#rhysandweek

[popjunkie42]

Night Falling

For @officialrhysandweek 2024

Read on AO3

After the murder of his mother and sister by the Spring Court, Rhysand confronts his father, longing for punishment and absolution. Instead, the High Lord has a lesson for his youthful son.

Tags: Descriptions of violence, grief, toxic family relationships

I love you @witch-and-her-witcher for the beta read and support! I wrote this during some of the worst weeks at work ever so I hope the brain cells were there.

And I hope you like some Saturday afternoon angst!

Fic under the cut!

Broken.

Everything here was broken.

Shards of cracked and splintered black marble littered the great hall of the Moonstone Palace. Lines of white and gold like veins, the ground splintered like spiderwebs and covered in a layer of dust.

The Prince of Night sprawled against a chunk of marble twice his size, jagged and sharp. Rhysand panted with exhaustion. His head tipped back against the stone, tears making tracks through his dust-coated skin.

Too soon his body was recovering - his energy returning. He had torn the room apart in anger, in grief, begging for the oblivion of exhaustion.

The curse of his dark power - to never yet find the end of it.

Again, the memory and horror washed over him. A dark, endless play in his mind’s eye. Two heads, bloodied and disheveled, faces locked in fear staring up from floating baskets. Their skin the faded color of winter. Every act of cruelty and violence etched on their once beautiful faces.

He turned to the dust-laden floor and vomited.

It was black bile that burned as it came. Nothing left from whatever hours or days he had spent in this fog of grief.

Not just the pain of their absence - but the horror of the violence, the suffering that threatened to pull him under to some murky, vile place he feared he might never return from.

He should not have gone into the mind of the Illyrian patrols who found their heads floating in the river.

But he couldn’t not see. The same as he would never purge the image of their bodies found hours later - stiff and bloodied in the snow, stumps where proud wings had once flared.

The mountain trembled again beneath him.

Would his father let him tear it all apart?

Could he even stop himself?

Ever since he started rending the room into pieces, his power had been seeping like oil through the Moonstone Palace into the rock of the mountain - deeper and deeper until he felt its great cold roots in the earth. Gripped it with nervous tendrils of shadow. Ancient and powerful rock that he longed to pull from the ground like weeds only to tear apart in his hands. An act of primal destruction, like the forging of the earth.

He knew the Night Court was cast in darkness. No moon or stars or rising sun would penetrate the midnight shroud over their lands.

Perhaps it was cast over all of Prythian. Rhysand hoped it reached to Spring - that it wilted flowers and field, a dark portent to whatever fate awaited them.

Because await them it would. But not for long.

Amren had taught him to control his power, but not yet to see the full breadth of it. But he let his power leak, let it drip from him without a care.

The tiny beast hadn’t even come to see him.

Probably for the best. He had snarled at Cassian and Azriel as they found him in Windhaven - winnowing away with a whiff of sulfur, the rushing of air. Nothing in him was ready for their fallen faces, to watch the grief echo back and forth between them.

So he was selfish, leaving them to their own pain. Throwing up shields brimming with sharp starlight and cold winter night in jagged configurations around the Palace, to remain undisturbed.

Two faces again behind his eyelids - his sister’s eyes shut tight, face scrunched in pain. His mother’s - fearful and wide, facing the end with open eyes.

He wondered who they had killed first. Who had to watch the other die before their eyes, hope winking out.

Samara - the proud Illyrian Queen, young but fearless Lady of Night.

Amira - the shining star of the court, the only evidence of his father’s capacity for affection.

His family. His beating heart ripped from his chest. An immortal lifetime of possibility stolen from him forever.

And all his fault.

Whether he would have died with them or ripped the Spring brutes apart - he should have been there. Told them he would be there. Told Tamlin where they would be, before meeting him next week for training –

Tamlin.

He repeated their names in his mind. Cador the High Lord. Rian. Owen.

Tamlin.

The unfathomable betrayal. Or worse - the betrayal he had been warned about, his stupid, arrogant self ignoring his family and friends for the fierce training and tender passions of the third Prince of Spring.

Tamlin.

The name was burning poison in his mouth.

Rhysand let it burn, let it dissolve and corrode inside of him, joining in the heavy despair of his grief.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

He didn’t know how much time had passed in that silent tomb of a hall. As his power rose he tore it apart again, but without his initial vigor, sending stones clashing against each other, but without the taste for total destruction. Like a child playing with blocks, tired and plowing through their towers.

He knew it to be true: he could tear this palace, this mountain to pieces, cast the world into darkness.

But still, his father would not come to him.

He would not stoop so low, even to his grieving son.

When Rhys felt the heat of the sun burning against his blanket of deep twilight, he willed his muscles to move.

Feet carried him unconsciously, the walls of the palace passing before him without recognition as he walked down, down into the Hewn City, wards flickering to his blood and power.

Underground, black banners were already hanging from buildings and the windows of decadent manors. Voices wailed in the city center. Rhysand stuck to the shadows. What did these people ever care for his mother, his sweet sister, other than their fearful obedience?

He found his father in his grand bedroom behind the throne room, a pale attendant at his side.

Emrys had no crown on his sandy-colored head, shot with white around the temples, in the privacy of his chambers, but still power in the room thrummed with his command. His deep inset eyes, dark under his heavy brow, didn’t leave the sword he polished in his hands. Rhys stood uselessly in the door.

“Leave us.” The High Lord did not raise his voice, did not show any signs of sharing the raging grief of his son, disheveled and tear-stained, as he dismissed his servant.

Greased cloth glided over black metal, mottled and banded with swirling patterns like dripping water.

The room was grand and furnished lushly, all rich velvets and silks, the fireplace carved out of stone and large enough to roast a boar. During the day, sunlight streamed in from chiseled pathways and clever mirrors, even this deep into the rock.

But the comfort of the room was lost against the ebbing violence emanating off the High Lord. Sovereignty effortless and pervasive, as if at any moment he would exhale too loudly and blast the walls apart. He took no care now to cast any glamour, to temper himself. Like a glistening diamond uncovered in the rock. After eight hundred years, his son knew he no longer cared what anyone thought of him - even his family - other than that he was terrible and brutal.

Rhysand stood in silence. Waiting. Wordless. What could he now say to him?

This was his long life, stretching before him: only him and his father, bonded together in misery. Wholly without the light of his mother and Amira.

No more would his mother be the fierce but extended bridge between them, or Amira the beating heart of the family. Their beauty and laughter was gone and now from the world. And Emrys with his half-breed son raised in the unrefined wilds, a disappointment at every turn, and a threat with his growing power. Eyes that never looked at him but to find a fault, or a useful pawn, or a nuisance to be dismissed.

How much more oppressive this place would become with the two of them, hating each other for all eternity.

Emrys paused in his rhythmic, unconscious polishing, nicked the tough skin of his thumb against the newly honed edge of his sword. A drop of blood, red as rose petals, slid down the blade.

