#yes it will be feysand

[washmchineheart]

if nesta is abusive for fighting with her younger sister and saying mean/cruel things I wonder what do we think of the guy that kissed against her will, made her dance practically naked in front of strangers and was hiding life threatening medical information from her…

oh wait the fandom loves him.

[highladyofterrasen7]

Aelin: stopped playing piano

Feyre: stopped painting

Bryce: stopped dancing

What helped them rediscover the joy?

Their mates

[romanticatheartt]

I believe at some point in the next books we'll see Nyx getting kidnapped (idk by whom or how, sjm can do the thinking). It's not that I want him to but it's worth reading a half wild beast Feyre doing everything in her power to get her son back. Tears through every court and continent, be merciless and wear the ones' blood who had any hand in taking her son away from her like a second skin. And you know she would be more feral than she was in acomaf:

And Rhysand just watches... and dust whatever that is left from them. Like he said in acomaf:

[sajirah]

For @reverie-tales because she’s a Feysand simp like the rest of us and she’s also the sweetest person ever.

[praetorqueenreyna]

You both have moved on, you don't even talk But I can't help it, I got issues, I can't help it, baby

A continuation of my Making-Olivia-Rodrigo-Songs-fit-Rhysand agenda! Rhysand is so obsessed with Feyre's ex.

[shadowqueenjude]

Ok but if I were Rhysand I would’ve been more worried about Lucien. Like I know you were engaged to Tamlin but did you ever fuck Lucien? Or have threesomes? Maybe that’s why he trashes Lucien so much; he has a very close relationship with both his loves (Feyre and Tamlin)

[thatapologisttoyourantis]

One thing that baffles me about the acotar fandom is they are absolutely disgusted by the Nesta x Azriel ship saying “oh my they’re like brother or sister” blah blah blah (to me they’ve always given would be/could be/should be lovers/mates) but have got NO PROBLEM shipping Azriel with Rhysand’s SISTER…who is also seen as a SISTER to all 3 bat boys…like there’s been 0 indicators to say that Nesta & Azriel see each other as siblings…like a deleted scene in ACOSF is the 3sum between Nesta, Cassian & Azriel & SJM herself said it got taken out but to make whatever of that.

Like if you can ship Azriel with Rhysand’s sister then you shouldn’t have a problem shipping him with Nesta.

Just say you hate Nesta & keep it moving.

[feyres-divorce-lawyer]

behold my new brain baby

[a-court-of-valkyries]

Rhysand to Feyre: I can never forgive anyone who hurt you

Also Rhysand: invades her privacy by continuously going inside her head without permission (and watching her through the tattoo without her consent), twists her already broken bone, forces her into a bargain, drugs and sa her for months while having her practically walk around naked in front of prythian night after night, kissing her without her consent, risking her life (when she's already depressed) with the weaver, dismissing what he did utm and never apologizing, manipulating her, involving himself in Feyre’s relationship with her sisters even though she told him not to repeatedly, sexualizing her in the CoN (there was literally no reason for that, he was just horny), not telling her about the pregnancy for MONTHS while telling everyone else, and once again taking away her power and right to choose

[loveyazy]

wanna post my theory before Elain's book is here

I know people say Feysand is Hades x Persephone, but NO. Wrong. They're Beauty and the Beast as well. Rhys is literally described as having a beast mode/version/side. People are scared of him. He's misunderstood, etc. And because these are retellings, some things are changed. Like for instance, Rhys teaches HER to read, the way Belle taught the Beast to read in the Disney version (I can't recall if they do that in the original fairytale).

I think Tamlin x Feyre were the BatB fairytale retelling, and Feysand were more the Disney BatB retelling.

Hades kidnaps Persephone in the original story. Rhys tells her he wants her to come to the Night Court as part of her deal. You know who else makes a deal to stay with them? Belle and the Beast.

And yes, Rhys takes her away from Tamlin, but that's literally the only similarity to Hades x Persephone they have. Feyre was never spring-like to be Persephone, but who is?

ELAIN.

