#he goes from angry and easily irritated but managing it to having the temperament of someone who’s had a meh day

[blucmoon]

━  ☾ ⊹  ( im jaebum, cis male , he/him ) say hello to AE YONGGUK, the TWENTY SIX YEAR OLD that seems to have a lot in his hands with HIS job as a STALL OWNER, DRUMMER AND OCCASIONAL BARTENDER! beyond that, they seemed RESPONSIBLE AND TRUSTWORTHY upon first glance. i heard someone say they’re sort of EVASIVE AND INSECURE though. HE seems to live in a 4 BEDROOM HOUSE in YUNHWA, SOUTH KOREA. anything else to add? oh, yeah! he also RUNS A STALL CALLED “KODACHROME” WHERE HE TAKES PHOTOS FOR IDS, SELLS PRINTS AS WELL AS BOOKS SESSIONS FOR PHOTOSHOOTS. 

basic information

full name: ae yongguk

nickname(s): guk, yonggu (hasn’t figured out why)

age: 25

date of birth: january 6th, 1995

birthplace: seoul, south korea.

hometown: yunhwa, south korea.

current location: yunhwa, south korea.

ethnicity: asian.

nationality: korean

gender: cismale

pronouns: he / him

orientation: demiromantic, bisexual.

occupation: stall owner and drummer of a band called “crux”. sometimes he helps at his aunt’s bar in busan for some extra money.

living arrangements: house #4012, hwesakgu.

language(s) spoken: korean, english (conversational)

physical appearance

faceclaim: got7’s im jaebum “jb”

hair color: like almost everyone, he has naturally brown hair but throughout the years he’s dyed it blonde or black a couple of times. right now, it’s black and he has managed to grow it to a length he really likes below his chin. yongguk can be usually seen with his hair down and every so often he puts it up in a half updo. whenever the band has a gig, he  exerts a little more effort (even if most of the time it doesn’t pay off).

eye color: brown. (likes colored contacts every now and then)

height: 179 cm

weight: 66 kg

build: lean person, with a good muscular frame.

distinguishing characteristics: two beauty marks right next to each other on his left eyelid.

tattoos: has a full sleeve on his left arm from shoulder down to a little above his wrist and another one his right forearm.

piercings: lobe and upper lobe in both ears, anti-tragus on the left one, double helix on the right, anti-eyebrow and nose on the right side of the face (won’t ever use jewelry during the day though).

clothing style: while he’s working at the stall he has a more casual style consisting of jeans, cargos, pants, button downs, sweaters. likes layering with denim shirts, flannels, jackets, windbreakers over t-shirts, etc. mostly in earthy colors, dark reds and blues, white, gray and black. no matter what though, he will always wear long sleeves, even in the hottest summer days and never roll them up, going to these lengths just to not draw any unnecessary attention. (he’s even gotten a fair amount of rash guards for those occasions when he feels like going for a swim.)

at the bar or at gigs, he’s usually clad in all black or dark tones. sleeveless shirts or those with short sleeves are his go-to, not nearly as concerned to conceal the ink over his arms from the public eye at night. he likes to choose style and comfort when performing, thus splurging a little more on his nightly outfits rather than those he uses on the daily. leather and denim jackets, bombers, sometimes harnesses, jeans in either black or leather, boots, sneakers, muscle shirts, graphic t-shirts, shirts with the first buttons undone and rolled up sleeves in dark, rich colors. style varies from street fashion to grunge to rocker depending on how he feels.  

health

sleeping habits: goes to sleep really late but has no trouble waking up early to go to to work, though for the first couple of hours he’s awake and if he has gotten 4-5 hours only, he’d be kind of silent and unresponsive until getting that first cup of coffee. will likely nap before his shift at the bar only for an hour and a half tops.

eating habits: eats 3 - 4 times a day and gets easily hungry between meals. often seen snacking whatever he can.

exercise habits: doesn’t really exercise much constantly, but on the weekends he likes hiking or running around town.

emotional stability: 6/10

body temperature: average

addictions: none

drug use: experimentally a couple of times, hasn’t done it in a while.

alcohol use: socially, medium-high tolerance.

personality

label: the opaque (unable to be figured out; hiding behind a façade; not transparent.)

positive traits: reliable, responsible, hard-working, trustworthy, loyal, thoughtful, generous, creative, passionate, artistic, caring, considerate, devoted.

negative traits: defensive, evasive, cautious, indecisive, defiant, self-doubt, fluctuating self-esteem, conflict-averse, private, self-conscious, sensitive, unpredictable.

hobbies: starting songs he never finishes, watching the same show every year (avatar the last airbender) as well as his comfort movies, cloud/star gazing, jigsaw puzzles, origami, video games, playing guitar sometimes.

habits: knuckle cracking, muttering under his breath, snacking between meals, rubbing hands together, jaw clenching, gesturing while talking, rubbing the back of his neck, running hands through hair, drumming fingers, sings along to songs and sings gibberish for the parts he doesn’t know, doodles on any paper at reach, dozes off when bored/daydreams, bobs his leg while sitting.

zodiac sign: sun capricorn, moon pisces, rising scorpio (read as: impending disaster)

mbti: infp

enneagram: 6w5

temperament: melancholic

hogwarts house: ravenclaw

moral alignment: chaotic good

primary vice: wrath

primary virtue: diligence

element: water

expanded personality

yongguk has a strong tendency to appear quiet and reserved and it might come off as standoffish or easily confused with snoberish, which makes it worse when he doesn’t go out of his way to change this preconception about him. he needs a great deal of personal space, both physically and mentally, and any attempt to control him or forcibly schedule his activities will only strengthen his need for time alone.

he’s responsible, trustworthy and hardworking. relies heavily on his intuition to guide him and knows how to patiently wait as well as how to adapt to any circumstances. in yunhwa, he’s been forced to learn how to interact with the townsfolk and through the years he’s mastered the front he puts on in order to remain below the radar and not get any unnecessary attention; polite, helpful, sometimes even considered as a sweet guy, yongguk has no problem lending a hand to anyone that needs it.

however, in busan, his adaptability is also handy when it comes to dealing with customers. at the same time, it’s in these moments when he feels a little less restrained and allows himself to be less calculative: flirty, playful, sometimes misleading… he’s gotten in several problems because of this and yet he has no plans to stop it anytime soon.

yongguk is a little insecure and with a fluctuating self-esteem: sometimes he’s very well aware and confident on his skills and assets, but other times he will second-guess everything about himself. this combined with an strong fear of failure that stems from poor past decisions, makes him hesitate when it comes to making important calls that could potentially affect his future, but he knows how to play it off… most of the times.

despite appearing simple at a glance, yongguk is more than what meets the eye. friendly but private, polite but passionate about his beliefs, calm and sometimes expressionless. it’s not that he doesn’t have feelings - he actually runs quite deep and strong - it’s just that he conceals them under a mask of politeness because he’s unsure how to deal with them; he’s restrained when it comes to conveying emotion, but has a very deep care for his peers. might be awkward and uncomfortable with expressing himself verbally, but has a wonderful ability to define and reveal what he’s feeling on paper.

yongguk is genuinely interested in understanding others, a good listener, but will exclusively share his sorrows and woes only with the friends he trusts the most, unafraid to display his best and worst with them. his natural intuition allows him to sense the mood without the need of words. however, he can be quite impressionable and be easily influenced by the moods of others, which may often lead him to feel overwhelmed because of this.

incredibly curious, yongguk loves to explore with his hands and his eyes, touching and examining the world around him with cool rationalism and spirited curiosity. he explores ideas through creating, troubleshooting, trial and error and first-hand experience. yongguk can be a challenge to predict, even by the closest people to him. can seem very loyal and steady for a while, but he has a tendency to build up a store of impulsive energy that explodes without warning, taking his interests in bold, new directions.

with a good memory, he can recall experiences from the past down to smallest details. this is both good and bad: remembering the good memories is a way to ease himself when in stressful or sad situations, but he’s also prone to dwell on previous mistakes and regret them for a long time.

he’s not consistently angry. will either let the anger build up and release it all at once in an outburst or let it out slowly through small, critical remarks throughout the day. sometimes, both. he’s very difficult when annoyed, but it usually doesn’t last that long. a perfectionistic through and through, his main source of anger usually comes from things not being up to their standards. not good at sparing others’ feelings when he does become irritable. doesn’t like conflict and will go to great lengths to avoid it. in those occasions where he does have to face it, he will approach it from his feelings and mistakenly place little importance on who is right and who is wrong. yongguk will react to the emotions he’s going through and won’t care whether or not he’s right, which makes him appear irrational and illogic.

background (tldr)

his parents work in the field with doctors without borders.

yongguk was born in seoul and lived there for six years before his parents sent him to yunhwa to stay with his grandparents while they went abroad.

seven years passed, his parents would rarely contact them, much less visit them.

in the meantime, his grandma taught him how to play many instruments, being a musician herself and he was enrolled in kwangsook academy.

at thirteen they returned and guk moved with them back to seoul. around this time he became more reserved and quiet, the conversation always focused on his parents achievements and interests.

he made it his goal to become a doctor in hopes of having something in common with them. it was a way to seek their attention and approval.

a year later, a new plan was announced and yongguk was back in yunhwa with his grandparents. he was actually pretty happy about this.

started taking his studies seriously in his junior year of high school, going to the extent of dropping music and every other altogether.

he successfully managed to get into pusan national university, school medicine.

however, the whole experience was something he wasn’t ready for at all. for a year and half he struggled to keep up with his classmates and was utterly ashamed to compare his simple goal of wanting to get closer to his parents to the drive of everyone else.

he drops out after talking with his grandfather, a successful doctor himself.

initially excited to get the chance of truly discovering what he wanted to do, a single call from his father deterred his enthusiasm. he was supposed to return to yunhwa, instead he decided to move in with a friend and stay in busan… where everything goes downhill.

at only twenty and under the fake pretense that he’d get his act together, he allows himself to make mistakes and act recklessly, secretly wishing that’d be enough to get his parents attention.

he found temporary jobs all around busan and never lasted too long, but he still made money and that’s the only thing he really cared about at the moment. things aren’t great, but they aren’t that bad, or so he tells himself.

at twenty one, he gets a full sleeve on his left arm as well as many piercings. a couple of weeks after this, his grandparents decided to pay him a surprise visit and the state of his apartment as well as life… is not optimal.

coincidence or not, his parents video called them at that moment. it was the first time he heard from them in a year, and it was the last time as well.

seems like only his appearance was enough to finally trigger some sort of emotion from his father, but it wasn’t really the kind he was looking for. it was anger and he could clearly see the disappointment in his eyes. a heated argument ensues, one that ends with “you’re not our son anymore.”

perhaps it came a little too late, but it was the much needed wake up call to get his act together. not in order to mend the relationship with his parents, he knew that’d be impossible. but more so, for himself.

he perks up at a suggestion from his grandmother, one that was about a long forgotten hobby of his: photography. he remembers an old shoe box filled with polaroids and undeveloped films under his bed.

thus, he stays in busan after enrolling in a community college for a year-long photography class. around this time, one of his aunts offered him a job as a bartender in her bar and since then he’s been helping her every now and then. he says it’s for extra money, but in reality is a way to repay her from hiring him when no one else would.

after he was done with his course and had saved enough money to get a decent camera, he decided it was time to go back to yunhwa.