The High Lord sat there, no sign of tears on his cheek, no rent clothes, only the mating band on his left hand any reminder of what he had lost.

“Finally you come to me,” he said, watching the wound on his thumb seal back, glowing with magic.

Rhysand bit down his anger, his fear, and fell to his knees.

Hard hewn stone bit into his kneecaps. But it was all right - his body was just a vessel now. Just a carrier of pain. He deserved much more.

He didn’t dare to look at his father. Choking swells of tears rose in his throat, rage and shame. Rhysand bowed his head and shut his eyes tight.

“I am to blame. I accept any punishment from your hand.”

Silence reigned. Rhys waited, calm acceptance in his chest, whether it be for the High Lord’s pitiless wrath or to fall under the quick slice of metal on his neck.

But nothing came. Nothing moved.

Rhysand looked up.

His father’s eyes were locked to him, piercing dark blue - a mirror to his own, the only shared feature, the only reminder of their common blood. Filled with disdain, with disgust.

“What would be a fitting punishment for this, Rhysand? What do you propose?”

The Prince of Night clenched his jaw tight. Against the tears ready to spill, another sign of his weakness and frailty for his father to sneer at.

And also in desperation. To be punished, to have judgment meted out by the High Lord, who he had wronged…who else could give him the condemnation he desired, the retribution fit for his crimes? He could disappear into it - the righteous retaliation of the widower, father, High Lord.

“It was my fault. You warned me. Everyone warned me not to trust him. To trust Tamlin.” His name was noxious in his mouth, his vision still of green eyes and a bright smile, a golden hearty laugh, irreconcilable with this act of viciousness. Of cowardice. “I wasn’t there, when I said I would be. I didn’t protect them. And now they’re - they’re dead. Because of me.”

His voice was a hollowed whisper, his throat ragged and raw. Dead. The first time he spoke the words aloud.

Emrys snorted a laugh, no smile found on his face, shadows cast in his hollow cheeks. “My son. Always the fool.”

Rhysand took a sharp breath against his growing anger. I accept the punishment. I will accept whatever he directs at me. I deserve all of this and more.

The High Lord’s stare did not falter. Rhysand could feel the invectives growing and building inside his father, his lip curling in displeasure. “Always swaggering around the world, like this Cauldron-given power was something you earned. As if it would protect you, as if you were untouchable. The lesson you refused to learn from me.

“You think me mistrusting, isolated. You look upon me with the eyes of fervent youth to only find fault and shortcomings. But now perhaps you will listen to me. Now you will learn. What it takes to have power in this world. What it takes to keep it. You are not an immovable mountain, Rhysand. You are a target. And every day, every moment, your enemies will chip away at you, and everything you hold dear, until they vanquish you. That is the life of a fae of power, that is the life of a High Lord.”

Rhysand inhaled deeply under his cutting look, his father: cold and cruel, forever locked away in his Court, rarely setting foot out of its borders. Rhys had longed for the world, after seeing so much in the war, taking every opportunity to attend summits and meetings and respond to summonses. Hungry for Prythian, for knowledge, for the bright crackle of life and the oddities and newness it held. While his father brooded, paranoid and angry, lying and ignoring the rest of the Courts, keeping the Night Court secrets close.

It was true - he had disregarded him. Had thought him twitchy, frightened, closed minded. Always finding enemies, always hearing the threat behind the door when Rhysand longed only to wrench it open.

“I need to know what else you told him. I need to know if Spring knows about Velaris.”

A cold fist of offense grabbed hold of his heart.

But wasn’t he right, to suspect? To be cautious?

Weren’t his mother and sister more precious to him than the hidden city? And he had given them up without a thought.

“No. He knows nothing beyond public doings of the Hewn City, and some old stories of Illyria.”

“And he knows of your powers? Of your dissatisfactions, of your youthful emotionals and desires to use against you?”

Rhysand swallowed. “Yes. He was my friend.”

Emrys grunted as he sat down again at the foot of his bed. Picking up a stone and a short knife, its handle a soft polished wood inlet with pearl, and started to sharpen.

He was quiet again for a while. Rhysand felt his legs cramp, his kneecaps ache against the stone. “Fortunately for you, you are now my only heir. And while I never sought to have you, I won’t deprive my court of the stability of succession. No matter how little you might deserve it.

“And if you are lucky, you’ll have millennia ahead of you to punish yourself. Or to ask your High Lord to, as you have done with everything difficult in your life. But now is not the time.”

Rhys kept his head bowed, breathing through his despair.

“Get up off your knees.”

“So you will not give me what I desire?”

A hiss emanated from his father. “You are full of grief, and yet still you would fight me instead of listening,” Emrys clenched his jaw as he examined the gleam of the edge of his knife in the raging fireplace. “I will not say I was remiss in your education. I had to forge my legacy alone, as you will, Rhysand. You will learn or you will fail, as the Mother sees fit. The crown will rest on your head. There is no doubt that when I am gone the power will go to you and only you can choose how to handle it. Only six others know what it is to be blessed and tied to the land, and we’d rather cut off our own hands than speak to each other. So do not expect lessons, or a helping hand, when you grapple with the power. ”

He sighed, finally done with the sword, his eyes locked to the flickering flames. “I know when the weight of the court is on your shoulders and the centuries have made you tired and brittle, you will remember me. You’ll remember your foolish, youthful spite and when you finally recognize the solitary prison of your throne, I will be long gone, and unable to assuage you.”

He exhaled again. Sheathed the knife at his side. He brought his sword to his back, strapped across from shoulder blade to hip, unlike the spinal column blade of the Illyrians. “Such is the way of it.”

Rhysand stood still as marble, fists clenched.

He couldn’t believe his father - he would be a different kind of ruler someday, not so cold, not so vicious and merciless. He would dream and work create a Velaris of the whole world.

Emrys laughed, as if sensing his thoughts.

“It is the undeniable truth of being High Lord - that your power came from the death of another. The poets and the historians may dress it up however they like, but a High Lord’s power is forged in death. To be a High Lord is to be fatherless. To be a High Lord is to be alone.”

“I don’t believe that.” All the reaching he had done, his heart straining across long quiet dining tables, aching for the eyes of his father to fall on him, to show even the hint of softness underneath. That hollowness inside made Rhysand brave. “You had your mate. You had your family. You chose to be alone.”

Emrys hummed, dismissive. “I will not argue with a child. Now is not the time.”

“When is the time?” Rhys snapped. If he could not speak plainly with his father when their whole world was broken, could not find a drop of love or care in him even at the death of his family, was there anything decent to be found in him at all?

“I believe you are as fond of this performance of grief as you were of your mother and sister.”

The words hit him like boulders to his chest.

The old man must truly not feel anymore, had lost all ability to understand anything beyond himself and his own power.

