior, she was met with a deafening silence that seemed to stretch on for eternity.

Feyre's attempt at a greeting fell flat, her words lost in the heavy air of tension that hung between them. Elain's gaze was distant, her eyes betraying nothing as she stared into the distance with an unreadable expression. Nesta took a seat at the table, feeling like an intruder in her own sister's home.

The atmosphere was stifling, suffocating, as she watched the others engage in idle conversation and laughter. Cassian and Morrigan shared a private moment, their affection evident as he ran his fingers along her feet, eliciting a smile from her lips as she rested her chin on his shoulder.

Meanwhile, Feyre and Rhysand seemed lost in their own world, their minds elsewhere as they whispered quietly to each other, oblivious to the outsider in their midst. Nesta felt like a ghost, a mere spectator in the lives of those she once called family. As the evening wore on, Nesta sat in silence, her thoughts a tumultuous whirlwind of bitterness and resentment. She longed to flee, to escape the suffocating weight of their expectations and judgments.

But instead, she remained rooted to her seat, a silent observer in a world that had long since moved on without her. Until she couldn’t anymore.

With a heavy heart and a sense of suffocation tightening her chest, Nesta quietly slipped away from her sister's home, craving the solace of the open air. The streets greeted her with a cacophony of sounds—laughter, music, and the rhythmic beat of dancing feet. It was as if the world outside existed in a separate realm, untouched by the silent turmoil that had gripped her within the confines of her sister's house.

As she wandered aimlessly through the vibrant streets, Nesta felt the weight of her burdens begin to lift, replaced by a sense of liberation she hadn't known in ages. Everywhere she looked, people danced with abandon, their laughter filling the night air with an infectious energy that was impossible to resist.

And then, amidst the throng of revelers, she saw her—the dancer whose movements had captivated her from the moment she laid eyes on her. There was something magnetic about the way she moved, a raw passion that seemed to transcend the boundaries of the physical world.

Nesta found herself drawn to the dancer like a moth to a flame, her steps quickening as she closed the distance between them. For a moment, she forgot the troubles that plagued her, the weight of her past mistakes and regrets falling away.

As Nesta lost herself in the swirling melodies and rhythmic movements, she felt a pair of eyes on her, a sensation that sent a shiver down her spine. Turning her head, she met the gaze of the dancer, expecting to find judgment or indifference mirrored in her expression. Instead, she was met with something unexpected—a soft smile playing at the corners of the woman's lips, a warmth in her eyes.

Nesta's breath caught in her throat as the dancer beckoned her closer, a silent invitation that stirred something deep within her. She hesitated for a moment, uncertainty warring with the desire pulsing through her veins. But then, as if compelled by some unseen force, she found herself stepping forward, her movements tentative yet determined.

As she drew nearer to the dancer, Nesta felt a sense of anticipation building within her, a feeling she couldn't quite name but one that filled her with a strange sense of hope. And then, as their hands met and their bodies began to move in harmony, she felt something shift inside her—a loosening of the tight coil of tension that had gripped her for so long, replaced by a sense of connection that transcended words.

Rhythm that seemed to quicken the beat of their hearts as they moved in perfect synchrony. Nesta's movements were fluid yet controlled, her body swaying with a grace she hadn't known she possessed. Each step was a testament to the raw emotion coursing through her veins, a release of the pent-up energy that had threatened to consume her.

Beside her, the dancer moved with an effortless agility, her movements a whirlwind of motion and grace. Together, they wove a tapestry of movement, their bodies moving as one to the frenetic tempo of the music. Their steps were quick and precise, a blur of motion as they spun and twirled across the crowded street.

As they danced, Nesta felt a sense of liberation wash over her, a feeling of weightlessness that lifted her higher and higher with each passing moment. The music surged through her veins, driving her onward with an intensity she had never known before. And as she lost herself in the rhythm of the dance, she felt a sense of freedom unlike anything she had ever experienced.

In that fleeting moment, surrounded by the pulsating energy of the music and the warmth of the dancer's embrace, Nesta felt truly alive.

As the music reached a crescendo, the dancer took Nesta's hand in hers, her touch gentle yet firm, as if guiding her through a dance they had both known in another lifetime. Without a word, she twirled Nesta with a deftness that spoke of years of practice and passion, their movements perfectly synchronized as they spun together in a whirlwind of motion.

At first, Nesta's instinct was to pull away, to retreat into the safety of her own solitude. But something within her urged her to stay, to trust in the moment unfolding before her. And so, she surrendered to the dancer's lead, allowing herself to be swept away by the intoxicating rhythm of the music.

As they twirled and spun across the crowded street, Nesta felt a sense of exhilaration coursing through her veins, a feeling of freedom she hadn't known in years. In the dancer's arms, she felt weightless, untethered from the burdens that had weighed her down for so long.

As they danced, Nesta lost all sense of time and place. The world around her faded into obscurity, replaced by the pulsating rhythm of the music and the exhilarating sensation of movement. She couldn't say how long they had been dancing or where they had moved to, only that they hadn't stopped.

Their steps became a blur of motion, their bodies moving in perfect harmony as if guided by some unseen force. With each spin and twirl, Nesta felt herself being carried away on a tide of euphoria, her cares and worries melting away with each passing moment.

In the embrace of the dancer's arms, she found a sense of peace she hadn't known in years, a fleeting respite from the chaos of her own mind. And as they continued to dance, their movements growing more frenetic with each passing beat, Nesta knew that she never wanted this moment to end.