he returned three years ago. luckily, his reputation there remained intact and he wanted it to stay that way thus hiding the ink on his skin with long sleeves and removing the jewelry whenever he was outside.

yongguk moved back with his grandparents, this time to help them out and take care of his grandmother who started to get a little ill. he picked up playing and making music after finding his long abandoned drum set in the garage.

with the help of his grandfather, he opened his very own stall called “kodachrome” where he takes photos for ids, sells prints of his own work (mostly of yunhwa’s scenery) as well as books sessions for photoshoots.

a year and half ago, however, he had to find a new place. his grandparents decided to retire and move to jeju. thankfully, he managed to get a deal to rent a house from one of his grandma’s friends. the house was a little too big thus he decided to post an ad online looking for roommates to share the space and ease the expenses.

in the present, yongguk is still running his stall and getting contacted every blue moon by small influencers and event planners looking for his services. three nights a week, he goes back to busan to work for his aunt at the bar and every other night he has gigs with a band, which was randomly created after having far too many drinks with his roommates.

background (full)

tw: mentions of needles, tattoos, substances but nothing too graphic.

ae yongguk was the name given to you and and your endearing smiles as well as adorable dimples seemed to be more than enough to have everyone coddling and cosseting you from the get-go. nonetheless, permanency was never on your parents’ agenda. by the time you turned six, they moved away and you were shoved into your grandparents’ household in yunhwa.

it’s difficult to comprehend the sudden change, being told that you’d be living with them for some time. how much? they don’t specify, but the next thing you know is that you’re wordlessly bidding goodbye to your parents, who promised to write and come back for you soon. they didn’t. being part of doctors without borders and making it their goal to offer medical aid where it’s needed most, they put their humanitarian labor before parenthood.

the first letter you got arrived eight months after they left. there’s disappointment and there’s also heartbreak, but they don’t last long. you don’t allow them to regardless of your young age. instead, you focus on how your grandfather, despite having severe and strict ways, squeezed your shoulder and offered the small smile that you know all too well now. or how your grandmother, a renowned musician, didn’t hesitate to shower you in unconditional love. your education didn’t cease and your grandfather immediately enrolled you at kwangsook academy.

one of your most prominent traits is how transparent you are with your emotions and your grandmother easily learnt to read this. it was no surprise that the first time you saw her playing a beautiful song on her baby grand and your irises sparkled with curiosity, she immediately beckoned you closer. “hi, my love.” the elderly woman greeted while shifting a little so you could take a seat beside her. you meet her eyes and you wonder if she’s looking for anything by the time an easy smile appears on her face. “do you like music?” you’re unable to respond, but she must’ve seen something because, after that, she started teaching you the basics of piano. a couple of days later, she asked again and this time around, the answer naturally slipped out of your mouth: i love it.

for your regular classes, you were constant and responsible. sure, you enjoyed learning, but your interest wasn’t inherently there. it was just something you had to do. however, when it came to that newfound love for music of yours, you were the one with the initiative to ask for more lessons and practice whenever you had free time; first the piano, later the guitar and a couple of years later you made the stubborn decision to learn the drums.

it was nice staying in yunhwa, it brought you a comforting sense of belonging. it was the beginning of finding your own voice; discovering your likes and dislikes, some of your talents and even the chance of making friends. however, there was always a lingering question in the back of your mind and a deep sadness you rarely showed: when are my parents coming back?

they do, but only for a short period of time.

you had only turned thirteen, but the moment you saw them you were but an excited kid, joyously yelling and running to hug them, but they greeted you rather… frivolously. you try to ignore the breach between you and them, which you felt the most when you were holding your mother’s hand; her skin a couple of degrees colder than your grandma’s. they ask how you were doing and, in your frenzy, you start talking about everything that’s happened all this time only to be interrupted; the voice you were starting to grow inevitably drowned in the sea of their own achievements and stories.

it’s then that they tell you they’d move to seoul and you’re to go with them. apparently, with the intention to settle down and give it a go to having a normal family. you say goodbye to your grandparents, and unlike your mom and dad, the promises of staying in touch with them are real.

you were silent and reserved around your parents. you had to after learning that no matter what you tried to tell them, the conversation always ended being about what interested them. for a while you pretended to be okay with it, but soon you started wishing they paid as much attention to you as they did to their cause. it made you think that, by immersing yourself in that world, you might be able to keep them interested long enough or make them proud, and your very own obsession to become a doctor started right there. simple questions that had your parents perk up are what made you believe that your plan isn’t too far fetched.

luckily, you were able to retreat to your music whenever everything became too overwhelming, but even this wasn’t enough to stop an ever growing beast called dissatisfaction from making your chest its home. it increases in size and sometimes it’s so big that you’re unable to keep it in your ribcage, coming to light with rebellious little acts such as not doing your homework or bluntly strumming your guitar late at night. eventually, unspoken words and jumbled thoughts find their way into old notebooks full of an amateur’s unfinished songs.

it’s exactly a year later that they announced their new plans of moving to the other side of the world, plans that didn’t take you into consideration at all. it was disappointing, but not really surprising. still, you were able to comprehend the nature of their jobs, after all they were brilliant doctors and only a handful were willing to offer the assistance your parents did. you stop expecting things to change after the farewells you exchanged with them. you wished them the best and truly meant it.

going back to yunhwa at fourteen is something you anticipate; your grandmother welcomed you with your favorite food and your grandfather with a blank notebook. “for your songs, son” he said with that smile of his, learning about this new hobby of yours from one of the many mails you sent them. both were happy about your return and helped you pick up your studies where you last left them.

it’s in your junior year at high school when you truly get serious about your studies, medical school was your single goal. even though you’ve come to terms with the relationship you had with your parents, a hopeful part of you genuinely believed that becoming a doctor would help breach the distance.

and so you do, dropping music altogether and every other hobby that “needlessly” consumed your time and energy. it was admittedly exhausting and you were obviously miserable without playing any instrument. the sleepless nights and the isolation you brought upon yourself paid off the moment you received the news of your acceptance at pusan national university. that very night, you got a call from your parents congratulating you.

for the next year and a half, however, things prove to be extremely challenging when you find yourself amongst thousands of students whose drive and ambition is stronger than simply wanting to get close to their parents. it’s shameful, you admit and the constant pressure as well as the competitive environment soon takes a toll on you, but it was much needed for you to start questioning everything; yourself, your goals and if it was really what you wanted.

the person who helps you to fully come to this realisation is none other than your grandfather, another renowned doctor in your family. it’s shocking to hear him encouraging you to drop out and follow your dreams. truth is you were far too concerned chasing after a hopeless goal than to craft ambitions and dreams for yourself. still, you follow his advice even when you are completely at loss about what the next step would be.

if news of your acceptance travelled fast, so did the news of your departure. you got a call shortly after and all you heard was “we’re very disappointed” followed by radio silence before your father hung up. you were nineteen, about to turn twenty, when they last talked to you.

their silence becomes one of your many excuses to make mistakes and act recklessly; if your good behaviour and your previous little act didn’t catch their attention, this surely will. it’s your shield against the disapproval in your grandfather’s eyes, and that very shield is what stops him from stopping you. even when you told him you wouldn’t return to yunhwa, instead moving to one of your friend’s apartment in the heart of busan.

it’s amusing how easily your grandfather believes your fake promises of trying to get your life together and you feel awful for being such a good liar. you find decent jobs, but never stay too long. unnecessary fights with customers or blatant irresponsibility are the main reasons that force you to find a new one every couple of weeks. you’ve been many things: a busser, a server, even a mascot. you didn’t mind much as long as you were paid.

you willingly dive into a void filled with indulgence and bad decisions. all in order to not think, to not dwell on the future. you used every situation you could possibly get yourself into as a distractor from the painful reality. you were lost, so utterly lost.

twenty one comes around and you decide that, for the first time ever, you’re going to gift yourself something. a permanent work of art, its canvas your skin.

three monthly salaries were spent on black and red ink which reminded you of your favorite place. the needle pierces your skin once, twice, hundred times until your arm is almost fully covered… maybe it was a metaphor, a feeble attempt to display something bright and wonderful on someone who otherwise had long lost every trace of that. it was not enough and a couple of piercings follow in trying to beautify the sheer mess you’ve made of yourself.

some nights you question your own strength and sanity. you used to be pristine, someone to be proud of and an exemplary resident of the town you fondly call home. you were constant, had talent and a midas touch that turned meaningless words into beautiful songs, scribbles onto paper into melodies that had every listener humming along.

what happened to you, boy? says a voice in your head… or is it from your chest? is it the dissatisfaction you’ve tried to keep locked for years? all it took was to be called a disappointment once for you to willingly become one?

it consumes you and every passing day it becomes louder, but you’re stubborn and simply take it as a challenge to find new ways to drown it. headachingly loud music, poisonous substances, liquid trust or the ecstasy under someone’s fingertips… the city swallows you whole and provides you with momentary sweet oblivion but… is the aftermath of impeding remorse worth it? it is, you convince yourself while running back into it’s arms night after night.

one day, without warning, three knocks come onto your door and when you’re about to curse whoever disrupted your game, you’re met with your grandparents. your appearance is deplorable; bloodshot eyes, greasy hair and alarming signs of lack of proper sleep. it hurt to see your grandmother, as crystal clear as you wear, worried and at loss of words. a thing the city taught you was to be a pretender and so you ignore every sign of concern in their faces while smiling at them. “long time no see!” you say cheerfully.

it’s a quiet visit. they don’t know what to tell you or where to start, and neither do you feel a need to fill the awkward silence when your grandfather’s phone went off. he answers without thinking to a videocall and the voice that greets him has you freezing on your spot. father. your face falls and your eyes widen in obvious panic when he asks about you. the older man in the room seems to be equally as frantic as you when he glances at you, taking in how you look before your father speaks again.

“oh, is yongguk there? let me talk to him.” his authoritative tone was enough to have your grandfather turning the phone towards you. it’s late, far too late to fix yourself or even try to hide the glaringly bright red ink on your arm. so, in your frenzy, you decide to play cynical. what else could you lose, right? “hey, dad.” you greet with a shameless smile upon your lips. “your timing is as impeccable as ever.”

the argument that ensues forces you to retreat to your room and you thank whatever universal force that your roommate decided to have a weekend-long trip. it’s a heated fight, and you realize midway through that this is the longest conversation you’ve ever had with your father. why is it that the most display of emotion you get from him is when you don’t follow his ridiculous standards? he gets louder, so do you and it escalates to irreversible words. the last thing he says is “you’re not our son anymore” followed by silence.

then you laugh.

you laugh over the irony of an absent father saying such a thing. you laugh because you don’t want to allow him see you hurting. you laugh at how fucked up the whole situation is. “doesn’t make a difference, does it?” you say between unabashed chuckles. “not like you ever acted like a father, anyway.” and you hang up, your legs giving in and only then did you notice that your whole body had been shaking this whole time.

you muffle a scream on a pillow while feeling so alone and like the butt of the cruelest joke. you want to hate your father and your mother. you want to despise them for their horrible behavior. instead, you find yourself crying like an abandoned kid wanting, yearning for the love that wasn’t given to him. you want to run, to disappear, to hide where no one can find you.

then, two arms wraps around you and even though your grandmother is a little smaller than you, you find yourself feeling protected under her embrace. shortly after comes a pat on your head from your grandfather. you look up at those brown eyes full of wisdom and, when he tells you “everything will be okay, son.” you wholeheartedly believe him

because, a year later, things started looking up.