Elain is actually going to be the Persephone retelling. She is SPRING and where is she? In the Night Court, aka The Underworld, and ope, who is the male she likes? Azriel. Hades kidnaps Persephone and makes a deal to keep her in the Underworld. I don't think Az is obviously going to "kidnap" Elain, he doesn't need to, but I do think some sort of deal will be made, finally ending any sort of tie of her to Lucien and breaking the mating bond (because let's be honest, everyone and their mate getting together is boring af and is honestly why I'm kinda eh about all the mate reveals in her books now but I digress). Also Az's personality fits Hades much more than Rhys did. Hades has been written as a quiet, reserved introvert who likes to stay in the "shadowy darkness of his realm". Does that sound like Rhys or Az? I mean. It's right there, really.

Now the other retelling was Snow White and The Seven Dwarves, and other than a total crack explanation that Nesta went through several men before finding her prince, aka Cassian, (they did say her mother wanted a prince for her and Cassian was referred to as the Prince of Bastards so....?) it's hard for me to really place them as Snow White, but there wasn't another retelling in the first three.

People say oh three brothers, three sisters, so boring. And everyone and their mate getting together is what? Not boring? Not easy? I would LOVE for someone to finally break the mating bond and say yeah no, I don't want you.

Possibly hot take: Nessian would have been 100000000x better if they didn't turn out to be mates. The reveal at first was like WHAT. And then like five seconds later, I was like, "ope, wait. I hate this."

*spoilers up to cc2, all acotar, and tog 7 in the tags

[beansidhebumbling]

People will stone-faced say:

I want to like Nesta but I can't get over how mean she was in the cabin at the big age of 17😓😡

But have no such qualms about the many wrongs the immortal IC have confessed to, specifically the guys.

I see you and your selective moral hand wringing.

The kicker is Nesta's failing for so many of these type of criticisms lies in her being a woman who for so long refuses to play nice with your favs. Otherwise your stringent moral standards would prevent you from liking a single character in ACOTAR (bar maybe Tarquin).

[starfall-spirit]

Star-kissed Night Beneath My Wings

@polyacotarweek Day 5: Favorite Tropes~Duty & Desire, Mutual Pining across the centuries

Polyship: Feyre/Rhysand/Cassian/Azriel

Read on Ao3

AN: This AU was Inspired by @disturbingly-silent's Seraphim!Feyre HC. Thanks for letting me run away with this, lovely!

This fic is going to set up the general AU and then I'll be returning with a few more chapters that dive into what happened in the first war and how the poly dynamic worked for Feyre and the bat boys.

Summary: People say the worst part of war was the bloodshed. The friends you'd fight beside and lose along the way. Maybe her mates were still alive and breathing, but Feyre had lost them all the same. She knew she'd made an unforgivable choice. Five centuries later, she still wasn't quite prepared to face the music.

OR; Seraphim!Feyre x Bat Boys

Rhysand told himself nothing about the visit to Cretea would distract him from his end goal. No matter what was said or who he saw when he landed on that island would keep him from securing the Seraphim legions in the war against Hybern. Yet he still found himself accepting the bottle of whiskey Cassian passed him the moment he entered the House of Wind. Still found himself slumping in his low-backed chair between his two brooding brothers and drinking straight from the bottle.

Amren grimaced, but said nothing about the pity party the three of them were hosting. His cousin, however, was too much of a busybody to let it slide. “You can’t be certain you’ll see her tomorrow. Or in the battles ahead of us. Who knows where Drakon will order whatever battalion she ends up lumped into.”

“Lumped into?” Cassian scoffed. “Drakon won’t be lumping her into anything, Mor. You saw her out there. Barely more than a child, then. With five centuries under her belt…”

Feyre Archeron was remarkable in every sense of the word. He couldn’t forget her skill set in combat any more than he could forget the feeling of her body pressed against his in those few precious nights they shared. Her soft hair tangled around his fingers, the sweet sounds she made, caught between him and his brothers. The glaze in her eyes when they’d map every inch of her wings before letting her return the favor. It was the worst sort of torture, those memories. And beside them, that yawning pit in his chest. Because his mate—their mate, however the fuck it was made possible—had walked away.

And they’d let her. They’d stood there in silence, lingered just long enough for Rhys to cloak the island himself. And then they’d winnowed home as if their little bubble of happiness in a world gone to hell hadn’t just shattered.