Leave it to his father to drag him out of grief and into rage.

“Do I shame you my lord, by mourning for my own flesh and blood? My deepest apologies, I should have known better than to think you would care.”

A snap of power arced across the room, across his face like a blow.

“Do not test me, boy,” the snarl of anger, of pure violence Rhysand had been craving since he set foot under the mountain. Hand on his burning cheek, Rhysand looked up. Saw his father’s knuckles white with restraint. “There are many things, an entire world of things you know nothing of. To lose a mate –” Emrys eyes flickered away, a snarl twitching at his lips. The only sign he was affected. More emotion than Rhys had seen from him in years.

The High Lord closed his eyes. Took a breath deep into his lungs. The tension did not leave his shoulders.

When he spoke again, his voice was low. “You will never know, Rhysand, what it is like. If you are ever cursed and blessed with a mating bond then I wish you better fortune than I. To have a mate is to no longer belong to yourself. To have pieces ripped and torn from you that can never be returned.”

All the hatred Rhys had ever felt for his father gathered at once, roiling in his stomach, acid and poison burning from within. “So you resent her? The Cauldron chose a mate for you and all you feel is regret?” Too late he realized he spoke of her as if she was still here…the pain of remembrance crumpling inside him all over again, even amidst his rage.

“You do not understand.”

Canines, tearing through the soft flesh of his mouth, an iron tang on the Prince’s tongue. “She loved you. I don’t know why, but she did. And all you ever gave her in return were orders, as if she were some servant, as if she were some possession of yours to move from palace to palace. And that was when you weren’t ignoring her outright. Did you ever even –”

The slap on his face this time wasn’t from magic, it was the hard sting of flesh, the rings on his father’s hands bruising his cheekbone.

Rhysand fell from the force of it, hard hewn stone on his back, his father towering over him like a dark storm.

“You don’t understand. There is a part of me now that is gone. Forever. It’s in my chest and there’s a –” another deep breath, his face scrunched in pain.

Emrys fought again to master himself, chest heaving as he stood over his son.

“I don’t understand. How can you be so calm? How can you be so accepting”

The High Lord sighed, burdened and angry. “I carry heavy weights every day. I have grown accustomed to them. The weight of the court is upon me always, the power, the care, the suffering. Obedience and betrayal. A plot at every corner. Sycophants and assassins. And all the while the people who rely on you, open hands, hungry mouths. Their cries of suffering are at your hands, their pain, your failure.” Rhys was surprised at the candor, at the care in his father’s words.

“You are my son, Amira was my daughter, but every Night Court member is my child. My responsibility. This you will learn too one day, if you can someday overcome your natural selfishness. There is no choice or thought…if you are a good High Lord, you will bleed for them a thousand times over and it will never be enough. You learn to protect the inner parts of you, the last bit of blood to keep you going another day.”

“So this is what you have to teach me, father? That I’m doomed to a life of loneliness, that a mating bond is a curse, that I’ll be crushed daily under my duties and responsibilities? That there’s no joy or love in the future, only duty and pain?”

Emrys shrugged. A thoughtless gesture, so boredly casual Rhysand almost laughed. “You will make your own life, Rhysand. One day you will have to make your own choices without me. I will not fight for your understanding if you continue to be a fool. Come, we’re wasting time. The sun is setting across Prythian and night is coming to the Spring Court.”

“What?”

Emrys stood, flipping another sword in his hand to inspect, then sheathing it at his side. He offered a hand to Rhysand. His son flinched.

A steady look passed between them. Filled with stars, filled with eternity. And a question. Rhysand finally took his hand and stood.

The Prince of Night eyed his High Lord with wariness. Although he knew him to be powerful and a fighter in his youth, it was rare for him to be the warrior, to set aside his power and step away from the Illyrian legions to hold steel in his own hands.

“I hope you will be strong. I hope you have learned something from those damned Illyrians. I could have taught you more, but you would’ve made a poor pupil. And I a poor teacher.” Rhysand cocked a brow, at the strange admission. “But it’s too late for that now. Let me teach you the final lesson - how to treat with your enemies.”

Rhysand’s blood went cold.

Yes, he had plenty of thoughts of blood on his hands, of Spring running red with it. And in his heart he knew there was no other answer from his father.

But now it was real.

And Tamlin…his mother…

“It’s high time you put to use these supposed powers of yours. You will show me what everyone whispers across the court about my Cauldron-blessed son.” A command. “You will serve me in this, and work to clean the debt now upon you. You will hold their minds, we will not give them an instant to summon any defense. And they will know the terror that lurks in the darkness.”

There was relief, shameful but sure and calm, at the order of the High Lord. The Prince would have no choice, he would obey orders, he would be a weapon for his father and nothing more.

And yet –

“We cannot kill the Lady of Spring. Every male must bleed, but we cannot be like them.”

Emrys shook his head, his blond hair brushing onto his forehead, strangely disheveled. “You’re still not listening.”

“I am listening. If I had a mating bond, I would not wish the death of my mate. And I would not wish it upon another, if it tears you apart. The death of her family would be enough suffering for all.”

Rhysand saw the resistance, dismissive in his father’s face.

“Promise me.”

Emrys eyes flashed. Rhysand had never demanded things of his father, never had the bravery.

So he watched while the High Lord considered. Nodded. “It will be as you say.”

Emrys stopped the sure movement of his hands, which had been buckling belts, smoothing the front of his tunic, tightening the sheath of his weapons. His gaze upon his son was suddenly heavy, knowing. Rhysand felt the full weight of it. Longing was prickling in him, to winnow, to dive into the violence awaiting them before he had time to balk.

In a matter of hours, maybe minutes, Tamlin would be dead. The Spring Court decimated by Night. A High Lord killed for his crimes, descendents wiped from the earth.

No matter the thrumming power of the order of his father, Prythian would know what befell the Spring Court. Who was the only one who could hold minds and overpower High Lords and their sons. This was the beginning of his legacy. His father would lead the way but Prythian, and the world, would soon only know the son of Night as the terrible angel of retribution.

Slowly, Emrys unsheathed the knife from his side. Flipped it in a smooth motion. Offered it, gleaming wood handle, to his son.

An order. A question.

Rhysand breathed. Traced the inlet pearl in the handle with his eyes, glimmering like starlight.

Two faces, contorted in pain. The tinkling of laughter, the warmth of wings encircling him. The soft sound of his mother’s voice as she sang him to sleep.

Rhysand reached out his hand, and grasped the knife.

Read on AO3

[shallyne]

Rhys Week Day 8: Free Day

Birthdays and Cakes

Feyre tried to be as quiet as possible she threw a robe over her nightgown and sneaked out of the bedroom. It was hard enough to wiggle out of Rhys's death grip without waking him up.

