#tamlin/rhysand

[pegasus-anarchy]

He thinks he’s slick.

“Taking lint off his jacket” you only wanted to palm his biceps, loser.

[tamlinweek]

Tamlin Creator Appreciation: thrumbolt

Another cornerstone of the Tamlin fandom is Thrum, found @thrumbolt and @thrumugnyr!

She's great at drawing angst and drama and horses but also so funny and so good at setting the mood in her art and also so funny. Great at making the fandom a better place and the best girlfriend in the whole world.

Somewhat biased appreciation aside, the Tamlin fandom would not be what it is today without Thrum! They are an incredible artist, managing to capture intense emotion and movement in a single drawing. They are also very active in the ACOTAR community on other platforms, encouraging people who might be nervous about sharing their love of Tamlin to do so. We love our Thrum!!

(the original artwork is posted here, and includes a ficlet written by @highlordofkrypton to accompany it! Please check it out!)

Submit your own favorite Tamlin works right here!

[praetorqueenreyna]

Summary: A month after the tragedy that made both him and Tamlin High Lords, Rhysand returns to the Spring Court to finish the job.

Happy Tamlin Week! This is for Day 1, Heir of Spring. Click here to read on AO3, or continue reading below!

@tamlinweek

*******************

Rhysand was immediately suspicious when he flew across the Spring border and wasn’t accosted. With the regime change, the sentries should have been on high alert for intruders. The further he went without being challenged, the more wary he became. Something was very, very wrong. Tamlin was planning something, trying to lull him into a false sense of security. It didn’t matter. The new Spring Lord would die.

He landed on the front steps of Tamlin’s manor. The front doors were closed, but opened easily with a slight push. Still no sentries. Unwanted memories of the last time he had been here washed over him. It had been a night just like this one. He had been on high alert, wings folded tight against his back to keep from making a sound. Then, he had been flanked by his father, still grieving the loss of his wife and daughter. There was no one left to grieve them except Rhysand now.

Ascending the spiral staircase to the living quarters, Rhysand fought back other, happier memories. Tamlin leading him by the hand, eager to show off a new set of hunting knives. Passing the Lady of Spring on those stairs, bobbing his head respectfully only to have her pull him into a hug. Instinct led him to Tamlin’s old bedroom, rather than the High Lord’s quarters. Rhysand couldn’t even look at the room his parents had lain in, and he suspected Tamlin felt the same. The door was ajar. Rhysand reached out to push it open, when the attack he had been expecting came from behind.

Jagged claws tore through his clothing, raking across the sensitive membrane of his wings. Rhysand dropped to the ground and kicked out, intending to trip up the feet of his assailant. The attacker had to step back to avoid this, giving Rhysand a chance to get a good look at them.

It was a beast, huge and gangly, with antlers that stretched across the length of the hallway. Long drips of saliva hung from its jaws as it snarled. Only the familiar green eyes betrayed who this creature was. Clearly, the mantle of High Lord had granted Tamlin access to stronger, wilder magic than he had before.

A pair of razor-sharp amethyst daggers appeared in Rhysand’s hands. He attacked, graceful and deadly, grinning a satisfied smirk when red blood splashed across the walls. Tamlin didn’t even stagger from the wounds that opened up on his flanks. He lunged forward, slashing out with claws and a desperate ferocity Rhysand had never seen before. Rhysand struck again and again, growing frustrated that he could never get more than a glancing blow. The floor under his boots grew slick with Tamlin’s blood and threatened his balance. Tamlin’s strikes had grown wilder and out of control, and Rhysand saw his chance. With a decisive thrust, he slammed one of the daggers to the hilt into the beast’s paw, pinning it to the ground. Tamlin howled in fury and in pain, fruitlessly trying to tug his paw free.

“I’m going to kill you,” Rhysand growled as he pressed the blade of his other dagger against the creature’s throat. “You do not deserve to live when they are gone.”

The beast’s shape shimmered and melted and reformed back into Tamlin, the male that Rhysand knew every inch of. He was kneeling on the marble, his hand still trapped, splayed out against the ground in a puddle of blood. He looked up, and Rhysand was struck by how hollow his gaze was.

“Do it.” Tamlin rasped. “Kill me. You’re right. I deserve it.”

For a long, long minute, Rhysand didn’t move. The dagger in his hand was still against Tamlin’s throat, drawing a thin line of blood. Here it was, the opportunity he had been waiting for. Just a little bit of pressure, and Tamlin would be dead. His mother and sister would be avenged. And quite frankly, it would be in Tamlin’s best interest to be put out of his misery. The new Spring High Lord was a fucking mess. His clothes were in tatters, and clearly hadn’t been washed in weeks. Where before there had been strong muscle and healthy tan skin, now was a gaunt, gray figure. Add in the fact that there didn’t seem to be anybody else in the Spring Court to stop him or enact vengeance, the most logical choice was to kill Tamlin.

The seconds ticked by. Tamlin waited patiently for his death. Finally, Rhysand sighed.

“I can’t.”

Tamlin’s brow furrowed in a way that Rhysand had once found cute. “Why not?”

Rhysand changed the subject. “What happened here? What’s happened to you?” A black speck jumped from Tamlin’s hair onto Rhysand’s hand, causing him to drop the dagger in alarm. “By the Cauldron, Tam, do you have fleas?”

“Probably,” Tamlin answered, carelessly scratching at his scalp with a filthy hand. “Everyone left. The ones that didn’t leave on their own, I drove out. I’ve been maintaining my borders myself for the past month.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I’m a monster, aren’t I? It’s what I do.” He picked up the dagger that Rhysand had dropped and handed it back, hilt first. “Finish it.”

Rhysand had been furious for weeks on end. The rage had filled him with fire, threatening to burn his entire Court to the ground. All of that anger drained away at once. He had thought that Tamlin had tricked him, been lying to him the whole time they had been together, always intending to sell him out. Looking at him now, bedraggled and miserable and begging for death, that was obviously not the case. Even in the worst of his grief, Rhysand had had a support group around him, keeping him away from the edge. Tamlin had been here alone. He had nobody left.

“Not until I get you cleaned up.” Decision made, Rhysand vanished the daggers, both the one that Tamlin offered him and the one embedded in his hand. “There’s no honor in killing you like this. It would be like killing a blind elderly human.”

“Hilarious,” Tamlin intoned sarcastically. He ripped a section of his tunic off and wrapped it around his bleeding hand. Based on the smattering of wounds that criss crossed his body, he hadn’t been magically healing his own injuries for a while now. “Either kill me or go away.”