Now, he supposed, they’d see where that landed them.

~~~~~

“Rhysand?” Feyre sputtered. “As in, Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court.”

Miryam dismissed her alarm as if it was nothing more than an insect. “You say that like you didn’t call him a friend those years ago. Whatever rumors may claim, we know the truth.”

“That isn’t—” She huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. Miryam clearly marked the defensive motion, but said nothing. “I’m not making assumptions or villainizing anyone. I’m just wondering why they’re visiting after centuries of silence.”

“Feyre, we all knew Hybern wouldn’t stay down forever. The king has had time to lick his wounds and build a grudge.”

She frowned. “You think Night is here for war aid?”

“Among other things.” She stilled at that voice, smooth as silk and sharp as the legendary blade he kept. Azriel. And on either side of him were the other two males she’d abandoned. “Hello, Feyre. Long time.”

“Yeah.” Guilt was already sinking its nasty claws into her, more invasive than any daemati mind games. “It has been.” 

She made herself look at each one of them in turn. Azriel, who like always, kept his face neutral, emotions shut down. If he had any feelings about seeing her here, she couldn’t read it on his face. Cassian had a mask of his own, one that made him seem like an open book to most. But he had become Rhys’ commander for a reason, just as she had become Drakon’s. It was a glint in his eyes and a waver in that charmer’s smile that said the wound she left hadn’t healed entirely. How could it, without a formal rejection? She was even more of a bitch than she felt like that day.

As for Rhys, the look on his eyes made her wonder how much stock could be put in the rumors she’d heard about the Lord of Nightmares. There was nothing of the young prince she’d tangled with in the soft moments between the chaos of battle. Here they were, caught up in another war, another moment of calm. So much was left unspoken, yet nothing went unheard. What cold first words did he intend to deliver?

“A commander. Just as we expected.” She blinked, waiting for something to follow that would cut her to the quick. “You were the best among your peers, after all.”

“Thank you.”

A loud clap broke the tension building. “Hello, old friends,” Drakon exclaimed, gliding up from behind her and greeting the trio warmly. “Let’s all find a seat, shall we? Get down to business. Rhys, where’s your delightful cousin?”

“Home, keeping things moving with the other High Lords. We intend to host a meeting, and gather reinforcements. Secure the other six courts’ armies before our continent is cleaved. Hybern has the Cauldron and is using the weak points in the wall to begin his invasion. Even with their numbers behind us, if we can gain the loyalty of solar and seasonal…”

“You’ll always have my people willing to fly beside yours, Rhys. Just tell us where we’re needed.”

The High Lord nodded. “Thank you, Drakon.”

“Of course. Feyre of course knows how best our current military can be of service.” 

Her chest tightened. She knew exactly where this was going. “I’m glad to be of help, however I can.”

Cassian chuckled. She wondered if her friends could hear the hollowness in it as clearly as she could. Their eyes locked again, warrior to warrior, soul to soul. This was not going to be an easy road to travel. "Of course, pressing as all of this is, we shouldn't waste the opportunity to simply catch up," the general said. Not to mention it's been ages since I've had the pleasure of sparring with a seraphim." Sparring. So that's how he was going to play this. "Care to be my first challenger, Feyre?"

Drakon huffed. "Stop flirting with my commander, Cassian."

Another soft laugh, but he complied all the same. Still, simple as the words were, they'd done their job in summoning the past. Feyre only hoped she wouldn't caught in a mess by the time this was all through; that she'd survive whatever storm her mates would bring upon them all.

~~~~~

Taglist: @lulling-night-sky // @edgyellie // @stars-and-scripts // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @darling-archeron // @goddess-aelin // @the-lost-changeling // @faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @elentiya-whitethorn // @acotar-fanns // @jealousveronya // @acourtofwips // @reverie-tales // @gwynkyrie // @corcracrow // @thelovelymadone // @mybestfriendmademe //@lilah-asteria

[romanticatheartt]

Today I was looking through the books looking for some canon proof for an anon who asked me a question (I got you anon it's in the making<3) and got to this part:

First of all, I'm sobbing. I'm not good. My babies been through a lot and I just want to put them in a blanket, keep them warn and give them all my love.

