#feyrexrhys

Nesta was a wolf in a cage that did not believe there was a way out, imprisoned in a world that would never invite her in as if she had ever wanted in in the first place.

Elain was a wolf in a cage that felt safer in sheep’s clothing—an imposter that found shelter and acceptance, and so she took them because it was better than feeling lonely.

Elain does not growl, does not howl, and does not claw, not because she is now a gentle little sheep that loves to nuzzle and roll in the dewy grass. No, Elain just forgot what it was to do all the things that a wolf does, because to save herself and to find the comforts of the world that others seemed so easily to find, she left behind what kept her sisters from finding their own place in the human world.

Nesta growled and bared her teeth because she had never been given the chance to learn how to claw and fight. She was stripped of her claws, muzzled with fine jewels and gowns and dancing lessons. She was a wolf forced to lay with the sheep because there was no other option.

Feyre howled and sank her claws deep. She had escaped Elain’s FOMO and Nesta’s declawing by poverty and a couple of muggers that stole her father’s ability to walk. Thrown out into the woods without anything but her hide and her sharp, taloned paws, she made her way through the world knowing what it was to be a true wolf, always on the prowl, always fighting, and always looking for her pack.

The three sisters are the versions of themselves the others could never attain because of whatever circumstances lay before them when they walked their individual paths.

Feyre and Rhys! (2.0)

🏹Pro-Feyre Post as I kick of 2021 rereading ACOMAF (again), ft. a vibey palm tree shadow 🏹

SPOILER ALERT IF YOU HAVE NOT READ ACOTAR AND ACOMAF.

⠀

ACOMAF is a host unto itself within the world of YA/new adult fiction, and a huge part of that - to me - is the result of the unfettered access SJM gives us into the gritty, deadened reality that is the inside of Feyre’s head after surviving the horrors of Under the Mountain.

Within the YA/new adult genre, I can’t help but notice how miraculously characters tend to bounce back from tragedy for the sake of rising action. In YA, someone’s best friend will die and after 100 or so pages of intermittent mourning, the main character will literally be like, “wait, who?” and the former best friend is never mentioned again. It’s annoying because it takes something - something human - away from the characters who suffered.

But the plot of ACOMAF is not contingent on Feyre having impeccable mental health. In fact, the book weaves the often dismal state of her mental health through the plot in way that feels authentic and organic. Her head is a miserable, dimmed-down, sometimes scary place to be, and the unguarded honesty with which she reveals how debilitating her pain can be - not to other characters but to you and me , the readers - makes her, in my opinion, an easier character to trust and understand. It makes her vulnerability accessible and relatable.

This book is the DEFINITION of “the only way out is through.”

Feyre’s journey back to herself is slow, unsteady, non-linear, and sometimes involves taking one step forward to stumble two steps back, but she perseveres and struggles until she ultimately gets to say, “I know who I am because I built myself this way.” Rhys points her in the direction of the door to healing, but Feyre is the one who mustered the courage to stand up, open it, and walk through. She grows and matures in the depths of her struggle, and I find myself inspired by her each time I reread. To me, she’s is the embodiment of a strong female protagonist and if you feel otherwise, call me because we gotta talk.

https://open.spotify.com/track/62CprXvSWsKBvYu3Yba55A?si=tqYEeZHKSnWdgiK3VGJHLg

Requested by @darkheartsdontbreaktheybruise 88: “I vote for today to be pajama day.”

Feysand - sick Rhys

Rhys is most definitely not sick. Or so he says.

Feyre, however, knows that this is most certainly bullshit. She was awake too when he was coughing up a lung at two in the morning, and when his nose was so clogged he woke abruptly when he couldn't breathe normally. Her husband had had such a rough night sleep, in fact, that Feyre woke up before him, and was the first to feel his forehead. It practically burned her hand.

Immediately, she had canceled all of his meetings and obligations for the day. She called upon a healer, who inspected him quickly, quietly, while he was still sleeping, and left after telling Feyre just to make him rest and he would be fine in a couple days.

