#post-acowar

[thewayshedreamed]

The Hereafter

Nessian one-shot [post-acowar, pre-acofas]

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A/N: Some post-war, pre-acosf Nessian angst/ longing— because that's what called to me, okay? We got hints of the strained relations during that Nessian era, but we didn't get the full visibility. This was an attempt at a glimpse into one of those interactions— where the pull is there, but the barriers are, too. Nesta doesn't quite understand everything that comes with her new existence and is still trying to find her place in it all. Cassian attempts to stay out of her way and give her space, but their draw to the other has a mind all its own. Nesta is also very unfamiliar with Fae norms and customs, and that only adds to the unresolved tension between the two of them.

This is an angsty one-shot written for my wonderful and patient friend who made zero complaints about getting her Secret Santa gift in March 😅

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For a species considered to be superior in every way— proclaimed largely by their own, unsurprisingly— the Fae left a lot to be desired in their romance literature.

Different preternatural ability, same load of bullshit.

Nesta scoffed internally. It wasn’t as if she held any notion that these fictitious relationships were meant for her, or anyone else, really. And if she truly abandoned what remained of her prim, high-collar upbringing, she could admit to reading them for the more physical connections as of late. She held higher hopes for those experiences than the more wholesome ones. The thought was so bleak that it should have depressed her, but she would have needed to be anything other than numb for that to happen.

It was ironic, this new existence. All her senses firing beyond any reasonable ability, yet complete and total apathy for anything else. An almost painful sensitivity paired with the need for extremes to evoke any care at all.

The forced choice between emptiness and the pain that accompanied experiencing anything to its fullest.

The war had changed Nesta in many ways. Her general perspective and approach to life had been challenged by the low odds of her survival, and they were changed altogether when she’d managed it. Of course, she hadn’t been alone in achieving it, but that was another road entirely to travel.

A booming laugh sounded down the hall, and the abrupt lapse of silence made Nesta flinch. She was seated in a bay window off the side of her sister’s home, tucked among a few plush pillows and with a blanket draped over her lap. The quiet had made it the perfect spot to sit and read, and she scowled in the general direction of the offending noise.

It was his laugh, and she cringed at the realization that she knew it so well. Their interactions had been minimal before, but since the war, they had been nearly nonexistent. It seemed that neither of them had managed to figure out how to broach any casual interaction after Cassian’s words had settled into her bones during, what they’d assumed was, their final moments.

I regret nothing in my life but this.

Nesta snapped her book shut and leaned her head against the window. The way his words haunted her jabbed at a long-dormant buzz beneath her skin, down to her bone marrow. The subtle warmth came first, only enough to attempt to seduce her into leaning into it. But Nesta wasn’t one to give in so easily.

Discipline and strategic distraction had been her allies in tamping down what she’d stolen. Anytime her vigilance dropped, even for a moment, that warmth escalated to a sharp, bone-melting heat that left her feeling like her only option was to erupt. The alternative was implosion, she imagined.

Her will kept her safe. Everyone hinted at trying to understand the power and learning to wield it so that it didn’t control her or drive her to madness. Her response was always the same— cold indifference, perhaps a quick retort to mind their own business depending on the day. Either one was preferable to the truth.

The potential, both positive and negative, terrified her.

Laughter sounded again. Nesta wished it would have served as kindling to a lighter version of herself, one where her chest didn’t feel so heavy and her shoulders weren’t perched so high. All it did was point out how she didn’t fit, how everyone had seemed to heal in immeasurable ways in the months since the war. Ways that eluded her time and time again.

Amren had offered plenty of unsolicited advice. Feyre probably would have done the same if Nesta had given a shred of hope that her sister’s help would have been well-received.

While their High Lady— gods, would that title ever feel commonplace?— was keen to allow Nesta to set her own pace, Amren hadn’t been. Tough love didn’t begin to describe her approach in supporting Nesta, and frankly, some days it felt less like support and more like a begrudged job.

Apparently, merely existing wasn’t an acceptable way to pass the infinite time. Amren had challenged her to do something with it, and since the days after the war held fewer opportunities for an emissary, Nesta had been left to figure out what the hell she cared to do with her days.

Elain had her gardening, and while Nesta appreciated the dedication and focus her sister poured into it, it wasn’t something she was interested in practicing herself. Feyre had whatever High Ladies were tasked with doing, although she guessed Feyre was setting the standards as the first in Prythian’s history.

Nesta rested her book on the bench nearby and began folding the blanket she’d used. More commotion came from down the hall, and as the voices grew louder, she realized she’d spent more time than she intended lost in her thoughts.

That we did not have time. That I did not have time with you, Nesta.

Her eyes squeezed shut against the intrusion of the memory. It was always unwelcome and particularly ill-timed. And wasn’t that the fatal flaw in all of it— time?

She fluffed the throw pillows and tucked her novel beneath her arm. On silent feet, she padded to the stairs nearby and followed them down through one of the house’s several living areas, smoothing her skirts and making her way to the kitchen. A relieved breath whooshed out of her at hearing those same voices descending the stairs, and she thanked the Cauldron that she’d managed to avoid them.

A scoff escaped her. Since when had she started thanking that glorified pot for anything?

Cynicism greeted her like an old friend, albeit not a very good one. The reprieves were always too brief and lackluster in contrast, but Nesta's very essence clung to them all the same. All for naught, usually.

Sitting idle was guaranteed to allow for rumination over the previous months and the infinite ones she’d yet to live. Something had to compete with her thoughts, lest she lean too heavily into them and stoke that aversive thrumming in her veins.

She hadn’t put much thought into heading toward the kitchen, especially since her appetite was nonexistent most of the time, and she had yet to allow herself to indulge in much of the Fae cuisine.

The inspiration didn’t reveal itself until she crossed the threshold of the spacious area. The merry group indulging in each others’ obnoxious company would likely carry their festivities into dinner, and one thing was for absolute certain.

Nesta would not be subjecting herself to that.

The invitations always came, usually from Feyre. Sometimes, Rhysand offered, but he seemed as enthusiastic about Nesta’s company as she felt about his.

It was a double-edged sword. Accepting the invitation came with a myriad of inevitable, uncomfortable moments. Declining it was a sin all its own, as evidenced by Feyre’s disappointment and compounded by Rhysand’s disapproval of the decision. All it did was perpetuate Nesta as the cold, callused bitch— no matter what she chose.

Preparing her own dinner seemed like a creative solution that was tolerable enough, and it allowed her to eat alone to avoid the questioning gazes as she picked at her meal. She had little interest in the task and even less interest in the product, but she would have an out for any invitations. Cooking was a small price.