Second... a few months ago I rebloged a post about how Cassian and Feyre, Azriel and Nesta, and Rhysand and Gwyn's traumas are similar. How a friendship between Rhysand and Gwyn would be lovely and she can be the sister he lost and he the bother she never had, the sibling she lost.

And as always a bitter anon told me wanting Rhysand and Gwyn being besties and them opening up to each other is out of reach and it will never happen because Rhysand hasn't even completely opened up to Feyre (!!!)

I deleted the ask because I'm not here to change people's mind about anything when its already set. But then I came through this part and well this is their proof that they haven't read the book or only remember selective things.

Third, sjm should've written Rhysand's pov... he should've opened up to Feyre and we should've read about them, not only in passing and in a paragraph that most can ignore. We should've seen that Feyre is always there for Rhysand and she always listens when he needs someone to talk to or hold him when he needs someone to just be there for him. (Because now I've seen people saying Feyre doesn't love Rhys as much as he loves her... like my girl can't take a break fr)

[flowerflamestars]

[rosanna-writer]

I Knew You Were Trouble

Summary: Every hunter had a story about the Goatman, tales whispered around campfires of a strange creature with the body of a man and the hooves and horns of a goat, the reason animals were sometimes found shredded to pieces and for the warnings to be back from the woods before dark. Black fur, they said, dark as a moonless night, and strange, otherworldly violet eyes. Feyre Archeron believed it was all a crock of shit. Warnings: Dubious consent Rating: Explicit Word Count: ~3.2k

GOATSAND IS HERE!!!! You can read all about mountain goat shifter Rhys here on AO3 or under the cut. Happy Halloween!!!!

Every hunter had a story about the Goatman, tales whispered around campfires of a strange creature with the body of a man and the hooves and horns of a goat, the reason animals were sometimes found shredded to pieces and for the warnings to be back from the woods before dark. Black fur, they said, dark as a moonless night, and strange, otherworldly violet eyes.

Feyre Archeron believed it was all a crock of shit.

She'd seen the mountain goats staring down from the peaks high up above the woods she hunted in. They scaled near-vertical cliff faces as if gravity were a mere suggestion. On some days, when game was plentiful enough that Feyre could think of something besides the hunger gnawing at her, she dreamed about running away to a cabin so high up, you'd need wings—or a mountain goat's hooves—to reach it.

And other days, she could have sworn a goat was watching her. It was probably nothing more than a coincidence or a trick of the light, and she'd never seen anything close to the strange creature in the stories. There was absolutely no such thing as the Goatman.

With her cupboards bare and her belly empty, there was no choice but to stay in the forest late, even as night began to fall. It had taken her all day to fell a deer, with just enough sunlight left to see by as she skinned and gutted it. The woods were dark as she hefted the carcass over her shoulders and carried it home.

The stories said the Goatman could smell the blood from a fresh kill, and Feyre had been warned to never, ever carry meat or a pelt back with her after dark, lest she attract the monster lurking in the woods. But she refused to return empty-handed and let her family starve.

As she trekked through the forest, Feyre did her best to ignore the hunger pangs, tried not to think about how long her empty stomach would be churning while the meat roasted. It almost distracted her enough not to notice the sound of twig snapping.

Almost.

Feyre stopped in her tracks, heart leaping to her throat. It wasn't unusual for the trail of blood from a hunter's quarry to attract a bear or a mountain lion. Reaching around the carcass, she pulled an arrow from the quiver at her back.

Another snap of a twig. And if she wasn't mistaken, footsteps. "Who's there?" Feyre called.

The figure that emerged from the trees wasn't another hunter like she'd expected. And not an animal, either. This creature was something else entirely.

Blue-black fur, the color of a raven's feathers, covered its entire body. Long, muscular legs—only two, the creature stood like a man on goat's legs—and a bare, broad chest. Curling horns. A stump of a tail peeking out from a pair of black pants. Violet eyes with horizontal slits for pupils. And the most beautiful face Feyre had ever seen.

Perhaps there had been more to the stories of the Goatman than Feyre had thought.

"There you are," the creature said, its voice an oddly sensual purr that had the the hair on the back of Feyre's neck sticking up. "I've been looking for you."

Feyre dropped the carcass and nocked her arrow. She drew the bow, aiming right for the creature's heart. Or at least, where the heart would be if it had one.

