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austenmarie · 2 years

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Slides of a tiktok I made. GOOD OL ACOMAF /ACOTAR BRAINROT

#acomaf #rhysand acomaf #Rhysand wedding crasher #Tamlin #Feyre

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jmoonjones · 10 months

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Cassian agrees to have a "human wedding" with Nesta. And it wouldn't be a wedding without *some* drama.

Rhys and Azriel squabble over who is the 'best male' while Mor giggles to herself.

Elain accidentally catches the bouquet, inflaming ship wars.

Nesta gets a face full of cake.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #nesta archeron #nessian #rhysand #feyre archeron #elain archeron #acosf #cassian acosf #nesta #acotar art #acotar fanart #acosf fanart #nesta x cassian #a court of silver flames #booklr #tbh my wedding had no drama but it's a trope so roll with it

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stargirlfeyre · 10 months

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Rhys was definitely a little drunk when he saved Feyre from her wedding.

#feyre archeron #rhysand #feysand #‘I was planning on getting wasted with Cassian’ babe you started drinking the moment you woke up and realized it was her wedding day

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lorcandidlucienwill · 4 months

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I'm sorry but fantasy weddings just being standard white dresses, walk down the aisle is just so boring to me. Like come on, be extravagant! This isn't the modern world. Come up with some crazy wedding traditions! Put on some bright-colored dresses like red and gold!

#wedding #wedding traditions #fantasy wedding #fantasy #like why was feyre in a white dress #spring court

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feysandarcheron · 1 year

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IM SORRY WHAT THE FUCK???? LOOK AT THEM!!!! 3rd PIC IS MY EVERYTHING YOU DONT UNDERSTAND ABOUT TO END IT ALL GREATEST SCENE IN HISTORY

🎨: hachandraws

#the fact rhys is so unhinged to crash the wedding and steal the bride…#he’s so real #feysand art #feysand #rhysand #feyre archeron

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kaelderdoer · 4 months

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“My vision narrowed on him, on my high lord, his wide eyes glistening as I stepped onto the soft grass, white rose petals scattered down it—

And red ones.

Like drops of blood amongst the white, red petals had been sprayed across the path ahead.

I forced my gaze up, to Tamlin, his shoulders back, head high.

So unaware of the true extent of how broken and dark I was inside. How unfit I was to be clothed in white when my hands were so filthy.

Everyone was thinking it. They had to be.”

A court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J Maas

#fanart #book art #sjm #acotar #acomaf #acowar #a court of mist and fury #rhysand x feyre #feyre archeron #feyre wedding dress #acotar fanart

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p1utopup · 1 month

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its just hozier

i promise i am going to add more i just started this playlist after i finished wings and ruin and then forgot about it.

#rofl #feysand #acotar #feyre archeron #rhysand #feyre x rhysand #feysand wedding playlist #i swear im normal

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flowerflamestars · 6 months

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Abattoir snippet

“Illyrians did this.” He spared her a look, unmoved expression somehow still telling her no. Sighed, before speaking.“If Illyria had magic like this, you’d have died the day Rhys dragged you in wearing a vow.” It had broken, when he did. When the Cauldron and the world did, too. No one in Velaris would re-tattoo the marks for her, refused flat out, no matter how accurately she could draw them. They offered her other things: knots of ribbon to hold secrets, compulsions that would last a year and a day, magical cakes and fiendish trickery. Slowly- even with her strength Feyre moved too quick or too slow, human or incised fae, both and all that she was- sleek and sliding as shadows moved, creeping to end of day, Azriel sank to the ground. Knelt, hands reaching into this endless, open grave. She had paintings like this. A dozen and a dozen more burnt. Rhysand, wings splayed, death incarnate. Only one dated from when he was alive, expression borrowed and borrowed again, memory all the magic left, sorrow realer than the feelings. And so it took a moment, to understand Azriel. To recognize the emotion, even on such a difference face. Reverence. Raw, complete, hunger. To have and hold and believe. Love. “The food,” Feyre whispered, heart suddenly pounding, “Is a gift. For who, Azriel?” “The oldest thing immortals know is debt.” Azriel raised his head, black hair, black eyes, black wings, riven in sparks. “It must be repaid.” He looked like a monster. He looked like- “Blood and bounty,” he murmured, half his mouth rising in a crooked, handsome smile, firelight from nowhere glinting off his teeth. Feyre’s mouth was full of bile. “Hunger and horror. They’ve always been sisters.”

