Just make friends so you don't get bullied just make friends so you can have a career just make friends so your community won't shun you just make friends so you can afford a home together just make friends so someone will help you in a crisis it's fine to center everything around making friends because everyone can just make friends
DC comics: Martha Wayne was Jewish! Here’s a Hanukkah reference. And another Hanukkah reference. She loved Hanukkah, what else can we say! #JewishQueen. And on top of that, here’s some references to Jewish burial practices for her—
The air in the grand, opulent conference hall. lad Masters, the notoriously charming and infuriatingly wealthy mayor of Amity Park, sat at the polished mahogany table, a smirk playing on his lips. Around him, the titans of media and politics from across the globe droned on, their voices a symphony of grievances. It was another one of those meetings – the annual "Heroes and Accountability" summit, where the world's most powerful gathered to complain about collateral damage, rising supervillain populations, and the ever-present threat of city-wide destruction.
"And in Metropolis," a particularly jowly news magnate thundered, "our recent fight between Lex Luthor and Superman alone caused an estimated billion dollars in damages! When will these heroes be held responsible for the chaos they invite?"
Vlad stifled a yawn. He had listened to endless tales of Gotham's perpetual gloom, Central City's rogue's gallery, and Star City's constant vigilante antics. Each city, it seemed, was a revolving door of super-powered conflict. He had, conspicuously, remained silent about Amity Park's own peculiar brand of 'heroics'.
Then, the mic was passed to a sharp-suited reporter from CNN, her gaze fixed on him. "Mayor Masters, you've been notably quiet. Amity Park, while not a global hub for metahuman activity, does have its share of… paranormal incidents. What are your thoughts on the overall effectiveness of our world's heroes in curbing villainy and minimizing damage?"
Vlad’s smirk widened, morphing into something dangerously close to a satisfied cat. Which made the ones who know him, knew he will make them somehow angry. He leaned into the microphone, his voice smooth and calm. "My thoughts, young lady?" He paused for dramatic effect, letting the collective anticipation build. "It's not my fault that your heroes are failures."
A collective gasp swept through the room. Angry murmurs erupted, quickly escalating to outright shouts.
"What the hell are you talking about, Masters?!" roared a crimson-faced politician from Metropolis, slamming a fist on the table. "Superman has saved our city countless times!"
"Indeed," Vlad purred, unperturbed. "Saved it, only for it to be threatened again by the same villains, day after day. Let me ask you all a simple question, a question of basic efficacy: How many years did your heroes fight their villains in your cities with collateral damage?"
Silence, save for a few coughs and shuffles. Then, a weary voice from Gotham, gravelly and tired, offered, from all the talk they had to do: "Maybe… but not sure, around twenty years now. Maybe even more."
"Twenty years," Vlad repeated, letting the number hang in the air like a pall. He looked around, meeting furious, confused, and skeptical eyes. "The hero in Amity Park, my city's Hero, by the way, took precisely one year. One single year to show all his villains the right path. To demonstrate, through consistent effort and a touch of… firm persuasion, that being evil was simply no longer a viable career choice."
He paused again, enjoying the slack-jawed expressions. "Oh, certainly, they visit. Once in a while, for old times' sake, they'll come back for a good old-fashioned brawl. But never, never with any damage to the city beyond the specific, designated place, that i had build where they now fight."
Vlad gestured grandly with one hand. "You see, I had a purpose-built facility constructed. An Arena, like the ones in Ancient Rome. It helps both our resident hero and his… Ghost Villains to fight, for him to train, for them to release their pent-up ecto-energy, all without so much as even 1 a broken window in the actual city."
The room was stunned into a profound silence. The outrage had evaporated, replaced by incredulity.
"Impossible," someone whispered, the word thick with disbelief. "Our heroes have tried for so many years. They've captured them, rehabilitated them, sent them to prisons… they always come back."
Vlad scoffed, a truly magnificent sound of disdain. "And why do you think that is? Because your are failures in doing their job, you wouldn't have any villains years ago. You wouldn't be sitting here complaining about damages and threats once a year. So, yes, I don't think your heroes do their jobs. I am only here, as I was invited."
With that, Vlad leaned back, crossing his arms. He had made his point. The topic, to him, was utterly boring. He had proven his superiority, and that was all that mattered. He let the ensuing awkward silence, filled with disbelieving coughs and sputtering, hang in the air.
