A Court of Mist and Fury Chapter 48: Sex Stuff, Finally

SOMETHING FINALLY HAPPENS

A Court of Mist and Fury: Chapter 48

Rhysand and Feyre enter a tiny inn because of reasons. I have no fucking clue why they’re spending the night here. Maybe something to do with trying to hide their tracks from Lucien and Tamlin? I honestly have no idea why they can’t winnow/teleport to the war camp or Rhysand’s home or anywhere else, they’re just now in a tiny room in an inn because Sarah J Maas finally gave up and needed a contrived reason to get them to share a bed.

The bed.
“I asked for two,” Rhy said, hands already up.

This chapter deadass kicks off like: oh no, there’s only one bed! oh no, the room’s too small to use fire magic, we have to cuddle for warmth. oh no, we’re naked.

He said softly, “I love it when you look at me like that.”
The purr in his voice heated my blood. “Like what?”
“Like my power isn’t something to run from. Like you see me. […] Maybe that’s why I couldn’t keep away.”

Man, having them finally confront their feelings for each other because they have to share a bed in an inn they’re staying at for unclear reasons is kinda just on the same romantic level as spin the bottle.

Rhysand leaves the room for a minute to get food and to give Feyre some privacy to change into dry clothes. Feyre takes a moment to reflect on how Lucien is definitely now reporting something to Tamlin about what happened earlier that day, and her thoughts on Tamlin and Lucien vs the men she’s met in the Night Court.

I’d sent that note to Tamlin … and he’d chosen to ignore it. Just as he’d ignored or rejected nearly all of my requests, acted out of his deluded sense of what he believed was right for my well-being and safety. And Lucien had been prepared to take me against my will.
Fae males were territorial, dominant, arrogant—but the ones in the Spring Court … something had festered in their training. Because I knew—deep in my bones—that Cassian might push and test my limits, but the moment I said no, he’d back off.

See, this would be really interesting if ACOMAF spent any time with any of the actual people who live in these places. It’s kind of hard to do world-building about the culture of two different societies when we only know three or four people from each and they all work in the government. This would be like if a book talked about how people in America and Britain have different characteristics, but the only characters were Donald Trump, Steve Bannon, and Theresa May.

And, of course, if “acted out of his deluded sense of what he believed was right for my well-being and safety” taken out of context wasn’t also a note-perfect description of Rhysand.

Rhysand comes back to the room with stew. He changes and Feyre asks him how he gets his shirts on over his wings, which somehow results in all this bullshit:

“The back is made of slats that close with hidden buttons … But in normal circumstances, I just use magic to seal it shut.”

Couldn’t just pick one, huh, book?

“It seems like you have a great deal of magic constantly in use at once.”
A shrug. “It helps me work off the strain of my power. The magic needs release—draining—or else it’ll build up and drive me insane.”

Has anyone checked that this isn’t already happening? His international relations strategy is “what if everyone thought I was an asshole”.

They talk about what happened earlier with Lucien. Feyre asks him what he thought she’d do, and he tells her that he didn’t think she’d go back to the Spring Court, but if she really did want that, “I would find a way to live with it. It would be your choice.” But if she were taken by force, “I would have torn apart the world to get you back.”

Then, four fucking hundred and sixty-nine (nice) pages into the book, at fucking last, Rhysand’s small heart grew three sizes that day.

“I’m thinking,” he said […] “that I look at you and feel like I’m dying. Like I can’t breathe. I’m thinking that I want you so badly I can’t concentrate half the time I’m around you, and this room is too small for me to properly bed you.”

OK, THAT GOT A LITTLE WEIRD AT THE END BUT FUCK IT. I’LL TAKE WHATEVER WE GET AT THIS POINT.

Feyre talks about her feelings too, which includes some… self-slut shaming? JFC, it is very understandable that Feyre has guilt over the Tamlin/Rhysand thing but we’re really stretching this “I’ll take whatever we get at this point” thing when the woman in the mix is the only one of the two accepting any kind of fault in how their feelings or actions leading to this point made things complicated.