“No.” Rhysand pulled Tamlin to his feet and guided him to the nearest washroom. Tamlin struggled against him, but in this current state he was no match for Rhysand’s strength. With a wave of his hand, Rhysand began filling the marble bathtub with hot, fragrant water. He stripped Tamlin down and burned his grimy clothes right then and there, ignoring Tamlin’s protestations. It was harder to ignore the state of Tamlin’s body, now fully on display. Though he was still large and muscular, Rhysand could now see his ribs, and his skin had an unhealthy grayish tinge. More injuries revealed themselves, including a large burn on his thigh that he had hastily slapped a bandage on.

With some not-so-gentle prodding, Tamlin stepped into the bath. “Happy now?” he groused, standing waist-deep in the water with his arms crossed.

“Not really. That’s disgusting,” Rhysand pointed to the bloom of dirt and dried blood that surrounded Tamlin. Under Rhysand’s judgemental gaze, Tamlin began half-heartedly rubbing at his skin with his palms. “Do it right, or I’m coming in there and doing it for you.”

With a stubbornness that Rhysand had once admired, Tamlin looked up at him. It was a relief to see something other than apathy in his eyes. “Make me.”

“You are such an asshole,” Rhysand grumbled. He magicked away his own clothing and joined Tamlin in the bath, making sure to send away the dirty water before it could touch him. A tray laden with bottles and fluffy washcloths appeared next to him, floating a few inches above the water. The first thing Rhysand did was put a palm on the top of Tamlin’s head and shove his entire body underwater. Tamlin resurfaced, sputtering and flailing like an angry cat. “We have to drown the fleas and lice and whatever other vermin are hiding in your hair,” Rhysand explained. “Go under again, or I’m holding you down.”

Seeing that Rhysand was not making idle threats today, Tamlin complied. He laid on his back in the water, leaving just his face above the surface. Rhysand poured soap onto a washcloth and pulled Tamlin’s floating body against him, bracing and keeping him in place. With meticulous attention, Rhysand began to clean Tamlin. Starting at his neck and moving down, he scrubbed at Tamlin’s skin until it was soft and clean. Whenever he encountered a cut or bruise that Tamlin was too weak or stubborn to heal, he magicked it away. The tension that Tamlin was holding drained away. He closed his eyes and hummed appreciatively when Rhysand massaged a sore muscle.

“It was my fault.”

“Hmm?” Rhysand could barely hear him, and was distracted by the burn. He held his hand over the charred flesh and pushed, sending healing magic deep into the tissue so it could start healing from the inside out.

“My father found the last letter you had written to me.”

Rhysand froze. “We were supposed to burn those.” They had communicated by letter frequently, with the understanding that they would immediately dispose of the incriminating evidence. The knowledge that his words were temporary often gave Rhysand the courage to be bolder than he otherwise might have been.

“I know. I always did. But I held onto that one.” Tamlin smiled sadly. Rhysand couldn’t even remember what he had written that would have been worthy of saving. “I was stupid. You said you’d be traveling in it, and they took advantage. They went to kill you.”

Rhysand could see it, clear as day, playing out in his head. High Lord Theon and his two eldest sons, jeering and joking as they armed themselves and prepared to take out the heir to the Night Court. Even when he had thought Tamlin had intentionally betrayed him, he had had a hard time envisioning him cavorting with his family. He was too gentle, and they hated him for it.

“I actually hoped that you would be there,” Tamlin continued. Tears were falling from his eyes, dripping down his face and mixing with the bath water. “I hoped that you would kill them. And instead…”

Instead, the two people that Rhysand cared about most in the world were ripped to pieces, defenseless and afraid. They had repaid that violence with more violence, and now they were the last remaining members of their respective families.

“Sit up,” Rhysand ordered. It was easy to maneuver Tamlin’s loose-limbed body to a bench by the side of the bath. He poured the liquid from another vial over his hands and began massaging it into Tamlin’s dirty hair. Silence fell over them as Rhysand focused on his self-appointed task.

“Why are you doing this?” Tamlin asked. “You came here to kill me.”

“I don’t know,” Rhysand answered. A flea jumped out from under his hands and tried to escape. Rhysand squished it flat against the tile with his fingernail.

“You should just do it. I deserve it.”

“Maybe so. But your Court doesn’t.”

Tamlin’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You can’t fall apart like this anymore. You’re the High Lord. When you break down, your Court does as well. You owe it to your people to get your shit together.”

Tamlin sighed. He leaned back, pressing more of his bare skin against Rhysand’s. “I don’t know if I can.”

Despite everything, despite the rage that filled his heart and the sorrow that clung to his bones, Rhysand pressed a soft kiss to the top of Tamlin’s head. “You can. You have to.”

With Tamlin healed, cleaned, rinsed, and dried, he almost looked normal again. Relaxed for the first time in weeks, he was pliant in Rhysand’s arms, allowing himself to be dressed in soft pants and laid down in bed. As Rhysand had suspected, Tamlin was still living in his old room. It was a disaster; clothes and weapons were strewn everywhere, and there were multiple fist-shaped holes in the walls. The bed was oddly clean and well-made, as if Tamlin hadn’t slept in it since the servants had left.

“Why are you doing this?” Tamlin asked again as Rhysand fussed with the sheets, tucking them around his prone form.

“I don’t know,” Rhysand answered again, but this time it was a lie. He knew. He had always known.

Because I love you. Because killing you would kill me. Because you’ve been alone your entire life, and no matter what you’ve done, you don’t deserve that.

“Go to sleep,” he said instead. “Tomorrow, you fix this.”

Tamlin smiled at him, his eyes more lively than they had been all evening. “Thank you.”

Rhysand took his hand and kissed the back of his knuckles, sending one last wave of magic to Tamlin. The Spring Lord’s eyes closed, the magic knocking him out into a healing sleep.

Tomorrow, Tamlin would wake up and begin to get his life together. Tomorrow, Rhysand would go back to hating him. Tonight, he sat by Tamlin’s bedside for hours, holding his hand.

[achaotichuman]

I fantasize to feel you like a bullet, And all your layers to the fullest, But the heaven's won't condone this

David Kushner: Skin and Bones

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Emerie x Nesta Archeron Oneshots and Drabbles

[bluetimeombre]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ And I wouldn't marry me, either.

You were Azriel's mate, but it took losing you three times for him to realise.