Choosing what to make wasn’t difficult since Nesta cared for so few things. The only dish she’d managed to tolerate in recent memory was a chicken and bean stew she’d been gifted from a Fae vendor along the Sidra. She had taken a short stroll through Velaris in the middle of the day, and sheer curiosity had made her browse the vendor’s cart. Before she’d blinked, they had recognized her as their High Lady’s sister, and they’d insisted on sending Nesta away with lunch— their treat. A gesture of thanks, they’d said.

The stew had been rich and flavorful, and despite herself, Nesta had enjoyed it. And since her appetite had been pitiful in recent weeks, she was grateful that it hadn’t sat too heavily in her empty stomach. The bar was low with regard to what she considered a win in her new life, and the lack of nausea had made the list until some other facet of existence brought it upon her anyway.

Nesta shook her head against the thought and retrieved the handwritten recipe she’d tucked into a rarely used drawer. The vendor had been enthusiastic in sharing it with her, insisting it was “too simple” not to try herself, but they had clearly overestimated Nesta’s domestic abilities.

Looking back, she’d questioned the vendor’s business sense in offering one of his dishes to her so openly, so they hadn’t been the only one leaning into their bias. He had explained it away somehow; something about doubting Nesta would have much time to return and the fact that she would have no reason to start her own food cart as competition with her other duties.

If only she could have explained how undefined her role felt each day, how meaningless her presence seemed to the longevity of the Night Court. Maybe she could have shared how she remained in a perpetual, personal battle between relief that they didn’t need her and the sheer emptiness left where purpose should have been. Before the thought could discourage her, her reasons for cooking in the first place propelled her into action.

Her nose wrinkled against the smell of the raw chicken. Her movements had never been as efficient as in preparing it for boiling, nevermind her clumsiness along the way. She heaved a breath once she lowered it into the rolling water and turned her attention to chopping the onions and carrots, as well as the fresh herbs from Elain’s garden. Admittedly, the fresh thyme and rosemary offered a pleasant scent to combat the earlier one, and after some time, Nesta found temporary comfort in the redundancy of preparation.

The aroma came together beautifully once the various herbs, spices, and vegetables simmered with the chicken. Nesta allowed herself a moment to be pleased with her work and returned the lid to the large pot to allow everything time to cook together.

Voices travelled into the space from the other room— loud, although not entirely hostile— and resonated in the hollow area within her chest. Determined not to allow them to sour her satisfaction, Nesta settled into the nearby breakfast nook with her novel. She opened to her most recent page and lost herself in the space between the words, happy to immerse herself in some other life.

—

Fire.

Nesta smelled fire.

Her eyes leaped from the page to scan the immediate area. No smoke, no visible flames. The scent remained; however, and Nesta wondered about temporary madness until its source strode into the kitchen.

Cassian appeared— sauntered, as he usually did— around the corner, and the scent intensified. It hijacked Nesta’s senses, eclipsed all the other aromas she’d enjoyed earlier, until he was the object of her resolute focus. Against her will, to top it off.

He opened several cupboards in search of, only the gods knew what, until his eyes lit up at finding a package of dried meats in the pantry. Tucking it into the crook of his elbow, he opened another cupboard and pulled crackers, what looked like some kind of preserved fruit, and some nuts. Nesta fixed her features into indifference as she watched him move about the space, but it hardly mattered. Cassian didn’t seem aware of her presence in the slightest, but after several seconds, his voice traveled through the kitchen and clued her in to her naivety.

“Smells good in here,” he stated, his attention focused on which platter may have met his needs.

Nesta saw it for the olive branch it was, the attempt at casual and friendly conversation. The last thing she needed was his damned charity.

She hummed some semblance of a reply and turned to the next page with a soft snap. Cassian placed his haul on the countertop nearby and wisely withheld any type of retort at her dismissal. Well, he mostly withheld a reply if one ignored the unimpressed huff of a laugh he offered.

Cassian was a social creature in ways Nesta could never be, so ignoring him seemed the best way to have him stalking off to resume his grand time with the others. For the second time in mere minutes, though, he surprised her.

Without a word, he walked over to the large pot and lifted the heavy lid to peer inside. Nesta’s eyes bugged at his audacity to disturb her meal, doubling in size when he took things a step further and gave the stew a slow stir.

The book lay forgotten on the tabletop, and Nesta’s legs carried her over in a handful of long, purposeful strides. Cassian seemed unruffled by her proximity entirely, but Nesta’s bones thrummed in a delicate rhythm she wondered if she could ever understand.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she snapped.

Cassian lowered the wooden spoon on the rest and looked sidelong at her. Half of his dark hair was pulled back into a haphazard bun, tendrils dancing around his face as if in step with the amusement in his gaze. Nesta’s breath caught, but she met his stare with equal intensity.

His mouth twitched at the corners, one side curling into a satisfied smirk. “I knew this smelled familiar. I’ve made it myself, more times than I can count.”

Nesta lifted the wooden spoon to stir the stew in some petty show of ownership. Doing so felt transparent, but Cassian needed reminding of boundaries, it seemed. He leaned his palms against the countertop and watched her without an ounce of offense in his posture.

They stood close enough to feel the other’s body heat, to hear the rhythm of the other’s breathing. Tension tickled every atom between them and permeated the space. The only saving graces were the erratic sounds of Nesta’s stirring and the occasional raised voice from the other room.

The silence within the kitchen wasn’t unwelcome or strained in its purest form, but the side effects of that silence became a beast all its own. Heightened pulse, the action-potential threaded through each cord of her muscles and the shallow breaths— they grew increasingly difficult to conceal with every passing second.

Cassian’s breath hitched, and since Nesta had already allowed herself the indulgence of his proximity, she lifted a small bit of stew to her mouth for taste testing. If her mouth was otherwise occupied, she didn’t have to be as concerned with it creating problems for her future self in a number of ways— ranging from scathing comment, all the way to something more physically indulgent.

The flavors flooded her tongue and filled her with an odd sense of pride at having produced something edible with no tools other than a slip of paper and social avoidance on her side. Before pure satisfaction could settle in, however, the glide over the back of her tongue fell flat, a little bland, and left her wanting. It was a test of her self-control that she lowered the spoon into the pot with a reasonable amount of force.

She cleared her throat. “So, you’ve made this before?”

The silence felt loaded with Cassian’s lack of response, but from the corner of her eye, she saw his head shake back and forth as if he’d been somewhere else entirely.

“Yeah,” he breathed, easing close enough that their shoulders overlapped. Nesta thought he would elaborate, saving her the awkwardness of fishing for information, but luck hadn’t been on her side in some time.

“How did I do?” she asked, more timid than she’d care to sound. Her goal had been teasing indifference.

Cassian’s hand shadowed hers on the spoon in permission, and Nesta nodded. The roughness of his skin ghosted over the back of her palm during the transfer, and usually, she would force herself to bristle. Too much time had passed with his body so close, and her commitment to the charade felt minimal at best.

“It smells great; looks right. Why?”

“Something isn’t right about it.”

