Rhysand's SA Of Feyre UTM Is Real, And The Way It Is Brushed Aside Is Hard To Reconcile. So Let's Talk

Rhysand's SA of Feyre UTM is real, and the way it is brushed aside is hard to reconcile. So let's talk about it (inspired by an amazing fanart of Feysand UTM).

1. "Drink, you'll need it." "No." "Drink."

The faerie wine is a way to control Feyre, stripping her of her ability to resist or even fully remember the SA she endures. By forcing her to drink against her will, Rhysand takes away her awareness and her consent, putting her in a position where she can't defend herself, can't remember, and can't even process the trauma of what is happening to her. The fact that she loses entire chunks of time under the influence of the wine, along with his mind manipulation, is incredibly dark. He exploits her vulnerability in the worst possible way, taking advantage of her defenseless state to make her an object of display and control.

And the blackouts likely make it easier for her to excuse his actions later because she can't fully recall the details—her memories of the abuse are fragmented, which makes it hard for her to confront the reality of what happened. By removing her memories of the trauma, Rhysand essentially robs her of the ability to even begin healing from it, which is both abusive and manipulative on a profound level. That line where Feyre admits to looking forward to the faerie wine is heartbreaking and reveals the depth of her trauma and desperation. She's so overwhelmed, so physically and mentally trapped UTM, that she starts viewing the wine as a reprieve.

When Feyre clings to the chance of escape, even if it means blackout oblivion, it's clear she's developed a trauma response—a desperate coping mechanism to endure her circumstances. She craves that brief numbness, however forced, to escape the horror of her reality, even though the wine also strips her of her autonomy and memories. This moment does not show her acceptance of what is happening to her, but rather how deeply damaged Feyre is, to the point where the very thing that is hurting her becomes something she grasps onto for a sense of relief.

She's left with only the tools of her abuser, clinging to the one thing that allows her to survive, even if it means blacking out parts of herself. And that's one of the saddest aspects—she's forced to use the very method of her exploitation as her survival mechanism, and it reveals how utterly trapped she feels. It's incredibly troubling to see this suffering reframed as some sort of prelude to romance, especially when her trauma responses, like craving the oblivion of the wine, go unaddressed later.

2. "From the neck down, I was a heathen god's plaything."

Dressing her up like that is another layer of control and degradation. Rhysand doesn't just make her a spectacle, he strips away her agency and autonomy in how she presents herself, reducing her to an object—"a heathen god's plaything." It is a costume designed to sexualize and dehumanize her, reinforcing his control while robbing her of any in how she looks or is perceived. Feyre is reduced to a pawn in his game, forced into a role where her dignity is actively stripped away. And that lack of choice over her appearance isn't a small detail—it shows how calculated his cruelty is, how every element is crafted to control and humiliate her while leaving her feeling exposed, objectified, and powerless.

Fast-forward to the Court of Nightmares, and it's disturbing to see Feyre wear a similar costume with Rhysand's approval and guidance. In ACOMAF, it's framed as Feyre's choice, as part of a scheme they're in together, but the undertone is still there—that her body, her appearance, and her sense of self are manipulated to play into Rhysand's strategy. While she consents this time, her "consent" is given within a framework that echoes her previous trauma, with Rhysand guiding her actions in a place where she once felt utterly degraded. This creates a troubling dynamic, as she's stepping back into a role of objectification and sexualization, one she didn't initially choose. It's like Feyre is reenacting her trauma in the name of strategy, and Rhysand, rather than considering the impact of such an act, almost seems to encourage it.

The narrative attempts to pass this off as empowering, but it feels unsettlingly manipulative. Feyre is using her own trauma against herself in a sense, allowing herself to be dressed up, touched, and paraded in a way that directly mirrors her exploitation UTM. Rhysand's involvement in this scheme blurs the line between a partnership and a twisted repetition of his control over her. What's especially disquieting is that it’s framed as something clever, as if allowing herself to be objectified is her best option, which glosses over the ways this echoes her previous abuse. The lack of self-reflection or deeper acknowledgment from Rhysand about how disturbing this could be for her is another glaring omission. It's treated as if the past doesn't matter, as if she can simply step back into this role and play along.

3. "As soon as his finger left my skin, the paint fixed itself."

Rhysand deliberately puts Feyre in degrading positions, like having her sit on his lap or by his feet, dance between his legs, turning her into a kind of possession to flaunt in front of everyone. That sort of physical control and forced closeness is a form of SA, plain and simple, and it is deeply violating for Feyre. But let's talk about the non-consensual touching that Rhysand engages in that is frequently excused because it is on Feyre's waist and sides. Let's look at this scene when Rhysand demonstrates how the magical ink on Feyre's body works:

I braced myself as he ran a finger along my shoulder, smearing the paint. As soon as his finger left my skin, the paint fixed itself, returning the design to its original form. "The dress itself won’t mar it, and neither will your movements," he said, his face close to mine. His teeth were far too near to my throat. "And I’ll remember precisely where my hands have been. But if anyone else touches you—let’s say a certain High Lord who enjoys springtime—I’ll know."