She quietly opened the door of Nyx bedroom and looked inside, checking if he still slept. Feyre wasn't surprised when she found him already sitting in his bed, grinning at her. She promised Nyx that they would wake up earlier this morning to bake a cake for Rhys, for his birthday. That's also how she got Nyx to sleep earlier the evening before.

"Good morning, sweetheart." Feyre whispered. He laughed and jumped up, running to Feyre and hugged her legs. She picked him up, peppering his face with kisses. "We have to quiet, okay?" Feyre said. "We don't want to wake Daddy up before we are done, right?"

Nyx nodded. "Can we bake now?"

Feyre smiled. "Yes, we can bake now." He threw his arms around Feyres neck, his wings twitching in excitement. His wings always gave his mood away. Cassian was the first to say he'd train that with him but Feyre thought it was adorable.

She winnowed them down to the kitchen, taking a chair with her free hand and putting it front of the counter. Nyx was already eyeing the ingredients that Nuala and Cerridwen left out for them when she put him on the chair. She pulled out the recipe, that Elain and the shadow twins wrote for her, out of her the pocket of her robe. "Alright." Feyre sighed, taking a bowl and placed it in front of Nyx. She let Nyx pour the ingredients in the bowl that she measured. Cracking the eggs she guided Nyx hands with her own. He always watched wide-eyed and seeing his excitement, Feyre prayed that nothing would go wrong. She couldn't cook and she never tried herself at baking. She was grateful for Elain and the twins that they wrote everything down, step for step.

Nyx complained when she started to mix everything together, wanting to do it himself. She used that time to quickly make Nyx a snack, because she knew that his arms would grow tired soon and she'd take over again.

When he told her that he couldn't mix anymore, she pulled back his chair and gave him his snack. From his spot on the chair he watched as Feyre continued.

"We're baking a cake, Mama!" he said excitedly.

"I know, baby. You did so great, I'm proud of you." she replied. She was sure that Nyx would be sick of hearing that, so often she told him. She couldn't keep herself from telling him, she was incredibly proud of her son and she wished her parents would have told her when she was a child. Or a teenager, Feyre thought back to the years where she went to the woods to hunt. She looked at Nyx, who smiled brightly at what she just told him.

Shortly after, Nuala entered the kitchen. Nyx told her about the cake as Feyre poured the batter into a form. Nuala listened, smiling as he told her everything. Keeping every little detail in.

Feyre looked at the clock. Even if everything went as planned, they were a little behind the time Feyre had planned. She felt Rhys stirring through the bond. It wouldn't be long until he was awake.

"I can take care of that." Nuala said. Feyre nodded, they were as good as done. It was just about baking now and Nuala was about to make breakfast, so she was in the kitchen either way. "Thank you." Feyre said, picking Nyx up again.

"No!" Nyx squirmed.

"Do you not want to wake up Daddy?" Feyre asked. As he frowned up at her, she held back a smirk. She knew waking up Rhys was more important to Nyx than the cake. It was their tradition. Feyre and Nyx woke Rhys up on his birthday and Rhys and Nyx woke up Feyre on her birthday.

They went up again and Feyre already got Nyx ready for the day. She stayed with him as he brushed his teeth and then she brushed his hair and dressed him. He looked adorable in a shirt that was similar to what Rhys was usually wearing.

When she felt Rhys waking up, Feyre went to their bedroom door. "Ready?" she asked Nyx.

"Yes!" he said, already jumping up and down in participation. She opened the door and Nyx was racing inside, climbing on the bed and throwing himself on Rhys.

Rhys made an oof sound and then Nyx yelled "Happy Birthday, Daddy!" her mate chuckled and hugged Nyx. Feyre smiled as she watched her boys. Rhys cuddling Nyx and Nyx babbling and laughing and repeating "Happy Birthday!"

Feyre joined them, sitting on her side of the bed and watching them. Rhys looked up at her, smiling. "Good morning, Feyre darling."

Feyre grinned as she leaned down. "Happy Birthday, my love." she whispered and kissed him. Nyx deemed it too long and squeezed his hand between their faces, breaking them apart. Rhys chuckled when he saw Nyx's frown. Nyx leaned into Feyre and she pulled him on her lap. Rhys took the chance to sit up, leaning against the beds headboard.

"Do you want to give it daddy now?" Feyre whispered to Nyx.

"Yes!" he said. Rhys raised an eyebrow in question. Feyre grinned and pulled a piece of paper out of the pocket realm. She gave it Nyx who excitedly gave it Rhys. Nyx had painted his hands and pressed them on the paper a few days ago. He was so happy about the result that he decided it was the gift he wanted to give his father on his birthday. After he painted a rainbow on the paper and Feyre helped him write "Happy Birthday" Nyx gave Feyre the picture to keep it until today.

Rhys smile grew wider as he looked at it. Nyx giggled but suddenly he turned serious. Tugging on Feyres robe. "What is it?" she asked.

"Mama." he said.

"What?" she asked.

"Mama." he repeated, putting a hand on her cheek. Feyre leaned down and he whispered in her ear "The cake."

The cake. Shit. The cake. Fuck. She sat Nyx on Rhys's lap and jumped up. "I'll be back in a minute." she said and hurried out. Ran barefoot down the stairs, to the kitchen. She pushed open the door and almost collided with Nuala. "Sorry." Feyre breathed. "I forgot the cake-" Nuala was here. Of course. She was here and looked after the cake. How could Feyre forget? But it wasn't Nuala who worked on the cake, it was Elain.

Elain who smiled at her. "I'm sorry but I already made the cream. Don't worry I won't be decorating that's your and Nyx' job, I just thought Nyx may lose his patience while smoothing the frosting. It takes a little while."

Feyre let out a relieved breath and hugged her sister. She was surprised for a moment but quickly hugged her back. "Thank you." Feyre said. "I completely forgot until Nyx just reminded me."

Elain giggled. "It's not the first time."

Feyre laughed. "That was one time."

"You burnt soup!" Elain laughed.

Feyre rolled her eyes but echoed her laugh. "And it was the last time I burnt food."

"Today was almost the second time." she said, a smirk on her face.

Feyre snorted. "Shut up." she said, turning around to go to her mate and son again. "Thank you, Lainey."

Elain rolled her eyes at the name but smiled and said. "You're welcome, Fey."

Feyre winnowed into her bedroom again. Rhys and Nyx were laughing when she entered. They both looked up at her at the same time. "Breakfast!" she said, nodding at Nyx. He grinned and crawled to her. She helped him climb from the bed and he took her hand. "Come, daddy!" he said.

He groaned as he stood up. "I'm coming." Feyre took a quick peek out of the window. It was raining. Then her eyes went back to Rhys, who slightly limped. His knee hurt.

"I'm fine." he said when he reached them, kissing Feyres cheek.

"I know you are." Feyre said.

As they walked in the dining room, most of their family was already there. Except Azriel, who followed soon after. Even if Rhys told them that it wasn't necessary, they all hugged him, Cassian picking Rhys up while at it, which made Nyx laugh. Though Amren stayed at her spot and said "Happy Birthday, boy."