[this is long. i'm talking 5k words long so i've split it into two parts. anyway, azriel is the best bat boy and no i won't hear anyone out. i'm so excited to write for him and hope you enjoy. it's very angsty but that's what i love. i hope i can write more for him and maybe other characters if you like. it's been a while since i've actually read the series so if any information is wrong, do let me know. also it was my first time using the term y/n and yes, i cringed NOT PROOF READ... enjoy]

warnings: references to sexual assault and references to suicide. nothing explicit but please don't read if this is sensitive to you.

Part 2 soon…

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The first, was the worst...

You were Rhys's half sister, the bastard daughter of his father. But when your mother had died giving birth to you, Rhysand's mother took you in and raised you with your brother and sister. You were so little and adorable that your sister loved you at once. Rhys did to, at some point of your life, you were sure he actually cared about you.

But when his mother and sister had died, his eyes shifted, he started to look at you with contempt. After all, you were only his half-sister. The worst half. He only kept you around because it's what his mother would have wanted.

And because there was no way Cassian and Azriel would ever let anything happen to you.

Besides, Rhysand knew when to use you.

Although Azriel was his spymaster, you were pretty good at staying swift-footed too. And you were frankly, very terrifying when you wanted to be.

You tread with power through the war camps, all of them looking at you as you went. All of their gazes wrecked with a predatory gaze. They either wanted to have their way with you, or kill you. Or both.

Rhys had said you could handle it, it was only supposed to be a check in. Cassian hadn't liked it, neither had Mor but it was Azriel who had almost- and for the first time- disobeyed his high lord to accompany you. But no, your brother wanted you to do this alone, so alone you would.

Just to show him you could.

'I can come with you,' Azriel had said, standing in your room as you tied your boots up. 'I won't even have to be seen.' At that, his shadows wrapped up your calf.

You smiled at them, as if they were his own pet. 'I'll manage just fine. Besides, i'm sure that's what Rhys wants, me needing a man.'

It had done nothing to calm your friend. The worry was still stuck between his brows, marring his handsome features. You'd held his cheeks, your wings hiding the two of you. His large ones (enough to swallow the both of you) over-lapped yours.

It was the last time you'd feel your wings.

The war camp wasn't as easy as you'd hoped. It was terror and horror in a place. You'd been to the court of nightmares, you'd gone to the slaughter of the spring court after they killed your family. But this, this was hell of another kind.

You had no idea how many days you'd been locked up, wrists bound in chains and hanging from the cell roof above you. Blood rolled down your arms from the force you'd tried to use to get them out. Your eye was swollen shut and your body trembled in pain.

All because they wanted to know your brothers secrets, and you wouldn't budge.

Your check was only supposed to be a day, but you were sure it had been longer. Days of endless pain and torture. Your uniform hung in rags of stripped material, your hair matted with blood and hiding your face.

You'd used the last of your energy to keep your walls up. You weren't anyone's mate, you didn't have anyone on the other end trying to feel what you felt. But should Rhys come looking (though you doubted it) you didn't want him to feel it. You didn't want anyone in your mind.

The gates opened with a sickening clash.

One of the Illyrian's knelt in front of you, his wings hiding those coming in behind you. 'Listen sweetheart. I don't want to make this any harder than it's about to get. All you have to do is tell us your brother's hide outs.'

You grit your teeth, staring down at the ground.

'So loyal, to a man who doesn't care if you live or die.'

Suddenly, your wings twitched as hands grasped them. Brute hands, the sort you wouldn't want touching any part of you.

Fear spiked in you, horror twisting your gut. 'What are you doing?'

'I told you I didn't want to get things messier, darling.'

You whipped your head from side to side, trying and failing to get a look at the assailants behind you. Your wings were being held apart, no matter how hard you tried to bat them away. You knew the sort of people they were, and what they did to girls like you.

That's when the begging started. 'No, no please. Anything. I'll do anything! Beat me, kill me, rape me, not my wings, please!'

'Anything?' the bastard asked, tongue poking out from his lips. 'Then tell me where your lord's hideouts are?'

You should betray him, you thought. He would never lose his wings for you. Perhaps it was stubbornness that kept you from, or maybe you were clinging to the last bit of love you want from him.

The bastard scoffed, 'anything, she says. Your brother has his own bitch wrapped around his finger.'

That's when they started hacking at your wings.

Your screams tore through your throat, blood spitting and dripping down your chin. Tears soon joined when they hacked away at the bone, the membrane, the flesh of it all. The three of them worked through your screams and your tears and your pain, tearing and cutting at it like it was nothing more than paper.

Not your whole life.

Let them hear you. You hoped your brother heard you, you hoped all and every court heard the pain.

Eventually, even you couldn't keep screaming. The only sound was the hacking away at your wings and the drops of blood.

'Now look at these beauties. I've got a perfect spot on my wall for these.'

They left you after that. There wasn't much more damage they could do. It already felt like they'd destroyed your life. You had never really thought about your wings, they were just part of you, as much as your wit or hair was. But they'd took it and now, you felt empty. Never would you fly with Azriel again, or use your wings to smack Cassian over the head.

Rhys, your dear brother, had took that from you.

The days blended in together after that. You were pooled in your own tears and blood, vomiting up anything they forced down your throat. No, they'd made it very clear they didn't want you dead. They just took pride in making it feel like you were.

At some point, you'd stopped reacting to the gate opening. You let them do whatever they wanted with you. Your wrists were still chained, arms still hanging up, your clothes hanging on your thin body in strips of dirt.

'No...' you heard a mumble. 'What have they done to you?'

Suddenly, the chains gave way and you lurched forward, with no strength to catch you. Luckily, you didn't have to, as strong and warm arms pulled you into his chest.

'Hey, wake up, look at me, dammit.'

Azriel.

You'd know the voice in the darkest days, in the pit of your worst nightmare you'd know.

You try to speak but your head's heavy, your lips are stone and your arms can't lift to hold onto him. You're exhausted, you're dying. The only thing you could do use all your strength to try to open your eyes.

'Please, please, look at me. You have to look at me,'

You were trying, you wanted to tell hm, snap at him, but you couldn't.

You felt Azriel shake, or maybe you were. Then, there was wet drops landing on your cheeks- you flinched.

'I'm sorry, i'm sorry. Rhys! Rhys! hurry up, please!' he was screaming. You'd never heard him scream before.