He hummed in consideration. Nesta back arched imperceptibly before she righted herself. With her guard down, it was as though her body aimed to betray her in favor of pressing her shoulder blade against Cassian’s broad chest.

Cassian muttered a low curse and dropped the spoon against the side of the pot with a dull thud. Nesta’s gaze whipped over her shoulder, mouth poised around a reprimand or some scathing, rhetorical question, but the look on his face stopped the words short.

His wings flexed over his shoulders, and the effect the movement had on how light scattered through the membrane would have been dazzling if not for the way Cassian’s pupils seemed bottomless. They pulsed around the edges, seeming impossibly darker and devouring any hint of his eyes’ usual color. Nesta couldn’t look away, but in some distant corner of her mind, she wondered if she should have been more anxious overall.

Cassian’s hand gripped the edge of the counter, but he didn’t move away. That alone surprised her, and something like anticipation skittered up her spine and through her body like confetti.

That familiar, unwelcome warmth pulsed beneath the surface of her skin. Nesta had learned the signs so many times over, had developed numerous ways to cope and keep herself contained. None of them occurred to her, and for all she cared, they could incinerate her mercilessly.

His chin dipped, his eyes squeezing shut in an expression that looked similar to pain. Unbeknownst to Nesta, her head had leaned toward his shoulder by mere inches, but the way his body heat blazed the back of her neck felt like full, uninhibited contact. Cassian blinked, long and lazy, and the hazel of his eyes reappeared in a way that made Nesta wonder if she’d imagined the whole thing.

Cassian laid his free hand over the curve of her waist with a gentleness that seemed of someone else entirely, but the calluses that snagged the fine fabric of her gown identified him. It made no sense that she’d know that sensation anywhere, but somehow, it had been one permanently embedded in her memory from that final battle.

“Maybe it needs a little time for everything to come together,” he murmured, his thumb making a too-soft sweep over her waist.

That word again— time. Nesta had grown so exhausted with it, but she managed to keep that secret hidden.

She gave a curt nod and turned her attention back to the subpar meal, but Cassian’s hand held fast to its position. He occupied nearly all of her senses, and an impossible tightness gripped her ribs from the inside.

As if the shift in the air had thrown him off-kilter in a similar manner, a too-familiar drawl weaved its way into his next words. Their familiar ground, built on loaded silences and provocations, felt less like a foundation and more a slippery slope as of late.

“I wouldn’t be hard on yourself, Sweetheart.” His sweet, teasing tone choked her, like trying to breathe through syrup. “None of us got it on the first try.”

Her temper flared with an eerie sort of quickness, one that left her without balance and too vulnerable to what she spent most minutes of her days choking into submission. Her bones burned white hot, and she narrowly evaded her power’s proverbial claws. It would have been cause for celebration if the cost wasn’t her viper’s tongue and the annihilation of any peace they’d found.

“You try it, then,” she snapped, turning quickly enough for his hand to fall from her waist. “You could use your mouth for something useful rather than drone on as you do.” Without the pressure of his hand against her, perhaps her mental faculties would come back.

Cassian blinked a couple of times, and his gaze leaped from hers to the spoon in her hand. The other was poised beneath to catch any spill, and she held it toward him like something precious— anything to absorb some of the intensity flowing through her bloodstream, to keep her hands and focus at a safe distance.

“What?” he croaked. His eyes repeated their dance between her own and the spoon she held between them.

“Try it,” she ordered again, but her voice had lost some of its sharpness. “Tell me how to fix it, since you’ve got it all figured out.”

Cassian blinked again, and it could have been her imagination, but his chest seemed to heave with the effort of breathing. A chill was all that remained when he took two slow, small steps away from her. The change in him was as obvious as it was swift, but Nesta couldn’t fathom what had flipped the switch with such effectiveness.

“I— I can’t,” he scoffed. “The others are waiting for me.”

Nesta narrowly resisted a roll of her eyes at his sense of servitude. She watched as he snapped into action, locating a tray and piling his haul on top without taking even a moment to lay them out properly. He drew his bottom lip between his teeth, his brow furrowed, and his attention seemed to bounce all about the space while managing to miss Nesta’s general vicinity entirely. His movements were efficient in locating the last couple of items he needed from the cabinets and cooler nearby, and in seconds, he had the haul balanced in his arms once more.

Shaking her head against such a brutal shift in their conversation, Nesta turned toward her dinner and tapped the spoon lightly on the edge of the pot to return the contents. She tossed it into the trivet nearby with little grace and even less concern, and the loud clang seemed to echo in the too-silent room.

Cassian’s shoulders bunched under the weight of everything he carried; either that, or the abrupt change in their conversation felt uncharacteristically heavy to him, too. The thought that it might feel such a way gave Nesta some ill-placed sense of comfort, but considering she knew very little of it, she allowed the small bandage it applied to what felt like an ancient wound.

She made the way over to her book without any acknowledgement of Cassian’s existence. She had entertained it enough already, and if she settled back into where she’d left off in the story, she could finish two or more chapters by the time everything was finished. A much more productive use of her time, she thought.

Cassian paused at the threshold, and she hated that she even noticed. Her body— every sense it possessed— seemed bent on sabotage. Rather than look at him, she trailed her finger down the edge of the pages and turned to the next with delicate precision, but the words all ran together in a chaos she was trying so vehemently to keep private.

“Nesta,” he said, his voice low, “it’s sage.”

Her head snapped up before she thought better of it. “What?”

“What you’re missing, why your meal isn’t working. It needs sage.”

Nesta fixed him with an unimpressed glare. “Oh?” Her attention dropped to the page in front of her, the portrait of inconvenience. “I hate to offend your superior senses, but I added it already.”

She hadn’t. In fact, she cursed internally for the mistake. It was written plain as day in the recipe she followed, but she’d been so preoccupied with the other prep that it slipped her mind. Giving him the satisfaction, especially without his willingness to try the damned soup in the first place, didn’t appeal to Nesta.

Cassian cleared his throat. “I don’t think—”

“I’ll give it time,” she hissed, her eyes betraying her again by flying to his face. “All the time it needs.”

His dark eyebrows drew together in challenge, and Nesta could nearly see how his brain weighed the different strategies on how to proceed. His mouth opened, shut, and opened again. To her surprise, his lips ticked up at the corner, and she hated the hold that small movement had on her breathing.

“You can give it all you want,” he drawled, “but it won’t help.”

Her nostrils flared in irritation, and it was enough to tempt her to finally allow that boiling feeling to take over completely. To incinerate the moment, the two of them, and anything else in its wake, if only because she could. But mostly, it would have saved her the production of these conversations and the ever-present tug she felt toward Cassian, no matter how infuriating.

Nesta took a deep breath, warring with what to say, but he saved her the trouble.