The rest of the day was just being around the family. It was nice seeing Rhys so relaxed and Nyx had the time of his life playing with his aunts and uncles. Especially when Cassian started throwing him in the air and catching him. Nyx thought it was hilarious, though Feyres heart stopped everytime he was in the air. But everytime he threw Nyx up, Nyx wings twitched as if he'd try to fly. Rhys looked extremely proud every time that happened. They started teaching him the basics not that long ago and he made great progress.

It wasn't until noon Feyre finally could get ready and dress herself. Making herself presentable.

In the afternoon she sneaked away with Nyx, decorating the cake, finishing it. She let Nyx do it and after she lit the candles, Cassian came in and carried the cake, as Feyre picked up Nyx and held the door open for Cassian.

Rhys smiled when they put the cake down. "Wish!" Nyx said and they all laughed. It took a few seconds until Rhys leaned forward and blew out the candles, then his eyes wandered to Nyx and Feyre. Nyx clapped happily.

Feyre cuddled in beside Rhys, laying her head on his shoulder as Nyx told him about how he made the cake.

I am incredibly grateful to have you. You and Nyx. I love you. He said down the bond.

Feyre smiled. I love you, too.

[likecanyoujustnot]

Give me the rhysand week prompts 👹👹

[officialrhysandweek]

Why isn't rhysand week in november

I'm assuming you're referring to the Instagram event? The twitter/Instagram events are for artists- Tumblr, which tends to host more writers. Last year the folks attempting to participate on this platform were ignored unless they commissioned art and posted it to another platform.

This is just a Tumblr focused event, which means its being hosted around the event runners schedule (and our dates were posted first, for the record). This is not a required event- you do not need to participate if you prefer the November one. Last year we attempted to reach out and work with the other folks to create a cross-platform event and they were not interested. People on Tumblr still want an apprection event, so this will continue.

Thank you for your thoughtful question!

[wonolbee]

If you want your shit posted to rhysweek, please stop blocking pro-rhys blogs if you want it to be reblogged

[copypastus]

@officialrhysandweek Day 1 - Lord of Nightmares

"Play a part long enough, and no one knows it's a mask and not your face."

Quote from @ashintheairlikesnow's ACOLAR, an incredible fic that really delves into Rhysand's struggles under Amarantha (among other things) and portrays really well the toll it takes on him to balance what he shows to the world vs what's in his heart.

[surielstea]

“Forgive me, Darling.”

Based on this request.

Pairing: Rhysand x Fem!Reader

Summary: After Rhys undermines Reader in front of the Hewn City, Reader makes him grovel before she accepts his apologies.

Warnings: Smut | Minors DNI | 18+ | p in v | apology sex | dom sub dynamics | riding | oral (f receiving) | Reader making Rhys grovel | multi-orgasm | cream-pie | mating press

A. Note: This was really an excuse for me to write some Rhys smut… RhysandWeek got to me I fear, half of it is smut so enjoy 😼🙏

4.7k words

It was an effort to sit next to the High Lord tonight. Even with Winter Solstice so steadily approaching we couldn't stop being at each other's throats for the past week. The others in the Inner Circle were sick of our tedious bickering by now, and the rest of the Court might as well be too.

It was clear to the citizens of the Hewn City that we weren't getting along the best when we sat in our own separate thrones, while I typically opted to sit in Rhys' lap or he on the armrest while I took the main throne.

But it was the citizens of the Hewn City themselves that had cleaved our relationship right in two. While I was a natural sympathizer for these people, Rhys seemed to have half a thought about their well-being.

It drove me mad how easily he could cherish and love something, then turn around and loathe something else with the same fierceness. It was manipulative and vexing.

"Your grace," Keir drawled with a low bow and Rhys lifted a brow at Morrigan's poor excuse of a father.

"What is it?" The High Lord mused, the perfect mask of bored coldness in his violet eyes.

"The court was wondering if you'd be donating to the gift drive this season, all funds would go directly to the orphaned children of course," Keir said with a tone that sent shivers down my spine.

Rhys opened his mouth to say no, but I spoke first. "Of course Keir. We're not monsters," I say, tossing my mate a lethal glare.

"Are you mad? No," He looked to Keir. "I will not be donating, but you can tell them their queen will have a heavy chunk coming from her paycheck," Rhys bit back and the verbal assault immediately bruised her, tearing her down for speaking over him in a place like this was one thing but, in front of Keir? Using him as a device to get under my skin? It was a new level of low.

I bit back a snarl. "You're both insufferable," I stand. "And you bore me," I step down the dais with a careful queenlike elegance that came with only decades of practice. "I'm going home, perhaps finish some last-minute gift shopping," I shrug, my black gown shimmering like the stars in the sky with each move I made.

"I'll join you momentarily," Rhys said with a hand up as if to pause me. I didn't wait for him to finish before I winnowed back to Velaris, alone.

I was born in the Hewn City, and though I knew it was best if Rhys put on a mask in front of that court, it was hard to watch my mate who had one of the biggest hearts I'd ever seen be so cruel, be exactly what those citizens had expected him to be. A monster. A shiver went down my spine at the thought. It was a part of my role as High Lady to back whatever Rhys decided, but it was a part of his role to do the same with me. And when it came to the children of the Hewn City I drew the line, they had done no wrong, and half of them were too young to even realize that their king was a halfbreed, much less why that meant he was seen as lesser. They were innocent, doomed for failure since the beginning because of who their parents were. I sympathized with the orphans and knew exactly how much a donation would've mean to me because I used to be one of them.

Rhys winnowed into the sitting room, writhing shadows feathering off of his dark tunic as he whirled towards me, brows drawn.

"What'd you do that for?" He frowns at me and I mirror it.

"Children Rhys? Should I even dare ask when it might end?" I prop my hands up on his hips and he sighs, rubbing at his eyes.

"You know how I handle those things, I tell Keir no and then donate anonymously," He explained, annunciating every word like I was hard of hearing. The tone set me off. He was right, that's how we did it every year for solstice since Rhys became High Lord.

But tonight was my breaking point after weeks of needless arguments. "Yes, Rhysand. I know." I grit my teeth and his frown deepens as he hears me use his full name, something I always did unconsciously when I wanted him out of my face.

"Then why did you say we'd donate?" He lifts a brow and my shoulders are practically up to my ears with the tension building.

"Because, Rhysand, I'm so sick of you pretending to be someone that you're not," Again, the name makes him flinch. "I know how much you're capable of loving, and I understand you trying to protect us but I can't bear seeing you so ruthless to those people," I explain and he lets out a long sigh.

"You don't seem to understand the impossible situation I'm in." He closes his eyes, needing to rest them if only for a moment.