You heard the rush of feet at the cell doors, you knew it was your brother. You knew it from the presence of him, from the shuffling of feet and chocked sob. Your brother didn't cry, least of all for you.

'Her wings, oh mother, her wings,' said Azriel, his voice barley above that of a whisper.

Your wings. You didn't need reminding. They were gone, long and far gone. You were without a part of you, the very part of your soul that loved to be free. Never would you watch the stars up close or fly over everyone. Never race Cassian or make jokes with Az.

No, this would destroy you.

'y/n,' your half-brother called. 'No, y/n. Can you hear me?'

Your lips parted, mumbling. 'Hurts.'

Azriel's grip on you tightened. 'I know, we're gonna get you out of here, just hold on for me.'

You wanted to tell him you would hold on, you'd always need to hold on to him. That, no matter what he asks, you'd do it. To kill, to live, to breathe, to die.

And that's when it clicked. Amongst all the pain and the doubt. In your blood soaked clothes. In the fear you wouldn't make it, there was a tug. Weak and one-sided, but there. You knew you'd be safe with Azriel, knew you would always be with him.

Mate.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The pain subsided to a dull ache, there and beating but not excruciating. You were warm and covered in a soft material. Nothing like the cell you'd been kept in. Your fingertips sunk into something soft- a bed. Your bed. It was familiar in its lavender scent to you and the silk wrapped around you gave you some semblance of warmth.

Your wings.

Even coming to consciousness was difficult. You were exhausted but light, without the weight of wings holding you down. You'd never realised how much you needed to feel that weight, to feel pulled down in order to be free.

Gone, all gone.

Your hand twitches around something cold, a shadow holding your hand, creeping up your side.

'You're awake, thank the couldron.'

It wasn't Azriel, master of the shadows. It wasn't your mate. Mate. The word replayed like a terrible song in your mind.

How dare the mother do this to Az. How dare he- nothing but loyal and kind- get stuck with a person made in darkness, who bled shadows, who's heart was so full of hate there wasn't room for love. They'd cursed Az, with you.

But luckily it wasn't him, it was Rhysand.

'It really happened,' you whispered, voice hurting from the screams.

He sighed. 'I'm sorry, i'm so sorry. We-we thought you weren't going to make it, you'd lost so much blood.'

In spite of the pain in your shoulders, you made a shift, turning from him as he ranted on about your condition.

'y/n... sister, please,' he said. He'd never called you sister before. He'd always been content to treat you just like you worked for him.

'Leave me alone.' you couldn't bare to look at him, couldn't bare to face him. The shadows at your hand grew heavier, as if more were piling on. You stretched your fingers away from them, trying to get them off you.

'Are you in any pain?' asked Rhys.

'Get out,' you mumbled.

The end of your bed dipped where Rhys settled, hand splayed on the covers, begging for your hand. 'y/n.'

'Get out!' you snapped, body tense and straining. You felt your wounds open up, blood wetting the bandage around you. But you didn't care. You'd happily bleed if you couldn't fly. A part of you, sick part of you wanted to be left there. It would be better than false sympathy.

Be better than your mate being disgusted.

'Get out!' you yelled again, voice tearing through an aching throat.

'I just want to help you! please, let me help you!' said Rhys, standing from your bed and walking around, trying to face you.

'I don't want your help!' you screamed. You reached for the closest thing you could, a jug of water and chucked it toward him. You aim was terrible, marred with pain and exhaustion. 'Get out!'

Though hesitant, Rhysand slowly started walking back to your door. He did it all looking at you, his hands out to show he wasn't gonna hurt you, but you didn't care. You went for the glasses next and chucked them but they landed against the door which he disappeared through.

Before it slid close you caught sight of Cassian , Mor and Azriel. All crowded, all waiting to see you.

You'd be happy if you never let them see you again.

'Can we see her?' you hear Mor ask.

'Give her time,' said Rhys.

The shadows at your hand grew heavier, darker, tighter.

'Go away!' you yelled at them. To anyone else, you probably looked crazy, screaming to darkness. But the shadows understood. They departed, slithering away and under the crack of your door where you could see the shadows of feet.

Tumbling from bed, you stumbled over and locked the door, leaning on it to and catching your breath. Your nightgown was starting to get sticky with blood all over again. When you closed your eyes, you pictured the cell, the rough hands holding you down, the chain keeping you up.

And the pain, it all washed over you. The hacking at your back, the sting of a slap. It hit you like a tone of bricks as you slid to the floor.

There was a knock, rattling the door.

'y/n,' Cassian. 'Please let us in.'

Us. You felt him on the other side. Your mate, his presence lingering. His shadows under the door, wanting to come in but keeping their distance.

He didn't know. It hadn't snapped for him, you could tell. It was one tug on your end, a chord in your heart. At least he couldn't feel what you did. At least you could shoulder it alone.

'Please.' his voice was almost your un-doing. He sounded so sad, so desperate. It hurt you just to think you were hurting him.

Tears streamed down your face as your curled your fingers into a tight fist. You assumed Mor had left with Rhys, leaving you there with the males.

Cass was always like a brother to you. Granted- a brother you had slept with once or twice- but he was your best friend. You'd always been close to him. But you'd always been good, a happy person.

You couldn't be that for them now, perhaps ever again.

It lasted like that for hours. Cassian and Az begging to come in, you curling into a ball with tears down your cheeks and blood down your back.

Eventually, they gave up. You couldn't hear them anymore and the shadows of their boots had disappeared.

Except Azriel's shadows that still lingered under your door. Maybe he'd ordered them to be there while they left you.

Eventually, you managed to find your footing on shaking legs. Your room was large, one of the largest. It was just as much a mess as it was when you'd left for you mission, clothes thrown over the place, books propped open on the pages you'd left them on. Everything was the same but could never be again.

It took you longer than you'd care to admit to get to your windows and throw the curtains close. Candles light at your request, the house looking after you as it had since you were a child.

You caught sight of yourself in the full length mirror. It seemed smaller, everything in the room felt too large and you too small, as if you were being swallowed by the expanse of it.

Your frame was small in the mirror, your hair disarrayed. Your eyes were red and shutting of their own accord from the tears that had drained you. The starving in the cells had made you look weak, made you feel weak.

And your back. There was no more looming black figures there, no more fluttering. There was just nothing. In spite of the ache as you lifted your arm, you felt around your back, feeling the hitch there, the lump from where they'd been torn from you.

You cry. You sob. You scream.

The scars were long and the nightdress was sticking to you by the blood you'd shed. All you could do, was hold yourself up as your body wracked with tears.