Feyre had closed the blinds so no light reached Rhys' sleeping form, allowing him the chance to sleep rather peacefully for many more hours. His wife was completely content to watch over him while he slept, reading her book and brushing his hair back from his face from time to time.

He woke with a start, sitting up and practically trying to jump from the bed, upsetting the damp washcloth that had been sitting on his brow. His legs got twisted with the blanket, however, and he fell to the floor, groaning in discomfort. Feyre had tsked a couple times as she made her way around and helped her mate back to his feet before easing him on the bed again.

Rhys refused to lie down however, insisting that he was completely okay, even as his voice made a scratchy sound every time he talked and snot was currently pouring from his nose. Feyre simply handed him a tissue and pushed his shoulders so he was at least sitting against the headboard.

"But I have so much work to do Feyre. I'm not sick!" He kept saying, though he had just gratefully accepted the cup of tea she offered for his sore throat.

"I already canceled all your appointments for the day. Everyone understands that even the High Lord needs a sick day once in a while." Feyre calmly explained, brushing his sticky hair off of his forehead. He looked like crap, she had to admit.

Thank you so much, darling.

Oops. It's not a bad thing, Rhys. It's actually a little nice to know that you don't look perfect all the time. She winked at him.

"Yeah, well I can get dressed now so you don't have to keep looking at me in my less than perfect state." He said playfully, going to stand but Feyre pushed him down yet again.

"Nuh uh, sir, you are staying in this bed. In fact, I vote today to be pajama day!" She exclaimed. Rhys sighed, smiling slightly as he looked at her fondly. He was so easy to convince

Now, he grasps her hand in his and squeezes once. "What did I do to deserve you?"

Feyre winks again. "I ask myself the same thing everyday." Suddenly, she stands up and skitters to the door. "Okay, you stay put and get comfy. I'll be right back with food and stuff for the day. It's about time we just spent a day together." Her smile takes his breath away as she opens the door and swiftly departs.

The High Lord shakes his head, blows his nose, and takes a couple sips of his tea. When the cup was almost empty, he stands, stretching his sore limbs and thanking Feyre for getting him out of training with Cassian today. To be honest, he doesn't think he would be able to do it in this state.

Rhys walks to his closet, going to the bottom drawer and pulling out a pair of footie pajamas with stars all over it that Mor had gotten him as a joke. He decides if he was going to spoil Feyre's image of him as this sexy, perfect High Lord, he might as well do it comfortably.

About half an hour later, Rhys snuggled halfway beneath his covers, halfway not, warm and cozy in his pjs, Feyre comes back. She drops three bags of groceries on the table, scampers over to the bed to place a kiss on Rhys' forehead, and then dashes for the closet. Rhys sits up in his bed in preparation, having a slight coughing fit in the meantime.

Rhys is just picking up another tissue when the closet door opens. Rhys drops the tissue. As well as his jaw. However, as always, he recovers quickly. "I didn't know it was that kind of pajama day, darling. You should have told me and I wouldn't look like such a dork." He smirks, eyes freely roaming up and down her body which is scantily covered in a incredibly small black nightgown. He is working to stand and go to her as she holds up a finger.

"We're not doing that today, not when you're still sick. Though it doesn't mean you can't enjoy the view." Feyre grins, causing Rhys to groan and fall back on his pillows.

"You torture me, you know that?" He asks, raising an eyebrow and following the movements of her body as she makes her way to the bed.

"Oh, yes, I do." She hums, sliding under the covers next to him and peeking at what he is wearing underneath. "Love the footie pajamas by the way, so incredibly sexy."

Rhys' smirk comes back as he slides a hand under the covers towards her. "Sexy, you say?" But the act is ruined by a coughing fit that takes over his body.

Feyre rubs his back soothingly until he is done and then gets out of bed to bring him the snacks from the table, ready to settle in for a relaxing day with her mate.