For the assembled media and politicians, the seeds of doubt were sown.
It was too outrageous to be true, and yet… Vlad Masters rarely lied when a truth served his ego so well. And to tell the Truth, about his City's Hero, would serve his Ego massively.
Within minutes, the first smartphones were out, reporters furtively searching "Amity Park hero" or "Amity Park villains."
And there it was.
News articles, local testimonials, even blurry fan-captured videos of peculiar, glowing figures engaging in aerial acrobatics within a massive, containment-field-ringed structure on the outskirts of Amity.
No widespread destruction. No ongoing crime waves from known villains. Just… sparring matches. Friendly, pretty intense, ghostly duels, away from things that could break or be destroyed.
The rage and confusion were palpable.
- How dare this Wisconsin cheese-head imply their beloved icons were incompetent? But the evidence, flimsy as it might seem on the surface, was there.
- How could that boy, that peculiar ghost teenager of Amity Park, in a mere year, have "fixed" all his villains, while someone like Superman or Batman, with decades of experience, was still battling the same rogues, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake?
The question hung heavy in the air, echoing Vlad Masters's cutting, simple accusation: My hero actually DID his job.
We get to join everyone as they go out on the town for the night. Yaaaaaay. Everything is very pretty and quaint and picturesque generic-artsy-European town-y.
From the ornate lanterns that lined either side of the bridge, faelight cast golden shadows on the wings of the three males, gilding the talons at the apex of each.
I won't lie, the absolute boner this book (and CC) has for wings has kind of ruined them for me in any other fantasy context. I mentally cringe whenever a character is described as winged, and I have to stop and forcibly remind myself that it's not going to be weird fetish shit this time. Because guys, they have wings. Wings. Wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiings. Don't forget the wings, can't forget the wings, wing accommodations, wingswingswingswingswings-
Yes, it does drive me a bit insane. Thank you for noticing.
The conversation ranged from the people they knew, matches and teams for sports I’d never heard of (apparently, Amren was a vicious, obsessive supporter of one), new shops, music they’d heard, clubs they favored … Not a mention of Hybern or the threats we faced—no doubt from secrecy, but I had a feeling it was also because tonight, this time together … they did not want that terrible, hideous presence intruding. As if they were all just ordinary citizens—even Rhys. As if they weren’t the most powerful people in this court, maybe in all of Prythian. And no one, absolutely no one, on the street balked or paled or ran.
Okay, it's a long quote, but. I feel it articulates a lot of the problems this book has with writing convincing governments/leader-type characters. And there's a few different things to it. First of all, this:
...people they knew, matches and teams for sports I’d never heard of [...], new shops, music they’d heard, clubs they favored …
Now, apart from being vague and generic af. It's absolutely true that leaders are all people, and thus have interests like this. They even discuss them with their fellow leaders from time to time. And, yes, it's even not that weird that they wouldn't be discussing things like Hybern when they're just out and about, because yeah, security and whatnot. But... well, I can't help but read it as a little performative? Both from the book itself (trying too hard to convince us that these are Totally Relatable and Normal characters) and also cause like, a lot of leaders leverage this kind of stuff performatively in our world as well.... Australia's previous PM, Scuntmo Scott "I don't hold a hose mate" Morrison, was kinda notorious for it. The whole daggy sports-and-beer dad image he had going on.
This image was taken during covid, btw, after he'd just shut down every other public event, except for the one NRL game he was going to for the team he liked. Dude was proper scum, but liked to hide it with this kind of oh-so-relatable image. How good's the footy, right? How do you do, fellow plebs?
It's kind of the same energy here. Amren's such a vicious supporter of this unspecified team of an unspecified variety of sportsball! She's still a terrible person.
Further.
—no doubt from secrecy, but I had a feeling it was also because tonight, this time together … they did not want that terrible, hideous presence intruding. As if they were all just ordinary citizens—even Rhys.