#going to be a week late but not forgotten!#Luzriel if you squint #a secret right out of the corner of your eye #Feyre!!#not quite grown up yet #Azriel is solidly on the list of people better off with Rhysand dead sorry #Feyre is too #but she hasn't actually figured that out yet #who remembers secrets?#who would totally believe in predators wearing faery faces?#who HAPPENS TO BE IN LOVE WITH ONE OF THE PEOPLE THEY LEFT BEHIND?#Az fucked off from Velaris #missed Mor and Cassian's wedding #and crashed right back in to show Feyre a mass grave #frankly #in character dare I say #Carnassial sequel #came out of the Cauldron wrong au

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daydreamthemes · 4 months

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If Feyre's wedding didn't suck, I'd imagine it would be rococco inspired, perhaps a bit of Marie Antoinette? Pastels of course and plenty of florals. To capture the essence of the spring court, botanical garden wedding may be for you. Masks on the plates of your guests so the masquerade dancing will begin. For cocktail hour, obviously, a violin. For the girls waiting for a Tamlin redemption here is a Spring Court Wedding Theme

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starfall-spirit · 1 year

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The Silver-Tongued Bride

Summary: See STB Masterlist

Word Count: 1581

Chapter III: The Wedding

Feyre

For three years, Prythian had been free from its self-proclaimed High Queen. For three years, Rhysand had been selecting bride after bride to ruin and kill, perhaps as that witch had ruined him those forty-nine years. He'd confided in her once that he detested Amarantha as greatly as any other fairie stuck in that hell of her invention. Feyre had to wonder if that's where this twisted practice was rooted. His claiming of females' freedom, binding them—us—as Amarantha bound him.

To Prythian for forty-nine years, Amarantha's whore.

Feyre would not be his.

She could already hear Azriel when he caught word of who his High Lord chose this time around. "He said you were tied by the bargain, not marriage, so I let it be. I know I haven't been nearby to request your pardon, but now you're next on the chopping block and you didn't tell him you're one of mine, why?"

She would of course, before her Death Dawn came, but if she could save another girl—hopefully multiple, telling her stories—she would stay. Even if that meant warming his bed eventually. It was more rumor than fact, what Rhys expected of his Night Brides. Velaris was the capital city, and the travelers that came through her village were the only source of information.

Still, half said the females had their own room and didn't see Rhys beyond the wedding ceremony while others said Rhys kept them at his side, puppets at the hand of his daemati magic, serving him in one way or another day and night.

That wasn't quite the impression she got Under the Mountain, despite his puppeteering of her. Then, she had never pictured him arranging something so horrid as the Death Dawn when they were freed from Amarantha. What she could and couldn’t put past him was impossible to know.

Either way, she had her Wraith gift and daemati shielding to avoid any ill intentions. And even if it came to something sexual... Well, their moment under the mountain was admittedly pleasant. A knock fell on the door and she begrudgingly opened it, grateful the dress was more practical and fluid than it had appeared on the dress form. Rhysand stood there himself. "Not waiting at the end of the aisle?"

He offered his arm and a charming smile, the flawless image of a gentleman. "You slayed a Middengard Wyrm. Quite frankly, Feyre darling, I don't trust you not to stab my guard with his own sword and run."

Something kin to satisfaction, petty as it may be, had her monitoring her expression. "Run where, Rhysand? Do you not respect my instincts enough to realize I'll be taking note of every entry, exit, and guard positioned from one side of this place to the next?"

He chuckled. "Oh, Feyre darling, I'd be disappointed if you did anything less. Even if you do get past the guards, no one breaks my wards, short of—"

Short of Azriel's Wraith unit, nonexistent to the rest of the world.

"Yourself?" she offered sweetly.

"Yes. Only myself and the Night Lords before me are tied to these wards, as ancient as the very first to reign. The only woman who would be able to break through them without my knowing is my High Lady. My mate."

"There's no such thing as a High Lady."

He smirked. "There could be."

"There won't be,” she bit out, “so long as you kill each bride before giving a bond the time to snap."

He didn't respond, as they had just reached the doors leading towards that dreadful aisle. That aisle that hosted scattered red rose petals.

It started with a spill of red paint, a bucket kicked over in front of a stunning mural depicting whatever the children of the village felt to paint in those first days after their freedom was granted. Elain had soothed her panic attack that day right there in the market square. When they got home every bit of Feyre’s red paints, their red curtains—all but the smallest trimmings were burned.

She had recovered, but now, faced with such a fate as this, she couldn't breathe. Even three years after her freedom was granted, her stomach was turning, her breath quickening.

Because still, red was blood.

Red was death.

Red was screaming and begging and prayers of the fae on their knees. Red was her knife flying, striking home through Amarantha's chest, rather than Elain's. Red was her collapsing on that white stretch of carpet leading to that picture perfect altar.

Rhysand cursed, banding an arm around her middle before my knees made impact. She winced as his fingertips pressed hard against her ribs. Breathe, before you make a fool of yourself.

Fuck, her shields.

Yes, you dropped them. Look at them. She raised her eyes, obeying for the sheer sake of not spiraling again. Not at our guests. Guests who couldn’t quite see her breaking down, thank the Mother. Look at the roses,” he pressed. Containing a whimper, Feyre obeyed that too, not having the strength to shove him out yet. By glamour or true replacement through his magic those roses were white. I'm sorry I didn’t consider what this might do to you. Truly.

Feyre shoved him out of her head, dismissing his pity, sincere or not. She took another breath, another step. Another and another until the two of them were facing each other, a High Priestess nameless to her binding their hands with a wide black ribbon before taking a step back as Rhys glided through his vows with that silver tongue and as she stumbled through hers.