"What don't I understand?" I grab his jacket, gently gripping it as I stare up at him. "I've been beside you every step of the way, talk to me Rhysand. Or this isn't going to work," I gesture between us and his back shoots ramrod straight, at the underlying threat of taking a break from each other. He loathed the idea, and would rather argue for the rest of his life with me than not have me in his life at all.

"Don't say stuff like that," He murmured, his voice clipped like he couldn't quite breathe right.

"Then think twice before undermining me in front of a male like Keir," I scowl. "Hewn City or not, you're not allowed to silence me." I brush past him, my shoulder ramming into his bicep as I stalk down the hall to our bedroom, shutting the door with a resounding thud, but Rhys remains pinned in the same spot, cursing himself over and over again for his foolish behavior.

Over the next few days, Rhys had done everything in his power to apologize. Giving me countless gifts, and heartfelt monologues about how sorry he was, he even donated a good portion of his gold to the Hewn City orphanage. But I didn't forgive him, because I was certain he had yet to understand how much this truly meant to me. Besides, a small part of me liked watching him grovel.

At dinner with the rest of the inner circle later that evening, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. Rhys had reached for my hand beneath my table twice now and I shook him off both times. We had both silently agreed on pretending everything was normal between us in front of the others, not wanting to worry them about the health of their high lady and lord relationship. So I put on a mask, as he often did, and pretended everything was fine.

"I'll see you in a few days for solstice eve," I hum as Morrigan gives me a hug while standing halfway out the door in the cold.

"I got you an amazing gift!" She beamed while backing away and I gave her an incredulous look. There was no arguing that Morrigans gifts weren't unique and personalized, but they were far from amazing.

"I'm sure you did," I hum. "Goodnight, Mor," I lean against the archway of the foyer and she gives me a wave before slipping out the door. Once everyone was officially gone I turned back to the sitting room where Rhys was sitting, staring at me curiously like I was a thing to be analyzed. "What?" I bark, my smile dropping.

"You keep calling me Rhysand," He stands from his seat, looking at me with furrowed brows, his wings drooping slightly, nearly dragging on the floor as he strides towards me but stops an arm's length away.

"That's your name, is it not? Or would you like to argue about that as well?" I arch a brow and his frown deepens.

"No, I just— It's Rhys. It's always been Rhys between us, in fact, you're the reason everyone calls me Rhys." He claims and I cross my arms over my chest, narrowing my gaze on him.

"This is what has been bothering you? This? Out of everything that has been going on, me saying your full name has gotten under your skin the most?" I scowl, unbelieving of his childish behavior.

"I'm sorry." He whispers, defeated.

"I know," I state.

"Then why?" His voice wavers. "Why can't I be forgiven?" He takes another step forward, nearly closing the distance between us if it weren't for his height.

"Because I don't think you've learned your lesson yet." I snarl and his brows crease, his familiar violet eyes glazing over.

"No please, I have darling," He cups my cheeks in his hands. "I have. I'm sorry." His hands were so gentle when holding my face as if I might break if he was any rougher.

I debated giving in for a moment, if only because my desire to feel his lips on mine again would be comparable to heaven— but I stayed strong, my own pride willing me to break away from his touch. "I know," I repeat, before walking down the hall and into our bedroom, closing the door behind me loud enough for him to get the hint that I didn't want to see him again that night.

A few days had passed and it was solstice eve, I was in the midst of getting ready for bed when there was a soft knock on my door. I didn't turn when the door opened, I knew who it was before he was even down the hall.

Rhys doesn't say anything, just stares as I take out my earrings and unlace my dress. I didn't mind him looking as I stripped down and changed into a soft, midnight blue nightgown, perhaps I was rubbing in the fact that he couldn't have me. Once I was finished I walked over to my vanity and began to comb through my hair.

"I can feel you staring, Rhysand." I finally spoke and I swore he growled at the name. I ignore it. He pushes off the doorframe and enters the room.

"What can I do it make it better?" I turn towards him to find him directly behind me, looking down at me with beseeching eyes. "I'm begging you," He whispers, our proximity so close that his nose was brushing against mine.

"You're begging me?" I raise a brow.

"Gods, yes darling. Do you want me to get on my knees and plead?" He suggests and I just stare at him as a reply, waiting.

His brows raise a fraction when he realizes I'm serious, and I cross my arms impatiently. It takes him a moment, but eventually, he drops down onto his knees.

His hands come to my hips and he looks up at me, his chin propped up on my stomach as he lets out a soft, "Please."

"Please what?" I place my hands on his shoulders, one of them finding its way into his dark, midnight-black hair.

"Please, forgive me." He murmurs. "Please, don't make us take a break." He continues, his hands on my hips tightening slightly. "And please, let me love you the way you deserve."

He had once told me he'd only ever fall to his knees for his crown, yet here he was, bending for me with only sincere affection in his eyes and regret forever making me feel like he deserved this.

I grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him up, crashing his lips onto mine. I kiss him, deeply, with the passion and desire that had been building up for the past week. I had forgotten how addictive he was and didn't realize how badly I needed him until he leaned into the kiss and filled the gaping void inside of me with warmth.

"I missed you so damned much, darling," He sighs and I smirk against his lips.

"Yeah?" I slip from his grasp and take a seat on the bed. "Why don't you come over here and show me?" I purr, letting my legs fall open as he prowls towards me and again, gets down onto his knees.

I smile devilishly at him as he begins kissing and nipping at my thighs, beginning to make amends with his mouth rather than words.

His covetous hands slip beneath my short nightgown, gripping my hips and pulling me to the edge of the bed. I lay back onto my elbows, propped up enough to watch him as he made his way up my thighs.

Ever so gently, he pulls at my undergarments and I lift my hips for access so he can further slip the panties down my legs. With reverence his eyes flick down to my glistening core, then back up to my eyes, his gaze holding a certain emotion I don't think I've ever seen the High Lord hone before.

I nod my head and he wastes no time before placing an open mouth kiss to my folds, then dragging it through my slit in a slow, savoring lap. I let out a soft moan at the feeling of his warm tongue finding my clit with a languid stroke. My fingers weave into his hair as he begins to suck on the bundle of nerves, sending me into a spiral.

I looked down at him but he was already staring up at me. But once he sees my lustful expression he can't seem to control himself before he dips down and spears his tongue into me. I release a breathy moan at the intense feeling. How could I have ever robbed myself of this for so long? Gods it was evil the things he could do with that mouth.

His fingers dug into the flesh of my hips as he devoured me like a man starved, his tongue-twisting and curling against a sensitive spot that sent me closer to the edge. I was unable to stop myself from grinding up onto his face, and he let out a guttural groan as I did so, because he knew then that I wanted him, that he was making me feel this good.

I maintained eye contact with him as he continued to drive me wild, violet irises filled with both apologies as well as desire. He draws one of my legs over his shoulder to deepen his access and I pull at his hair.

