#rhysand's son

[cherryflavoredbongwater]

°•°•° rhysand's son x reader

°•°•° orpheus helps his mate with their heat sm//ut

When Violet Vanserra winnowed to his front door, her cheeks flushed as red as her hair, Orpheus knew something was wrong. With what, he didn't know and he didn't exactly care. Not when he could feel the start of burning in his stomach, the agitation that made him want to throttle everyone. His rut would start within the upcoming days. He tried to find a pretty female. Had hoped that one would smell right. None had. Which, regretfully, meant he'd be spending the entire week locked away in the cool depths of Hewn City while he fisted his knot ruined cock in his hand.

Violet and Orpheus had never gotten along. She was too stubborn and would take the slightest wrong choice of words as an insult. Once that happened, nothing could be done to change her opinion of you. That distrust in her eyes, red bangs freshly trimmed to keep from falling in them, as she hesitated to tell him what she wanted at this hour had nearly sent him slamming the door in her face.

"Leave," He sneered before adding, "Do they know you've returned?"

Violet left the second she reached age of majority and never looked back. Their family had never gotten over it entirely. Had she not been mated to the now King of Vallahan, she would be right here in Velaris. There was no gentle pushing from Elain, no forceful pushing from Morrigan, who'd remembered the kind of male that Evander had been whilst she was an emissary.

She doesn't answer that. They both know what he really wants to ask. They both know that he won't. He wouldn't let Violet know he thought about his mate — and Violet had no intention of telling him anything about you.

"Y/n needs you," She speaks slowly, hoping for him to catch on. It does nothing but send heat curling in his throat. He swallows the irritation. The bond had been silent. Though, that could've been distance. It could've been lots of things. He can't help the stilling, how he curls his fingers, "What happened to her?"

Violet shifted on her feet, glancing over her shoulder to make sure that no one could hear. "I think she started her heat,"

Now, Orpheus truly laughed. Cursed or blessed by the Cauldron, Orpheus still wasn't sure, you were human. Humans didn't have heats. Humans didn't feel the mating bond like fae had, either. If the news of your heat was true, it would open all sorts of questions. He wondered what it would mean for the future if more bonds had come about, if human women could experience heats.

There was nothing better than knotting a female. He'd been compatible, once, and spent it with two fae — Arden and Marcella. The fact alone was he was wallowing in his own misery. They were on the other side of the city, waiting for his anger to break. It would, one day. It just wasn't today. It wasn't today. It wouldn't be this year, either.

Not even this decade.

"She's human,"

"But you aren't. Before I came here, I stopped by Dawn. There's a Seraphim there that mated with a human during the war. He—He said that the magic would trigger it, that it would be torturous for the woman to go through. The magic can't sort it out the right way. The only way to get it to stop is by her mate helping her through it,"

Bad news for him. He tried to ignore you just as much as you ignored him. Meddling as always, his father routinely sent him to Vallahan. One of the only humans, Violet nearly kept you under lock and key. It was an arrangement neither of you seemed to mind. "The mating bond is a wonderful thing, Orpheus. She's human, why waste time? You're too foolish to see it now." Rhysand shrugged after Orpheus had snapped at him.

He figured that Rhysand was currently looking for a way to make you immortal, to fix some long forgotten mistake he had made. Maybe, he was attempting to help him find some peace. While each of the Inner Circle that had been alive during the War with Hybern had recovered, Orpheus hadn't. Things had been good between them for a while. Until the day peace was declared and Orpheus disappeared into the vicious Hewn City to establish residency and rule, taking the mountain from Kier.

That, too, was something Rhysand hadn't fought.

Orpheus spent the first nineteen years of his life under that mountain. He had been denied a loving childhood, the ability to fly if he ever attempted to form some wings, and a decent mother and father. Rhysand would be damned if he failed him again.

Which, in the grand scheme of things, did not help matters in the slightest. Not as Orpheus had been allowed to run wild. Hosting orgies after orgies, turning the throne room of Hewn City practically into a night club.

If he were human, and females could easily reproduce, he was sure that he might have a few bastards down here. Alas, he made sure they drank the tonic.

He could feel the air shift, his scent change. The full force of his rut would hit him. If only out of being difficult, he nearly said no. It would be torturous for him, too, no doubt, but he could handle it.

It was the thought of you, nearly insane from lack of touch, as your body burned and cramped so fierce that you weren't sure you'd survive it.

And then he thought of your body beneath him, fucking you as hard as he could. He'd make you keep your eyes on his, would chart down your every reaction. "Take me to her," he says. One and done. He would help you through this, would know what it's like for him to have you, and then he was going to let you go. He would go hide out in Day for a couple decades until you were dead and he would be free.

That thought alone left his heart beating angrily in his chest.

Maybe he would go to Day.

Maybe he'd take you with him. The beaches there were beautiful. So were the homes along the coastline. Perfect for a fam—

He wouldn't let himself finish that thought.

This was his rut speaking.

But, at the same time, no thought had ever been so clear, had seemed so right.

He hadn't ever put much thought into what your bedroom looked like. He tried not to think of you most days. Which, just led to it being all he thought about. Green decorated the room, on blankets and painted walls. Against his will, he felt himself soften at the way your fingers curled into the sheets, teeth digging into a pillow. Your body trembled and shook.

"Y/n," He said simply. You turned to look at him, eyes wide and shining with tears. There was a bit of fear there, too. Not at him — the only relief towards him had been hope, relief, and joy. His heart warmed in his chest — but at the uncertainty of it all. With Marcella, and other fae, the heat was enjoyable. At least after it got started. She hadn't had full clarity, hadn't even really remembered any of it. Neither had he. Just the flashes of Arden fucking her ass while he drove into her pussy until she was a mess. Then, he thought of you, sitting on Arden's face while he licked at you, your fingers tugging on his hair. As wicked as Arden could be to both Orpheus and Marcella, he was likely to have you edged for hours, his tongue, cock, and fingers keeping you on the brink for hours.

The more primal part of him had wanted you to himself.

"It hurts," You murmured, voice muffled by a pillow. Shyly, face burning a bright red, you said, "Vi said you could help me," Orpheus guessed that was as close as he would get to you saying the words.

He didn't think you would be like the others, on their knees with their mouths open. There was a level of shame and shyness on your face as you rolled onto your back, throwing the blankets off your body. The material was thin and sheer, likely put on by you to wade off some of the unnatural heat coming off your skin.

His voice doesn't sound like his own, "I can,"

There's only a nod from you, your body relaxing as he shed himself of his clothes until he was standing bare. He usually tried to drag this part out, would have them ride his clothed thigh until they came. Your thighs parted immediately, letting him rest between then. Your hands ran over his chest, through his hair, pulled you closer to him as you kissed whatever you could reach. Light kisses ghosted his ribs, chest, shoulders, arms, and neck. Orpheus shuttered. He nearly came on the outside of your pussy.

His cock was red and hard, his instincts riding him harder than ever before. His hands curl around your hips, jerking you towards him. No panties, no bra. He pulled the dress over your head, caging your body in his as he kissed you gently. He'd thought about this moment more times than he could count. He takes one of your nipples into his mouth.

Nothing compared to it.

His fingers found your pussy, knuckles and fingers sliding between your lips. You bucked into him, would've ground against him if his body weight wasn't keeping you pinned to the bed. What burned and ached before was gone, settled by peace down to your bones. You let him straddle you, eyes closed and a soft smile on your lips. "I didn't think you'd come," Your eyes flickered open, finding him. His hands kneaded the flesh of your stomach, right above your womb. His hands are warm and he remains silent, considering what to say. He means for it to be a snide remark, meant to tell you that this would be the last and only time this happened. Later, after he made it home and your touch is long burned into his memory, he denies ever saying it, "I'll always come for you,"

Orpheus was not the kind of male to make those promises. He was not the kind of male that kept defenseless humans safe. Sounding like his father, he thinks, That's not a human. That is your mate.

To fae, the mating bond was capable of turning humans into things they worshipped. Day by day, the bond convoluted his thoughts, had made him more sympathetic to your delicate human nature.

Orpheus gasped when you sunk your teeth into his shoulder. His spell had been broken, turned back to the present with a need to fuck you go strong he thought he might just curl over and die.

He pulled his fingers out of your pussy, lining up his cock. Prepared well, there was no resistance. Not as you tightened and clamped around him. Not as he bred you, as he knotted you. He made promises against your flesh, you made your own as he ripped orgasm after orgasm out of you. He healed and broke you, loved you and ruined you. Time ceased to move. For six days, it had gone on, Orpheus fucking his come into you for hours before bringing you food and drink. It had been fun and wonderful and then it was over.

Returning home on the seventh morning, he was met by his father. He opened his mouth several times, not quite finding the words. Never had he seen his father like that. Only, when it came to you. Orpheus interrupts him, "Could Azriel get her out?"

