#amarantha chose to take over she chose to take the High lords power

[achaotichuman]

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

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

#there is still a difference though #Because Feyre and riceman felt no remorse for what they did #and tamlin blamed himself #amarantha chose to take over she chose to take the High lords power #She tricked them all #Yet Tamlin is blamed for not giving into her #Rhysand and Feyre knew what would happen #or at least had a clue #And still did it #smh #acotar #pro tamlin #tamlin #acotar headcanons #anti rhysand #anti feysand #anti ic

[readychilledwine]

Hi! I love your writing, it always makes me grin. Could I request a platonic Az fic? One where reader is like 10, super cuddly and touch affection starved and Feyre’s ward (kind of like Evangeline is to Lyssandra), and maybe like the kid or sister of one of the children of the blessed that was sent over the wall but feyre found her and took her in even though Tamlin didn’t like it, so when Mor took Feyre, she had to take reader too, and then during that dinner, she gets scared to meet everyone (especially cass sine he seems intimidating) so she runs behind the nearest person, Az and when he doesn’t get upset, she sticks with him through the dinner, wanting to be next to him, hiding behind his wings, asking for cuddles, and playing with his hands. He doesn’t get upset and reader just decides to follow him like a shadow from then in and make him her fave person, like watching when he train, being sad and quiet when he’s gone (until Nuella and Cereadwin bring her sweets), happy when he’s back, and never leaving his side, and even asking him to carry her etc.

Oath

Warnings - platonic soul mates, mentions of Amarantha and UTM, visions

A/N - I'm not saying I am tucking this away for a rainy day, but I'm not not saying that 👀

Azriel Masterlist

You didn't even have to ask or knock. The door opened, and shadows pulled you in. Guiding you to Azriel in the dark as he opened up his blanket and pulled you up to his bed and into his arms. "Nightmares?" He murmured softly into your hair, holding you close. "It's okay, little one. We all have them." You curled into him, basking in the warmth and protection he offered. His wing rested over you, feeling like a blanket weighing down like a tight hug. "Tell me what you saw?"

You started softly. "A robed figure with swans. But this time, it was like.." You paused, wiping tears from your eyes. "It was like I was a swan. You were on the waterline of the lake, yelling for me."

Azriel went stiff, then pulled you closer to him. "No one is going to take you from me. From us. You are ours to look after."

And you had been since you arrived in the Night Court. You had been ripped from the mortal realm with Feyre by Tamlin. Feyre had taken you in, despite arguments from her sisters, when she found you starving in the streets. You became hers, and she yours. She was closest thing you had ever had to a sister, and her regret the moment you were caught following her Under the Moutain was something she struggled to live with to this day.

Amarantha had taken a liking to you, though. You were a tender human girl she enjoyed using as a personal servant. She kept you at her side, almost always glowing with how much you admired the fae, how you were raised to be complicit to them by the Children of the Blessed. You complimented her constantly, adoring her dresses, her hair, her glowing skin. You had no idea she was so evil. So cruel. That was until Feyre's first trial.

It was Rhysand who pulled you into his room one night, sheltering you from the violence going on. He had whispered to you tales of a city covered in starlight and a family. A family that all found each other, chose each other, loved each other. He had worked you into the bargain with Feyre, ensuring he had you for one week every month, ensuring you were away from Tamlin, who, for unknown reasons, hated you.

When you first came to the Night Court, Rhys spent the week with you, teaching you to read and write more gently than he had Feyre, teaching you the different courts, the different high lords. He had put you in dresses that made his eyes sparkle but grow distant with longing. He had called you his little second chance, and on that second visit, you were sold. You loved Rhysand so fully that you had clinged to him, crying as Tamlin ripped you from his arms.

When Tamlin locked you and Feyre in the manor, it had been the scariest moment of your life. You were still mortal, but the power radiating from her, consuming her as she pulled you into her chest for comfort, was terrifying. She had told you the Night Court would be your home now once she had calmed down, and the decision was made to have dinner with Rhysand's family. Mor had taken you, winnowing you two in and letting you enjoy that drop, that rush of free falling. Everything had been fine until you saw Cassian.

Cassian was loud, he was huge, he had muscles in places you hardly knew could have muscles. You had ended up hiding, much to Cassian's amusement, behind the closest thing you could. Azriel.

And it had begun after that. Azriel became your best friend. You constantly looked for him, snuggled him, loved him. He became your everything and you his. You made him carry you everywhere, take you flying, and made him laugh with you under blanket forts.

On your 9th birthday, he had taken you into town, spoiling you before the war with Hybern begun with pastries, books, new dresses, and a stuffed animal. It was the same day Velaris was attacked. You had been taken from him, locked into a cell with Nesta, who held you close, whispering how it would be okay. You were forced into that same Cauldron as Feyre screamed, held back by Rhysand as the male pleaded for the King to let you go.

Azriel had promised you from that day forward you were his, swearing it to you in an oath that you two sealed with a pinky promise. He promised to protect you. To keep you safe. To make sure anyone who harmed you would regret it. But even Azriel, as powerful as he was, could not save you from the aftermath of the Cauldron.

1 week after your 10th birthday, weird things started happening to you. You had dreams where you saw things. Similar to Elain. Her visions came out in riddles, though. Yours were different. Odd to Rhys and Amren. Odd to Helion. Your powers were similar to a seer, yet so different.

Helion had described it as you walking through timelines. You could see all outcomes with no direction of how that outcome would come to be, whereas Elain saw one possible future and potential riddles guiding to it. "A burden," he had said to Rhysand quietly. "A burden to know each way someone you loved could die, to know what happens if one pawn doesn't move exactly according to plan, but not be able to tell them how exactly it happened."

You had fallen into yourself more, seeking only Azriel with Feyre's pregnancy and Nesta's spiral. You only told him what you saw in your dreams and occasionally the twins if he would send them to you with treats.

He pulled you close again, shaking you from the past. "What else did you see?"

"Elain," you whispered softly. "Lucien holding Elain tightly while she laid on the ground. She no longer glowed with the light of the fae. It was like the cloaked figure had taken it from her."

The grip on your nightgown grew tight. "What else?" His voice was tense, eyes getting slightly distant, letting you know he was communicating with Rhys that you had seen something.

"Rhys had facial hair." Azriel hummed. Unknown to you that you had just given him an idea of the timeline. It would have had to have been after the birth of babe. Rhys only grew facial hair when he was tired. "Feyre and Nesta weren't there. Just Lucien, Elain, the three of you, and I think me."

"As a swan," he repeated.

"Yes, as a swan. Trapped on his lake."

"Do you know how old you were when this happened?"

You shrugged. "No, but we had a string. It wasn't gold and glittering like Rhys and Feyre's, but red and power seemed to flow through it, not emotions. It felt like I was transferring something to you."

Azriel kissed the top of your head. "You know I need to tell Rhys about this?" You nodded. "And you know he may need you to show him?" You nodded again, but shivered at the thought of Rhysand in your mind. "We should also mention the red string to Amren. She what she can dig up."

"But she's so cranky." Hazel eyes, tired and heavy with sleep, peered down at you. "New Amren is way more mean than old Amren."

"A problem for tomorrow. Go to sleep, y/n. I'll keep your nightmares away."

"I love you, Azzie."

"I love you too, y/n. I won't let you turn into a swan."

You were asleep almost instantly, body back on that lake, and a cloaked figure with a bone like figure stroking your wings.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage

Azriel Taglist:

@elle4404

#acotar #send asks #send anons #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel x platonic!reader

[litnerdwrites]

Cassian thinks Prythian would blessed to have Feysand as High King and Queen yet the dude can’t even govern his own territory properly. If he can neglect and disregard two thirds territory and justify it without complaint, from the ic, then he has no business taking over more territories for any reason! Do you know what would happen if he did?

It’s safe to assume that Winter, Summer and Day would receive preferential treatment. Mostly due to Mor and Amren’s ties to Vivienne and Varian, but also because of how valuable Helion is with his libraries and skills. However, it's likely they'd be extremely weary of him at the same time, for those exact reasons. Maybe they'd even convince Nesta to dance with him as a form of manipulation?

Meanwhile, he’d probably be indifferent to dawn, though their aerial legions may be forced to join with the Illyrians so they’re be able to fight cohesively together. It would also mean they'd be able to keep an eye on the Peregryns that way, with the Illyrians keeping an eye on them to prevent revolt, if Rhysand has any fear of that.

It's been mentioned that Thesan only has a 'small legion' of them, and while small doesn't necessarily mean fewer than, given that Rhysand's armies seem to be made up of darkbringers and Illyrians, with no indications of anyone else. And after what Amarantha did to them, along with how pregnancy is really rare for fae, it's reasonable to assume that their numbers have thinned even more, meaning that the Illyrians likely outnumber them by a decent amount.

Meanwhile The Spring and Autumn courts will be the new Illyria and HC. Or they’d serve the same fundamental purpose at least. They'd be the ones who suffer and are stuck with the role of monsters just to promote Rhysand as a hero/saviour/victim/whatever else he needs to appear as that week. It's likely that Tamlin, Beron and Eris would be forced to give up their titles and authority, along with whatever wealth they have, if not imprisoned all together for whatever crimes the IC accuse them of. They likely wouldn't even acknowledge the abuse of Eris and his brothers, simply chalking it up to him being just as bad as Beron and straight up killing them.

Plus, there’s no telling how the land would react and what would happen to the symbol or station of High Lord. If they are no longer leaders, are the ambassadors to the high king? Will that become an inherited position? I mean, given the kind of power the HLs have, letting them remain private citizens is unwise, while giving them power as aristocracy makes Rhysand seem like somewhat of a figurehead, bringing whatever authority he claims into question. Meanwhile, having the jobs of ambassadors or advisors be inherited positions based on who the land choses to give power to as opposed to skill, and ability seems just as dangerous and foolish.

All it would do is prove that Rhysand is every bit, if not more, the monster that they made him out to be. There's no way they'd agree to it, so Rhysand would have to use force. It would mean a period of civil war, before any semblance of order or peace was regained.

They'd have to Force Nesta and Elain into another war, even if they don't end up wanting anything to do with one, given that it's through their, or even mostly Nesta's, powers that Rhysand is to take his supposed to take this throne.

Would Varian still be able to have feelings for Amren, knowing that she put this idea into Rhysand's head, encouraging him to do it? How would Vivian look at Mor and still consider her a friend after such a betrayal? Would Rhysand and Feyre even care about the innocents that died during that war? No. To all of the above, no.

Typing all of this out, makes it seem like Feysand becoming HK/Q would result in the Nc basically becoming Panem. They even have a mock Hunger Games through the blood right, while Velaris is basically The Capital. Anyone who's watched/read THG can tell you how that ended.

#anti inner circle #anti rhysand #nesta deserves better #anti morrigan #anti ic #anti amren #anti mor #anti cassian #anti nessian #anti rhys #anti sjm #anti feyre #anti elain #anti high king rhys #It's a disaster waiting to happen #I'm telling you

[arson-09]

Acowar Review✨✨ sjm needs to pay for my therapy✨✨

Its not as infuriating as acomaf but its still… bad.

Point 1: the court of ignorance and dumbassery

Lets cut to the chase. why the FUCK didnt feyre read Tamlin and Luciens minds at ANYPOINT while she was doin her hot girl shit of taking the spring court down??? huh sjm??? why is your fmc only powerful when convenient. So much could have been cut down. Acowar was way too long.

The whole destroying of the spring court didnt even make that much sense. Im all for a girlie getting back at the people who wronged her but feyre ended up hurting a lot of innocent people in the process. Feyre even tries to ignore the consequences of her actions. She had to invade peoples minds and manipulate people to get them to turn against tamlin and all this could have been avoided if she read his damn mind and learned he was a double agent. Lucien even hinted towards it

Part One: Princess of Carrion »

Chapter Six

None. It was either go to war with the Night Court and Hybern, or ally with Hybern, let them try to stir up trouble, and then use that alliance to our own advantage further down the road." "What do you mean," I breathed. But Lucien realized what he'd said, and hedged, "We have enemies in every court. Having Hybern's alliance will make them think twice." Liar. Trained, clever liar.

If feyre is supposed to be so smart, and she did pick up on this, why didnt she do anything? This is so frustrating.

Then once she leaves the spring court i found myself frankly not caring. Acomaf hadnt given me enough to care about the inner circle so i didnt and sjm cant make me like rhysand. which i have so many gripes but for word counts sake let me name my main ones

Point 2: Sarah Janet Maas and her shitty love interests

the ignoring rhysand sexual assault of feyre and EXCUSING it and his little habit of not telling his court things

Part Two: Cursebreaker »

Chapter Twelve

Was it going on before you even left?" I whipped my head to him, even if I could barely make out his features in the dark. "I never touched Rhysand like that until months later." "You kissed Under the Mountain." "I had as little choice in that as I did in the dancing." "And yet this is the male you now love." He didn't know-he had no inkling of the personal history, the secrets, that had opened my heart to the High Lord of the Night Court. They were not my stories to tell

here we have sjm acknowledging that yeah, rhysand Sexually Assaulted Feyre UtM in Acotar. Without her consent he dressed her inappropriately (which she was uncomfortable with) had her dance provocatively in his lap, kissed her, and made her drink alcohol so she wouldn't remember the details all without her consent. Yet Sjm is going “its fine” now and feyre herself going “you just dont get it…” ⁉️⁉️⁉️

Now see if sjm actually planned for rhysand to become the love interest why didnt she just avoid all this by having Amarantha make rhysand do this to feyre? Because that would have solved some issues but no. Because Rhysand did all this of his own free will in acotar. He actively chose to do this to feyre. To humiliate her and anger Tamlin because rhysand is obsessed with Tamlin.

Rhysand also loves to not tell his own court things. I was and still am very angry over him not telling Mor, Azriel, Cassien and at the very least his Wife about his plan with the court of nightmares. Just why.

Mors anger towards Nesta also makes no sense. sjm stop writing girl on girl hate challenge impossible

Point three: That one toy story scene “I dont wanna play with you anymore!”

Now tamlin. Tamlin tamlin tamlin im so sorry love for what sjm has done to you. If i start ill never stop. What Tamlin said to feyre and rhysand at the high lords meeting was out of pocket but he also wasnt wrong about some things. Also from established character these actions make no sense and his actions havent made sense since acomaf because sjm threw him and his character away to play with shadow daddy and bad morals. But she also cant commit to making a character of hers actually evil so tamlin saves the whole day by bringing the autumn court to fight and saving rhysand life. Tamlin has redeemed himself by sjm standards but she then wrote the holiday novel which i have read and detested.