[rightbookwritebook-blog]

An Opinion on the Works of... Sarah J Maas (Part 1)

I like to think of this as more an opinion rather than a review. A synopsis with carefully curated commentary. As you can imagine, it will be full of spoilers.

Some of my opinions may resonate with you, others may not. Hopefully we can all keep an open mind - and perhaps have a nice, frank discussion. I’ll be perfectly honest in regards to my opinions, and respect your right to disagree.

ACOTAR

So, I did not start with this series. No, I started with that other one which we shall get into later. I picked this one up as I did rather enjoy Maas’ other series and hoped to find more indulgent fantasy to love here. This is sounding like I don’t like this series, which couldn’t be further from the truth - but I did despise this particular book. Even after reading the series I can only begrudgingly accept this one for what it is - necessary fodder for building the story.

A very brave move Maas, very brave. I applaud you.

I was originally sold on the “beauty and the beast” retelling. My hopes were pinned on a more classic retelling, not a modified Disney version, and I was ecstatic to discover elements from Villeneuve’s original tale. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love the 1991 Disney animated feature dearly, but that’s beside the point.

So, off we go.

Ah, first-person, my nemesis. Not all first-person is bad, mind you, some can be done very well (spoiler: this is one of them). You see, my biggest problem is the limitations with first-person, and an author can use those to their advantage (by pulling the wool over our eyes spectacularly) or they can get lazy and write a very dull story.

We meet our narrator, Feyre. Life if bleak, cold, hungry, as so often these tales do begin. But our girl has learned to hunt to feed her family of four: a father and two elder sisters. On this cold, desperate evening she finds a deer - and so does a very large wolf. Both are dead in short order, and living up to the waste-not-want-not philosophy our girl makes the most of both deaths.

We meet her family. They have lived in poverty for eight years. A hard line is drawn here between Feyre and her family: she’s the hard-working, do-what-must-be-done youngest while the others are portrayed as needing to be taken care of (or expecting to be cared for). Not totally unrealistic considering their pre-poverty lifestyle.

Father gets a pass as we learn his leg is completely useless. He also seems to be suffering from clinical depression. From our interactions with him over the next couple of chapters he seems loving, if completely destroyed by the turn of events. This I can forgive, and it seems Feyre does as well. She’s mildly frustrated with him, but usually more understanding of him than she is of either of her sisters.

Elain, the younger of the two sisters is framed as sweet but naive. She is relatively quiet and offers little. Feyre is again sympathetic, and there is little fault to find with this sister. Her gestures are kind and her nature hopeful and optimistic. Elain seems the sort to look on the bright side.

Nesta, the eldest, is cold and uncaring from Feyre’s point of view. She is the most vocal, the most animated. And she is clearly not at all impressed, amused or here for this shit. There seems to be a bigger struggle between Feyre and this sister - power or resentment, perhaps both. Where Feyre will figure things out and seek help, Nesta seems angry she wasn’t born knowing how to do everything.

This is where I have issues with first-person. We are only getting what our narrator knows - and her own experiences are limited. We do not learn what the two sisters experienced, how those experiences were framed for them, unless through Feyre’s filter (which is not infallible as we will learn).

That said, the sisters do need to come to grips with their situation. Frivolity is a thing of the past, but I cannot - will not - fault them for their airs. These two were brought up to be ladies. They were older when misfortune struck and we learn Feyre wasn’t as far along in her studies as they were. Nesta as the eldest was probably a novelty for a sophisticate who wanted to play at being mother. Elain with her easy nature likely caused no fuss. Feyre is the youngest, and likely the most neglected of the three. Children are no longer a novelty when the third comes along.

Feyre does mention her mother neglecting their education, so it is possible she may not have invested much time in any of her children. Or at least had tired of playing at it by the time Feyre was born. The rub with Nesta shines in this area, as Feyre admits Nesta “never lets her forget” that she doesn’t know as much. I have to admit, I didn’t see this the same as Feyre. I think this may be Nesta’s way of trying to teach her youngest sister. Trying... and failing in Feyre’s eyes.

The mother, dead some eleven years, is painted as cold and aloof, and is perhaps more intelligent than our narrator gives her credit for. She clearly understands her daughter’s natures - and which one can be depended upon to make sure the family is cared for. I think she is likely what Nesta mourns the most, as the eldest. She is compared often to her mother, in looks and temperament. I imagine Nesta might have been close to her mother, and is both grieving and jealous that such a responsibility was laid on her youngest sister’s shoulders.

We begin to see, through family squabbles and interactions, the motivations of the characters: Feyre to be remembered, Nesta to serve a purpose, their father to return to his children what he feels he took from them. And Elain... quiet, sweet Elain... only seems to seek to see her family happy.

But I digress, back to our story....

It turns out the wolf was not a wolf, but fae. And soon the other fae come to collect the debt. In the dark of the night the dilapidated cottage is burst into by an enormous golden beast - and Feyre instinctively names him as a faerie. He roars and trashes the cottage and generally causes a panic. The sisters shriek and cower, the father trembles and tries to protect the two eldest, and Feyre defends her family.

Feyre will not allow harm to come to either sister. She admits to killing the wolf, accepts her fate, her death, if it will keep her father and sisters safe. Our beast offers an exchange - she come to live in the faerie world and forsake her human existence. She gives hasty goodbyes - instructions to their father. Both sisters are mute, horrified, and her father implores her to never return if she manages to escape - that she deserves better, better than what he can offer her.

Leaving behind the cold winter, we travel to the lands north of the Wall that separates the two worlds. This is Prythian, the faerie realm. Feyre is brought to a glorious manor in full Spring bloom. Her captor is quiet, surly, snarling. Feyre doesn’t take this personally. She killed the wolf, his friend, and expects no sympathy.

At this point Feyre has given us a few rules of dealing with the faeries: they dislike iron, ash wood impedes their ability to heal, fae cannot lie, never eat fae food. Sensible, common faerie lore and nothing too surprising.

The narrative takes a familiar turn for those who know the story. Feyre is unsettled in this new place. Frightened, but determined. A servant shows her to luxurious rooms, where she bathes and is given new clothes. She worries for her family and is promised they are well cared for - so long as she does not return to the human world. Feyre makes the most of it, exploring this unfamiliar world and learning all she can from the three she interacts most with:

Tamlin - the beast turned High Fae who took her from her home. He comes across as irritated but resigned to her presence. Conversations go from curt and business-like to something bordering on a frustrated toddler who is not having his way. I don’t like him one bit.

Lucien - the courtier and emissary. Rightfully angry at the death of his friend and yearning for something akin to justice. He’s loyal, but not to Feyre. Witty commentary, often rude and insulting, but honest where is counts. He could grow on me.

Alis - the servant. Everyone knows the most useful information comes from the servants - ears and eyes of every place. She’s firm with Feyre, but not unkind. Part servant, part nursemaid, part maternal figure. Easily overlooked and more device that fleshed out and realized character. We will see part of her story, but only in tantalizing snippets that only serve to move the plot.

All goes along swimmingly and Feyre plays the two male Fae off one another in an attempt to find a way to return home, deal or no deal. We learn of (and meet) some of the threats - Bogges and nagas and Suriels - and an unnamed threat, a blight. Tamlin shows more of his childish behavior. I am quickly convinced Lucien is the only one with damn sense in this household.

These early scenes never set well with me - it followed the formula, but there was something missing from this beast. The story begins to feel cheap, flimsy, uninspired. This beast is a true beast in every sense of the word. We have all spoiled prince and nothing... redeeming. In the story the beast grows as much as the beauty - their eventual love is formed as both of them learn to let go of their misconceptions, their pride and prejudices. Oh yes, another parallel for you.

I found (and still find) Tamlin lacking. I understand many do. I held out hope for him... but I think we all know where it will go. Maybe in some future story he will be redeemed. I hope so, for his sake.

So, the story morphs from the ‘Feyre wants to escape’ plot after a heartbreaking scene in which her father shows up in the night. While waiting for Tamlin to return to the manor (off hunting down these threats he feels only he can face), Feyre is about to give up when she spots something unusual... her crippled father looking up at her from the gardens.

Rescued at last she hauls out of the manor... only to be stopped as Tamlin returns. Tamlin, this was your moment to turn this thing around and you blew it. You could have been kind, you could have been understanding, but you insult and belittle the poor traumatized girl. I understand you want her to understand the danger of trusting her senses but we both know you did not even try to approach this with kindness.

In her favor, Feyre snaps back. She wants her family, she wants to go home, she doesn’t want to fade from their memory. She tells Tamlin of the vow she made to her mother to take care of the family... Tamlin dismisses this, reasoning she has not abandoned them. In fact, says he, her current situation has fulfilled her vow as they are now fed and comfortable (thanks to him).

Feyre begrudgingly accepts this and recognizes she is freed from her vow... only to feel empty. She joins Lucien on patrol, carrying a bow to hunt, but does not have the heart for it. Tamlin disappears and is rarely around - excuses that he is occupied keeping the land safe, hunting down the threats. Feyre asks why Lucien does not help, why others aren’t helping. Lucien speaks of Tamlin’s “moods” and how he would “shred” any who tried to help... and he sees this as necessary. “...a firm hand is needed. We’re too powerful, and too bored with immortality, to be checked by anything else.” Excuses, excuses Lucien. Red flags, red BANNERS, Feyre.

Of course this alarming admission requires something to wash away the reader’s concerns about Tamlin’s behavior. Feyre wakes from a nightmare - a dream of slaughtering the wolf in the cold winter of the human realm, except now it is no wolf, but a male fae she skins. Unable to sleep she wanders the manor, coming across Tamlin as he returns. He’s injured from his encounter, and Feyre tends to his injury. She begins to feel sorry for him - his isolation becomes a burden he must bear rather than his choice to go alone. She ponders her own ignorant, insignificant life... as she has, and will, multiple times. All carefully constructed so we are sympathetic to Tamlin. Grateful he has rescued this dumb little human.

The next morning Feyre overhears a conversation that, at first, seems to promise Lucien handing Tamlin’s ass to him. Sadly, it’s more of Tamlin being wishy-washy and Lucien enabling the behavior. When caught Feyre asks Lucien to go riding, which he declines, passing her off to Tamlin... which Feyre isn’t happy with (nor, apparently, is Tamlin). Feyre declines... but aims for something else.

Tamlin shows her to the study... where he leaves her to her own devices. Feyre has ulterior motives - while she seems content to remain, she still wants to send a message to her family that she is safe... but her poor reading and writing skills mean she needs to practice. Frustrated with her abilities and the task she has se herself, she takes a break and explores the study - and finds a mural.

It has been mentioned over the course of the narrative that Feyre has a gift - a natural inclination - for painting. She was moved by Elain’s small gift of paints. She has admired the paintings and art within the manor. This mural is the story of this world - created by a cauldron. A map and a history. Wars, places, people.

She returns to her work, her spirits low, and throws out her progress. Tamlin makes a timely reappearance with an offer to help - but Feyre doesn’t trust him and he is annoyed because she doesn’t. She falls back to pondering all she doesn’t know, her faults and shortcomings, before deciding to track down Lucien. On one of their rides he spoke of the Suriel, a dangerous creature who, if you trap it, will answer any question. So, armed with Lucien’s dubious instructions, Feyre sets out to catch herself a Suriel.