His eyebrow lifts. "You want to steal Y/n from Vallahan?" For Violet, Evander would go to war. Orpheus wasn't sure of what kind of friendship stood between you and the king but as her best, and closest friend, Evander wouldn't just let him take you. Part of the reason you were still thousands of miles away from him. Had it been the Night Court's choice, you would've ended up there the night the bond clicked. Part of the reason Violet wasn't around. Unless a valued member of the Inner Circle, your thoughts and feelings weren't always taken into account.

Scared of the world since the war, you were more than content to spend the rest of your life in Evander and Violet's private wing of the castle.

"Yes. She's my mate. Why shouldn't she live with me?"

Selfishness was a trait clearly inherited. Something akin to pride shone in Rhysand's eyes. "I'll give the order in the morning,"

#acotar x reader #acotar oc x reader #mine #rhysand's son #acotar next gen #acotar next gen x reader

[wingsdippedingold]

The last line never fails to make me laugh, how can anyone read this book seriously 😭😭😭

like I get the goofiest image in my mind

#Ignoring the weird implication of Rhysand coming to the thought of having a son #anti sjm #anti acotar #anti sarah j maas #anti rhysand #anti inner circle #anti feysand #sjm critical

[azrielsdove]

hi, i love ur fics so much, they are all so well written! can i request a fic where reader is feyre + rhysands daughter and is secretly seeing tamlins son. rhys and tamlin catch them and all hell breaks loose, while feyre is just trying to calm everyone down.

Thank you lovely!!!! I am SO happy you are enjoying them. I hope this was what you wanted <3

Spring’s Son

Warnings: Suggestive, 18+

***

“I want to come with.” You said, waiting for your parents reaction. Your mother looked at you curiously, your father shrugging.

“Why not?” He replied, a smile coming onto his face. “Let’s make it a family affair, bring Nyx too!” Your mother rolled her eyes, knowing your father liked to flaunt their family in front of her old lover.

“Fine. Be ready after lunch, we are heading out then.” You nodded, bounding to your room in excitement. You took a long bath, cleaning every inch of your body. You took the time to perfectly do your hair, choosing a dress that you felt would pass with your parents. Truly, you were too old for them to argue you, but the High Lord and Lady were not forces to be reckoned with most days. You admired yourself in the mirror, appreciating your reflection. You looked lovely.

You met your parents after lunch, your brother already waiting with them. He looked at you, a knowing smirk on his face. “Dressed to impress, dear sister?” He teased, your eyes flashing a warning to him. Your mother had that look on her face again, like she was trying to solve an equation. Your father scoffed at your brother, batting him on the back of the head.

“She’s dressed like a Night Court princess should be.” He said, holding out his arms to grab yours. He admired you, ever the proud father. “My beautiful girl.” It was your brothers turn to roll his eyes, a trait he picked up from your mother.

“Alright, alright. Can we just go?” He asked, ready to get to the Spring Court. Nyx was especially good at pushing Tamlins buttons, that trait he took straight from your father. You mother tutted over him, smoothing his jacket down and ruffling his hair as the four of you prepared to winnow away.

***

You landed in the Spring Court with your father, your mother and Nyx close behind. Your parents linked their arms together, you and your brother following dutifully behind as you walked up to the manor. You spotted Tamlin at the top of the steps, his wife next to him. You strained your eyes, looking for the familiar mop of blond curls. You were dismayed to find that his son had chosen to not greet your family.

“Tamlin! Camellia! How good it is to see you, old friends.” Your father spoke, shaking hands and kissing cheeks.

“Rhysand. Feyre. Children.” Tamlin replied, nodding to each of you. “Come, let us head inside.” He led you into his beautiful home, you pretending to simply be admiring the decor as you looked around.

Where was he?

He was usually waiting with his parents whenever you had come, ever the polite Son of Spring. You knew you couldn’t ask, couldn’t draw attention to the fact that you came just to see him. You sat at the long table in the dining room, the seat across from yours remaining empty. You tried to ignore the disappointment rising in you, putting a polite smile on your face as dinner was served.

Dinner went rather uneventful, casual chatter happening over the meal. Your parents and Tamlin had long since forgiven each other, but that did not mean the teasing ended. “Now, Tam, can we be promised one of your delightful concerts after dinner?” Your father asked, a twinkle in his eyes. The High Lord of Spring looked up to the ceiling, as if asking the Mother for the patience to deal with the High Lord of Night.

“Why, Rhysand? You wish to show off those dance skills again?” Tamlin replied, a smirk on his lips. You let out a small laugh, remembering your fathers so-called ‘skills’. He shot a glare to you, a look that said You’re supposed to be on my side. You smiled at him, teasing.

At the end of dinner Tamlin stood, extending an arm to your parents. “Please, if we shall meet in the study. We have much to discuss.” Your parents stood as well, following Tamlin and Camellia down the hall. You were certain there wasn’t actually anything to discuss, just an excuse for the four of them to drink and gossip together.

You got up from the table, intending to go search for the son you so desperately wanted to see. Nyx clicked his tongue, calling your attention to him. “What?” you asked, arms crossing defensively in front of you.

“You could be less obvious. You looked like a wounded puppy when you saw he wasn’t here.” Your brother answered, leaning back in his chair. Your cheeks flushed at his words, teeth clenching.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” You defended, heart racing. Were you truly so easy to read?

Your brother sighed, picking at his nails nonchalantly. “Sister, please. I know everything about you.” His words were cocky, the know-it-all bastard. You released your arms, turning to walk towards the door.

“Stay out of my business, Nyx.”

***

You carefully prowled the Spring Court manor, hoping you’d catch him at any turn. You stayed mostly to the areas you knew you were allowed to be in, not knowing how to explain yourself if you were caught. You ended up in the giant library, standing in front of the windows overlooking the gardens. There was a delicate beauty here, one that almost rivaled the deadly beauty of the Night Court.

You startled when two arms wrapped around your waist, lips pressing against your neck. The familiar scent of grass and honeysuckle swept over you, realization dawning. “Where were you?” you asked, sinking into his arms.

“Why? Did my Nightingale miss me?” He teased, leaving a trail of kisses on your skin. You softly moaned, hands clasping over his.

“I always do.” You said, turning in his arms. You looked at the long blond curls, the brilliant green eyes. He was as handsome as his father, with the beauty of his mother shining through. “Cyrus.” You whispered, a hand coming up to twist a lock of gold around your finger. “You have been ignoring me.”

He gave a small smile, leaning down to kiss you ever so gently. “Never, my dear. I have been out hunting from dusk to dawn with my father. Strange creatures are being seen on the edges of our court, I couldn’t let him go alone.” Cyrus explained, a hand coming to cup your face. “I am always thinking of you.” He murmured, his voice heavy. “Especially on lonely nights.”

A shiver shot through you at his words, desire spreading quickly. “Is that so?” You teased, leaning up to press kisses to his jawline. “What, exactly, do you think about?” You let your kisses fall to his neck, licking a stripe over his adams apple. He groaned, his arm tightening around your waist, the hand on your face coming to grasp your throat.

“You know better than to play with me when we have been apart so long.” He growled out, the hand on your throat tightening pleasurably. You moaned out, eyes blown wide with desire. Cyrus was good at this, at reducing you to a puddle in a matter of moments. His hand released your throat, sliding to the back of your neck so he could angle your head up to his. “Oh, how i’ve longed to hear that sound again.” His lips came down to yours, quickly convincing your mouth to open. You knew it was a bad idea to be doing this where anyone could walk in, but your mind was so clouded with need that you didn’t care.

Cyrus pushed you back, pressing you to window behind. “Cyrus,” you gasped out, “anyone can see.” His lips tore from yours, resuming his initial attack on your neck.

“I don’t particularly care.” He said against your skin, a soft bite bringing a whimper from you. Your nails dug into his back, the hand around your waist dipping under your skirts. “I had to skip dinner, I knew if I saw you I wouldn’t be able to keep from touching you.” He whispered as he gently bit under your ear. His fingers toyed with the delicate lace covering you, an embarrassingly needy noise coming from your mouth. He brought his lips back to yours, kissing you hard as his fingers slid to where you needed him.

“What, may I ask, is going on here?”

The two of you froze at the cold voice, the haze of lust shattering around you. Cyrus pulled his hand from your skirt quickly, hiding the wetness on his fingers behind his back. You pushed off the window, straightening your dress as you looked at your father. In that moment, Rhysand looked ever the dangerous Dark Lord he was rumored to be.

Your gaze turned to Tamlin next to him, the same anger visible on his face. You knew his claws were seconds away from coming out, not able to believe the sight in front of him. You paled, shame creeping up your spine.

“Father, I-“ Cyrus began, ever the gentleman. Rhysand cut him off.

“You better have a good reason for having your hand up my daughters skirt.” Your fathers voice was nearly shaking with anger. Tamlin scoffed, turning the attention to him.

“Please,” he said, looking to your father. “With the way you Night Court fae act, she probably seduced him herself.” Your face flushed at the two of them, humiliated by the scene they walked in on.

“Enough!” Cyrus boomed out, hand reaching to grab yours. “There is no dark magic here. Rhysand, Sir, I love your daughter.” The room went speechless, the quiet deadly. Feyre and Camellia chose that moment to enter the room, catching the end of Cyrus’ confession. Your mothers eyes find yours, a knowing look in them. That gave you the strength to step closer to Cyrus, your hand coming to rest on his arm.