While it's true that they are, indeed, all just people, leaders do also have a certain amount of responsibility. There's times where they've got to buckle down and do things that ordinary people simply do not have to, and imminent war is one of those times. There's diplomacy to be attempted, preparations to be made, intel to be gathered, morale to boost, PR to wrangle... and that's all before the actual fighting starts. And while it's not wrong for leaders to try and relax where they can amidst all this... well, it's not the first time the book has insinuated that running the country is the kind of thing that can be just "left in the office," so to speak. I've pulled it out a few times now. Imminent war is definitely not the kind of situation where a raucous, public night-on-the-town is appropriate leader behaviour.
And the whole "leave in the office" attitude becomes even more implausible for leaders the further back in history you go. The leaders who visibly partied while war (or whatever other crisis) was looming? Yeah, they're the ones who generally got assassinated or overthrown. People don't like it when their leaders look like they don't give a shit. "Let them eat cake," and all that...
.....well, I say that, but modern politics is sure trying to give me a run for my money....
And no one, absolutely no one, on the street balked or paled or ran.
This, though, is just fucking stupid. Why should they? Is Rhys known for just wandering through the streets and snotting people? Why are you bamboozled by this behaviour, Feyre? Why are you presenting this as something we should be surprised by, or find impressive?
As if they weren’t the most powerful people in this court, maybe in all of Prythian.
Ohhh, right, scary-scary dangerous and Primal Dominance and ugh, I hate this shit so fucking much.
Awed, perhaps a little intimidated, but … no fear. It was so unusual that I kept silent, merely observing them—their world. The normalcy that they each fought so hard to preserve. That I had once raged against, resented.
The normalcy they fought so hard to preserve...... at the expense of literally everyone else in Prythian. The Most Powerfullest High Lord Ever chose to use his power to protect this one (already safe) city from Amarantha, instead of using the "dregs" of his power (which, by his own admission, were still enough to forcibly mind-control and memory-wipe everyone who knew about Velaris for decades - hardly trivial magic) to try and stop her, or even to protect the rest of his own damn court. That is what you resented, Feyre. That is what you raged against. Not the fact that Velaris is nice, but the fact that its niceness was given even more protection, despite being already safe, at the cost of everyone else in Prythian. Everyone else who you literally died to save, remember!
But, no. No, the brainwashing is complete. Rhys has convinced her that Velaris is just that damn special, that it's worth the lives of everyone else in the country to protect. They're all just plebs and faceless NPCs, after all. Not real people. Only the privileged-ass people in Velaris are real people. This book is actual cancer sometimes, I swear to god. I hate saying things like that, but there's really no other way to describe it.
But there was no place like this in the world. Not so serene. So loved by its people and its rulers.
Yeah, not a single other place in the entire world is kinda peaceful and loved by the ones who live in it........................ that's why it's worth throwing them all under the bus to protect it................ I mean, whatever helps them sleep at night, right?
The other side of the city was even more crowded, with patrons in finery out to attend the many theaters we passed.
And where do the patrons get their finery, if the entire city is closed off from the world, hmm? I'm sure I've already ranted about this, but. You have to pick one: a complete secret that nobody else outside of the city knows about, or able to receive trade by sea. You can't have both. Traders go places, and they talk. "And where are you shipping all these fancy clothes off to?" "Errrrrrrr, nowhere....." And if they lie and say a different port, then any unrelated discussion between people from those two places runs the risk of exposing everything. It just isn't possible.
I’d never seen a theater before—never seen a play, or a concert, or a symphony. In our ramshackle village, we’d gotten mummers and minstrels at best—herds of beggars yowling on makeshift instruments at worst.
And absolutely no thought is given to the fact that her village had no theatres because it was small and poor, and was poor because some asshole was hoarding all the money, no. It's just because her (human) village was a shithole, compared to the Better-Than-You city of Perfect Velaris.
Fuck, this is going to be another chapter where I want to pull out every line, isn't it? Rampant classism and Rhys's bullshit do that to me, I guess.
More description of how awesome and lively Velaris is.
How much had I missed in these months of despair and numbness?
But no longer. The lifeblood of Velaris thrummed through me, and in rare moments of quiet, I could have sworn I heard the clash of the sea, clawing at the distant cliffs.
Ugh. Just... like, yeah, if your depression is caused by something like isolation, then going somewhere more lively might help. But it might also exacerbate it, in an alone-in-the-crowd kind of way. I think it's far more likely that it's Rhys's mind-fuckery that's responsible for this.