"That's it, gods yes," I gripe as his tongue toys with the sensitive area nestled deep inside of me.

My head falls back to look up at the ceiling as he brings one of his hands down and his thumb begins to roll over my clit. I whimper at the stimulation, my toes curling as he begins rubbing tight circles. I buck my hips at the intense feeling and he groans against the feeling of me tugging on his hair, the sound reverberating up my spine. "That's my girl," He purrs as my release steadily approaches. "Come on my face, fall apart for me my darling," He says, his voice tender as he coaxes your climax to draw closer.

I couldn't deny his demand, my pleasure too high to even debate it. My peak reaches and with a cry, my body convulses and an intense wave of pleasure crashes through me. He supports me, his arms around my thighs grounding me, his eyes never leaving mine as he removes his tongue from my entrance and softly laps up my dripping folds, his mouth shimmering in my essence. But it was only pride in his eyes as I came down from my high that I recognized, pride and, something far more primal than human.

"I forgot how good you taste," He whispers against my core, cleaning every lost drop from me with his mouth.

Slowly, he backed away, licking his lips that were glistening in my arousal.

"I want to ride you," I confess and his brows shoot up with carnal desire. Yes, that was exactly what I wanted.

I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him down onto the bed, his head falling into the pillows as I flipped over him and began working at the buttons of his shirt.

His hands joined mine, helping me by thrashing it off. I smile and attach my lips to his tanned skin, my tongue running over the lines of his tattoo while he frees himself from the confines of his pants. My mouth waters at the sight of his hard cock already leaking with need. I bite at my lower lip as I grip his length, spreading his pre and using it as a natural lubricant. I pumped him once, then twice. My grip was rough and tight, his head fell back into the pillows as he groaned in pleasure.

"Oh, my darling," He sighs out as I press my thumb to his sensitive tip.

His hands come to my thighs as I lift onto my knees and begin dragging his cock through my folds, prepping him for an easy entrance. I swore he got harder the moment my arousal met his.

He looked back at me, his eyes low-lidded. "You look like a goddess," He breathes, his voice husky with restraint. I knew he wanted to push me down onto him, to take dominance and flip me onto my back. But he reigned in his control and kept himself at bay for now.

I smile devilishly at him as I aligned his throbbing cock with my entrance. His eyes flicked down to the view and I froze. "Look at me," I direct and his violet eyes flick back up to my gaze, and I watch his expression as I sink myself down to him so very slowly, inch by inch.

His face contorts into a mix of pleasure and agony. "This is torture," He hisses, his fingers digging into my thighs in an effort to keep restraint. "Please, darling," He whispered the plea and I couldn't help but fold under his yearning gaze.

"Please what?" I say through a soft moan, the stretch of him painful at first yet turned into pure pleasure moments later.

"Please, take all of me and move, now baby," He pants out and I smirk.

"I'm barely halfway down and I've got you this worked up?" I tilt my head demeaningly and he lets out a low, guttural growl.

"You know exactly what you're doing to me, so please, you can take it," He begs and I smile.

"I know I can, but can you?" I murmur, tracing lines along his torso, following his dark tattoo.

"Oh I can," He sighs, his eyes glinting with amusement and I realize he wasn't strained from needing more, he was in agony because his control was thinning. "But if you don't take all of me right now, I'm going to flip us over and fuck you until we both forget our own names." He warns and I smirk, leaning forward— in doing so making him slip deeper inside of me, the new angle eliciting a soft moan from me.

"Is that right?" I purr, my nails trailing down the side of his neck.

"Last chance, baby." His jaw feathers. "Sit down or I'm taking over," He snarls, gripping my hips tighter, prepared to make true of his threat. I smile, leaning closer and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

I do as he says anyway, not wanting to take any chances. I let gravity make my last movement and allow myself to take all of his length, every last inch until he was fully sheathed inside of me and I was seated on him fully.

He lets out a long, deep moan, his head falling back into the pillows. "Gods, such a good girl," He praises, taking a few deep breaths and regaining his control.

Slowly I begin to rock my hips back and forth over him and he jerks at the movement, his hands tightening on my thighs as he begins to guide me over him, showing me exactly how fast he wanted me to go.

He lets out a string of curses as I set a pace, rolling and grinding over him, my thighs already burning with the movements. "Keep your eyes on me, yeah?" he says and I nod, as he slowly lifts me up on him, then pushes me back down, sending me into a rhythm. I began to bounce up and down on him, his thick length burrowing deep inside of me with each descent.

I keep eye contact with him, tears welling in mine as he lifts me faster, my breasts bouncing with the movement, and his captivating eyes don't miss it. "So beautiful," He whispers softly, his voice hoarse and strained as a string of moans escapes me.

"You like that baby?" He purrs, his gaze only sultry. I reply with a moan and a wicked smile forms over his lips as he pushes me to go faster, slamming me down into his hips, his tip brushing over my cervix.

He was enjoying this far too much, he was savoring the way I sounded, the way my body reacted. So desperate for a second release. I lean down, changing the angle and allowing him to hit my most sensitive point with the thick head of his cock.

"Gods, you feel so good wrapped around me like this," He purrs, his breath hot against my neck as his canines scrape against it.

I continue to fuck myself on him, my vision blurring as he abuses that sacred spot inside of me. "I'm close," I grunt, clenching my hands into fists as he spears into me, lifting his hips to help me reach that high.

"Yeah? Going to come, love?" He purrs into the shell of my ear and I nod, tears now slipping down my cheeks despite all my efforts to be in control.

"Yes, I can't control it much longer," I mewl, burying my nose into the crook of his neck.

He smiles, wrapping his arms around me. "That's okay, come for me darling," He allows and I find release, I finally meet my second orgasm.

"Rhys," I moan loud enough for the next room over to hear. Not Rhysand, but Rhys. The male's length twitches at the sound he so desperately had been needing to hear for the past week.

He didn't let me come down from my high for even a moment as he flipped me over onto my back, taking full control as he guided my legs up to my sides, folding me into a mating press.

"I'm not done with you yet, darling," He drawls huskily and my heart pounds against my ribs hard.

He pulls out to his tip and for a moment I'm gifted a kernel of relief, but it quickly ended when he pushed into me, spearing hilt deep as his heavy balls slapped into my ass. Arousal dripped down my thighs as he continued the movement and I turned into a moaning mess.

"You're so tight," He grunted out between thrusts. "Say my name again," He orders and I open my teary eyes to see him above me, his dark wings spread over us. Gods, he looked like a fucking devil like this. "Rhys," I plea and he smiles wolfishly.

"That's my girl, taking me so well," He praises, continuing to piston inside my puffy, overstimulated cunt.

He reaches down and I swear my heart stops as he makes contact with my pink clit. I whimper, my bottom lip wobbling as he pushes me towards yet another orgasm. "Come on baby, squeeze my cock," He demands and I writhe beneath him, clenching every inch of his length as he brushes my cervix repeatedly. His words and groans are a constant stream of encouragement as I hurtle toward my third orgasm.

