#and i got to the scene where rhys made tamlin kneel

[fourteentrout]

Listen I get that tamsand is mainly a crack ship but what I can't get over is that like Rhys does almost have like...not an obsession with Tamlin, but like an inability to let him go or something. He is on the opposite end of the continent. Why does he take it upon himself to be the one to visit Tamlin consistently to try to get him to be an active ruler again. Like of all people, why did he have to be the one to coordinate the Summer Guards being sent to Spring, why is he the one always visiting, even if nobody else would think of it, why couldn't he just get someone to do this stuff for him. Like given their history and their actual physical distance it just is a little odd, I guess.

[rosanna-writer]

🍓 🥤 ☁️ 🎨

😁💝

🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction? I started reading it on Quizilla, way back in the dark ages when you'd take "What Naruto character is your boyfriend?" quizzes that would have a little ficlet at the end, and then I found longer works where for some reason people were using a quiz website to post multichapter fics??? Truly the wild west. And after reading and enjoying it for a while, it just felt natural to try my hand at it.

🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love I re-read Present by @popjunkie42 the other day and it gave me so many warm fuzzy feelings <3

☁️ ⇢ what made you choose your username? This is a sideblog, and if you click on my main, you'll see that my name is not, in fact, Rosanna. It's obviously not a privacy thing, or I would have made a whole new blog! Using a different name for writing stuff is just my way of keeping some psychological distance between me and my writing. If you're someone who struggles with taking rejections/feedback a little too personally, using a different display name really helps go from "I got rejected" to "The book got rejected."

🎨 ⇢ link your favourite piece of fanart and explain why you like it

This one from listening stars, which can be found here!

Literally everything listeningstars does is incredibly brilliant, but this is my favorite. I am not a visual thinker, and so the way this conveys so much information is so, so impressive to me. Rhys's claws look so nightmarish and threatening, but they're also cradling Feyre so gently! This is from the scene where Rhys makes Tamlin kneel to scare him into sending Feyre away, so the subtle foreshadowing of Rhys being maybe-not-so-evil-after-all with the way it almost looks like a caress is just.....wow. It doesn't just replicate something from the books, it ADDS to it.

[mmvalentine]

Will you do an Acotar scene lift from Rhys’s perspective under the mountain in between the trials? We only get vague mentions of what happens because of the wine Freyre and I think it would just be really interesting to see Rhys’s perspective. I love your writing btw it always makes me smile to see you’ve posted something ❤️

My darling let me tell you I really struggled with this, because these scenes hurt me a lot. Re-reading the scenes, it seems like Feyre spends the whole time really sick and wondering what happened while she was drugged and practically dissociating. BUT, I persist because I know you've been following for a while, and I so appreciate your support and wanted to make you something. I hope this is okay, it's not exactly the steamy stuff I usually write but it's my interpretation of what was going on (and let's be honest, my way of making sense of why Rhys was making not the best decisions).

In Between

Feyre was in danger. Again.

Aramantha's guards were dogs, and I wasn't surprised by this, but it was exhausting. Every time I turned my back there was something they were up to- taunting Feyre, giving her impossible tasks, threatening to torture her. As if being locked in a cell Under The Mountain wasn't bad enough.

I wasn't too proud to admit that I had become quite attached to the little human slip of a thing. She was so small, so fragile, so mortal. And yet here she was, a thorn in Aramantha's side the way that I... I couldn't be. Not if I wanted her eyes far away from Velaris.

So there I was, living vicariously through a human girl and secretly rooting for her like it's the only way I can defy Aramantha. I suppose it is.

For the last few nights, I'd taken to walking past the cell block to listen in on the guards. Nothing too alarming was happening for the first couple of days, but now that the next task was nearing, they had new orders. I was torn between exasperation that Feyre seemed to constantly be in peril, and a spark of interest. If Aramantha was trying to get Feyre killed between tasks, it meant some part of her was truly afraid she'd win. And I liked the idea of Aramantha afraid.

But the immediate situation on hand was that the guards were going to make her remove the salt from a high fae's bathwater, or else they'd pull the teeth out of her head.

For Cauldron's sake.

I would have thought it better for Feyre to sit quietly in her cell and be forgotten. At least she'd get a moment's peace between Aramantha's tasks. But in fact it seemed that Aramantha did not mean her to make it to the next task, and no one was watching her schemes.

So.

I'd have to keep an eye on her myself.

But how to do so, when I was also expected at Aramantha's revels every night? I'd just have to bring her with me.

If Under the Mountain was modeled after the Court of Nightmares, then at least I knew the rules of the game. I knew how to make people notice her.

And so the next night, before the guards could get to her again, I sent in spies to make sure she was going to be fit for a Nightmare revel. They brought clothes- but they were barely clothes. She'd be ripped apart in seconds with that much bare skin. Think, think.

There was one other way to cover skin. In the Illyrian tradition, with ink. I was sure enough of my reputation with the court that no one would risk touching her I was sure to find out. Okay. So Cerridwen and Nuala would paint her every bare patch of skin, and then no one could touch her.

The night of the revel arrived, and when I went to collect Feyre, she was trying to tear off her dress. Alarm flashed through me. Fool that I am, I hadn't considered the fact that of course she would loathe this role. Humans have such a low tolerance for wickedness.

"I wouldn't do that," I said from the doorway. Not willing to risk coming any closer, and scaring her into a panic.

"Our bargain hasn't started yet," she snapped. Hate flashed in her eyes, and I thought- good. She should hate me. I was Aramantha's whore, right? Fine. Better angry than scared. Better angry than vulnerable.

"Ah, but I need an escort for the party," I told her. Besides, I needed her haughty for the revel. Anything less, and they'd lose interest. "And when I thought of you squatting in that cell all night, alone..." Her eyes glazed hard, and her lips thinned. Perfect. "You look just as I hoped you would."

"Is this necessary?" she hisses at me, gesturing to the paint and silk ensemble.

"Of course," I say, letting cold soak into my voice. "How else would I know if anyone touches you?" To demonstrate, I ran a finger through the paint on her shoulder, and watched the paint fix itself. "The dress won't mar it, and neither will your movements," I told her. She needs to understand. "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."

But this was a serious point. I knew she'd want to go straight to him- Cauldron knows why, Tamlin is an insufferable pup- but I knew what she want. And I knew Tamlin had not a scrap of wit about him and would give it to her. And then Aramantha would tear us all to shreds. So.

I flicked her little upturned nose, noticing suddenly the smattering of freckles there and nearly getting distracted, and fed her the line I knew would stick. "I don't like my belongings tampered with."

If looks could kill, as they say in the Human realm.

"Come," I said. "We're already late."

Of course, that was entirely intentional. I needed all eyes on us- on her as we walked in the room. And indeed every head turned, some bowed but most just gawked at Feyre. We walked al the way to the dais, and stood before Aramantha. And Tamlin.

I'd once told Feyre that I'd wait to tell Tamlin about our little bargain. Wait until the right time. No point in exciting him into a rage while everything hung in the balance, I thought. Then again, if it were my beloved in Aramantha's cells... rage would not be an adequate word. But that was another reason I thought very little of the High Lord of Spring. Maybe a little rage would do him some good.

"Merry Midsummer," I said, bowing to Aramantha. Every time I did it, I wanted to vomit on her feet.

"What have you done with my captive?" she said, displeasure darkening in her eyes. Her tone was light, though, and I knew she'd not make a fuss in front of all these people.

"We made a bargain," I said. "One week with me at the Night Court every month in exchange for my healing services after her first task." I raised her arm to reveal the tattoo, dull next to the shining paint. "For the rest of her life."

I couldn't help it. I stared straight at Aramantha, and knew she understood my words. You tried to have her killed and I helped her. I see life beyond this mountain. I think she's going to win. It was only the thought of my family back home that prevented me from spitting the words in her face.

"Enjoy my party," was her only reply. And Tamlin? Tamlin did nothing. Didn't stir, just gripped the arms of the throne like the useless fuck he was.

I led Feyre away, and wondered if she was going to make it through the night. There was a lot of performing to be done, by both of us, if I was going to keep her out of the cells and away from the guards until the next task. Then my eyes lighted on the feasting table.

"Wine?" I offered Feyre a goblet. The perfect solution- if she drank the wine, she wouldn't have to act. Even more merciful- she wouldn't have to remember. But she shook her head.

I smiled, knowing that it did not make up for the cruel games I'd be playing this whole time. Knowing it'd do little to comfort her. "Drink. You'll need it." As much of the truth as I could tell her. Drink, I begged, kneeling at the doors of her mind.

"No," she said, and I gritted my teeth. Pushed against those doors, the flimsy shields that were far too easy to step through. I'm sorry, Feyre. I'm so sorry.

"Drink," I said, and her fingers latched onto the goblet.

As soon as the wine was gone, Feyre's body went loose. I caught her up in my arms, and her eyes were vacant. It horrified me. It was perfect.

I led her to a table and sat her down in my lap, scanning the crowd and knowing that fae all around the room were still watching us. I reached for my own goblet, and wished I could forget, too.

"Dance, Feyre," I said, as she started to slump in my lap. That would not do.

She stood unsteadily to her feet, right between my knees, and swayed to the music. Lifted her arms, trailed her hands down the sides of her breasts, and closed her gold-lidded eyes as she moved.

In any other setting, she might have been exquisite.

Here, she was hollow. She wasn't in her body, there was just a dress and some paint. And I wondered if she would ever forgive me for this. I doubted it.

A High fae came up to us, stood behind Feyre and started to dance with her. Feyre turned to him, reached for him. I grabbed her arms, and smoothed them back down to her sides.

"Mine," I growled at the fae, and his eyes narrowed, but he backed away. Cauldron. This was going to be my entire evening.

I let her dance until she started to flag, and then I set her carefully back in my lap. Couldn't let her sit anywhere else, couldn't let her out of my sight. Not like this. Not in this state.

And then when she started to droop again, I got her up to dance. Up down, dance, sit. Up again. A whole fucking routine that made me want to blow my brains out. The only upside was that Tamlin kept his eyes on us the whole time, and hated every moment. And yet still, he didn't move from his throne. Delightful.

When finally the night started down and everyone was disappearing to either their own beds or someone else's, I led Feyre back to her cell. Let her collapse on the pallet and sleep off the wine. By the time I got back to my own room, the self-loathing was enough to choke on.

But Feyre had made it through the night alive.