Also... hmm. I don't know that's necessarily why it's bothering me. It's more like... well, I've gone on at length about all the horrible things Rhys has done, and how unfairly the narrative has been framing Tamlin by comparison. But here, it's rewarding Feyre, on a meta level, for doing what Rhys wants. And it makes it so that any criticisms of Rhys's behaviour can (in theory) be shut doing by pointing to it and going "no, see? It worked! He cured her depression!" And just completely ignores how utterly inappropriate the whole thing is, how Rhys's "success" here is utterly undeserved. The fact that the narrative contorted itself to make his selfishness and manipulations have a positive outcome doesn't actually mean he did the right thing, book. It just means he's a Mary Sue who the book will allow to do no wrong.
Eventually, we entered a small restaurant beside the river, built into the lower level of a two-story building, the whole space bedecked in greens and golds and barely big enough to fit all of us. And three sets of Illyrian wings.
See? Do you see what I fucking mean????? Enough with the god damn wings already! We'll assume they fit unless you tell us otherwise! And besides:
As you can see, neither the bird nor the bat's wings take up all that much extra space when they're tucked in. Unless the boys are walking around while T-posing with their wings, I really don't think it would ever be as big a deal as the book makes it out to be. Just. A truly unholily weird fixation on big wings.
But the owner knew [the Inner Circle], and kissed them each on the cheek, even Rhysand.
The book wants us to think it's because Velaris is so wonderful and Rhys is such an awesome High Lord, unlike the Evil Tamlin. I'm inclined to think that this owner is just sucking up to the High Lord who is known for his nepotism, though. It's the only way you get anywhere in his court, after all.
No doubt [the pot-plants were] spelled to keep from dying in the winter—just as the warmth of the restaurant kept the chill from disturbing us or any of those dining in the open air at the river’s edge.
Something something, have to follow the laws of nature...
I’d never had such food—warm and rich and savory and spicy. Like it filled not only my stomach, but that lingering hole in my chest, too.
Do you get it yet, guys? Velaris is just so awesome that it's magically curing Feyre's depression. That alone means it was worth sacrificing all of Prythian for! Yes, even though it was already safe! The stinky Spring Court could never, after all.
[The owner was] chatting with Rhys about the latest shipment of spices that had come to the Palaces.
How did the ships find the secret city that nobody else knows about, though? Not just once, but many times, given this is just the "latest" shipment? Oh, right, they found it because the book just does not give a fuck, of course. Silly me.
There's banter, while Rhys promises to magically stop the inevitable war inflation of spice prices and the shopkeeper does absolutely nothing to convince me that she's not a nepo-hopeful.
The happiness on [the shopkeeper's] face, the satisfaction that only a day of hard work doing something you love could bring, hit me like a stone.
Feyre, you literally just told us that she beamed because the High Lord she's sucking up to said he liked her food. Don't try and rewrite what we've just seen with our own eyes.
But no, no, that's all just a wind up so Feyre can further hammer home how Velaris is curing her depression, by telling us that she now "remembers" that feeling from when she used to "paint from morning until night," and the only thing I can say is... bitch, when? You spent the start of last book whinging about how you were too poor to paint, then spent the rest of the book whinging about how you sucked at painting and couldn't possibly paint the awesomeness that is Prythian. And then spent this book telling us you were too depressed to paint. Literally when have you 1) ever actually painted morning until night, and 2) enjoyed it? About the only time it could have happened is during the time skips while you were dagging around the Spring Court in book one... huh...
But no, no, Feyre gets special cake for saying nice things about the food, and then much fuss is made about Amren being brought a goblet of blood (after being served a whole plate of food she doesn't eat, and thus I can only assume is wasted. Why not just arrange for her to have blood from the start??).
Indeed, I almost asked Mor to roll me out of the restaurant by the time we were done and Rhys had paid the tab, despite the owner’s protests.
Oh yeah, this has got to be attempted sycophancy. No restaurant would try to refuse being paid for the fucking food they sell unless they thought they could get value elsewhere for it. They'd go bankrupt. Unless the book legitimately thinks its protagonists are so awesome that of course shops should be giving them freebies Just Because. It disturbs me that that is a distinct possibility. Both that anyone thinks anyone is special enough to deserve freebies in the first place, and that anyone thinks that these people, specifically, are the kind that deserve it. Absolutely wild.