“I helped Elain bring everything inside,” he murmured. The low volume did very little to disguise the satisfaction in his voice. “The bundle of sage in the cooler is untouched from this morning.”

Her heart leaped to her throat. Whether the rasp of his voice or the way he called her on the blatant lie was to blame, she wasn’t sure. She forced her gaze back to her open book and feigned the most casual tone she could conjure under the circumstances.

“The others are waiting.”

The very excuse he’d made for his intended departure was a safe dismissal. Cassian was many things, but clueless was not one of them. Nesta was confident he would see it for the clear signal it was that their conversation was officially over.

“Right,” he began, adjusting his haul in his arms. “I’ll see you around.”

Nesta catalogued each of his steps, annoyed that she knew the cadence so well. Her shoulders relaxed, and she blew out a long, heavy breath. She stared into the negative space of the room, a room that felt too large upon Cassian’s absence, yet too small when they had shared it.

Her gaze bounced from the pot perched over the small flame, to the cooler, and back to the novel in front of her. She was on her third attempt at reading the same paragraph when resolve abandoned her completely. Snapping the book shut, she huffed an undignified breath and stalked over to the cooler.

The sage wasn’t going to prep itself.

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[withclawandvine]

does anyone else think about how winnowing is never described as making a sound, but when rhys appears at feyre's wedding, there's a resounding crack. he chose to make that noise.

and then when cassian and azriel come to feyre's rescue in acowar they both hit the ice so hard it splinters in every direction. like there's absolutely no reason to land that hard except for the drama of it all

??? because i sure do. often. Doing The Most clearly runs in this family

[aprill-99]

How it started *Under the Mountain*:

Feyre: “So that’s the love of my life.”

Rhys: “Really? Tamlin? That guy?”

Feyre: “Yeah. Thoughts?”

Rhys: “And prayers. Girl what-”

Where it went *Early ACOWAR*:

Feyre: “So this is my mate.”

Lucien: “Really? Your mate is that guy?? Rhysand???”

Feyre: “Yeah. Thoughts?”

Lucien: “And Prayers. Girl what-”

[freyjas-musings]

I am here to share a piece of my heart with my Gwynriel family ..... This art commission I got from artist @alexandraczerw_art has a really special place in my heart .... This fanart basically captures the spirit of Gwynriel 😍

Repost Not Allowed

Characters belong to @Sarah J Maas

[rache1auren]

I will always defend the sisters over the inner court. The Inner Court are rulers within their court, they are 500+ years old. They have a higher duty to take care in their words an actions. They cannot be compared to early 20 year olds who have had a lesser education as well as far less life experience.

I’m tired of people holding Nesta/Feyre/Elain to the same standard as these people, and especially tired of the reverse. The IC is made up of a High Lord, 15,000+ year old alien fae, court coordinator/stand in ruler for the night court/Velaris, commanding general of the army, and Spymaster. They are of the highest command within their respective territory. They literally have a higher duty to act rationally and morally.

Yet at EVERY TURN they are expected to be given the benefit of the doubt. That even though they are fae, that they have committed atrocities FAR worse than the sisters could ever dream of, they are held to the same standard or even a LOWER standard than the sisters.

Compare that to human girls who have known nothing but abuse, neglect, trauma, death. And then are expected to deal with it better than 500 year old fae.

Fae who when they were dealing with trauma and anger destroyed an ENTIRE city block, slaughtered a whole village in revenge. Did such unspeakable things that their friend can hardly bare to think of it. Who have fucked around for 500 years, drinking their pain away. Fae who have made far worse mistakes than setting up a court to fall, far worse than letting your sister go hunt at 14, far worse than being mean, far worse than drinking and fucking in order to cope with this power thrust upon you—to cope with the trauma of being violated and tortured, of having to witness your father die JUST as he finally showed up for them.

Or that they KEEP lying to someone they are supposed to love and respect. But they don’t believe in her enough or respect her enough to give her dominion over her own body and medical situation. Because they DONT think she’s mentally capable of hearing the news of her potential demise. Despite her having faced her own death before time and time again. Feyre has proven she could handle the news (and she DID handle it well), but it was Rhys who didn’t handle it, who flew off the rails and needed to beat up his friend in order to keep his calm, who wanted to kill his mates sister, his best friends Mate because she told a secret he didn’t want out.

How is telling a secret (regardless of intent or approach) in any way deserving of death?

So when I tell you I hate the IC, it is because of how they treat these young females with such little empathy. That they leave them locked in a house with little to no help or company, wasting away because their sister and High Lady is off doing something else. That they AGAIN lock away Nesta because she is embarrassing them and they need to show they can control her. Because if it really was just about helping her, they wouldn’t have given her free reign.l of their money (they went from paying for her rent by check, to her having full access). They would have tried to get her to talk to a counselor (because YES, they have counselors for the priestess’). That maybe the 500 year old Mor who touts herself as a savior and advocate for women, would extend her empathy to two traumatized previously human girls. Because they never help any of them unless it means something for them in return.

TL;DR fuck the IC for how they treat the sisters.

[yaralulu]

I’ve seen a few people confused on if Feyre really manipulated Tamlin and Lucien into distrusting each other by alluding to some kind of affair between her and Lucien so let’s talk about it.

It’s important to note that Tamlin and Lucien’s relationship was already rocky at this point so it wasn’t that hard for Feyre to cause tension and distrust between them.But still she caused some irreparable damage to their friendship that wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for her manipulations.

Feyre was intentionally being more handsy and close to Lucien because she wanted to stir up distrust and suspicion not just between Tamlin and Lucien,but amongst the Spring Court.By alluding to an affair between the High Lord’s emissary and his consort,the very foundations of the court started to crack.Also Tamlin without Lucien by his side is just a recipe for disaster and Feyre knew that.

Feyre wanted other people to notice her and Lucien being close.She knew their newfound coziness would be reported back to Tamlin,planting seeds of doubt in his mind.

It was my first time on a horse in months, and I was stiff enough that I could barely move as the party dismounted. I gave Lucien a subtle, pleading look, and he barely hid his smirk as he sauntered over to me.Our dispersing party watched as he braced my waist in his broad hands and easily hefted me off the horse, none more closely than lanthe.

I'd rolled onto Lucien's bedroll at some point, any schemes indeed second to my most pressing demand—warmth. But I had no doubt Jurian would tuck away the information to throw in Tamlin's face when we returned: we'd shared a tent, and had been very cozy upon awakening.

But it was Jurian right on their heels, as if he'd been divulging the details of his surveying who smiled at the sight of us, knee to knee and nearly nose to nose."Careful, Lucien," the warrior sneered. "You see what happens to males who touch the HighLord's belongings."

So even when Tamlin wasn’t around Feyre was continuing this act because she wanted everyone to start thinking something was happening between her and Lucien.And her efforts were not in vain.Her plan worked..a little too well even.