Overall the plot was fine. i guess. it probably looked better when compared to the characters.

Sjm learn to redeem characters outside of “ooh they were abused and have trauma so everything they do is okay” for guys and “she fell in love/had sex with the most PERFECT MALE TO EVER MASCULINE.” its boring and flat. Also i know what happens in Acosf (i will not be reading that ty) so wtf happened to Nesta bro. she got the tamlin treatment. boooo 👎

to end off heres some of my favorite highlights from acowar 50%+ thru the book.

#a court of wings and ruin #anti acowar #anti sjm #sjm critical #anti rhysand #anti feysand #tamlin #pro tamlin #This book was bullshit

[starfall-spirit]

Burning in the Starlight

Summary: In the wake of Amarantha's downfall, Feyre finds herself struggling to acquaint herself with the ways of Autumn nobility. Once a third-born daughter, now Cursebreaker, attention and gossip around the court were to be expected. What she didn't expect was the young and rising High Lord's proposal-nor her father's arrangement without her consent.

Trapped between a marriage bed and a mating bond, Feyre finds herself tangled in a new game, thanks to Rhysand's affinity for bargains. A game that would create the sort of scandal a proper Autumn lady shouldn't find herself caught in.

Feyre can't quite bring herself to care.

BitS Masterlist Ao3

@polyacotarweek Day 3: Secrets

Chapter IV: Wife, Mate, Spy

Dinner was an even more casual affair than breakfast, if that was possible. Feyre had lost track of time in the library and Rhys had found her on a window seat, curled up in a blanket with her nose in a book. She was so distracted in fact, it had only been the soft prodding of her mental shield that alerted her he was near.

“Is it getting easier to maintain?”

“Yes,” she murmured, accepting a plate of cheese, meat, and fruit from him as well as a glass of wine. “I’m not so sure that will hold true if I have to be paranoid about you poking at it.”

He frowned, sitting down beside her. “As I said, visitors and powerful officials to Autumn will be a bigger threat to you. Soon enough it will be an unconscious habit and won’t take any energy to keep it solid and in place.” He shook his head, that frown morphing to amusement. “Did you gather every pillow in the house?”

She shot him a glare, burrowing a bit deeper into her nest and balancing her plate on her knees. “What business is it of yours? It’s not like I was poking around your room.”

“And just where were you poking around, Feyre darling?” 

He leaned in just half an inch, his body hardly doing more than tilting towards her. And yet that was all it took for his scent to wash over her. For the second time that day she was paralyzed, but rather than having her control stolen, it was raw instinct bringing her to pause and recognize the thread between them. It was a thriving thing, emotions and fears and dreams tangled in and along it, pulsing between them. 

He cocked his head, watching her straighten and sit back, letting her slowly widen the space between them.

“What is beneath this house?” Rhys raised a brow, rolling a grape between his finger and thumb. “Well, there must be something beyond this place. This part of your territory can’t just be this house and the mountains beyond it. So?”

“We are rather isolated if we’re discussing the cardinal directions. Beneath the house, however, lies my… occupation, one might say. The Hewn City is unpleasant to say the least. It mostly governs itself unless someone needs a firm reminder about who is High Lord.”

“Hewn City?”

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “Amarantha was not as clever as she pretended to be. What you found Under the Mountain was a sanitized version of the Court of Nightmares. And yes, it’s every bit as horrid as its name.”

Feyre hummed, reaching for her wine. “What is it about you wicked and dark types, holding court underground?”

She thought she had masked her distaste well enough, especially with her teasing at what she was truly coming to recognize as a facade. He merely held her stare, his face almost pensive. “Not only are the people there horrid, but it is a reminder. Those years there—” Beneath the stone where he saw no stars. Those years in Amarantha’s bed. “—won’t be forgotten. The first time I returned to court, appearing as High Lord, it was far from easy.”

“Would I have to go there? If…” If she chose him. This place. How long would it grant her this tranquility before the facade faded to the same fascism and maneuverings she was forced to endure in Autumn?

There were many subjects going unspoken tonight. “I would not force you to attend those audiences. My mother rarely did, but then she was not my father’s equal.”

“They weren’t mates?”

“Mates, yes. Equals is another matter. This morning Morrigan mentioned the traditional title a wife or mate inherits. Lady of Night, Autumn, Winter, and so on. There has never been a High Lady, as I’m sure you know through your political studies in Winter.”

“I didn’t have much need for politics or history,” she admitted with a blush. “But I’ve gathered a thing or two since returning to Autumn. Is this your next attempt at a bribe?”

He chuckled. “I’m not foolish enough to believe you would be swayed by something as shallow as power, Feyre. In fact, I’d be disappointed if that was all it took for me to win your heart. This is my pathetic attempt at transparency. Considering where I spent the last fifty years, you could say I’m out of practice in that courtesy.”

Feyre offered him a smile, letting herself scoot an inch closer. “I think you’re doing well enough, all things considered.”

His lips twitched to mirror her own. “I want everything on the table to avoid any unnecessary surprises down the road.” His expression suddenly sobered, making Feyre wary. “Speaking of power, have you discovered any consequences of your resurrection?”

She shook her head. “the usual parlor tricks I had already mastered before going Under the Mountain. You and Eris really believe something was passed to me?”

”It’s been centuries, maybe longer, since the High Lords have seen someone worthy of reviving, and I’ve yet to find any sort of record of the results. Even then, I’d imagine the results are case-by-case. We just need to find your trigger before it does you harm.”

Because fae who tried to suppress power, be they in hiding or something else, had gone mad and burned up from the inside out, trying to lock their power away. “Write to me or—” He huffed, grinding his teeth. “—or inform Eris. He can at least train you in control of Autumn gifts you may possess. Stop smirking like that.”

“You males. Always so jealous when it comes to your mates.” Ignoring his soft snarl, the shiver it sent down her spine, Feyre refocused on the subject between them. “Training the other gifts? Autumn’s ties are tumultuous on a good day, and you have few friends outside of the Night court.”

“The principles will be similar enough through each branch of magic. Once you learn to control a high magnitude of power, the rest will come easily enough. And something tells me you’re a quick study, regardless. Don’t start worrying about that until you actually have to. Especially with the other problems we’re juggling.”

“Hybern, right? Or something else?” She grimaced “You’ll have to fill me in. Vivian could only get crumbs of information behind Kallias’ wards.”

He gave another heavy sigh. “War is coming, Feyre. And fast.”

~~~~~

Rhys’s failure to give a fuck must have worn off on Feyre in the week she was away, because despite her desire to be at least well-mannered enough to show her face in high society, the sheer horror on her mother’s face was worth the risk of wearing Night Court loungewear home.

Though her father scowled at the exposure of her midriff and the sheer sleeves she wore, he had other concerns. “You carry his scent.”

There laid the roots of her concern. The scent of a mating bond left in limbo. She’d spent all week fearing it would snap into place without her consent just because of their physical attraction to one another. “A result of the bargain,” she lied smoothly. “And likely the fact he kept me close during my stay. Monitored, I mean. The last thing he was going to do was let Eris’ bride go snooping.”

There was a semi-truth to that. While there had been little to no classified information to find in the Moonstone Palace, when he spoke to his general and cousin in her presence, there was a vagueness to his words. And a slight pain in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Feyre,” he told her once. “But even with the bond, I can’t tell you everything yet. One day I hope I can.”

“The day I accept you and your court as my own?” She had no right to feel so bitter, but it still stung for some reason.

“The very moment you do. That’s a promise, and I never break my promises.”

Shaking off the memory, she gave her parents and sisters a tight smile. Elain seemed particularly worried, Nesta simply suspicious. “It was all… taxing. But I’m unharmed.”

”I imagine so,” her father replied, voice still laced with suspicion. “Go change into something proper. It’s nearly dinner and the High Lord expects you to join him.”

Insufferable bastard. All he wanted at the moment was to interrogate her, she was certain. And perhaps try to discourage her romantic pursuit of his enemy. Still, she was sitting across from Eris at a quarter to seven serving herself a portion of roast meat and various side dishes. “What exactly is the point of this dinner, Eris?”

“Do I not possess the right to wine and dine my fiancée?”

 “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

He grinned. Dangerous, was the descriptor that came to mind. It seemed she had a type. Where that thought had come from she wasn’t sure. But she couldn’t deny he was attractive, at least. “You walk freely through my enemy’s household and you expect me to just ignore it?”

Feyre sighed. “You’re being quite predictable, actually. Mates or not, he doesn’t trust me yet. And even if he did, it’s none of your business what he and his court are up to.” 

He cocked his head, one short nail clacking against his glass. “And if your mate asked you to spy on me?”

Feyre sighed. “He didn’t ask me to spy on you like that.”

His hand stilled. “Like that?” Just what does ’like that’ mean?”

She raised her own goblet to her lips. “What is your stance on the war against Hybern?”

He chuckled. “Tell me you have a bit more couth at court. That I’ll have the slightest hope at training you in political parley.”

She rolled her eyes. “I have no desire to beat around the bush this evening. That doesn’t make me incompetent. Now, Hybern.”

To his credit, Eris only hesitated a moment longer. “Hybern has had a very long time to plant the seeds of doubt in his people’s mind. Regardless of his own power, an army full of anger can be beyond dangerous. Worse than that, particularly unpredictable.”

“What is Autumn doing about it?”

That was where she saw the change in him. Where this was shutting down. “That’s none of your concern, Feyre. Unlike some, I know when to keep my cards close to my chest.”

“Sounds like a whole lot of nothing.”

Chuckling, Eris wiped his face, standing from his chair. She tensed, but remained seated as he approached, reaching for her chin. He was all too smug the next time their eyes met. “I might be convinced to share such information with my wife.” His thumb stroked down her jaw, the motion small, yet possessive. “Think on that, little wolf. I’ll call on you soon.”

~~~~~

Taglist: @highladysith // @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

#burning in the starlight #BitS #acotar #feysand #feyris #feyrisand #feyre archeron #rhysand #eris vanserra #polyamory #poly+acotarweek2024

[acourtofthought]

If SJM were to make Lucien HL of day, how can she depose Helion from his position? Same with Tamlin should Elain be HL of spring?

Tamlin is a bit easier to do away with, I think. "It wasn't a guarantee that a High Lord's firstborn would be his heir. The magic sometimes took a while to decide, and often jumped around the birth order completely. Sometimes it found a cousin instead. Sometimes it abandoned the bloodline entirely. Or chose the heir in that moment of birth, in the echoes of a newborn's first cry."

In SF, we're told the Spring Court had been MADE for someone like Elain. It's possible, that if fate and destiny are really coming into play here, that Elain was always meant to become the High Lady of Spring, that it was prophesized that she would be the one to restore the dying lands. In order for a prophesy to come to fruition, the character needs to be born though and as she's centuries younger than Tamlin, he could have been chosen as the place holder. As early as ACOTAR (something that worked in SJMs favor since I don't think she realized what Elain's arc might be back then), we're told Tamlin never wanted or expected to become HL so he was ill equipped to take on the task, delegating things to Lucien. And he's now shown that he's not got the staying power to remain High Lord when things become difficult. I'm not saying Tamlin is a bad person but he is a poor High Lord. He's neglected his people for far too long, neglected the land. Maybe that's because they were never meant to be his people in the first place? I imagine if the magic can give, the magic can take and I don't think Tamlin would even mind losing his role as High Lord. Or, I imagine a ruler can abdicate at some point. While most times the power shifts due to death, SF introduced the possibility of a leader stepping down due to age (Fionn and Theia disagreed over who would rule in his place as he thought his daughter was too young). So I don't think that death is entirely necessary as loopholes have been provided. Helion is a bit trickier because he does seem like a decent High Lord and I don't get the feeling he wants to step down. Without death I'm thinking the only wiggle room there is that maybe there was some confusion with the system because Lucien was in the wrong court when Helion came into power? Amarantha killed the HL of Day and most of their family while UTM but Lucien was still in Spring at that time. Maybe an Heir needs to have actually spent time within the court in question to form a connection to the land since many High Lords magic is connected to it? Or maybe SJM will come up with something entirely new. My ideas are only based on what would be logical to me with the information we have to work with however in a magical world and as the author the limit is as far as her imagination stretches.

#elucien #lucien vanserra #elain archeron #pro lucien vanserra #pro elain archeron

[songofthesibyl]

How To Disappear Completely

A Tamlin POV of his time Under The Mountain, before Feyre returns. Note that there is mention of torture.

The eyes. Lucien said she had a preoccupation with them. Ruefully, resigned. Once the curse was in place, it was too late. Punishments, one after the other. For saying words against her. He hadn’t even thought of it when it happened. It hadn’t been a strategy, hadn’t been planned. There was a reason he never dealt with others, did not negotiate, engage in diplomacy. Everyone had strengths. He knew what his was. But even Lucien could not look at her without recoiling, without spitting venom. She could have taken his tongue. But she had a thing for eyes. And an eye for him. She would not harm him as she had Lucien. No, she wanted him untouched, unmolested. Honed to perfection. A weapon in her hands. His power waxing, and waning, in her hands. Brought by his father to be surveyed by her, unable to hide it. Unable to change, boar to gore her, scorpion to bite, raven to fly away, but frozen still, feeling the power rippling off, rising, in him. He could not hide it, not from her, not anyone. And now that any chance to end the curse was over, it was locked up, the glow of his High Fae self, even if he wanted to show it, dimmed, forever. Unless she would will it forth. The crown, or the beast.

     For now, this pantomime of choice. It had to be his choice, she had told him—all of this had been his choice, from the beginning. He had really wanted it, deep down. He’d see. She ignored the fact there was no bond, told him once he finally chose her, it would snap into place all the same, and everything would become clear to him, from his birth, that he had been made, forged—as if in the cauldron itself—for her. They were a match. His father hadn’t been, as close as they had been, but he had been an offering to her, upon the altar at Hybern. Put on display for her, as he was now. It had all started from this, it had all led to this.

     A flash of memory came to him. Of a brief time, when he was young, when it could have been different. Stars behind his eyes, dancing in his head.

