created and managed by @dreaminginvelaris and @colorlesschristmastree ❤️
a discord server for feyre stans! doesn't matter what side(s) of the fandom you're in, if you love feyre, you're welcome to join :)) this server will contain multiple channels where you can all interact in! including a CC channel that contains both a spoiler and spoiler-free chat rooms! plus many more fun creations
we wanted to make a place where all feyre stans can come together and be in a peaceful, fun, and friendly environment! so no matter what ships you support, or what characters you like/dislike, you will have loving feyre in common with everyone! ❤️
*only those 18 years and older can join*
please share this with your mutuals who love feyre and reblog for more exposure but ONLY tag with #pro feyre.
Due to some recent events and hate the server will now be invite only! I’ll try to reach out to any pro feyre blogs I see but if no, please DM me!
I can just be minding my business when I’ll stop and remember that Feysand are parents. They’re in love and they’re parents and they get to raise their child with all the things they grew up wishing they had.
Nyx will never have to hunt to feed his family.
Nyx will never have to bury his mother and sister.
Nyx will never have to hide from his father how much he loves to fly.
Nyx will never think he’s unworthy of love because of his family.
Nyx will never feel unsafe to share his hobbies and interests with others.
Nyx will never be uncomfortable receiving gifts because they’re “wasteful”.
in parallel universe, your favorite fictional character is real and you are fictional and he is reading fanfics about you, kicking his feet in the air and giggling.
Thank you to everyone who participated in Day 7 of Feysand Week!
We did our best to keep track of all of the tumblr contributions below, but if we missed anyone or made any mistakes please assume best intentions and kindly reach out to one of our mods! ✨
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📝Fics, drabbles, and poetry:
Within a Mountain Dark by @whisperingmidnights
Now That It's Done by @secret-third-thing
double vision by @throneofsapphics
The darker the fruit, the sweeter by @lady-bluebird-luv
Safe in your arms by @legionofshaza
The Archer's Paradox by @zencetera
Out of the Woods (3/3) by @rosanna-writer
birds of a feather (we should stick together) by @belabellissima
Our Girl by @starfall-spirit
🎨Art:
Regency Feysand by Millyillus by @popjunkie42
Feysandweek Day Seven - Prick the Cat by @shallyne
Home so soon? By @whatishowedyouinthedark
Feysand Halloween by @climbthemountain2020
Feysandweek Day 7: AU by @colorlesschristmastree
Guilty As Sin Fanart by @the-lonelybarricade
The Other Side Of The Apocalypse Fanart by @the-lonelybarricade
Mermaid Feysand by @shallyne
Amber Skies Fanart by @velidewrites
Alien AU by @shallyne
Artwork by sam.rosariio by @popjunkie42
Treasure Hunter Feyre x Mafioso Rhys by @shallyne
Baulder’s Gate 3 Feysand commissioned by @separatist-apologist from artist @velidewrites
🎶Misc:
FeysandWeek Moodboards by @littlest-w01f
We Can Learn to Love Again by @romanticatheartt
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If we missed one of your contributions, kindly reach out to one of our event runners!
“𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘷𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦. 𝘐’𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦.”
“𝘠𝘦𝘴. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦. 𝘐 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐’𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.”
It’s the end of @/officialfeysandweek but it’s not the end of @the-lonelybarricade appreciation week because thats EVERY week in my heart/mind. For AU day, I had to bring back @velidewrites and my BG3 project with our favorite piece yet.
Archer!Feyre is simply trying to save the world and unravel a plot that threatens to doom the world. Rhysand is the voice inside her head, the man aiding her in her dreams. The only question is, can she trust him?
“Why?” He scanned the forest, feeling his adrenaline wake his mind, sharpening his senses. “Things have just gotten fun.”
Another dark figure broke out of the trees, only to immediately find another of Feyre’s arrows in its chest.
Rhysand flashed her an approving grin over his shoulder. “Save some for me.”
The Other Side of the Apocalypse by @separatist-apologist and @the-lonelybarricade
For my last contribution to @officialfeysandweek, I wanted to share a tribute to one of my favorite Feysand AUs—the one I've had the privledge of writing alongside my best friend @separatist-apologist. I've had the time of my life (writing about Feyre and Rhys) fighting dragons with you 💕
Thank you to artist @parslynne for helping bring this scene to life!!