I enjoyed this bit. Her easy banter with Lucien feels natural, reluctant allies slowly forming a friendship. Her dedication to hunting this creature familiar and natural. And she succeeds - she’s trapped a nightmare personified.

The Suriel is interesting - terrifying, but interesting. He has sort of appreciation for Feyre, admiration for her cunning and skill. And he’s full of information. He answers she cannot return home; if she does she and her family will die. In response to her request for more information about Tamlin, he lets slip Tamlin is the High Lord of the Spring Court. He instructs her to stay with the High Lord - stay close and all will be righted. He begins a history lesson of Hybern - the kingdom across the sea. The king of faeries who dwells there, where humans once were slaves. The only reminder of the humans who once dwelt there a throne of bones. Before he can tell more they are interrupted by four nasty creatures - naga - who are intent on harming both the Suriel and Feyre.

Of course Feyre fights, takes the extra time to free the Suriel (best decision she’s made) and attempts to flee. She screams for help - hoping Lucien will keep his promise to come to her aid - and manages to fight the naga off admirably. But she is human and fighting against something stronger, something immortal. Fortunately, Tamlin is there to save her.

Thus begins the turning of Feyre’s head and, for me, it’s a little heavy-handed. Tamlin saved her. Tamlin is High Lord. The Suriel told her to stay. So she does. She softens. Faerie lore falls apart: they lie, iron doesn’t bother them, but ash remains a threat. Tamlin finally tries, pretty words and apologies. A little late for me, but a turning point I suppose.

He tells his sad history, his belief that human lives are worth protecting. His father kept human slaves and he doesn’t want to become his father. He is protecting her family, financially and otherwise. He removed the terrifying memory of the night he came to claim her (kindness or violation?). He left a warning to be tripped to prompt them to flee if and when things turn south. Then he offers two more gifts: paints, canvas, brushes - everything she needs to paint to her heart’s content - and the promise of showing her the art gallery.

Just to remind us that there is a threat out there, we come to one of the only scenes in the book that I like. That feels true and honest, where Tamlin isn’t a complete bore.

In the middle of the night - after waking from another terrifying nightmare (seriously Feyre, lay off the rich faerie foods before bed) - she hears someone shouting, and screaming in pain. Not sensing any danger she goes to investigate. Tamlin has returned from one of his nightly prowls with a wounded faerie - a Summer Court male who has been seriously, and mortally, mauled.

Feyre tentatively steps forward as Tamlin tells Lucien the faerie was dumped over the border. Lucien is physically ill and unable to help. So Feyre steps up to help tend to the wounded, traumatized male. He cries in agony and repeats ‘she took my wings’ - which is an obvious truth. All that remain of his wings are horrific stumps, the ragged wounds refusing to clot. Despite their efforts, it is not long before Feyre and Tamlin realize there is little to be done. This particular faerie is on borrowed time. They keep him company, both offering kindness, and Tamlin a final prayer as the faerie takes his final breathes.

I may have had to put the book down for a few minutes. This scene is the only one in the book that triggered genuine emotion. Feyre doesn’t want to leave the dead male, however Tamlin insists it’s too dangerous - and this is something he must do alone. A little annoying, that even here Tamlin wants to argue, wants to play the alpha male card. Sharing is definitely not his strongest attribute. But he is curious - Feyre killed his friend with hate in her heart, she has made it clear she isn’t the faeries biggest supporter - so why did she help?

“Because I wouldn’t want to die alone,” I said, and my voice wobbled as I looked at Tamlin again, forcing myself to meet his stare. “Because I’d want someone to hold my hand until the end, and awhile after that. That’s something everyone deserves, human or faerie.”

The next morning all evidence of the horrific night are gone. The painting supplies have not arrived and the gallery is being cleaned, so Feyre joins Tamlin and Lucien on a ride. They visit a lovely little glen - complete with a pool of starlight - one of Tamlin’s favorite childhood haunts. Leaving Lucien to his own devices (a bottle of wine he may need to share to get us through this chapter), Tamlin and Feyre spend some quality time together.

Here Tamlin tells Lucien’s story - perhaps not his to tell. The youngest of seven sons of the High Lord of the Autumn Court. Not interested in competing to be the next High Lord, Lucien traveled the courts, making friends, and falling in love with a female he should not have. His father was furious, and executing the female - making Lucien watch. Lucien abandoned his title and the Autumn Court, three of his brothers chasing after to eliminate him. Lucien killed one, Tamlin another, after they crossed into Spring lands. The last returned to Autumn and Tamlin claimed Lucien, naming him emissary.

They swim in the pool of starlight - Feyre daring to flirt a bit. Innuendo is heavy. While they flirt and swim, Feyre opens up about her family. The loss of their fortune and how she learned to survive. I might have been a little giddy hearing her father was a merchant who amassed their wealth on three ships to sail through dangerous waters - where they were lost. She was eleven. Three years later, at fourteen, she taught herself to hunt to feed her family.

A heartrending story that satisfyingly smacks of the original tale. This retelling does a lovely job of connecting to Villeneuve’s tale. Once I’ve finished entries for the other books, I may create one outlining the original and the ways Maas beautifully weaves it into her work. But, getting back to it....

On the ride home, Lucien offers a truce. He’s still not completely happy with Feyre’s presence, but he is impressed she would do something not many faeries would have done - free the Suriel. He offers her a jeweled knife with an admission that he hesitated before deciding to come to her aide. And a request not to bury it in his back.

The next day Feyre tours the gallery and is given her paints. Overwhelmed by these gifts she loses herself in days of painting, occasionally broken up with a ride with Tamlin to explore the lands. Until she remembers her family and home. They’ve moved on without her and she’s wiped away as if she never existed....

She doesn’t paint. She doesn’t go for a ride. She stews, upset and ashamed that she’s happy, that her family didn’t try to save her, that they don’t remember her, that she allowed Tamlin to erase her. Tamlin finds her in the garden after dinner. She admits her feelings, her frustrations, and how silly her concerns are compared to his worries. Tamlin reassures her, promising answers once everything is safe.

Feyre is mortified to discover she is lonely, that perhaps she wants to be more than friends with this High Lord. She stalks off into the woods to process these feelings, however Tamlin follows. She knows she’s being followed and traps him with a snare. There follows dirty limericks, and discussions of mating bonds and Tamlin’s parents. His father and two older brothers were unkind, kept slaves, did unspeakable things. His mother loved his father - and they were mated, a deep bond that may have prevented her from saying a word against his tyranny. I feel Tamlin may be making excuses for his mother, but love is blind. C’est la vie.

Tamlin claims he never wanted to be High Lord, a title that goes to the most powerful of the High Lord’s sons. His interests were in fighting and killing and he joined patrol bands to satisfy these desires. However his power kept growing, marking him as a threat to his brothers, but before anything could come of it, before they could challenge him, another High Lord killed his family. He mourned his mother, but not the others. Most of the courtiers left, disliking their new snarling beast of a High Lord. Feyre declares them idiots, for Tamlin has kept the lands safe from the blight even when others haven’t fared as well.

They see preparations for a holiday - Calanmai - and Feyre asks about it as they don’t celebrate in the human realm. And learns she isn’t invited. Their open banter goes cold and they make their way back to the manor... where Tamlin goes even colder and instructs her to stay hidden.

Shielded by a hedge - and one of Tamlin’s spells - Feyre overhears the conversation between Tamlin, Lucien and... an invisible creature. The creature appears to be checking in on behalf of this mysterious “she” who is threatening them. Who is responsible for the terrible creatures Tamlin has been hunting down.

Feyre is spooked and doesn’t leave the manor for the next two days. She helps with preparations for the feast for Calanmai but as the day of the festival dawns finds herself alone. She can hear the drumbeats, can see the distant bonfires... she’s drawn to the festival but knows she not invited. And then she spies Tamlin on his way out. A shirtless, baldric-adorned Tamlin.

She is told to stay in her room. To lock her doors and not come out until morning. She obeys, but paces with the drumbeats as she gazes out the windows at the fires until she can stand it no longer and rides out into the hills. She wanders through the hundreds of faeries, the bonfires, the drummers. She drifts along with the crowd towards a flower-adorned, pelt-lined cave - the focus of many of the faeries. Full of questions Feyre looks for a friendly face, but before she can get answers she is accosted by three strangers.

They lead her away from the crowds and she tries to escape. But they herd her into the shadows.... She knows she is in danger and feels powerless. She fights back, but they easily subdue her struggles. And then she is rescued by “the most beautiful man” she’s ever seen.

He chases away the three faeries and she begins to worry this person may be more dangerous than her would-be assailants. He questions her - why she’s there, who her friends are, and she’s terrified. She feels lucky when he lets her go unharmed. She finds Lucien, who is aghast to find her there. He whisks her home - and actually explains to her the cause of his alarm.

The Great Rite that Tamlin is to perform involves magic taking over his body, mind and soul, and leaving him with one purpose: to find the Maiden and copulate. Lucien tells her if she was there, Tamlin would find her, and she likely would not like what would happen. He leaves her with a warning to keep her door locked and not come out until morning.

Feyre is sick at the thought of Tamlin forcing himself on her, but also pleased that he wants her. She falls asleep, waking as the drums stop and the house falls silent. She leaves her room then, going to the kitchen to eat and heading towards her painting room... until she is stopped by Tamlin, returning from the Great Rite and (it is pointed out multiple times) still under the influence of these powerful magics and not entirely himself. This, I suppose, is to alleviate the otherwise very... rapey scene.

He forces himself on her, pinning her to the wall, tells her that he knew she was there and couldn’t find her. She tells him to let go. She remarks there is no kindness in his eyes. He blames her, angry that he had to pick another. Snarling that he would have been gentle with her, would have taken a very long time. It ends with him biting her neck and grinding against her... and Feyre slapping him.

Feyre gives some conflicting messages in this scene, as she is clearly turned on by this violence yet angry he would comply with the stupid ritual (i.e.: have sex with someone else). And for his part, he walks away without forcing the matter. Though his belief that if Feyre can’t follow orders, he can’t be held accountable for his actions chafes awfully.

Against my advice, the two make up quickly. He sends her roses, she wears a dress for him. They dine alone, she acts meek and allows him to wait on her, then shows him her paintings. They spend lazy days at ease, and it’s all very romantic and lovely... and disgusting for how little Feyre expects, what she’s willing to accept.

Tamlin gifts her with faerie sight... and suddenly she can see past the glamours he has created. She can hear the singing willow. See the rich colors around her. The smell of magic is now pleasant. A strange woman with skin like tree bark turns out to be Alis. Suddenly the manor is full of faeries she was previously unaware of... and she realizes some of them may be more... unsavory.

This is confirmed when she discovers a head impaled on a statue in the garden. The two males inform her it’s the work of the Night Court - a bunch of “sadistic killers”. They assure her they would see the head as an amusing stunt, a message to let them know how easily they can slip past their borders. Tamlin reassures her she is safe - and her own conversation with the Suriel convinces her. This is a joke, Tamlin insists, the High Lord of the Night Court knows attacking the Spring lands is more trouble than it’s worth. Still, Tamlin and Lucien leave for the border and remain gone.