     You knew it would end like this, Rhysand had said. He was right. Tamlin had tried, for Andras, for Lucien, for Alis and her nephews—blissfully escaped from this, for now—but for everyone, he had tried. Even beyond the curse, any solution, anything. But what would he know, that the other High Lords didn’t. What could he do that hadn’t already been tried. Amarantha did not care for him, would not let him go, would not free his court. It did not matter that she wanted him. It would not help them, it would not even save him, he could not save himself. And how long before her patience wore out, how long before she would take what remained of Lucien’s power, before she fed him to the Attor, or gave him to Rhysand to torment, to break.

     And then another member of his court, and then another. As before. It would have been the same, if he had not mouthed off to her. One by one, until he broke.

     But not Feyre. Not her.

     He felt Rhysand by his side now, flirting with Amarantha, laughing with her. How far he had fallen. Not that he believed Rhysand meant any of it—of course not. He was sure Amarantha knew it too, enjoyed seeing her enemy like this, brought low, humiliated before her, as he had been before Rhysand. He would not give anything away, but he had been desperate, in the hours, or years, since he had been brought here, to know if Rhysand had told, to know if Amarantha knew. He had sent Feyre away, and she had—even in the midst of her terror—been cognizant enough to give a false name. But still. If Amarantha knew. He could only hope that any lingering shred of decency in his former friend would override his hatred for him. And it might, for awhile. But how long. He had felt Rhysand’s anger at Feyre being there, not because of the glamor—but that he knew she was the one, knew the love that they shared, the desire too, that he had pulled out of her mind when he had been inside her. And he knew he didn’t deserve it. It was fine, these centuries, when he had been alone, and miserable, but that he had found her—he could not imagine such rage stilled in Rhysand, not for long.

     It was true. He did not deserve it. And yet she had given her heart to him freely. She had not said the words, but as he had looked on her, he knew, and felt it, in his own heart, the truth of Rhysand’s words, that she would have been the one. And that was enough. It was better. Because he knew now that, even if it had been a day, an hour, a minute before the curse ended, he could not have done it. Whether he loved her or not, he could not use her like Amarantha wanted him to. It was probably weakness that he didn’t. But he knew he was weak.

     He flinched at the sensation of a hand on his thigh.

     “You’ve been no fun, Tamlin. He’s been so sullen, hasn’t he?” She turned to Rhysand. “Maybe it’s boredom.” She turned back to him. Eyes on him. “Are you bored, have I not made my court entertaining enough for you?”

     He did not give her the satisfaction of an answer. He had fought to the last, but he was here now. He looked at Jurian’s eye, looking up at him. He had no doubt. She was only touching him now while he was clothed, on a thigh, or his arm, or brushing his face, or his hair. But somehow never more than that. It was not respect, it was not restraint, even a temporary bit of grace. But a reminder. That he was not High Lord anymore, that he was nothing, but hers. That soon, soon, every bit she had touched she would claim, she would take from him. Piece by piece, until only an eye, or a fang, or a strand of hair was left. And himself trapped inside it, not even allowed to die, but encased, as his heart in stone, as Jurian in her ring, on her neck. A bit of bone, or skin. Forever. He knew this. If he could not find a way to end her. As not even the most powerful of them could. But whatever she took, however petrified, she would never take this—what he had gotten, in spite of her. What was underneath, what she had not been able to turn to stone, and never would. She would never take his love for Feyre. He would carry it with him, always. And whatever pieces of him Amarantha took, she would never find, never take this. He had been so afraid, always, but when he had let go—even with the shadows waiting—what freedom, what joy. They would not take it from him.

     He would never become like Rhysand. He would kill himself before he did. She would not let him die, but he would find a way.

     “What did you have in mind, my queen?” Rhysand purred.

     How far he had fallen. He wondered what had happened to the idealistic dreamer he had known centuries before.

     But of course, it was him. He had done this. In his weakness, he had let his mother and sister be murdered. This weakness had led them both to becoming High Lord. There had been a possibility of being something more, once. But then he had woken up that night, and smelled his mother’s blood.

     It had all been a dream.

     “Oh, you are providing the entertainment, my pet. You told me where to find her. Bring her in.”

     She.

     “You thought you could hide her from me?”

     He did not look at her. Everything in him stilled. He gave a passing glance to Rhysand, involuntarily, but briefly, and no emotion, but enough. Satisfied, she sat back, and ordered her to be brought in.

     Rhysand had gotten in, he had known the name she had given was a lie. She had been too scared, he could hear the wavering in her voice, and he had known. He could hear her screaming already.

     “You somehow managed it. Tricked a pathetic, hateful human girl into loving you.”

     He would not give her anything. And she wanted him to. Knew he would, if she brought her. She would force it out of him.

     No.

     A mask was for lies, for amusement, for play. But it was also for protection. However flimsy, though it did not cover Lucien’s scar fully, though it did not cover him, and his eyes, and how they had widened, almost imperceptibly, she would never see him fully, never possess him fully.

     Never.

     The screams stopped abruptly. She was brought out, and thrown on the ground, weeping, her dress already torn. Her blonde hair falling in front of her.

     It was not Feyre. It was someone else. Someone he had never seen before.

     “Let me see her face.” The Attor pulled her head up. Undiluted terror, only the whites of her eyes visible. In a moment a stream of urine pooled onto the floor.

     Amarantha laughed. “This? This is who you managed to get? Who all those poor sentries of yours died for? This? Oh, it’s even more pathetic than I could have imagined.”

     The name Feyre had given—it had been real. When she had been as terrified as this poor girl was now, unable to think straight. He hoped she would never know, never find this out.

     “Why are you doing this?” She cried. “Why am I here?”

     Her voice cut through him. He wanted to look to Rhysand again, to see if she mattered to him, to see if he even cared—but he did not dare move.

     “What was its name again?”

     “Clare,” Rhysand said. “Clare Beddor.”

     Hatred simmered in him. He had begged. Begged him. But he knew it had been a vain effort. For the hatred he always saw, when Rhysand regarded him. Whatever studied indifference he had affected.

     “Clare. A rather common name.” She stared down at her. “It’s almost not worth it. She’s truly the one, then, Tamlin?”

     “I have no idea who this is.” Pointless to say.

     She said nothing back, only grinned.

     “I-I’ve never seen him before either.” Clare looked to him, pleading. An entreaty he could not answer.

     The Attor threw her to the ground. “Do not address the Queen unless spoken to, human trash.”

     “You like to talk. Tell me. How did it feel, to murder one of our kind?”

     Tears ran down her face. Fear, and confusion, and agony. “What? I didn’t—I never—“

     “A liar, and a coward. Typical, of your species. This is the huntress who managed to fell one of our own, a great warrior? Her?”

     “What? I—please,” she sobbed. “Please. I didn’t kill anyone. I’ve never hunted a day in my life. I don’t understand…”

     He could tell her. Insist it was not the girl. But it would not help. He’d only be condemning them both. Her life was forfeit once she entered the Mountain, as all of theirs were. If he said anything, if Amarantha believed him, all that would happen is that Feyre would be condemned too. She would not let Clare go. But all the same—it was his fault. It had all led to this. Because of him, still, a human was being beaten, brutalized, dragged across the floor. And he could do nothing as Amarantha gleefully recounted how she had murdered Clare’s family, burning her house to the ground. His instinct to cry out, to do something, checked by the feeling of metal on his skin. A hand on his shoulder, the look in her eyes, waiting to see his reaction, wanting him to beg. Amusement, but anger there, too.

     As with Rhysand, who did not react, did not say anything. Eyes glassy and black, no light escaping, nothing escaping. But he was not saying it was not Feyre, and he didn’t know why. There was no reason. He was fine with killing, torturing, to help himself and his court. Why risk it all for a woman who meant nothing to him? No, it was no lingering shred of decency, no remembrance of the male who had fought, and sacrificed, to save humans, who had made an enemy of Amarantha, whom he had looked up to in his youth. No. It was his own game, it was the secret knowledge between them, that he knew this could be Feyre, that it could be her being strung up, tortured, put on display for all to see, stripped naked, exposed, violated. He would tell Amarantha someday, say he forgot, but that now that he thought about it, the girl he saw was not blonde, was taller, her voice had been different, now, now that he thought about it. But all humans looked alike to him, so it had taken awhile to recognize her. In days, or weeks, or months after. Or he would simply keep the threat of it over his head, hold it over him, torture him with the possibility.

     He saw Feyre now, strung up on the wall opposite, no more than a piece of flesh, another trophy, another thing added to Amarantha’s collection. Human eye, finger, breast, torn lock of blonde hair. And Amarantha’s finger down her body.

     The eye swiveled wildly now on her hand. Using it on purpose, to get Jurian close to her.

     Tamlin got very quiet.

     An unbearable tension in him. Heart struggling to beat, claws to tear through skin, teeth aching in his mouth. Centuries of it, coming to him.

     An eternity of this.

     Oh, he’s still being no fun.

     He heard this somewhere far, far away.

     But she is being boring, isn’t she. Not entertaining at all.      What shall we do. Whatever shall we do.

     Shadows retreating into the wall.

     I know. You like music, Tamlin. Why don’t we make her sing.

     Fire, and lash, and nail.

     And nothing.

     Pouting from her, a sidelong glance from Rhysand.

     He’s always been such a bore, hasn’t he?

     Well, I can still amuse myself. I don’t think I shall be bored of you for quite awhile.

     A mask was for protecting, for keeping it out, for keeping himself in. He had come so close to breaking free. But that was over now. And there was nothing he could do.

     Crack of a whip.

     His skin needed to be thicker, he had to change, everything in him, from birth, crying out, too many lives in him, memories layering one on top of another, each in succession, in layers in his mind, clouding his eyes, muffling sound, further and further away, but echoing.

     He heard her cry out.

     His mask was the only one with no shape, no form, no suggestion of what was underneath. No fox, or owl, or ram.

     Nor fish, nor bird, nor insect.

     But he remembered every mask of his people, they were all in him, and they all struggled to be let out, to take over. To hide him in layers, underneath. Where Amarantha would never find him, never touch him, never see him. Layer after layer she would take, but always another she would find waiting. His heart, his eyes, his tongue.

     A burning hot iron in Clare’s flesh.

     He would be an elk, going after her.

     The flailing of Clare’s limbs, the sound of her agony.

     He would be the adder, to bite her.

     And Amarantha’s laugh as she tore Clare’s flesh with her nails.

     And bear to grab her rib cage, and bite off her head.

     And Feyre’s laughter as he read her his poetry.

     And lion, with no one to challenge him, lord of the beasts.

     And the smell of paint.

     And wolf, looking into her eyes as the arrow flew from her bow.

     And the feel of her, and her heat against him, and her heart pounding.

     And his heart a hot coal inside him.

     And her screaming.

     And wolf.

     And wolf.

     And wolf.

     And wolf.

     And wolf.

     And everything he had been, and everything he had wanted to be.

     Deep, deep inside himself.

@tamlinweek2023 Day Two: Masks

#tamlinweek2023 #tamlin

[queercontrarian]

random hc vomit because i was thinking of burial rites in prythian, more or less fleshed out

spring:

the people of the spring court get buried in the ground. their land is holy to them and in death they seek to give back what they took during their lives. they are buried without coffins, some even without clothes. richer citizens and land owners will plant trees where their loved ones are laid to rest, while the poorer folk will usually opt for flowers, or a bush. tamlin's mother is buried beneath a beautiful magnolia. what could be recovered of the sentries that gave their lives searching for the one to break the curse rests in a grove of wild cherry trees. tamlin burned the bodies of his father and brothers and dumped them over the wall in the woods of the human realm so they would not poison the spring court even after their deaths.

summer:

summer sends its dead out to sea. some go in boats, some in caskets weighed down with stones and trinkets. some have their ashes scattered from the cliffs. the royal family rests in an underwater mausoleum, sealed off in marble chambers. cresseida says she doesn't want to go there, she wants her remains to feed her pet sharks. she made varian and tarquin sign a slip that they'd do it even though they absolutely hate the idea.

autumn:

cremation, obviously. however the method differs. among the lords, families usually plant a tree for each newborn. that tree will only be felled when that fae dies, and will then serve as their pyre. what kind of tree you're allowed to grow depends on your status, usually a family gets assigned a specific tree by the high lord. when the fae is dead and the tree is gone they will bury the ashes in the same spot the tree stood before and once a new child is born, a new tree will be planted there.

winter:

remember that huge sheet of ice in the winter court? there's graves beneath that. the winter court has a bunch of frozen lakes and they are also massive graveyards. when a fae from winter dies the family will stage a procession to the lake nearest to them or to where they came from, where they will hack a hole into the ice and lower their dead into the water beneath. no one quite understands the magic that pulls the bodies, clad in thick white sheets, down to the bottom, but there always seems to be a faint glowing light way down. family and friends will sing praises and prayer to their gods at the ice, before all band together to freeze it closed again. all former high lords of winter rest in the frozen lake beneath the winter court's seat of power. it is the highest honour to be laid to rest there, an honour the dozens of children amarantha had killed were offered. some families accepted, some chose to bury them with their parents.

day:

is it creepy that the day court has a massive underground graveyard with rows and rows of graveslots over and around each other? you could get lost in it if you take the wrong door out of one of their libraries.

(they also lowkey give me cannibalism vibes)

dawn:

think boromir in lord of the rings. they have giant waterfalls in the mountains of the dawn court that seemingly end nowhere. you can hike up the mountain and see where it starts but there is no place at the bottom of it where the water crashes on the plains. they simply disappear into nothing, and all technical contraptions and living people that tried to figure out where the waterfalls went by rowing down themselves disappear without a trace, never to be seen or heard from again. thesan also banned inventors from creating their own caskets with gadgets after one exploded with the corpse inside, gravely injuring two of the fae who carried it and horrifying the people that had come to grieve the loss of their friend.

night:

the citizens of the hewn city live, die and are buried under the mountain. the lower levels of the city, even lower than the dungeons, are mostly one giant tomb. night court royalty and other important people have separate tombs for their families. there is a space already reserved for rhysand when the time comes, in the same tomb as his father, his father's father, and every generation before them. other people of the night court opt for simple burials in the ground, some towns have caves to fill the purpose of a graveyard. illyrians prefer cremations. they refuse to be tethered to the earth even in death, and it is custom for families to scatter the ashes in flight over their beloved mountains. yet rhysand's mother and sister lay crushed beneath the mountain at the late high lord's behest, without wings, without air, without the freedom they craved so much.