A breeze came from your windows, shadows tugging at the curtains.

You felt him before you saw him. You wanted to tell him to leave you but you couldn't talk without chocking. Without feeling like you couldn't breath.

Azriel had you in your arms before your knees could hit the ground. He fell with you, softening your body on the floor. His arms held you into his chest, his legs caging you into his body. His head rested on yours as he held you. He didn't try to talk, he didn't try to help. It was just him, you and his shadows.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Azriel remembered dozing off with you, his head on yours. His arms holding you into him, as if it was up to him to keep the sadness away and take it for you.

Afterall, you were his best friend. He should have been there for you, and he'd failed terribly by letting you get hurt and your wings stolen from you. He could hate himself every day for it, for letting you down. But it would never amount to what you felt for yourself and that killed him.

He could see it in the way you cried, in the way you were already keeping everyone out. He'd rather die than let you go through all the pain alone.

When his hands had been scarred by his brothers, you'd help heal him, tell him about everything he still was and all the power he still held in his hands. In the worst days, when he didn't let anyone touch him, he let you.

It was always you.

Azriel wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep, or how deep. He was sure he was still with you, still in your bed.

His shadows crept up on him, engulfing him slowly and whispering to him. Your name, just your name on repeat. It was enough to lull him back into sleep, to keep him calm.

Gone. Missing. y'n. Roof.

He shot up and ran fastest than he ever had in his life. It was as if he'd never been asleep but had been fighting a battle with the way he raced over.

He burst through the doors, the cold hight air hitting him.

You stood facing the stars, your bloody back to him. It wasn't as much blood as when he'd found you, but it was still enough to put a lump in his throat.

Immediately his shadows fell to you, cascading down your body and wrapping around your waist. There was a breeze in the air, pushing your hair back and exposing more signs of the pain and torture you must have gone through.

'I'm not gonna jump, if that's what you're thinking,' you said. You didn't even have to turn to him. The shadows probably told you enough.

'Why are you up here?' he asked, walking to you slowly and with careful steps. As if every step closer could you push you away from him.

'I'll never feel the win properly again,' you answered.

Azriel gulped down his own pain. You’d never sounded so small. ‘Can you get away from the ledge?’

'I'm not on the ledge.'

'You're too close for my liking.'

'Leave if you don't like it.'

'Don't do this,' he said.

'Do what?' you asked, folding your arms over your chest. You were cold, out in the hight but you wanted to see the stars. Needed to see them.

'Make me leave. Make everyone leave you. I know that's what you're doing. It's what you do every time,' you could feel him dawning closer. His shadows were all around you, almost drowning you.

‘Every time,’ you scoff, stepping down and turning on him. ‘It’s not every day you lose your wings Azriel! But don’t let me stop you from leaving, flap them and go!’ You yelled, unable to stop yourself, no matter how hard you tried. You didn’t want to hurt him, you just wanted to be alone.

Mate. Mate. Mate.

'You jump and I’ll catch you,' he said. He was a step away, he could just reach out and touch, just a gentle caress. 'I swear it, whatever you do, I’ll follow. I’m not letting you get away.’

He watched your back shudder as he reached out, brushing knuckles against your shoulder blade. He heard your sharp inhale follow.

'Don’t think I won’t follow, y/n.'

Finally, you turned around in his shadows. You couldn’t meet his eyes but at least you could face his chest.

His hands were gentle on your shoulder as he rubbed it gently. 'Can I get Madja to clean you up?' He asked.

You nodded as he led you away. You truly did not deserve your mate.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Fifty-two years later...

When Amarantha had trapped the high lords of Prythian under the mountain, it hadn't be a conscious choice to follow your half-brother down. How Amarantha had allowed it, you weren't sure, but perhaps she wanted to use you just like her brother, or she thought it would bring more pain for him to see you suffer under there too.

You and Rhysand had barley spoke the last two years.

It had took you almost two months to heal fully enough to leave your room, another few months to face your family again. But even then, everyone knew something had changed in you. You didn't laugh as loud or smile as wide.

Rhysand was careful to ever let you out on a mission. Mor tried to take you out every night. Cassian spent all day every day with you and Azriel- he'd healed you better than any nurse.

Still, you had not told him he was your mate.

Still, you thought he wouldn't want it.

Still, you cared for your brother enough to not want him to go alone.

But being under the mountain, you could avoid your mate. At a painful price.

Until her. Rhys's mate. He hadn't shut up about her since he first met her, much to your dismay as you had to sit around and listen- having absolutely nothing better to do. And it only got worse when she turned up under the mountain. She was declaring her love for Tamlin- again, annoying your brother, and throwing Lucien into danger- which rather angered you. You had nothing against the ginger.

Rhysand had once sent you to find the girl to summon her as part of a bargain he'd made. He didn't want to go, he didn't want to look too forceful. You'd been lucky enough to find the two tangled up in each other against a cold wall, clothes ripped and hips moving together.

'Well, well well,' you'd intterupted.

Tamlin all but growled at you, but feyre was looking over you- evidently confused. She had no idea who you were. You, in your skimpy outfit that Amarantha kept you in (they all dipped low at your back, showing off your scars) and your eyes that were like a night sky.

'Amarantha's looking for her pet and Rhysand is looking for his. Honestly, i'd be a bit more worried if I were you. You know, considering Lucien still has an eye to lose.'

The two parted with your words as you sent Tamlin back to his master, the high lord glaring at you as you went. While Feyre tried to fix herself.

'Rhysand is over there, better not keep him waiting.' That was the first time you met her, having no idea how much trouble she'd be worth. The family that she'd become.

But Rhysand made sure you knew it all. From when the bond snapped in him and he'd stumbled. He ranted and ranted as they climbed out.

If only you were so talkative about Azriel. If only you could talk about him with your brother. But you'd tried not to painfully think about him. Climbing out of the mountain. It was all you could think of.

Maybe he'd have forgotten you? it had been fifty years. He'd probably realised how happy he could be without having to take care of you.

Rhys was allowed out of the mountain, he'd felt the breeze in his hair but you hadn't in fifty long years. You stood there a moment, bathing in the warmth as everyone left, as everyone ran off for their families and courts and the war that was inevitable. Eventually, Rhys offered you his arm. 'Shall we go home?'

He winnowed you there, on the balcony of your home. In a cloud of black smoke, the two of you appeared.

He went first, slipping through the doors slowly- like it could all be taken from them any minute.

