#tarquin headcanons

[ladyelain]

Ik you’re primarily an Elain blog but I’d love to hear your fav Tarquin headcanons, if you have any 👀🌊

hehe, I do. Let me think… 🌊🌊

Generally, I feel like there’s so much more to Tarquin than what meets the eye. He’s not as experienced in court politics as the other High Lords, being the youngest of them all, though I’m sure people underestimating him will play right into Tarquin’s hands one day.

- he’s the ultimate artsy boy at heart. This might be just me being a sucker for guitar / piano dudes, but i feel like Tarquin knows to play like 5 different instruments. Plus, he paints every night for relaxation. Which is why he was so smitten by Feyre.

- he’s a nerd for human history and dark academia stuff. Would definitely read Donna Tartt.

- he sucks at dating. Whenever he makes plans with a woman he really likes, he’s this close 🤏 to cancelling them last minute, just because he gets super nervous. You would never think so because he always seems so calm and collected.

- this is so random, but IMAGINE his future mate (whoever that may be) not knowing how to swim, so Tarquin would need to teach her. And they’d both get all nervous and horny and awkward 🥹

- ik it’s unlikely and impractical, but since i LIVE for opposites attract and courtly drama, I’d like to see Tarquin falling for a Winter Court member maybe. Also because it would be hella entertaining seeing Tarquin freeze his ass off in winter.

- he’d vibe so hard with the band of exiles.

- I feel like he’d also vibe with Eris. They’ll be secret High Lord besties once Eris takes over the throne. Lowkey shipping them now oops. Is there fanfiction? Lol

- his love language is gift-giving, but not in the I’ll buy you diamonds and lands because I can kinda sense. He’s just that person that makes the most unique and personal presents. He’s not just getting you pearls, he’ll dive down into the depths of the ocean and handpick the treasures. (Sry Lucien, you did great too)

- i just know he established a shelter for stranded sea animals at some point.

[readychilledwine]

Headcanons on taking each High Lord in their beast form?

I'm sweating.

✨️High Lord Monsterfucking Headcanons✨️

Warnings- monsterfucking, beast forms, primal instincts, breeding references, mentions of knotting, implied size kink just on subject matter alone, primal play, biting scratching, marking, mating marks, picture references from Bad Dragon, unrealistic smut, dr. jekyll and mr. hyde type situations

A/n - This one might get me in trouble. A lot of thought went into this. We're going with a partial shift situation. Ignore the colors of things. Think of them as whatever color you want then to be.

Please remember, not all kinks are for everyone. If this one isn't yours, there is plenty of smut on my masterlist 💕

Rhysand

I firmly believe Rhysand would have a primal play kink regardless of if he's in his beastform, but mentally prepare yourself for bruises, scratching, and biting

Rhysand is typically a gentle but passionate lover, his beast is not. His beast has one goal: breed.

You aren't going to walk for a while. That's the reality. Sorry.

When picking for Rhysand, I was kind of drawn to the idea that he wouldn't have an overly scary monster cock, but it's very thick and heavy

It's going to touch places science doesn't have a name for yet. Once you relax, it's nothing but pleasure

I decided with all the animals Tamlin's shifted form looks like, he gets to have a horse like cock

Tamlin

I feel like sex in his beastform is something Tamlin is fan of.

Or at least, he'll shift part of himself to his beast form.

The interesting thing with Tamlin is he can shift his cock to whatever you'd desire. Fire drake, tentacle, normal but enhanced girth. Whatever you need to feel good, Tamlin will provide

He'd be down to shift his cock to every fantasy or based on your mood as well

What I'm getting at is sex with Tamlin is rarely not in some form of a beast form.

I am a firm believer in the form we've been told about not being Tam's true beastform, though.

I imagine sex with him in that form is delightfully dangerous for those of you who want to live on the edge.

Neck held between his teeth, plants holding you exactly where his beast wants you. I don't see Tamlin's beast being gentle in any way, shape, or form.