"You don't act that way with Feyre." A silk-wrapped threat. "You're mistaken.” "Am I?" Twigs and leaves crunched, as if she was circling him. "You put your hands all over her." I had done my job too well, provoked her jealousy too much with every instance I'd found ways to get Lucien to touch me in her presence, in Tamlin's presence.

Then we have the infamous nightmare scene.The whole thing was a set up so that Tamlin would catch his bestfriend and Feyre in a compromising position after he’d probably already heard rumors about them.She wanted Tamlin to start questioning Lucien and his intentions.

I had no doubt Tamlin was now running through every look and conversation since then. Every time Lucien had intervened on my behalf, both Under the Mountain and afterward. Weighing how much that new mating bond with Elain held sway over his friend.

By planting doubt and suspicion in Tamlin’s mind,Feyre’s schemes worked and Tamlin and Lucien’s friendship suffered.

Tamlin and Lucien, it seemed, had spoken before the meal, but the latter made a point to keep a healthy distance from me. To not look at or speak to me, as if still needing to convince Tamlin of our innocence.

I hauled myself into the canvas tent when the fire was dying out, the space barely big enough for Lucien and me to sleep shoulder to shoulder. "Maybe I should sleep out there." I rolled my eyes. "Please."A wary, considering glance as he knelt and removed his boots. "You know Tamlin can be ...sensitive about things."

So yeah everything Feyre did was intentional and with purpose.She used Lucien to make Tamlin jealous therefore condemning their friendship.She roped him into her schemes which ended up having detrimental effects not just on his relationship with Tamlin but on his entire reputation in Spring.And sure Tamlin and Lucien’s friendship was already not the greatest but Feyre made things exponentially so much worse.

[iocaisaint]

Elain currently has the exact same problem that Nesta did when it comes to mates, the only difference is that the IC doesn't hate Elain and does hate Lucien so they didn't imprison rehabilitate her with him.

[romanticatheartt]

Just some observations...

TOG is written in 3rd person, all the characters are written in third person. CC is also written in 3rd pov. And their bonus chapters.

The first trilogy of ACOTAR, which is for Feyre, is first person. We had 3 chapter's from Rhys and they're also first person.

ACOMAF has one bonus chapter for Cassian and Nesta and it's written in 3rd.

ACOFAS is multi pov. Feyre, Rhys, Cassian and Morrigan. Feyre's and Rhysand's pov are 1st person BUT Cass' and Mor's are 3rd person. In the same book.

ACOSF is 3rd person. It changes between Nesta and Cassian. We have 2 bonus chapter from this book, one is from Feyre's pov and the other from Azriel. Azriel's pov is in 3rd person but Feyre's is still 1st person.

So... only Feyre and Rhys have 1st person povs.

Here's also a video of SJM's interview for ACOSF release day:

"Even though they [Feyre and Rhys] still are the center of everything"

Now this can mean a whole lot of nothing lol. It's just interesting...

[bunnyshideawayy]

i think the way male characters interact with each other over a woman says a lot about how they view said woman.

it’s clear here Rhysand is worried not only about the political ramifications but also personal ramifications Azriel’s clear LUSTING after Elain will cause.

its stated and made obvious multiple times throughout this chapter that Az is sexually attracted to Elain….and that’s it. His lust and desire and ENTITLEMENT is made so clear that Rhysand has to step in and reprimand him before it blows up in everyone’s face.

Elain is obviously infatuated with him, and Azriel is playing off of that to sleep with her and then what? he literally doesn’t know because he’s so blinded by lust and jealousy that his brothers have mates he cannot see past getting Elain naked. i believe it’s perfectly implied here he only sees Elian as a challenge, and should he ever get the chance to actually sleep with her he will no longer be equally as infatuated. He won’t even admit to himself he’s not over Mor.

I’m just pointing this out as many people seem to have skipped half of his chapter after seeing the word “arousal” and running with it. if you actually read the chapter as it is written it’s actually pretty gross to see people justifying Azriel’s behavior and mindset.

I personally don’t really care who Elain ends up with, if i wrote the story she’d stay single and living her best life baking and gardening and volunteering in the community but alas this is a romance at the end of the day. but i will not ignore clear implications from the story, Az sees her as a sexual pursuit. i can’t wait to see how the next acotar will play out and if gwyn will receive the necklace / wear it as it would prove to the readers and Elain my point was correct, hopefully not though the “OW” trope is so icky to me, but as i said it would add to my point. If Az truly liked Elain for Elain he wouldn’t back down from her or from Rhys (although this seems to be a problem for both Az and Cass) and he wouldn’t give this necklace he meant FOR* Elain to another woman on some random whim. I could go on and on but i’m so tired of seeing shippers justify and ignore this bs. Az shouldn’t be near any woman as long as he’s got this jealous and entitled mindset- Gwyn or Elain or whoever yall ship him with.

[hopelesslyhopeful11]

The Future Betrayer of ACOTAR

*I already know this is going to definitely make people mad, but be kind y’all, this character isn’t you and has no reflection on who you are as a person*

The Hint of a Future Betrayal:

In ACOSF, we get this quote from Briallyn (who was working very closely with Koschei) that they are aware that there are members in the night court that can be persuaded to help them with the right motivation.

The Right Incentive and Motive

Like any crime and suspects, we must look at who has motive and who is desperate enough to commit said crime. That being said: who has been hinted since ACOWAR to want something very desperately to the point of delusion? I favor Elain and here is why I think so:

Here are three separate occasions across two books that we have Elains storyline heavily showing her desires and wishes to be human. To the point where she followed something into enemy camp away from her loved ones because she was that desperate to be human again. That is definitely foreshadowing especially when we see it across two books and with what we learn in ACOSF in regard to Elain.

The Evidence in Elain’s Storyline in ACOSF

The next part of placing a suspect is gathering the evidence to suggest your suspect is guilty and ACOSF has pretty good evidence.

Above is only one instance (had to cut out the others bc tumblr does like more than 10 photos per post), but there are multiple instances showing that Elain and Elains storyline is suspect. Like Elain is noticeably absent from the pages in ACOSF which was shocking in and of itself, but what’s even more shocking is that the scenes we do get show us she is sneaking around/lying/and not acting as she normally does (and p.s. we know Azriel isn’t the one teaching her to be sneaky since from his own thoughts we know he hadn’t been alone with her since ACOFAS). This all is just very suspicious.

So who is she working for/sneaking around to?

We get this from ACOSF that Koschei is doing anything he can to free himself and even further drives the point that Koschei knows he can manipulate someone in the IC. So it is reasonable to theorize given everything we know from above that Elain may be influenced to help Koschei under the delusion that he can help her be human again.

To Conclude,

Maybe all of this is just a coincidence. Maybe it is nothing at all. Or maybe it’s everything. I’ll leave you with two last photos that further drive the connection between Elain and Koschei with this line in ACOWAR of Elains mind and this picture saved from SJMs deleted pinterest.

