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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 3 months

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Warm Me Up

Summary: Illyria is cold, Rhys has some ideas on how to stay warm.

Content Warnings: Smut; dirty talk; little bit of cursing.

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Illyria was a wasteland, nothing but frigid mountains and harsh winds, you'd never understood how anything survived here. Your mate had flown you in an hour ago, you'd immediately had to sit in front of the cabin's fireplace, smothered in blankets, a warm cup of tea in your hands to avoid your teeth chattering and your fingertips from turning blue. The boys were somehow training outside shirtless. You could see them from the window, sparring, even as the relentless wind continued to beat against the windows.

You furrowed deeper into your mountain of blankets, still so damned cold. How were they managing that? How had Cassian survived his childhood, alone and hungry in this for so long? Was there something built into Illyrians to help them survive?

You tapped a mental hand against the bond hesitantly, worried you might distract your mate and he'd get hurt... again. Rhys had gotten used to your random questions, but thd first couple of times had been so sudden he'd lost focus, Az had clipped him across the shoulder, drawing blood. It hadn't even scarred, had healed with the help of his powers in less than hour. He'd probably forgotten about it. You hadn't.

Your mate responded with a gentle caress against your mental shields, like he'd brushed a hand over you mind, urging you to come forward.

"Do Illyrians run hot?" You asked.

A dark chuckle ran across the bond, sending a shiver over your spine. "Why don't you come out here and find out?"

You rolled your eyes. "And freeze to death? No thank you."

"It's not even snowing yet.," he let your peer through his eyes, the landscape dripping from yesterday's rain, but it was more mud than anything.

"I've seen warmer places in the Winter Court."

"There are plenty of ways to stay warm up here," Rhys purred, his voice a playful caress against your mind. "You're welcome to join us in the birken when we're done."

"And leave the safety of my little nest by the fire? I'll have frostbite by the time I make it there."

"Give me five minutes." The bond snapped closed and then Cassian was screaming obscenities from where they were sparring near the side of the cabin.

"THAT'S CHEATING YOU BASTARD!" Azriel shouted.

"RHYSAND I CAN'T FUCKING SEE!"

You pulled the comforter off the top of your head to try and get a good look through the closest window, but there was nothing but darkness against the glass. It was still too early in the day for the sun to be going down, the darkness outside rattling against the windows like a harsh wind. Rhys very rarely unleashed that much power, but you felt your own flare to life in your chest at the sight of it. Like calls to like, and your starborn powers had always risen to the challenge it found in Night Triumphant.

It wasn't even a full five minutes before the back door was thrown open so fast the old wood cracked against the wall. The wind came in with it, making you burrow deeper into your mound of blankets to avoid it.

Rhys must have kicked off his boots at the door, because you heard it slam shut and then nothing until large hands settled on your blanket clad shoulders.

You jumped with a shriek of surprise that had your mate bending over the back of the couch to kiss your barely exposed forehead apologetically, his skin colder than the wind beating against the walls.

"Ack! You're an ice cube!" You hissed, twisting to get away.

He chuckled as he pulled away and went to the closet near the front door.

"Don't bother, I've already raided it," you warned.

He opened it anyway, then frowned at all the empty shelves. "You weren't kidding." His next move was to go to the stack of wood neatly organized by the fire place and throw more in, the blaze illuminating the sharp planes of his face. He wasn't wearing a shirt, training leathers hanging low on his hips, a fine sheen of sweat making his bronze skin glow in the firelight.

Under normal circumstances, you would have jumped right on him, ran your tongue over his abs, traced the swirl of ink across his chest. Something about him in leathers made you weak in the knees, all rational thought out the window. The only thing keeping you in place this time was the thought of loosing the little pocket of warmth you had created.

He felt your gaze of course, turning away from the fire to look at you. "Better?" His voice had gone down an octave, his pupils dilating.

"Little," you admitted, though him being so close, looking like that might have been more of a reason for the heat you were starting to feel than the fire.

He walked to you slowly, intently, violet eyes fixed on you.

Your heartbeat quickened in your chest as he knelt in front of you.

"Think you can make room for me in there?" He kept his hands on the top blanket of your little cocoon, waiting for permission.