And if this is what it took to get her through to the second task, then I could keep doing it. After all. What was a handful of nights are fifty years Under the Mountain?

****

Agh I really don't know if this is worth anything, but I hope you get something out of it dearest, and if you don't you can always send me a different scene and I'll try again if I can x

[dawninlatin]

Whispers In The Night

Feyre x Rhysand

Words: 3099

Warnings: Mature content throughout

Song recommendation for the vibe: Mountaineers by Susanne Sundfør

AO3: Click here

A continuation of chapter 60 and the scene we never got to read.

Feyre and Rhys goes to the High Priestess to have their mating bond verified and to oficially make Feyre the High Lady of The Night Court. Shameless smut ensues.

Rhys took the box from my hands and set it down on the nightstand before herding me toward the bed. «And if I wanted to go one step beyond that?»

«I’m listening,» I purred as he laid me on the sheets.

His lips ghosted over my collarbone, moving upwards, to my neck, my throat, lightly kissing my jaw, before he lifted his head and took me in with such intensity that I melted under his gaze. I could get lost in his violet eyes and the way they shone now, full of love and adoration.

«I want to make you my High Lady,» Rhys murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. Heat pooled between my legs at his voice, low and raspy.

Then I realized what he had just said. The shock I felt must have been written on my face, because he continued: «We could do it, tonight. I would have to make a few arrangements, of course, but we could do it.»

I sat up at that, pushing Rhys away from me. I walked towards the vanity, needing to wrap my mind around what he had just said. What he had suggested.

«There is no such thing as a High Lady,» I said as I turned around to face my mate. Rhys stood, walked over to me and took my face between his hands.

«That-,» he said, stroking his fingers over my cheeks, «is a load of bullshit, and you know it.» I let out a snort at his words, remembering what Tamlin had said not long ago.

Rhys leaned in and whispered: «I’m High Lord of The Night Court. I can do whatever I want.» His lips met mine, briefly, before he once again pulled away, looking at me with the same intensity as before.

«And there is no one I would rather have as my High Lady, to rule the court beside me, as equals,» Rhys finished. This time it was my turn to reach up and kiss him, my heart pounding furiously at his words.

«I love you, and I would be honored to become your High Lady» I whispered against his lips, laying my head against his chest. We stayed like that for a moment, just enjoying being near one another.

«As much as I would love to do this all day, I have a few things to arrange,» Rhys murmured into my hair. He stepped back, leaning against the dresser. «Are you sure you want to do this?»

«Yes,» I said, once again stepping into his arms, straightening out the frown forming on his forehead. «And like you just said, you have things to arrange, so stop being an overbearing mother hen and make me your High Lady instead.»

He tipped his head back laughed at that. A deep chuckle reverberating through his whole body. «Meet me at the temple at midnight,» he said, before kissing my forehead and winnowing away.

-

Velaris during the day was gorgeous, but Velaris at night was a truly breathtaking sight. The sky was clear, stars shining brightly over my head. Lanterns lit up the cobblestone streets, and music sounded from somewhere far off along with a group of young fae laughing into the night.

I stood in front of the temple, dressed in nothing but a white dress and a pair of sandals. My hair was loose, pooling down my back. The air around me was warm with summer nearing. I heard a pair of footsteps, and lifted my gaze to find Rhys walking towards me.

He was beaming, wearing a black shirt and a pair of loose pants. His wings were out and tendrils of darkness floated around him. He was truly The Night Triumphant, and he was truly mine.

I knew my power was showing as well. A slight glow that wouldn’t leave my skin. I couldn’t help it, war and cauldrons and Hybern be damned, I was so happy. Rhys was my mate and I would be his High Lady. We were equals, Stars Eternal and Night Triumphant.

He smiled and reached out his hand. «Ready?»

-

We stepped through the wide entrance of the temple. My breath hitched at the sight in front of me. Various colourful murals adorned the walls, showing epic tales of gods and fae alike. I had to ask Rhys about the stories behind each and everyone someday.

Stone pillars were scattered throughout the open area, green vines crawling down them. Lanterns were hanging from the ceiling, casting the room in a golden light. I could feel Rhys’ eyes on me as I took in our surroundings.

The temple felt ancient. Sacred.

A young female approached us, bowing. An acolyte, Rhys whispered into my mind. I gave her a court smile. «The High Priestess will be ready for you shortly, my lord. You can wait over there,» she pointed towards a bench imbedded in the wall. «You must also take off your shoes before entering the chamber.»

«Thank you,» Rhys said, bowing his head. The acolyte disappeared through the same doors she had just entered, and we were again alone.

Rhys led me towards the small bench, where I sat down, taking off my sandals. The tiles were cold under my feet. Rhys sat down next to me. «I should probably tell you what is going to happen once we’re with the priestess.»

I hadn’t even considered what was going to happen next. I was too busy thinking about the fact that I was going to become High Lady of The Night Court. The first High Lady to ever rule one of Prythian’s courts. It was a statement, a declaration of what the future of our land were going to be like. I also couldn’t help but smile a little at the big fuck you it was to Tamlin. There’s no such thing as a High Lady my ass.

I must have sent my thoughts down the bond, because I heard Rhys laugh softly beside me. «Tell me,» I said, and took his hand.

«First, we will enter the sacred chamber, where the High Priestess will greet us. We will say a few vows to one another, before she gives us her blessing, verifies the bond, and you will be formally recognized as High Lady. It should be a quick affair.»

Rhys swallowed audibly, and I noticed his hands were shaking lightly. «Are you nervous?» I asked, scooting closer.

He looked at me, pressing a kiss to my hand. «No, I just can’t believe this is actually happening. That it is real.» His voice cracked a bit at the end, and my heart broke for my mate. I had that same fear, that I would suddenly wake up in the human realm, or Under the Mountain, or in the Spring Court, and all of this would just have been a cruel, cruel dream.

«It’s real, I promise» I whispered, before lightly brushing my lips against his. As we broke apart, a pair of wide doors opened, and the acolyte reappeared.

«The High Priestess will see you now.»

We stood and walked in as one. I should have been nervous, but that was impossible with my mate by my side.

-

The chamber we entered was dark, only lit up by candles spread throughout. Rhys squeezed my hand as we stepped toward the High Priestess, waiting for us at the end of the room. She stood before a stone altar, pillows lying at her feet, the room buzzing with ancient magic.

As we reached her, Rhys bowed. «High Priestess,» I followed him, lowering my head.

The Priestess nodded once in greeting. «High Lord, Lady,» before gesturing for us to kneel before her.

«Please, join your hands,» she spoke, her voice low and raspy. I did as she said, taking Rhys’ hands in mine, before meeting his gaze. The love I felt for him then was borderline painful. I would do anything for this male.

«If you wish to say any vows to one another, please do so now.»

I’ll go first, Rhys spoke into my mind, before clearing his throat.

«Feyre, darling-,» I smiled at the familiar nickname. «You are the light of my life. When we first met, I was in such a dark place. Completely lost. I thought all hope was gone, and when I was at my worst, you came and showed me a way out. You taught me what it was like to be happy and love again. You are the strongest person I know, and I am honored to be able to call you mine. You are my mate, but also my saviour and salvation.»

I couldn’t help the tear that escaped down my cheek at the way his voice cracked, silver lining his eyes. Tightening my grip around his hands, I tried to communicate everything I couldn’t possibly put to words.

«I vow to always stay by your side, in joy and sorrow, sickness and health. To always view you as my equal. To always honor and cherish you. I vow, on everything that I am, to love you as long as my heart is beating,» Rhys finished, genuinely crying now.

After drawing a shaky breath, I begun speaking. I knew that I could never truly express all the things I felt for him, but I would try.

«Rhysand, you might be my mate, but you are also my best friend. You made me want to keep living, to keep fighting, when I was ready to give up. You have saved my broken spirit more times than I can count, and I will forever be grateful for that. I promise to always treat you as my equal, with your soul twin to my own. I promise to honor, trust and stand by you no matter what. I love you, with all that I am, and shall keep loving you for as long as I shall draw my breath.»

Even if I wanted, I was unable to tear my eyes away from his. It was hypnotizing, and the feeling of unconditional, never-ending love made my chest tighten. I knew Rhys felt the same way, could feel it through the bond.

The High Priestess laid her hands atop ours, and spoke: «Do you, Rhysand, High Lord of The Night Court, wish to verify your mating bond to Feyre, marking her not just as your equal, but also High Lady of your court?»

«I do,» Rhys spoke, pride shining through his hoarse voice. He grinned at me, and I couldn’t help but grin back.

«And do you, Feyre Cursebreaker, defender of The Rainbow, wish to verify your mating bond to Rhysand, and with that accept your position as High Lady of The Night Court? Do you vow to protect your people with your life, to always remain loyal to your court, and to always put The Night Court first?»

«I do,» I whispered, my voice clear of any doubt.

«You can place the crown on top of her head,» the High Priestess said to Rhys. That is when I first noticed the silver crown lying on the altar, star sapphires glittering in the dim light.

Rhys took the crown from the priestess’ hands. I looked up as he placed it on my head, his hands trembling, tears still streaming from my eyes. I would move the earth for you, I thought.

His hands held onto mine again, and the High Priestess pressed her palms against them. «Then it shall be known here today, with the Gods as our witnesses, that you are mates, equals in every way, High Lord and High Lady of The Night Court.»

I gasped as I felt a surge of power go through me, a bright light shining between us. That light settled somewhere inside me, along with the power. Rhys’ power, I realized. Looking down on our still joint hands, I found a brand new tattoo on my right hand, twin to the one on my left. I grinned at my mate, feeling as if I could levitate at any moment. He grinned back at me, whispering I love you into my mind.

«Congratulations to you both,» the priestess beamed.

-

It didn’t take us long to winnow back to the townhouse, to our bedroom. Rhys sat down at the edge of the bed. «We should sleep. It’s late, and we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow,» he sighed.

«I know, but I don’t want to sleep,» I said as I walked towards him, settling in his lap with my legs straddling him. I could feel the evidence of what we both much rather wanted to do pressing against me.

As I took in the look of him, violet eyes dark with arousal, but also love and hope and fear, it all hit me, what we were about to do, what we were about to risk. «What would you like to do instead?» Rhys asked, swallowing audibly, his hands exploring my back.

I pressed my mouth against his, let my tongue explore him, my hips grinding against his growing hardness, before drawing back and saying, voice low and out of breath:

«I want you to fuck me as if it’s our last night alive.»