Summer solstice comes and this time Feyre is invited....

Ok, I have to stop here as I have a bit of a problem leading up to the celebration, when it is explained the solstice celebrates day and night being equal. Umm, no. That’s the equinox (equinox/equal, get it?) - solstice is longer day in the summer and longer night in the winter. Ok, lesson over....

So, the solstice celebration is a lovely thing. Food and drinks, music and dancing. Feyre is advised to avoid the faerie wine, advise she ignores. She becomes ridiculously intoxicated, giddy even. Lucien seems only concerned about disappointing Tamlin (what does he have on you Lucien? are you afraid he will turn on you, cast you out, abandon you?). They find Tamlin playing fiddle with the musicians, but Tamlin doesn’t seem to mind and tells him to leave her in his care. So he does, and she dances and dances.

When the moon is close to setting (fun fact: the moon does not actually set on the summer solstice, only hangs low in the west), Tamlin leads her away from the festivities to a meadow. Will-o-the-wisps serenade as they kiss and watch the sun rise.

Our trio reconvenes over lunch later in the day. Feyre and Tamlin trade thinly veiled, sexually charged taunts while making Lucien equal parts sick and uncomfortable... and he interrupts their game to announce that the blight has killed two dozen children. Further discussion reveals that while all the courts are suffering, the Night Court remains unscathed... and speaking of the Night Court....

An unexpected guest interrupts their meal. Feyre is quickly ushered to the windows by Lucien, and glamoured. Their guest takes his time appearing, then proceeds to taunt and tease both Tamlin and Lucien. Feyre recognizes him as the male who saved her at Calanmai. We learn his name is Rhysand. High Lord of the Night Court. His interactions are hateful, laced with threats and scorn, a cocky self-confidence.

He takes credit for the head in the garden, claiming he’s come to check in with Tamlin. Baiting him for not making any attempts to save himself and his lands. Lashing out at Lucien for biding his time while the world goes to Hell, taunting him with his mother’s grief at losing him.

Lucien is more than willing to verbally spar, even with Feyre still hidden behind him. This hot-headed temper is usually Tamlin’s modus operandi, but now it is Tamlin who calls Rhysand back, distracts him, concedes defeat. Rhysand takes this victory, gloating on how he will report Tamlin is broken... and then he notices the table - and the three place settings.

Furious that they hid Feyre, Rhysand rips away the glamour. He recognizes her, demanding of Tamlin the identity of his guest. Lucien claims her as his betrothed and makes a valiant effort to protect her. He stands, sword drawn, even as Rhysand threatens harm his mother. It is only Tamlin’s order to put away his sword that moves him. Tamlin.

Tamlin who will only tell Rhysand to go away, to leave. He doesn’t move from his place at the table. Lucien is the only one to make an actual effort to protect Feyre from the High Lord of the Night Court... and I feel this is very telling.

WIth Lucien now standing down on Tamlin’s order, there is nothing left to defend Feyre from Rhysand. Then we learn this High Lord’s true power - the power to control, to hold and shatter minds. Feyre is terrified to realize how easily he could destroy everything she is, outraged and humiliated as Rhysand reveals her private thoughts, taking delight in her mortification. Then lets her go.

He remarks to Tamlin she would have been the one, and that Amarantha will enjoy breaking her... watching Tamlin’s reaction as she shatters Feyre. Tamlin begs him - and Rhysand truly makes him (and Lucien) grovel, before making no promises. He starts to leave, but stops to ask Feyre her name, and she retains the sense to realize what a dangerous thing it would be to reveal. Not only for herself, but also for her family. Not wanting him to search her mind again she gives the first name she thinks of, a girl from her village: Clare Beddor.

Satisfied Rhysand vanishes. Tamlin orders Feyre and Lucien to leave and has a magical rage-fueled tantrum. Feyre remains in her room, pondering on all she has learned. Terrified of what has been revealed. Tamlin’s rage, the blight, Amarantha and the power she possesses....

Tamlin finds her that evening and tells her he is sending her home. Feyre wonders if she’s done something wrong (oh, Feyre... you sweet, naive blossom...) and Tamlin assures her she was perfect. He has to send her away to protect her from those who would hurt her. He thought he could protect her, but he can’t. Feyre retaliates she can protect herself, she can fight, she wants to help, but Tamlin will have none of it. He’s sending her away because he can’t stand to think of her in their hands. How they would hurt her to hurt him.

She’s to return home, keep the story he put in place with the glamour, tell no one where she’s been, who she was with. To protect herself from Amarantha’s spies. From creatures like the Attor, the Bogge, things worse than Rhysand.

And then follows the sex scene that had me seriously questioning why this is shelved in Young Adult. I understand most YA books are coming-of-age stories and - sex scene and innuendo withstanding - this one most certainly fits the recipe for YA. But... these scenes guys. These are meant for an older audience - definitely not something I would want to see my 13-year-old sister or not much older cousin reading. I’m older than they are by nearly two decades and was surprised by the explicit description and gratuitous nature.

That’s not to say as an adult I was disappointed. While bordering on voyeurism, this scene (and others in the series) is playful, sweet, raw and captures a reckless enthusiasm. Feyre is no shy virgin, but an experienced young woman who knows exactly what she is doing. She’s not apologetic, she owns her sexuality. Given the virgin dialogue usually delivered, it is a refreshing change of pace to see a young woman take charge and hold her own in the bedroom.

The next morning she awakes alone (signs, signs, signs) and is stuffed into uncomfortable human fashions. Lucien makes thinly veiled remarks to both her and Tamlin - urging that she stay just a few more days. Tamlin dismisses him like a dog. Feyre is handed into the carriage, pining for Tamlin however accepting that she must sacrifice her happiness and not burden him. Knowing she is to grow old and die, while he remains immortal.

She is reunited with her family, who have moved to a grand manor after their father successfully invested money for a stranger who showed up at their door. And then the missing ships were found (another small nod to the original tale). They are restored to their former good name - only Feyre knows that Tamlin is responsible for this good fortune.

Elain is delighted to see her sister, though sad to hear that Aunt Ripleagh has passed. This is the story that was placed in their memories, that Feyre was called away to care for a wealthy, elderly aunt. She chatters on about their regained place in society, how awful it must of been for Feyre to endure losing their aunt by herself. They haven’t decorated a room for her. She’s dismayed at the uselessness of the post upon hearing Feyre didn’t receive the letters they wrote. Mundane things, trivial worries.

Nesta is quiet, watchful. She notices the wealth Feyre has brought with her, remarks on how quiet her sister has become. Feyre finds common ground here - realizing both she and her eldest sister are made different, set apart from their happy sister. Feyre is both relieved and furious they have managed without her, a sentiment her sister echoes.

Time with her family is rather uneventful. Her father, shedding tears of joy at her return, holes himself up in his office to access his daughter’s wealth. His health is much improved thanks to a tonic and salve given to him (more of Tamlin’s work, for which Feyre is eternally grateful). He’s smiling and laughing and happy, doting on his daughters to make up for his lack of attention.

Elain spends her time tending to her garden, content to rejoin society and optimistic for the future. She looks forward to visiting the continent, and invites Feyre to come with her. She does admit the social season was strange, their days of poverty glossed over as if they never happened. She seems lonely, with their father constantly busy and Nesta watchful, quiet, judging. Nesta had tried to visit Feyre while she was taking care of their aunt, according to Elain. She urges Feyre to talk to Nesta,

So pass the days - Feyre amazed at how the years of hardship didn’t taint Elain, while she, Nesta and her father have changed. She takes part of her considerable wealth and visits their old village, handing out money to the impoverished who need it most. Surprised at how ordinary everything seems, how those she once felt a connection with now mean nothing.

She dwells on what she’s lost, longing to return to the Spring Court and Tamlin. Raging inside that she has left Tamlin’s side but knowing she cannot return if she wants to keep him safe - even as she feels it was a mistake. She has no desire to paint, but takes to helping Elain in her gardens. Nesta finds her here, asking why she bothers to stay when her home is clearly someplace else far away. Feyre tries to stick with the story Tamlin gave her, the glamour he spun over her family... but it didn’t affect Nesta.

Nesta is something different - a steel mind and an iron resolve. She watched her father and sister as they went from hysterics to nothing. Listened to their babbling on about an aunt who didn’t exist and how lucky it was for Feyre to be called away to care for her. How the winter winds had broken down their door. She worried she was crazy, but held firm to the truth when she would look at the claw marks on their table. The piece of painted wood she’d pried from the table and kept with her to remind her of the truth.

She tried to find Feyre, knew it wasn’t right that her youngest sister had been stolen away in the night. She had hired a mercenary when she knew no one else would believe her and made it to the wall, but hadn’t been able to break through. And Feyre begins to understand her cold sister, that beneath her icy exterior and her anger and relentlessness, is a caring heart that loves fiercely and is deeply loyal. Her anger and bitterness are a shroud she uses to protect herself.

Nesta wants to know everything, and Feyre tells her. The two begin to repair a tenuous relationship, with Nesta opening up a bit. Admitting that she hates their father for not fighting to protect them. Hating her own inability to take care of them, and hating Feyre for being able to, but hating their father more. An anger older than their days of poverty, starting when he let their mother die. For not dispatching his ships to find a cure, for not sending men to Prythian to beg for help. Feyre, she reasons, would have gone to the ends of the earth to protect Tamlin; their father would not do the same for their mother.

And Feyre begins to question her actions. How she gave in and returned home. Had allowed herself to be sheltered and had stopped looking for answers, stopped trying to help, stopped fighting. It isn’t until her father speaks of buying the Beddor land and Elain tells how the house burned down in the night killing everyone - how they haven’t found Clare’s body - that Feyre takes action.

She turns to Nesta - trusting her sister to keep their family safe. Instructing her to keep her secrets, to not speak her name, to hire guards and flee at the first sign of danger. Nesta quickly pieces together what happened to the Beddors was meant to be them. She tells Feyre to go - to not look back - that they can take care of themselves. Feyre shares what knowledge she can, to prepare them for the worst, and then leaves.

She rides for several days, searching along the wall until she finds a way into the Spring Court. She arrives at the manor, only to find it trashed. As she explores the wreckage she finds several clues that seem at odds. The manor is completely wrecked, yet signs seem to show they left of their own free will. Eventually she finds Alis skulking about the manor, apparently the only one left. And the truth begins to take shape.

Tamlin and Lucien are both alive, taken to Amarantha’s court Under the Mountain. Tamlin was under her curse and given forty-nine years to break it, but failed. Now he has been brought to her court, the other High Lords summoned, to watch as she breaks him.

Amarantha came to Prythian long ago, an emissary from Hybern seeking to make amends for her actions and Hybern’s actions in the long ago war against the mortal realm. She had been wicked and lethal, a general for Hybern who slaughtered humans and the faeries who defended them. Her sister had fought with her - until she fell in love with a human who betrayed her. This human tortured and butchered her sister, and Amarantha hunted him down and took her revenge.

The High Lords believed and trusted she was sincere in her desire to make amends, not realizing she was gathering her own power to take Prythian, to take revenge on all mortal humans, until it was too late. While they gathered to honor her they fell into her trap - a potion she used to steal their powers, trapping the High Lords. She quickly took over Prythian and built her court Under the Mountain.