For a couple hours, Feyre and Rhys simply read, eat, and cuddle, content in the silent company of each other. Eventually, Rhys' eyes grow tired and he can no longer focus on what he is reading. So, Feyre takes the book from his hands, pulls Rhys down to lay his head in her lap, and reads aloud to him. Too many times, Feyre feels a hand start brushing along the edge of her nightgown and each time, with the hand that is constantly brushing through his hair, Feyre pulls at the strands slightly, causing him to growl and stop.

Later in the afternoon, Feyre leaves for a few minutes to make him soup. When Rhys spies the bowl in her hands, his eyes sparkle. She feeds him the hot soup but his eyes never leave hers as he eats, no doubt remembering the first time she made him soup. When the bowl is empty, he once again lays his head on her lap and stares up at her with pleading eyes.

His footsie pajamas have someone become unzipped to the waist, the upper half tied around his waist. Whether this is because he is hot or for some other reason, Feyre can't be entirely sure. She laughs and shakes her head down at him, causing her hair to fall down in his face. He tugs at the loose strands in a silent question. "You're insufferable."

"But you love me." Rhys reminds helpfully.

"That I do, however you know that I will not make love to you until you are 100% better." Feyre retorts.

Her husband harrumphs, crossing his arms and sniffing. Feyre watches, however, as his eyes begin to slide shut once more. He snuggles around her, burying his head in her stomach. She smiles and runs her fingers through his hair again, feeling absolutely perfect in this moment.

That is, until she sneezes.

She feels Rhys smirk against her tummy. "Guess we're having another pajama day tomorrow."

Send me a number and ship!

This is part 3. Thank you for reading. I love writing. You can find Part1 and Part2 here. It may take longer for part 4, because my exams are starting next week, they are weekly. So… we will see. :)

@the-bookish-soul

During those 21 years she has:

Almost died helping her family survive harsh winters;

Survived tortures at UTM that included killing innocent Fae in order to save all Fae (which we know traumatized her indefinitely);

Actually died to save Prythian;

Was reborn as an immortal High Fae with the powers of all seven High Lords and is therefore one of the most powerful and threatening/threatened High Fae in Prythian;

Saw her sisters be turned immortal against their will after being taken hostage by her former emotionally abusive lover indirectly due to her own actions;

Was part of an extremely traumatizing war which killed her mate for a couple seconds, her older sister was kidnapped, saw her best friend sacrifice her life as a High Fae to save them all, lost her father unknowingly and when she found out realized that the last time she ever saw or spoke to him was when she was kidnapped by Tamlin, lost hundreds of Illyrian warriors, saw entire territories be decimated, etc.

So, that’s a lot right? I don’t think anyone could disagree, and I feel it’s why a lot of us admire Feyre because she’s been through so much and has still seen the other side.

BUT, now she wants to have a baby.

That’s fine. It’s her choice. But...I feel that her and Rhys deciding to have a baby is a sort of mechanism used to avoid talking about everything that has happened to her the last 2-3 years. 

And I feel like this fandom is full of so many readers that claim to love strong, independent, “not-like-other-girls” female protagonists BUT are upset when those female protagonists don’t eventually fall down the “how a woman’s life should work out” rabbit hole—i.e. be a bad ass, but if you don’t eventually get married and then have children your character’s arc is still incomplete.

Like I seriously enjoyed that Aelin supposedly had years of personal time to heal as well as time to focus on regaining control of her territory and really owning being a Queen for her people and the Fae before she and Rowan had five kids (I think).

And I think it’s kind of ridiculous that Rhys enabled Feyre to rush this so much when she has JUST begun her immortal life. She literally has like 59 more years until she reaches what the Fae consider is adulthood. 59 YEARS. They seriously can’t even wait until then?

I mean maybe it’s because she’s a human at heart and so she has a hard time comprehending that she could literally wait 300 years to have a child and still have over 500 more years with them. I don’t know. Just another personal flaw in SJM’s writing of Feyre which I think deteriorated a possibly phenomenal character development arc.