That seemed to snap something in him. My dress quickly found it’s way to the floor, and Rhys was delighted to find that I wore nothing underneath. My hand reached towards the crown still on top of my head, but Rhys grabbed my wrist, growling in my ear: «Keep it on.»

«Your wish is my command, High Lord,» I breathed. At this point, I was so aroused I was sure I could come from the sound of his voice alone. We somehow managed to frantically remove his clothes as well, and before I knew it my back hit the wall.

I moaned at the feeling of Rhys’ lips exploring my neck. «You always wanted me to fuck you against a wall, darling,» he said against my skin. I felt my core tighten, reminding me of how empty it currently was.

«That I did,» I purred, lifting his face to mine, crashing my lips against his. My hand reached down between us to stroke his fully hard cock. He growled at the contact, grabbing my wrist and pinning it over my head.

«I want to taste every inch of your skin tonight,» he whispered against my lips, before he hoisted my legs over his shoulders and put his mouth against the apex of my thighs.

The first stroke of his tongue set me on fire. My head fell back, hitting the wall, as I moaned. Rhys let out a groan himself when my hands grabbed onto his hair, pulling it.

Rhys kept his promise, his tongue exploring every inch of my core, swirling around my knot, writhing sounds I didn’t know I was capable of making from me.

My legs tightened around his shoulders, the wave inside me rising and rising, until he applied just enough pressure at just the right spot. A load moan escaped my lips as the wave came crashing down, his mouth never stopping it’s exploring.

«Rhys-,» I choked out, seeing stars, a new orgasm beginning before the previous had even ended. As I started shaking around him, he rose, hoisting me down from his shoulders. I rested in his arms, head resting against his neck.

«Look at me,» Rhys whispered softly. I lifted my head, his hand pushing my hair out of my face. «My beautiful, brilliant mate,» Rhys breathed, before his lips crashed into mine.

Tasting myself on his lips was enough for my core to come back to life. I needed to feel him inside me, to be as close as possible. Rhys seemed to think the same, because moments later he entered me in one long thrust, pushing to the hilt.

Rhys groaned, pressing his face against my neck, giving me a moment to adjust to the considerable length of him, before setting a vicious pace. Slamming into me as if every thrust was his last.

I knew I would be both sore and bruised come morning, but I didn’t care. The feeling of him, thick and hard, inside my core was exquisite. I again captured his mouth with mine, moaning as his tongue entered me, knowing he now filled me in two places.

His hand started exploring my breast, and I felt myself tighten around him, that sweet, sweet wave once again rising. He groaned my name, his thrusts becoming more and more sloppy. He was close too.

I moved his hand down to my knot and he started swirling it. The pressure in my lower abdomen kept rising and rising, seemingly having no end. Rhys kissed me one last time, before lightly pinching my knot. Then I exploded.

The noises coming from me would have made me embarrassed, but I could hardly register anything at this point. I faintly noticed Rhys slamming into me one last time before he too erupted with a groan, holding onto me, repeating my name over and over again. I wasn’t sure were I ended and he began.

Rhys moved to lay us down on the bed, but I was too far gone in bliss to notice. I was lying with my head on his chest, him stroking soothing circles on my back. He paused for a moment and removed the crown from my head. I chuckled, having forgotten it was there in the first place.

As his hands returned to their ministrations, I pressed light kisses to his chest. Tendrils of black rolled of him, and I knew without looking that I was currently glowing brightly. The star to his night.

«If something goes wrong tomorrow-,» I interrupted him by catching his mouth with mine.

«Don’t,» I whispered, stroking his hair. All the unspoken words shining in his eyes made me tear up. «I don’t want to think about all that could go wrong right now. I just want to enjoy being here, with you, like this. I just want to pretend that everything is right in the world. Just for a moment.»

As my voice cracked, Rhys reached up to brush away my tears. «No words could ever portray how much I love you Feyre, darling.»

A sob escaped me at that. «I know, Rhys. I love you too, more than anything.»

I sat up at that, taking his newly hardened shaft between my hands and sinking myself down on it.

Then we made love, long into the night with the stars as our witness, completely oblivious to what tomorrow would bring.

[drjackandmissjo]

Roses are Red, Tattoos are Forever

Chapter 3 --- previous chapter

Feysand masterlist

The Sherlock Conundrum

Florist and tattoo artist Au, Modern Day

“Can you please stop with this madness? Hugh Laurie is clearly the best Sherlock ever!”

They were both sitting on the couch of his living room. Really close to each other. She had her left knee under her body and was fully facing him. He had been throwing glances at her way the whole time she’s been there, and now was admiring her everything as they bantered lovingly.

After a particularly rough client, that had taken her nearly seven hours to finish, she came into his shop claiming: “We’re both closing earlier, I need to rest and so do you.”

At his attempt to tell her off, cause “I don’t need to rest I am in pristine fit every second of every minute”, she simply replied with an elongated ‘Please’ and a pair of puppy dog eyes that would’ve put a Labrador to shame.

Useless to say, they ended up on his couch half an hour later, a marathon of the fourth season of House M.D. on the television and chips and popcorn all around.

Feyre is harder than she looks, tougher. She likes to drink whiskey and burning liquor and beer.

Rhys, on the other hand, is a refined rosé man. He drinks fruity drinks and cocktails and vodka. He tried the same stuff that she drinks, once, when they went out with the rest of the inner circle after Az had received a promotion. It didn’t end well.

Feyre and Cassian will forever tease him about it.

Since their taste in alcohol was on such a wide spectrum, they decided to settle for some sparkly Coca-Cola for that fine night.

About halfway through episode six, the debate had begun. The show was soon forgotten and left as a white noise machine that lulled them into their silliness.

“Feyre Darling. You are being delusional. Dr House’s got nothing on RDJ’s Sherlock. Just cause the character was inspired by Conan Doyle’s work it doesn’t mean it can be considered a Sherlock.”

She laughed. A delicious sound that was filling his days more and more each morning. “Do you know that Conan Doyle based Shelly on a doctor, right? Also, yeah Jude Law’s better than Wilson, that is true.”

“Can we just agree that Cumberbatch and Freeman are equally amazing.”

“Yeah, duh! But, controversial opinion: I don’t actually ship Jonhlock romantically.”

“More like platonic soul-mates? Makes complete sense. They are not interested in each other at all. You are right, Fey-ruh Acheron.”

‘HOW DARE SHE...’, he thought severely displeased.

“Oh please don’t be pissed at me. I like them together and everything, but in my mind, Sherlock is pretty much ace-aro. I mean, Cumberbatch was also Smaug. Which in the books is described as a dragon while the movies decided to portray him like a vixen...” He solemnly nodded.

That is, indeed, a severe problem in mainstream media.

“That is, indeed, a severe problem in today mainstream media. We live in a world where people don’t know the difference between one another! Daenerys Mother of Dragons? More like Dany The Soccer Mom of three cool lizards. That would be more appropriate!”

“Don’t talk to me about Dany, I’m still pissed about Jonerys. I mean, fan-service much? Okay, I can deal with that. But don’t freaking kill Viserion and try to make us all believe that HIS MOTHER WOULD FUCK HER NEPHEW THIRTY MINUTES LATER!”

She laughed again.

‘Gods above and below,’ he thought, ‘how much can a person love another?’

“Agree 100% on Viserion, though Jon after Ygrit should’ve just zipped up his pants and close business. You experience that kind of love once in your screentime. And when you do, Martin kills the counterpart off immediately after the big scene. You know that sadist is gonna kill you off, so just spare him the dirty deeds to write.”

“The dirty deeds are the reasons he is taking so much to finish that freaking book. Also, salty much?"

"You dare calling me salty? It’s been years and you still weep over Robb’s body.”

“Excuse you, it is a very fine body. Have you seen Richard Madden lately? With that kilt at Kit and Rose’s wedding? Fine AF.”

She was now scooting over, moving closer to his face to find a reaction.

“Fine, you’re right. But Darling, you know damn well I am attracted to that man, you can’t just casually throw his name around! That would be like me, saying that Misha has aged like a fine whisky.”

“And where would a lie hide in that sentence?”

“ANYWAY. We were talking of something terrifically important.”

He decided to add a Meaningful Pause to give himself some dramatic effect...

“How can you say you don’t ship Jonhlock romantically?”

‘Honesly I love that woman. She is my other half, I would die for her and with her. My life without her has no meaning.

But if her answer doesn’t please me then so help me God I will suffer through a meaningless life with the strength of my ships.’ His mind said.

“I told you before the 'The Hobbit/Game of Thrones' parenthesis. When I read the books I thought of Sherlock as a madman who cared about Watson profoundly, but mostly cares about himself and his work. Someone who doesn’t dwell into feelings, doesn’t really enjoy sexual times and, truly, a modern-day asexual and aromantic asshole with a kink for unofficial police work. Yes, He and Watson are amazing together, and especially with RDJ and Jude Law I saw the sexual tension, which then I also saw in the BBC’s version. But for me, since I read the books first, Jonhlock will always be the exact relationship shown by House and Wilson. Sorry to disappoint.”

She was so close to him, he could smell her shampoo and count the freckles across her nose. She was staring directly into his soul. Rhys was fully clothed in an old tee and some pants and yet he’d never felt more naked.

“You never disappoint me. As a matter of fact, you never cess to amaze me, Feyre Acheron. You are perfect and beautiful both on the inside as well as on the outside. Here I was, looking for a polite way to kick you out of my apartment after you say you don’t ship one of my OTPs and now, here still I am trying not to be drowned into you and trying not to get lost into your eyes and I love you so fucking much that it physically hurts.”

His inner monologue at the time? ‘Fuck. FUCK. What the fuck did I just say???’

She had managed to fry his whole brain with her smart reasoning and perfect voice and now he had ruined a perfect moment by saying cheesy stuff to a girl that didn’t particularly care for cheese.

That was the end of Rhysand Sphera as we all know and love him.

Cause of death: killed by Feyre Acheron as result of saying something completely idiotic.

Only...

“Do you really mean that?”

She sounded hopeful and scared at the same time. The horrors she had to face in the past came running back to her and were written all over her face. Rhys took her hands in his. They were both trembling.

His mouth had probably never been that dry and yet aching to speak at the same time. He could only nod and pray she reciprocated.

That was the moment of truth.