“Father, Tamlin, I love him.” You declared, looking up to smile at the handsome blond. Your father gave a great roar of laughter, rounding on Tamlin.

“What kind of a game is this, Spring?” He seethed, getting in his face. The other High Lord rose against him, his anger as equal.

“Who’s to say this isn’t your game, Night? You come into my home, send your daughter to whore out my son!” Tamlin yelled, retaliating against your father.

“Stop!” Your mother cried out, stepping between the two of them. She turned your father, grabbing his hands in hers. “You truly haven’t felt the love coming off her in recent months? The way she suddenly wished to accompany us every time we came here? Tell me you aren’t so naive, husband.” She spoke, calming the rage inside him. Camellia did the same with Tamlin, whispering soothing words to him.

Your father looked slightly ashamed, realizing he hadn’t noticed the change in you. He looked back to you and Cyrus, an apology in his eyes.

“Aw Mother, why did you stop them right when it was getting good?” Your brother drawled from the doorway, commanding the attention of the room. Your mother sighed at him, shaking her head at her eldest.

“Now is not the time, Nyx.” She chided, turning back to you. “How long?” She asked, gesturing between the two of you. Cyrus cleared his throat, unsure if the answer was going to create more anger or help dispel it.

“Around a year.” He said, holding his breath while he waited for a reaction. Your mother smiled, walking over to embrace you.

“I am happy for you, my darling.” She said, holding you tight. “Why keep it a secret for so long?” She asked, looking at you quizzically. You gestured to the two fathers, looking ready to attack each other again.

“Have you ever met them?”

***

#acotar x reader #acotar #rhysand #feysand #feysand!daughter #tamlin!son #springs son #feyre #tamlin #OC #requests

[fieldofdaisiies]

Feyre's Day Out

Bat Boys and Nyx type: fluff word count: 1,4k warnings: none summary: Rhys, Cass and Az are tasked with taking care of Nyx

Slightly out of breath from all the playing and running around, Rhysand, his shirt unbuttoned, sweat glazing his forehead, is trying to warm up some food for his little son. He knows he could ask Nuala and Cerridwen to do it, but he is the father of Nyx, he wants to do it himself. 

And warming up baby food, is truly not that of a big task. He braces his hands on the kitchen counter, inhaling deeply, the happy noises his baby boy makes reaching his ears. He has to smile, his heart always warming at the little baby sounds the heir to the Night Court makes. 

Rhysand's gaze is trained on the window, and for a moment he lets himself think of Feyre. 

Feyre who is finally enjoying a little bit of freedom and alone time. The High Lady is finally going out with her sisters and Mor again, enjoying a day just for herself without having to deal with full diapers and baby tantrums. 

Rhysand leans his head back, and releases a long breath. 

In this moment, he might be a tiny bit relieved to catch a short break from all the running around and playing, knowing Nyx is in good hands with his uncles. 

And he really is. 

Cassian, his shirt also unbuttoned as he is sweating just as much as the High Lord, is frantically chasing after the little baby boy who figured out to run quite fast on such tiny feet. 

Azriel just like his brother is also chasing little Nyx from the other side, both hoping to catch the little baby before he falls onto the hard ground and hurts himself. 

In their running, both Azriel and Cassian have probably already knocked over two vases and nearly tripped over the cushions from the couch that are somehow discarded all of the floor and the carpet. 

The three males are in charge of the lovely, delightful heir to the Night Court. A task that seemed so simple when they agreed. The little boy is a true sunshine. But he also has a kernel of mischief inside of him. 

Nyx is having a blast, cherishing every moment with his uncles and his father. He is squealing, babbling, giggling loudly while his uncles, panting but also laughing, chase after him through the living room. His little wings flap happily behind his back, his tiny feet padding over the ground. 

They have been playing for hours, technically since Feyre left.

The little boy's eyes sparkle with excitement when he comes to a quick halt, his gaze moving to his father who steps into the room with a bowl in his hand. 

Cassian and Azriel nearly bump into each other, but can catch themselves in the last second, Azriel only bumping into Cassian's outstretched hands. 

"If you want to hug me so badly, Az, you only have to ask," Cassian chuckles, and pats his brother who fights the urge to roll his eyes. But Azriel also has to laugh a little, and can finally release a breath, now that the running has come to an end. 

Rhysand crouches down, opens his arms for his little boy so he can cradle him to his chest. And Nyx, without any conversation passing between them, does exactly this. He climbs into his father's arms, or rather arm, as Rhysand is still holding the bowl, and lets himself carry to the table. 

The High Lord sits his son down on his lap, the bowl in front of them on the table and soon also Azriel and Cassian join them.

"The little champ is already quite fast on his little legs," Cassian expresses, grinning at the little toddler on Rhysand's lap. 

Nyx giggles, babbling happily. "Da, da!" he cheers, before his gaze quickly moves to the spoon Rhys dips into the bowl. He lifts to the spoon to Nyx's mouth and the boy eats. Eating is never a problem, and generally Feyre and Rhys are more than fortunate to have little Nyx as their son. He truly is a sunshine, and except for the normal and occasional baby tantrums, he is the sweetest little bean parents can hope for. 

But the little Night Court heir is not just a bundle of joyful giggles and delighted smiles and lovely baby noises, he is also slightly mischievous, something Rhysand says, Nyx definitely got from his mother. 

And Feyre would always gently smack his arm when he says something like this.

Soon after he is done eating, he starts to wiggle, signalling his father that he wants to play again. Or run. His eyes twinkle when he sets out again, happily hopping over the ground, wings once again flapping behind his little shoulders. "I can't wait for the day he learns to fly," Azriel expresses, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. 

"Thank the Cauldron you will be tasked with teaching him how to fly, Az." Cassian turns to his brother, a mischievous grin on his lips. "It will be a delight."

Azriel wants show his brother a vulgar gesture, but he knows better than to do this in front of a little child who picks up everything, so he decides against it, and just flashes his brother a fake smile. And just a moment later the three males join little Nyx in his shenanigans again.

The play catch with a ball, they build towers, they play with the little wooden swords, and Nyx is also running a lot again, and so are Az, Cass, and Rhys. Nyx is a little whirlwind of excitement and happiness, his joyful giggles echoing throughout the whole living room.

Cassian catches the little boy in his arms, throws him up in the air, catches him again and cuddles him to his chest. Nyx squeals and babbles, giggling loudly at his uncle. At first Cassian laughs as well, but suddenly his expression changes, and the general wrinkles his nose. He sniffs the air around him and his eyes widen a little. 

"Ahm…Rhysie, urgent diaper business is calling." Cassian saunters over to his brother to hand over the baby boy, but Rhys keeps his arms crossed in front of his chest, smirking. 

"Maybe you should also finally start to learn to do it, you know, to be ready for when you have a little babe." 

"He has a point," Azriel supports the High Lord, smirking as well. His payback for earlier.

But Cassian shakes his head, handing little Nyx who is already stretching out his hands to his father to Rhys who finally has to give in. "Not yet, Rhysie, I will learn soon enough and will change too many diapers then. For now, this very full one is absolutely and completely yours." 

The general chuckles amusedly, and lets himself fall onto the couch. 

Azriel joins him soon, stretching arms and legs from his body, and leans his head back against the backrest of the couch. 

"Have fun!" Cassian calls after the High Lord, a teasing tone in his voice and Azriel can only shake his head next to him. 

Not even diaper changing causes a lot of trouble, and so Rhys and Nyx who is now much calmer return soon. With the little boy on his arms Rhysand also sits down on the couch.

Night is beginning to settle upon Velaris, the moon already bright in the night sky outside. 

Rhysand sighs when he leans back, Nyx snuggling against his chest. 

The night also seemingly fills the room, they start to yawn, their conversations turning calmer and slower until all of them start to drift off. 

When Feyre steps into the room some time later, she wants to ask how their day has been, but she does not gets a chance to do so. She is greeted not only by chaos and a huge mess, but also by the heartwarming sight of her son and the three most powerful Night Court males, sprawled out on the couch, all four of them in a deep slumber. One of Rhysand's arms, the one he doesn't have wrapped around Nyx rests on the back of the couch, his head tilted slightly to the side. Nyx his sleeping on her mate's chest, his steady breaths creating a sweet sound that is only interrupted by Cassian snores. The general's head is resting on the shadowsinger's shoulder. Azriel's scarred hand dangles off the edge of the couch, his feet placed on the couch table, legs crossed at the ankles, head tipped back, mouth open.

There is smile on Nyx's face, a reminder of the joyful day the head and the happiness he is feeling, even obvious in his sleep. 