Dancing. My body groaned in protest and I glanced about for an ally to shoot down this ridiculous idea.
But Azriel—Azriel said, his eyes wholly on Mor, “I’m in.”
Why are you saying that as if it's so surprising that Azriel wants to go dancing, Feyre? You know jack shit about him except that he's quiet and has a Tragic Past. Plenty of quiet people like dancing.
But, no, this is just to tease the whole Mor/Azriel/Cassian thing and also have everyone banter.
[Azriel's] broad chest expanded with a deep breath
Ngl, I always forget that Azriel is meant to be ripped as well. Like Rhys, he basically looks like an anime twink in my mind. A bizarre cross between Lorenz Hellman Gloucester from Fire Emblem, and the student council president from that magical boys anime from a few years back. The one with the really long name. I think the only one that I can actually picture as ripped is Cassian. And I'm 99% sure I've seen the way I picture him somewhere before, but can't for the life of me remember where. It's identical to how I picture Hunt from CC, btw, because they're basically the same character. Anyway.
Feyre doesn't want to go dancing, and looks to Amren for help, but she's gone. This prompts Rhys (who read her intention to look for Amren from her mind, obvs) to banter about Amren drinking blood.
I tried not to shudder as I faced him. “Why blood?”
“It doesn’t seem polite to ask.”
Translation: the author thinks it sounds more scary-dangerous and mysterious this way, but the answer is obviously because she's a vampire. And until the book gets over itself and gives us evidence to the contrary, that will be my headcanon. Vagueness can work against you sometimes, book.
Anyway, Rhys says he's not going dancing, he's going to walk home, and of course this is framed as just being oh-so-gentlemanly to Feyre, even though, again, he would have read this desire of hers from her mind. Without asking. She never said it out loud.
Feyre and Rhys walk for a bit, before stopping to look at how pretty the artists quarter is, because haven't you heard? Feyre's just about done with her depression arc, Velaris cured it.
“This is my favorite view in the city,” Rhys said,
Of course it is. The one that would be so personally meaningful to Feyre. What a coincidence. You know, if it weren't because they're so clearly ~*~soulmates~*~, I'd almost say it was as if he could read her mind and was manipulating her with salesman tactics.... Rhys has given us no other indication that he appreciates art, after all...
[F]“Then why are both your houses on the other side of the river?”[...]
[R]“Because I wanted a quiet street—so I could visit this clamor whenever I wished and then have a home to retreat to.”
Spoken like a true privileged asshole.
[F]“You could have just reordered the city.”
“Why the hell would I change one thing about this place?”
Er, because change is sometimes necessary? Like yeah, going in and dicking around just for the sake of it isn't good, but to refuse to change anything at all? Places have tried that throughout history - Edo Period Japan, for example. It rarely ends well for them. But, I suppose, to acknowledge that something about Velaris could be changed for the better would imply that it's not absolutely perfect in its current state, and we obviously can't have that. It wouldn't be Better than the Spring Court, otherwise. Never mind that it has literal slums in the fifth book...
Well, enough of that, we spend some time angsting about how Hard it is to be High Lord, and then establishing that Rhys is a sexually competent man who has had many, many lovers (not Amren tho. No, I don't know why we need to specify this), but also, he's still a virgin so far as long-term, committed relationships go, so it's all g. None of them would have wanted to marry him anyway, because it's Just So Dangerous. Even though he's the Most Powerful High Lord Ever and could definitely protect them from that danger......
But! Now it's time for the big questions!
I still didn’t know the full story, but I asked, “Why? Why are you [the Night Court] hated? Why keep the truth of this place secret? It’s a shame no one knows about it—what good you do here.”
Hoo boy. Here we go.
Essentially, the Night Court was once legitimately a Court of Nightmares, but one random High Lord staged a coup (which he somehow hid from the entire rest of the world), killing all the Designated Evil characters, and built Velaris instead. There were many spells to explain bullshit like why it still gets trade despite being secret from everyone.
“But along the way, despite his best intentions, darkness grew again—not as bad as it had once been … But bad enough that there is a permanent divide within my court. We allow the world to see the other half, to fear them—so that they might never guess this place thrives here. And we allow the Court of Nightmares to continue, blind to Velaris’s existence, because we know that without them, there are some courts and kingdoms that might strike us. And invade our borders to discover the many, many secrets we’ve kept from the other High Lords and courts these millennia.”