I take it very personally that there is not enough monster fucker Feysand art in this fandom and for @officialfeysandweek day 7 I decided to take it upon myself to remedy that! ACOTAR monster fuckers this one is for you!!
Illustration done by maeves.atelier / @ghosttownheart and was commissioned by me!
CW: monster fucking, beast form rhys, feyre titties, NSFW art
Please don't look under the cut if these things make you uncomfortable!
Check out the accompanying fic for this piece written by the incredibly talented @separatist-apologist where our High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court celebrate a spicy spicy calanmai in the Night Court
Ready or Not by @separatist-apologist
Read it on AO3
Feyre hadn’t seen a calanmai celebration since she’d been turned. In her memory, it was little more than a hazy dream, the events that followed more whispering sigh than clanging bell. When she closed her eyes, Feyre remembered Rhys. Hands in his pocket, hair windswept and yet somehow perfect. Paler than she’d ever seen him thanks to fifty years lost beneath the mountain. That male, whoever he’d been, was gone. Feyre didn’t see the shadows of him lurking anymore, crowded in the corners of his violet eyes. Only light peered back at her now, brighter than any star.
He was nervous now, fidgeting with the cuffs of his jacket he didn’t need. “Rhys,” Feyre murmured for all the good it did. “Rhys, it’s just us now.”
“I know,” he replied, still staring out the window toward the mountains in the distance. They’d descended on the House of Wind the night before in preparation, which consisted of Feyre handling the last minute preparations while Rhys continued to stare pensively out the window.
They were alone, now. Cassian had been the last to leave with Nesta, nodding quietly to Rhys. Not to warn her, but merely to reassure her that this was how he always was and he’d be fine.
She knew it, though.
“Are you ready?” she questioned, turning toward the pot of purple paint sitting on a little table by a reading chair. Rhys nodded, fingers leaving his sleeves for the buttons down the center. She tried not to let herself think too much about what was happening behind her. Strange, how much she wanted him even after all that time.
When she turned, he’d stripped to just the wool lined black pants he’d wear. The faint, silver stitching hid the runes that would aid him in replenishing the magic of the land, and Feyre’s job was to match those ancient whorls with her paint brush.
“Do you remember the order?” Rhys asked, a talon brushing against her mind. Feyre shook him off with a smile.
“Of course.”
He was teaching her the old languages. Feyre remembered the runes, which promised prosperity, renewal, and rebirth in the story they told. Dipping her brush into the paint, Feyre motioned for him to turn. Rhys showed her his back, sitting carefully in the chair, his wings hidden in shadow. He kept himself wholly still, exhaling a breath on occasion when the bristles of her brush tickled over his skin
She took her time, wanting each rune to be precise and exact. In her mind, she recalled with hazy clarity similar markings on a different male. Feyre banished the thought from her mind. Everything was different, now. She wasn’t prey, a sacrifice meant to die on the altar of love. She was a willing participant—she knew what was waiting for her.
Once she’d gotten the purple paint on him, Feyre went for a second bowl of silver paint meant, she hoped, to look like stars. She merely wanted to accent the Illyrian tattoos etched over his skin so when he stepped into the darkness, he looked like the gods of old. The first Lord of Night come to walk among his followers and bless them at his pleasure.
Rhys let her without question, a blank canvas for her waiting brush. Feyre was satisfied by what she saw when he turned around, bathed in the waning light of day. Offering him a smile and her outstretched hand, Feyre was content to remain silent. No words needed to be exchanged between them just yet, she thought.
He disagreed. “What about you?” he whispered. Feyre held up her tattooed arms, already gilded in silver by her own skilled hands.
He cracked a smile. “That’s all?”
“Any more and I’ll think we’re still playing games in her court,” she replied, offering him a sly smile. His eyes crinkled at the corners, though the worry etched between his brow caused her to reach up and cup his face. “I’m here with you.”
“I know.”
“This is going to be fun,” Feyre added, because she believed it would be. His smile cracked, teeth showing and oh. He was magnificent, she decided. So beautiful it made her teeth ache, made her knees wobble from the sight of his easy joy.
Their fingers interlocked. “Feyre, I—”
“Stop that,” she interrupted, certain he was trying to talk himself out of whatever was coming. As if she didn’t know. She’d been a human at her first Calanmai and knew what was coming for him. The magic would overwhelm his good senses, making him more beast than civilized male.