“Of course I mean it. All of it. Each unsaid sentence and each shared glances. Every time I bring you coffee or a send you a picture of a dog that walks into my shop with its owner even though I’m terrified of them. The dog, not the owner. Even though some owners of dogs are terrifying. I have been in love with you for so long, I forgot how it feels not loving you. I look back at those times when you were not in my life and even back then I knew I was missing something. And when he-who-must-not-be-named showed up and swept you off your feet away from me, I was broken beyond repair. But you came back and made me hope that maybe, maybe all my dreams could become true. But you were hurt and also broken, and you needed time to heal. You still do. I shouldn’t have said anything, but you’re just so fucking amazing that I struggle to not scream ‘I Love You’ every time you breathe. I am utterly in love with you and hopelessly devoted to you. I understand if you still need time to heal or would rather be with someone else. But I said it, and I do not intend on taking it back.”

She was kneeling on the couch, her hands still clutching his, tears streaming down her face.

“Don’t take it back.”

Rhys thought he had heard what he wanted, so he had to ask, “What?”, a dumbstruck disbelieving-his-luck expression plastered on his face.

“I said don’t take it back. I feel the same way. I am utterly in love with you and hopelessly devoted to you too. I thought you hated me after, well, Tamlin. It is pleasant knowing we reciprocate each other’s feelings.”

Feyre laughed again, breaking the spell between them. Only, now the deed was done. Neither of them could hold their emotions in any longer. Feyre leaned in and so did Rhys, and their lips met halfway in a once in a lifetime, epic romance, Full on Princess Bride type of kiss.

After they both ran out of breath, they simply remained connected in every way possible given their awkward position. Foreheads never leaving each other, hands clasped together, lips barely touching. That spell, though, didn’t last for long. Soon they yearned to touch each other’s skin and feel each other’s bodies.

They were never going to have enough of each other.

[hellas-himself]

@sorry-im-an-aries​ asked for a Mob Au. And I PROMISE I am not abandoning my fics, but I welcomed the mental break from everything else. It probably doesn’t make sense, but when I’m working on a bunch of stuff at once, I can focus better? Anyway. This was super fun and it’ll probably be a few chapters long (because why not). With my kid back to school, I’ll probably be able to going back to updating stuff frequently. Y’all know how terrible I am at titles so it’s free game if anyone wants to name it lol

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The Present

I did this for you...

 The first gun shot made me jump, and I hoped to god no one noticed. To my luck, everyone- even Luce- was focused on Tamlin and the lifeless body on the floor. 

 I did this...

 The second gunshot forced me to stand up a little straighter, schooling my features into that of cool indifference. They looked up to Tam for his strength, his fearlessness. If I wanted to keep my place at his side, I had to be just as strong. Just as fearless. 

I…

The third gunshot sounded and I was no longer in the abandoned warehouse, but in a mansion in the suburbs. Overturned tables and broken glass. Two dead at my feet, my gun pointed at her even as she laughed and called me nobody. Worthless. And maybe she was right. But it was her or Tamlin. 

 Bronn and Hart were ordered to get rid of the bodies, the sound bringing me back to the present. Before I could speak Tamlin was already telling Lucien to take me home. As Luce placed a hand to the small of my back, I turned to find Tamlin leading Ianthe out another way. Once, this would have broken me. I would have made a scene. But I knew better now. 

 Lucien was quiet on the drive home, but I noticed him looking back at me through the mirror. It was silly to look for decency in a world of mobsters and crooked men. But Lucien was decent. 

“Hey, are you alright?” he asked quietly. 

“I just want to go to sleep,” I replied. A blatant lie, one I used far too often. But Lucien had been there, he knew what I had done just to keep Tamlin safe. Lucien said nothing else until he parked the car outside of the house. Two guards stood out front and greeted us before Lucien unlocked the door. We walked inside. I started to go up the stairs and stopped when Lucien called my name.

 “He just wants to keep you safe,” he said and I scoffed.

 “Yeah, the way he’s keeping Ianthe safe every night.”

 “It’s not like that.”

 “He wouldn’t have you defending him if it wasn’t.”

 I continued on and I made my way upstairs to my room. Because Tamlin still refused to share his with me. But that didn’t matter anymore. 

 I pulled my jacket off and tossed it on the dresser. I took my time untying the laces of my boots, the buttons of my shirt. Tamlin didn’t come to my room anymore, and that was alright. It didn’t matter anymore, either. 

 “You’re slacking,” I said in a teasing voice as I heard my bedroom door open and close. The lock click. I looked at Lucien through the mirror, my heart near aching at the way he smiled at me. 

 “That was quite the performance,” Lucien said and I rolled my eyes.

 “You forgot to promise to talk to him on my behalf,” I said in jest.

“Well, Tamlin isn’t coming home tonight and he asked me to make sure you didn’t notice.”

I laughed, a sound reserved solely for him. For him and-

 “Rhys called,” Lucien said as he approached me, placing his hands on my shoulders. “It’s as if he knew, somehow, that tonight had been… trying.” 

“How? When?” 

“Just right after Tamlin hung up on me. Don’t worry, we were both careful.”

 I nodded, unable to fight the tears that stung my eyes. Lucien’s hands trailed down the sides of my arms until he held my hands. 

 “Soon,” he whispered. “I promise.”

He kissed away the tears, a gesture that reminded me so much of Rhys I wasted no time in guiding Lucien towards the bed. 

 “Come on. You have to make sure I don’t notice Tamlin isn’t home,” I teased.

“I can think of a few things,” Lucien said, pulling me into his arms. 

 ***

 One Year Ago 

 I hated closing the bar and having to walk home alone at night. Truth be told, it didn’t matter what time of day it was. This godforsaken town was a nightmare. It was full of naïve man children who liked to play at mafia, as if the great families of Prythian would resort to robbing old ladies in pure daylight, breaking into peoples’ cars and coming to the bar every night to get shit faced and talk about all the stupid things they did. But it was enough for me to keep a knife on me everywhere I went.

 I fumbled with the keys to the house, cursing the outside light that had blown out once again. I lived here long enough to know all that could go wrong in the dark. I reminded myself that I would get paid on Thursday and if I didn’t buy any coffee this week, I could get a new lightbulb and that set of paints I saw at the store. 

 All the lights were off save for the television my father was asleep in front of, his TV dinner mostly untouched. His medicine still where I’d left it before I went to work. A noise from upstairs made me roll my eyes- Elain probably had Grayson over which meant Nesta wasn’t home. With our shared bedroom occupied, I put my wallet and keys in the pantry closet, a habit I picked up after one of our dad’s friends went through my purse and helped himself to all he found. 

I shut off the tv and dropped myself unceremoniously on the sofa and closed my eyes… and was startled awake by someone banging on our front door. My dad was yelling for me to answer it and with a mumbled curse I got up. 

“I swear to god, Nesta-” I began but froze when I was met with green eyes, not icy blue. The man outside my door seemed surprised to see me as well but quickly scowled. Great. He practically shoved me aside as he stormed into my house, shouting my father’s name. 

“Hey, what the hell are you doing?” I snapped, following after him. I had to fight the urge to cry when my dad told me to shut up. 

 “I had another month,” my dad said to the man who had reached behind his back.

“A month for what?” I asked and my dad made to speak but the man stopped him.

“Your dad owes me money. Lots of it.”

“How?” I asked. “I’m responsible for everything here. And I don’t remember asking you for shit.”

 The man chuckled and I wanted to smack that smirk off his face. He was far too sure of himself to be another boy playing make believe. He dressed too fine to even be from this part of town.

 “When your father gambled everything away, how do you think he moved you all to this lovely little apartment?”

The tone in his voice made me look at my dad who was in tears. How long had he been doing this? I wanted to strangle him, I wanted to scream but then there was a gun pointed at his face and without thinking I was standing in front of it, arms outstretched. 

 “If you kill him, how are you getting your money back?”

“There are three of you. I’ll make it happen.”

 “Nesta would slit your throat first,” I said and he laughed. 

 “Feyre, you don’t know who you’re talking to,” my dad said but I paid him no mind.

 “Feisty, are we?” the man asked, as if my father weren’t even there.

 “How much?” I asked and he raised a brow. “How much does he owe you?” 

 He stepped forward, pressing the gun to my chest. 

“Far too much for a barmaid to pay back.”

“So let me work for you,” I blurted out. 

“What?” 

“I can’t pay you with the job I currently have. Let me work for you. Pay off his debts and I’ll make sure he never asks you for another goddamn thing.”

 “Feyre-” my father began but I turned to look at him.

 “You’ve done enough,” I said. “This is the last mess I clean up for you.”

When I turned back around, Elain and Grayson were standing at the foot of the stairs. She was crying and he had an arm around her. 

 “How can I trust you? You could all disappear in the night?” the man said, and I dared to put my hand over his.

 “My sisters are more important than saving my own skin,” I replied, even though I knew if roles were reversed, our father would be dead. My sisters would have run.

 No one would fight for me.

 “Then you’re coming with me,” he said.

 “Where?”

 “Where I can make sure you stay true to your word.”

 “You’ll leave my family alone?”

 “Yes.”

 “Fine.”

 When my sister began to protest, the man stepped back and I let out a sigh of relief. 

“Get your shit.” 

 Up in our room, Elain was begging me to reconsider, to let her go instead. I grabbed my bag and put my wallet and phone in and what little clothes I had. 

 “Nesta needs this,” I said as I walked to the dresser and pushed it back. I knelt down and lifted the wooden panel, retrieving the envelope full of money. “Give this to her. Don’t tell dad you have it.”

“Fey…”

“I’m doing exactly what I’ve been doing since mom died. Where I lay my head at night doesn’t change that.”

 I gave her a hug and hurried back downstairs to where the man waited. The gun was no longer in sight despite my father on the floor kneeling, begging. Grayson seemed to have left. 

“That’s it?” the man asked. 

 “That’s it.”

 I looked down at my dad and sighed.

“Clean up before Nesta gets here. She’s got exams this week and doesn’t need any more stress.”

The green eyed man opened the door and I followed him out. I said nothing as he led me away and towards a black car. When he opened the door for me, I didn’t move.

 “Having second thoughts?” he asked with a knowing smile.

“You seem to know every goddamn thing about us. I think I should know who you are before I get in the car… even if I’m going to end up in a ditch by the end of the night.”

 He laughed, running a hand through his long, blonde hair.

“Tamlin,” he said as he held out a hand. “Tamlin Moran.”

Moran… 

“You’re Wes Moran’s son.”