#prythian #fae burials #court shenanigans #spring court #summer court #autumn court #winter court #dawn court #day court #night court #acotar #worldbuilding and stuff

[veenvss]

day court

the family , 3/7

2 , dawn 4 , night

The courts have always fascinated me but while reading and looking at the map I always thought that the worldbuilding was too rushed or too simplistic. So, I have decided to reimagine the courts in a way that makes more sense to me.

It's fairly obvious from everything that the Day Court is based on Ancient Greece, even though Sarah said that he's Persian.

Now, Helion is an altered version of Helios, the sun god in ancient Greece, but I think I'm going to keep other names the same cause I'm too lazy to alter every name.

So, Helion. We learn in ACOTAR that Helion, along with Tarquin and Kallias, only became High Lords during Amarantha's reign as the previous High Lord rebelled, got executed and was replaced with another. I, personally, don't think that Amarantha would let the previous High Lord's son take over so I think the executions went further but still in the close family. In my little world, Helion was the youngest grandson of the previous High Lord, who was taken out of the family line after his affair with LOA was uncovered.

ANDROKLES NEPHUS III- "glory of a man" "a gods son who will become a god" The High Lord at the beginning of Amarantha's reign, attempted to create a rebellion and got himself and his family executed. He was a strict man, but fair in his punishments, only to his subjects. To his family, he was unnecessarily mean and cruel.

HYPATIA NEPHUS- "highest" "a gods son who will become a god" The youngest daughter of Androkles. To her father she was only a political weapon, to be used in a time of need to settle disputes between territories. Early on, she was married off to a lord in the desert and had two sons. As a mother she was soft, but she still held power. Despire being a woman, she was still a High Lord's daughter and was still powerful by herself, and everyone still respected her.

NIKANOR ONASIS- "victory, man" "lover" The oldest son of a lord deep in the Day Court desert. As a young man he was married to the High Lord's daughter, in order to buy his father's loyalty. Despite the arrangement, the two became good friends, but never anything further. They were close, and spent a lot of time and effort raising their sons to be honest and trustworthy. Although his wife was physical proof of his father's vow to remain loyal, Nikanor chose only to donate money for the rebellion, not arms, in an attempt to cover his tracks and keep his family safe.

NIKANOR NEPHUS- "victory, man" "a gods son who will become a god" The eldest son of Hypatia and Nikanor. At the time of his birth, he was the youngest grandson of the High Lord, and was doted on a ton by his parents. He was tutored to take on his father's position as lord in the desert. He had a strong relationship with his younger brother, pranking him often, and giving him treats when he threatened to tell their mother.

To me, this is a big family, but none of this is canon. anyway these following people are names that i made but i got too tired from my a levels to continue writing <3 i might add some more later idk yet

XENIA FLOROS- "hospitality" "greenfinch" - the wife of Androkles ELPIS NEPHUS- "hope" - the eldest child of Androkles ANDROKLES NEPHUS IV - the only son of Androkles

#acotar #day court #helion #acowar #amarantha #under the mountain

[gimme-mor]

ACOTAR THINK PIECE: ELAIN AND THE CONCEPT OF CHOICE

*DISCLAIMER*

Please take the time to read this post in its entirety and truly reflect on the message I am trying to send before commenting. My goal is to use my background in Gender and Women’s Studies to deconstruct the behaviors and comments I have seen on Tumblr and Twitter, and, more importantly, bring awareness to the ACOTAR fandom. I WILL NOT tolerate anyone who tries to twist my words and say I am attacking people and their personal shipping preferences. In fact, I AM CRITIQUING THE ARGUMENTS THEMSELVES NOT THE PEOPLE USING THE ARGUMENTS.

As someone who has been a long time lurker on all sides of the ACOTAR fandom, the growing toxicity and hostility has become more apparent to the point that civil discourse is, for the most part, entirely lost. More times than not, the cause of the communication breakdown centers around Elain and the relationships she has with those around her. Before and after the release of ACOSF, I’ve noticed that when the fandom expresses its opinions about Elain and her development as a character, whether in a romantic light or generally, the conversation wholly hinges on the concept of choice. Common examples I’ve seen include:

Elain has been stripped of her choice for a majority of her life

Elain should be able to make her own choices

The King of Hybern took away Elain’s choice to be human when he had her tossed into the Cauldron

Elain did not choose the mating bond for herself, instead it was forced upon her

Elain feels pressured to choose Lucien

Elain should have the choice to stray away from what is expected of her

Elain and Azriel being together represents a different and stronger type of love because she’s choosing to be with him

If you ship Elucien, you’re not Pro-Elain because you’re taking away Elain’s right to choose who she wants to be with and forcing her to accept the mating bond

Elain chose to accept Azriel’s advances in the bonus chapter 

When Rhysand called Azriel away after catching him and Elain together, Elain was stripped of her choice to be sexually intimate with Azriel

When Azriel and Rhysand are talking in the bonus chapter, Elain’s choices aren’t at the center of their conversation

If you suggest that Elain should leave the Night Court, you’re stripping Elain of her choice to remain with her family

If you suggest that Elain should be friends with someone else, you’re ignoring Elain’s choice to be friends with Nuala and Cerridwen

Why is the concept of choice exclusively tied to Elain and everything surrounding her character while simultaneously ignoring that other characters in the ACOTAR series have, to varying degrees, been stripped of their choices at some point in their lives? And why isn’t the concept of choice connected to these characters in the same way that it is connected to Elain? For example:

Did the High Lords strip Feyre of her choice to consent when they turned her into a High Fae?

Did Tamlin and Ianthe strip Feyre of her choice to consent when they started to control every aspect of her life in the Spring Court?

Was Vassa stripped of her choice when the other Mortal Queens sold her to Koschei, which resulted in her being cursed to turn into a firebird?

Was Feyre stripped of her choice to know the risks involved in the pregnancy?

Did the King of Hybern strip Nesta of her choice to be human when he had her tossed into the Cauldron?

Was everyone stripped of their choices under Amarantha’s rule?

Was Feyre stripped of her choice to just be a daughter and a sister when the Archeron family failed to contribute to their survival, which resulted in Feyre being the family’s sole provider?

Did Lucien’s family strip him and Jesminda of their choice to be together when they killed her because of her status as a Lesser Faerie?

Are Illyrian females stripped of their choice to consent when their wings are clipped?

Did the Hybern general strip Gwyn of her choice to consent?

Did Ianthe strip Lucien of his choice to consent? 

Did Keir strip Mor of her choice to consent to her engagement to Eris?

Universally, femininity is synonymous with weakness and women often face discrimination because the patriarchy is part of an interactive system that perpetuates women’s oppression. Since the ACOTAR universe is set up to mirror a patriarchal society, it’s clear that the imbalance of power between males and females stems from sexism. The thing that sets Elain apart from other female characters in the ACOTAR series is the fact that SJM has portrayed Elain as a traditionally feminine character based on her actions and the ways in which Elain carries herself. Compared to them, Elain is inherently held to a different standard because her femalehood takes precedence over other aspects of her character in fandom discussions. These conversations indirectly place Elain on a pedestal and hail her as the epitome of traditional femininity; and when her character is criticized in any way, it’s seen as a direct attack against women, specifically women who are traditionally feminine. Also, these conversations fall back on Elain’s femaleness when analyzing her character since it can be assumed from a reader’s perspective that Elain, despite being the middle sibling, is coddled by those around her because her ultra-feminine nature is perceived as a sort of weakness in need of protection. However, the fact that the concept of choice is used as an argument to primarily focus on Elain’s femalehood highlights the narrow lens through which Elain, as a character, is viewed. It implies that Elain’s femaleness is all her character has to offer to the series overall and insinuates that Elain’s character development is dependent on her femaleness. To suggest, through the choice argument, that ACOTAR’s patriarchal society constrains Elain’s agency and prevents her from enacting her feminist right to choose while failing to examine the patriarchal structure of the ACOTAR universe and its impact on the female characters in the series, the choice argument ultimately falls apart because it shows that it’s only used to focus on Elain’s femalehood. Furthermore, the implication that Elain’s right to choose is, in itself, a feminist act in the series indicates that the concept of choice as an argument is used to promote choice feminism.

Feminism is a social movement that seeks to promote equality and equity to all genders, and feminists work toward eradicating gender disparities on a macro-level, in addition to challenging gender biases on a micro-level. Historically, feminism prioritized the voices of white women, specifically white women who were cisgender, able-bodied, affluent, educated, and heterosexual. But over the decades, the inclusion of women of color and other marginalized women’s voices has broadened the scope of feminism and caused it to take an intersectional approach when discussing social identities and the ways in which these identities result in overlapping systems of oppression and discrimination. On the other hand, choice feminism, a form of feminism, greatly differs from what feminism is aiming to accomplish. In the article “It’s Time to Move Past Choice Feminism”, Bhat states:

“Choice feminism can be understood as the idea that any action or decision that a woman takes inherently becomes a feminist act. Essentially, the decision becomes a feminist one because a woman chose it for herself. What could this look like? It could really be anything. Wearing makeup is a feminist act. Not wearing it is also a feminist act. Shaving or not shaving. Watching one TV show over another. Choosing a certain job over another. Listening to one artist over another. Picking a STEM career. Choosing to dress modestly or not. The list goes on. At first glance, there does not seem to be an apparent negative consequence of choice feminism. A woman’s power is within her choices, and those choices can line up with a feminist ideology. For example, a woman’s decision not to shave may be her response to Western beauty standards that are forced onto women. Not shaving may make her feel beautiful, comfortable, and powerful, and there is nothing wrong with that. Women making choices that make them feel good is not the issue. The issue lies in calling these decisions feminist ones. Choice feminism accompanies an amalgamation of problems‒the first being that this iteration of feminism operates on faulty assumptions about said choices. Liberal feminism neglects the different realities that exist for different women‒especially the difference between white women and women of color, transgender women and cis women, etc. Not all women have the same circumstance and access to choices, not all choices made by women are treated equally, and not all choices are inherently feminist” (https://www.34st.com/article/2021/01/feminism-choice-liberal-patriarchy-misogyny-bimbo-capitalism). 

Just as white feminism ignores intersectionality and refuses to acknowledge the discriminations experienced by women of color, choice feminism and arguments supporting choice feminism have, by default, made the concept of choice exclusionary. The individualization of choice feminism glorifies the act of a woman making an individual choice and, by extension, gives the illusion that women’s liberation from gendered oppression can be achieved by enacting their rights to make personal, professional, and political choices. Herein lies the problem with choice feminism: it (the argument of ���But it’s my choice!”) stifles feminist conversations from exploring the depths and intricacies of the decision making process because it’s used as a way to shut communication down entirely, shield arguments from criticism, and condemn those who criticize choice feminism for its disconnection from a larger feminist framework. Contrary to what choice feminism advocates for, it lulls the feminist movement into complacency because women’s individual choices do nothing to alleviate gendered oppression. Choice feminism’s leniency towards choice fails to address the limitations of choice in regards to women’s intersectional identities and enables society to shift the blame of women’s oppression away from the societal and institutional structures in place to women themselves for making the wrong choices that ultimately resulted in their circumstances. Choice is not always accessible to every woman. For instance, choices made by white women are, in some way, inaccessible to women of color, in the same way that choices made by cisgender women are inaccessible to transgender women. Choice is one of the founding concepts of the feminist movement and it “became a key part of feminist language and action as an integral aspect and rallying call within the fight for reproductive rights‒the right to choose whether or not we wanted to get pregnant and to choose what we wanted for our bodies and lives” (https://www.feministcurrent.com/2011/03/11/the-trouble-with-choosing-your-choice/). When choice, in a feminist context, is framed as something that is solely about the individual as opposed to the collective, the feminist foundation on which it stands “leads to an inflated sense of accomplishment while distracting from the collective action needed to produce real change that would have a lasting effect for the majority of women” (https://www.jacobinmag.com/2017/03/i-am-not-feminist-jessa-crispin-review/). 

By linking the choice argument with choice feminist rhetoric and extreme acts of progressiveness, it plays into today’s negative understanding of a social justice warrior and normalizes fake wokeness. In its original conception, a social justice warrior was another way to refer to an activist and had a positive connotation; nowadays, the term carries a negative connotation and is:

“. . . a pejorative term for an individual who repeatedly and vehemently engages in arguments on social justice on the Internet, often in a shallow or not well-thought-out way, for the purpose of raising their own personal reputation. A social justice warrior, or SJW, does not necessarily strongly believe all that they say, or even care about the groups they are fighting on behalf of. They typically repeat points from whoever is the most popular blogger or commenter of the moment, hoping that they will ‘get SJ points’ and become popular in return. They are very sure to adopt stances that are ‘correct’ in their social circle” (https://fee.org/articles/how-the-term-social-justice-warrior-became-an-insult/). 

Today’s perception of the term social justice warrior is directly tied to fake wokeness because both are performative in nature, fueled by the drive to be seen as progressive, and derail necessary conversations from taking place by prioritizing toxicity. According to the article titled, “Three signs of fake ‘wokeness’ and why they hurt activism”, it states:

“. . . social media did not create activism: it did, however, create a legion of hashtags and accounts dedicated to issues . . . Sadly, fake woke people will use these hashtags or create these accounts, see that as contributing to a cause, and just call it a day; these same people tend to shame those without the same level of interest or devotion to a given cause . . . Ironically, as open-minded as the fake woke claim to be, they struggle to deal with opposition. More often than not, those who fit the fake woke bill will ignore, misconstrue, or shutdown anything remotely opposing their stances . . . Now yes, human nature often leads us to possess a bias against that which contradicts our views, but human nature should not serve as an excuse for irrational behavior. Opposition to our stances on issues helps activists more than it harms: it allows them to look at the causes they champion from a perspective they possibly ignored before, further enlightening them. More importantly, by discovering information that may refute what they believe, they can find and eliminate any flaws in their reasoning and strengthen their arguments. Activism involves opening up to change, something one stuck in an echo chamber can never achieve” (https://nchschant.com/16684/opinions/three-signs-of-fake-wokeness-and-why-they-hurt-activism/). 

Rather than critiquing ideas, thoughts, and theories about Elain and her character development with textual evidence, the concept of choice as an argument is used to silence opposing viewpoints. This is similar to choice feminism because the conversations start and end with the concept of choice, leaving no room for a critical analysis of Elain’s character. Although the concept of choice as an argument is intended to shed light on how ACOTAR’s patriarchal structure limits females’ agency to some degree, the fact that it’s only applied to Elain invalidates the point of the argument because it doesn’t include the experiences of other female characters when examining the impact of sexism in the ACOTAR universe. The failure to do so calls the intent of the choice argument into question. As it stands, the concept of choice as an argument frames Elucien shippers and those who are critical of Elain as woman haters, misogynists, and anti-feminists, especially if they identify as women. The belief that a woman is anti-feminist or a woman hater any time she dislikes another woman suggests that women have to be held to a different emotional standard than men. If men are able to dislike other individual men without their characters being compromised, why can’t women? Feminism and what it means to be a feminist do not require women to like every woman they encounter. One of the many things feminism hopes to accomplish is granting women the same emotional privileges afforded to men. 