You were hesitant, taking a moment to glance at the landscape behind you. It hadn't changed, not at all. The mountains were still there, everyone was still alive. Your home. In the last years it hadn't felt like home, but how could anywhere ever feel so close in your heart.

When you could find your feat again, you managed to slip through the doors. You were suddenly aware of how little clothing you were wearing, just enough to cover your chest and run down your legs. A chill settled down your back, your scars would be on show. What a way to great them all after fifty years.

Mor had her arms around Rhys's shoulders, crying into his shoulder.

Behind them you caught Amren, with something like tears in her eyes. You were just about to tease her before a body barrelled into yours in a blur of red syphons and your feet were lifted from the ground.

'Cassian.'

His arms tightened around you. You shoulder started to dampen with tears, his tears. The last time you'd seen him cry around you was when he'd seen a dog with only three legs. 'I'm keeping you on a leash from now on, stupid idiot.'

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, a smile gracing your lips. 'Is that a promise?'

He held you longer, tighter, not daring to let you go but at least settling you on the ground. He sighed against your head, controlling himself. 'He's missed you, you know,' he said. He was the only one you'd told, about your mate. 'Now that you're back, tell him. He deserves to know.'

Cassian slowly pulled away, holding you at arms length and smiling at you. He kissed your cheeks and then your forehead before parting to Rhysand.

Mor approached you next, slapping you in the arm.

'Ow!'

'Why would you follow him?' she snapped.

You blinked at her before she took you by the arm she'd slapped and embraced you, like a sister would. You dared not looking over her shoulder to find the one who hadn't come to you. Maybe Cass had got it wrong...

Mor pulled away, wiping at her eyes.

Azriel was as beautiful as the day you left him. His hair was the same length, he was the same height. He was just as you left him. It was hard to tell fifty years had passed on him.

And inside of you, tugging in your soul and heart you felt the familiar string of gold throbbing. But you still didn't feel that tug. You'd hoped it would have faded from you after half a year separated. Or at least have snapped for him. But no such relief.

He approached you, slowly. As if he was scared of scaring you away. But you just stood there.

His arms were delicate and soft around you as he brought you into his chest. He still smelled the same, cedar wood and shadows. Shadows that wrapped around you, shielding you from the rest of the room. They caressed you, head to two.

You held onto each other for what could have been another fifty years, but this time, it wasn't so painful.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Although nobody wanted to part after yours and Rhysand's return, you were exhausted. A trip to Rita's could wait another night or two. The only thing you wanted to do was hide in your room.

Strangely, your room looked lived in. As if somebody had moved in since you'd left. A moment of anger replaced grief. Had they brought someone else and given them your room? but then you smelt it, Az.

Lying in bed that night, exhausted, you couldn't find sleep. You closed your eyes and pictured Amarantha. You'd never been afraid of her, you weren't afraid of anything. But you re-played the horrors. Watching servants beat Feyre, watching Amarantha use your brother and on the occasion, even you. How she flaunted. How the most powerful lords were weak.

Under your door, shadows seeped in, rushing across the room to you. You smiled, watching your hand disappear in their darkness.

'Azriel?' you called.

There was shifting on the other side of the door before he slipped in, clicking it shut behind him.

You sat up in bed, shadows moving with you. 'Couldn't sleep?'

He wondered in, looking around your room. 'Sleeping's been... hard.'

You rolled over, opening the blanket and nodding your head. You couldn't think about the bond, not yet. Not while he looked so.... ruined. Beautiful- the most beautiful person in the world, but sad. As he climbed in next to you, you could see the dark circles under his eyes, his shoulders slumped and his wings too.

His eyes scanned over you. You were in a thin and silk night dress that only brushed your knees, but the way he looked at you, mother you could've been naked. 'Fifty years,' his voice sounded barley controlled. 'Fifty years. You followed your brother down for fifty years? Why would you do that?'

You gulp. 'I would've done it for any of you. Except maybe Amren, she'd probably enjoy the peace for fifty years.'

You go to brush your hair back but Azriel seizes your wrist. He was angry. That's why his voice was rough and his chest rising and falling with barley controlled emotions. Could he feel it? your nerves, your lying?

'You left. You should've stayed, y/n, you know Rhysand didn't want you under there with him,' he said. 'For fifty years I haven't been able to sleep through a night thinking about the pain you must have been going through. After I swore to keep you safe, after I promised to catch you every time!'

'You couldn't have stopped me. You didn't promise, Az.'

His grip grew tighter. 'It went without saying.'

You looked around his eyes, seeing the pain and grief there also. Slowly, you brought your other hand up. He flinched as you took his cheek but eventually settled as your thumb ran over his cheekbone. 'I won't leave again, ok? I promise.'

He gulped, letting go of your wrist and looking down. 'I slept here,' he mumbled, but just loud enough to hear you. 'I couldn't sleep in my room. This was the only place I could rest.'

Your heart stuttered. Your hand dropped from his cheek. This man was your mate. Your mate. Your only love, whether or not the cauldron deemed it.

Azriel took your hesitation. 'I-i'm sorry, you probably didn't want to hear that. I've probably ruined your one place of peace-'

'Stay,' you said, before you could think of what you were asking. 'Sleeping wasn't exactly easy under the mountain either. I just trust I won't have to put a wall of cushions between us.' as if you wanted that. As if you haven't thought about his calloused hands all over you.

Azriel smiled and stayed the night.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The third time he almost lost you, broke him...

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[bookbitchx]

"There is no such thing as High Lady."

Call Tamlin a misogynistic sexist asshole or whatever else you want, but he's right.

High Lady is a title Rhysand gave to Feyre.

It's honorary.

It wasn't 'earned'. She wasn't 'blessed' with it, and she certainly wasn't chosen by the land and the magic.

If there was a title and it meant something, don't you think Viviane, of all women, would've been granted it by the lands for holding down the fort in Winter Court for 50 years while Kalias was stuck UTM?

Kalias could've also easily slapped the title on her like Rhysand did with Feyre, and yet he didn't. You know why? Because Viviane doesn't need it. She's already respected and seen as his equal by his court and the others for what she has done.

Feyre can't say the same, can she?

SJM sets it up as this badass moment of empowerment, but all I saw was Rhysand giving a baby (by Fae years) a title and letting her run loose with it as well as letting it go to her head.

The first thing she did after getting that title was go and get revenge on a whole ass court because she had issues with its High Lord which is insane in of itself but it brings me to my point, that there was no political repercussions where as if Rhysand had done it, it would've declared an internal war between Night and Spring.

It would've been a good ass arc if she had learned Prythian politics, history, diplomacy, the cultures, and customs of the other courts, including her own, so much as visited the other courts, slowly climbed the ranks and learned instead of Rhysand shoving that crown on her head and down everyone else's throats.

It's like taking me, a complete clueless, inadequate foreigner, and making me the Queen of England. Utterly ridiculous.

"You just hate Feyre being High Lady because you want Nesta to be one."

The same thing goes for Nesta, babe. NONE of the Archeron sisters are qualified to be High Ladies, honorary or not.

One of the hills I will die and kill on.

[seleneprince]

ACOSF, except that Nesta refuses to move to the House of Wind and packs her bags to leave to the "human lands", but instead of actually going there, she stops at the Spring Court and kinda forces Tamlin to take her in. After all, Spring is close enough to the human lands and she's sure none of the IC would look for her Spring.

She and Tamlin clash at first, but then Nesta tells him that Feyre wanted to lock her in the House of Wind for "her own good" and Tamlin has to take a walk outside the house to not break anything because what the fuck? Those people haven't forgiven him for locking Feyre up to protect her and make him miserable because of it, but suddenly it's okay when they do it? Unbelievable.

They drink together and bond over the Night Court's hypocrisy, how they were treated by them, and Feyre. They start living together. Tamlin plays the music and Nesta dances to it. They spend time in silence in his library or taking relaxing strolls around the garden. Nesta does more healing there that she could've done in the House of Wind. Eventually, she and Tamlin become good friends.

Oh, and she meets Eris again and they actually get to know each other outside the Night Court's machinations. They have a slowburn romance and get married eventually, turning Nesta into the High Lady of Autumn. She helps Tamlin rebuild his court and strikes an alliance between both courts, and she thrives with positive relationships and a man that genuinely loves her and doesn't try to change her.

Also Lucien makes up with Tamlin and returns to Spring, adding him to Nesta's friendship circle.

[dedolubka]

The sitcom ACOTAR … what episode is it?

I need to draw a lot more memes get ready

[geniemillies]

is this your high lord??

these were supposed to be for my friend but i thought i'd share it so here you go, some shitpost doodles of hls 🫶

tamlin in that meeting:

unapologetically

no explanation..

AND A NESTA- because she reminded me of the caption..

[yaralulu]

I wonder if lucien ever looks at feyre and sees the way she’s acting and he just thinks to himself “damn maybe me and tam were right and this bitch really is getting mind controlled” because feyre must seem absolutely insane to him at this point.

Like he found out she was pregnant at 20 and he was like omg congrats (you never wanted this 😃?????).or he found out she locked nesta up in the HoW for her “own good” and he’s like oh yeah i’d love to see nesta training (YOU LOCKED HER UP???).Watching feyre turn into everything she ever condemned tamlin for must be one hell of an experience

[eospaint]

"There is no such thing as a High Lady."

"There is now."

[jennastokesart]

“Beg.”

This blondie was on his way to becoming a prince OC in my story I’m developing but then @copypastus & @thrumugnyr ‘s art have collectively converted me to the dark side . I also got seduced on TikTok by the idea/theory that Tamlin and Rhysand were lovers or intimate in some way in the past. It’s just such a fun idea to entertain 👀🙈. Outside of that theory I thought this would’ve been a fun spin on the scene in the first book. Maybe I’ll draw Lucien in a similar position?

I love drawing men that yearn.

Mwehehehe

[lucychanart]

modern Tamsand👩🏻‍🦯

[praetorqueenreyna]

For Rhysand Week Day 3: Loved Ones! This is a short sequel to my modern tamsand fic you up?

@officialrhysandweek

Rhysand and Tamlin have been together for a few months, but now he faces a new challenge: trying to convince his friends that Tamlin is cool.

***************************************

This was a bad idea. Rhys had known it was a bad idea the second he had suggested it, but by then it was too late. No force on earth could put the words back in his mouth after they had been uttered.

“I’m having a movie night with some friends this weekend. Wanna come?”

Of course Tamlin had said yes. They had been dating for a few months now, and Rhys had already met Tamlin’s roommates multiple times. Just this past weekend, he had gone out for drinks with Tamlin, Andras, and Lucien. He had beat all three of them at pool, which seemed to grant him a high status among Tamlin’s friends. Tamlin had not met any of Rhys’s friends yet, and was eager to cross that milestone in their relationship.

“You will be nice, no matter what,” Rhys said for the hundredth time.

“What if he’s a dick?” Cassian countered.

“He won’t be. But if he is, you still have to be nice.” 

“What if he asks for money? Or tries to get us to buy a CD? Or brings out his guitar and makes everything weird?”

Rhys groaned, turning to Azriel. “He’s not going to do any of that. He’s a regular person.”

“He’s Guitar Guy. That’s the only thing I know about him. It’s very concerning.” Azriel’s deadpan was not as amusing now as it usually was.

“That’s totally something a guitar guy would do,” Cassian added. “We have to make sure he’s not weird.”

“He’s not weird!” 

“You guys stop, you’re scaring him.” Mor’s smile was deceptively sweet, which Rhys didn’t trust at all. “I am curious about his thoughts on your guys’ relationship. Is this like, a hook up? Or ‘married with kids’ thing?”

“Absolutely not. Do not say anything like that to him.” Rhys turned to Amren, who was sprawled on the couch playing on her phone. “And whatever crazy shit you’re planning—”

“Asking him to be a guest on my podcast.”

“—No! None of that!” The doorbell rang, forestalling any further lecturing. “Everybody, just be normal. And nice.”

“We’re always normal and nice!” Cassian protested. Rhys shot him a glare before he opened the front door. Tamlin was standing there, looking adorable and nervous. Praying to every god that had ever existed that his friends wouldn’t ruin this, Rhys stepped aside to allow him in.

[achaotichuman]

Everytime I think about that one tiktok that said Tamlin would be super homophobic but Rhysand would be an ally, I lose a little my mind a little bit more, because tf you mean the guy who can shapeshift himself into any person or creature ever and hosts an all-inclusive orgy every single year is homophobic, but the guy who enforces segregation and whom his own flesh and blood cousin is afraid to come out to is an ally????

[spacerockfloater]

The way people switched on Tamlin the moment Rhys was introduced is diabolical.

“Tamlin never really loved Feyre, it was all a trick from the start”: It is stated that Tamlin was disgusted by the idea of forcing someone to fall in love with him and considered it slavery, but ended up being so in love with her that he ultimately lets her go and choses her freedom and safety over that of his own people. Rhys confirms that Tamlin loved Feyre too much. And he loved her truly. Not because he had to. Tamlin treated Feyre with dignity when she was engaged to him. He introduced her as his lady, to be respected and cherished by all. And she really was loved by his people, too. Rhysand uses her as his lap dog to scare Hewn City and parades her as his whore.

“Tamlin never did anything for Feyre, he just used her”: He improved her and her family’s life in every aspect and offered her everything he had.

“Tamlin had sex with someone else in Calanmai”: Out of duty and responsibility because he didn’t want to force Feyre, who still wasn’t sure about her feelings, into it. All of the High Lords perform the Calanmai. Lucien says so. How convenient that this is never brought up with Rhysand. He surely does perform it as well. All the theories in here, “Lucien doesn’t know what he’s talking about/ This is a SC ritual only/ He probably just passes the duty on to someone else” are just a way for people to villainise Tam and glorify Rhys again. All of them inaccurate. The Calanmai is canonically performed by every High Lord. There’s no evidence that proves otherwise. As the son of one High Lord and the ambassador of another, Lucien would know. He is 500 years old. It’s just more convenient for SJM to never bring this up again because it raises the question of “Who was Rhysand fucking all these years?” and it makes her favourite character look bad. And once he is engaged to her, Tamlin flat out refuses to do it. Let’s be real for a second.

“Tamlin didn’t help Feyre under the mountain”: He literally could not. He was bound by a curse. He was forced to be Amarantha’s consort and a consort cannot oppose you. His powers were bound. Alis warns Feyre that Tamlin will not be able to help her. Stop acting as if he didn’t want to help her. He decapitated Amarantha the moment he got his autonomy back. Claiming that there’s no proof that Tamlin was under the influence of a spell when he literally didn’t break the curse and Amarantha’s magic didn’t allow him to use his powers is crazy. And even if he tried, he could never provide actual help. We see this when he begs Amarantha for Feyre’s life. Him showing he cares about her would only make Amarantha more jealous and vicious towards Feyre.

“Tamlin made out with Feyre instead of helping her”: He couldn’t help her run away. No one could do that. She would never make it, Amarantha would find her. In fact, Tamlin specifically could not help her in any way. He could only assure her he still wants and loves her. And she wanted that just as much. Rhys abused her physically, mentally, verbally, drugged her and much worse. And he enjoyed all of it. If he didn’t want to raise suspicions, he wouldn’t have placed a bet in her favour. Rhys is a sadist, SJM just decided to mellow him down in the next book so that we’d all like him over Tamlin.

“Tamlin ignored Feyre’s wishes and only wanted her to be his bride, he didn’t let her be High Lady”: Both Tamlin and Feyre were bad communicators going though trauma and Tam had a whole court to care for. Tamlin was unaware of how Feyre felt because she barely spoke up once. Rhys knew because he literally lived inside her head and had all the time in the world to focus his attention on her since his court suffered zero consequences during Amarantha’s reign. And Tamlin simply told her the truth: there’s no such thing as High Lady. Even her current title is given to her by Rhys, the magic of Prythian has not actually chosen her to be High Lady. The title and its power are decorative. And she said she didn’t want that anyway.

“Tamlin locks Feyre up and uses his magic to harm her”: He locks her in his humongous palace to keep her safe, after she just came back from the dead and his worst enemy is kidnapping her every month, while he runs off to protect his borders. Rhysand locks Feyre in a fucking bubble. Tamlin loses control of his magic. He doesn’t want to harm her. That’s not abuse. Abuse is intentional. Feyre and Rhysand lock Lucien and Nesta up. They lock the people of the Hewn City up in a cave. Feyre loses control of her magic and harms Lucien’s mother. Double standards I guess.

“Tamlin is a bad and conservative ruler”: Tamlin is such a beloved ruler that his sentries literally begged to die for him. Feyre had to fuck with their minds to finally turn them against him. They were his friends. He was so progressive that the lords fled his court once he became their ruler because he wouldn’t put up with their bullshit like his father did. He loved all of his people. He is against slavery. The Tithe was just tax collection. Rhysand practically rules over just one city, while ignoring Hewn City and Illyria. He treats 2/3 of his realm like shit and everyone except the residents of Velaris hates him. He collects tax, too, but we conveniently never see this. He ranks the members of his inner circle (my 1st, my 2nd etc.) and reminds them every moment that they are his slaves first and anything else second, while Tamlin treats them equally and even gives Lucien an official title by naming him Ambassador.

“Tamlin conspired with Hybern”: He was a double agent and his short lived alliance, two weeks all in all, not only didn’t harm a single soul, but ultimately saved all of Prythian as he was the only one who brought valuable information to that meeting. He dragged Beron to battle. Rhysand’s alliance with Amarantha harmed thousands and only helped save one city, Velaris.

“Tamlin is responsible for turning Nesta and Elain into Fae”: No, that was Ianthe, who got the info from Feyre. Tamlin was fooled by her, just as Feyre obviously was, or she wouldn’t have trusted her. Tamlin was disgusted by that act.

“Tamlin is less powerful than Rhysand”: Rhysand himself says that a battle between them would turn mountains to dust. Tamlin killed Rhysand’s dad, the previous High Lord of the Night Court, in one blow. He is just as powerful as Rhysand. SJM again just wants us to believe otherwise. And he is smarter, too. He was the only one not to trust Amarantha. And he was a good spy for Prythian against Hybern.

All of these takes are cold as fuck. SJM was testing the waters with ACOTAR and she made sure the main love interest, Tamlin, was insanely likeable, so that the book could be a satisfactory standalone story in case she couldn’t land a trilogy deal. She didn’t know it would be such a big hit. But once she realised she could turn this into a franchise, she had to figure out a new story to tell. She may claim otherwise, but there’s just too many plothotes to convince me. And in order to make her new main love interest seem like the best choice, she had to character assassinate the old one. There was no other way. ACOTAR Rhys was too much of an evil monster to be loved by the majority of the audience. But Tamlin was introduced to us as such a heroic and passionate man that is literally impossible to turn him into someone despised by all. Feyre’s relationship with Rhysand reads too much like cheating on Tamlin. That’s why anyone with basic analytical skills is able to realise the flaws of the narration.