So...... essentially, you let the Court of Nightmares exist to be your meatshields against the other courts, to protect all the "secrets" (knowledge and wealth, I assume) that you're hoarding in Velaris and refusing to share? Yeah, wow, I wonder why there's a permanent divide in your court. Fucking mystery, that one. Who woulda thunk that forced segregation leads to divides?
Also... the implication here is that the Court of Nightmares cops all the fallout from the other courts. They're the ones that get attacked, or politically disadvantaged, or whatever. Literally sacrificing half your entire court, just so that Velaris can... what? Keep living their privileged, wealthy existence, without any threat of harm? The people of the Hewn City deserve to suffer and die and live under tyranny (Rhys's own tyranny, as he will eventually remind us. Not yet tho, that might make new readers think he's a bad person) so that those in Velaris never have to feel uncomfy? Just what is so fucking special about this damn city???? "Oh it's pretty and quaint and has artists and-" yes, and?????? Many places are pretty and quaint and have artists???
Of course, the book expects us to think this is all fine and dandy, because it's tried to establish that actually, the people of the Hewn City are all evil meaniepantses and also not Main Characters, so it's fine if they're turned into sacrificial lambs en masse. They're evil, so who cares, right? Book. Book, book, book. An entire city cannot be uniformly evil. It's full of individuals, first and foremost. Yeah, sure, they might have an evil government, or a high concentration of evil wizards, or some cultural practices which might be deemed evil by outside parties. And especially in fantasy, we tend to give leeway for that sort of thing.
But, as with most places, the overwhelming majority of people in the Hewn City are going to be just ordinary people. Living their lives, not bothering anyone else. The book wants us to think that, because the nobles are all evil and corrupt, that makes it okay to condemn the whole city. It doesn't. It really doesn't. And, again - Rhysand is the one inflicting the fucking tyranny. He goes there later and shows us, tells us all about how he cows the Hewn City to his whim. It exists in this state because he, as it's unquestionably feared tyrant leader, fucking allows it.
And it's like, there's no reason the Hewn City has to be such a shithole to protect Velaris? There's no reason it couldn't be a perfectly nice city, but still be the only city other people know about, so that's why it gets attacked? Velaris can still be secret even if the Court of Nightmares doesn't exist? But, no. No. Rhysand keeps all these people locked in their mountain (hey Feyre, remember your trauma about people being locked in mountains? No? Okay..), with no option to leave. He either does nothing to discourage evil policies, or actively prevents good policies from being implemented - likely both. It beggars belief that even every noble in Hewn City is uniformly evil, after all, especially since Mor, a character we're (meant to be) sympathetic to, is from there. Already, we have proof that there's at least one non-evil noble from there. It stands to reason that there'd be others. Are they not trying to make changes? Not a single change, in 500 years? The only way that seems possible is if there's someone with immense power (like, I don't know, the Most Powerful High Lord Ever, or something) forcing things to remain the way they are. Actively stifling any and all attempts at change and reform. Letting unsavoury policies run rampant. This is all on Rhysand, and no amount of bleating otherwise from the book will change that.
But, and once again, this is very important. We still haven't seen Rhys flexing his control over the Hewn City. That little tumour of a scene hasn't happened yet. So, for a new reader, they're being told all this about the Hewn City without the knowledge that they're basically at Rhys's mercy. It's being presented as though the evil of the Court of Nightmares is something inevitable, unchangeable, completely out of Rhys's hands..... and that is just patently not true. But it washes Rhys's hands of any responsibility before we even begin to see the full picture. Again, these books are an absolute masterclass in manipulative writing.
“So truly none of the others know? In the other courts?”
“Not a soul. You will not find it on a single map, or mentioned in any book beyond those written here. Perhaps it is our loss to be so contained and isolated, but … ” He gestured to the city around us. “My people do not seem to be suffering much for it.”