Terms like “oppression”, “the right to choose”, “feminist”, “feminism”, “anti-feminist”, “anti-feminism”, “internalized misogyny”, “misogyny”, “misogynist”, “sexist”, “sexism”, “racist”, “racism”, “classist”, “classism”, “discrimination”, and “patriarchy” are all used in specific ways to draw attention to the plight of marginalized people and challenge those who deny the existence of systems of oppression. Yet these words and their meanings can be twisted to attack, exclude, and invalidate people with differing opinions on any given topic. When social justice and feminist terms are thrown around antagonistically and carelessly to push a personal agenda, it becomes clear that these terms are being used to engage in disingenuous discourse and pursue personal validation rather than being used out of any deep-seated conviction to dismantle systemic oppression. The personal weaponization of social justice and feminist concepts is a gateway for people who oppose these movements to strip these terms of their credibility in order to delegitimize the societal and institutional impacts on marginalized people.

It’s important to question how an argument is framed and why it’s framed the way that it is to critically examine the intent behind that argument: is it used as a tool to push a personal agenda that reinforces dismissive, condescending, and problematic behaviors, or is it used as an opportunity to share, learn, enlighten, and educate? The concept of choice as an argument is extremely problematic because: it limits fruitful discussions about Elain within the fandom; enables arguments that oppose opinions about Elain and her narrative development to masquerade as progressive by pushing social justice and feminist language to their extremes; normalizes the vilification and condemnation of individuals who are either critical of a ship, Elain as a character, or prefer her with Lucien; encourages an in-group and out-group mentality with differing opinions about Elain’s development resulting in politically charged insults; exploits social justice and feminist terms; ignores that harm done on a micro-level is just as damaging as harm done on a macro-level; and cheapens Elain’s character and her development.

There is more to Elain than her being a female who is traditionally feminine. Elain has the potential to be as complex of a character as Feyre, Nesta, Rhysand, Lucien, Cassian, Azriel, Amren, and Mor, and to reduce her character to her femalehood in fandom discussions is a disservice to Elain as a character, the ACOTAR fandom, and SJM’s writing. So I ask this: is there a reason why the fandom heavily emphasizes the concept of choice when discussing Elain that goes beyond a simplistic analysis of her as a character (i.e. using the concept of choice as an argument to reinforce Elain’s femaleness), or is the concept of choice used as a shield to prop up one ship over another?

gimme-mor library

#elucien #elain archeron #acosf #acotar: fandom critical

[flowerflamestars]

Nesta Under the Mountain: acowar remix

The first thing Nesta hears when she wakes up, is Rhysand. 

Who is right by her bedside, waiting, apparently for this exact moment of her eyes opening and coherency on her face to say, with full High Lord gravitas: we would have gone with you. 

Cassian, who has given up any pretense, and is literally on the floor between Rhysand’s armchair and Nesta’s bed, kicks him. 

They didn’t know what happened to her- couldn’t find any wounds, any marks at all, but Nesta wouldn’t wake up. It’s Amren who insists, who sits perfectly still by her side for an hour and says- she did something. She did something like what I did.

Lucien, poisoned with faebane and stabbed in the heart, was lucky to be alive, in and out of consciousness. He’d been awake in the days that followed for just ten minutes. During which he used the hand Azriel was persistently holding to leverage himself out of bed, fallen, been caught by Azriel, and somehow dragged himself to Nesta’s side before passing out, stitches popped and bleeding.

There’s two beds in the room now. 

Cassian doesn’t have the room to process- but he’s noticed, how he’s noticed- that Azriel has spent these days more than not like he is now: Lucien’s hand in both of his. 

A frozen elegy, Lucien’s scarred knuckles, pressed to his mouth.

Nesta’s awake, and Azriel hasn’t dropped Luciens hand.

Listen, Cassian hasn’t slept in days. He thought, truly, Nesta was never waking up. That he was going to sit here and watch her slowly die. He’s absolutely not in his right mind. So he thinks: Oh. oh. 

All three of them.

It’s not unheard of. And Azriel is, of course, one of the absolute best males that Cassian knows. Honorable. Strong. Beautiful. Of course, they’ve worked this out- Nesta is the most unflinching, brutally honest person of all of them. Lucien she can be loud with- Azriel she can be quiet with- enough love to burn the world, why should she give it to just one person?

(a smaller, quieter, sadder part of him that isn’t zipping through thoughts at the speed of light can admit- if it was going to be an Illyrian, if that was even an option-  why couldn’t it be him?

...of course, it would be handsome Azriel over Cassian)

It’s too easy to picture- dark Azriel, vibrant Lucien, moon glow on the blackest night Nesta. 

But none of that matters. Because Nesta is sitting up, and glaring at Rhys and looking like a person again. Looking down and finding Cassian, there on the floor, with a tiny, savage smile. A hesitation- a second, that goes on and on, Nesta’s lovely mouth perked up, her eyes steady on his.

Alive, alive, alive. Cassians imagines- thinks he’s only imagining- that he can feel the steady beat of her heart alongside his.

But then of course eventually Nesta twists to sit up properly, already braiding away the rumpled cascade of her hair. (Cassian’s hands ache to help). Turning, to look at Lucien, grey-tinged and too still in bed.

Azriel answered without needing to be asked, looking at Nesta with weary eyes, Lucien’s limp hand pressed to his cheek. (Cassian’s heart is on fire). Explains that the poison is cleansed and now it will only take time, that Lucien had demanded to see her. The first expression on Azriel’s face in four days straight: a quirk of his full mouth, the ghost of a fond smile, telling Nesta Lucien tore his stitches to get to her.

(Cassian feels a little sick)

Stupid asshole, Nesta will grumble right back, but in that tone that says I love you.

But Nesta will turn away, straight to Cassian, to ask: My sisters?

(Cassian is Not Okay. Cassian’s self-esteem issues are literally going to cockblock him and despite not leaving in days for more than a few moments, Cassian is suddenly desperate to get out of this room. The city. His own skin)

Cassian can recognize trust when he sees it. Swallows. Tells her they’ve been here too, Morrigan just dragged them away to eat. They’re downstairs- he can get them- he can-

The youngest Archeron crashes through the door with Nesta’s own cataclysmic sense of timing, and throws herself at her sister. Elain, a step behind, walks around Cassian to curl up on Nesta’s other side, skirts tucked carefully around her. 

They want to know what happened- and Rhysand, with his usual grace, choses this moment to interject that he would like to too.

(The Cauldron, downstairs, cannot be moved. Reacts to nothing, unaffected by physical strength or magical inquiry. It is, in the end, creepy as fuck. The sisters like it.)

(Not to mention that Nesta- who has always had presence, even as a mortal- whose mean laugh and beautiful face and tendency to yell at him is absolutely some kind of catnip to Rhysie- Nesta now feels like danger. Not the kind you only have to look hard at her to see, that strength that is who she is. Like a High Lord. Something old. Something powerful.)

So Nesta tells them. The King, the Castle of Bone, the Cauldron, who would be a prisoner no longer. Of the reckless, insane thing she’d done when it seemed like they were doomed- of what the Cauldron gave.

(Cassian is glad he didn’t leave. Cassian might never leave her side again, no matter how much it will hurt. Nesta drowned herself in eternity on purpose.)

She doesn’t allow them to congratulate, to question- though Feyre does joke about Nesta seizing the crown.

Nesta looks past them all, to Rhysand. Tells him what she’d told Cassian, the words he’d been holding behind his teeth like succor: She wasn’t the only sister. Rhysand. 

Linnea, Amarantha, Clythia. 

Nesta Archeron had been dragged over the Wall to protect her sisters- been transformed against her will into a monster and chosen that life, in the end, to stop war from marching to mortal lands to them.

Amarantha was a monster. Clythia a mistake. Linnea, long locked away, the discarded eldest, would come to sow vengeance against Prythian’s Vengeance. Against Nesta Archeron and whole continent that had borne and made her.

The war was still coming.

The medical team arrives to do one more round of treatment for Lucien. Nesta, uninterested now that she can resist in being poked and prodded ever, stumbles off to her actual bedroom, deathgrip on Cassian’s arm she will absolutely not admit is keeping her upright. 

She puts herself together. Bathes. Finds clothes. Looks, this time, in the mirror. She looks the same- her face had never changed that much. The subtle glow of immortality, the stupid knifeblade ears. But it’s still her face: her mother’s lathe cheekbones, her father’s plush, lying mouth.

Nesta is a monster, but Nesta is Nesta.

She marches downstairs, and shuts herself in the study with Rhys. Crossed her arms. Stands there, spine straight, feet spread, like she’s going to battle.

Clenches her tattooed hand so hard it hurts. 

She tells him, I want to make a deal. You wanted me in your Court, to fight in the war for the Night. I’ll swear fealty. I’ll be your fucking weapon- just me, not Lucien- if you promise that no matter what happens, no matter who comes, you protect my sisters. To the last fucking breath, Rhysand. 

Rhys stands up. Brushes a hand over his face like he’s thinking and abruptly, laughs. 

Nes, he’ll drawl to the feverpitch of her temper that he definitely has an unhealthy fondness of. You don’t owe me shit. You freed Prythian. You killed Hybern. You tamed the Cauldron. 

Is Velaris suddenly not your home? It’s not a trap. Archeron, you’re one of us, whether you wanted it or not. That means they are too.

Nesta: I am a private contractor. 

Rhys: You’re so involved you’re basically my Third alongside Mor. We would have gone with you. 

And that, in the end, is what does it. Rhys is such a goddamn liar- but that doesn’t mean Nesta hasn’t learned when he’s telling the truth. And he is now.

They would have gone with her- to kill a King. To save her sisters. To enact bloody, reckless violence.

Nesta sits down, steals his teacup, and says: Fine. 

The problem is clear at once: Rhysand thought Linnea was dead. Everyone thought Linnea was dead. Information from when she did live is unclear at best- Amarantha’s half-sister, where Clythia and her had been born to the same unfortunate mother.

Half-mad, denied acknowledgment from her father. Clythia and Amarantha were generals, woman who dealt in violence. Linnea, when she’d lived- when she’d been known- was an alchemist.

What the hell is alchemy? Magic that isn’t ours, Rhysand says darkly. Magic that is unnatural, not quite real. Not the power inside you- the power you can steal from the world.

It usually doesn’t work. It usually kills the fae involved eventually. 

They need more information- they need Azriel, and no one is about to suggest he move a muscle until Lucien wakes back up.

There’s a family dinner, eaten sprawled around the sickroom. Elain, Nesta learns, has made quick work of befriending Morrigan. Feyre’s recklessness- the mirror of Nesta’s- has ensured, with fearless wonder, that she’s absolutely comfortable here. 

(This Rhysand, who knew and was in awe of Nesta first, might like Feyre...but Nesta is his contemporary. The idea that her baby, mortal, youngest sister might also be doesn’t occur to him. Not yet, anyway. There being three Archeron’s at all remains overwhelming.)

Cassian offers to fly Elain and Feyre back to the House. 

It’s Feyre, with the sort of straight forward confusion that can’t be feigned, who says, after Cassian has set them down and is walking into the warm halls with them: Aren’t you going back? Oh, is Nesta coming here?

Cassian’s heart: ground zero. Cassian’s brain: just far enough from the explosion to be burning, burning, burning. 

Elain, who is a lot more like Nesta now that she isn’t frozen in worry, frowning just a little. Not warning- something worse, abject disappointment: We can get settled on our own. Nesta told me she’s sleeping at the townhouse tonight, in case Lucien wakes.

Feyre, yawning: Oh right, bye Cassian.

And then Cassian is left alone, the doors shut. 

Let us return to Nesta: feet propped up on the blankets of Luciens bed, quietly drinking whiskey. Watching, with a pang in her chest she’ll ignore and ignore and ignore, while Azriel- now that it’s just them, Nesta, who Lucien had explained to Azriel like this: I’d die for her. She’s my...Cassian. I’m always going to choose her, and if we do this you can’t hate that. Nesta, who is family- is gently braiding the riot of bloodred hair off Lucien’s face.

She handed over the half-full glass when he was done, and Azriel tossed the whole thing back. Said, eventually, as they sat there watching Lucien breathe together: that’s the first time Cassian has left.

Nesta, leaning even further back in the chair: Oh?

Azriel, with humor, steady in his deep voice: Rhysand had to make him let go so the healers could check you. He’s been in this room for a week.

Nesta, who’s still looking at the braids. Nesta, who’d woke and known that Cassian would have made sure her sisters were okay: Will he ever say anything?

Az: Does he need to?

Nesta, with a scoff: For me, no. For himself, yes. And then, softer. Thank you. For taking care of him. 

They both know she isn’t talking about Cassian.

Azriel will just nod. Say, like it’s nothing, the bare truth: He’s all the light, in the entire world.

Nesta hears again Cassian, tearing through words like they hurt to say: you’re the whole world.

Nesta, aloud: And much too stubborn to die.

This, unfortunately, the last two sentences, are all Cassian hears, frozen outside the door.

He walks away.

The next day, Lucien awake, Rhysand will call them all together and divide up what must be done. Lucien and Az: information. Morrigan: the darkbringers. Cassian and Nesta: the Legions.

It’s time for Nesta Archeron to go to Ilyria.

@more-espresso-less-depresso-xx @rhaenystargaryn @morrkrii @just-a-starcrossed-writer @clolikescloquetas @did-you-miss-me221 @caotica-e-quieta

#once again split this up for some semblance of brevity #poor baby self-worth issues Cassian #acting like an adorable tool #Rhys! and Nesta almost friends #very almost #it was always a story about the love between sisters #and it will be #to the bitter #bitter end

[litnerdwrites]

what if rysand just stayed dead? Like the high lords refused to help him.

What would happen to the inner circle, night court and feyre who literally attacked the spring court and stole from Tarquin I think.

This is something I've been thinking about for a while now. The short answer is that the NC would likely fall apart.