“I can handle it.”
Rhys didn’t seem so certain, but it was always like that with him. How long before he believed there was no other shoe to drop? When he fully relaxed, convinced she’d seen all the ugliness he had to offer and loved him anyway?
Because of it, even?
It was Ferye who winnowed them just on the outskirts of the celebration. Everyone was there—Feyre spied several familiar faces from the Court of Nightmares milling about a table laden with food. Trees surrounded them, opening into a clearing wide enough for people to gather. She wondered if there was a line to the cave Rhys would copulate in. Did some still hope? Feyre kind of hoped there was, though she’d never admit it. She liked being his first choice in every circumstance, even when his mind was all but gone.
He’d come looking for her. He’d catch her scent on the wind and he’d chase her to the ends of the world if he had to.
Rhys didn’t say a word as he strode out, leaving Feyre lurking in the woods just beyond. He had his role to play—he’d slaughter one of the mountain elk as offering before he gave himself over fully. She ought to go with him, but Feyre wanted a head start. She darted off through the trees before he could turn back to look for her.
She felt his magic pry at her mind, all but demanding entrance, which she granted.
Don’t run from me, he warned, his voice lethally soft.
Afraid you won’t be able to find me? Feyre taunted in response, letting him hear her laughter.
There is nowhere you can run, he all but growled. I’ll find you.
Then find me.
Rhys withdrew from her mind with a mix of frustration and anticipation. She could feel his presence lingering in her mind, peering through her eyes like the cheater he was. Feyre shoved him out before slamming up her mental defenses to keep him out. Rhys still had to slaughter the elk and provide the offering to the Mother—that would take him a little time. And then he’d have to track her through the forest.
Rhys was fast and clever, but Feyre was a huntress and had been even when she’d been a mortal woman. She’d caught the Suriel as one—she could evade a High Lord, too. She focused on running, weaving through the trees without touching anything. The benefit of her magic allowed Feyre to trail snow out behind her, concealing her steps thanks to the gift Kallias had given her all those years ago.
Rhys would have nothing but scent to go on. One wrong decision and she’d trip him up for hours. Satisfied she’d gone far enough—and not wanting to go so far they were out of bounds and ruined the ritual entirely—Feyre climbed her way up a tall pine, tucked herself as small as she could manage, and waited.
It didn’t take long for her to hear him—he roared out, shaking the branch she was perched on. It was a warning, she realized—ready or not, here I come.
She hesitated for a moment, her mind racing down two different paths. Wherever he was, he’d been taken fully by the magic and was likely on the warpath. She could stay and hope he didn’t find her, or she could take off running.
He was supposed to find her, she reminded herself. This was a game, not keep-away. Feyre slid from the tree just as the ground shook, knocking drifts of snow from the treetops overhead. The male was gone, then—and the beast had slipped his leash. Feyre had only ever seen that creature in battle—was this what he was so worried about?
It was tempting to merely stand there and wait, but Feyre wanted to see what he’d do if he caught her. She hoped he might do more than snap and snarl, which prompted her to take off running. For a moment there was nothing but silence. Feyre turned to look over her shoulder, certain she was being watched. She could feel his eyes on her, tracking her every movement, though Feyre didn’t see him at all.
She took a step back, not paying attention to where she put her feet. “Where—” Her words cut off with a shriek as the mountain gave way beneath her. There was never any true danger to her circumstances—Feyre had been caught off guard as she tumbled back, arms thrown out.
The creature sprang from his trap, roaring furiously before snatching her up in his talons to take flight.
“Dramatic,” Feyre teased, but all Rhys’s humor was gone, leaving behind just the baser aspects of his personality. He only snarled in response, as if to scream mine at the top of his lungs. Feyre didn’t fight him as he flapped his large, onyx wings higher into the sky, and instead memorized the form of him.
He was massive, his wings spanning so far in either direction that he all but blotted out the stars overhead. Giant, curved horns protruded from his head, a lethal threat to anyone who came too close. She remembered how he’d gored several of Hybern’s soldiers that way, simply bowing his head before shaking them off as their blood dripped over his long, angular snout.