"Males," Feyre whispers, and moves her hand over her mouth. It is a sight for sore eyes and she knows she will paint this at the first chance she gets. 

~~~~~~~~~ tags: @girlinglass999@autumndreaming7 @brekkershadowsinger

#feysand #rhysand and nyx #nyx archeron #feyre #rhysand #azriel #cassian #bat boys #rhysand and feyre #feysand son

[achaotichuman]

Stupid little headcanon.

Yk imagine if Rhys's mom was actually a massive Tamsand shipper who just ADORED Tamlin, and because he could shapeshift would use him as a model for all her dresses. Would watch her son and Tamlin interact and also saw that Tamlin made big, wide eyes at the ring her mother had given her to pass onto her children, and knew he would like it as an engagement ring, and also knew he would be able to absolutely SLAUGHTER the weaver.

In conclusion, Rhys' mother made those dresses for Tamlin, and hid the ring for Tamlin.

And the reason Feyre fit the dresses so perfectly was because Rhys' mother actually made SO MANY DIFFERENT DRESSES because Tam could shapeshift any body type, and Rhys just picked out the ones in Feyre's size.

#rhys' mom and tamlin's mom had monthly meetings to plain their sons' wedding #oh they just love each other so much they will TOTALLY get together #the og tamsand shippers fr #acotar #pro tamlin #tamlin #rhysand #tamsand #rhyslin #acotar headcanons #acotar au

[witchthewriter]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐬/𝐏𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐨

Hades is known as the god of the underworld, not the god of death, but the god that resides over the dead. He relies on himself, as do his variants and sons - who can be spotted quite easily. With their grumpy or 'do not approach me' expression. They're intimidating men, who will do whatever it takes to reach the goal they have put out for themselves. That doesn't mean they are without heart. No. They have big hearts but for some reason, it's always a shock when people see them being kind.

𝐴𝑟𝑎𝑔𝑜𝑟𝑛

𝐷𝑎𝑟𝑦𝑙 𝐷𝑖𝑥𝑜𝑛

𝑅𝑦𝑠𝑎𝑛𝑑

𝑅𝑖𝑝 𝑊ℎ𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑟

𝐺𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑙𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑅𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑎

𝐵𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑦 𝐵𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑠

𝐶𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝐽𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝐹𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑡

𝐵𝑟𝑢𝑐𝑒 𝑊𝑎𝑦𝑛𝑒/𝐵𝑎𝑡𝑚𝑎𝑛

𝑅𝑖𝑜

#variants meme #variant meme #multiverse #the variants of hades #the sons of hades #the sons of pluto #the variants of pluto #percy jackson greek god parents #greek gods #hades #pluto #aragorn #lotr #lord of the rings #witchthewriter #witch the writer's moodboards #daryl dixon #twd #the walking dead #rhysand #acotar #geralt of rivia #the witcher #rip wheeler #yellowstone #bucky barnes #mcu #marvel #captain flint #black sails

[itsthedoodle]

Memory

For @officialrhysandweek 🩵

A drabble for day 6: Pastimes

“Oh, that is a great card. Good job! Can you find the other one?” Rhys said in a soft voice. He and Nyx had taken to playing memory lately and the one year old was quite good at it.

Nyx’s chubby hand reached out, sloppily pointing to a card on the other side of the deck. “Same.”

“That one?” Rhys reached out, pointing to the card. “Why don’t you turn it over so we can see?”

Nyx shook his head and looked at him with pleading big blue eyes so similar to his.

“You don’t want to play anymore?” Rhys asked, confusion lacing his voice. He was generally very good at understanding his toddler’s version of the common language, but there were often times when he wondered what he wanted. When Nyx had been a baby, Rhys hadn’t been above taking a look at his mind whenever he cried inconsolably, just so they could at least know how to help him. But as he had grown older, Rhys had avoided taking a look as to preserve the child’s privacy.

Nyx shook his head again. “Papa, Nyx.”

Understanding dawned on Rhys. “You want us to turn the figure together?”

Nyx nodded, smiling. “Togefer.”

Moments like these were his favorite—moments of not doing anything significant and everything that mattered at the same time. Spending time with his son, making him feel all the overwhelming love he had for his little boy, making sure he knew he was loved and treasured every second of every day.

“Papa?” Nyx looked up at him questioningly.

Rhys realized with a start that he hadn’t moved to turn the card, his son’s big blue eyes peering up at him questioningly. At over five hundred years old, Rhys could proudly say he had accomplished many things, but being this little boy’s father would always be the greatest one. His heart grew ten times its size in the presence of Nyx, and Rhys smiled as he bent down and kissed the top of his head. “Together. Always.”

#rhysandweek2023 #acotar #rhysand #nyx #Rhys and Nyx #father son time #Rhysand Nyx #memory game #Drabble #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #post acosf #best dad ever #fluff

[acourtofladydeath]

Poly+ ACOTAR Week Day 1: Beginnings

All his life Nyx has been raised by his parents, Rhysand and Feyre, and their mate Tamlin. One day he decides to ask him mom how their bonds snapped and she is more than happy to oblige.

Inspired by the storytelling in "The Princess Bride" and "How I Met Your Mother" this is angsty, fluffy fun.

So excited to kick off the first day of @polyacotarweek with one of my favorite trios, Feytamsand. Start reading below, or read the entire fic on AO3 here!

“Mom!” I shouted through the hall of the River House. It was her day off, which probably meant she was painting. The River House had a state of the art studio for her to work in, but she typically painted wherever inspiration struck. Which means she could be anywhere. 

The house was entirely too large. Something I loved growing up when I wanted to hide, but hated when I needed to find them. Sure, we could mind speak, but once I walked in on my parents having daemati sex, something I literally didn't know existed before then. After that, I refused to communicate that way unless there was an emergency. 

“In here Nyxie!” She called back from the library at the end of the hall. It had a huge window overlooking the Sidra and sunset. Throughout the day light cast through the window, ricocheting through the room. As it traveled it glanced across the wide array of books, some gilded and some plain, painting the floor in its own way. With the kaleidoscope of colors and dancing light, it was one of mom’s favorite spots to paint. Aunt Nes spent most of her time here when she visited, but today it was just mom. 

“What’s up, baby?” Mom said as I walked in. Covered head to toe in paint, she turned to look at me and wiped even more on her apron and one of her mate’s old shirts. Now which one, I wasn’t quite sure. But judging by those giant, billowy sleeves and the gauzy white linen fabric I had a pretty good guess. 

“I’m not a baby anymore,” I scoffed from the doorway. There was no way I’d get any closer to her like this. Last time she hugged me while painting it took three baths to get it all off and my clothes had to be burned. 

“Nyx you are thirteen, you are definitely still my baby. Even a hundred years from now you’ll still be my baby. I’m your mother, that’s how it goes.” She smiled softly at me then, one of those smiles that told me she was thinking about the past and the future all at once. They were my favorites. 

“What did you need? Or did you just want to watch me paint?” My mom asked, slight worry in her eyes. I’d never been great at schooling my expressions like dad was, mom and I had that in common. We both wore our emotions on our sleeves for all to see. 

I sighed, settling in to ask the question that had been gnawing at me for some time now. “One of the kids at school said something today that bothered me,” I rubbed at the muscles in the back of my neck with one hand, my gaze cast down on the floor as I tried to find the right words. 

It took me several long breaths, but mom waited patiently even as I felt her own anxiety build. “They said…” I let out a long sigh, there really was no good way to say this. “They said it’s not fair that I have two High Lords for parents, or for you to have two mates. And it’s not the first time, either.” 

Mom wrung her apron uneasily between her paint streaked hands, her art now completely forgotten as she focused on me. “I’m sorry you’re having to deal with this love. We knew people might say things like this, Nyx. I wish I had better answers for you, but the Mother gave your fathers and I each two mates.” She looked up at me with apology in her eyes, something I never intended and didn’t need to hear from her again. “I never wanted it to affect you negatively though.” 

“I know mom, and I know we’ve talked it to death.” I ran a frustrated hand through my hair. “It’s just still a lot, you know?” A thought struck me then. I knew my parents were all mates, I knew they’d met around the time of Amarantha’s reign under the mountain. We’d had a lot of conversations that time so I wasn’t caught off guard if other kids or parents mentioned it, but still…

“How’d you all find out anyway?” 

Mom cocked her head slightly to the side, her brow furrowed just a bit. “What do you mean?”

“How’d you find out you’re all mates? I mean, we’ve talked about the mountain and how you met them, but I’ve never really heard the full story of how your bonds snapped.” 

A secretive smile slid across her face then, and my mom straightened her head toward me. “Would you like to hear the full story? I think you’re old enough now.”

“Only if you promise to spare the gross bits…” I said, internally cringing as the unbidden image of mentally walking in on them flashed through my mind again. Fighting back a shudder at the memory I continued,  "But I am pretty curious.” I smiled slightly, and her own brightened wide enough to light the whole room. 

“Are you too old to sit on mom’s lap for story time? I can change out of my paint clothes first, I know you’ve taken after your dad with how much you care for your clothes.” she asks, humor alight in her words. 

I feel the heat of a blush on my cheeks as I answer. “Definitely too old for sitting on your lap…but maybe not for the couch…” She knew what I meant. When I had bad dreams or hard days at school, sometimes I’d lay on the couch, head in her lap. It felt too juvenile to use the word ‘cuddles’ but I guess that’s what it was. A kid’s allowed to cuddle his mom right? 

A few minutes later, mom was back wearing leggings and one of her favorite sweaters. She sat on the couch next to the big window in the library and patted the seat next to her, warmth filling the space between us. I pushed off the wall from where I stood and went to join her. As I settled in, she began her story. “Alright Nyx, let’s start from the beginning. Here’s the story of how I met your fathers.” 

Continue reading at the first cut on AO3.

Please let me know if you would like off or on my taglist!: @pippsmcgee @born-to-riot @chunkypossum @bubybubsters @queercontrarian @yanny-77 @fieldofdaisiies @iftheshoef1tz @secret-third-thing

#acotar #acomaf #feysand #tamsand #feylin #feytamsand #poly!acotar #poly+acotarweek2024 #poly+acotarweek2024 d1 #spot the sneaky azris #nyx is a teenage menace but still love him #feyre throws a lot of shoes #Rhysand keeps secrets but what else is new #Tamlin is broody and lovesick #mother-son bonding #tamlin #feyre archeron #rhysand #nyxie pyxie #nyx archeron #nyx #acowar #under the mountain #spring court #night court #acotar angst #angst #pining #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfic

[autumnshighlady]

All I Gave You Is Gone (ACOTAR x The Silmarillion AU) - Chapter 2

RHYSAND'S SISTER X MAEDHROS

summary:  we're back in Prythian with an Azriel pov as the aftermath of the attack is revealed

warnings: violence, angst

word count: 4k

DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE

a/n: this is a short chapter, i was going to add a Ravenna pov but given the recent shitstorms in my life I'm just posting what I've had in my drafts. It's not my best but i hope you enjoy nonetheless