What is particularly alarming about this is Rhysand's ability to fix the ink that he smudges with ease. This suggests that he might be touching Feyre anywhere on her body without leaving a trace, only choosing to smear the ink in a way that is minimal and non-incriminating as a deliberate tactic to create an illusion of consent and innocence to ensure that Feyre believes he isn't crossing any boundaries, while the reality is far more sinister. Since Feyre is blacking out each night, she has no way of knowing the extent of his actions.

This creates a disturbing dynamic where Feyre is left questioning her own experiences. The boundaries Rhysand establishes through selective touching serve to confuse and trap her, making it easier for him to maintain control. The knowledge that he could be touching her inappropriately without her knowing adds a layer of psychological torment. It underscores his power over her autonomy and reinforces the idea that she is never truly safe from him. The smudged ink is merely another tool of deception, allowing Rhysand to manipulate her perception of what is happening to her body.

4. "I spent my days sleeping off the faerie wine... to escape the humiliation I endured."

Yes, this line is important because it reveals just how deeply broken Feyre feels UTM, using sleep to escape the horror and humiliation forced upon her by Rhysand. Her days blur together in a haze of faerie wine and sleep, a desperate attempt to shut out the reality of what she is enduring. Sleeping through the pain, drinking away the humiliation—these are raw trauma responses, the signs of someone who feels so trapped and powerless that unconsciousness becomes her only refuge. It's not a choice born out of comfort or peace, it's survival, an act of shutting down just to endure the next day.

This level of psychological exhaustion—using sleep to escape humiliation—shows the depths of what Rhysand's SA does to her. Each day, she wakes to a fresh cycle of abuse and trauma, so she retreats in the only way left to her: shutting her mind and body down. Even without full memories, a part of her mind understands the darkness she is facing and tries to find any means of survival. Yet, that's the last we see of Feyre's trauma responses to her SA by Rhysand.

In ACOMAF, we see Rhysand haunted by nightmares of his SA by Amarantha. His distress is severe enough that Feyre even helps him through one of these episodes when she is staying with him at the Townhouse. It's clear that his trauma around the abuse he suffered under Amarantha is still raw and unresolved. But it raises an unsettling question: why does Feyre no longer seem to exhibit any nightmares or trauma responses tied specifically to her SA by Rhysand?

Feyre's lack of nightmares surrounding her experiences with Rhysand, especially given her coping mechanism of sleeping off the humiliation, feels absurd. It implies a troubling erasure of her trauma, suggesting that either she is suppressing these experiences or the narrative chooses not to engage with them. Instead, we see her nightmares focus on other parts of her trauma UTM—like the faeries she killed to save Tamlin—but the specific horror of being abused by Rhysand is conspicuously absent.

5. "Don't get me started on what you did to me Under the Mountain."

When Feyre tries to bring up her SA in ACOMAF, it's dismissed with barely any meaningful confrontation or healing process. Rhysand's near-breakdown and avoidance make it seem like his feelings take priority over Feyre's trauma—a strange and uncomfortable narrative choice. Feyre deserves closure, and readers do too. It's painful to see the story shift to make him the hero without ever fully grappling with that past harm. The lack of acknowledgment or accountability not only undermines Feyre's agency but also misses the chance to explore the complex journey from trauma to healing.

What's even more disturbing is how Feyre's SA by Rhysand is recontextualized to excuse his behavior as somehow protective or necessary. It creates a twisted narrative where his cruel choices are somehow reframed as noble or sacrificial, without ever allowing Feyre her rightful anger or trauma over that experience. The absence of a real, open discussion about this later on in the series—one where Feyre's trauma isn't overshadowed by Rhysand's guilt or anger or avoidance—is a glaring gap.

In failing to fully address the impact of Rhysand's SA on Feyre, the narrative ultimately deprives her—and the readers—of the resolution and healing that her trauma demands. The fact that her suffering is left unexplored while his is highlighted skews the focus, suggesting that his redemption and guilt matter more than her recovery. This imbalance not only erases her experience but distorts her journey from survival to empowerment. A truly powerful narrative would allow her to confront him and reclaim her voice, addressing the harm he inflicted.

There's so much more to unpack here that I'm sure I'm missing—like the nightmare fuel that is Chapter 54. Anything else you guys would add?