His tail guided them through the skies, taking them back to where she’d started, just as she’d always known she would. Not quite toward the celebration, or the cave where they were supposed to be together. Instead, he dropped her just at the edge of the woods where they’d started before she raced off. Rhys paced back and forth, tail sweeping the ground around him with agitation. Feyre merely stood there, holding that familiar, violet gaze.
Was she supposed to be afraid? Would he prefer it if she was? Feyre didn’t back down, arms hanging loose at her side. She took a step backward, making it seem as if she might run. Rhys growled a low rumble deep from his throat.
“What are you going to do about it?” Feyre taunted softly, holding his gaze. Rhys stood on all fours, stretching out his massive body as if to say, whatever I want.
And she could see what he wanted hanging between his back legs. Feyre edged another step backward, trying to unleash the beast entirely. She could see her mate warring with his baser instincts, wrestling for control. For once in his life, Rhys was losing. He snarled again, wings flaring out behind him in warning.
She turned and ran, a valiant effort that was, ultimately, in vain.
He didn’t hurt her, though he wasn’t particularly kind when he pounced, knocking Feyre to the ground. She gasped, rolling to her back as she blinked away the black spots blurring her vision. The ground was cold, seeping through her thin gown, though Rhys’s body was warm that she found the chill was rather welcome.
He’d pushed her legs open, allowing his massive cock to rest against her stomach. Feyre looked up at him, searching for any hint of the male she was mated to. The beast peered back, snuffling at her neck before licking a soft path over her skin.
His tongue was softer than she expected, framed around viciously sharp teeth. It would take nothing for him to press them against her throat and rip.
He wouldn’t.
Feyre reached upward to touch his scaled snout. “There you are,” she murmured softly as steam curled like shadow around them, “I’ve been looking for you.”
Rhys’ nose continued its path downward, his breath warm against the near sheer fabric of her gown. Hunching himself over her body, Rhys continued to inhale until he found what he was looking for—the source of her arousal. She’d forgotten he could scent it in his regular form, too busy with her little game.
Now, though, Feyre was keenly aware that he must have smelled her for miles. There was no escape, no place to run to. Not that she wanted to. This had long been a fantasy of Feyre’s—one Rhys had shut down again and again, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy with embarrassment. Now, though, it seemed he’d let go of all those old insecurities.
Good.
Feyre leaned her head back, letting her hair fan out against a bed of pine needles as his nose dragged up her thigh. He inhaled before exhaling slowly, warm breath warding off the invading chill. There was a pause in his attention where he looked up at her, violet eyes scanning for something. Enjoyment, she hoped, though who knew what the creature that had taken over her mate was looking for.
Feyre let her legs fall open while resting one hand on her stomach. One his sharp claws sliced down her dress, ripping it clean in two. He’d taken her undergarments with him, leaving her bared to his bright eyes in the dark. She sighed softly, shivering when a cool breeze brushed over her erect nipples.
Rhys buried his nose between her legs, huffing a breath as though this were the best scent he’d ever found. Using his massive head, he spread apart her legs and took a taste before she had the chance to say anything else. Feyre forgot every protest and plea the moment his warm, wet tongue slid against her cunt.
Feyre could barely breathe as the beast went after her, licking like this was his mandate—his only job in the world.
Pleasure coiled through her, pooling low in her stomach. Feyre was wrecked and she knew it, because she spread her legs wider, fingers digging into the earth to try and find some purchase. She felt as if she might take flight, as if she might leave her body entirely. Maybe he realized it, too, because his heavy tail slid up her body, the tip brushing over her cheek lovingly.
Those violet eyes watched her, his curiosity as bright as any star. He seemed in awe, as if he’d been certain she’d scramble away screaming for help. And maybe it was wrong, so disturbingly wrong and yet Feyre simply didn’t care. Not when the rough edge of his tongue only added to the friction and certainly not when he dipped inside her, tasting her arousal with a rumble of approval.
Feyre propped herself up on her elbows, reaching out tentatively to slide her over his scales. Rhys whined, pressing himself closer. Each new lap of his tongue reminded Feyre of what she’d seen lurking between his powerful legs mere moments before this had all started. She’d seen his cock before—it was nothing to laugh at. This, though, was far larger than anything Rhys normally carried in his trousers. Rhys was tapered, thick and big.
The mere thought of him was enough to push Feyre closer to the edge. Rhys could taste it if the whine that slipped from his throat was any indication. She tugged at his horns, urging him on. Up, up, up, until she screamed, her thighs clenching around him.