"I, Feyre Archeron, vow to serve and defend my court and people, my strength and dedication at my—" She swallowed.

His thumb stroked the back of her hand beneath that ribbon. "Husband's," he purred.

"—at my husband's side. At my High Lord's side I shall remain until I meet the Mother in her land of milk and honey.” Her voice was hardly higher than a whisper. “May my soul enter eternity."

He flinched. The ever-composed High Lord she'd wed flinched as if struck by an unexpected pain. She gasped, icing her hands to put out the kernel of flame summoned in her rising anger.

"You may now kiss the bride."

Though his face was a mask of calm Feyre could see the whirling emotions in those violet eyes. Anger at the forefront, intrigue on its tail, and almost-giddy delight at what he could now manipulate. Twisting his hands within that ribbon, the binding pulled taut. He yanked her against his chest, holding her in place as he claimed her mouth. Her right arm began to tingle and she knew without looking that she’d find ink identical to her bargain tattoo, marking her as his.

As tempting as it was to summon that fire again, she couldn’t risk it with six other High Lords in attendance. They hadn't bothered attending any wedding of Rhysand's beyond the first, realizing what he had fallen to.

And then they heard he set his sight on Feyre Cursebreaker. No, she wouldn't expose the untamed gifts they passed on, because while she could potentially escape the Death Dawn, the High Lords would undoubtedly stop at nothing to regain their lost power.

Rhysand finally released her, smirking as he watched her claw at the ribbon sanctifying their "blessed union". When she was confident he wouldn't stop her from marching right out of there, she lifted her skirt and stepped off the dais, immediately intercepted by Helion Spell-Cleaver.

“What?” she snapped. He quirked a brow. “If you expected me to curtsy—”

“Hardly.”

“Then excuse me.” He glanced over her shoulder, lips twitching upward before offering his arm. “I’m not—”

“The longer we talk, the longer you get to avoid playing the pretty wife,” he reminded her. She nodded, not bothering to glance back. He chuckled. "Two weeks every month until you die. The bastard."

"I did what I had to do, down there. And I didn't realize he'd become a Bride Killer back then.” She shook her head, reeling like an even bigger fool saying it aloud. “I would have bargained down to one. Bargains are tricky and I won't ask for your help nullifying it. I have to figure this out. Maybe stop other girls from getting hurt."

"You can't stop playing hero, can you Cursebreaker?"

Her lips twitched. "Not yet, Spell-Cleaver. Not yet."

Again, he glanced back towards Rhysand, patting the hand I rested on his arm. “Do yourself a favor, Feyre.” She cocked her head. “Don’t let Beron or Kallias see you pull that little stunt.” She blanched, casting a nervous glance towards the other monarchs. “Relax. I always wondered how much we gave. Day and Night are allies, even if we’ve been a bit… distant lately. I won’t be sending any assassins after you. But Feyre, if he lets you live, convince him to train you. If you gained a gift from each of us you could be a major player in what’s building with Hybern.”

He hesitated there. “I know of Hybern.” She wouldn’t go as far as confessing she had a part to play beyond this storytelling. “But I was not made for battle, Helion.”

He snorted. “Any faerie under the mountain would disagree, little huntress.” She scowled. “Feyre, you’re twenty-two. Little is appropriate here.” Again, he patted her hand before she could spit something back. “Save that fire for your husband. You're going to need it.”

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~~~~~

Taglist: Reach out to be added or removed.

@faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @goddess-aelin // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @reverie-tales // @acourtofwips // @jealousveronya // @darling-archeron

#acotar #scheherazade au #feysand #feysand fic #wedding #this time i made helion an ally right off the bat #dark!rhys #spy feyre #pissed off bride to say the least

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thesistersarcheron · 2 years

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“Rhys is just Howl from Howl’s Moving Castle. I mean, the ‘There you are. I’ve been looking for you.’ scene is ripped right from the movie.”

Then that means he’s also Jareth the Goblin King, and he was the key to the plot with Feyre’s sisters being stolen and transformed into fae to live in his magical, mysterious, hidden-away kingdom forever as opposed to stealing a baby brother and making him a goblin…

But we don’t have time to unpack all of that today.

#feysand #rhysand #feyre #labyrinth #a court of thorns and roses #all i’m saying is sjm is the right age and labyrinth was 100% a formative creative experience for her #i mean??? scary underground kingdom???#MASKS?!?!#I MOVE THE STARS FOR NO ONE *SCREAMS*#howl 🤝 jareth 🤝 rhysand #his power is gifting dreams for GOD’S sake #*whispers* lucien vanserra is hoggle #also. feyre’s wedding dress. come on now.#obviously #anyway doing my quarterly rewatch of labyrinth tonight

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a-frog-with-a-laptop · 11 months

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You can’t tell me that Sarah’s dress in Labyrinth is not Feyres wedding dress and now that makes me mad because how dare they hate the absolute beauty of this:

#acotar #feyre #Tamlin #feyres wedding dress #aco

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