Azriel’s shadows were incessant, swirling up his arms and whispering in his ears. Ravenna, they echoed urgently, only for his scarred hand to shoo them away. Annoyance prickled through the shadowsinger as he tried to focus on what Cassian and Rhys were saying. The three of them were lounging in the spacious living room by the fireplace in Rhysand’s family residence in the Hewn City, exhausted after a day of dealing with learning the art of politics. They were on their third bottle of wine, but it did nothing to ease Azriel. For his shadows continued to whisper Ravenna’s name, no matter what he did. They said nothing else, no indicator of what they wanted him to do. Only her name, frantic and insistent.

He cursed under his breath as another shadow flicked his ear, urging him to listen. The shadows had always favoured Ravenna, insisting he go to her after every fight – something which had increased lately. Frustrated, the shadow slithered back down his arm, ducking back behind his hands.

Rhys raised an eyebrow, noticing Azriel’s distraction. “What do they want?” He asked lightly, taking another sip of rich red wine from his goblet.

Azriel sighed, rubbing his face with his scarred hands. “For me to go to Ravenna, I believe.”

“Did you two have another fight?” Cassian asked, kicking his feet up on the opposite end of the sofa he was laying on. 

Azriel kept his tone as neutral as possible. “You could say that, yes.” He found it difficult to talk about his relationship with Ravenna when Rhysand was around. The last thing he wanted to do was put him in an awkward position where he’d have to choose between his sister and his friend. Keeping his life private was something Azriel prided himself on until recently. These last few weeks, it was getting harder and harder.

“What happened?” Rhys asked, concern lacing his voice.

For a moment, Azriel contemplated changing the subject. But his shadows incessantly whispered Ravenna’s name with increased volume. Maybe talking about her would shut them up a bit. “We fought about work for the fifth time this month,” He said, wings slumping slightly in his chair. “She thinks I’m not focused enough on her, and what I am focused on with work is on the wrong things. We argued about Illyria and the Hewn City again.”

“Cauldron above,” Cassian grumbled. “How many times have you had this exact argument?”

“Too many.” Azriel said bitterly, annoyance rising as the memories of yesterday’s argument came rushing back. “Every time I try to explain to her that the High fae are slow to change, the Illyrians even more so, she gets mad and just says we aren’t trying hard enough. That if she were in charge, shit would get done. Doesn’t matter how many times I explain that the Illyrians won’t accept change, she’s too stubborn.”

  “Well, talking down to her certainly won’t help.” Rhys said evenly, sighing. “I told you that only makes her more angry.”

Azriel threw his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t know what to do, Rhys. Nothing I say helps. The more your father makes her go to Illyria and the Hewn City, the angrier she gets that things are still the way they are.”

 Rhys nodded in understanding, his violet eyes sympathetic. “She doesn’t understand that they have to remain that way in order for Velaris to be protected.”

More shadows curled wildly around Azriel, chanting Ravenna over and over again. He swore more loudly this time, shrugging them off angrily. Concern crossed Rhys’s face as he observed their franticness. “I’ve never seen them like this.” He said slowly.

“Neither have I.” Azriel responded, trying to squash the strange uneasiness he felt. His shadows, while having a mind of their own, typically never pushed him like this. And when they were insistent on something, they typically revealed more information than this. But all the shadows did was urgently whisper Ravenna’s name.

“Are you sure everything is ok with her?” Rhys asked.

The shadowsinger shrugged. “I don’t see why it wouldn’t be. She’s probably just angrier than usual because your father made her go to Illyria today with your mother. Pretty bad timing.”

“So are you two even together?” Cassian asked bluntly, heaving himself into an upright position to interrogate his friend. “The last few fights you’ve had, you said things were over. Then you fuck, make up, and get back together the next day. It’s like you’re caught in a fucking time loop. Are you really convinced she’s your mate if this is how things are?”

Azriel shot Cassian a death glare. “Watch it. The bond will snap, I know it. We just… we just need time to get over this rough patch first.”

Rhys and Cassian exchanged a glance, which made Azriel’s skin prickle with anger. Ravenna was his mate, he was sure of it. He loved her, and she loved him. All he could do was wait for the bond to snap into place, and all of this would be forgotten. Luckily, Cassain struck up a conversation about plans to visit the Summer Court in a few weeks, and the subject was changed much to Azriel’s relief.

When Ravenna got back from Illyria, he’d fix things. And all would return to normal.

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

By the time the sun set, Azriel felt his sanity slipping. The shadows were relentless, their repetition of Ravenna’s name only increasing as the day went by. What little patience he had left was thinning with every snap at the shadows to leave him be. No matter how many times he sent them away, they came back. He lay in his large bed, wings spread out but tense with that unexplained anxiety.

Every creak from the hallway went detected by Azriel, expecting to hear Ravenna’s soft footsteps heading towards his room, ready to talk things over. But they never came, the hollowness in his chest only growing.

The angry things Ravenna said in their fight haunted him, and his own hurtful words he threw back at her plagued his mind, too. It was their ugliest fight by far, and the fact she hadn’t come to him yet made him wonder if things were truly over. 

“Care to explain to me why every time I ask you or my brother to talk to my father about wing-clipping, you run away like a frightened dog?” Ravenna had asked him, sitting on the end of his bed with her arms crossed.

Azriel had rolled his eyes, pulling his sweaty shirt over his head. “I’m not doing this right now.” He had grumbled. His temper was short, having tried to set the mood for a pleasure-filled evening with Ravenna, only for her to stop him and demand he first answer why he had changed the subject earlier when she began discussing her plans to try and get her father to ban wing-clipping in Illyria and help the females in the Hewn City.

Ravenna had only gotten angrier. “Ok, tomorrow then? Or are you going to find some excuse then, too?”

“Heavens above, Ravenna!” Azriel had snapped, running a hand through his hair. It had been a long day, his patience waned thin. “It’s not like anyone’s forcing you to get your wings clipped or marry you off to some scumbag. So why does it matter so much?”

“If I have to explain it to you, then you’re just as dumb as those brutes in Illyria.” Ravenna had snapped. “I want to change things, and you will not stand by my side in it. Why? Do you really care that much about the opinions of people who will hate you regardless?”

Her words had hit their mark, and he flinched. “I know they hate me, I don’t need you reminding me. You know I love you, why do you need my support if you’ve just decided you’re going to do things your own way no matter what I say?”

Ravenna had fixed him with another angry glare, violet eyes stormy. “Because we are supposed to be partners, and you are supposed to back me up on this. Instead, you hide and run away every time I try to stand up for what I believe in because you’re too scared of my father and the people of the court’s opinions.” 

“I am not scared!” Azriel had growled, slamming his drawer so hard that the glass atop the wood came crashing down onto the floor. 

“Yes, you are.” Ravenna had pushed back. “You’re being a coward, Azriel. If my father suddenly ordered I had my wings clipped, you would fight him on it. Why can’t you do the same for the hundreds of females who don’t have a male to advocate for them?”

“Because they’re not you! I care about you, and the rest of Illyria can go to hell. I want to end wing-clipping, I really do. But it’s not possible, not without losing the entire army.”

Ravenna had scoffed. “That’s selfish, Az. I am no better than those other females. The only difference is you’re not fucking them, so they’re not worthy of being advocated for I guess. You can’t just pick and choose which females you want to fight for.”

Azriel had whirled around in shock, fists clenched as Ravenna met his angry gaze. “Is that really what you think? Do you really think that low of me, that I would only support the ban on clipping because I’m sleeping with an Illyrian female?” He demanded before letting out a harsh laugh. “I suppose that’s on track for a spoiled princess like you to look down upon a lowborn bastard like me.”

Ravenna had flinched, and Azriel knew his words had stung. Good. He had wanted them to. “Do NOT turn this into a pity party for your sad, pathetic childhood.” She growled. “Your daddy and brothers hurt you? Boo hoo. Get over it. Females in Illyria and the Hewn City go through exactly what you did, only you’re free of it now and seem to not give a damn about them.”

Azriel had rolled his eyes, a pounding headache coming on. “For the last time, I do care!” He had insisted. “I just don't think it’s possible to create a perfect world where we can properly ban that shit. Why can’t we just move on and let this subject rest?”

“Because we are partners and one’s attitude about such matters shows a lot about who they are.” Ravenna had stood up, glaring at the shadowsinger.

Azriel’s brows had furrowed. “What are you saying?”

The fiery female had lifted her chin to meet his gaze, violet eyes hard as she spoke with a coldness that sent his shadows running. “That I don’t want to waste my time with a coward who will not stand by my side during difficult battles simply because it’s more convenient for him to ignore all of those problems since they don’t directly affect him.”

For the first time in that argument, Azriel had been speechless. His mind had screamed at him, urging him to say something to avoid losing her. But he didn’t. All he could do was stare emptily as Ravenna scoffed, turning on her heel and storming out.

All of those last night talks, the sneaking around the last few years, the relief of finally telling Rhys about their secret… Perhaps it was all for nothing, and the sensation of Ravenna’s soft body curled into his own would grow to become a distant memory.

Azriel shook his head, refusing to believe it. No, this may have been their worst fight yet. But time would pass and it would be forgotten, surely. He would accept no other answer. Ravenna was his reason for existing, no matter what anyone said or thought. 

But that niggling worry remained. Ravenna had been colder lately, more distant. Granted, Azriel was not much better. Their productive conversations had been few and far between, most of their arguments ending in angry sex without any further discussion. It had worked so far, he had thought. Ravenna’s fiery temper thawed the icy wall he built around his rage, letting his usually well kept temper rise and bubble over. She knew just how to push his buttons, where to strike the hardest. 

Just as he did with her.

Guilt plagued him as he remembered the things he said. How the light in her violet eyes went out like someone had splashed water over a raging bonfire. The way her voice turned ice cold as she said she was done with Azriel before she turned away. Fuck, he’d have a lot of apologizing to do.

A faint knock sounded at the door, much to Azriel’s surprise. The shadows hadn’t reported any movement outside, and it was the middle of the night. He practically lept from the bed, flinging open the door to his chamber and expecting to see Ravenna.

Only it was not his lover in the hallway, but rather a sombre looking guard. His expression was grave beneath the metal helm, voice serious as he spoke. “The High Lord requests your presence in his study.” Was all he said before turning away and retreating back down the long corridor.

Confused, Azriel pulled his shirt on and followed, noting how his shadows had gone eerily silent. His meetings with Rhysand’s father were never this late, leaving him to wonder what Ronan was up to. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

The shadowsinger couldn’t sink the cold feeling that washed over him as he entered the High Lord’s study, where Rhys and Ronan already were. The High Lord was still in his regal night robes, his black hair aged with grey strands hanging loosely around his chiselled face, as if he hadn’t even run a hand through it yet. An animalistic rage simmered beneath his black eyes, and his knuckles were clenched as he gripped the back of the chair he stood behind.