No. No, they're not suffering. And do you know why, Rhys? BECAUSE YOU'VE OUTSOURCED THE SUFFERING TO THE HEWN CITY YOU ACTUAL FUCKING PUSTULE! OF COURSE YOUR PEOPLE AREN'T FUCKING SUFFERING WHEN YOU'VE THROWN THE ENTIRE REST OF YOUR COURT UNDER THE BUS TO MAKE IT SO! HOW CAN YOU SAY THIS WITH A STRAIGHT FACE? HOW CAN THE BOOK SAY THIS WITH A STRAIGHT FACE? IT'S SO FUCKING HYPOCRITICAL I JUST CANNOT
I hate him. I hate him so much. No character in any of Maas's series is worse than this guy.
Also. It just occurred to me that maybe making Rhys half-Illyrian was just to forestall accusations of his obvious racism? "No, I can't be racist, I'm half-Illyrian" yeah, and you're still a segregationist ass so?????? And the reason he can summon and dismiss his wings at will is because Maas didn't actually want him to be one of those filthy Lesser Faeries, so she just gets rid of it every time he doesn't need it for pity reasons. Or wing fetish reasons.
Well, the book doesn't want us thinking about that, time to switch topics to whether Azriel feels bad about torturing people. Not that the book will use the word "torture", of course. We might realise that everyone involved is an awful person otherwise.
Rhys loosed a breath. “It’s hard to tell with him—and he’d never tell me. I’ve witnessed Cassian rip apart opponents and then puke his guts up once the carnage stopped, sometimes even mourn them.
Oh, well, that makes it perfectly acceptable then, doesn't it? "Hey, sorry I ripped your family member apart. No, really, I am sorry, I even puked afterwards!"
Just?????? Does the book think puking is some kind of get-out-of-doing-the-wrong-thing-free card or something? That's what it is, isn't it? Oh my dear fucking god. Weaponised fucking puking, both in-universe and on a meta level. Now all I can think about is them jamming their fingers down their own throats whenever they need to trick people into thinking they feel genuine remorse. This is actually insane.
Oh dear god. I thought when they started walking again, we'd get a bit of a break from rage-inducing things, but. I was wrong. Fuck was I wrong.
I was about to beg Rhys to fly me home when I caught the strands of music pouring from a group of performers outside a restaurant.
My hands slackened at my sides. A reduced version of the symphony I’d heard in a chill dungeon, when I had been so lost to terror and despair that I had hallucinated—hallucinated as this music poured into my cell … and kept me from shattering.
Yes. Now is the time where Feyre realises that Rhys is the one who sent her that music. You know, Rhys, who was her enemy then, who tortured her into accepting his bargain, who drugged and assaulted her every single night..... Rhys, who we've been told is the Most Powerful High Lord Ever, who has uber-mind-control powers, so strong that the people he's interfering with don't even know he's there. And when she heard that music, she also saw an image of a palace, a moonstone palace, kinda like the one above Hewn City, actually, and her head was filled with thoughts that "the one she loved" was there.........
Oh wow. What could she have to say about this obvious and staggering violation!
And once more, the beauty of it hit me, the layering and swaying, the joy and peace.
...............just. There are no words. None whatsoever.
The music swelled and built. I’d seen a palace in the sky when I’d hallucinated—a place between sunset and dawn … a house of moonstone pillars. “I saw the Night Court.”
He glanced sidelong at me. “I didn’t send those images to you.”
Uh. THEN WHERE THE FUCK ELSE DID THEY COME FROM, SHIT-FOR-BRAINS???? WHERE THE FUCK ELSE COULD THEY HAVE POSSIBLY COME FROM???? BECAUSE FEYRE WAS A FRAGILE LITTLE HUMAN THEN, WITHOUT HER RESURRECTED FAERIE POWERS TO GIVE HER DAEMATI SHIT OR WHATEVER FUCKING EXCUSE YOU'RE TRYING TO USE TO JUSTIFY HER SEEING THINGS FROM YOU NOW. ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY SHE PULLED IT HERSELF FROM THE BOND??? THE BOND THAT SHE DIDN'T EVEN KNOW EXISTED THEN, THAT SERVED ONLY AS YOUR SPYWARE INTO HER MIND???? SHE JUST COINCI-FUCKING-DENTALLY PULLED AN IMAGE OF THE NIGHT COURT AND THE THOUGHTS "that's where the person I love is" FROM YOUR FUCKING HEAD ALL BY HERSELF, DID SHE??? IS THAT WHAT YOU EXPECT US TO FUCKING BELIEVE, RHYSAND?????