“So you do know me.”

I shook his hand, ignoring him. Tamlin helped me into his car and I wondered just how much shit I’d just put myself in. The Moran’s were one of the oldest, most powerful families in Prythian. And now I was working for them. 

[illyrianwingspans]

Do Not Go Gentle: Mr. Rattlebone

Link to song

Synopsis: Feyre and Rhys deal with the fallout. 

TW:  Blood, trauma, dark thoughts.

Ao3 link

Chapter 7: Mr. Rattlebone

The gun was clutched between my fingers. I couldn’t let it go.

Kneeling in the pool of blood, I clutched the bringer of death as though it were life itself. Blood soaked the clothes on my body, the skin of my face, my shaking hands. It was everywhere. All I kept wondering about was, What are they going to do with the bodies? These people must have had families. Drug pushers or not, there were people out there who cared about them, who loved them, yet I was here, lying in their blood.

And Tamlin was across the country on a business meeting.

There was a crash from outside, and I didn’t flinch as the storage room’s garage door opened. Footsteps ran to my side, and Rhys dropped on his knees before me.

“Feyre,” he pleaded, his eyes searching mine. But I couldn’t look at him. I was only focused on the blood surrounding me, the bodies before me. There was room for nothing else.

“Where does it hurt? Tell me where it hurts?” He demanded.

“Everywhere,” I choked out. The gun rattled in my hands as I began to shake. “He, um, he hit my head and my arms, and at some point I think he punched me in the chest—”

Rhys’s fingers were gentle as he pushed back the strands of hair covering my face then prodded the wound on my forehead. I winced, and he shook his head.

“I have to call the police.”

“Rhys, you can’t—” Panic exploded in my chest. I couldn’t get arrested. No, I wouldn’t, not when I was put here in the first place by other people—

“You’re too hurt. There’s too much of a mess to clean up to keep it under the radar.”

“No, you don’t understand,” I pleaded, eyes wide, voice trembling, then reached up to grip the lapels of his jacket. “I can’t be a criminal. I can’t, I can’t—” I burst into sobs, and he sighed, then pulled me into his arms.

He didn’t care that I was soaked in blood. Blood of the two people I’d just murdered, laying no more than a few feet away from us. Rhys held me as I swore and cursed the Gods for everything that’d happened to lead me where I was today, in the back of a coffee shop, with the blood of two people on my hands.

“It was self-defence, darling,” he murmured into my ear, “they were going to kill you, and they would’ve thought nothing about it. You’d be dead if you hadn’t. No one in their right minds would even try to make an arrest.”

“Please,” I choked out, “please. Don’t call them.”

He pulled away so that we both faced each other. There was pain, so much pain in those star-speckled eyes. Rhys only nodded his head once. “I’ll get someone to clean this.”

“Thank you,” I sighed, and he only brushed the side of my arm in response before scooping me into his arms and bringing me out the back door where his car waited.

At some point the car began to drive, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t say or think or feel much at all besides the second skin enveloping me. Copper and iron stench stuck to me, and my mouth was filled with the acrid taste. All around me, buildings upon buildings passed by, only barely visible with the thick fog coming off the Sidra, and Rhys was saying so many words that didn’t make sense to me. At some point I’m pretty sure he was screaming into a phone, but even that sounded like a foreign dialect. Then there was the sound of somebody saying to me through a stereo.

“Feyre,” the person said, and I finally closed my eyes as Tamlin’s voice filled the car. “Feyre, talk to me.”

“We, um,” the words were garbled and choked in my throat, “we need to order more coffee. I destroyed most of it trying to find the shipment.”

“Feyre, I need you to calm down. Can you tell me what happened?”

“I think we’re also out of brown sugar. You know the uh,” I cleared my throat and my fingers clutched the edge of the seat, trying to get a grasp on anything I could, “the brown ethical sugar that no one ever takes? We finally ran out of that. Yeah, um, we need more.”

“Feyre.” Only it sounded like a disappointment. Fitting.

Rhys looked to me sidelong in the car, and the stars in his eyes seemed dim today. Then the phone was pressed back against his ear. He uttered under his breath, “She’s in shock, you inconsiderate fuck.”

The world kept moving so fast outside of the car, and I decided to focus on that for now instead of the screaming inside of my head. Because I was screaming, screaming bloody terror.

At some point, though, the car went quiet, and all that was left was the sound of the tires against the road. Even our breaths seemed quiet in the small space we shared, like we were scared to disrupt the bubble of peace we’d finally found in the midst of the chaos.

Rhys looked at me, though. I could feel his stare piercing through me every few seconds. It was enough that at some point I turned my head fractionally to stare back. That’s when he finally said, “What can I do?”

What could he do? How could he make this any better? At this point, all efforts felt like slapping bandaids on bullet wounds.

So I only reached out towards him, and he took my hand in his. The warmth enveloping my fingers made the feeling of the blood recede.

+

Rhysand stepped out of the car after pulling into the driveway of a townhouse. It reminded me of those New York Brownstones, and I kept wondering where he was taking me. I closed my eyes and sat back in my seat, wishing that everything else would finally fade away around me. For a few seconds, it seemed like I would finally get some peace. Isaac’s panicked eyes flashed into my mind, along with the deafening sound of the gun shots, and the air left my lungs.

Only the door opened beside me, and I was thrust back into reality once more. Rhys said gently, “Let’s go, Feyre.”

“Where…” I trailed off, unmoving despite his beckoning gestures, “why aren’t you taking me home?”

Rhys looked me up and down and sighed. “I can’t risk bringing you home. If whoever’s after Tamlin has tracked you to the coffee shop, they’ll probably know where you live, too. Right now this is the safest spot.”

“Where are we?”

Rhys swallowed hard. “My personal residence. It’s only until Tamlin gets back.”

I nodded my head, and Rhys reached around me to unbuckle my seatbelt, then gently slipped his arm around my waist to help me step out of the car. The street was deathly quiet and covered by the thick, heavy fog emanating from the river. A perfect set-up for the opening scene or a murder mystery movie.

Only the murders had already been committed.

The townhouse was quiet. Dark. Rhys flicked on a few lights and warned me to touch nothing. If we were to not call the police, then I had to be very careful of everything I touched. Though touching Rhysand wasn’t a problem. When I asked him, all he said was, “If you’re going down, then I may as well go down with you.”

He carefully carried me up the stairs, because apparently the blood had soaked my shoes as well. I was deposited in the washroom, instructed to wash myself off as best as I could and that he’d bleach everything as soon as I was done.

When the door shut behind me, something within me broke. Until then, I’d tried to hold it together. I’d tried to make it seem like this was alright, this was fine, that this was just another day in the fucking life, but when he left, I became undone.

There’s something so…feral, about falling apart. About losing yourself. The moment when you feel like the part of you that’s you becomes a ghost, and that you’re only the monster left after life’s parasitic fangs drained you of all that’s humane.

Everything within me collapsed. And I was nothing but madness and mania trying to scrub away the stains of the person I’d left behind in that storage room.

+

A knock echoed through the room. I crouched over the sink, scrubbing furiously at the skin beneath my nails.

“Feyre? Can I come in?” Reluctance tinted the words, as though he didn’t want to disturb me.

I croaked, “Yes. But I’m not done yet.”

The door opened with a click behind me anyways. I’d managed to scrape off most of everything on my torso and legs and arms, but all that was left were my hands. Even my hair had been soaked with the stuff—I had to draw three baths before the water stopped turning pink.

“There was just so much of it, it got all over my hands. It won’t come out.”

My eyes lifted to the mirror to see Rhysand standing behind me, his expression grim. His eyes trailed down to where my hands worked furiously in the sink splashing water onto the pruned skin.

“Feyre,” he murmured softly.

“What?” I snapped.

That’s when he took two quick steps forward, then gently placed both hands on mine beneath the stream of running water.

“No, you can’t, you’ll get contaminated—”

“Your hands are clean.”

The water in the sink turned off as I sobbed silently.

“Your hands are clean.”

Devastation bloomed in Rhys’s eyes when I turned around, fresh tears streaming down my face. “I don’t believe you.”

He blinked, his eyes searching my face, before kneeling down and retrieving a wash basin from his vanity cupboard, along with a clean sponge, a towel and more soap. The sound of the bath water running echoed throughout the silent house.

“Sit,” he murmured and patted the lid of the tub. Absentmindedly, I perched on the ledge of the stand-alone bath, watching the basin fill with a lathery foam as it sat in the tub beneath the flowing water. When it was half-way full, Rhys turned the water off, laid the towel across his lap and beckoned for me.

I placed my hand in his. Carefully, he dipped the sponge into the foamy lather, then glided it across the palm of my hand.

The knot in my chest loosened as he worked the sponge across each individual finger. Every knuckle, joint and crevice was scrubbed with a gentle pressure that had my eyes drooping. Finally I could feel the essence of it, the trace of the stains, ebbing away. He repeated the motions with my left. His touch was feather light, soothing, appeasing. Neither of us said a word, even when Rhys poured out the water of the basin, which was just as clear as when he’d started.

The two of us were left perched on the lid of the bath tub. My eyes trained on the white floor tile. Pink water remained on its surface, and I wondered if it was my blood, or James’ or Isaac’s.

“None of this is your fault. You know that, right?”

The words echoed through my mind. They were the promise of something good, something hopeful.

I was afraid that I wasn’t capable of such feelings anymore.

“This isn’t your world. You would’ve never been in this situation in the first place. Even though you are, what you did in there, you did it to survive. In the given circumstances—ones you had no choice in—you did what you had to to stay alive. And that is not your fault, no matter what anyone says.”

Choice. I’d chosen to be with Tamlin. I’d chosen to take his hand in marriage. I’d chosen to trust him, to believe that I was safe.

I chose to love Tamlin. To protect him. To stay with him, despite the fact that I could’ve walked away at any moment. And this is what that protection—what that love—cost me.

“I pulled the trigger,” I said hollowly. “I could’ve aimed at their limbs instead of their chests. I could’ve called the police instead of you. I could’ve ran or lied my way out of it—”

“Feyre—” Rhys protested, his eyes wide with objection.

“I pulled the trigger.” I repeated, pushing away from the tub. “That’s the choice I made, Rhysand. That’s who I am.”