Azriel bowed as he entered the room, but Ronan took no notice. He only stared at the desk in front of him, motionless. Shocked, Azriel looked at Rhys, who sat in one of the two chairs on the other side of the desk. Rhys only shrugged, confirming he, too, knew nothing about this late night meeting. Quietly, Azriel took the empty seat.

It felt like an eternity of cold silence before the High Lord finally raised his head, fixing each of them with a hard stare. “What I am about to tell you cannot leave this room, do you understand me?” He said, his voice cutting through the tense air like a curved blade.

“Yes, my Lord.” Azriel said while Rhys nodded in agreement next to him.

Ronan’s black eyes were wild as he fought to calm himself. Azriel tried not to flinch as those hateful eyes landed on him specifically. “Not even your brutish friend finds out until I order it to be so, am I clear, boy?” He seethed. “The only reason you are even here is because this matter concerns my daughter, who you are currently courting.”

Azriel stiffened, his blood running cold. Panic began to rise in his chest, shadows gently stroking the scarred palm of his hand as if to soothe him. But he kept his expression neutral, merely nodding. 

“There was an attack at the war-camp in the Eastern steppes,” The High Lord said through a hoarse voice, as if he had been screaming for hours. He turned to Rhysand. “The one I sent your mother and sister to.”

Beside him, Rhys went pale. It took every ounce of self control not to have Azriel’s expression falter as his heart raced. Blood rang in his ears, and the High Lord’s voice sounded as if he were speaking underwater. “There were no survivors,” He continued gravely. “All I found… all I found was Nienna’s head..”

Time seemed to slow around Azriel, his stomach dropping as if he had fallen a thousand feet. He could feel his blood coursing through his veins. No, he begged the Mother. No, please, don’t say it…

“...And Ravenna’s blood everywhere.”

Azriel barely heard the choked scream that Rhysand emitted from beside him. All he could feel was the world crumbling around him as he strayed out of thought and time. It was as if a roaring sea echoed in his ears, muffling the sound of his High Lord’s voice and his best friend’s sobs. He wanted to go to Rhys, to offer some form of comfort, but he was completely frozen. And he knew if he moved an inch, he would collapse to his knees.

“Did you look for a body?” Azriel’s voice was soft as death, afraid if he spoke any louder it would break entirely.

Enraged, a dark tendril of Ronan’s power lashed out and wrapped around his throat, suffocating him. But he barely felt it, his body numb. “Do you not think that’s what I’ve been doing for the last few hours, you stupid boy?” Ronan hissed furiously, eyes wild and spit flying from his mouth like a rabid dog. “You think I would not search high and low for the body of my mate? And my daughter?”

Azriel welcomed the suffocation for making him feel something other than what he was feeling. This couldn’t be happening, not now. Not after the fight that they had the other morning.

Eventually after a few moments, the dark power retreated. Ronan sank down into his chair, eyes empty with grief. Azriel had never seen the High Lord exhibit any kind of emotion that wasn’t hatred or contempt until now. It was a jarring sight to behold, a chip in the heavy armour that had become a second skin for Ronan. 

Azriel’s chest felt tight, as if a bomb were about to go off inside it and shatter his heart into a thousand pieces. All day, his shadows had whispered Ravenna’s name to him and he had brushed them off with annoyance. Guilt made his stomach churn as he thought of Ravenna, suffering and fighting for her last breaths as he ignored the warnings from his shadows. Somehow, they knew something was wrong. Perhaps if he had listened to them, he’d have been able to stop this somehow. A single tear slid down his cheek, burning hot against his cold skin as the grief began to settle in, the shock fading away.

“How did they find the camp?” Azriel forced himself to ask, though his throat was drier than a desert. Illyria was difficult to navigate for anyone not born there – for a foreign power to attack so precisely was worrying to say the least.

“I have my spies looking into it,” Ronan answered, anger returning to fill the emptiness in his dark eyes. “But they must have been tipped off. There are over a dozen war camps across Illyria, for Hybern to happen across the one with my mate and daughter is no coincidence.”

A shadow gently poked Azriel’s arm, whispering his friend’s name. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rhysand go pale. He had stopped crying, his eyes wide with horror. Realisation dawned over Azriel, and he forced his face to remain neutral. Rhys had befriended Tamlin of the Spring Court, son of the Spring High Lord – Ronan’s enemy. The two families hated each other, constantly looking for an excuse to break out into war. Azriel had not approved of the strange friendship between the High Lords’ sons, but had never said anything.

But based on Rhys’s expression, he had certainly said something to Tamlin. Something that may have caused this.

Upon seeing his son’s face, Ronan sharply turned his head towards him. Dark eyes narrowed as he spoke with a growl, “If you have something to say, boy, spit it out before I pry it from you myself.”

More tears spilled down Rhys’s face. “I’m sorry…” He sputtered. “I’m so sorry…”

Azriel could barely breathe. His heart stopped as he felt the High Lord’s dark power fill the room as Ronan rose from his chair. His shadows hid themselves as the tension thickened. Ever so slightly, he situated himself ready to leap and help his friend. That is, if he didn’t throw up everywhere first.

“What did you do?” Ronan growled. When Rhys didn’t answer, the High Lord slammed his fist down onto the table so hard the wood splintered, making both Azriel and Rhys flinch. “WHAT. DID. YOU. DO?” He roared furiously. 

Rhys’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I mentioned to Tamlin that my mother and sister would be going to the camp in the Eastern Steppes for a few days. But I swear–”

“You told that Spring Court boy?” There was no mistaking the pure rage that bled from Ronan’s voice as he stormed around the desk, grabbing Rhys by his collar and shaking them. Azriel could not bring himself to move – he had suspected that Rhys may have revealed their location to the enemy, but hearing him admit it out loud was like a tidal wave crashing over him. “You told my enemies where my mate and daughter were going to be? Tamlin must have run straight to his father, who gladly tipped off Hybern.”

“He wouldn’t have told him willingly!” Rhys protested, violet eyes desperate. “Tamlin isn’t like that–”

“Silence! I told you that you were to end your ridiculous friendship with that boy. That he would stab you in the back one day if you did not do so first. He has betrayed you and if you hadn’t told him where Nienna and Ravenna were, they would still be here!”

Anger rose within Azriel. On the one hand, part of him wanted to defend Rhys. To his knowledge, Tamlin had always protested against the brewing feud between the families only to be shut down by his cruel father. But he couldn’t help but feel like strangling Rhys for being so careless.

Rhys only stared at his father, body limp with no resistance to the rough treatment. “I’m so sorry…” Was all he could say, over and over again.

Eventually, Ronan released his son, and Rhys slumped against the back of his chair. The High Lord stared at him with hatred. “The only reason I am not ending your pathetic life right here is because you are my only heir.” He hissed. “When we get back, you will be paying for this mistake, believe me.”

“Where are we going?” Rhys asked as Ronan snapped his fingers, their night robes quickly transforming into battle gear.

 “To the Spring Court. We are going to teach that family a lesson, and you are going to help me. I want every member of that family dead by morning.” 

Azriel’s heart dropped. Rhys blanched even further, looking at Azriel for support. But he could not meet his eyes. A thousand different emotions ran through him – guilt for not listening to his shadows earlier, anger at Rhys for giving away such sensitive information to someone from the enemy’s side, and regret at the way he spoke to Ravenna during their last conversation. It was all too much, threatening to boil over if he saw even one second of the apologetic glance from his friend. Stiffening his shoulders, Azriel took a breath. He had to keep it together in the presence of the High Lord. 

Ronan stormed past him, a mighty sword in hand. Rhys followed him, and the door slammed behind him on the way out. Finally, Azriel was left alone. He winnowed to the cliffs upon the tops of the mountains surrounding Velaris, letting his shadows swallow him whole and remove him from the room where he received the most devastating news of his life.

The biting, icy chill of the wind was welcome as the shadowsinger emerged on top of the distant cliffs, where he sank to his knees on the cold rock and fell apart, letting out a hoarse scream towards the glowing stars above.

taglist (comment if you want to be added): @decadentpostnacho @lizurich @throneofsapphics @

#aigyis #acotar au #rhysand's sister x azriel #rhysand’s sister #rhysand's sister fic #rhysand's sister oc #acotar fic #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #rhysand #acotar oc #cassian #night court #tamlin #spring court #sjm #the silmarillion fic #the silmarillion crossover #the silmarillion #maedhros #maedhros x oc #middle earth #celegorm #curufin #feanorians #feanor #sons of feanor #the silm #noldor

[rhysie]

a hard pill to swallow ... rhys not telling feyre during her pregnancy is not as ooc as u think it is

#fell down a rabbit hole on reddit while looking at stuff for my thread w mads #does rhysand value free will? yes. is he a hypocrite? yes. #people are complicated and not one dimensional #he withholds information all the time. the weavers cottage for example (another time he put feyre in danger) #but also he did not take away her right to choose. the baby already had wings it was likely way too late to have an abortion #anyways. my son is fucked up and problematic and i will not be shying away from that u know the motto #make him worse! #abortion cw #pregnancy cw #ALSO A COMMON THEME OF HIS CHARACTER IS HIM TAKING ON PROBLEMS HIMSELF AND FEELING LIKE HE HAS TO DO THINGS ALONE DHFDHGBF IS IT OKAY? NO #BUT HE DOES IT #if anything we need 2 focus on the fact that they couldnt do a c section when theres magic. goofy

[praetorqueenreyna]

I think the funniest and bestest part about making nyxlin mates a Thing(tm) is that it both avoids the really uncomfortable parts of its counterpart renessme/Jacob by the fact that Nyx is definitely not meeting Tanlin until he's like grown and mates being objectively LESS weird then imprinting but also makes it worse for everyone involved because instead of loving one of nyxs parents tamlin wants them both dead. Ultimate way to damage all people involved actually. Tamlin getting his bias against mates as a concept strengthened cause no kind god would set him up with feysands kid, feysand undergoing the ordeals cause feyres worried her sons gonna get into something weird like she was woth tamlin meanwhile rhysand, who has about the same age gap with feyre as Nyx does with tamlin, is projecting all those awkward problems onto this. Nyx is the only optimist about this because all of the adults in his life are basically enemies to lovers mate stories anyway. He's so sure this is gonna go well. Tamlin wants to kill himself.

Actually no again just really sank in that all the mates Nyx likely knows... are essentially all enemy to lovers, literally hating the absolute SHIT out of each other types. The best he might be able to get is elucien, which even then had a rocky start. Nyx is gonna go into this thinking he can fix Tamlin cause that's likely how EVERY mate in his life describes their relationship lmaooooo. Rhys and Feyre desperately regretting not emphasising how difficult their interactions used to be because now their son is operating under 'dick fixes all' logic.

This is all good and interesting but mostly I think it would be funny. I just want adult Nyx to introduce his age-inappropriate boyfriend to his parents and have them all realize what's going on at the same time.