He took one last taste before those massive taloned paws managed to get her on her stomach. Still shaking from her release, Feyre complied, letting him roll her this way and that until her hips arched high up in the air. Any sense she might have had was gone, replaced with only the hazy pleasure of being sated. She didn’t care when his large body pressed her further into the ground, mashing her breasts against the pine needles or how he manipulated her legs to tuck them beneath her.
She did squeal a little when she felt his cock prod the side of her thigh. He huffed with annoyance, his heavy front paws braced on either side of her face. Reaching between them, she ran a gentle finger over his snout. No matter how far gone he was, he wouldn’t harm her. Feyre knew that like she knew her own heart.
Feyre didn’t mean to scream, the sound drowned out by Rhys’s howling at the moon hanging over the treetops. She’d never been so stretched in her life, had never been as full as she was in that moment. Rhys held himself still, letting herself squeeze around him to find the smallest amount of breathing room. There was none, not when that knotted base was pressed tight against her opening, looking to wedge in, too.
Feyre gasped, trying to regain the oxygen he’d punched from her lungs. Rhys took that opportunity to slide himself a fraction of an inch out, robbing her of air once more when he pushed back in. He began howling again, the sound some sort of warning, if the feral snarling that edged it was any indication.
Feyre’s nails dug into the cold ground beneath her, arching her back to meet him thrust for thrust. Each thrust of his monstrous cock seemed to prime her for that bulging base of his, coating his skin in the slick wet all but leaking out of her body. It was somehow too much and not enough all at once. Her breath curled around her mouth like shadows, fading into the darkness before she could quite catch them.
She was unraveling, a wild thing once more. She could put on pretty jewels and gowns, could parade around as a lady, but at her core, this was what she was. A monstrous creature better suited to the root and soil than one meant for palaces and princes. Rhys, too, was a beautiful, terrifying thing, wings spread to blot out the starlight so it was just the two of them. Rulers, creatures—right then, it almost didn’t matter. All Feyre cared about was the warmth and weight of him, the feel of his cock sliding in and out of her body
“Rhys,” she panted, arching upwards to meet his next thrust. Her whole body shuddered with pleasure, with the full, splitting pump of his massive cock. He was wild, too, licking behind her ear as he tried again and again to fully seat himself inside her. It wasn’t going to work. Feyre could not accommodate the sheer largeness of him no matter how hard he worked her or how wet her cunt was.
The tapered tip of his cock rubbed unrelenting against the softest part of her, dragging her back towards oblivion. That feeling of liquid heat was dampened by something in her chest tugging. Solidifying. A muscle she’d never felt suddenly stretching itself taut. She thought it could feel it too, if his panting whines and his frantic thrusts were any indication.
Ferye came with a scream, that cord tied to her rib going punishingly taut at the same moment Rhys managed to get the knotted part of his cock into her body. Feyre moaned with pleasure, accustomed to the stretch and feel of him. Rhys was undeterred, sucked further into her by her own convulsing orgasm. He rutted his release into her, head thrown back to reveal his large, onyx, scaled neck.
Rhys let out a howl of pleasure, the heat of him unlike anything she’d ever felt. Feyre’s whole body seemed to shake, collapsing to the soft bedding below. They were locked together, his cock still spurting an impossible amount of come into her body.
With nowhere to go, she collapsed onto her stomach as he settled over her, panting softly. “Done already?” she crooned, trying—and failing—to roll onto her back. In a moment, the pressure in her body abated as the monster became a very naked male again.
“I’m—”
“I’ll kill you if you apologize,” she replied as he pulled himself out of her. Feyre rose to her feet, clasping his hand to rise unsteadily. Her legs shook from the pleasure still coursing through her and still it wasn’t enough. The breeze caught on her scent, dragging her arousal to him. Rhys’s violet eyes flashed with desire.
“Maybe you should run this time, High Lord,” Feyre murmured, holding his gaze.
“Is the huntress going to track me?”
“She is,” Feyre agreed, licking her lips.
“And when she catches me?” he asked, running a hand over his naked chest. The paint had smeared into pretty lines of silver over his golden brown skin.
“Find out,” Feyre replied.