There's the obvious of, when Rhysand died, the land didn't shift the HL power to Feyre, so her title as HL is purely ceremonial and based off of Rhysand's authority. Admittedly, we don't know if the power shifted to someone else, then back to Rhys, or if it shifts right away all the time, or the land knew he'd come back so the power didn't leave him. However, had he stayed dead, and the power shifted to someone else, then it would likely result in conflict.

Let's assume for a moment that the power shifted back to Morrigan's bloodline. Had it chosen Mor, then it's likely that either Feyre would relinquish the title to her, Mor would relinquish it to Feyre. Though that wouldn't change that Feyre would still be a HL in title only as a result of somebody else's power and wouldn't be respected. Both of those scenarios would make maintaining relations with the CON and Illyria harder too.

Keir wouldn't respect either Feyre or Morrigan, and would likely plot a rebellion. If the power went to Mor, he would find a way to abuse his status as her father, if not outright kill her in an attempt to make the land chose him, as he would be the next the next of kin.

There'd likely also be rebellions brewing in both Illyria and the CON for similar reasons: The 'ost powerful High Lord' is dead, leaving his inexperienced wife, now powerless second in command, and cousin, to run the Court. Nobody respects Feyre. Nobody Respects Mor. Regardless of whom the power goes to, or who takes on the actual title of HL, they would rebel. Cassian and Azriel would have to either focus on Illyria or The HC, making it difficult difficult to contain all of the chaos. If Feyre chooses to handle it with politics, she'd have to be careful due to her lack of experience, however if she used extreme violence to quell the rebellion, she'd lose even more respect (not that she had much to begin with).

Now that Keir knows Velaris exists, along with what's left of Hybern and their allies, there'd be many attempts to take the city, and without Illyrians or Darkbringers, they'd lose it eventually. There'd likely be attempts on all of their lives, though mainly Feyre's, from that point onward too, and not just from territories in the NC.

Hybern had allies who were prepared to fight with them to regain the human lands, like Vallahan, for example. Out of revenge for stopping Hybern (mostly cause Hybern would've made conquering the mortal lands easy), other nations would attack. We learn in ACOMAF that some countries on the continent became discontent and envied Prythian for thriving after the first war for human freedom, so it's likely they'd take this opportunity to take their territory.

The NC is the largest land mass on Prythian, so if a country took it in the chaos, they could push downwards, through the day and dawn court, to the seasonal courts and the human lands. They'd have Velaris as their strong hold, with places like the Moonstone castle and HOW being on top of mountains, giving them an advantage against those who may try to take them back, or attack the NC. I think the Illyrians would merely want independence, but the CON may chose to ally with those nations too. All this takes place while the IC battle for control, and/or try to avoid being assassinated, if they aren't already.

Alternatively, if the power went to Keir, it's possible that other HLs may chose to take his side, and acknowledge him over Feyre, for tradition's sake. They may also insist that Feyre and her sisters be allowed to live comfortably in Velaris out of respect for her and Rhys, and because she saved them from Amarantha, but they're unlikely to support her bid for any actual power if the Land didn't chose her.

In this case, the rest of the IC would likely be forced to live as citizens or serve Keir. He'd likely take a page out of Rhysand's father's book, making Azriel his personal spy, while making Cassian a regular soldier (just to hurt them if nothing else). That's if they don't live as ordinary citizens, perhaps even give up their syphons too. Mor would likely be forced back under her father's thumb, while Amren is either put back in the prison or kicked out of the NC. He might even use his authority to bring Elain and Nesta under his thumb due to their powers, and because they have no political power in Prythian, unlike the curse breaker (though it is only a little).

The Illyrians, I feel, would either go for independence or just serve Keir without issue, and after an appropriate amount of time passed, Keir would either have the former IC killed/made vanish, or he could trick them into rebelling just to kill them earlier on.

Regardless of which version of this scenario plays out, it'll still goes on while Bryallin looks for the trove, and Koschei remains a threat. At the end of the day, no matter how powerful the IC supposedly are, when there are multiple armies, and rebellions happening, they can only do so much. They aren't indestructible. Meaning that if Rhysand died, given that it's his power that keeps everyone in check (regardless of how shitty his methods and results are), the NC is going to fall apart, or become something vastly different from what it was. The bottom line is that they're all fucked.

#anti inner circle #anti rhysand #anti acosf #anti ic #pro nesta #anti amren #anti mor #anti cassian #anti sjm #anti feyre #anti elain #anti morrigan #anti nessian #anti rhys

[feysandandnyx]

I find it funny people who are so determined to defend Nesta that they are willing to vilify any other character to justify their favorite, as if the situations that occur in acotar were white or black and nothing more. Let me tell you a little bit about the argument used to say that Rhysand sexually abused Feyre Under the Mountain. I think in the first place, sjm made choices that I don't agree with. Why did Rhysand have to drug Feyre with the bewitched wine? What exactly did he not want her to see? The explanation would have been better if Sarah had been clearer in her writing.

Underneath the mountain it is certainly one of the darkest and most distressing moments in these books. The characters are in a very dark place and they need to act like that. In Under Mountain Rhysand is the monster the world thinks he is. But the way in which he related to Feyre until then is minimally dubious, even so we ended the book with anger at him.

If you reread ACOTAR it is easy to see the ambiguity of Rhysand's attitudes. He looks curious and is polite when he meets Feyre. But he acts cruelly on their second date. In Under the Mountain, he kisses Feyre against her will, he makes her wear clothes that leave Feyre's body exposed, he twists her arm, and he does drugs every night to the point that the character himself takes it as a habit.

However, if Rhysand dresses Feyre like a whore, he puts a crown on her head and declares to the entire court in Amarantha that Feyre was your protect and that the two had made a deal where she was supposed to spend a week with him at the Night Court. . This moment is very important, Rhysand is explicitly telling Amarantha that her reign was over, but you only notice it if you read it a second time.

Rhysand twisted Feyre's arm, but gave her a tattoo that in his homeland is a sign of strength and good luck. He kissed her to hide from Amarantha what Feyre and Tamlin had done. He was the only one who bet in favor of Feyre on her first test, he cheated to help her on the second test and he literally fought for her on the third.

Rhysand also manipulated the guards so that Feyre did not have to perform domestic activities that seemed endless, he made sure that she received quality food in her cell, he sent Feyre beautiful things when she was close to breaking: a song and a glimpse of the night sky . Rhysand showed a mask of cruelty to everyone, but he was always more than that for Feyre. He always showed her a part of himself that he could not reveal to anyone else, which is made explicit when he shows her her wings or as close to what her true form would be. And somehow, Feyre FEELS Rhysand, because the bond between them was already something real and noticeable under the mountain.

Some people will simply say: but isn't he Prynthian's most powerful High Lord? Why didn't he act differently? Simple. Rhysand practically no longer had his powers and he later explains that Amarantha had protection even against physical attacks. That's why he gets beaten when he fights her.

So even though I don't particularly feel comfortable with Rhysand drugging Feyre Under the Mountain, I can understand the reasons for his behavior and put the character in a GRAY category. Rhysand does bad things, but not without a reason. At first he is confused about how to feel about Feyre. He doesn't understand how he feels, but he realizes that she is the answer to rid Prynthian of Amarantha. So in a first layer, Rhysand uses her as a pawn, in a second, he helps her simply because Feyre is her mate and the character realizes this when Feyre was about to die. But all the time, he was already acting like he knew.

Rhysand would be a much bigger problem for me if he didn't talk to Feyre about the choices he made Under the Mountain or if he had actually taken sexual advantage of Feyre . If he felt any pride in what he did. However, this is not what was developed in acomaf and that is why it remains the best ACOTAR book for me. Rhysand is not proud, he admits that he was a monster, he is apologizing, he does not think he is worthy of Feyre, he never had hopes of having a romance with her. He is resigned and resigned to the price he had to pay to break free. He is willing to break the bargain between the two and let Feyre go to find what made her happy. On the other hand, Feyre is confused about him, but she also despises him and believes that he is the monster that everyone believed he was. There is no romanticization of Under the Mountain here. Rhysand and Feyre are initially at odds. Feyre needs to meet Rhys to understand and discover that he can be good and selfless.

To understand that he could be a monster to protect what he loved. I don't see romanticization in this construction since the characters are simply talking about these things. Rhysand was wrong to drug Feyre, but he is not saying he was right, nor is he proud of it. The same when he kisses Feyre against her will. When Rhysand kisses her, Feyre immediately understands why. So Rhysand is doing morally dubious things to keep Feyre alive. What would you have done in Rhysand's place? Would he have let Amarantha understand about Feyre and Tamlin and kept his morals intact, or would he have compromised his morals to save someone?

What is the morally correct situation in a life or death situation? Depending on your answer, you can understand why Rhysand can be forgiven by Feyre and most ACOTAR readers. Rhysand is not and has never been a perfect character. He is gray, neither black nor white, but something in between these two things and he is capable of destroying the world to save those he loves. I agree with the criticism that it is disturbing to see a person who is a victim of sexual abuse having to make these choices, but these criticisms should be directed mainly at sjm.

And maybe you can understand why Rhysand's reason for being "abusive" with Feyre is still different from the reason why Nesta was abusive to Feyre. Nessa abused Feyre to hurt her and make her feel bad to protect herself . Rhysand crossed a line with Feyre to keep her alive and free Prynthian from Amarantha. Feyre and Rhysand had an entire book to talk and get along with. All we wanted from Nesta was for her to talk and show her regret to Feyre. Let her show how she felt, with words and not just gestures. Feyre deserved to hear from Nesta what she said to Cassian or Amaren. But he will have opted for a lazy solution and tried to reduce Nesta's years of abuse over Feyre as a disagreement between sisters. So, I'm sorry if we can forgive Rhysand and not Nesta. The problem is not the characters themselves, but the way sjm chose to treat each of these relationships in the end.

Nesta didn't need to let herself be who she is, she just needed to apologize. I think the problem was never whether Nesta loved Feyre or not, but Nesta acknowledging to Feyre that she was wrong and apologizing for it. It's lazy for you to do Nesta simply by saving Feyre, especially when Feyre once died. Perhaps that is why many people did not like the way Sjm decided to end the conflict between the sisters in acosaf. Particularly speaking, I feel good about Nesta's healing process, but not the way she solves her problems with Feyre.

Again, if there were any mistakes I bought in the text I apologize because English is not my first language.

#feyre archeron #inner circle #pro inner circle #anti nesta #anti nesta archeron #pro rhysand #rhysand

[acourtofthought]

The Magic of Restoring a Land

While Elain and Lucien both have homes, SJM seems to be hinting that those current homes are a temporary thing:

(not to mention Elain was notably absent in the crossover)

Combine those hints with the following:

and it seems clear to me where Elucien's journey will be taking them.

I am enamoured at the thought of Elucien as High Lord and Lady as Day but I struggle to see it anytime soon because of Helion being such an important character to Rhys, to the LOA, and hopefully Lucien.

I wonder if SJM was being sly with the wording above:

"permanently station him at the Spring Court"

"The Spring Court had been made for someone like her"

What if she literally just told us that Lucien will permanently remain in Spring? In ACOFAS we know he wanted to return to living there but was unable to because of the lies Feyre spread. What if his good name was restored and it could once again be his home? What if he and Elain could turn it into the court he once hoped life in Tamlin’s court would be? I'm sure centuries down the line he'll play his part in Day (he could even travel there as emissary while living in Spring) but until then, Lucien isn't the type to sit and wait around to do something. And even Feyre said, "you enjoyed its pleasures and diversions. But don’t pretend you weren’t made for something more than that.” He's never going to be someone who waits for something to do, he wants purpose.

Also, when something is made for someone, there's a sense of belonging associated with the phrasing.

It wasn’t a guarantee that a High Lord’s firstborn would be his heir. The magic sometimes took a while to decide, and often jumped around the birth order completely. Sometimes it found a cousin instead. Sometimes it abandoned the bloodline entirely. Or chose the heir in that moment of birth, in the echoes of a newborn’s first cries.

“There are no High Ladies.” His brows furrowed, but he shook his head. “We’ll talk about that later, too. But yes, Feyre—there can be High Ladies. And perhaps you aren’t one of them, but … what if you were something similar?

I know some feel Elain can't be chosen as High Lady but why? Rhys tells us there can be High Ladies and just because there hasn't been one prior to the series doesn't mean it can't happen now that the Archeron sisters are having their stories told. Rhys made Feyre his High Lady so she wasn't exactly chosen by the magic but Feyre is still unlike anything that ever existed before. Elain as High Lady does not negate that Rhys and Feyre will most likely remain the most powerful fae in their lands.

Tamlin never wanted to be High Lord, it was never a fitting role for him, what if the magic always knew he was simply a place holder until the "moment of Elain's birth"?

What if Elain is made High Lady of Spring and Lucien stays by her side as interim High King (until the war is over)?

A major problem that Feyre and Nesta have when it comes to Elain is holding her back from doing more, from being unable to imagine her in certain situations. But I wonder if all the things they once doubted will come to pass-

I’d do it mostly to keep Elain from ever going to the Spring Court (a hint that Elain WILL end up in the Spring Court?)

I shook my head, trying not to imagine Elain subject to that … fire. (a hint that Elain WILL end up with Lucien and possibly perform in Fire Night with him?)

"Elain would faint to hear such thoughts." (Fire Night is very voyeuristic event, imagine if she were the main act?)

Being this is the current state of the Spring Court and it's manor -

Distant—because on the estate, nothing bloomed at all. The pink roses that had once climbed the pale stone walls of the sweeping manor house were nothing but tangled webs of thorns. The fountains had gone dry, the hedges untrimmed and shapeless. The house itself had looked better the day after Amarantha’s cronies had trashed it. Not for any visible signs of destruction, but for the general quiet. The lack of life.

A tomb. This place was a tomb.

No whisper of sound behind him. On any acre of this estate. Not even a note of birdsong.

Hunting for dinner—because there were no servants here to make food. Or buy it.

And though he roams these lands, he does not see or care for the neglect he passes, the lawlessness, the vulnerability.

- it seems so fitting that Elain and Lucien, two characters who are full of light and sunshine, who are extremely social, who make friends wherever they go and are able to convince anyone to do anything with their words, would be able to restore Spring with not only their personalities but the magic of their union.

"the magic that we create helps regenerate the land for the year ahead.”

With Elucien, the Spring Court could again be a place of light and happiness, filled with laughter and sound and as a result, a place of strength and an ally for the rest of Prythian.