#asks #acotar #LIKE the drama and dynamics could be good #but also I'm just here for a laff #rhysand and feyre having to accept that their ex boyfriend is now their son in law #adult nyx says 'daddy?' and both tamlin and rhysand turn

[thefangirlofhp]

27. my sun and stars

The bond between father and son is oftentimes either the magical of bonds, or the most strenuous. For Rhys, it was a mixture of the two that he shared with his sire, and times showed a trumping of one by the other. He’s learned later on how to navigate somewhat adequately the storm it often is akin to, and the hardest wave he’s had to face is the fact that his father genuinely, truly cared for and loved him. His father, whose responsibilities have made him a father to the entire realm under his command, who has had to choose many times between being Lord and Sire.

For Cassian and Azriel, it is easier for them to see him as the cold prick they oftentimes call him. For Rhys, who’s torn to shreds still by the tatters his family became before they all perished, he finds it easier to choke on tears than speak a word of them. Especially his father, who died blaming Rhys for the murder of his wife and daughter as if Rhysand hadn’t lost the first people in the world to truly love him.

Usually Rhys prefers to think of his imprisonment Under the Mountain than indulge a single thought of his late father, but when he suddenly finds his arms preoccupied with a son of his own, it is impossible to resist. To wonder what sort of father he is, if he is destined to the same parenthood his father held.

Sometimes he thinks he’d rather orphan his son than hold him at arms-length, and enforce rulership on him before making him his child.

With Nyx, Rhys wonders if he would have blamed the baby for killing its mother simply by existing.

The unbroken silence frightens him.

But now, Rhys quietly stares at the sleeping child curled in a ball. It is nightfall, Feyre and Morrigan have been invited to Winter for a short holiday, and Rhys is the sole caregiver of his young charge. In the past, back when he was still newborn, Rhys and Feyre could rely on Elain’s constant help and presence. Now, with children of her own, a house of her own, Rhys remains unaccompanied in his watch over Nyx.

He’s still a baby in his eyes. It’s hard to see him as anything but, especially like this curled against his chest and soundly sleeping like it is his duty to do so, burrowing into the arm protectively looping around him, he’s just a little helpless pup. A mischievous, havoc-wreaking demon by day, that’s for sure, but now he’s just Rhys’s baby, and the only mirror into his past.

Nyx has his grandmother’s eyes and his aunt’s smile—it’s a private detail that Rhys hasn’t shared with his mate. Why, he doesn’t know. Maybe because they’ve only ever been his, and no-one else’s, that this living tribute to them feels a secret he must keep until his dying breath. His laugh is purely Morrigan’s, and his eating habits Cassian’s, quietness mimicking Azriel’s and Elain’s kindness. Amren’s fondness for bright shiny gems and Nesta’s inherent regality. Mama’s soul, the unblemished unburdened version of it.

Their very own mosaic of love.

Rhys’s chest heaves a sigh, and he curls himself around Nyx further. He’s old enough to sleep on his own now, but nightmares are a plague on this house. Not the boy’s. But his father’s.

Rhys’s eyes slide shut, resting his face against the top of a black-haired head and pressing soundless kisses to his scalp. He loves him, undoubtedly. Love so pure and love so raw.

He fears nothing more than blemishing that.

Because as a daemati, and High Lord, and a father, Rhys has a spot in his heart set aside for his son, one that subconsciously feels and understands his son’s every thought and desire, and he wonders if this is not the very thing that oftentimes drove Rhysand mad in his own sire. To constantly be under his shadow, never escaping his all-knowing, non-revealing influence. If people think he is unreadable, they have not met the previous High Lord of Night. There was never a successful thing to be gleaned off him, and Azriel’s own shadows seldom succeeded in reporting anything of use. Not for a strength of mental wards, but for a severe knowing understanding of everything under the sun.

His father used to claim that there is nothing new under the sun for him, and the older Rhys gets, the more he is inclined to believe him.

But he—oh he is clueless. The more he knows, the less he knows. The more he is sure that he has little, if any, knowledge of anything.

It frightens him.

Nyx sighs in his dreams. His fingers flex and curl back together. Rhys tucks a smile into that black hair.

Still knows more than this clueless idiot, is his consolation. Only two hours ago Nyx had visibly lost any sign of adequate mental functions after having the rules of horses and carriage road travel explained after dinner.

“Yes, well, sometimes carriages aren’t allowed to pass straight on. They have to turn right.”

“You blow my mind,” Nyx gaped, an expression he’s recently been parroting off Azriel who frequently uses it for purposes of sarcasm but in this case the derision is lost from Nyx’s words. “But… where do they end up?”

“They have to take two rights.”

Nyx stared into space, tracing the double rights with his finger in the air before his mouth fell further open. “Fuck me.”

“Oi!” Rhys tried his hardest to stop himself from laughing. He’s going to have to closely monitor any interaction between his sly foul-mouthed spymaster and son.

“You’re saying they not allowed straight but do two rights?” Nyx demanded, ignoring the reprimand for his curse word. “You astonish me, Daddy.”

“Too much theatre, it seems,” Rhys remarked, thoroughly amused, never not-amused by the twinkle in those blue eyes and the astonishment following any discovery. He likes teaching his son things, simply mundane matters that wouldn’t occur to anyone else but as a father, Rhys is exhausting every subject.

He still remembers vividly their conversation about wind of all things. He never realized how hard it is to explain wind until a younger Nyx shrieked in fear when a breeze blowed in his face one evening.

Rhys smiles, hugs his son tighter a little before letting go of him and standing up. He tucks the covers over him, brushes his hair in place and presses a final kiss to his head. Thinks, he’ll love him no matter what, and will always let him know, before whispering a wish for him to have a goodnight and leaving his room.

#gentle fictober #rhysand #nyx #rhys and nyx #acotar #father son dynamic

[fieldofdaisiies]

Paint and Bubble Baths

ship: Feysand type: pure fluffy drabble warning(s): none word count: 1k words summary: Nyx and Rhys decide to paint something for Feyre and it escalates a little

-all rights reserved -

"Rhys!" Feyre expresses, voice high-pitched and tinged with nothing but surprise. With her eyes wide open she stares at the scene that unfolds itself in front of her. There is nothing but colour, and mess —  a colourful mess and in it her two favourite boys.

Her mate, the High Lord of the Night Court, is sitting on the ground in her art studio and he, just like his son in his lap, is covered in paint…from head to toe. In this moment he looks so un-High-Lord-like, grinning from one ear to the other, his hair ruffled and no part of his body without colour.

"We are painting for you mummy." Little Nyx grins up at his mother, his eyes sparkling behind his in colour covered lashes. He grins from one ear to the other and claps his hands, still-wet colour splashing into every direction. Rhys behind him laughs loudly, nothing but pride reaching Feyre through the bond as his chest rumbles with delight.

The High Lady folds a hand over her chest, smiling at her mate and her son, her heart filling with warmth and love. "Oh Gods…" she breathes and looks at the painting in front of her mate and son. You can't really make out anything, but the thought counts. It looks like the two of them just splashed colour onto a canvas and they probably did, but the thought alone is so cute it brings tears to Feyre's eyes. 

"You painted this for me?" she asks again and crouches down on the ground, observing the painting. Her eyes trail over the canvas but she can't make out what it is supposed to be — there just is colour. 

"What did you paint?" she asks, trying not to laugh at the sight of their paint-splattered clothes and the colour on every part of their bodies. Nyx's romper that has once been a beautiful light blue, is now decorated with all colours of the rainbow.

It should be you in the art studio, he really tried his best. A lop-sided grin appears on Rhys' face when Feyre meets his gaze, chuckling. Well…she can't really make out herself in this painting but she will pretend she can. "Oh! You painted me," she then says, acting surprised.

Nyx hops up from his father's lap, beaming as he waddles to his mother. "Yes, mummy, this is you and brushes and paint."

"Of course, this is me!" Feyre expresses in a happy voice, reaching her hand forward to brush her thumb over her baby's cheek. Her heart swells with love for her two favorite people in the world and then she looks back at the painting. There is a mix of handprints, finger paintings, and splatters of paint on it which all merge and should create Feyre, she chuckles and the happy rumble reaches Rhys through the bond and makes his heart warm.

"And a little heart, because we love you so much!" Nyx happily steps from one foot to the other, his hands clasped in front of his body, beaming at his mother.

Beaming with pride, Rhys says, "We made a masterpiece because it is what you deserve."

Feyre is touched by her mate's words, and a single tear slips out of the corner of her eye. "We will put it up in the kitchen, yes?" She nods happily and Rhysand dips his chin. Of course, we will. 

With a happy smile on her face she embraces her little artist, not at all minding the colour.

"You both are amazing! I love it so much!" she says, feeling so incredibly happy and loved amidst her favourite boys. "But now we need to get you both cleaned up."

Laughing, Rhys gets up as well, picking up Nyx and lifting him into his arms. "Bubble bath?" he suggest to the little boy who immediately loves the idea, clapping his hands, giggling and chirping loudly. "Yes! Yes!" he cheers and looks between his mother and father. 

With magic they clean up the mess in the art studio and then walk upstairs to the bathroom.

Nyx laughter fills the room as he is trying his best to wipe away the streaks of color on his body after Rhysand helped him take off his tiny romper. He picks up his son then and carries him over to the bath that is already magically filled with water and bubbles and he carefully places Nyx in it. Obviously only after checking that the temperature is alright and won't burn him. 

Rhysand playfully squirts a little water from a duckling onto his son, helping him clean off all of the paint. Feyre joins him, sitting down next to the tub, a sponge in her hands. She wets it, pulling faces at Nyx to keep him distracted while she moves the brush over his head and cleans his onyx strands form the paint. 

Nyx giggles with delight as the fine mist gently falls upon him. The mother quickly joins in, turning it into a mini water fight, laughing as she spritzes some water on her husband too.

With each wipe and scrub, the colourful mess all over Nyx slowly disappears, but the fun doesn't stop. He laughs and giggles and so does Rhys who Feyre urges to also finally move into the tub to get cleaned up. 

And so father and son, the little baby boy now playing with the rubber ducklings while getting washed, sit in the bath and Feyre helps them get cleaned of the colour. 

"Next time you maybe should use brushes?" she chuckles and Rhys splashes a handful of water onto his mate. 

"We did use brushes," he grumbles, but has to laugh.

"But with brushes it is boring, it is better with hands!" Nyx waves his little hands in the air, demonstrating his points. 

Feyre laughs and leans forward to kiss her baby's forehead. "Of course, my love. Of course, it is."

As the two of them sit in the bath, Feyre still cleaning out colour from her son's hair and later from her mate's, the High Lord recounts how the little boy couldn't stop giggling and chatting and saying how much he loves his mummy when painting. 

"I love you so much, you two," Feyre hums, embracing her little baby boy in a tight hug when Rhys lifts him out of the bath and she wraps him into a big, fluffy towel. "My boys."