Tamlin has known Amarantha from childhood, and Amarantha grew to desire Tamlin, who refused her advances and kept his distance until she stole his powers. He sent Lucien to broker peace, but Amarantha refused. Lucien insulted her and she took his eye. In the guise of making amends, she hosted a masquerade - inviting all the courts, and all from the Spring Court.

She claimed there could be peace - if Tamlin agreed to be her lover and consort. Tamlin refused - saying he would rather take a human to his bed than touch Amarantha. That her own sister had preferred a human’s company to hers, had chosen a human over her. And so Amarantha set her curse:

...he had seven times seven years before she claimed him, before he had to join her Under the Mountain. If he wanted to break the curse, he need only find a human girl willing to marry him... a human with ice in her heart, with hatred for our kind. A human girl willing to kill a faerie.

This girl had to kill one of his men, in an unprovoked attack, for hatred alone. Just as the human had done to her sister, so Tamlin could understand her sister’s pain. The spell could be broken if this girl said to his face that she loved him before the forty-nine years were up. To make it more difficult Amarantha bound the masks to their faces so the girl would have to be willing to look beyond the mask, and bound them all so they could not speak about the curse.

And so Tamlin sent his men beyond the wall disguised as wolves, and they died one by one, victims of attacks by hunters and others who did not fit the specifics of the curse. When only a dozen were left he stopped sending them. Afraid to lose his men, afraid that if the human girl loved true bringing her to the Spring Court would be a form of slavery, afraid that if he did fall in love with her then Amarantha would destroy her.

While Tamlin wrestled his conscience, the other High Lords fought back as well, but Armarantha executed them and most of their families ensuring their successors were afraid to tempt her wrath again. With months before the deadline, Tamlin became desperate enough to begin sending his men again. They were willing, had been willing all this time, so Tamlin sent them out... and Feyre killed one of them. She could have broken the curse if she had only told him how she felt.

Now Amarantha has claimed Tamlin, Lucien and all his court and they were trapped Under the Mountain. She builds her army to attack the human lands and Feyre knows how vulnerable they are, how hopeless the chance of survival is, and makes the decision to go Under the Mountain. To try to save Tamlin and stop Amarantha.

Alis agrees to show her the way and takes her to a cave that serves as a shortcut to Under the Mountain. Before Feyre leaves, Alis gives her three pieces of advice: don’t drink the wine, don’t make deals unless your life depends on it, and don’t trust anyone. She also mentions there is still a part of the curse she cannot mention, that Feyre must figure out on her own, that she should listen to what she hears.

She doesn’t make it far before she is captured by the Attor and drug before Amarantha... who is nothing like she imagined. Beautiful but not devestating, striking but not a goddess. And on the throne next to hers, Tamlin - who does not react.

She tells Amarantha she’s there to claim Tamlin, the one she loves. And Tamlin still does not react, does nothing to acknowledge Feyre. Amarantha seems delighted that she was tricked, that she tortured the wrong girl. She shows Feyre what became of Clare, nailed high to the wall, tortured and mangled. Clare had pleaded, sworn she didn’t know Tamlin, had never hunted, and Tamlin had allowed it to happen.

Amarantha might be annoyed, but overall is entertained with the situation. Her actions and words are unconcerned and she is certainly secure in her power. She ponders her options casually, speaking to the remains of Jurian (the human who murdered her sister) - a finger bone necklace and an eye encased in a ring. She’s been bored since Clare’s death, and offers Feyre a bargain.

If Feyre can complete three tasks to prove how deep her love and loyalty runs, she will give Tamlin to her. Remembering Alis’ words that magic is specific and to only make deals if her life depends upon it, Feyre adds conditions: Tamlin’s curse will be broken and they leave - with all his court - to remain free forever. Amarantha agrees, and ups the stakes - if Feyre can answer a riddle, then the curse will instantly be broken - a way out at any time. If she answers incorrectly, she’ll be tortured. If she fails a task, there will be nothing left to be tortured.

Feyre agrees.

Sometime later she awakes in a cell, following a beating from the Attor. Her face is swollen, her nose broken, but otherwise she seems to be in one piece. Eventually Lucien sneaks down to her cell. He fixes her nose and heals the swelling, but leaves the bruising to help conceal that someone helped her. He’s upset she came, for Tamlin’s sake. He tells her Tamlin is still refusing Amarantha and to try to stay alive before he disappears to avoid being found by the guards.

Time passes, though Feyre has lost concept of how much. She’s eventually brought back before Amarantha - who wants to know her name. Feyre resists, and Amarantha prods - reminds her of what happened when she gave a false name before calling for Rhysand.

Amarantha wants to know if Feyre is the girl he saw at Tamlin’s estate, why he said Clare was the girl he saw. He seems bored, dismissive, and claims all humans look the same. Feyre knows this is a lie, knows he recognized her that day in the manor, but remains silent. Bored with Feyre’s silence, Amarantha has Lucien brought forward and threatens to have Rhysand break his mind. She asks Lucien, who remains silent. Tamlin, who is silent. Lucien’s brothers, who seem eager to see their youngest brother destroyed, and do not know her name. Lucien is resigned to his fate, willing to keep Feyre’s name safe. As Rhysand begins to take hold of Lucien, Feyre breaks and speaks her name.

Pleased, Amarantha gives her the promised riddle. If she can solve it then she, Tamlin and all the Spring Court may immediately leave.

There are those who seek me a lifetime but never we meet, And those I kiss but who trample me beneath ungrateful feet.

At times I seem to favor the clever and the fair, But I bless all those who are brave enough to dare.

By large, my ministrations are soft-handed and sweet, But scorned, I become a difficult beast to defeat.

For though each of my strikes lands a powerful blow, When I kill, I do it slow...

Feyre feels muddled, worried why Tamlin does nothing, what Lucien had tried to tell her before he’d fled her cell. What the conditions of the trials had been and if they were different from those of the riddle. And she can’t solve the riddle, can’t figure out the solution. She is returned to the dungeons, where she will remain until her first trial.

Did anyone else figure it out? It was fairly simple by my estimation, which made me think perhaps there was a trick to it. Especially when coupled with Feyre’s doubts and concerns.

We arrive at the first trial. Feyre is brought to a cavern and eventually dropped into a labyrinth slick with mud. Amarantha tells her she’s learned that Feyre is a huntress, and implores her to hunt. The crowd wagers on how long she’ll last, she looks to Tamlin to memorize his face one last time... and then the creature is released.

This task was satisfying, if somehow familiar in a way I can’t quite identify. There’s an element of Return of the Jedi to it, the rancor’s pit, and something else.

An enormous worm searches for Feyre, intent on devouring her, and Feyre slides through the muck as she tries to find a way to stay alive. She learns to listen to the crowd to anticipate where the worm is, finally realizes the worm is blind - only to fall into a pit, it’s lair.

Resourceful, she makes use of the bones in the pit to create a ladder to climb out... then inspiration strikes. She climbs back down and splinters more bones, impaling them into the ground. She takes a couple more with her and climbs out. She’s hunting now, and has figured out the worm’s weaknesses. A heart-racing scene in which she goads the worm into chasing her, uses handles of bones to race around the slick corners, and leads the worm to the pit. She barely rolls away before the worm crashes down behind her, landing on the bone spikes protruding from the ground and killing itself.

Amarantha is not amused, but quickly covers up her disappointment. Feyre is injured, bleeding, angry. She hurls a bone spear at Amarantha, which lands harmlessly but splatters her gown with filth. Retaining her air of nonchalance, Amarantha looks at the results from the bets her court placed and notes only one person bet on Feyre winning, and this is what finally angers her. Feyre is taken back to her cell.

No one comes to tend to her injuries. A shard of bone impales her arm from where she landed in the pit of mud. The wound throbs and the bleeding won’t stop. She remains covered in filth, in a freezing cell, and is provided rotten food. It does not take long for fever and infection to set in.

Help comes in the most unlikely of saviors. Rhysand visits her cell, making no attempts to mask his disgust at the situation. He’s come to offer help, as she won him a considerable amount of money. Feyre repeatedly tells him to leave, delirious and sick and unwilling to let him see the injury. Afraid it will be used against her.

Rhysand manages to get a look at her arm, and offers to heal it. Feyre still remains aware enough that she knows such a bargain will cost her. His price is she come to stay with him for two weeks every month. She refuses, and he presses her. The cost of her refusal if help does not come would seal her fate, and Tamlin’s. Tells her it is unlikely Lucien will risk coming since Amarantha had him beaten - at Tamlin’s hand - for shouting a warning to her during the trial. She reluctantly bargains with him, coming to agree to a week each month, and Rhysand heals her. She wakes from the healing to discover her left forearm covered in an intricate tattoo - a mark of the bargain she’s made with Rhysand.

Consumed with bleak thoughts regarding her tasks and fool’s bargain with Rhysand, Feyre is put to work and given impossible tasks. The first is to clean a white marble hallway with a bucket of dirty water. The Lady of the Autumn Court comes to help her, providing her with clean water as repayment for sparing Lucien’s life by giving her name to Amarantha. The next is to remove lentils from the ash in an enormous fireplace before the occupant returns - an impossible task she attempts, but fails.

We learn she’s been brought to Rhysand’s room. He’s curious to find her in his room, amused with her reason for being there, and - since she has the gumption to even ask for his help with Amarantha’s riddle - rewards her by completing the task with magic (including removing the soot and ask from her). When the guards come to take her back to her cell, he plants an order of his own to leave her alone.

Days pass, she ponders Amarantha’s riddle and curses Rhysand, though she is more than happy to gobble down the fresh, hot meals that are now delivered to her cell. With nothing else to do she begins to talk and curse to the eye tattooed to her palm, suspicious that it watches her. While he may have his own motives, I say make use of this unlikely friend Feyre. You got to learn to play the game.

Eventually she’s retrieved from her cell by two female faeries. They bring her to a room where she’s stripped, bathed and painted. They don’t answer her questions, hold her firmly if she fights back, and Feyre eventually gives in and lets them finish. They paint her face and style her hair, the pattern of her tattoo is carried over her body from the neck down, and once the paint had dried she is clothed in white gauze that barely covers anything.

Rhysand comes to collect her, a heathen god’s plaything, indeed. She argues their bargain hasn’t started, but he insists she escort him to the party. The body paint necessary to ensure no one else touches her - her touch won’t mar the paint, and neither will her dress, but he will know if anyone else touches her. He makes sure she understands he means Tamlin - and that he doesn’t like his belongings tampered with.

She’s mortified to be paraded in front of the entire court in the sheer dress. To be seen as Rhysand’s property. It’s abundantly clear that Rhysand had his own motives, as he marches her to the dais and ensures Tamlin knows about their bargain. Tamlin remains quiet, hides his anger, but is clearly upset. Amarantha doesn’t seem particularly happy either, but dismisses them to enjoy the party. Rhysand leads her to a table and plies her with wine, and the rest of the evening is oblivion.

She wakes in her cell, still clad only in the strips of gauze, and is sick. Lucien appears while she is trying to eat, and gives her his cloak. She begs him to tell her what happened, what she did - how she sat on Rhys’ lap and danced for him all night. How he had touched her (modestly) to get a rise out of Tamlin - which didn’t work. Lucien wants to know what she was thinking to have made the bargain.