"I don't know, how cold are you?" You teased; this would be the last little bit of your resolve.

He slid a hand under the blankets, fingers dragging up slowly, intently over your calves.

"Cold," you whimpered, but the shiver that ran through you had nothing to do with the temperature, not as he traced his way up your thighs, only stopping when he found the hem of your sweater.

He leaned and pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose first, then the corners of your lips, his breath warm against your face, the contrast between the two temperatures making your head spin. You wanted to reel away and lean in all the same time.

"Just for a second," he promised, "then I'll get you nice and warm."

You opened the blanket, and that intense violet gaze took stock of your attire: His old sweater, so loose and baggy it looked like a dress on you, and knee high, fuzzy pink socks. Pants had felt like a waste of time, not when sifting through the dresser meant time spent away from the fire.

Rhys all but jumped on top of you, pushing you down into the couch cushions, the blankets tangling between you as he crashed his lips against yours.

Rhys, as High Lord, was always so poised and put together, everything about him calculated and curated to create the necessary masks of court duties; but alone, like this, when it was just the two of you, no masks necessary, he let that unending restraint slip, kissing you and running his hands over your body like a man starved. His tongue swept into your mouth as he slid a hand under your sweater, deft fingers dragging up your skin to cup your breast.

He'd kept his promise about the cold, you'd only felt it for a moment before he'd settled between your legs, using a bit of magic to untangle the blankets and rearrange them over the two of you. You ran a hand through his hair, scraping your nails lightly over his scalp as he playfully gave your nipple a tug.

"Better?" He rasped, lips barely off yours like he couldn't bear to be that far from you.

The warmth of his weight on top of you would have been enough, but the way he kept running his hands over any bit of you he could reach, the way he kissed you again and again and again was enough to make you forget you had ever been cold in the first place.

"Much better," you confirmed as he broke away to nip at your neck.

He chuckled as you arched into his touch; whimpering lightly as his tongue laved over the sting of his teeth on your throat.

"Can't decide," he murmured into your skin, "if I should fuck you in my sweater or not?"

Heat coiled between your legs, even further when he rocked his hips into your center, even with the clothes separating the two of you, the friction was enough to make you moan.

He nipped under your jaw, "Look so pretty in it, but I gotta get you all warmed up don't I? My poor little mate, not used to the cold."

Now that he was with you, you wanted, needed, every bit of contact with his body you could get. The sweater, so warm and comforting before, now felt like a tremendously itchy obstacle keeping you from him. "Want it off," you complained, trying to find your voice around another moan as he rutted his hips into you again, hard even through his leathers.

He chuckled as he fisted the hem and started pulling it up your body. "Wear it again for me later?"

You nodded as he pulled it over your head and tossed it over the back of the couch. Distantly, you hoped Rhys had the good sense to send his brothers away for a little while since you had stopped hearing them moving around outside, but had no time to ask as he started kissing his way down your body, pausing to give some attention to your peaked nipples. A whine tore from your throat as he swirled his tongue over one and then the other.

"Love when you make those little noises for me," he purred into your mind, not wanting to remove his lips from your body to speak.

"Rhys," you whimpered, body arching into him as he nipped at your sensitive skin.

"You're gonna look so pretty, all marked up under my sweater later," he sent an image of you, covered in hickeys from your throat to your hips down the bond as he continued to move slowly down your body.

Rhys liked to push you, liked to see how worked up he could get you, first with that silver tongue of his, then his hands, he could keep this up for hours. You, however, where so desperate for more friction, to fill the ache now burning between your legs, bucked your hips, squirming underneath him now. "Please. Need you."

He scraped his teeth along he hem of your underwear, humming his approval. Rhys grinned against your skin, all male satisfaction as he held your hips in place. "So impatient. I thought you were freezing to death in here? Don't you want to get warm, Darling?"

Warm? Your skin was on fire in every spot he had touched, the warmth of his body spreading to every point of contact he gave. It was becoming too much and not enough, you needed more, more, more.

"Please!"