Surely looks to me like SJM was trying to paint a picture of who’s entangled with Elains story and specifically her mind and with all we know from ACOSF, it’s not hard to believe that Elain is going to have a part in freeing koschei with the promise of being human again.

I am once again rewriting to implore you to remember that this is just a theory that I believe is very sound based on everything I posted above with textual evidence and SJMs pinterest. It does not mean I think Elain or people who relate to Elain are evil and underserving of good things. If you cannot debate like you are a human capable of empathy, please see yourself away from my page.

~~Live, laugh, SJM~~

[i-love-your-shadows-baby]

Issues

Azriel x Reader

Notes: Elain bashing because Nesta is better. This is my first ever fic, so I know that it is rushed and choppy.

**Angsty, implied sex, language**

Living in Velaris, or 'The City of Starlight' as most call it, is a dream. I've been here going on 200 years. I moved from Autumn court when I made good friends with Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court. I've loved every second of my life here. The 50 years without Rhys were tough, but of all the places to be trapped...

I felt horrible trying to be happy while Rhys was enslaved to she who may not be named. Vile bitch she was, but now he is back. With his mate in tow no less. I am so incredibly happy for him. He deserves every second with her. I know how it feels to find your mate. Rhys introduced me to mine. His very own Spymaster, Azriel. The most beautiful man to ever walk, fly, talk, breathe. The perfect mate who never lets a day go by without letting me know how cherished I am. He is also my anchor. The power that I wield within me is a raging fire that I am still struggling to control. The fire fuels my emotions which can get out of hand fast if I don't get myself in check. One touch from my mate though, I'm instantly soothed. His shadows wrap around me like a soft, cooling blanket.

Unfortunately, with recent events, my poor mate has had to do this regularly. With Rhys sending him on extremely dangerous missions where he comes home tired and bloody to Elain, Feyre's sister, flirting with him right in front of me. I'm not jealous, but the fucking disrespect is enough to enrage me. One night though.... I had had enough.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I was in the library with Nesta reading. We liked to read books and gush over them later. Specifically, scenarios we would like to play out with our oh so willing mates. I paused when I felt a pull on the bond letting me know Az was back from his recent mission.

"To be continued." I sang to Nesta who just nodded her head in acknowledgement and kept reading.

*Where are you my love?* I sent down the bond. *In the garden* He sent back.

I all but ran to the garden. I had missed my mate dearly. Nesta and I's previous conversation not helping the situation at all.

When I stepped into the garden, I saw Azriel with a small, thoughtful smile on his beautiful face. A flower behind his ear, but not just any flower. A red camellia. The same flower that decorated our bed the night we consummated our bond. The flower that represents our love.

Thinking he was reminiscing about us, I made my way slowly to try and surprise him (it's the thought that counts, you can't sneak up on a Spymaster, let alone a Shadowsinger.) His shadows were immediately swirling around me in greeting. When I drew closer, hidden behind the ornate fountain was Elain. She was holding the red camellias in her hands that were extended towards Azriel. I know he knew the meaning behind that flower, and I'm well aware she did too.

Burning rage took over me at the look on her face. Completely infatuated with my mate with those damned flowers in her hand. How dare she make a move like this on my mate. She has Lucien to ogle over and give flowers to. Where the fuck was he? The shadows sensing my irritation started swirling faster with a slight vibration.

I closed in on them and Azriel felt my fury through the bond as a hiss left my mouth. He turned to me wide-eyed, confused as to why I was so furious. That just seemed to piss me off more. The shadows were trying to sooth me, but failed. My hands were shaking, trying to leash my power that was begging to be let out. Begging to blast this bitch where she stood.

"Hey kitten, what got you so worked up?" Azriel said worriedly using the pet name I loved so much.

I was too focused on the flowers in his hands that he had accepted to respond. I looked up into his beautiful hazel eyes with a tight smile.

"What beautiful flowers, love," I said with every ounce of sarcasm I could muster up, "They express ones love and desire to another."

I reached for the flower behind his ear. His brows furrow slightly as I turn toward Elain. Her breath hitched; she knew she'd been caught. She looked slightly terrified. Good. "And just what the fuck do you think you're doing? What are you trying to achieve here?" Elain just stared at me. Not moving, not blinking. "Did you think you were smart? That I wouldn't know what the intent of giving these flowers is?" She still just stared at me. "ANSWER ME!!" I snarled at her. Elain yelped and looked to Azriel for help. I let out a low growl. My control slowly waning.

I felt Azriel's shock through the bond. I glanced over to him to see him looking between me, the flowers, and Elain. "Elain...." Azriel said hesitantly.

"I love you, Azriel!" Elain shouted, "I don't want to marry Lucien, I don't love him! I want you; I love you! Remember that night...that night you held me when I was crying about how unfair everything was? How I didn't ask for any of this! You consoled me and I felt something between us. I know that something is there! Just because you have a mate, doesn't mean you have to love them! I know that! I'm trying to make you see that too!" Elain fell to her knees crying.

What a sad, delusional, dramatic witch. Hearing her insinuate that there was something between them, that she could convince him to leave me was my breaking point. My control snapped. A roaring sound that I have never heard myself make before reached my ears as I lunged for her. She tripped and fell to the ground trying to get away. I grabbed her hair and yanked her head back to look at me. "I am going to kill you. You are absolutely fucking delusional. You know that? To think my mate would actually leave me for you?!? YOU?!? You're not pretty enough to be that fucking stupid." Azriel tried to touch me, but my skin was searing hot. His shadows weren't having any luck either. I could smell Elain's hair burning in my grasp. My other hand was going for her throat. I was going to watch my hand slowly burn through her neck until she was no longer living.

Right before my hand made contact, I felt Azriel wrap himself around me. His giant wings pushing Elain away, her hair still attached to my hand. I started thrashing in his hold, and my bloodlust not yet quenched. I kept thrashing until I felt a searing pain through the bond. I was hurting him... My skin was so hot that I was burning him! I immediately stopped and turned into him. His face was scrunched up in pain, burns on his arms and chest.

"Azriel....Az...Oh my...what fuck did I do...Az...I- I'm so sorry" Tears flooded my vision as I looked at him. My mate. My beautiful mate. My mate, who dislikes fire because of what it could do...what it DID to him... He was already starting to heal, but the damage was done. I told him he'd never have to worry about my fire, that I would never hurt him. Not after he told me what happened when he was just a child. But here we are...In that exact situation.

I hated myself. Hated how I let this stupid power control my emotions so strongly. My hands shook as I reached out to touch him. "I'm so sorry, I'm sorry...I-I didn't mean to...I hurt you...Oh god, I'm so sorry!"