The Goatman stepped closer, beginning to circle her. Feyre pivoted in place, keeping her aim locked. The creature's lips twisted into a smirk."Is that venison for me, darling?" it said.

The stories had never said anything about the Goatman being able to talk. Or calling anyone darling. Feyre scowled to cover her surprise. "Absolutely not," she said.

The creature kept circling. Feyre's aim didn't waver.

"Are you sure you couldn't be persuaded to share?" the creature said, eyes glinting like stars. "Unless I should take this to mean that you have quite the appetite."

Feyre's hand tightened around her bow. If the Goatman meant to attack her or steal the carcass, there was no reason to taunt her like this. It wanted something from her, and she couldn't figure out what.

"I don't share."

"Good. I don't, either."

There was an edge to the creature's voice that was almost possessive, but Feyre must have been imagining that. The Goatman was nothing like she'd been led to believe—she'd just been caught flat footed. Nothing more.

Feyre wouldn't make that mistake again. She let the arrow fly.

And the Goatman dissolved into smoke and shadow that the arrow sailed right through before embedding itself into a nearby tree. Feyre pulled another from her quiver and nocked it, scanning the trees for any sign of the creature. For a moment, her shaking breath was the only sound in the forest.

But then the creature spoke behind her. "Half a second faster, and I'd be bleeding on the ground," it said, and if Feyre wasn't mistaken, there was a note of admiration in its voice. She spun in place again and found the Goatman grinning at her.

"I'll skin and gut you, too," Feyre spat. She could use the extra money the Goatman's pelt would bring in, anyway.

"While I'd love nothing more than to see you try," the Goatman said, leaning indolently against a nearby tree, "I have an alternate proposal for you."

Feyre said nothing, just waited for it to go on. Her arm had begun to ache with the strain of holding the bowstring back, but she forced herself to keep the pain off her face. As she glared, the creature crossed its arms over its broad, muscled chest, the gesture strangely human.

"Tell me your name and offer me half your venison, and in return, I'll ensure you arrive home safely this evening," the Goatman said.

For a long moment, Feyre considered that, turning the creature's words over in her mind as she searched for a loophole—and found one. It might let her go just this once, but Feyre was a huntress who'd return to these woods again. And after this time, she might not emerge quite so lucky. The Goatman seemed intent on toying with her, and perhaps it was merely biding its time.

"Ensure I arrive home safely every time I leave this forest. And tell me your name too," Feyre said.

The Goatman pushed off the tree and stalked towards her. As if in response, Feyre felt a tug in her chest, the strange sensation that there was a string tying them together that was pulling him closer. Her fear seemed to dissolve.

"Nothing in these woods or mountains will ever harm you. If anyone so much as considers it, I'll tear out their throat myself," the creature said. The words sounded like a vow.

Goats ate plants, not meat—Feyre didn't understand what it wanted, but the promise was enough for her. The woods were dangerous, and if this was an opportunity to bind the mountains' most feared creature to her side, then that was worth the loss of a few pounds of meat. If she had its protection, she'd give it the whole damn carcass in exchange.

"I accept those terms," Feyre said. She slipped the arrow back into the quiver, lowered her bow, and stepped back from the carcass at her feet. "And now I'm offering you half the meat."

The Goatman crouched before her and tore into the carcass. As Feyre watched it eat, the sensation of a golden thread tugging at her chest grew stronger. She knew with a certainty that ran deeper than bone, all the way down to the core of who she was, that the Goatman was hers.

A monstrous urge of her own began to overtake her, an urge to mark him, to claim him as hers and no one else's.

He straightened, holding her gaze as he wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hand. Those otherworldly eyes had turned a deeper shade of violet. "Your name, mate?" he said, voice rough.

Mate. The word should have sounded foreign, but a wild, feral instinct Feyre hadn't known was buried within her had her wanting to roar back in recognition. MateMateMate. She let the bow fall to the ground and stepped closer.

"Feyre," she said, though if he called her nothing but mate, she couldn't say she'd mind.

He'd missed a smear of blood on his mouth, and she wiped it away. His tongue darted out and flicked the pad of her thumb as she trailed her fingertips along his cheek, then up to the base of the horns that curled back from his forehead.

"Feyre darling," he whispered slowly, a plea and an exploration of the feel of her name on his lips.