If this isn't an admission that he did it all on purpose, I don't know what is. He doesn't give any further explanation about where they might have come from, mind. Just "oh, I totally didn't do it."
Of course, Feyre fucking believes him. No. She doesn't care.
I didn’t care. “Thank you. For everything—for what you did. Then … and now.”
And note, they still haven't fucking addressed the whole drugging and assaulting thing. Literally just not mentioned it at all. Like the book knows it's fucking indefensible, so it just hopes we'll forget about it if it doesn't say anything.
“Even after the Weaver? After this morning with my trap for the Attor?”
My nostrils flared. “You ruin everything.”
And look, the shitcunt still isn't satisfied, he's even fishing for extra forgiveness for his latest bullshit! Twisting her words around to absolve him of even more! Go eat lead, Rhys. Gut yourself. Jump into a furnace. I literally don't care at this point, I just want you fucking gone.
I could learn to love it, I realized. The flying.
That's called stockholm syndrome, Feyre. Or rather, it's your brain's desperate attempt to cope with a situation you can't escape from.
There's a scene break, but if you had any hope that any of this shit was going to get even a sliver of the attention it deserves:
I was reading in bed, listening to the merry chatter of the toasty birch fire across the room,
let me dash that hope immediately. We suffer this shit together.
Rhysand is texting her again.
I might be a shameless flirt, but at least I don’t have a horrible temper. You should come tend to my wounds from our squabble in the snow. I’m bruised all over thanks to you.
Oh, the squabble where she was retaliating after you USED HER AS LIVE BAIT WITHOUT EVEN FUCKING TELLING HER???? Fuck. When can we launch him into the sun? It's the only way I'll survive with my sanity intact, I think.
[F]Go lick your wounds and leave me be.
[...]
[R]I’d much rather you licked my wounds for me.
And look, he even acts like a fucking tinder creep who can't take a hint.
My heart pounded, faster and faster, and a strange sort of rush went through my veins as I read the sentence again and again. A challenge.
I... no? It's not a fucking challenge? Just bog-standard creeping? What the fuck is it with this book and thinking that inappropriate flirting is a "challenge?"
They begin sexting.
I wrote back,
Let’s hope my licking is better than yours. I remember how horrible you were at it Under the Mountain.
Lie. He’d licked away my tears when I’d been a moment away from shattering.
....................................................................this is the closest the book has come to acknowledging *any* of the shit he pulled Under the Mountain. And it's not the drugging and assault part, of course, but some other part when Rhys was being creepy and invasive. And it's just................ used as fuel for flirty banter. As if it's just one of those quirky things that happened. I.......... I........
Of all the bullshit ways to be insensitive...... I don't have the energy to rant about it. And the chapter is nearly done. God, this one was a slog, wasn't it? So many rage-inducing topics in such quick succession.
He’d done it to keep me distracted—keep me angry. Because anger was better than feeling nothing; because anger and hatred were the long-lasting fuel in the endless dark of my despair. The same way that music had kept me from breaking.
Hatred. Hatred. All of my hatred, so much so that I'm actually feeling kind of numb, because I think my brain is shutting itself down in an act of self-preservation. Because causing anger was really the value move UtM, instead of just, I don't know, fucking helping her or something. The brainwashing is complete. Feyre's mind belongs wholly to Rhysand. She'll spout whatever bullshit he wants now.
Lucien had come to patch me up a few times, but no one risked quite so much in keeping me not only alive, but as mentally intact as I could be considering the circumstances.
LUCIEN GOT FUCKING FLOGGED SAVING YOUR UNGRATEFUL ASS, FEYRE! AND THROWN IN THE CAGE WITH YOU FOR YOUR SECOND TASK! WHICH IS FAR MORE HARM THAN NOBLE FUCKING RHYSAND WAS EVER SUBJECTED TO FROM THE "HELP" HE GAVE YOU. SHUT UP. SHUT THE ACTUAL FUCK UP!
Ugh, more tone-deaf fucking sexting, a vulgar gesture, Feyre has a nightmare about the Attor but it's all g because she doesn't wake up, close chapter. Fucking finally. Rhysand needs to die in a fire. But, for now at least, I am done here. Freedom. Until the next post.