I firmly believe Tamlin isn't really all that into the idea of kids at the moment, and I think due to how often Tamlin shifts, he has control over that side of him and it's aware. So. No breeding kink here.

I almost went with Tarquin's beast form being a kraken. I landed on a leviathan instead. This was a missed tentacle opportunity. Sorry.

Tarquin

I couldn't help but to think "coral" with the texture of this, and that made me go "Tarquin"

I imagine Tarquin as a gentle and giving lover, regardless of form.

You'll still get primal play, but imagine deep growls of satisfaction versus dominance.

Tarquin is going to leave you covered in love marks and reminders when he is in this form.

Tarquin is all about breeding. His beast is going to pump you full and keep you full until it decides otherwise

Yea, I gave him a slightly scary one.

Helion

It's because I feel like Helion would find the idea of knotting delicious, but more easing into it instead hurting you.

Helion in his fae form is adventurous, but I think his beast is more straight to it. Hard, rough, and demanding.

The male knocked up Lady Autumn on accident. You'll be on purpose. He's knotting you and forcing you to lay there, exhausted, overstimulated, and whimpering until his knot deflates.

He will shift back after that and give you the best aftercare.

Helion has bit your neck and forever marked you as his. When his beast sees that mark, it's almost as if he purrs while he's affectionately licking what is his

I feel like Beron in his fae and beast form is a flip of a coin. If you're obedient and submissive, he's a generous lover. If you're not, well, expect to just be his playtoy.

Beron

Which, don't get me wrong, if you're into used and abused, let me introduce you to the High Lord of Autumn

Beron's beast form is straight up feral. Snarling, growling, biting, scratching. I'd recommend visiting a healer for a good healing Potion.

Beron clearly has a breeding kink. His beast form is no exception.

You need to be prepared to spend hours cockwarming his beast because he's not going to let you move for a while. That seed is too precious to waste.

His beast form cock is intimidating. Mainly due to the head.

Lots of prep going into him taking you like this. He may be cruel, but he has no interest in damaging his favorite part of you.

I'll be honest, I don't see Thesan as the type to enjoy monsterfucking.

Thesan

I see Thesan as a sweet bottom starfish who just wants to relax and have someone else do the work.

You can ride, maybe? How ambitious are you? Very? That's good. This dick tapers

You think it will be easy the first time since the tip and top of his shaft are slimmer. Hit the middle and get back to me

I loved the idea of his cock having bumps along the sides. Extra stimulation for you, and in my mind, extra sensitive for him.

I don't even really see Thesan as a power bottom. People normally like the opposite roles they present to the public during sex. I feel Thesan, even in his beast form, feels that way as well.

He's more than happy to lie back, watching you please yourself using him, watching you take things your pace.

Don't sleep on this male. I keep tell you all.

Kallias

Knotting. Knotting. Knitting.

All the time. Expect it when you are enjoying his beast.

He got Viv pregnant fast for a reason, so I hope you like Littles.

I wanted something smooth for Kal with the logic that their beast forms are supposed to be the physical representations of their powers. Smooth and cool like ice is what I was picturing, and this fit the bill

Still slightly ridged for your pleasure, but mostly a smooth ride to absolute bliss.

I imagine Kal can play with his body temperature. Making this colder at will for some interesting temperature play

I do see him as valuing intimacy and romance more than pleasure. With who he is at his core, I imagine his beast is about foreplay and aftercare.

There's a misconception that gentle sex is boring (thanks porn) and Kal is proof that is wrong. Very very wrong.

Yes, he will growl, bite you if asked, and run his claws down your back, but those harsher touches are followed by his snoot buried in your neck and hair, his tongue flicking a sensitive area of your choice, and purring. Comforting purring.

Kal's slow when he has you take his knot. He works it in inch by tantalizing inch until you are drooling below him.

That's his favorite sight in the world. You in a state of total Euphoria.

Tag List not attached to respect that this isn't everyone's cup of tea 💕

[lainalit]

Made a (vibe based) height chart for the seven High Lords since I never saw one for them

[dawneternal]

What I think the acotar characters smell like

Emerie - woodsmoke, herbal tea

Gwyn - honeysuckle, warm rain

Clotho - sweet mint, parchment

Tarquin - sea salt, lime, coconut

Eris - brown sugar, whiskey, smoke

Helion - vetiver, saffron, magnolia

Thesan - apricot, sage

Kallias - vanilla, cedar, snowdrop

Vivianne - violets, sugar plum, fresh snow

Tamlin - moss, lily of the valley, blackberry

Lucien - Leather, bergamot

Lady of Autumn - clementine, clove, amber

Beron - tobacco, cider, oak

Nuala and Cerridwen - moonflower, peach, sandalwood

Rhysand's mom - cardamom, moonflower

[sapchat]

Ways to add simple little details to Prythian in your stories!

For the Autumn Court this one is basic and many people use it: Males gift their fiancées, wives, mates fox kits as a symbol of their love and good luck with the relationship. To make it sadder, Beron never did this for Lady A, so when Eris found out about this tradition he got his mom one!

For the Dawn Court: Like how the night court Illyrians put the women down, what if the Dawn Court was the opposite and the Peregryn females would put the males down. In the real world male birds are held to a high standard for breeding, I feel like Peregryn instincts would cause this and it just gives more to a story than the females constantly being the abused. Also they’re stomach/side sleepers. I talk more about this below with the night court just to not repeat myself.

Day Court is full of bastards. You can NOT convince me that it isn’t. Helion is laying the fucking pipe like he’s discovered oil. And the reason I feel this is because of @florencemtrash ‘s story “The Shadow and the Inkbird” (also it’s really good go read it if you haven’t) where the MFC is Helions bastard, and meets Lucien and instantly realizes that they’re halfsiblings. And I was like ya know the Day Court is probably like Game of Thrones Dorne. Dorne is know for their bastards almost every persons name in that city is ‘Sand’ because they’re all bastards basically. So I just KNOW that Helion probably has other kids than just Lucien. And everyone in that court is fucking.

Summer Court has mermaids. It’s basic, it’s simple and it’s true. There’s mermaids.

Night Court, listen we already now a lot about the Nigh Court but this pertains to Illyrian’s so I feel it’s different. They’re stomach/side sleepers. They are. You can’t tell me that two massive wing sticking out of your back would allow you to lay on your back. It can’t be comfortable. Like have you ever tried sleeping with like a ponytail/claw clip in? It ain’t nice. Now imagine it with two that sit right beside your shoulder blades and the clips are like 3ft long? Idk how long the base would be but like probably pretty fucking long to allow actual flight capabilities. Also when they sleep on their side they just have their wings straight out, now like laying on one and the other out. They’ve got big ass beds for a reason spread out. (Cassian fully takes up a bed like star fish style just on his stomach. Nesta is sick of it.)

Spring Court, during the Spring Equinox the High Lord chooses someone to dress up and hand out spring gifts to family’s (usually kids). When Tamlin became High Lord he appointed himself to do so. During this time Tamlin also gives many of the less fortunate families something they can later use for the Tithe.

Winter Court puts on a celebration for the children called Three Kings Day. Family’s with children are welcomed to the castle(? Do they have castles…?) and the bakers leave a cake outside the doors of the family, inside the cakes (this is a real thing from Puerto Rico/France/Spain too btw, the cake is called la galette des rois (Kings Cake)) are toys/coins. Whichever children find them get to wear a crown for the day and called Kings/Queens (Kallias started the tradition that all kids get to do this, he’s a softy).

[achaotichuman]

Tamlin- “Ooooh look a worm!”

Tarquin- “Get that thing the fuck away from me, its creepy.”

Tamlin- *…*

Tamlin- *Picks up worm*

Tarquin- “Tamlin..”

Tamlin- *Turns to Tarquin.*

Tarquin- “Tamlin please.”

*Later*

Lucien- *…*

Lucien- “TAMLIN”

Lucien- “WHY HAS TARQUIN SENT US BLOOD RUBIES”

[ominisgoldie]

Loving them is like...

Loving Cass is fun. Loving Cass is two am runs for fast food. Loving Cass is jumping into a lake. Loving Cass is wrestling with a friend. Loving Cass is kisses sticky with sugar. Loving Cass is summer. Loving Cass is blood dripping down your sink. Loving Cass is holding him back from fights. Loving Cass is coming second to the training ring. Loving Cass is lukewarm water

Loving Az is cold. Loving az is snowball fights. Loving az is motorcycle rides at night. Loving az is blue light through your curtains in the middle of the Night. Loving az is sex without morals. Loving az is bloody knuckles with hidden secrets. Loving az is the blood on his blade. Loving az is a glass of whiskey on a tired night.

Loving Rhys is exhilarating. Loving Rhys is twists and turns. Loving Rhys is a bouquet of roses. Loving Rhys is finding the darkness blinking back. Loving Rhys is hating yourself, just a little. Loving Rhys is obsidian in your palm, beautiful but sharp enough to cut to the bone. Loving Rhys is the snow under your heels in the city. Loving Rhys is crying, the moon your only witness.

Loving Mor is beautiful. Loving mor is secrets whispered under summer stars. Loving mor is red lipstick on your collar. Loving Mor is the sound of moans mixed with soft music. Loving Mor is finding out that twisted words are not lies. Loving mor is crying in the bathroom, clutching the last bottle of perfume. Loving mor is the first kiss in a romance novel.

Loving Amren is grey. Loving Amren is stormclouds on the horizon. So beautiful, but so ominous. Loving Amren is careful smiles over red wine. Loving Amren is kisses coated in blood. Loving Amren is pearls against a pale throat. Loving Amren is the thrill after a gun goes off. Loving Amren is never quite enough.

Loving Feyre is relaxing. Loving Feyre is not wanting to get out of Bed on a Sunday morning. Loving Feyre is painting together on your porch. Loving Feyre is never having control. Loving Feyre is holding hands with a cloud.

Loving Nesta is intense. Loving Nesta is Sharp black. Loving Nesta is the feeling of riding in a car going so fast you aren't sure it's moving. Loving Nesta is long hair and sharp tongues. Loving Nesta is reaching for something that will self destruct again and again and again. Loving Nesta is crisp nights on the cusp of Autumn and Winter.

Loving Elain is spiraling. Loving Elain is looking over a cliff and falling into the river. Loving Elain is flower gardens that turn out to be Graves. Loving Elain is Burgundy. Loving Elain is calling to the forest, hearing a disembodied voice respond. Loving Elain is knowing you only have a few years to love. Loving Elain is like reaching into wool to find wolf teeth.

Loving Lucien is adventure. Loving Lucien is world maps and suitcases. Loving Lucien is knowing multiple languages. Loving Lucien is warm summer afternoons. Loving Lucien is lovemaking in a field. Loving Lucien is loud laughs over whiskey. Loving Lucien is watching from afar. Loving Lucien is basking in the sun's light, dreading when it shifts.

Loving Tarquin is gentle. Loving Tarquin is the gentle waves lapping on your ankles. Loving Tarquin is watching a bird fly away. Loving Tarquin is kisses under boardwalks. Loving Tarquin is loving the gentle sea, refusing to think of its violent nature. Loving Tarquin is not realizing you are drowning until your lungs begin to hurt

Loving Eris is rough. Loving Eris is getting too close to the fire, but relishing in your burn. Loving Eris is gold on red. Loving Eris is wicked smiles and dry mouths. Loving Eris is fucking in an old Cathedral. Loving Eris is bloodred lipstick smeared over collars. Loving Eris is never going home. Loving Eris is a hard wall to fall back on. Loving Eris is power being hand fed to you.

Loving Jurian is impulsive. Loving Jurian is jumping over walls and climbing trees. Loving Jurian is blades pressed against throats, laughter nicking the skin. Loving Jurian is armor so heavy you almost can't feel eyes burning into you. Loving Jurian is being so good at acting, because neither of you can tell when the other is genuine. Loving Jurian is something you tell yourself is a dream.

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

ACOTAR Dads & Uncles

Here are some head canons about our favorite ACOTAR males and how they handle little ones, whether that be their own children, or the children of those they know.

Included are Rhysand, Cassian, Azriel, Eris, Lucien, Tamlin & Tarquin.

Rhysand

Everyone knows that Rhysand is the ultimate protector of his family, but fatherhood took that instinct and turned it up to an eleven

The day Nyx came into the world, Rhys became a male on a mission.

The house was a maze of enchanted barriers and warding spells. Feyre thought he was going overboard when he covered every sharp edge in thick padding and rearranged all the furniture to create wide, baby-safe paths.

When he started eyeing Cassian and Azriel's wings with a calculating look, mumbling about how "a bit of padding couldn't hurt--just on the tips," Feyre had to draw a hard line.

Anyone who stepped foot near Nyx's nursery was met with Rhys's outstretched hand and a pointed look toward the nearest washbasin.

He's wait until he heard the water run twice before letting them get close. Rhys didn't care if it was Amren or his own mother reincarnated--no one got a pass.

He would hovers nearby, just out of sight, listening for every coo, every tiny sound his son made.

When Nyx got his first sniffle, Rhys had been inconsolable, pacing back and forth with Nyx bundled in his arms.

"I should have been more careful!" He would murmur.

Feyre had to wrap both of them in her arms and assure him that babes catch colds. It's natural.

He only half believed her, but when Nyx finally felt better, he promised himself it wouldn't happen again.

The first time Nyx fell and scraped his knee while crawling, Rhys was at his side, his power flaring in the room as if there had been a coordinated attack.

He picked up Nyx and cradled him, brushing his fingers through his soft hair, whispering soothing words as his own eyes grew wet.

Feyre had told him it was just a scratch, hiding her smile behind her hand as she watched her mate try and fail to keep from crying harder than the babe.

"But it's his first scratch," he had insisted.

Oh the bragging.

Even before Nyx could babble, Rhysand was already speaking of his son like he was a prodigy.

At meetings of the High Lords, it was an unspoken rule that the first thirty minutes of each meeting would be dedicated to hearing all about Nyx's latest accomplishments.

Rhys would lean back in his chair, a proud smile on his face, recounting every new expression and sound his son had made.

If he could, he would even bring Nyx along - wrapped tightly against his chest - he would stride into the meeting, practically glowing.

"It's never to early to learn diplomacy," he would joke. It was particularly hard to take him seriously in meetings where they were discussing battle strategies when Rhys spent most of the time staring down at Nyx or Nyx screeched over someone else.

Around others, Rhysand remained the poised, elegant High Lord of the Night Court. But alone with his son, he became an entirely different male.

His voice rises to a singsong, soft and silly, wiggling his fingers, making the most ridiculous faces and blowing raspberries onto any exposed skin.

"Who's the best little High Lord-in-training?" he relentlessly coos.

Cassian

The first time Cassian holds Nyx, he's terrified.

He cradles the newborn like he's handling glass, his massive hands trembling slightly as he looks to Rhys and Feyre for reassurance.

"Am I doing this right? Is he breathing okay?" he asks in a panic.

Feyre would gently guide his arms until Nyx was nestled comfortably.

Cassian's relief to not have to hold the baby anymore was almost laughable -but there is so much awe in his eyes as he looks down at the tiny bundle, it almost breaks your heart.

It's a side of him that no one has seen before.

For weeks, he's too afraid to hold Nyx for more than a few minutes at a time.