[darling-archeron]

Beneath The Dark - Chapter Three

What would have happened if Feyre had come to Prythian much earlier? Feyre Archeron has left her mortal life behind, and accepted being demi-fae. She has found her place in the Night Court’s Inner Circle. But when her and Rhys attend a ball hosted by Amarantha Under the Mountain, they are in for much for then they bargained for.

Chapter warning for gore!

Masterlist

All around us, chaos bloomed. The High Lords had lost control. Rhys was braced on a table, Calder looked as though he might throw up, complexion paler than usual. I grabbed Rhys’s arm and tried to winnow, but to no avail. Heavy wards stood in the way, and it felt like slamming into a stone wall.

My magic – it didn’t feel right. I still had it, but it felt much farther away, like there was a pit I had to cross to access it. But clearly, whatever I was feeling, Rhys was going through worse. He had stood up straight, his face drawn and pale.

“What’s going on, Rhys?” I asked down the bond, voice panicked.

“Are you alright?” He replied evenly. “You still have all your magic?”

“It feels strange, far away….but it’s still there.” I dared summon a kernel of darkness in my palm, to ensure I could still use it. It bloomed in my palm, but reaching for the magic was no longer easy as breathing. It felt as if I was stretching a muscle I rarely used. “Why? What has she done?”

“She cursed the drinks, activated it with the toast. We – the High Lords - were prone and she snatched our powers from our bodies. I can barely feel any of my magic.”

The shock was written on my face. “This could go very badly. It already has. I couldn’t get through her shields in time.”

“Stop blaming yourself, Rhys. Not everything is your fault.” I fired back. “There’s time to fix this. Will you be alright?”

“Vulnerability isn’t an expense I can afford right now.”

In the moments Rhys and I had spent conversing, violence had begun to spark. I turned toward the center of the room where Amarantha stood, pulsing with dark power. Chaos flew around her as the fae began to pull out their weapons at the orders of their High Lords. But they were countered by Amarantha’s red-skinned guards, who had appeared in the blink of an eye. They used weapons I wasn’t familiar with – sharp, heavy blades. Enough to gut a man in one swoop. My blood sang to join the fight.

Not looking at Rhys, I darted to the side of the room where a discarded sword lay. Someone had already disarmed a Hybernian soldier - a thought that gave me some measure of hope.

The sword was heavy in my grip, the balance unfamiliar. Military quality. Who knew how efficient I would be? But the only other weapon I bore was a dagger strapped to my side, and it would be useless here.

I steadied my grip on the sword and formed a shield around me. It wasn’t as strong as I would have liked, but Rhys and I had focused more on mental shielding than physical ones. It would do for today.

Bearing the sword, I darted into the fray. Amarantha’s lackeys mainly attacked those who fought back, ignoring those cowering from the fray. But I didn’t have to search long for an opponent – a guard thrust himself into my path, yellowed teeth clicking.

He brought his sword down in a sharp arc, the steel whistling through the air. It was headed for my stomach, but I sidestepped and parried, blocking the blow. A few moves later, he was disarmed. And I swept on to my next opponent. He attacked a young High Fae who was woefully poor at swordplay, fumbling with the ceremonial blade at his side.

Though my dress’s skirt was loose and airy with that dangerously high slit, it still got in the way to the point where I was missing easy attacks. And it wasn’t armor – my arms and legs had several small cuts on them. I had worked my way to the center of the room where Amarantha stood, scanning the scene with satisfaction. I knew we were losing.

Besides the guards, I had also spotted a few gray-clad figures in the crowd. They wore thin armor, and masks that obscured their faces. Deadlier than the others, their movements quicker and more precise, they cut down everyone in their path.

A pause in the fighting gave me a moment to unstrap my dagger, and I started to saw through the black, gauzy material of my skirt. But before I got halfway, a guard whirled on me.

Not just any guard – one of the gray ones.

My sword was unprepared, my dagger the only thing I held. Crying out as the blade hissed through the air in an arc for my neck, I sent my magic out like a spear. Gripping his mind – rendering him immobile.

I raised my hand and gripped it into a fist. He fell to the ground with a dull thud.

“Daemati.” I raised my head, to see Amarantha watching me, smiling. “We’ll chat later, you and I. Not just another courier of Night, Feyre Valspian.”

I didn’t respond. It was an effort to remain indifferent, to turn myself back to a whirlwind of blades and shortness of breath. Shit. Who knew what she would now that she knew I could read minds, who she would try to make me betray?

The tide of guards was ceasing as it became clear that we were defeated. Many were collapsed on the floor, others gripping injuries. Some were held at swordpoint by the guards. Despite my victories, this was not a fight we would win. I turned to the center of the room where Amarantha stood, pulsing with dark power.

“Give them their power!” Someone shouted. Another fae whipped out a dagger, thrusting themselves towards Amarantha, but she deflected with a lash of her power that sent him sprawling across the ground. Unconscious at best.

A pale shield had formed in a bubble around her. I sent a tendril of power towards her mind, ignoring the strain. But I wasn’t met with the extensive shields Rhys had described. Instead, there was an inky blackness. As if there was nothing, no way I could penetrate her mind. I prodded around, but to no avail. She had protected herself with a spell.

I drew away from her, watching the scene around us unfold.

The High Lord of Summer, Nostrus, advanced on her next. I could tell by the way his body was contorting that he was trying to shift, but with no success. I thought I could see two horns begin to protrude from his head, but they were shoved back in, leaving dark splotches of blood that ran down his face. The waves of magic he sent crashing towards Amarantha’s shield were considerably weaker than they should have been. Feeble bolts of ice joined him from Calder. Winter’s young High Lord, brash and inexperienced.

The bolts made no mark, even as others rushed at her. Julius sent a gust of wind beneath himself, coming towards her from above, but she pulled her hand into a fist, and the magic just….stopped. Julius fell to the ground, managing to brace his hands beneath himself to avoid completely crashing. Farther back, one of his most trusted officials, Helion Spell-Cleaver, stood. A ball of light glowed his hands and shone on his face, eyes closed in concentration. Perhaps he would be able to break the curse.

Amarantha lashed out again, but still, there was no real anger behind the actions. A sharp blade of cruelty and viciousness, but not true rage. Not yet. Her eyes shone behind her mask, a cat playing with her dinner. Even as Tamlin and Thesan hurtled themselves towards the general, her expression didn’t change.

Rhys had taken on a darkness I hadn’t yet seen from him. I could see talons forming at his hands. Fully forming, unlike Nostrus’s horns. I could see his mind whirring, picking the best approach. Daemati attacks held no power. One of his usual tricks, when we sparred, was to cast darkness upon everything…but that would put the others at a disadvantage.

He stalked forward, lances of darkness sharper than steel reaching out, cutting against her shields.

But they made no dent. With every hit he made, only a shadow remained – the echo of his own power that he fought against. The power that had been stolen from him.

Faster and faster his blows grew. Dark, monstrous shadows that seemed alive. The strain wore on him more than usual, and she hadn’t even broken a sweat.

I seized the opportunity to reach for her mind, looking for the mental walls that would surely be up. But they were….foggy. Murky, as if very far away. I couldn’t reach them, no matter what I did.

As I withdrew from her mind, Rhys’s blows reached a climax and then – stopped.

In a second, as if they had never been. The other high lords whipped their heads to him in shock. As if they had hoped what manner of power he bore would be enough.

Rhys merely raised his eyebrows, a chess opponent merely accepting he was to lose his king.

“Why?” I asked.

“We don’t stand a chance against her. If we’re going to be in this situation for a while, it’s best not to make an enemy of her.”

“Surely there is something we can do.”

“No. Even those blows…..they took so much of my power.”

Tamlin hurled himself towards her one last time – I could tell it would be the last, as beaten as he was.

She barely had to push him away with her shields before he sank to his knees, defeated. If the situation hadn’t been so awful, I might have felt some smug satisfaction that he finally bowed.

Amarantha strutted toward him, twirling a jeweled dagger in her palm. Then, in a split second, she flashed forward, holding the weapon to his throat.

My breath caught.

“So you kneel before me at last, Tamlin.” Amarantha mocked, voicing the sentiment I had half-thought. The entire room had gone silent, all eyes on the dagger she held to his throat. I could see the fear glistening in his eyes – and she could too, for she scorned it. “Come now, Tamlin. I’m not going to slit your throat. What fun would that be?” Smiling, raised the dagger to his cheek, where she cut above his jawline, leaving a wound several inches long. Blood welled and fell. The dagger had been ash, it would take a while to heal and likely scar.

Tamlin snarled, eyes flashing. She laughed and turned her back to him, sauntering over to a grand throne that had appeared on the pedestal. The back was easily six feet tall and covered in lush red fabric. The rest of it appeared to be made of bright, gaudy gold. She sat down slowly, eyes sweeping the scene. Red-skinned soldiers pinned some fae to the ground, others lay motionless on the floor. Furniture had been broken, and food and champagne covered the floor. One of the pillars holding the room up had a crack in it. Tamlin had gotten back to his feet, walking back to his place beside Lucien.

Beron broke the silence. “What the hell is going on, Amarantha?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You will refer to me as “My Queen,” Beron. That goes for everyone. But I’m glad you asked. These past years Hybern had been in a benevolent mood. He’s forgotten his grudges with Prythian, but I have not. He refuses to take you when this land is so ripe for the picking, so I took it upon myself to do it.”

Horror dawned on me as I realized what was happening, just what she planned to do now that she had removed the High Lords from the picture.

“High Queen of Prythian certainly does have a nice ring to it. And I’ll go down as the first female to rule Prythian.”

It struck a chord in me, a reminder of an argument with Tamlin I had all those months ago. There are no high ladies. He had said. It made me wonder if Rhysand would ever crown one, break the rules as he so frequently did.

“There has never been any High Queens because only High Lords can carry the power of our lands.” Calder hissed, brash and impertinent as always.

“Ah, but that’s not true anymore, is it? As you all just demonstrated, you are no longer in full possession of your own powers. I shall call myself whatever I please. And you will be my loyal servants.”

A Peregryne general stepped out of the throng. “Amarantha, this is madness. If you do not tread carefully you will find the wrath of Prythian is hard to come by and hard to be rid of.”

She scoffed. “More empty threats? This is getting dull. If one of you is going to make an earnest attempt to kill me, actually do it.”

Dull for her…. and dangerous for the rest of us. Her eyes spoke of hunger for bloodshed, for pain and cruelty.

“Don’t you worry. Though you will all soon know what it is to bow to me, a true Queen of the realm, I’ll allow all you High Lords to keep your titles. To be…ambassadors of these lands. Doesn’t that sound splendid?”