I let out a loud, broken cry as my climax rips through me, each one more intense than the last. "Please, please tell me you're close," I beg as he lets out a choked groan, his movements becoming more and more erratic as control slips from his grasp. "Fuck, I am baby, I'm close," He pants out and I mewl his name desperately.

"Rhys, Rhys," I murmur like a chant, my mind too fucked out to think of anything else, just him.

"Look at me, I want you to watch while I come inside of you." He purred and my stomach twisted at his filthy words. My hands come around to his shoulders and I dig my nails into the muscle, clawing them down his back at the intense, unrelenting thrusting.

With a feral, desperate groan he buries his nose into my neck and finds his release, his warm seed spilling inside of me.  He shakes and trembles at the weight of his climax, he collapses down onto me, his body heavy and spent. His face was still buried in my neck as he regained his breath. "Fuck, I love you so much," He confesses as the sounds of our breathing fill the room.

"I love you, too," I whisper hoarsely, my voice shot from screaming his name. He nuzzles into my neck, placing gentle kisses along my collarbone slowly guiding my legs down and pulling from my entrance. "I'm sorry baby, I know you wanted to be in control but I— I can't help myself around you," He murmurs and I smile, pulling him into me for a loving kiss.

"Don't apologize, felt so good," I murmur tiredly. "Maybe we should argue more often," I add and he frowns at the idea and I giggle. "I missed you."

His eyes light up with pure adoration. "I missed you too," He hums, easing into the bed beside me and gathering me into his arms. "Now let's get you cleaned up."

The rush of solstice has passed and everything has returned to normal— well, almost everything.

The Court of Nightmares was teeming with its usual negative energy, the air thick with it. I had been seated in my own throne again, not quite ready to take up Rhysand’s lap in front of all the subjects again.

“My Lord,” Keir bowed low before the dais, then turned to me and gave me a simple bow of his head. Rhys gripped the arms of his throne at the action but remained calm all the same.

“What?” The high lord snarled.

“The price of the renovations of the homes in the slums are steadily increasing, to something far greater than what we can afford with the money you’ve so graciously given.” He hums and I sit up. I grew up in the slums, I would’ve taken a man’s life for the opportunity to proceed with the renovation plans I had given Rhys a few days ago, would’ve taken a lot more than a life to give to that community, actually.

“Then we’ll triple the funds,” I state and Keir casts me a glance, then looks back to Rhys. I wanted to rip his face off. I was seated on a throne before his people, I had the power to tear this entire court down and yet he treats me with such disrespect and contempt.

“Why are you still here?” Rhys asked the steward. “My High Lady has just answered your issue, did she not?” Rhys tilts his head with creased brows.

“Of course, my lord,” Keir bows to the male, and something in his spine locks and I know, know that Rhys’s talons had captured Keirs mind and was prepared to shatter it, until Keir turned to me and bowed at the waist, then lower, nearly falling to his knees.

“Dismissed.” Rhys hummed, waving his hand and releasing the males mind.

I smile as I watch him leave, and settled a little deeper into my throne. Oh, I liked this a little too much.

A flicker of Rhysand’s darkness curled caressed up my neck, to trace the contours of my jaw. I turn to look at him and give him a wicked smile, he mirrors it and we turn back to the Nightmare of a court we ruled over, together.

General Taglist: @fxckmiup @olive-main @iluvyewman-blog @gaymistakeboi @glitterypirateduck @amara-moonlight @impossibelle @fauxdette @going-through-shit @glam-targaryen @hufflepuff-pa55 @sarawritestories @tele86 @rogerbarnesxx @azriels-shadowsinger @stinkinstuffie @sandramalikstyles-blog @sassyangel16 @lilah-asteria @starsinyourseyes @inloveallthetime @melsunshine @nighttimemoonlover @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @cumuluscranium @adharanotfound @azrielsmate3 @aelincaddel @hiddlestonspassionsackx @dee-writes-smut @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @pit-and-the-pen @mybestfriendmademe @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @circe143 @bubybubsters @joshysloshy @username199945 @ivy-34 @notsarareallynot @vixenshiftsvrs @aurorab99 @pey2618 @loving-and-dreaming @mmg777 @andreperez11 @thatacotargirl @123345566 @one-big-fangirl @moonslitluna @imyherondale @salvawhxres @bookishbabyyyy @anuttellaa @breadsticks2004 @azriels-human @mamita-vera @demetercabingreen-thumb

Comment a “💙” to be added to the general taglist!

Comment a “🖤” to be added to the Azriel taglist!

[colorlesschristmastree]

Friend Marry Kiss

Rhysandweek, Feysandweek, Feyreweek

Friend Rhysand week

Kiss Feysand week

Marry feyre week

[booksimpsblog]

[shallyne]

Rhys Headcanon

Rhys sometimes still has nightmares and he loses his darkness (like the nightmare scene in acomaf) and Feyre wakes him up and he cuddles into her while she tells him stories about the IC, sending him moments of Nyx through the bond or she asks him about positive moments with the IC (snowball fight, Mors drunk stories, Amren beating up Cassian when he makes fun of her) to calm him down. He doesn't let go of Feyre for the rest of the night even when he falls asleep again.

[officialrhysandweek]

Prompts ✨ Guidelines ✨ AO3 Collection

-

✍Written Works:

Memory by @itsthedoodle

Day 6 by @shallyne

Dressed In Black Now by @rosanna-writer

🎨Art:

Rhys and Feyre Paint by @taymartiart

🎶Misc:

Tamsand exes moodboard by @praetorqueenreyna 

Rhysand Howl Comparison by @shallyne

Pastimes moodboard by @shallyne

Rhys taking his pants off meme by @shallyne

Rhysand Incorrect quote: 1 and 2 by @shallyne

-

🎨: davidjbrunson, louisse_ang, and nicolajwilkinson

[shallyne]

It's Rhysandweek my dudes

@officialrhysandweek

Art by isabndlsart, raye_illustrations, itswibell_art

[officialrhysandweek]

Prompts ✨ Guidelines ✨ AO3 Collection

-

✍Written Works:

Tiny Ancient Pup by @itsthedoodle

Step by Aching Step, Son by @areyoudreaminof

we'll never make our parents' mistakes by @rosanna-writer

Day 5 by @shallyne

🎨Art:

He's Got An Aim Like His Mother's by @taymartiart

🎶Misc:

Incorrect quote by @shallyne

Rhysand as Raccoons by @shallyne

Family Man moodboard by @shallyne

Rhysandweek meme by @shallyne

-

🎨: davidjbrunson, louisse_ang, and nicolajwilkinson

[shallyne]

I didn't know there's a rhysandweek until very recently and now I'm stressed because I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO