#rhysian

[rotgospels]

when i finally write my own rhysian thinly veiled memoir about love & power it is so over for the men in my life

[fireheartfaery]

songs I associate with crackships

day 6: song association

it's no surprise that I use music a lot when I'm writing. especially when im writing violence or smut so allocating songs to different ships was not a difficult task. there would be more if tumblr didn't have an audio clip limit of 10. but I hope y'all enjoy what is essentially a mini playlist

@sjmcrackshipweek

[image has alt text]

Manon x Aelin: genghis khan by miike snow

Fenrys x Hunt: there's no way by lauv and julia michaels

Bryce x Aelin: as you need by alex aiono

Rowan x Lorcan: chicken tendies by clinton kane

Fenrys x Lorcan x Rowan: love back (piano version) by gabrielle aplin

Fenrys x Asterin: breathless by shayne ward

Aedion x Azriel: if I could by brynn cartelli

Rhysand x Dorian: serotonin by santino le saint and cruz cafuné

Rhysand x Rowan: secondhand heart by ben haenow and kelly clarkson

Rowan x Dorian: wild by john legend and gary clark jr.

[rhysianfish]

Time to Choose

Die, little girl, put a knife in your heart, Twas what you were made for, right from the start. Die, little girl, put a bullet in your head, They’ll only start listening once you’re dead. Die, little girl, put a slash on your wrist; Do you honestly think that you’ll be missed? Yes, little fighter, they will all wish That you hadn’t been reaped by death’s cruel kiss. So put down your gun, put down your knife. Little warrior, it’s time for you to choose life.

[buggedoutnyc]

Happy Monday! 🦋💕🐝💕🐜💕🦋 #buggedoutcuties #wheresthedragonflyemoji #brothersofinstagram #brothers #dalyjohn #granteric #rhysian #buggedoutnyc #wearebuggedout #BuggedOut #shoplocal #handmade #smallbusiness #alineofhappyforthelittleones #designedandhandprintedinny #wegivebacktomultiplesclerosisresearch #productswithapurpose #msawareness #NYC #handmade #artisinmade #organiccotton #babywear #kidswear #brothers #siblings #brothertime #brotherlove #brotherbond #bugs #cuteoutfits (at Worldwide) https://www.instagram.com/p/CM_-RdCBX0W/?igshid=1omni7knxaljh

[ridiaart]

Maybe someday I’ll finish some of these WiPs.

(*broken sobbing in the distance*).

[rotgospels]

having a rhysian woman summer (tears, futile rages, extravagant abandon)

[fireheartfaery]

holy serotonin

for Cass (@firebirdofscythia): to crackships

listen to "Serotonin" by Santino Le Saint and Cruz Cafuné for full vibes (highly recommend)

CW: smut

This contains explicit sexual content and is not intended for persons under the age of 18. Discretion is advised.

"Dorian baby please," Rhysand breathes, shatters, begs.

"Are you giving up, my love?" That beautiful grin is so deadly. Rhysand feels his heart stop, start, change rhythm.

"Please," His head thrashers, silk catching on either side of him. Lips brush his skin, they're everywhere, they're on him like angel dust. Soaking into his body, lighting him on fire. "Please." His face is wet. It's tears, it's prayer, it's sin, it's "Please baby, please."

"But you look so pretty like this," Dorian sighs softly. There is so much hunger buried in that throat. Fingers, cool and gentle graze his ribs, his hip, his cock. He wants to scream. He whimpers.

"Look at you," It's the voice of a lover, but a king all the same.

Rhysand turns his head towards the mirror, gilded and larger than he has the vision to take in. His dark skin is glowing against the satin white of the sheets underneath him. His hands, veined and bunched in the fabric, act as the anchor to his undoing. His hair, inkier than his soul spills across his face, longer than he usually likes it. And there, lying on his right, casual hands, ghost and real, trailing over his skin is his king. Dorian looks ethereal, Dorian looks ungodly. Pale skin, hair blacker than his, and eyes blue enough to turn water into ice. They are violent in their beauty.

"What do you see, my love?" Fingers wrap around his cock, stroke up, down, so slowly its almost painful.

His vision blurs, becomes soft shapes and uneven colour. He can't see anything, he wants to say. The words are smothered by a moan.

"Do you see how beautiful you are? How you spread before me? So compliant—" Two long fingers find their way into his mouth. He sucks hard, he sucks filthy. "So ready to be devoured." And with that Dorian opens his mouth, and takes the whole of Rhysand down his pretty throat.

Around his King's fingers, the High Lord screams.

[fireheartfaery]

Day 4: "I need him."

masterlist; my links

canon-compliant

CW: blood, torture

Rhysand lands on the roof of the apartment building, tucking his wings in behind him. The city is dying down, midnight stars peeking through the sky, and making the world glitter. His favourite time of the night, and to think once he gets his butt moving he'll be seeing his favourite person. With a final glance he descends the stairs and to his apartment. The hallways are quiet, not unusual for this time of the night, but something about the silence pierces at his senses.

He stops outside the door, the number 892 steely in the cold light of the corridor.

Something is wrong.

His skin grows tight, power already welling in a tidal wave of anger, fear.

Something is wrong.

The darkness within him surges forward, splintering the wooden barrier before him. He is inside the room in a heartbeat. And the sight he is greeted with turns the heat in his blood to poison.

"Rhysand," His husband gasps, "Please leave."

There, contorted into a brutal, merciless statue, is Dorian Havilliard. His beautiful face twisted in pain, blood as red as the velvet carpet running like rivers down his bared skin. He is frozen in time.

Standing over him is a woman, as stunning as she is deadly, and the smile on her face makes Rhysand want to fall to his knees and beg.

"Hello Highlord," Her voice is chaos incarnate.

He looks to his husband. Everything in him hardens to diamond. He will be worse. He will be destruction itself.

"Leave him be."

"You do not even know why I am here."

"Forgive me for not caring when my husband looks like that."

"He is fine, Highlord." He wants to carve the grin off her face.

"Leave him be!" The darkness closes in, black and power swirling around the room.

"I have hardly known power like yours in all the centuries I've been alive." The dress that pools at her feet turns to mist, smoke as dark as her eyes. "But that does not mean I have never known. And since I am here telling this tale, you should understand I have also bested them."

"If it is my power you want, then leave him be and do what you will with me."

"Rhysand," Dorian chokes, "NO!"

Another slice appears on his torso, jagged and stretching from one side of his ribs down to the opposite hip. He gurgles, coughs up blood.

"LET HIM GO!" The darkness explodes, and they are encased in fire. It is black, like charred earth, and hot like agony.

The lady just smiles, watching curiously as the waves of power touch her skin and bounce off. Touch him and multiply. Touch the barrier he'd placed around Dorian and recoil.

"My, my you are powerful."

His husband is still bowed over, blood pouring from the incisions smattered across his skin, and whoever this lady is seems to be immune to him.

"Please," He chokes on the fear. "Please let him go.

"Why should I?" She tilts her head. A predator and it's prey. "What will you give me in return?"

He looks to Dorian, to the man he has loved for decades, the man he will love for centuries to come. Those blue eyes are pleading, wide with pain and heartbreak.

"Everything." He whispers. "I will give you everything."

Her grin slaughters the gods. "Are you sure Highlord?"

"RHYSAND NO!" It is a King's voice that commands him.

He doesn't listen. "I need him." He looks at the Lady of Death, "I cannot lose him."

"Rhysand, please." His husband is sobbing and it breaks every thread holding his heart together.

"I cannot lose you, my Karalis."

"And what do you think—" He is cut off by the dark wisp of power circling his throat.

"You promised you'd let him go!"

"I'll be back to collect what is owed to me Rhysand Havilliard." She smiles her smile of violence, and the world goes quiet.

Rhys looks around the room, as pristine as when he'd left it this morning. He searches frantically for his husband, and nearly hurls in relief when he finds him lying on the bed, eyes closed. Sleeping. Peacefully. Not a scar on his body.

He goes to him, sits down gently. He cannot resist brushing a hand across the soft skin of his cheeks. They are warm with life. It soothes every terrified bone in his body.

Dorian flutters back into the world, ice blue peaking up from underneath dark eyelashes. "Rhysand," His voice is groggy, but it is his and he is alive and Rhys feels like he can breathe again.

"Oh angel," He presses their foreheads together. "You're okay."

"What did you do Highlord?" He sits up in bed, threading his hands through black hair.

"I could not let her kill you." He shakes his head, cupping a pale cheek gently.

"She would not have." Dorian shakes his head, tears filling his eyes. "It was an illusion."

The sound Rhys lets out is not human.

"I had already promised her I would do what she wanted if she didn't hurt you."

He chokes on his own disbelief. "Oh gods."

"She tricked us." Dorian's tears run freely and the Highlord cannot swipe them away fast enough.

"What does she want?" He whispers.

"Power."

"We won't give it to her. I will not be taken from you." He is determined. He is furious. He is malicious. "You will not be taken from me."

"Kiss me Highlord," His King whispers, "And we will worry about this tomorrow."

And so he does, and it is as familiar and sweet as his favourite dessert. Lips soft and pliable and already waiting for his. Their hands are every all at once, in reassurance.

It is most like coming home. Because tomorrow may never arrive.

--------------------------------------------

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@nishlicious-01​

[rhysianfish]

Heroes

The battle is coming, it shakes in the ground.

Our hopes and ambitions, soon will be drowned

By the blood that will spill on snow laden ground

If a child screams in silence, is there a sound?

Please, we’re not fighters,

And we’re not heroes.

Carve out your heart, carve out your lungs

The trumpet has blasted, the song is sung

The pure of soul are all on the run

The age of peace is over and done

But we are the fighters

And we are the heroes

Give up your soul, give up your mind

For battle is coming, and now is the time

We’ve lost our voice, the world’s a mime

We wish we could say we’re biding our time

So God save the fighters

And God save the heroes

[buggedoutnyc]

🦋💕🐝💕🐜💕🦋 We are sharing some of our favorite #buggedoutcutie memories to bring a little happy during these difficult times. ・・・ #Repost @buggedoutnyc @ejthordarson ・・・ Brothers dressed as bugs! 🐝 🐜 thanks Mimi @jljacobs356 for the outfits! #wheresthedragonflyemoji #brothersofinstagram #brothers #dalyjohn #granteric #rhysian #buggedoutnyc #wearebuggedout #BuggedOut #shoplocal #handmade #smallbusiness #alineofhappyforthelittleones #designedandhandprintedinny #wegivebacktomultiplesclerosisresearch #productswithapurpose #msawareness #NYC #handmade #artisinmade #organiccotton #babywear #kidswear #brothers #siblings #brothertime #brotherlove #brotherbond #bugs #cuteoutfits https://www.instagram.com/p/B_UpG6JHOl_/?igshid=xj336mevowi0

[buggedoutnyc]

awwww look at these buggedoutcuties! 🐜🐝🦋💕#buggedoutnyc #Repost @ejthordarson ・・・ Brothers dressed as bugs! 🐝 🐜 thanks Mimi @jljacobs356 for the outfits! #wheresthedragonflyemoji #brothersofinstagram #brothers #dalyjohn #granteric #rhysian https://www.instagram.com/p/B2wEpKDhlZB/?igshid=9vwf16ndymwv

[rhysianfish]

Sleep child, and may your dreams be sweet,

For death is a game you cannot cheat.

Sleep child, and pray that you miss

The bittersweet touch of death’s soft kiss

Sleep child, and may you ne’er wake,

For your soul is laid bare for Death to take.

Sleep child, for the world is cruel

Death only waits for its time to rule.

[rhysian]

(Old Writing Prompt)

Rhysian at whatever counts for 30!

— trixalla

 One. Two. Three. The blunted blade made a dull thud every time it contacted the worn, thick padding of the dummy. One. Two. Three. Sweat poured down his face, his neck, shoulders, back. One. Two. Three. Muscles protested. Eyes stung. One. His heart hammered. Two. His lungs burned. Three. His arms hurt.

 "That's enough!" Metal on metal. Taken off guard, his sword spun from his sweaty grip. The ex-sailor turned on her, and for a brief moment, there was malice in his gaze.

 "Ain' fuckin' never fuckin' 'nough!" He shot back, hands fisting at his sides, gaze defiant. "Fuckin' ain't n'fuckin' thin' I can e're fuckin' do that feels like it's fuckin' enough. I can't do it, Rhea. I can't fuckin' do it. Y'were ri'fuckin'WRON' 'bout me. Ain't SHIT I can fuckin' do. Ain't SHIT I'm worth."

A dark brow lofted and the magistrix lifted her blade, the dull tip pressed to his throat. "You're wrong. Pick it up."A tense moment passed before the redhead stepped past her to his blade, lifting it from the ground. "You are strong." She struck for him the moment he had the blade lifted. He parried. "You are capable." She swung again, and he met her.

"'n 'm three times older'n th'rest've th'damn class!" Their weapons clashed.

 "So you've got a late start! We're long-lived enough, and you're powerful enough. All it takes is time-" thrust, "patience," -parry " and dedication!" She managed to twist the blade from his hand, the point of her practice sword again touching his throat, a clean 'kill'.

 They stared at each other, down that blade. "'n jus' what'm I s'pose' t'do now?" He demanded, at a loss. The pain and self doubt were written all over his face. She lowered the blade, instead touching his unshaved cheek with her palm.

 "Marry me," she whispered softly.

 Life was slowly starting to fall into place.