“I’d rather die than let the Deceiver rule us,” Calder spoke again. Off to the side, one of his advisors tensed up.

Amarantha tsked. “So brash. But that can be arranged.”

My heartbeat was a booming drum that hadn’t slowed in my chest, the words growing clearer with every beat. Danger. Danger. Danger. I didn’t know how Rhys could do it, how he could be so indifferent when it took every bit of my will to remind myself that I was a wolf, even in this room of predators older and perhaps wiser than me.

The Deceiver, as Calder had aptly named her, beckoned the Winter Lord near, her eyes pools of black.

Calder’s anger only grew. “You do not command me.”

“Oh, but I do. You do not disrespect me.”

“Hybern lost the last war they took part in. Are you so foolish to try us again so soon?”

Soon – as if four and a half centuries were merely the blinks of an eye. Perhaps for immortals, they were.

Amarantha shook her head. “You’re in no position to be making threats, darling. Consider this wisely.” Calder toed a dangerous line.

“Enough of this, Calder. Save it for another day.” The same advisor I had noticed earlier spoke up, voice unwavering.

Calder turned around, and something unspoken passed between the two. He turned back to the throne she sat at.

“Apologies, My Queen. You will rule benevolently and justly, I am sure.”

She stared at him, eyes boring right through him. “Kneel.”

He dropped to his knees, hitting the floor with a thump.

Her fingers twitched, and a wall of pressure bent him lower. His head hitting the red marble flooring, and his bank was bowed. It contrasted in a way that I could have painted – not that I wanted to.

If I was lucky, one day this night would be a far, far off memory.

As glad I was that Calder wasn’t to be splattered on the walls, part of me despaired to see him bow before her.

She smiled. “You are forgiven. For now.” Calder forgotten, she raised her hand in front of her, watching Jurian’s eye. “The fun is just beginning, old friend.”

“For while he is forgiven, I have some vengeances to exact.”

The temperature in the room spiked, and I stole a glance at Rhys, already knowing his face would be unreadable. But it didn’t take a genius to realize that she was truly out for blood now.

I dared to use my magic to create a shield around us. Perhaps mine would keep us better than one Rhys could make since his powers now betrayed him. As an afterthought, I spread a thin layer of enchantments over the rest of the Court. Not much, but better than nothing.

She surveyed the crowd as if picking out who she would destroy first.

She singled out Julius’s brood – particularly a group older High Fae who all wore heavy golden cuffs.

“Some of Julius’s greatest scholars. They dedicate their entire lives to learning.”

Julius opened his mouth. “Please –“

She twisted her hand, and shrieks of terror rang out from the scholars.

Another twist and they fell to the ground, dead. Around twenty ancient fae, with the knowledge of worlds, murdered.

As I looked closer, I could see that their eyes were gone.

She was fucking psychotic. We were going to be picked off until we were weak and helpless.

“Rhys –“

“I know.”

She moved on to the Summer Court, killing a group of ambassadors. Winter took a seemingly random hit, but a seer among them.

She had learned who we were, exactly what would hurt, in these fifty years.

Each Court took their losses until blood ran thick on the floor, my shoes covered in it. The stink of death had filled the air. I couldn’t look anywhere without seeing faces of death – and I wasn’t the only one. I heard people retching all around me amidst the screams of terror.

Still, none of us ran. None of us had time to protest. We were all marionettes dangling from her strings.

Finally, only Spring and Night hadn’t been touched.

She would go for the Court of Nightmares, they were the only ones who had come. I didn’t know who she had met during her stay, who she would target.

Amarantha turned to Rhys, not a hair out of place despite the blood she had spilled. Dread curled in my stomach, heaving its way into my throat.

“The Night Court seems to always remain unscathed. Your father refused to parley with Hybern, and so do you. It’s time Night learned what it is to bleed.”

I could feel Rhys tense, and he added extra shielding around us.

She slashed her hand through the air, and before I could blink, my flimsy defenses were ripped through and I heard bodies fall to the floor with a dull thud.

I whirled around, a hairsbreadth after Rhys. What I saw – thirty Night Court members, throats slashed. Nobles, guards, servants. Slaughtered. All of this bloodshed dealt to our court and the others to prove she could. To prove she would rule us body and soul.

I willed myself not to shake, Feyre Valspian does not shake.

I had known none of them well, and though most of them were likely wicked and would have usurped Rhys if given the chance – it was a blow. The only mercy was that their deaths had been quick.

I had been too wrapped up in my own shock to see Rhys’s initial reaction, but he was now the picture of indifference as he had been all evening.

“Consider us even, then.” He said.

As if it had been Rhys’s fault his father had murdered Tamlin. As if there was any wrongdoing on Rhys’s part. It made my blood boil in their veins.

But he would do anything to protect his court. I knew that already.

At last, she turned back to Calder, skipping over Spring. Perhaps she considered her earlier mutilation of Lucien punishment enough.

“And you.” Her lip curled. “Did you think you could disrespect me as you did and get away with it? Did you think my patience extended that far?”

He walked forward without shaking, though the color had left his face. “As I said, I would sooner die than bow before a false queen.”

She smiled. “Than death, it must be.”

I flinched as she tore into him, trying to block out the scream and the snap of bone and tendon.

Someone else in the crowd screamed – a lover, a sibling, a friend? Who was she taking him from?

“CALDER!” I recognized that shout – the advisor from earlier. Her scream could have brought down the sky. She tried to go to him, only to be held back by other members of her entourage, tears spilling down their cheeks.

Watching this wasn’t something I could bear. I hadn’t been born into this, into this land of slaughter and faerie politics. I stepped imperceptibly closer to Rhys, so our arms brushed, and focused on a random pillar in front of me, the swirling carvings that formed a pattern.

“Look at him.” I was not the only one looking away.

“LOOK AT HIM.” She thundered. “This is the fate of anyone – anyone who disobeys me.”

I forced my eyes to rise, to watch the grim scene. I was going to throw up, I couldn’t watch this. That she could do this to a High Lord, ripping past all his defenses –

“Breathe.” Rhys’s voice filled my head, cool and calm. A balm to the ugly scar of all I had seen tonight, all I would see. It made me wonder again at all the great and terrible things he had seen, for him to see this and remain undaunted.

Air hissed through my clenched teeth, and though I made my eyes glaze over, I knew I would never stop hearing the screams that ripped through the chamber for minutes on end.

And yet – she still would not end it. “Remove him. We will continue this another time – the night grows old.”

The advisor thrashed after him, her throat broken from screaming for him.

I made myself watch as two of the guards dragged him out, brought back to consciousness by Amarantha. The heavy doors slammed shut as they left the room, leaving an abyss of silence in their wake.

She looked out to us all again. “As I have made clear, I have no problem with reducing you High Lords to nothing. But it doesn’t have to be this way.” Her gaze rested on Tamlin, who had finally stopped bleeding. “I will entrap none beneath this mountain – all I have is one teensy, tiny condition.”

She beckoned a curling finger to Tamlin. “I left Spring untouched as a gesture of good faith. If Lord Tamlin will join my side as my consort, I will allow you all to go home tonight. I will stay here as High Queen, but no blood will be spilled. I will slacken my hold on your powers, and trade with my country will continue. All Tamlin has to do –” She cocked her head to the side. “Is say yes.”

Tamlin spat at her. “I have no interest in being your slave, bitch.” Maybe the months and distance had made me forget him, but I couldn’t tell if he was truly this stubborn or merely intent on bargaining more . But deals had never been his specialty. Not like they were to the Lord beside me.

She didn’t frown. “Allow me to make myself clearer. If you agree, Tamlin, Prythian can still have its High Lords, its ancient traditions continued. If you say no…..I will find myself inclined to make other arrangements.”

_ “Why does she lust after him like this?” _ I asked Rhys.

“They have known each other since Tamlin was a youth – Amarantha is far, far older. No doubt she saw something in him she liked and has _ _ been fixated on it for a while now.”

“I would suffer for a thousand years before I took your hand.” He snarled. And I knew then. He had no intent to try to bargain to save us all. No intent to do anything else but refuse.

Eris stepped forward from his place beside one of his brothers, dipping his head. “Lord Tamlin knows not whom he rebukes. I would gladly take your side instead.” Interesting. The Autumn Court had cozied up to her quickly. Did they intend to manipulate her, or did they truly believe she would lead us well?

But Amarantha shook her head. “I requested Tamlin, and I will have him or none at all.” Eris dipped his head, wordlessly sinking back into the crowd. She tapped her sharp nails on the throne’s arm. “What can I say to get you to accept my offer? Is there someone else who holds your heart?"

“There is no one. But it wouldn’t matter if there was because I would sooner choose a human, choose to marry a human, than you.

Amarantha hissed, eyes fiery.

“Even Clythia preferred a human’s company to yours. After she chose Jurian over you, my rejection should have no sting.” He growled.

It had been the wrong thing to say. I could feel Rhys tense up beside me, bracing for what was to come.

Amarantha stood, reaching out a hand as she prepared to strike, and I couldn’t help but cringe, prepared to see Tamlin murdered in the most gruesome way possible . I wouldn’t have wished it on even him.

But she took a breath and lowered her hand, shaking her head. “Killing you would be too soft a punishment.” She slammed her hands down into the arms of the chair, forcing herself to sit again.

I turned my eyes to Lucien, fearing he would again be the recipient of her wrath. But she wasn’t looking at him – wasn’t looking anywhere but Tamlin.

“And I am in a generous mood tonight.” She paused as if contemplating. “So I will give you a way out of the curse I have stolen your powers with. If you can break it, you can have your powers back. But if not…..I shall claim you.”

“What.” Tamlin hissed through his teeth.

“I will keep the other High Lords under the mountain – but I will allow you, Tamlin – and your Court – to leave. All you have to do to break the curse is to find a human girl willing to marry you.”

“That’s it?” Tamlin said in disbelief.

Surely there was more coming. All it would take was one of the Children of the Blessed wandering over the wall for the curse to be broken .

“Oh, but not any girl. A human girl, no older than twenty, with an icy heart. One as icy as the treatment you have just given me. She must have a hatred for our kind, deep enough that she would kill a faerie for its mere existence.” Another pause. “To make it more interesting, let’s say that whatever faerie she kills must be one of your sentries sent across the wall . Killed in cold blood, just as Jurian did to my sister. So you can…understand her pain. Perhaps be more open to my original proposition.”