#elucien #pro elucien #Prompt: magic #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elain x lucien #lucien and elain #pro lucien vanserra #elain and lucien #pro elain archeron #elucien supremacy #lucien spell cleaver #elucienweek2023 #acotar theory

[hoodwinkd1]

Your Eyes Whispered Ch 1-3

I originally posted this story on AO3, but wanted to bring it to my Tumblr now that I’m back on here. Enjoy!

Fic Summary:  After Eris becomes High Lord, there's only one thing on his mind, now that his father is dead and he can finally leave his horrible façade behind. A slow burn romance featuring the misunderstood prince of flame and his mate, a powerful teacher who can't seem to step out of her small town life.

Ch 4-7 here.

Chapter 1: I was enchanted to meet you

It's no small thing, murdering your father in cold blood.

Not that anyone, even Beron, was surprised.

Eris looked at the bloody sword in his hand and then at his father's corpse, lying on the ground at his feet. He closed his eyes as the power of the Autumn Court rushed over him like a tidal wave of fire.

The new High Lord knew that he would have to deal with the consequences of his coup today. But tomorrow, after the dust settled and he dealt with his treacherous brothers, he knew exactly where he needed to be.

The night turned into a swarm of activity as the castle reacted to Beron's death. Advisors fought for a seat at the table, servants spread the rumors like wildfire, his mother gently took him to bathe as it all became too much. Eris slept that night, without terrifying dreams for the first time in centuries

--- He woke to the sunlight filtering through the trees. He had to leave now, before anyone could find him and monopolize his time any futher.

Eris winnowed as soon as he was dressed, landing on the outskirts of a village that had seen better days. He had only been here once in his life, ninety-five year prior, decades before Amarantha took over. His father had sent him and one of his younger brothers to several towns in the Autumn Court as part of their duties. This one had been a bustling center of trade and power, known for its capabilities in producing talented Fae children and training them in magic.

Eris remembered his utter boredom as he watched the parade put on in his honor. His brother Marick had scoffed at the idea of watching children perform small magic tricks, but Beron had insisted they attend to find any who were powerful enough to warrant interest from him. His father always had a nasty habit of stealing children away from their parents to become part of his court.

Eris also remembered the moment his life shifted. As the children moved to the center of town square, beginning their show, his eyes drifted slightly to the left.

And landed on hers. The teacher.

The mating bond snapped, harder and faster than anything.

If she felt it, she gave no indication. Her eyes returned to her students.

Eris swore that this bond, this life-changing connection, would not be ruined like every other good thing in his life. He shoved all the overwhelming feelings and instincts deep into himself, securing his facade into place. The Autumn Court would never know another side to him besides the arrogant, powerful Heir.

But now his father was dead. He was the most powerful Fae in the Court.

Eris wasn't sure how he would find her, or if she even remained in this town. Or, Cauldron damn him, if she was even alive.

This town had suffered. Almost every building showed signs of abandonment or violence and he could sense that the number of Fae in the area had been more than cut in half.

He wandered aimlessly for a bit, unsure. He was terrified to reach inside himself and attempt to tug on the bond, anxious he would find nothing on the other end. Finally, after passing yet another empty house with smashed windows, he pulled himself together and grabbed for the bond.

Gasping as the feeling rose up from within him and overwhelmed his mind, Eris began walking, not entirely in control of his body. He walked by one block, then another, before stopping in front of a one-story building. It stood out as one of the few that looked well-maintained, with all its windows intact and even a flower bed next to the door.

His mate. Alive. In this house. His hand knocked before his mind processed the enormity of emotions at this moment.

One breath passed. She opened the door.

“Can I help you?” she frowned, wary of strangers. He took in everything about her, from her dark hair, slipping out of a frizzy bun to her comfortable clothing, probably pyjamas.

“My apologies,” he started. “I--you surely don’t remember me.”

She turned her head slightly, brown eyes taking in his face. “Have we met? I prefer straight answers from strange males at my door.”

“My name is Eris. I promise I wish you no harm.” Her eyes widened.

“My lord, you must forgive me,” she responded, sharpening her tone to hide her surprise. “It’s not often that royalty appears on my doorstep.”

Eris noted her tense muscles and reluctance to let him in. This was not a female who trusted.

“Forgive me for showing up uninvited. I have a...personal matter to discuss with you and I would rather do it in private.” He attempted a reassuring tone. “I know you have no reason to trust me, but please,” he trailed off, unsure what to possibly say to convince her. His horrible reputation probably preceded him.

She looked him in the eye. “Do you know who I am?”

“I only know that you teach children. I was here for a demonstration, decades ago.”

Shockingly, she stepped back and opened the door wider.

“Certainly, you could have blasted through my wards and yet you chose to knock,” she explained, gesturing him in with a wave of her hand. “How bad can this personal matter be?”

Eris walked in and saw a large, empty room with a mirror on one wall. She led the way over to a table next to a small kitchen. They each chose a chair, then looked awkwardly at the other.

“Can I get you something--”

“No, please, sit down,” he interrupted.

She sat. And pinned those piercing eyes on his.

“What’s your name?” he asked, his soul dying for the answer.

“Rhiannon.” And it was like the entire world shifted, as if he couldn’t imagine any name more beautiful.

“Rhiannon,” he said softly. “I have no good words to say this. When I was visiting, all those years ago, I saw you as the children gave their performance.” He hesitated.

“Lord Eris, I would rather you say it bluntly,” she jumped in. “To be quite honest, I’m extremely worried at the moment.”

“Please, just Eris,” he corrected. “And yes. You’re right. Of course. Well, I felt the mating bond that day. With you.”

If only his enemies could see him now. Keir would keel over of laughter watching him stumble through a simple conversation.

Rhiannon had gone completely still. She stared at him, as if waiting for the punchline. He shrugged.

“You did say bluntly.”

She stood suddenly, stalking over to the kitchen. For some reason unbeknownst to Eris, she began making a pot of tea. He waited.

As the kettle whined, she waved her hand, directing two mugs out of the cabinet and onto the table. Of course. The teacher of magic children would have to have magic as well.

He said nothing, still, as she brought over the tea. Rhiannon poured herself a cup and then watched him do the same.

She broke the silence as he took his first sip. “You’re being serious.”

“I would never joke about something like this,” Eris remarked.

“Why now? That had to have been, what, a century ago?” she demanded. Her dark skin seemed to glow in the daylight from the window above her head.

He looked down at his cup. “I killed my father yesterday. I didn’t think it safe to acknowledge you before that.”

“You---what?!” she yelped, almost dropping her cup. “I said blunt, not absolutely earth-shattering.”

He choked back a laugh. “My apologies. I’ve had a stressful few weeks. But truly, I worried what my father and brothers might do to a partner of mine and never would wish to put you in any danger. So now, at least, I know that threat is handled.”

She considered this. “I have no idea what I’m feeling right now.”

“I understand. More than you now,” Eris acknowledged. “I don’t have any expectations of you. I only hope that we might spend time together, getting to know one another.”

“Get to know you. The High Lord. As my...mate,” she echoed. “I could, I think I would be fine with that.”

“As whatever you want,” Eris disputed. “As I said, I don’t expect a thing.”

“Then as friends. And privately, at least at first.” Rhiannon looked him over. “You’ll have to come here, during hours I’m not teaching or with others.”

He couldn’t believe she had responded positively. Eris would have agreed to any terms she set.

“When can we start?”

She smiled at his obvious enthusiasm. "Tomorrow night. And you're bringing dinner."

Eris couldn't control the huge grin at her smile. This female would probably ruin him and his reputation. Not that he minded in the slightest.

"Anything you want."

Chapter 2: not where the story ends

TW: Mentions of past sexual assault and panic attacks. Nothing graphic or specific, but please do not read if this will harm you. I"ll put XXX before and after any mentions if you need to avoid.

So the High Lord of the Autumn Court had shown up at her door. And thrown her life entirely off-course by announcing they were mates.

Rhiannon lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to sort her thoughts and feelings into some sort of organized pattern. Her little two-story house and work studio felt suffocating, too small for all the chaos in her head. Throwing off the covers, she grabbed a pair of boots and a coat, winnowing to the street.

The town of Malefic, once a bustling city, stood quiet that night. Rhia wasn't surprised. After five decades of Amarantha, the population had decreased to only a couple thousand. She was relatively sure she could name almost every single Fae, and none of them were night owls.

She strolled down her street, aiming for a field of wheat at the edge of town. It helped to be in a wide, open space where she could see the entire night sky.

Eris Vanserra, the oldest son of the cruel Beron Vanserra, had shown up at her door. One of the most callous and powerful males in Prythian had knocked on her door and awkwardly asked to come in. And he had been, well, sweet. Kind. Attentive.

He'd explained some of his reputation, claiming that his father only valued power from his sons. He told her so much about his history, his regrets, his shame. And she had actually shared some of her life as well. The pull between them had opened her lips, despite her brain screaming at her to think rationally about all the red flags.

Because, unfortunately, even less powerful and less feared males could do so much damage. A fact Rhia knew all too well.

So many citizens had fled or sought aid from the capitol when Amarantha took over. Many others were killed or thrown into those horrendous camps. But Rhia and several other powerful Fae came together and warded the town. They could only cover a square mile, but it was enough at first. For twenty seven years, they maintained the wards, grew their own food, raised children to fight, and lived in fear, but not terror. They had all appreciated how much worse life could be.

Until a group of males snuck through the wards. To this day, Rhia never found out how they managed to get in.

The town woke the next morning to ransacked supplies and distasteful graffiti. The adults breathed a sigh of relief, for they knew how much worse it could be.

XXX

Sofine Linswell woke to her best friend sobbing on her bathroom floor.

Rhia woke to her best friend picking her up off the bathroom floor and hugging her close.

One of the males, as the group had split up, had stumbled upon a small, two-story house and work studio, probably looking for supplies like his companions. Unfortunately, this male found a sleeping, vulnerable female and did what any terrible, depraved soul would do.

Rhia hadn't been able to sleep in her own bed for months, and even now still had nights where she couldn't sleep in the small bedroom.

It had been decades and her life had returned back to almost normal, especially after Feyre Cursebreaker saved the day. She could even have casual sex again, but only with males she knew didn't have more than a drop of magic in them. The fear of being forced to lie still, struggling against invisible bounds, made it difficult for her to trust anyone with more power than she had.

Sofine, her best friend of more than a century, had talked her through many panic attacks over the years before they figured out her aversion to powerful males. Luckily, their little town saw almost no newcomers and Rhia knew her strength could dominated any of their neighbors. Not that she ever needed to, but the thought comforted her.

XXX

But the Cauldron had the most fucked-up sense of humor.

Eris Vanserra had shown up at her door. A male that had infinite more magic and power than she did.

Worse, he was awkward and kind and vulnerable with her. Her stupid brain couldn't just write him off or send him packing.

He hadn't been close enough to touch her once last night, so Rhia had forgotten about her issues for a few hours. But as soon as she closed her eyes, her mind drifted to what it would be like to lie next to him and all the darkness came rushing back.

She hadn't told Sofine yet. The night seemed like a dream, like an unbelievable story you tell yourself to fall asleep.

Eris had given her a piece of parchment before he left and told her to write if she wanted him to come over again. He'd been so obviously nervous that she would never write to him that she'd smiled and told him to keep an eye on it. Yet now, under the midnight sky, she was overwhelmed at the idea of taking a step forward.

She sat in the wheat until the sky started turning pink. Another day of teaching, lunch with Sofi, and cleaning her house.

Winnowing back to her kitchen, Rhia started making a pot of tea. Only caffeine would make this day run smoothly.

Waiting for the boil, she glanced over at the table and saw the piece of parchment glowing. Confused, she went to pick it up.

I apologize if this is intrusive. You probably think I'm incredibly desperate (because I am incredibly desperate). But I just wanted to say that I will take any part of you that you would give me. If you're willing to put me out of my pathetic misery and give me a chance.

She laughed. The rumors simply could not be true. This male couldn't be the same as the cruel, misogynistic bastard that tortured his brother's lover. She couldn't say how, but she knew that for certain.

So, as the sun spilled over the horizon and another peaceful day started, she wrote back.

Chapter 3: passing notes in secrecy

Eris couldn't believe it. It simply couldn't be true.

His advisors, his friends (well, all two of them), even his mother had commented on his mood. He was smiling, often unprompted, and making jokes. The palace full of nobles had no idea what to do with a High Lord that made jokes.

And he was getting his ass kicked in training. Gerwin, one of the two friends, looked down at where he lay on the floor.

"It really shouldn't be that easy for me to take down a High Lord," he grumbled. "First there are rumors of you acting like a fool in meetings and now this?"

Eris stood, pretending to brush some dust off his shirt. "No one thinks I'm acting like a fool. Just differently than my father." The last word got stuck in his throat on the way out, dampening his mood a bit. All of Prythian knew what he did and yet he still hadn't told the actual story to anyone. It felt like a confession, proof his guilt, an irreversible action that might suddenly inspire his Court to abandon him. Although he knew rationally that was unlikely (he had widespread support that came from not being a violent, evil bastard), Eris still felt like he could lose his throne at any second for any reason.

He faced off with Gerwin again, focusing and actually winning the fight.

Eris raced to his chambers after his training session, at a speed more fit to an energized child than the most powerful male in the Autumn Court. He threw open his bedroom door and scrambled to open the top drawer of his nightstand. There sat a glowing piece of parchment.

She actually wrote back, he marveled. Even though she had been writing back at least once a day for the past week, each message still brought Eris a flash of joy and shock.

Their first interaction had been tense and awkward. Her body language had clearly indicated she was uncomfortable with him in her home, but she hadn't kicked him out. The conversation was good, great even, but stayed to safe topics like her town's endeavors and his fumbling advisors. Eris fully believed he had thoroughly fucked up this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and would never hear from her again. Except she kept writing.

I hope you understand this taxation argument, because I surely cannot. Some of us were meant only for brute force and fighting, not percentages and financial sheets. He had complained about one of his endless meetings yesterday, where the Financial Minister had almost burst a blood vessel when Eris suggested taxing the rich more than the poor. Outrageous.

He grabbed a pen and chewed on it thoughtfully. His responses were finely crafted to keep the conversation flowing easily and show off some of his stellar personality. His mother's voice, kindly accusing him of acting like an adolescent, floated through his mind. It was rather childish to spend this much time thinking about a female and wooing her, something he'd never really worked hard at before.