She curled her fingers around a horn. "Give me yours, too. Mate."

"Rhysand for my prisoners and my enemies, Rhys for friends, and anything at all for you."

"Rhys will do," Feyre said, running her fingers along the ridges of his horn slowly. She wanted to commit every last bump to memory.

Rhys hissed, eyes fluttering shut. Feyre stopped the movement of her hand, afraid for a moment that she'd hurt him. But the low noise he made in the back of his throat was nothing but pure need.

Feyre didn't need any more encouragement to keep running her hand up his horn, but Rhys said, "That is very sensitive."

"I thought mountain goats used them to fight?" Feyre said, cocking her head. Her hand reached the top of his horn, and she slid it back the other way, towards the base, achingly, painfully slowly.

"Not the undersides, and they have other uses. I'll show you," Rhys said, nearly breathless. Before Feyre had a chance to ask what he meant, he bent those strange goat legs and dropped to his knees before her. He grabbed her free hand and brought it to his other horn, curling her fingers around it in the same way. "I'd never allow anyone but my mate to touch my horns like this."

A wave of feral pride crashed over Feyre at the thought of being the only one permitted to touch his most sensitive places. The urge to put her hands everywhere and claim him as hers and only hers returned in full force.

Rhys leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to the soft place at the bottom of her abdomen, just above her pelvic bone. Feyre canted her hips towards his face. It was invitation enough.

He peeled off her leggings, growling in satisfaction at the scent of her arousal, a bestial noise that sent Feyre's heart racing. Her grip tightened around the base of his horns as his hands found her knees, thumbs brushing the soft skin just inside her thighs.

Their eyes locked for a moment as he stared up at her, reverent and hungry all at once. The thread connecting them seemed to vibrate with anticipation, taut with tension that was just begging to be released.

And then his tongue was on her cunt.

He licked a stripe up her center, dragging his tongue slowly and savoring the way she used his horns to nudge his face closer, a silent plea for more. Rhys obliged, tracing the same path with his tongue a second time before finding her clit.

His exploration of her was thorough and relentless. The tip of his tongue circled the nub until he found just the right combination of speed and pressure to make her come undone. She could feel him cataloguing her reactions, memorizing every single movement of his tongue that made her moan or buck her hips.

It wasn't long until Feyre was incapable of coherent thought beyond more more more, but the one thing she was sure of was that he was already preparing to do this again.

His tongue didn't stop circling her clit, even as he slid a finger into her. With his mouth and hand moving in tandem, her grip on his horns felt like the only thing tethering her to the earth. She found her release, pussy clenching around his finger as her vision went white for a moment.

It didn't feel like enough. She was beginning to think that it would never be enough, not as he stood and held her gaze as he licked her wetness from his finger. Her breath was still ragged as she surged forward to kiss him, tasting herself as she pressed her tongue into his mouth.

Rhys slid both hands under her sweater, cupping both breasts before breaking the kiss to slide it off her. At some point, Feyre's hands had settled on his chest as she nudged him back towards the closest tree.

The bark dug into his back as her mouth found his again. She'd nearly shot him within minutes of meeting; now Feyre had him pinned against a tree, and Rhys wanted to thank her for all of it. The scent of her arousal, the heat of her so close, and the taste of her still on his tongue left him beyond words, too far gone to tell her that he was hers to do anything she wanted with, that he'd take anything at all she'd give him. He merely tilted his head back, baring his throat to her.

His dark fur was soft against her face as Feyre dragged her lips from his collarbone up to his jaw. She ran her hands through the soft fur covering his chest, but when she reached the waistband of his pants, his fingers were already there, scrambling to undo the buttons.

Once his cock was free, she hooked a leg around his waist. Rhys wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer while keeping her from falling. Her hands found his horns again, dragging his face to hers, and as they kissed, he moaned into her mouth.

He slid into her, slowly at first, but Feyre growled and pressed her hips forward to take more of him. Full—she'd never felt so gloriously full, and the golden thread between them seemed to grow even stronger as they moved their hips in time. The arm around her waist kept her steady, even as his free hand seemed to be everywhere at once, squeezing her ass, cupping her breasts, skimming her ribs.