“I’m thinking that I can’t stop thinking about you. And that it’s been that way for a long while. Even before I left the Spring Court. And maybe that makes me a traitorous, lying piece of trash, but—”
“It doesn’t,” he said, his face solemn.

Well, at least they’re finally gonna kiss now, right? Right? RIGHT?

I murmured, “We should go to sleep.”

I’m fucking serious, the way this actually goes down is they have that talk where they admit they have feelings, Feyre just says they should go to sleep, Rhysand pauses before saying “All right” (which is, intentional or nah, kind of hilarious), then they get into bed, start cuddling up, Feyre starts stroking Rhysand’s wing (which we learned a few chapters ago is actually an erogenous zone), and then Rhysand presses closer into Feyre and she feels his dick. This. Is. Actually. How. This. Is. Happening.

“I never knew Illyrians were such sensitive babies,” I said, sliding another finger down the inside of his wing.
Something hard pushed against my behind. Heat flooded me, and I went taut and loose all at once.

They start feeling each other up a bit more and – to this book’s credit, although this is definitely “wow, this is a low bar”-kinda praise – Rhysand does make a point of getting Feyre to explicitly state what she wants before things escalate any further.

“First you terrorize me with your cold hands, now you want… what is it you want, Feyre?” […]
I knew what he wanted me to say. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of it. Not yet.

…on what fucking planet is that supposed to make any sense

So I said, “I want a distraction.” It was breathless. “I want—fun.”
His body again tensed behind mine.
And I wondered if he somehow didn’t see it for the lie it was; if he thought … if he thought that was all I indeed wanted. But his hands resumed their roaming.
“Then allow me the pleasure of distracting you.”

It took four hundred seventy-two pages to get to this moment, and Feyre lies about what she wants because… she thinks Rhysand will know that she’s lying? Goddammit, do I have to read another few hundred pages of them being angry at each other because they’re not on the same page and don’t realize it because Feyre lied about her feelings for funsies?

Anyway, the sex scene is about as garbage as you were probably worrying. It’s like every other book we’ve read on this blog: the guy talks the whole time and the woman never says anything.

• “I love these,” he breathed onto my neck, his hand sliding to my other breast. “You have no idea how much I love these.”
• I ground against him, eliciting a soft, wicked hiss from him. “Stop that,” he snarled onto my skin. “You’ll ruin my fun.”

Oh, wait, sorry, the woman never says anything except “please”.

• “Please,” I managed to say.
• “Please,” I said again, and ground my ass against him for emphasis.

They finally put their mouths on each other.

I didn’t care—I didn’t care one bit about what I was and who I was and where I’d been as I yielded fully to him, opening my mouth. His tongue swept in, moving in a way that I knew exactly what he’d do if he got between my legs.

I honestly can’t decide if that was written terribly or perfectly.

They don’t actually have sex because the room is too small. Seriously, this is the really real reason Rhysand gives. You do you, guys.

“I’ve had a long, long time to think about how and where I want you,” Rhys said onto the skin of my neck, his fingers sliding under the band of my pants, but stopping just beneath. Their home for the evening. “I have no intention of doing it all in one night. Or in a room where I can’t even fuck you against the wall.”

Wait, I take back all my being impatient about getting to these sex scenes. I don’t need Rhysand Grey sex scenes in my life.

I was gonna just title this post “Fingerblasting” but then thought better of it because my mom does follow us on Facebook. Since I know you all wanna know just how Fifty Shades it is, well, say hello to our old friend: voice–activated orgasms!

“You have no idea how much I—” He cut himself off, and groaned again. “Feyre.”
The sound of my name on his lips was my undoing. Release barreled down my spin and I cried out

I’m still astounded people actually like this book, but then again it’s not like I ever figured out why people like Fifty Shades of Grey, so… you do you, guys.