I'm glad to know you claim expertise on brute force, since apparently I no longer can. My friend just destroyed me in a training session, in a way that was very embarrassing for me and unbecoming of a High Lord. If I had more friends, I might even accuse him of treason just to avoid my utter defeat again. How are your students?

---

Did he have some sort of magic that could figure out her schedule? He must. There was no other explanation for how Eris managed to send her a message right before she had an important commitment. Rhia had shown up to her classes, a town hall meeting, and now dinner with Sofine with blushing cheeks and an unmanageable smile.

"Ha! There it is! That silly expression you keep getting," Sofine accused, pointing a finger at Rhia's dark red cheeks. "I've been complaining about my leaky sink for two minutes and you sit there staring off into the distance."

"Sorry, sorry, it's just been a long week," Rhia mumbled, turning to grab some bread off the counter so Sofine would stop trying to read her expression. "Classes, students, you know how it gets."

"I surely don't! Students make you groan and complain; this is like....this is more of..." Sofine trailed off, trying to put a finger on what could have her friend so distracted. "Well, honestly, if I didn't know you better, I'd say this was more of a schoolgirl crush." Rhia had no response to that, so she stayed quiet. Sofine gasped, her mind clearly spinning to fill in the gaps,

Maybe staying quiet was going to get her in more trouble. "Sofi, I love you so dearly, but I clearly don't have a 'schoolgirl crush' and I'm not sure how I would've managed to keep that a secret from you." Rhia hoped it would be enough. They were both over a century year old and yet sat here gossiping about crushes. Absurd.

Luckily, her friend let it go and the rest of the conversation was blessedly normal. After finishing a bottle of sparkling wine together, the females decided to call it a night. They both had the day off tomorrow and had huge plans to attend the local farmer's market.

Humming to herself, Rhia began to slowly clean the glasses off the table. Her thoughts trailed away from the town and towards the capitol. Eris. She hadn't written back to him yet.

Perhaps writing to the High Lord of the Autumn Court who was also your mate after half a bottle of wine wasn't the smartest idea in the world. Rhia hushed that logical voice in her brain and grabbed the paper to reread his response. Silly, how such a little joke about a rough training session caused her to blush again.

There was no second-guessing, no careful editing, no worry as she wrote back. The High Lord taken down by a simple training instructor? I would have loved to see it. My students are little terrors as always, though none are powerful enough yet to spar with me. I suppose I'll go through a similar embarrassment when they are.

His response came so quickly. Was he sitting in bed, just waiting for her to write him back? She giggled at the image, then giggled at her giggle because she wasn't the type of Fae to giggle normally. And the word giggle sounded funny.

My pride is quite grateful you weren't there to see it happen. A second later, as if an afterthought, another line appeared. And if you ever actually would like to see me, all you have to do is ask.

Her insides warmed. She blushed, yet again, at the shameless flirting. But at the same time, her brain kicked into overdrive at the idea that this was more than letter writing and idle flirting. The High Lord wanted to see her and she wanted to see him, a terrifying thought that would normally send her running. Luckily, the wine kept her mind open and her words flowing.

Maybe I only want to see you get kicked beaten knocked around in training.

Scratch that sentence I don't think I'm making sense. I'm not sure what I'm trying to say.

"Oh shit," Rhia cursed at her confusion. The wine certainly wasn't making anything clearer.

Let me try again. I'd like to see you in my kitchen again.

In your kitchen? How specific. I'll be there whenever you tell me. And, please correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe you would still enjoy watching someone beat me up in a sparring ring. Eloquence fails us all sometimes, it's quite alright.

Aren't High Lord supposedd to be busy? Her handwriting had started looking noticeably sloppy as her eyes began to droop. I have no plans tomorrow night.

Excellent. Tomorrow night. And no, we simply appear busy while others do all the work. It's a very simple and fun job.

I'm going to bed. Otherwise I might make more of a fool of myself. Rhia doubted that Eris would mind some sloppy handwriting and confusing messages, but she knew worse things might come out if they stayed up late in the night, writing on this stupid piece of paper.

---

Eris couldn't believe it. He was seeing her again tomorrow, technically today since midnight was long passed. He closed his eyes, feeling something that felt a bit like redemption and forgiveness grow within him.

#eris #eris vanserra #acotar #acosf #sjm #autumn court #a court of thorns and roses #beron #beron vanserra #eris stans we rise #acosf did eris dirty

[bookdorp]

Getting back into reading!!!!

For about two years now reading has been hard for me. Even though for most of my life, ever since I learned to read as a kid, I have devoured book after book after book, usually several per month. But for some reason for the past two years I could bearely get through one book every two months.

But two months ago I finally got my reading fire back. Huzzaah! And the book that got me fired up again was (to my utmust and complete surprise and even a little frustration and dissapointment) A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J. Maas. One of my best friends was doing a re-read and ofcourse the re-read bug bit me too.

When I read this book for the first time 4 years ago, I read it like a masterpiece and loved it so much that I immediatly ordered the second; A Court of Mist and Fury. Which at the time also felt like a masterpiece to me. The second time I read these books was right before the third came out; A court of Wings and Ruin, a book I’d been waiting for and marked in my dairy and even pre-ordered. 

So the second time I read ACOTAR, I was slightly dissapointed because I no longer got the rush from it like I did the first time I read it. And to my memory it felt bland next to how I remembered how ACOMAF made me feel, which read like a train the second time I read it, even though I started noticing some small things that bothered me. So eventually I got to the third book; A Court of Wings and Ruin. Which was definitly disapointing to me, even reading it for the first time. I was expecting to love it.

Now, we are a few years later and I’ve just read ACOTAR and ACOMAF all over again. And I’m grateul to these books for getting me into reading again. And to my surprise, this time I preferred ACOTAR over ACOMAF. (MINDBLOWN!)

I no longer think this series is a masterpiece (anything but) but it’s an easy read, you don’t need to think too hard, the writing is pretty simple and sometimes even pretty. The plot is never complicated and, honestly, I do love myself some good smut. 

ACOTAR

So ACOTAR Round 3: I really liked it best this time. Especially because the plot is so much smoother than ACOMAF and ACOWAR, and most important, it’s THERE, it’s visible, it’s noticable. Every little thing the characters do, especially Lucien and Tamlin, make sense at some point. Things just click once you get to Under The Mountain. And I love that in books! Books that leave hints for you to pick up on (or not), so nothing seems like its a sudden *gasp* suprise! I mean, plot twists are fantastic, but only if they’re executed well. When you feel something coming or you pick up the bread-crumbs left througout the story, and even though you don’t know how to put them together yet, you know they mean something and it will make sense in the end. And ACOTAR gave me this! It all made sense in the end:

-The mention of Tamlin’s heart of stone several times

- The vague mentions of a plague or blight on the land

- Lucien and Tamlin purposely letting her spy and figure things out on her own

 You know, those little things, that all become more logical at the end. I really appreciate that in a book. 

The Love story between Tamlin and Feyre was also nice. It’s wasn’t great but it wasn’t bad either. I’m still not sure if Tamlin truly loves her but I do believe he cares about her a lot in this book. After all, he is being nice to her on purpose and that purpose is to save his people and ending a curse. So does he love Feyre or does he love what she could represent for the future of his people? But I am convinced he cares about her lot, otherwise he wouldn’t have send her away before UTM to save her and so condemn his own people. So maybe there was some love in the end.

The ending itself was great. I loved that Feyre ended up solving the riddel, I only thought the riddle was a little obvious? I mean, I figured it out before Feyre did (even at the first read), but being good or bad at riddles isn’t something I can judge a person for. I think it was amazing Feyre died before being Made Fae, even if, secretely, I would have loved for her to have stayed human. That would have been an interesting story too.

There were definitly consequences for the main characters to work through at the end of the book. Something I looked forward too in book 2. And each character has their good parts and bad parts and the writing accepts that and doesn’t apolagize for it. No one loves perfect characters (looking at you ACOMAF Rhys and Feyre!). 

So I finished ACOTAR with a happy feeling.

ACOMAF

On to ACOMAF, knowing that I loved it in Round 1, was dissapointed in Round 2. And in Round 3 I found myself somewhere in between love and disapointment.

Things I loved (because you always start with the positive:

- The slowburn romance building. Was it eye-rolling at times? Definitly. it’s not my favorite romance couple of all books (Phèdre and Jocelin from Kushiel’s Dart *chef’s kiss*) but I liked how it build slowly and how both of them were given the time to get to know eachother. 

- The Inner Circle. Always nice to welcome new characters into a story. I love their love and friendship, their banter in amusing, and I’m a sucker for found family.

- Learning more about Prythian. We go to so many more places then in ACOTAR. In ACOTAR we only got the human realm, Tamlin’s Mansion and Under The Mountain. In ACOMAF we get Spring Court, Human Realm, Night Court, Velaris, The Prison, Weaver’s Hut, Illyrian places, and (most importantly!) Adriata. So many Courts out there and we are now on Court 3! So much more to explore!

- Lucien. I just really like his character. He’s both a good guy and a bad one. He tries. He wants to be loyal to his only friend, support him and help him, and that is so admirable, but at the cost of Feyre. Which is bad. He is just so conflicted. The right thing to do is not so easy from his point of view. For Feyre it’s easy: yes, he should just help her and stand up for her. But from his own point of view he sees a Court, his Court, that has been devastated for 50 years, his friend comes back broken and in pieces, and in the end he’s only known Feyre for 6 months or so? I understand him chosing the Spring Court and Tamlin before anything else. Even if it’s terrible for Feyre. And it does makes him something of a coward. But he tries to the best of his abilities, even if it’s not enough. I love the duality of Lucien. This is what makes a character interesting: the good AND the bad. Because he did, UTM, help Feyre as much as Rhys did. He healed her, warned her during the Myddengard Wyrm thing. He tried. But he’s not al all powerful High Lord who has somewhat gained the trust of Amarantha.

And in ACOMAF he still tries though it’s obvious he’s chosen Tamlin. He’s allowed to do that, even if it makes him an awefull friend towards Feyre. It doesn’t make him a terrible villain monster. 

The only thing agree with does make him the worst, is him trying to force Feyre to go back with him in the woods. And yet he did that for Tamlin. All of it, all of what he does, is (in his mind) in the name of friendship and protecting his Court. The goal is good, the means are wrong. 

Anyway I like Lucien, even if we didn’t get much of him in ACOMAF.

The things I was dissapointed in (because hate is too strong a word):

- The drama of everything. Everyone gets a sob story, a horrible painful sobstory, because that���s the only way to know if you can like and trust someone I guess? Rhys’s father, mother and sister are murdered, Mor was tortured and brutalized by her own family, Cassian is a bastard that had to fend for himself nearly to starvation, Azriel is a bastard brutalized by his borthers and ignored by his family, and Feyre fits right in I guess. I know it’s fantasy, but please, does no one get a happy childhood in this book? I’d like to include Amren but we really don’t know much about her at this point and we don’t learn much more either.

- Taking away Rhys’s bad boy points??? It made him as interesting as Lucien in my book, the bad he’s done. Why does everything that he did Under The Mountain have to because a ‘Mask’ now. What made him so interesting was because he did all those things thinking he maybe liked them. Now we need to find out he was suffering all along and didn’t want to do it. He just had to to protect his people. I mean, make some things a ‘Mask’ but maybe leave us some bad things because he enjoys them?

- Which leads me to the third things that I disliked: the constant comparison to Tamlin. Suddely, all the good things about Tamlin in ACOTAR disapeared, and Tamlin becomes monster villain number 1 with no good qualities whatsoever. I totally agreed with Feyre staying away from Tamlin for awhile, but to just never go back again? Once she felt like she was strong enough to talk to him, she should have. Was Tamlin in the wrong with how he treated Feyre, YES ABSOLUTELY. But she could have gone back, with Rhys and the Innder Circle for back-up, and sat down with him to talk to him about it. I wish an attempt was made. But I think we all know that Sarah just needed us to hate Tamlin to make Rhys look more perfect. Feyre shouldn’t go back to Tamlin, after Under The Mountain, they’rr not good for eachother. But Tamlin doesn’t know Rhys is secretly a good guy. Feyre got to know him but no one else in Prythian knows Rhys is just pretending. So it’s incredibly ridiculous to assume that Tamlin knows Rhys is good? Rhys behaved like a villain in public on purpose and it worked. And now they are surprised eveyron thinks Rhys is a villain? Of course Tamlin and Lucien believe Feyre is being controlled or manipulated. It’s why I can understand why they want to force her to come back. they truly don’t know any better.

COMMUNICATION IS KEY. Feyre complains how Tamlin never asked her how she felt or how he never wanted to talk abou what happened UTM, but she never asked him either. So this shit goes both ways. I feel for Tamlin and I feel for her. They BOTH couldn’t talk about it but everything gets blamed on Tamlin because his behaviour is more outrageous. She should have gone back (WITH BACK-UP) and talked to him. Would have prevented the weird ending

- And that leads me to the ending. Did anyone really think it would be that simple? Just sneak in and out and that’s that? Like. I love clues in books, but this really screamed TRAP AHEAD *Leliane voice is DA Origins*. Also, Rhys is supposed to be the most powerful High Lord ever, but he’s really easy to subdue and trick. I mean, the King of Hybern is supposedly a warlord of masterful cunning....

 And the fact they left Amren in Velaris. Everyone seems to agree she’s even more powerful than Rhys. They should have left Mor and Cassian in Velaris and taken Amren and the King of Hybern would have died then and there. Making stupid decisions to further the plot is not fun to read. Write better! But then again, ACOMAF was never really about the plot so if you read this book accepting it’s all about romance building and some smut, it’ll be easier. It’s what I did :P

And some minor annoyances:

- I feel liked everyone’s going to find love in these books. Because being single is BAD I guess. It’s too convenient.

- I would have loved for one weaker character to be in the Inner Circle. Not everyone can be overpowered. Where are my bookworms that make plans and don’t have flashy powers that can make mountains tremble when they orgasm?

- Velaris was too modern? I miss a more fae place? Less with bars and dancings and stores selling lacey underwear? Feyre in leggings and an over-sized sweater annoyed me. Seriously.

And that’s that.

I’m so happy to be reading again! And writing about reading ><

Next is A Court of Wings and Ruin. 

#A Court of Thorns and Roses #ACOTAR #A Court of Mist and Fury #ACOMAF #Feyre #Rhys #Tamlin #Lucien #Amren #Morrigan #Cassian #Azriel