She tipped over the edge, another orgasm tearing through her just as he came. Somewhere in the distance, the mountains trembled.

Still panting, she let her head drop to his shoulder. Rhys kept holding her, murmuring something too soft to hear beyond the words mate and darling. He stroked her hair, and even though she was naked in the forest and in the arms of a man who was half-goat, Feyre felt safe enough to fall asleep after a long day of hunting.

At some point, she stirred, vaguely aware of the sensation of being carried upward. Rhys pressed a kiss to her forehand and whispered, "It's a steep drop and a long way down. I suggest you don't look until you're used to it." She drifted off again.

Feyre woke again to the smell of roasting meat—roasting venison. It was still dark, and tucked under the softest blanket she'd ever touched, Feyre had half a mind to go back to sleep. But curiosity got the better of her, and she sat up.

Lanterns illuminated the log cabin she found herself in, bathing it in a cozy yellow glow. A glance out the window was enough to tell her it was located near the top of the mountain, well above the timberline. The terrain up here was rocky and barren; building a wooden structure like this seemed almost impossible.

Someone had taken off her threadbare hunting leathers and replaced them with a man's shirt and sleep pants. Both were soft, made of the same fine black fabric, if a bit large for her. The cabin was quiet, with no sign of whoever had changed her clothes.

The door opened, bringing with it a gust of chilly wind before it shut immediately. At first, she thought it had blown open on its own. But she glanced down to see a black mountain goat in the foyer—a true goat, with four legs—with a pack full of firewood on its back. If it weren't for the now-familiar violet eyes, she would have thought it had wandered in.

"Rhys?" Feyre said.

The goat shifted and changed, hooves becoming feet and hands, pupils going round, fur disappearing to reveal tan skin. He wore nothing but the same black pants from earlier, and Feyre's fingers itched to trace the tattoos that swirled along his chest and shoulders. He'd become a man, utterly normal in every way other than his absurd beauty and the horns that still curled from his forehead.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he said softly.

Feyre didn't bother to hide her staring, and Rhys looked unsure of himself, if only for a moment. "You didn't. I was already up," she said quickly. She tore her eyes from him and spotted the firewood from the pack arranging itself into a neat pile near the hearth. Some sort of magic, then. "What is this place?"

"Home."

Before she could ask if he meant his or theirs—or even consider which she wanted it to be—her stomach growled audibly. She'd barely eaten all day, and it was almost certainly past dinnertime. "Are— Are you cooking?"

"My mate offers me half a carcass to accept our bond, and you think I'd let it go to waste?" Rhys said, moving into the kitchen. He'd turned his back to her, but Feyre knew he was rolling his eyes. "Of course I'm cooking."

Feyre followed him, and though a part of her felt as though she should angrily point out that he'd tricked her into accepting a bond she hadn't known about, she found that…she couldn't bring herself to mind. The feeling of a thread tied to her ribs was still there, and along with it, a sense of soul-deep belonging.

Rhys checked something in the oven, then stood, and Feyre couldn't help but admire the lethal grace and powerful muscles in his back. Hers. She wanted to put her hands on him again, to memorize every inch of his human form like she had with his horns earlier.

And he knew—that was obvious enough from the smirk as turned and he leaned back against the counter. But his eyes went soft as he added, "Your family is taken care of, by the way. I wouldn't have brought you up here if they weren't."

Feyre considered that for a moment; he'd been watching for a while, then. "How long were you planning this for?" In truth, she didn't care, but it was easier than asking why.

Rhys answered her real question anyway. "The woods are dangerous. I wanted to know why you kept returning to them every day."

She still had more questions—mostly about the particulars of horns and hooves and how exactly his shifting magic worked—but Feyre had everything she needed to know to make a decision. She closed the distance between them, letting him wrap both arms around her waist as she rested her head on his chest.

In answer to a question Rhys hadn't been able to bring himself to ask, Feyre whispered, "I'm staying."

[raven-reads87]

K hear me out.

SPOILERS FOR ACOSF.

So Rhys made a mistake in not telling Feyre about the risk during Nyx’s birth and Madja said no more shapeshifting because it might hurt the baby. But both baby and mother are likely to die in the birth of she DOESN’T shift. So shift into an Illyrian and increase chances of success. Whyyyyyyy let them both die