"Shhh, it's okay. I'm here, I'm fine. Baby, shhh, I'm fine. " Azriel tried to console me, but I didn't deserve that. I shouldn't be so easily forgiven. I know I'll never forgive myself. I tried to step away, but he grabbed me and brought me into his chest. Arms wrapped tightly around me, burns completely healed. I was sobbing and shaking in his arms. Babbling 'I'm sorrys' mind completely empty besides the fact that I hurt him. Azriel picked me up, and we disappeared into the shadows. Leaving Elain by herself.

He took us to our bedroom. I felt him sit on our bed. I moved to straddle him, put my face on his shoulder, and held him. He put his hands on my hips and rubbed his thumbs in circles to sooth me. It had never gone that far before. I've never snapped like that. I was too ashamed to lift my head and look at him.

He shifted under me. "Baby....kitten, look at me..." Not being in the right head space to deny him, I lifted my head and looked into his eyes. They were so filled with love but also concern. Seeing that made the tears come again. "Hey, hey, none of that, okay. I'm fine, we're fine." He whispered. His hands as well as the shadows were caressing me.

"I'm sorry, Az. I didn't mean for you to get hurt. I promised you that I would never...I promised that you would never feel my fire." "I know, kitten. You didn't hurt me. I'm fine, see?" Azriel held his arms out, "All fine, now... I know Elain gets to you sometimes, and I know the meaning of the flowers. What I don't know is what made you erupt like that." I bit my lip and looked back down. His fingers caught my chin and lifted my gaze to his.

"Kitten...." I knew that tone, knew that I needed to listen. "We accepted our mating bond with those flowers. We made love on a bed with the petals of that flower underneath us. Our house is decorated with those flowers. They symbolize our love, our bond. Seeing her give you those flowers and you accepting them....It made me...I didn't want you to start thinking of her when you saw them. Now you definitely will because this mess. It's stupid, I know."

"It's not." Azriel interrupted, "It's not, but kitten, you were the only thing that I was thinking about when she handed me those flowers. About our bond and our month-long mating frenzy." he got a twinkle in his eye and smirked at the ping of arousal he felt shoot through me at the thought of all the ways he took me during our frenzy. All the things he and his shadows made me experience.

"It may have looked different from an outsiders' point of view, and it took me a second to react to everything. I was so shocked by the fury I felt through the bond." I leaned my forehead against his. "I'm sorry." I breathed. "I'm really going to try and get better at controlling how much my power affects my emotions. I'll see someone if I have to. I don't want anything like this happening again."

Azriel hummed in agreement. A strange look taking over his face. "We will figure that out later. Right now, Rhys is requesting our presence." I gulped and looked at him. "I don't know if I can face him right now. I'm still a little too worked up." I gave my mate a heated stare. "Think you can fuck it out of me before we see him?"

He chuckled darkly, his shadows already untying my dress. "Oh kitten, I'm going to do so much more than that."

[merwgue]

The A Court of Thorns and Roses (ACOTAR) fandom is one of the most divided literary communities today. It’s not just a matter of which characters people ship, but rather a deep schism over how people interpret the characters, themes, and real-life issues embedded in the story. The arguments go far beyond typical fandom disagreements and have morphed into full-fledged debates about morality, trauma, and the human condition. At the heart of these conflicts is the tendency for fans to project their own experiences and values onto the characters, creating new "canon" versions of the story to fit their narrative. What makes this even more significant is that ACOTAR isn’t just fantasy fiction—it touches on real issues like domestic abuse, sexual coercion, trauma, and mental health. These are not fictional concepts; they are lived experiences for many people. By brushing these topics aside or simplifying them, the fandom risks doing a disservice to the people who see their own pain mirrored in the pages of these books.

"It’s Just Fiction" — A Dismissive Take on Real Issues

When people say "it’s just fiction," they’re missing the point. Fiction, especially in fantasy, is often used as a mirror to reflect real-world problems. In ACOTAR, we see characters grappling with trauma, mental illness, abuse, and recovery—things that real people face every day. It’s not simply a story of faeries and magic; it’s a story of survival and the human struggle to overcome deep-seated pain.

Take Rhysand’s actions, for instance. Under the Mountain, he subjects Feyre to what can only be described as sexual coercion, making her dress in revealing clothing and sit on his lap while drugged, all under the guise of "protecting" her. In the real world, this would be considered sexual harassment or even assault. The argument that he was forced into these actions to protect her doesn’t erase the trauma it inflicted on Feyre. Fans who brush this off as a romantic plot device are ignoring the very real dynamics of power, consent, and coercion that exist in abusive relationships.

Similarly, Gwyn’s backstory, though not heavily detailed, strongly implies that she was gang-raped by Hybern’s forces during the war. The fact that this is left as an undertone in the series, not explicitly addressed, doesn’t make it any less important. Sexual violence, like what Gwyn endured, is a topic that has far-reaching emotional and psychological consequences for survivors. Yet, in some corners of the fandom, these moments are glossed over in favor of debating which romantic pairing is better.

Tamlin: Abuser or Victim of Circumstance?

Tamlin is one of the most hotly contested characters in the series, and it’s easy to see why. His actions in A Court of Mist and Fury—where he physically confines Feyre, restricts her movements, and isolates her from the outside world—are textbook examples of domestic abuse. There’s no argument that what he did was wrong. But there’s also context that complicates his character and, in some ways, makes him more sympathetic than he’s often given credit for.

Tamlin was traumatized by the events Under the Mountain, forced to watch helplessly as his people suffered for fifty years. He was powerless, and that sense of impotence likely contributed to his need for control once Feyre returned to the Spring Court. He was terrified of losing her, and that fear manifested in controlling behavior. Does that excuse what he did? Absolutely not. But it provides a context that many readers seem to ignore. Tamlin was also suffering, and he lacked the emotional tools to cope with his trauma in a healthy way.

Feyre, too, was suffering, but neither of them communicated effectively, and their relationship deteriorated as a result. Both were deeply broken, but instead of healing together, their trauma pulled them apart. Some fans take this complexity and reduce Tamlin to a one-dimensional abuser, ignoring the fact that many abusers come from places of deep pain themselves. Others take it too far in the opposite direction, defending every action he took. The truth lies somewhere in between: Tamlin was an abuser, but he was also a victim of his own unresolved trauma.

Rhysand: Savior or Manipulator?

Rhysand, on the other hand, is often seen as Feyre’s savior, the one who rescues her from Tamlin’s abuse and shows her how to be strong. But the fandom’s lionization of Rhysand ignores many of his own toxic behaviors, particularly his emotional manipulation of Feyre.

While Tamlin physically trapped her, Rhysand’s control was far more insidious. He isolated Feyre mentally, ensuring that the only people she trusted were members of his Inner Circle—people whose loyalty ultimately lies with him. Over time, Feyre’s connections to anyone outside of Rhysand’s immediate orbit are severed. Lucien, who had been a close friend, is gradually pushed away, and Feyre is left with no one to question her relationship with Rhysand.