He caught the hem of your panties in his teeth and pulled them slowly down your hips, hands skimming your hips and thighs, kneading soft skin. Your legs widened for him automatically, instinctively, despite the fact that you were now uncomfortably wet from his ministrations.

He ran his tongue against your center, humming his approval, blasting it down the bond. "So wet, and I've barely even touched you."

You pinched your eyes shut, overwhelmed already. He really was too damn good at this. No amount of time would ever be enough to satisfy the well of need you had for him. You blasted that desperation, that ache for him right down the bond as words failed you, as he continued his exploration of your dripping core with his tongue. Stars erupted behind your closed eyelids as he chuckled down the bond, pleased with your reactions to his body.

You were sure you were begging for him, whimpering and pleading nonsense as he worked you closer and closer to the edge, but the words faded in and out of your consciousness. There was only Rhys, the movements of his tongue, the feeling of his fingertips digging pleasantly tight in your hips, the heat of skin wherever it touched you. Your eyes rolled back into your head, body arching, hands tangling in his hair as the edge rose up to meet and you and you toppled over it with a scream that sounded an awful lot like your mate's name.

"Such a good girl," he purred as he lapped up the evidence of your pleasure.

You're whole body shook as he kissed his way back up your body, grinning against your flushed skin the whole way. He was so warm, when he kissed you again, the taste of your release still on his plush lips, your only thoughts were on how you could get more of that warmth, until it has seeped into your bones, erased any trace of the cold that had laid so deep beneath.

You threaded your hands in his hair, now a mess across his forehead, whimpering. "Need you still."

He grinned as he caught your lower lip between his teeth in a playful nip. "I know, love."

You moved a hand to the small of his back, pulling him closer.

"You'll have me until there are no longer stars in the sky." The bond flooded with more warmth and affection, as deep as your need for him ran, his was equal, there was no end to what he could give you.

You kissed him again, even as your legs wrapped around his waist, a bit of magic finally removing those damned leathers. Maybe you'd ask him to put them back on later, so you could enjoy the sight of him in the aftermath as much as he would you, but those were questions for later.

"I love you," you whimpered as he finally slide into you, slowly, casually, like there was all the time in the world for the two of you to enjoy each other.

He fit like he was made just for you, the stretch just uncomfortable for a moment before the pleasure made your back arch and your toes curl. He moaned into your throat, pushing his nose into your sweat dampened skin, inhaling your scent as he pushed all the way in to you.

You wondered, distantly, if the stars you were seeing were his making, or something that appeared for him too. The way he panted into your skin as he rocked his hips, testing you, made you think he saw them too.

"So perfect," he moaned as he slid almost fully out.

Your nails clawed at his shoulders, begging for him to come back and he plunged back in a little more forcefully this time, the couch groaning beneath the two of you.

You rocked your hips to meet his thrusts, hands still trailing down the contours of his spine in a move that would be sure to leave marks of your own. He nipped at your neck and shoulders when you pushed too hard, skin breaking beneath your fingertips, but you knew he didn't mind, know he relished in being marked up by you, like it was a badge of honor. You'd leave hickeys on him afterwards, when the pleasure building between your legs wasn't so white hot, when you could focus your attention somewhere other than the need burning it's way through you.

His hand snaked down between your legs, drawing you closer and closer to the edge again.

"Rhys," a prayer, a mantra, the only thing that made sense as pleasure turned all rational thought to mush.

"I've got you," he rasped in your ear, every muscle taught as he rocked into you again and again and again. His pace was quickly becoming more frantic, his breath hot on your throat as he moaned into your skin. It was that sound, so desperate and low right beneath your ear, coupled with the movement of his deft fingers, the angle of his cock inside you, all hurtling you so quickly towards the edge that you didn't notice it was there until you toppled over it. Your mate followed with a roar, his own release warm inside you.

You clung to him, trembling, panting, as you came down from your high, the familiar weight of him atop you grounding in the aftermath. He snaked an arm around you as he positioned the two of you on your sides, sharing the couch now. You buried your face in the crook of his neck as he kissed the top of your head, gently.

"Warm now, darling?" He asked softly, a hint of teasing still there, even as he recovered his breath.

He hadn't pulled out of you yet; you bit your lip in thought as you tossed a leg over his, bringing you flush against his hips. You were sensitive, the movement made you wince a little, but even after all that, you still wanted more of him. Perhaps it would never be enough. Like the Illyrians that called this frigid place home, there was always going to be something that pushed you back towards the fire, that damned insatiable need to get warm.

"I think I'm still a little cold," you purred, eyes glinting playfully.

Your mate chuckled at the challenge in your tone, violet eyes narrowing into where you were still joined. "Can't have that, can we?"

The fire roared in the fireplace, a bit of your mate's magic flaring, making sure there was more heat in the cabin, before his lips were on yours again, chasing away any hint of cold before it could touch you.

#rhysand x reader #rhysand x reader smut #acotar #acotar fanfic #acotar smut #rhysand smut #fanfiction #i'm so downbad for this male as you can clearly tell #my writings

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arson-09 · 20 days

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the average acotar fans r so boring. like wdym you have no concept of media literacy or complex characters. Why does everything have to be spelled out for you? I have never seen such a flat and lowkey boring male character receive so much love (rhysand) when he does the bare minimum and also. SUCKS.

#and then they shit on tamlin likers #like im sorry i can look past a character’s 2 bad deeds and acknowledge he was destroyed by the narrative #but god forbid i look at the performative feminist and go nah #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #tamlin #pro tamlin #sarah j maas #rhysand #sjm #anti rhysand #feyre #sjm critical #i mean sjm is kinda a shitty writer so its not completely rhys fault #theres no nuance theres no complexity theres no FLAVOR

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thedickgraysons · 8 days

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i dont have all of the words for it right now but there's something so gross about the way sjm chose to handle tamlin's trauma and his responses to being triggered post acotar. and it's not the fact that she writes it at all, but the way the narrative beats you over the head with the fact that tamlin was Wrong for being harassed by amarantha and not giving her what she wanted, Wrong for being affected by it, and then he was Wrong for not pushing feyre's clear boundaries (her insistence to not speak about what happen UTM) when that is a trigger for the both of them.

tamlin's not sleeping in the bed as a beast as he is also incredibly traumatized after being utm, its framed as him being possessive. he doesn't insist feyre keep her powers secret and not come with him to hunt beasts because he had just watched her die, its because he's controlling. there's no addressing of how feyre was using him sexually as much as he was indulging in her, because the fact of the matter is they were on a path of mutual self-destruction.

then there is his and nesta's fandom and canon vilification and over-criticism because their responses to their trauma are "ugly." the lack of empathy their characters in particular draw. the narrative (rhysand's) insistence that nesta needs to get on her knees and spend the foreseeable future Atoning while tamlin can never make up for his actions.

the justification of the ic forcing themselves onto nesta. the fandom insistence that its rehab when they need to assert control over her, but she can leave at any time when someone points out that rehab centers dont let the therapists sleep with their patients. the gross fandom theory about amarantha being tamlin's mate and how he went "crazy" after the mountain because of it.

all of it reeks of both the 'perfect victim' theory and victim blaming

#acotar critical #pro tamlin #pro nesta archeron #sjm critical #rhysand critical #so apparently i do have the words for it #but also im going to want to rant about this later so im leaving it open ended #the fact of the matter is my god sjm can NOT write mental health without demonizing what she cant romanticize #and the fandom feeds into it #its genuinely so concerning

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separatist-apologist · 8 months

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"I was not a pet, not a doll, not an animal.

I was a survivor, and I was strong.

I would not be weak or helpless again.

I would not, could not be broken.

Tamed."

For the final day of @officialfeysandweek2023 , @the-lonelybarricade and I reached out to @witchlingsandwyverns to create a piece that reflected Feyre's time returning to Spring Court in ACOWAR as both High Lady of the Night Court AND a spy against the invading Hybern army.

🚫 Do not repost without asking

#Feysand #pro feysand #Feyre on the spring court throne is something that can be so personal actually #feyre archeron #rhysand #feysand fanart #feysand week #gosh I wonder whose skull that is #a little wish fulfillment

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achaotichuman · 5 months

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Ngl today alone I have seen countless men who could easily play Rhysand if they were given violet contacts and bat wings.

In my entire period of living I have seen maybe one or two people that could MAYBE pass for Tamlin if they had makeup on.

I have never, ever in my life passed a man on the street who could play Lucien or Eris Vanserra.

#acotar #tamlin #pro tamlin #lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #anti rhysand #rhysand is just so boring #the dark haired love interest can be found at your local supermarket #tamlin would need to be hunted down using the dark web #lucien and eris straight up don’t exist in real life #acotar headcanons #eris vanserra #pro eris vanserra

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jmoonjones · 1 year

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Feyre: I'm going to paint a super fond memory from the early days I knew you!

Rhys: well, let me model for you then! No, I insist! Which heroic or sexy moment is this? I'll hang it in my office!

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foxcort · 8 months

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sometimes i think about how the acotar books could've been a great way to show that "love doesn't heal trauma" rather than whatever points sjm was trying to make about abusive relationships and sa. instead of tamlin being abusive, she could've written that feylin's individual traumas kept them from reaching out to each other. or that feyre felt suffocated by the perfect, idyllic and alive spring court when she felt the opposite on the inside. or that tamlin felt overwhelmed by the sudden influx of responsibilities as he's trying to rid himself of the nightmares from utm. they try to make it work. they try to replicate some of the dates and dances from book #1 but there's an almost tangible shadow over their relationship now. and maybe one day feyre sees a memorial for andras or a likeness to one of the high fae living in the spring court to one of the high fae she killed utm, and has a panic attack. and this serves as the catalyst that severs feylin's relationship and reveals that yes, their love broke a curse, their love saved prythian but it couldn't (and shouldn't) heal them.

#im not an analysis girlie i'd much rather rb the smart people in this fandom #but i couldn't stop thinking of this despite sarah's tendency to resolve all of her characters' traumas with dick #no need to retcon or character assassinate my bbgs #feyre could've had a whole plot to herself where she lived outside the bounds of a romantic relationship and discovered her abilities #there could've been reconciliation between her and her sisters (perhaps something that could start her healing)#hell you could even put the feysand mating bond in there and show once again that a magical love bond does not heal trauma #give them a fling that rhysand stops because he knows she's trying to force it so she can feel healed #and its bare minimum but rhys actually sacrificing his desires on page and putting feyre's mental health above them gives him likable #qualities and shows that he truly cares about feyre and this could maybe start his redemption arc #this definitely spiraled but i think it would've been cool #anti sjm #anti acomaf

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thecatsaesthetics · 4 months

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Rhysand hater: he does nothing for Illyrian women.

Meanwhile canon Rhysand:

#Rhysand #pro Rhysand #ACOTAR #Feysand #changing the inheritance laws so women can inherit and gain wealth #sorry some of you guys can’t read #or just copy whatever talking points you read

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room217prayer · 2 months

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I actually hate how Rhysand commands and impone himself to the other High Lords.

I really, really, hate it and him so much, why SJM do you have to give everything to one character and to his little group?

#screaming because whyyyy? I hate so much the “not for u but for him yes” mentality #I would've actually like him if he was the villain he is suppose to be #if she actually wrote him cunning INSIDE the limit she imposes in the story to the other characters #he doesn't need to be the strongest (which he's not when needed) the most gentle and just of the all #show how he can work inside hos limit even being hated because of his personality and action but at las needed because a silver tongue #because a silver tongue / threatening / bargain could work a long way and be more interesting than whatever #was the HL meeting ever was... where Beron (damn him) shine and I actually liked him there #Just give me more FAE! Not this “grey” character that's not so #acotar critical #sjm critical #anti rhysand

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anchoredgalaxy · 5 months

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a court of silver flames gets the award for book where i've said "god i wish everyone in this book would die" the most

#and i've read fucking gone girl so that's a real award. (the difference is that gone girl is actually good)#anti acosf #i guess? i know there's like. etiquette for this #i just need to get this out trying to get through this audiobook is like pulling teeth #anti acotar #anti sjm #just in case #lol #except for nesta because i want her to kill someone. i just want her to do it. how the fuck does this end with her geting with cassian he #has zero fucking redeeming qualities #he's stupid he's fucking mean he's bad at his job he berates nesta every other page #don't get me started on rhysand the only way this series can be redeemed for me is if he explodes into blood.#genuinely my least favorite character in anything ever and it's all because this series spends its narrative jacking him off #anyway im goin gmental wish me LUCK #oh wait #anti cassian #anti rhysand #is this how this works i hope so if this shows up in an improper place uhhh i apologize

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northern-polaris · 6 months

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I'm out of my head, of my heart and my mind

Description: I wrote some tamsand and SOMEONE(YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE) bullied me into posting it so please accept this brainrot. Warnings for canon stuff that happened utm but it's not elaborated on.

Rhysand never liked Lucien.

The seventh son of the Lady of Autumn. Born during a time of delicate peace between courts. Overshadowed by the siblings that towered over him. Unremarkable and of no use save for the snort Rhysand smothered the day when the child was presented as Beron’s at the high lords’ meeting.

One look at the boy could tell anyone otherwise.

It was a much needed source of amusement amongst the boredom, the gathering was completely devoid of any of value. Nothing justified him being there whatsoever.

Tamlin was absent from that day’s meeting.

Years would pass and Rhysand would forget about the runt, spending his time on more important matters. Sicing Cassian onto Illyrian rebellions, wielding Azrial to send a message. Things that needed to be attended to.

Rhysand would be abruptly reminded of the brat when the princeling made himself the center Prythian’s attention. He caused quite the stir when he was caught in the arms of some faerie lover, exiled from Autumn, and chased down by the three that held him down.

That little fox had scurried off to Spring court, and two out of those three siblings were reduced to nothing but to bloody piles of gore.

The report from Azriel described it as if the two brothers were mauled and gnawed on by some sort of dangerous, wild fae. He suggested scouting out the Spring court to assure that there were no monsters from the Prison that escaped. Rhysand declined.

Rhysand knew better.

Soon, news would reach him that Tamlin made Lucien emissary.

Seemed that Spring’s high lord took a liking to the fox. A fondness. A favorite new pet, no doubt.

Tamlin had always liked to take in and care for wounded animals.

Shortly after the news reached Rhysand, Tamlin appeared at the next High Lord’s meeting with him in tow. Instead of taking his rightful and appropriate place sitting behind his Lord, standing politely and silently, the fox pulled up a chair next to him. Right at the table. Like him and the Lord were equals. Tamlin didn’t bat an eye.

Every meeting for the next couple centuries to come would start with that, but progressively became more agonizing as time went by.

A shared look here and there. A knowing smirk tossed to one another. A quick roll of the eyes when another High Lord spat out utter nonsense and gibberish. Quick glances that held deep meanings. Kicking each other under the table to keep one from talking and inciting a political incident.

Rhysand would glare and glare, but no looks from those viridescent eyes ever came his way.

That brat would take and take his Lord’s attention and hoard it like the greedy little fox he was.

Then came Hybern’s General.

Her.

Rhysand was there when Lucien would become the center of Prythian’s focus for a second time. He regarded as she carved his face, observed as she scooped out his eye with her long, sharp fingernails.

He didn’t need to fake a smile.

Only a few weeks would pass until every High Lord received an invitation. A ball. The Spring Court was encouraged to wear masks in solidarity with its disfigured emissary.

Rhysand should have seen what was coming. He knew that she wanted Tamlin, he knew there was something wrong with the drinks, but it was too late to do anything about it.

A blight soon manifested herself across the land Prythian. A curse inflicted. Deals struck.

For Tamlin, fifty years to bed a mortal woman and make her fall for him. For Rhysand, fifty years spent leashed to her, to be hers until her chosen obsession ultimately failed and took his mantle as her trophy.

Rhysand agreed to his deal voluntarily. Tamlin finally looked him in the eye when he did so; piecing and damning. So much emotion.

…

Rhysand hated her.

He abhorred her when he awoke to her face first thing in the morning and despised her when she was the last thing he saw before sleep took him.

He hated sitting next to her while she was poised on her throne. He hated when she was on top of him. He hated when she was under him. He hated her marks that she carved into his back. Like lashings from a whip.

He hated her sharp fingernails.

He hated himself for wishing that the claws of someone else were the one leaving the scars in the heat of passion.

He hated that the only way he could get through the night as the years dragged on was to imagine that it was someone else when she defiled. Someone he loathed.

Loathed and loathed and loathed and loathed and loathed and loathed and loathed and loathed and loathed and loathed and loathed and love–

Forty-nine passed before something changed. A mortal woman. Rhysand saw her at Calanmai. He had been permitted to go under the guise of surveillance. He told himself that same reason every year that he found himself lining up next to the cave for the sacred rite. He was never chosen.

He scared off the mortal’s tormentors, and offered his hand. He saw her fear. Her thoughts raced almost as fast as her loud heartbeat. It felt good.

He left her that night.

He’d leave a few gifts here and there as the deadline drew near. A head. A faerie wingless. Something that would make Tamlin think about him.

He paid a visit. Her mind was like wet sand in his hands for him to play with, so brittle and fragile. He made Tamlin kneel for him. He made Lucien watch. It was supposed to feel good.

Tamlin brought himself to his knees for a mortal woman. To save his court. To save his Lucien. It wasn’t for Rhysand.

He didn’t tell Her the mortal woman’s true name. They took another and tortured her to death. Rhysand replaced her in his mind with a fox.

The deadline came and passed. Tamlin joined him under the mountain. He didn’t look at Rhysand. It was just as infuriating as those meetings from the past.

Then the mortal came.

She declared her love to Tamlin and She indulged the woman with three trials and a poem to answer. She was not creative, she probably gave her the poem to infuriate her obsession. He loved intricate poems and wordplay, always did, and that poem was mind-numbingly simple and easy.

The mortal couldn’t figure it out for three months, but Rhysand figured it out the moment those words finished leaving Her mouth. He knew and understood its meaning with crystal clarity. He wanted to laugh, cry, and rage at that.

Lucien was lashed and mutilated for helping the mortal.

Lucien was endangered during one of the trials.

Rhysand didn’t need to fake a smile.

Tamlin wouldn’t respond to him. No reaction. Nothing. Just a face of stone with a far away look in his eyes. The green muted and dulled. It was enraging.

Rhysand wanted something. Rage, sadness, repulsion, disgust. Anything.

So he latched onto that mortal. Dolled her up in paint and glorified ribbons, and paraded her around like a new toy. The faerie wine he forced her to consume took away any memory of it from her, but Rhysand never drank enough to forget. He didn’t want to forget how the rage burned in Tamlin’s eyes.

The dangerous, wild beast who mauled and maimed chained down with a heart of stone.

Rhysand caught him and the mortal together. He kissed her reverently. She reached his pants. He felt one of his teeth crack under the grit of his jaw.

He interrupted. Replaced Tamlin's spot.

Her lips tasted like his.

The final trial came and passed. Tamlin was stabbed in the heart by an act of love. An act of freeing him. Poetic.

They were all free. The mortal was dead.

Rhysand didn’t want to keep looking at Tamlin’s face. The agony was so potent that it seeped into all of the cracks in his walls.

He made them all bring her back. For him.

He saw her the following day.

Mate.

The following few years were crowded, but Rhysand didn’t commit them to memory. Everything turned out in his favor. The 'Band of Exiles' made Rhysand snort just like he did long ago, not bothering to cover it up. Little fox scurried off again somewhere else. Rhysand had gotten his mate. He had gotten his power. His dominance stayed intact. He had it all.

Everything.

Except he was haunted.

Green eyes. Everywhere. Out the corner of his eye. Rhysand could read minds but nothing compared to how they read his soul; Condemning and all-knowing. They controlled him.

The Solstice was a breaking point. He had to get rid of them, those eyes. He had to tear out the problem by the roots. Be rid of the beast that held that much power over him. That monster.

He couldn’t do it himself. He told Tamlin to rid the world of his existence. To Die. It was the only way to be free. It had to. Please.

I loathe you I loathe you I loathe you I loathe you I loathe you

I have to kill you. It’s the only way to get you out of my mind and heart.

I loathe you I loathe you I loathe you I loathe you I loathe you

Please just die already let me be free

I loathe you I loathe you I loathe you I loathe you I loathe you

Please.

I love you.

#tamsand #maybe tamcien? who knows?#sorry this aint feyre friendly so just a heads up #simplified summary: Rhysand said “if i can't have you nobody can” unironically #canon utm events just so you know #Tamlin #rhysand

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arson-09 · 1 month

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I think about sjm trying to say this was about rhysand in acomaf. like did she read her own writing?? god it pisses me off so much😭 Feyre hadnt even met rhysand at this point im pretty sure plus the suriel directly implicates that it means tamlin “high lords manor” like goddamn feysanders rlly hunting for scraps to justify their shitty little retcon ship.

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lainalit · 22 days

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every time I have to read a Feysand smut scene😩

#I'm so tired I can't do this anymore #anti rhysand #sarah I'm begging you can your characters act normal for once #anti feysand #anti feyre #acotar thoughts #anti acotar #acotar critical #sjm critical #anti sjm

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bangtanjjks · 15 days

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there isn't a day in my life after I read acowar where I am not mad about the stupid death bargain between feysand (at least when the universe decided to remind me that it exists, like today. after I read about it again in a fic. it gave me flashbacks. bad ones)

..... is it romantic? YES. GODDAMN. IT'S SO FUCKING ROMANTIC!!!! YOU DIE I DIE??? SIGN ME THE FUCK UPPPPP!!!!!

BUT IT'S ALSO SO FUCKING STUPID IT HURTS ME TO THE CORE OF MY SOUL. like. like. Fey I could understand. she's 20. TWENTY. tf does she knows about leading a whole court of another species? she barely lives as a fae for one year. I won't be fooled into thinking she knows enough on how to basically run a country (hell, nesta probably knows more about running something since she's the first born daughter, mama Archeron probably taught her how to run the household, that's more than what fey would know.)

fey is 20 something, she just saw her mate dies in front of her, that's traumatizing. I get it. she wouldn't want to go through that again. emotions are thick so common sense would take a back seat in that situation. BUT RHYSAND???? 500+ YEARS OLD? who's probably been a high lord for more than half of it?? YOU'RE A LEADER BRO. YOU DON'T THINK TYING YOUR LIFE TO SOMEONE ELSE COULD BE CATASTROPHIC???? like.... did he not think of his court, of his people, the very same ones he wanted to protect so bad he'd become amarantha's whore, when making that bargain? what if one day both the high lord and high lady dies. THEN WHAT??? so baffling.

why is that bargain even written in the first place, what is its purpose for the plot progression? Sarah could've just write a hot and steamy feysand post-we-died-but-not-really-war sex and be done with it without the stupid bargain.

almost ruined the ship for me... and then SJM pulled the pregnancy bs. and that was that. that severed any love i had for canon feysand. I love Feyre. I love Rhys. but them together*? no thanks🙏🏼

and that is all. I just... I read a fic with this death bargain mentioned. and now I'm having flashbacks of being 19, stressed out of my mind for finals, and thinking I could find joy and relax when I finally had time to read acowar. only to find out about the bargain. and then acosf happened and..... I haven't touch any books SJM released ever since lmao. I was that betrayed😭

*in canon. I would still eat up any fanon feysand works like it's nobody's business. that's MY high lord and high lady!!!!

#feysand death bargain #sjm critical #rhysand #acotar #feyre #feysand critical #seriously SJM what the fuck were you thinking #and now they have a child #congratulations bro. one wrong move and nyx would be an orphan faster than rhys can mist things #i do NOT CARE about the other bullshits SJM writes into the acotar universe #but this death bargain??? this one was number one in term of stupidity #JUST WHY? WHAT'S IT FOR?#if feysand isn't the literal ruler of the courts. just your average citizen fae. THEN IT WOULD BE ROMANTIC #but they're the HIGH LORD/LADY!!! THEIR DEATH ISN'T SOMETHING TO PLAY AROUND WITH #and the fact that this bargain is just never addressed again... makes me so mad #anti SJM #acowar #acosf #a court of wings and ruin

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