Rhys chuckled, a grin spread over his handsome face. “Catch me if you can, then,” he said before vanishing into the night. Feyre inhaled, teeth sharp against her mouth. It was her turn to be the monster, she thought with a relish.
She counted in her head, stopping at ten.
“Ready or not,” she whispered, conjuring huge, dark, shadowed wings against her back, “here I come.”
Here are the prompts! Can't wait for all the amazing content you guys will create for our favourite group 🥰.
You can participate in any form, such as fanfiction, fanart, moodboards, playlists, etc. We only want to celebrate the Inner Circle and the joy they have brought us these past few years 🤍.
You can also find us on X and Instagram. When posting your submissions on Instagram, we'd love for you to invite us to collaborate!
If you haven't read the rules of the event you can find the post right here.
Day 1: Court of Dreams/Home ->
"And what is this court?" I asked, gesturing to them.
The most important question.
It was Cassian, eyes clear and bright as his Siphon, who said, "The Court of Dreams."
~~~
Each member of the Inner Circle struggled as children to have a home of their own. Luckily they found one another and now, they are each other’s home. How do you see them as a family together?
Day 2: Warriors/Power(s) ->
The Inner Circle is known to be a powerful group—if not most—in Prythian. Shall we revisit them conquering the struggles of war? How do you see them using their skills? How do you see them coming into their powers?
Day 3: Past/ Future ->
Throughout the books, we've learned little pieces about the Inner Circle members' pasts. Like how the bat boys grew up together in a war camp, or how Mor was a dreamer in Court of Nightmares. How do you see their younger selves' interactions? How do you think they all met? Or how do you see their future be like? How do you see them being a family with the newest addition- Nyx?
Day 4: Headcanons/Shenanigans →
"Cassian, considering the fact that the last time you visited, it didn't end well-"
"I wrecked one building-"...
"The last time Amren and Mor got into it, they left my favorite mountain retreat in cinders."
~~~
Share with us your headcanons! What are these people up to behind the scenes? What mischief do they get into?
Day 5: Masks →
Inner Circle members are infamous for their cruelty among the rest of Prythian. They all wear various masks as a protection of their home and people. How do you see them when they don't have their masks on? Or what sort of mask would they slip on to protect, and how much of those times wasn't merely an act?
Day 6: Winter Solstice/Holidays →
"It's a special holiday here as well, right?" I asked casually. "Not just in Winter and Day." And Spring.
"Oh, yes," Nuala said... "We love it dearly. It's intimate, warm, lovely. Presents and music and food, sometimes feasting under the starlight ..."
~~~
In the novella -A Court of Frost and Starlight- we've got a glimpse of the centuries, the Inner Circle has been celebrating their traditional holidays! Who would they invite? What present would they give each other? It could be winter solstice or any other holiday, it's up to you!
Day 7: AU/Free Day →
What other universes do you see Inner Circle in? How would their dynamic work? This is a day to truly embrace your creativity and imagination. We can't wait to see what you guys will do this day!
PS: If there's any question regarding the event, you can contact us through our ask box or DMs.
The Night Court was quiet beneath the starry sky, the moon casting silver light over Velaris. High above, in the House of Wind, Rhysand stood on the balcony, his hands gripping the stone railing. He could feel her presence even before she spoke, as if his soul knew her touch, her scent, her very heartbeat.
“You’re brooding again,” Feyre teased, her voice soft as she stepped beside him, leaning her elbows on the railing.
Rhysand let out a low chuckle. “I don’t brood. I contemplate.”
Feyre raised a brow. “Contemplating the weight of the world again?”
Rhysand didn’t answer immediately, his violet eyes fixed on the sparkling city below. After a long pause, he turned to face her, his expression unreadable.
“I’ve been thinking about bargains,” he finally said, his voice a deep, velvety whisper that made her heart skip a beat.
Feyre tilted her head, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “You’re not regretting ours, are you?”
Their bargain—the tattooed promise that had bound them together long before they had even realized the depth of their feelings. It had been a simple deal on the surface, but beneath, it had tied their souls together in ways neither could have anticipated.
“No,” Rhysand said softly, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand. “I don’t regret that. I could never regret that.” His gaze darkened, the amusement fading into something more serious. “But bargains are dangerous things, Feyre. And we’re about to make another.”
She frowned, her brow knitting as she studied his face. “Another?”
☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️
Rhysand pulled away slightly, his wings rustling as he moved, tension radiating from every line of his body. He reached into his jacket and withdrew a small piece of parchment, handing it to her without a word.
Feyre took it, her fingers brushing his as she unfolded the paper. Her eyes scanned the text, her heart slowing as she understood. “Rhys…”
He took a step closer, his voice low. “We’re about to face a new enemy. One unlike anything we’ve seen. And they want something. Something only we can offer.”
The words on the paper were simple, but their meaning was heavy, a new alliance written in blood. A bargain made not with another court, but with something older, darker. Something ancient that required a steep price.
“They want me,” Feyre whispered, her voice barely audible.
Rhysand’s jaw tightened, his fists clenched at his sides. “No. I won’t allow it.”
Feyre shook her head, stepping closer to him, her hand pressing against his chest. “You can’t stop me, Rhys. You know we have no choice. If I don’t—”
“We will find another way,” he interrupted, his voice sharp. “I’m not trading you for this. I’m not making that bargain.”
She cupped his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her, her blue-gray eyes soft but determined. “We’ve made worse bargains before. And we’ve survived. Together.”
Rhysand’s gaze was tormented, his emotions a storm of conflicting thoughts and feelings. His love for her warred with his fear, his desire to protect her battling against the reality of what had to be done. “I can’t lose you, Feyre. Not for this. Not for anything.”
“You won’t,” she whispered, leaning up to brush her lips against his. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Rhysand’s hands slid around her waist, pulling her against him, his forehead resting against hers. “And if the price is too high?” he asked, his voice raw. “What then?”
Feyre smiled, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Then we’ll bargain again. We’ll always find a way.”
A shadow passed over his face, but Rhysand nodded, though his grip on her tightened as if he couldn’t bear to let go. “A bargain, then,” he murmured, his voice husky.
She smiled up at him, her eyes glinting with mischief. “For every day I’m gone, you owe me a night in Velaris. Just the two of us.”
Rhysand’s lips curved into a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “And when you return, Feyre darling, I’ll owe you the stars.”
With a final kiss, Feyre stepped back, the warmth of his touch lingering on her skin. She turned, heading toward the darkness where the ancient being waited for her answer. Rhysand’s heart clenched as he watched her go, his every instinct screaming at him to stop her, to take her place, to shield her from the danger that awaited.
But Feyre had always been his equal in every way, his High Lady, the only one who could stand by his side through every storm.
The bargain had been made. The price agreed upon.
And now, they would face whatever darkness awaited them—together.
“Rhysand has been high lord for centuries and he’s done nothing for the Illyrian women” um… no? That’s the exact opposite of what’s written in the books. Rhysand’s father was an asshole who didn’t care to do anything no matter how much his mate begged him to. Rhysand is the one who’s actually trying to stop wing-clipping and giving the females the opportunity to train. The Illyrians took advantage of his 50-year imprisonment and the absence of Azriel and Cassian from the war camps and started treating the females even more harshly. He literally says that he, Cassian and Azriel hunted down and killed many of them when he returned. Of course he can’t do anything instantaneously, and change always takes time, because the Illyrians are a big part of the NC army and war was coming. He couldn’t risk half his army in a time like this. It would only make things worse for the entirety of the Night Court, not just Illyria. Now that the war with Hybern is over Cassian is in the war camps trying to handle the situation—who do you think gave him the order to do that?
I can assure you, the Illyrian women (at least most of them) think more highly of Rhys than any previous high lord.
I’m surprised by this fandom every day—you’re reading books that are targeted towards 16+ year-olds, I assume you have basic reading comprehension skills but I suppose that’s too much to ask for these days…
What do I call you? It was more of a plea than she would like to admit, finding herself desperate to shape his name on her tongue.
Yours , he said again, mouth turning feverish. As though he wished to devour her. That is all I am.
It's day 3 of @the-lonelybarricade appreciation week/ @officialfeysandweek and the theme today is Eternal! What could be more eternal than the creature of the night courting you (questionably, but who am I to argue with Rhysands methods??), stealing you from your husband in your sleep, and making you his immortal wife? Music of the Night is such a fun fic, and Rhys in his most unhinged form.
Massive thanks to @witchlingsandwyverns for doing this based on nothing but vibes and one very bad drawing I sent over as inspo (see beneath the cut).