Feyre is angry, and admits she didn’t trust him to come in time. That she was dying and felt she had no other option. Lucien swears he would have come, not only because he swore an oath to Tamlin, but because she offered her name to save him. He seems genuinely concerned that she’s now in a bargain with Rhys, but Feyre brushes it aside. She knows what she’s done and accepts the price, and doesn’t expect anything from Lucien for saving him - she would have done it to spite his brothers. Their friendship is repaired, for now, and Lucien leaves before he is caught.

Days pass - nights spent painted and dancing and days sleeping off faerie wine. The night before her second task arrives and Rhysand wonders that she doesn’t beg him to give her a night with her beloved. She doesn’t fall for his game, and when they enter the throne room a different sort of entertainment awaits.

Rhysand is summoned to Amarantha’s side to interrogate a male fae from the Summer Court who was caught trying to escape. Rhys take control of the fae’s mind and reports he was only trying to escape, had no accomplices or motives other than to flee to the human territory. Amarantha orders him to shatter the male’s mind, but Rhys kills him instead. Feyre wonders at this, if this was another carefully calculated move, why the High Lord of the Night Court plays the games he does... but then she’s given wine and the rest of the night fades away.

Task two begins. Feyre is sunk into a pit, three smooth walls and a fourth that is an iron gate, with Lucien chained on the other side. Before her, a riddle and three levers. Amarantha explains she must correctly answer the riddle, answer wrong to her - and Lucien’s - doom. And just to make it interesting a grate of heated iron spikes slowly descend from overhead.

A seemingly simple task - except Feyre cannot read. She panics, realizing not only is she doomed, but she’s also responsible for Lucien’s fate. And all for something as small as illiteracy. Lucien’s too far away to help her, to see the inscription and read it to her. She tries, but fails to read, barely making out three words before the grate of spikes is hovering over her head. She decides to take a chance and pick blindly... only to be stopped by a blinding pain in her hand. The tattooed eye blinks at her. She tries again, and pain. With no other choice she trusts that Rhysand is helping her - and pulls the lever he guides her towards.

The grates rise, the air cools, and she realizes she’s won. Unfairly, almost killed by her own shortcomings, but she won. At the breaking point she sinks down, but a voice - Rhysand’s voice - echos in her head, commanding her to stand up, no tears, stare Amarantha down, not let her see she had almost won. He guides her until she is back in her cell, where she weeps.

She’s still weeping when Rhysand comes to see her. Shattering and giving up, hopeless and accepting of inevitable defeat. He kneels beside her, pulling her hands away from her face... and licks away her tears. Definitely not what I was expecting - nor Feyre apparently. She jerks away, wiping at her face, disgusted - at his actions and at the fact that she now shared a bond with him that allowed him to read her thoughts and feelings, to communicate with her. He teases her, wondering if making her learn to read when she visits him would be painful, and disappears. Anger replaces her despair, and for now she won’t shatter.

But she resigns herself to failure. She stops hoping, stops dreaming. Yearns for the nights and the wine that brings a few hours of oblivion. Even overhearing a conversation between the Attor and a mysterious emissary from the king of Hybern doesn’t spark her interest. It isn’t until she hears music filtering into her cell, faint but clearer if she closes her eyes, that she stops wallowing in self-pity. Music that becomes a living mural. That carries her up and away from the cell, through the clouds and into the brilliance of the sun. To a palace of moonstone and alabaster where everything she loves, everything good waits for her. Music fills her soul and she clings to it, realizing she doesn’t want to fall into the dark of despair. And she weeps some more, remembering why she is fighting, what she swore to save.

The night before the last task arrives. Feyre is unattended in the hall, wanting nothing more than to be summoned to drink the wine and forget. Only wanting for everything to be over. But Rhysand is taking his time, and Tamlin finds her in the hall.

Here is a Moment. A Moment everything could change. A moment in which Feyre follows Tamlin to a half-hidden passage and they lose themselves in kisses and touches and recklessness.

They are interrupted by Rhysand - who has apparently walked through the wall. He shames Tamlin, reminding him what Amarantha might do to punish him, what she might do to Lucien. And Tamlin stands down, straightens his clothes and returns to the party - leaving Feyre alone with Rhysand.

He turns his attention to Feyre, and her ill-made decision to sneak off with Tamlin, the consequences of that choice. Then he’s pinned her to the wall, kissing her forcefully as Amarantha opens the door, Tamlin beside her and a crowd of fae gathering. Amarantha is delighted with Feyre’s transgression, her fickle heart and lack of loyalty. Rhysand drags Feyre from the dark passage, revealing the smudged paint on her body and on his hands. He sends her back to her cell, claiming he is tired of her, much to the delight of the court.

Hours later he visits, and perhaps we see his true self for the first time. He’s annoyed, telling Feyre he only wants a moment of peace and quiet. That Amarantha is running him ragged. That if Feyre hates him now, imagine how she’d hate him if he made her serve in the bedroom. Wondering why he is telling her this, he admits he’s tired and lonely, and she’s the only one he can talk to without putting himself at risk. That this is the last chance, one wrong move during the last task and they are all doomed.

He lays out his cards rather neatly: how he used Feyre to work Tamlin into a fury. How once Feyre wins and Tamlin’s powers are restored nothing will stop him from splattering Amarantha. How he hasn’t touched Feyre, to aid his claims of helping. The stakes for him are freeing his people, his territory, and he won’t risk that. When Feyre asks why Amarantha made him her whore, he answers honestly - his father killed Tamlin’s father and brothers and this was her punishment for what his father did to her old friend. Before he leaves, he acknowledges that now Feyre holds the power - and perhaps should tell Amarantha everything. A subtle gesture of trust.

For her final task Feyre is escorted to the throne room. The fae are more reserved this time, worry on their faces. Some even offer her a gesture of farewell for the honored dead. There is no laughing and jeering now, and Feyre ponders the truth of Rhysand’s words - if the fae are now facing her potential death - the death of their freedom - with what dignity they have left. Their silence gives her courage, and she realizes even if she dies she will not be alone. The task is revealed, and three hooded fae are marched in. Each carries a pillow with a dagger of polished ash. Feyre’s task is to stab each of them in the heart.

Amarantha tells her all three are innocent, but it shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter when Feyre killed Tamlin’s sentinel and it didn’t matter when Jurian killed her sister. Feyre may refuse, but then Amarantha will take her life in exchange. Overall she feels this is a fair bargain, a gift even.

Feyre knows she is damned. Killing the three would be to murder three innocents. Her instinct is to refuse, but she knows these three lives are all that stand between the enslavement of Prythian and it’s salvation. Her soul may be stained, but she reconciles herself to do this for the greater good.

She steps up to the first victim, a young male. He begs her, pleads for her not to do it. She struggles, hearing someone in the crowd weeping, knowing she’s taking him away from someone who loves him. She finds her resolve, and manages to stab him in the heart.

The second victim is a female. While she weeps, she is resolved. She prays, her steady voice urging Feyre to make the death quick and clean. This is worse, so much more painful to watch Feyre resolve to take up the dagger and plunge it through her heart.

With one victim left, Feyre is numb. She can’t understand why Amarantha is smiling. Only knows she must kill one more in order to be free. Freedom perhaps coming as she takes her own life after she finishes murdering the last one. And then the hood is removed... and she’s looking at Tamlin.

She faced now with the decision to kill him and free Prythian, or give in and forfeit her life and their freedom, and doom the human lands as the king of Hybern invades. Her thoughts turn inward, searching for a way out, remembering Alis said something to help her - something that she’d have to listen for.

They weren’t allowed to tell her about the curse, but Feyre remembers the times she was allowed to eavesdrop. When they spoke in public places so she would hear, so hopefully she would understand. And the words of the Attor - that Amarantha makes no bargains that are not advantageous to her. That she would never kill what she most desired. And then she remembers.

Lucien’s words and the Attor’s remarks about Tamlin’s heart of stone. Amarantha wouldn’t have to risk Feyre killing Tamlin if he can’t be killed. She takes the dagger and stabs him through the heart... only, she doesn’t.

The blade hits something solid and she removes it. The tip is bent and Tamlin’s wound is beginning to heal. Rhysand is smiling, and Amarantha is getting to her feet. Tamlin’s mask remains, his healing slow. The gathered fae call out that Feyre has won, that now Amarantha must free the Spring Court.

But instantaneous freedom was not part of the bargain. Amarantha refuses, and advances on Feyre, intent on killing her. And she attacks, pummeling Feyre with a force that shatters her bones. Slamming her into the floor, the force breaking the ground. Bringing her back when Feyre loses conscientiousness so she is aware of everything happening to her. Rhysand yells for her as the other faeries call foul play, as he grabs the dagger and lunges for Amarantha. She deflects him, but he tries again.

Feyre calls out, asking her to stop her attack on Rhysand, bringing her attention back to her. Amarantha demands Feyre renounce her love for Tamlin, but she won’t sacrifice this truth. Tamlin begs Amarantha to no avail. Even as she is slowly broken, Feyre refuses to give in the Amarantha’s demand... and as the darkness closes in and the pain begins to ebb, the answer to the riddle becomes clear. As she uses the last of her strength to answer the riddle and set them free: love.

And then Feyre is watching through another’s eyes. Seeing her own body, head snapped to the side at the wrong angle. Lucien as he removes his mask. Then Tamlin... who has his sights set on Amarantha. With a flash of golden light he sets upon her and it’s over quickly. He pins her to the wall with Lucien’s sword, then rips her throat out. Feyre realizes she’s seeing through Rhysand’s eyes as she watches Tamlin return to her corpse, shedding his beast form as he scoops up her body and sobs. As the gathered fae mourn with him... and then the High Lords approach.

First is the High Lord of Autumn, who drops a glittering spark on Feyre’s body. Then the High Lords of Summer and Winter. One by one they approach, until only Rhysand is left. He approaches, offering a kernel of his power, declaring to Tamlin they are even. Tamlin is last, declaring his love and kissing her as he adds his own drop of power.

Feyre comes back, rising against the darkness and returning to that crowded room. But the instant she opens her eyes she knows something is different. She’s been made High Fae. Everything is clearer, brighter, stronger. Overwhelming. Amarantha is dead, and they are free.

In the aftermath everything is too much for her - too loud, too bright, too strong. I’m glad for the disassociation, the realism that this sort of change would likely wreck on a person’s psyche. Feyre isn’t in the moment, she’s a passive observer.

The Attor and some of Amarantha’s followers disappear, along with Lucien’s brothers and Rhysand. Those remaining react in different ways - celebrating, mourning, worrying. Everything is not wrapped up nice and neat. There is clearly some recovery to be had, some work to be done. The High Lords have frenzied meetings to determine their next steps. Everyone is grateful and Feyre cannot stand it. Cannot stand what she has done to ensure their freedom. Tamlin takes her to a quiet room, inspects her wounds, heals her and tries to talk, but Feyre doesn’t want to talk. They share kisses, and Feyre gives in to her baser desires.

She’s awakened some time later by a tug, an invisible thread summoning her. She leaves Tamlin and follows it, finding Rhysand on a balcony outside in the daylight. He waits there, wings out, to say goodbye. She can’t find her usual frostiness as she remembers how he fought to save her. She asks him why and he replies he doesn’t want to be remembered for standing on the sidelines. That he wants to be remembered for being there, for fighting against Amarantha in the end. Because he didn’t want Feyre to fight alone. Or die alone.