She looked down at her awful ring. “The wheel is coming full circle, Jurian.” The eyeball twitched, moving more erratically than before.

“You will bring the girl to your manor, and you will make her fall in love with you. She must say the words – must tell you she loves you, and mean it with her whole heart.”

Tamlin looked horrified, and I knew it would destroy him – to send his own men to the slaughter, to know that he was the one responsible for sending them to their deaths . That he was the one who would give the order.

A wicked grin spread across her face. “Yes, I quite like this idea. Humans have an obsession with beauty – so you and your entire Court will be unable to remove the masks. From this moment forward, they will be attached to your faces.”

Indeed, I saw a faerie pulling at his mask in my peripheral. It didn't budge, as if it was part of his skin.

Her plan was brilliant - cruel, but brilliant. Tamlin would be torturing himself just as badly as if suffering under Amarantha's knife himself. She would destroy his spirit and then claim the broken scraps. It was enough to make me pity him - nobody deserved such a fate.

“How long will I have to complete this task?”

“The last war lasted for seven years – Jurian plotted his betrayal for seven years. So you will have seven times seven years to break the curse. If you fail, don’t forget – I will claim you. Do we have a bargain?”

Tamlin hesitated, and for a moment I thought he would refuse. That he would actually be that selfish. But he raised his chin and met her gaze. “We have a bargain.”

I shuddered. His words had offered us a slim shot at salvation. But we could be trapped down here, in this unfeeling dark, for longer than I had been alive.

I thought back to the last time I had seen the stars. Looking out on them from my balcony, watching as the first few emerged above Velaris.

When would I again?

@fireheart-of-your-dreams @rowaelinforeverworld

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REVIEW: A Court of Mist And Fury

Basic info: Author: Sarah J. Maas Series:  A Court of Thorns and Roses #2 Goodreads rating: 4.74 Published: 2016 My rating: 7/5 (my rating system gets out of hand) (but it’s too perfect for less)

Synopsis:  Feyre survived Amarantha's clutches to return to the Spring Court—but at a steep cost. Though she now has the powers of the High Fae, her heart remains human, and it can't forget the terrible deeds she performed to save Tamlin's people. Nor has Feyre forgotten her bargain with Rhysand, High Lord of the feared Night Court. As Feyre navigates its dark web of politics, passion, and dazzling power, a greater evil looms—and she might be key to stopping it. But only if she can harness her harrowing gifts, heal her fractured soul, and decide how she wishes to shape her future—and the future of a world cleaved in two. With more than a million copies sold of her beloved Throne of Glass series, Sarah J. Maas's masterful storytelling brings this second book in her seductive and action-packed series to new heights.

Well, kill me.

Do it.

I don’t want to live anymore.

Because Sarah J. Maas shattered and torn me to very very tiny pieces and I don’t know how to put myself into one again. 

This quote speaks to me a lot:

“I’d broken myself apart. And I didn’t think even eternity would be long enough to fix me.”

But let’s just start everything from the beginning.

At first, when I finished ACOTAR, I thought I’ll wait that half a year and read translation of ACOMAF because fantasy genre is really difficult to read in English, but with all those spoilers hunting me every day and those hints from other readers such as “Tamlin is such a prick”, “ACOMAF is a way better than ACOTAR” and “wait for Rhysand” made my curiosity grow and grow so I said that screw my medium English skills and just buy it. So I did.

I was overwhelmed by the size of ACOMAF, tho. Haven’t even known it had 600 pages, so imagine how surprised I was. As a non-English speaker it has been a challenge for me, but I am so proud of myself right now because I freaking read in it just a few days and understood everything. So who is the beast here? No, not Tamlin. Marta is a freaking beast who can read 600 pages in English!

“Hello, Feyre darling,” he purred.

Ya know, I have a thing for males who use some kind of nicknames like ‘love’ (*cough* Warner *cough*) or in this case, ‘darling’. I mean when those nicknames are not ‘babe’ which makes me want to vomit. Those lovely nicknames reminds me of old gentlemen times, when people still used titles as miss and mister. So, Rhys gets a point from me the first moment he enters ACOMAF.

And oh, boy, he brings such a havoc in it. Feyre is about to marry Tamlin, but realizes she doesn’t want to do that yet so she screams in her mind to someone to save her and BAM! Rhysand saves the day. Or more Feyre. Such a drama queen this man. Love it. Bring the soap opera elements and make them look fabulous, Sarah!

Actually, the following quote describes the whole book perfectly:

“I shouldn’t have been surprised. Not when Rhysand liked to make a spectacle of everything. And found pissing off Tamlin to be an art form.”

I am now skipping that part about Night Court and bargain because I first want to discuss Tamlin.

“I’m drowning,” I managed to say. “I am drowning. And the more you do this, the more guards... You might as well be shoving my head under the water.”

I loved how Feyre described Tamlin her feelings. And you know, his reaction kind of was horrific. Instead of going to comfort Feyre, his fiance, he hurts her. It’s like he would have been slapped Feyre in her face. But it still wasn’t enough to make me hate him, as everyone said I will. Even after he caged Feyre, I wasn’t pissed. And I kind of didn’t get why Feyre wouldn’t want to talk to him at least. On the other hand, she tried to talk to him before.

But you know, I had the feeling through the whole book what he is going to do and that made me hate him. I just knew he is going to betray her, come to that awful king and unite with him. I am kind of proud that I can always see plot twists which are about to come.

Now, let’s get back to Rhysand because he is the real star in ACOMAF, right?!

“The most powerful High Lord in history. In the countless millenia they had excisted here in Prythian, Rhys―Rhys with his smirking and sarcasm and bedroom eyes...”

Starting from Night Court and Velaris to Inner Circle and bound... I think that Sarah has created the most unique characters I’ve ever read about. Looking widely, Rhysand would be a bad boy, or even as book-nazis would call, abuser (seriously, stop seeing abusers everywhere, nor Rhys nor Tamlin nor even freaking Christian Grey is an abuser. You probably don’t even know what is an abuser if you think they are such), but he is such a unique bad boy that it seems even wrong to put him in this category. He is more an actor, which has a serious role and lives with that role. As it was said in the quote, Rhysand always puts a spectacle because it’s a part of who he is. And I loved that later Feyre joined him as his partner on the play. She is also an amazing actress, turns out.

I probably should move on the part we all loved. Hell yeah, romance.

And I want to discuss three things from which the first one is a development of Rhys and Feyre’s relationship.

Sarah is a genius in this case because the pace this relationship progressed was perfect. Not too fast, not too slow, just a perfect middle of it. And I loved that it wasn’t “oh Tamlin is such a bad person, let’s just make out with another High Lord”. I loved that Feyre didn’t forget Tamlin and felt awful when she started thinking about Rhys as a lover. Traitor, she called herself.

Another thing is a very unique way of communication, the bond, and very symbolic episodes which at the end, after chapter 54, turned out to have beautiful explanations, too. For example, the ring Feyre had to steal from Weaver. In one case, it was dangerous and stupid, but in another way, it is soooo romantic. I love that Rhys and Feyre’s relationship is sweet and sour at the same time, like hate and love, courage and fear. They accept each other they are, they heal each other.

Beautiful.

Okay, and last but not the least is that more fun part of this book. Sex scenes. I mean, I am not a fan of these, I usually skip those things in books because nowadays authors intend to write everything very openly and detailed and I want that books would have some secret, especially when it comes to that kind of episodes. However, I liked Sarah’s writing, I even fully read those episodes because they had some poetry in them. I think the best example of how erotic scenes should be made is throne episode, where Feyre had to act as Rhysand’s whore. I like that episode more than chapter 55 and I think it’s even one of my favourite all time episodes because it has some secret, it was dark and twisted and wicked and beautiful at the same time. Or this episode, tho.

“Rhys looked up, hands braced on my thights. Bow, he’d once ordered Tamlin. And now here he was, on his knees before me. His eyes glinted as if he remembered it, too.”

And this one, too.

“His words were a lethal caress as he said, “Did you enjoy the sight of me kneeling before you?” I knew he could hear my heart as it ratcheted into a thunderous beat. I gave him a hateful little smirk, anyway, yanking my chin out of his touch and leaping off the stone. I might have aimed for his feet. And he might have shifted out of the way just enough to avoid it. “Isn’t that all you males are good for, anyway?” 

What else, what else... Well, plot. I don’t even want to talk about the plot that lot because it’s obvious that Sarah is a genius when it comes to creating a great story. Everything seemed pretty reasonable, a lot of plot twists and a cliffhanger in the very end only confirms that Sarah is a brilliant writer. She managed to entwine difficult history of faes world with an intense romance and thrilling, action-filled plot, so there was no minute when I felt bored or annoyed. Speaking of Sarah’s writting, I really loved it because some sentences or even words felt like poetry for me.

“There were no doors. No lights. No sounds. Not even a trickle of water. But I could feel them. I could feel them sleeping, pacing, running hands and claws over the other side of the walls.”

Her writing style is something that I would call painterly. You can take any episode you wish, or even any sentence, and paint an artwork of it. I, myself, got plenty of ideas for my own drawings, so I can call ACOMAF a source of inspiration.

“FEYRE.” The voice was at once the night and the dawn and the stars and the earth, and every inch of my body calmed at the primal dominance in it.

So, the last thing I really adore is that ACOTAR and ACOMAF both have an art as their main subject. I really like that Feyre is an artist, it makes her very unique, but I also like that Sarah managed not to write her books, but more to paint them. Colours and shapes and textures, it feels like I held an art piece in my hands.

“To the stars who listen―and the dreams that are answered.”

“Rhys still knelt, wings drooping across the white sheets, head bowed, his tattoos stark against his golden skin. A dark, fallen prince.”

Someone wrote me that ACOTAR feels like prologue now when we have ACOMAF and it truly does. Not because of those 600 pages, but the improvement Sarah did, the amount of events and characters and amazing development. It felt like ACOMAF was the real story of human child Feyre.

“So I’m your huntress and thief?” His hands slid down to cup the backs of my knees as he said with a roguish grin, “You are my salvation, Feyre.”

Ah, and just because there are too many quotes I loved, here is one more:

“He thinks he’ll be remembered as the villain in the story. But I forgot to tell him,” I said quietly, opening the door,” that the villain is usually the person who locks up the maiden and throws away the key.” I shrugged. “He was the one who let me out.”