This emotional isolation is a form of manipulation that can be just as damaging as physical confinement. Rhysand controlled the narrative around Feyre, making sure that she only saw the world through his lens. This is most evident in A Court of Silver Flames, when he instructs his Inner Circle not to tell Feyre about the dangers of her pregnancy. He withholds vital information about her own body, taking away her agency and reducing her to a bystander in her own life. The fact that Mor, Cassian, Amren, and Azriel all follow his orders without question only reinforces the power imbalance in their relationship.

Many fans excuse Rhysand’s actions because he’s portrayed as the "good guy" in contrast to Tamlin. But when you strip away the romantic lens, Rhysand’s behavior is just as controlling and manipulative, albeit in a different way. The fact that Feyre wasn’t physically confined doesn’t make his actions any less problematic.

The Creation of a New "Canon"

Given the complexity of these characters and the morally gray areas they inhabit, it’s no wonder that parts of the fandom have taken to creating their own "canon" versions of the story. Fans rework characters’ motivations, rewrite key events, and even create alternate universes to fit their preferred narrative. In some ways, this is a normal part of any fandom; people create headcanons and fan fiction to explore different possibilities within the world. But in the ACOTAR fandom, this rewriting often feels like a necessity rather than a choice.

Pro-Rhysand fans, for instance, downplay or outright ignore his more problematic actions, painting him as the perfect mate for Feyre. On the flip side, anti-Tamlin fans erase any nuance in his character, labeling him irredeemable and unworthy of any sympathy. It’s as if the original narrative can no longer be accepted as it is because it doesn’t fit into a simple good vs. evil framework.

This rewriting of canon can be harmful because it erases the complexities that make these characters human. Tamlin is not just a villain, and Rhysand is not just a hero. Both characters have committed acts of abuse, but they also have their own traumas and struggles that inform their actions. Ignoring these complexities simplifies the narrative in a way that doesn’t do justice to the story’s deeper themes.

The Seriousness of ACOTAR’s Themes

The divisions within the ACOTAR fandom aren’t just about ships or character preferences; they’re about how seriously the themes of the series should be taken. Domestic abuse, sexual coercion, trauma—these are not just plot points to be dismissed as fiction. They are real, painful experiences that people face every day.

Feyre’s experiences with both Tamlin and Rhysand reflect different forms of abuse, and neither should be diminished. Tamlin’s physical control was overt and obvious, while Rhysand’s emotional manipulation was more subtle but no less damaging. Both forms of abuse are real, and both deserve to be addressed with the gravity they warrant.

Similarly, Gwyn’s implied assault is a reflection of the horrors that many survivors of sexual violence face. Her story is not just a subplot; it’s a reflection of the very real trauma that many women endure. Dismissing these moments as mere fiction invalidates the experiences of readers who may have lived through similar pain.

Conclusion

The ACOTAR fandom is divided because the series itself is complex, filled with morally gray characters and real-world issues that demand serious consideration. By rewriting canon to fit personal narratives, parts of the fandom are erasing the very complexities that make the story impactful. Domestic abuse, sexual coercion, trauma—these are not topics that should be brushed aside or simplified. They are reflections of real pain, and they deserve to be treated with respect and understanding. Both Tamlin and Rhysand are flawed characters, and both engage in abusive behaviors, though in different ways. Acknowledging these complexities is essential to understanding the series as a whole, and it’s something the fandom, as divided as it is, must come to terms with.

[an6elic-d3vil]

The way some of y’all talk about reeses feces (RhySAnd) like you know him is beyond wild to me. Like when you guys attempt to defend him you just sound like Feyre throwing a tantrum because nobody likes her mate.

Tamlin Stan: Feyre and Rhysand are toxic for each other and they both suck ass at communicating. The only reason they’re better at it than Feyre and Tam is because they can read each other’s minds. They rarely ever ‘talk’ about things….

Feces Stan: Nuh uh how dare you disrespect my beautiful, black haired, so blue they look violet(tf does that even mean???) eyed god that realistically would discard me so quick! 👹👹

No because you want to live in the night court??? You, a women, in the night court?? Rightttt. Your totally not gonna get abused👍🏾

The thing you claim to hate so much when someone else does it but when Rhysand someone in the inner circle does it there’s hundreds of explanations, reasons, and theories. Make it make fucking sense.

[washmchineheart]

there’s two scenes of acosf I can’t forgive. like when he tells her he fells shackled to her and that everyone hates her? he regret saying almost immediately so I can see why people excuse his behavior given the context of the scenes (I don’t but I can see why people do since nesta is the same way. she says things she doesn’t mean when she is angry so sjm was just trying to parallel them.)

but laughing at her falling downstairs and the hike are just what makes me just…idk. she could’ve died and he was laughing at her. he was amused that she fell bc that meant she failed getting a drink. and no, the hike wasn’t about the fucking healing mountain. he wanted her to breakdown emotionally when she was rightfully angry and punish her. she was fainting and suicidal. I don’t really care about his “there’s nothing wrong to be fixed” speech because yes, you all are acting like she’s broken. actions speak louder than words, sorry buddy

[somewhere-in-the-rain]

Most of the books I read would be at least 60% shorter if therapy existed in fantasy worlds.

[yaralulu]

Honestly, I’m impressed— and flattered you think I have that kind of sway with Tamlin.”

This line from the first ACOTAR book is so important to me because everybody seems to think lucien was just able to have his way with tamlin,convince him of anything—when lucien himself has said he does not have that kind of power.

Yes tamlin and lucien were friends,but above all tamlin was lucien’s highlord. There was always a certain power dynamic between them.Tamlins word was law and lucien was loyal to a fault because of his history with tamlin.

He is my High Lord. His word is law.

However,lucien did not mindlessly agree with tamlin on everything,he was not his “faithful dog”—he tried to reason with him,change his mind, stop him from making dumb decisions but tamlin never budged.lucien often had to resort to begging when trying to change tamlins mind and even then he was never listened to.Lucien ultimately had no say.

Lucien had gone on, his tone pleading,Tamlin. Tam. Just let her train, let her master this—if the other High Lords do come for her, let her stand a chance. —> Regarding feyres training,tamlin said no anyways.

I begged him for more time,but you’d already been gone for months. —> Regarding Allying with Hybern,tamlin allied with him anyways.

“I tried. I begged him for mercy.He didn’t listen. He couldn’t listen.” —> Regarding killing the sentries on guard,tamlin killed them anyways.

At the end of the day lucien was a refugee at the spring court and tamlin’s emissary.Their relationship is incredibly complicated but i think it goes without saying that lucien was doing the best he could considering the situation he was in all throughout acomaf-acowar and how difficult tamlin was to deal with 😓.