Feyre is grateful and asks about his wings. He responds that he kept them hidden as everything he loves tends to be taken from him. He asks her about being High Fae. She responds that while her body may be immortal, her heart remains human. And perhaps it would be better if that had been changed too. He tells her to be glad of her human heart, to pity those who don’t feel at all. As he says his good-byes his eyes lock on hers and shock passes over his face. He stumbles back and before Feyre can ask what’s the matter, he’s gone.

She and Tamlin return to the Spring Court. They are free, the court is out of hiding and everyone is safe. She is with Tamlin and has her happily ever after. Everything she wanted. There are things to be dealt with, things that will take time to recover from, but for now everything is right with the world.

[vagrantblvrd]

Fed by Hand (1/1)

Summary: Gavin finds her by chance, this little ball of fur and claws and sharp little teeth.

Notes: For @miss-ingno who asked for "Quick catch that cat it stole my wallet!” from this prompt list with Gavin, Jeremy and either Dan or Michael? :DDDDDDDDDDDD

AO3

Gavin finds her by chance, this little ball of fur and claws and sharp little teeth.

He's climbing down from a potential spot  to set up a sniping position for a job and hears it. This tiny little annoyed noise among the pile of garbage along one side of the alley. Some furious scrabbling noises that go on for a bit before that same tiny sound comes again, even more irritated this time.

And of course Gavin goes to investigate just like any good little idiot in a horror movie, because that's an interesting little sound, isn't it? Couldn't possibly ignore it and go on his way, meet Jeremy and Michael at the car and head back to the penthouse to let Geoff know things are running smoothly, goodness no.

He's quiet, years of practice that boils down to habit when he doesn't think about it. Avoids the crumpled cans and broken bottles, steps over random puddles of something that he hopes is water but knows aren't. (He then  has to take a moment to gag because his brain is cheerfully offering up unhelpful suggests as to what they could be in a voice that sounds far too much like Michael's.)

The scrabbling noise stops abruptly, and Gavin winces. Waits a second, and then another. Gives it a few more before there's a faint rustling noise and then whatever has been poking about in the garbage pokes its head out.

Dirty fur and two bright little eyes surveying the alley warily and Gavin's heart melts because it's a kitten.

Tiny and adorable and oh, what a little darling she is.

He smiles when she spots him, crouched a few feet away and watching her with what is no doubt a silly look on his face. Bites his lip to keep from cooing when her ears go back and she hisses at him, darting back into the safety of the garbage pile.

Fierce little thing, making little growling noises from the security of her hiding spot as if to chase him away. Peeks out at him when he doesn't budge an inch, teeth bared and ready to defend herself if he gets too close or does something she doesn't like.

There's no possible way he could leave the kitten out here in the wilds of Los Santos all on her own. Not when there are other strays out here with mean temperaments and people with even meaner ones.

He knows if he moves any closer she'll bolt, and if he leaves to get food to tempt her out of hiding she'll be gone just as fast. Dart out of hiding and away from the alley as fast as her feet will take her.

In his pocket Gavin's phone buzzes, and his eyes light up.

“Michael,” he says, when he answers, “I need a favor.”

========

Michael is not happy.

Michael is not won over by the tiny growling kitten glaring at them for all she's worth from within the safety of her little fort.

Michael is -

“I fucking hate you guys,” Michael says, for what has to be the twentieth time at least since he called Gavin to ask where the fuck he was, Jesus Christ, Gavin.

Gavin ignores him with the ease of someone who's known him for years, great friends really, and tears off a bit off the hamburger patty he's been using to lure the kitten out of hiding with mixed results.

Jeremy's beside him speaking quietly as he works at coaxing her to come out of hiding. Michael's somewhere behind them acting at being grumpy and annoyed and irritated with both of them for being the kind of idiots who have spent almost an hour trying to convince a stray they're the trustworthy sort, given their line of work.

It's working though, in fits and starts. Skittish little thing that she is, shell venture out far enough to grab a bit of the hamburger Michael and Jeremy went to get and scurry back to her hiding spot. Watch them, hissing and growling and scared.

“Idiots,” Michael says again, variation on a theme, and settles more comfortably against the wall he's leaning against to better heckle them. “She's going to pee on everything you love and claw the fuck out of everything.”

Still, Michael doesn't demand they leave the alley and the tiny kitten with the wary eyes behind. Tells Geoff they'll be on their way back to the penthouse after they take care of something first when he calls to ask what's taking them so long. Complains up a storm about it, but goes to get more food to lure the kitten out when they run out, Gavin and Jeremy loathe to go themselves.

Stays there with them until they manage to coax the kitten out, allow them to touch. Allows Jeremy to pick her up, little body trembling slightly as she continues to growl at them.

Only complains the tiniest bit when the kitten takes a swipe at him in passing as Jeremy walks by him with her in his arms. Gives Gavin a look when he tries and fails not to laugh, because Michael's a soft touch when it comes to it, and hates to admit it.

“Shut the fuck up, asshole.”

========

“Jeremy, we're not naming her after your ridiculous Rimmy Tim character!”

Jeremy's eyes go wide, hand over his heart like Gavin's mortally wounded him with his words.

“Gavin,” he says, small and shocked. “How could you?”

Gavin snorts, turning his attention to the fluffy ball of murder and rage glaring at them from her spot under the couch.

Newly bathed, fur puffed up everywhere and very displeased with current matters if the noises she's making are any indication.

Under the dirt and grime she's turned out to be a lovely little orange calico. Little patches of black on her face like a mask, and oh, that just perfect, isn't it?

Gavin glances at Jeremy, the look on his face that means trouble, a headache, because Jeremy is a damn menace. Smiling like a loon the moment he'd seen the kitten's coloring, making this high-pitched noise of utter delight.

And Gavin, he's well-versed in this particular series of terrible decisions on Jeremy's part. Sees it coming when he insists on burdening her with an absolutely awful name.

“No,” Gavin says, and flings the towel he used to dry the kitten off at Jeremy's face, already running when it hits and Jeremy lets out a yell of outrage.

Laughter his voice as he gives chase, Gavin squawking as he ducks past Ryan who's watching with an amused look in his eye.

========

Geoff claims he wants nothing to do with the kitten, but Gavin's seen him watching her thoughtfully when she ventures out from her favorite hiding spot. Skittish little thing who's slowly adjusting to her new home and the lunatics who inhabit it.

“The moment she claws the furniture she's gone,” he says, faint smile on his face as he throws out a little cat toy that the kitten attacks with a ferocious sounding cry.

“Of course,” Gavin agrees, filming the whole thing on his phone for posterity's sake. “Absolutely.”

========

Jack adores the kitten.

Careful around her the way everyone is, kind and gentle and a little furry shadow at his heels most days.

He spends some time doing a little bit of research, and builds and sets up platforms and walkways for her along the walls of the penthouse despite Geoff's bitching. Builds a cat tree for her out of the scraps, and tucks treats and cat toys around the place to encourage her to explore.

When she grows bolder, he decides she'd be the perfect accomplice when it comes to being an utter bastard.

“Oh, Jack,” Gavin says, watching with delight as Jack slips a little catnip sachet into the pocket to one of Geoff's jackets, “he's going to be so angry.”

Jack smiles, sweet as anything, and says, “I have no idea what you're talking about, Gavin.”

========

Michael's the one to settle the name debate once and for all.

Nixes all of Jeremy's entries because they're all terrible and a variation on a theme, all involving his alter ego, and Michael is a man with taste.

“Okay, but you saying that also means I have to say no to your suggestions, dumbass.”

Rude.

Michael snorts, watching the kitten as she stalks the feather toy Jeremy's sweeping along the floor in front of her.

She's smart and clever and a thief of all things left unattended for any amount of time. Seems to have a predilection for shiny things.

Just this morning Gavin had to go hunting for his sunglasses and discovered yet another stash she'd hidden away. Found things that had gone missing and a very put out cat eyeing him when she caught him sorting through it all.

Clever little thief with a sweet face who's so very good at stealing hearts, makes it look easy.

“Bandit,” Michael says, wry twist to his mouth as though he thinks it's a dumb idea, a dumb name, but -

“Oh, come on!” Jeremy says, laughing helplessly as the kitten, watching Bandit vanish under the couch with the feather cat toy as her prize.

Perfect.

========

Ryan, the brilliant bastard, has turned Bandit into quite the talented little thief, it seems.

Has been working behinds the scene almost from the start. Tempted her with shiny bits and bobs and rewarded her handsomely with her favorite treats. Used her obvious joy, interest, to go from there.

Has been training her up for weeks, months now. Working slowly and carefully and it's all paid off today, it seems.

“Quick, catch that cat it stole my wallet!” Geoff wails, running after a little flash of orange and black and white, exasperated and bewildered at having to utter those words. “Motherfucker, get back here!”

Ryan is laughing, loud and honest and helpless it as Bandit easily evades Geoff, wallet held tightly in her teeth.

The other are watching things play out in amusement, Jeremy breathless with laughter and Jack's trying hard to muffle his own. Michael is laughing that odd little laugh of his, quiet delight, and Gavin -

“Really?”

Ryan shrugs, soft little smile on his face, “Have to start somewhere.”

========

Gavin's got a bit of a problem sometimes, or so the others tell him.

Works too hard, as though there's such a thing.

Trades sleep and food and other supposedly important things when he's tackling a task for the crew, or his own purposes. Chasing after some tantalizing bit of information, some little piece of a greater puzzle.

The others have resigned themselves to this tendency of his. Take it in turns to make sure he eats something, stays hydrated. Gets sleep, the times they manage to remind him that's still a thing no matter how often he tells them it's not.

It works in the way Gavin's still alive in spite of himself, thanks to their efforts. An imperfect arrangement, to be sure.

Bandit doesn't seem to approve.

Makes her way into the room set aside for Gavin's computers, gear. Thee area where Ryan tinkers sometimes, gadgets and terrible little devices for work and just for fun. Make everyone's lives a little more difficult just because he can.

“And what do you want, I wonder?” Gavin asks, smiling at the way Bandit cocks her head at him

Splash of color at her throat, grudging concession to Jeremy and his obsession with his Rimmy Tim persona.

Bandit gives herself a little shake. Strolls over to curl up on his keyboard, looking him in the eye as if daring him to object. Calm and relaxed and so very different from the tiny, dirty kitten hissing and growling at them in an alley so many months ago.

Gavin watches her as she watches him and knows already he won't be winning this one. Has never been able to even when she was younger. Small and quiet and ready to bolt at the slightest thing, and astoundingly brave.

Coming up to him to drop one of Ryan's hairbands at his feet before moving just out of reach, just in case. Head tipped up to look at him as she let out one of her soft little meows, eager to play fetch the way Ryan had taught her. (First step into training her to be a bloody literal cat burglar in the making. A joke, certainly, just another devious plan to annoy the hell out of them.)

And now she does things like this, settling herseridiclf squarely in the way. Defiant look in her eyes and no fear to her at all. Going around as though she owns the place and views them as though they're incredibly dim and in need of extra care is they're to survive.

Bandit meows, inquisitive little noise, and Gavin sighs. Realizes there's no point in continuing to work when there's  when there's a very stubborn obstacle in the way.

“You're just so proud of yourself for this, aren't you?”

Bandit closes her eyes and starts to purr, which is answer enough.