~~~~~~~~ tags: @girlinglass999 @autumndreaming7 @a-frog-with-a-laptop

#feysand #feysand son #feyre x rhysand #nyx archeron #feyre archeron #rhysand #acotar #acosf

[cpeersmann]

Nyx all grown up! I wonder what powers he will have, I wonder if we will eventually get a new books with Nyx’s story after he’s all grown… endless possibilities!

Art: Dominique Wesson on Insta

#a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #a court of silver flames #feyre x rhysand #the night court #future high Lord Nyx #feyre’s son #rhysand’s son #illyrian #sarah j maas #sjm

[shallyne]

a theory that i will protect with my live is that dorian and ruhn are the same character but different font. rhys can also be added but the similarities between dorian and ruhn are way too much

Actually anon, if you think about it, Dorian is the perfect mix between Feyre and Rhys. Both in appearance and personality

#Hehehe spreading my Dorian is Feysands son agenda again #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #feyre archeron #feyre #feyre cursebreaker #high lady of the night court #high lady feyre #feyre darling #rhysand #rhys #rhysand archeron #high lord rhysand #rhys acotar #high lord of the night court #feysand #throne of glass #tog #dorian havilliard #dorian #shallyne asks #shallyne ask #asks #anon asks #anon ask

[dubishnishshan]

Other people:

Theorizing about Elain in Acotar 5 and Azriel being a light singer or how Gwyn is evil

Me an intelectual:

Dorian is Feysand´s son

#acotar memes #acotar theory #sarah j maas #acosf #acowar #acotar #acomaf #acotar 5 #azriel #rhysand #feyre archeron #Elain #acowaf #acofas #feysand #tog #dorian #is feysand´s son