After a while, however, he finds his confidence, and it becomes his personal mission to never hold a baby "appropriately" again.

He'll tuck Nyx under one arm like a football and stride around, much to Rhys's horror. Or, once Nyx gets older, he'll balance him on a broad shoulder, walking in circles around the House of Wind while Nyx squeals in delight.

"What? He likes it!" Cassian protests when Nesta scolds him.

When he finally has his own baby, he doubles down on the unorthodox holding techniques. He becomes known for carrying his own daughter (once she's old enough) upside down.

He also prefers to carry his baby in his shirt, with their small face peaking out over the collar.

Cassian's biggest goal, whether with Nyx or his own children, is to be the funniest fae in their life.

He makes the most ridiculous faces, sticking out his tongue, crossing his eyes, and puffing out his cheeks until babes are shrieking with laughter.

He invents silly games like "flying lessons" where he gently swoops them around the room, or folding his wings in tightly and trying to get little ones to get him to open them.

Whenever he's babysitting Nyx, he's caught by Feyre or Rhys mid-performance, singing made-up songs that sound more like battle chants about changing diapers or finding lost pacifiers.

Both Nyx and Cassian's own babies quickly discover that he's basically a living furnace, and it doesn't take long for them to decide that he is the perfect nap spot.

He'll settle onto the couch or stretch out in front of the hearth, babe sprawled on his chest, their tiny fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

He'll stay like that for hours, a hand resting on their back, refusing to move when his legs cramp.

"It's fine," he'll say, whispering. "I'm not going anywhere."

He loves feeling the gentle rise and fall of their breathing, knowing they feel completely safe.

Cassian has always been fiercely protective, but that instinct only intensifies when he becomes an uncle and later a father.

With Nyx, he’s constantly standing guard, even if it’s just while the little one naps in the living room.

He has a sixth sense for when Nyx is about to cry, swooping in with a toy or a funny face before the tears can start.

When it comes to his own child, he takes things even further. He insists on accompanying them to their first healer’s visit, his arms crossed and wings flaring if the healer so much as makes his baby frown.

“They need to know I’m watching,” he’d mutter to Nesta, who rolls her eyes but secretly finds his intensity endearing.

Cassian might be a tough Illyrian warrior, but he has a major weakness: baby laughter.

The sound of it turns him into a mushy mess, and he will do absolutely anything to hear it.

With Nyx, he’s constantly inventing new ways to coax out those precious giggles, like flapping his wings dramatically or pretending to trip over his own feet in front of the baby.

When he becomes a dad, he finds that he loves making his own child laugh even more.

He’ll crawl around the floor pretending to be a “wild Illyrian beast,” growling playfully as he lets his little one “capture” him.

The louder the laughter, the prouder he feels.

Nesta often finds them in fits of laughter together, Cassian’s face covered in spit-up or drool, but he doesn’t care at all.

He’s always trying to teach the babies to say “Uncle Cass” or “Dad” before anyone else’s name—much to Rhys’s and Nesta’s annoyance.

He’ll hold up their little hands, moving them like they’re giving a fist bump, saying, “Come on, let’s show ‘em who’s coolest!”

He even tries to teach Nyx and his child how to “fly” by holding them in the air, whispering to them about the skies above the Illyrian mountains.

He’s always caught whispering promises into their ears, like, “One day, I’ll teach you to fly for real, little one.”

Azriel

From the moment Nyx is born, Azriel quietly takes on the role as the protector.

While everyone else fusses over the babe, he's lurking nearby.

At first, he's hesitant to hold Nyx, afraid that his scarred hands and shadowy presence might be too much for the delicate skin of the newborn.

Feyre places the baby in his arms one quiet night when it's just the three of them, and Azriel freezes.

Nyx is tiny and warm against his chest, and for a moment Azriel stops breathing.

Nyx looks up at him with sleepy, curious eyes, and Azriel's heart softens in a way he never thought possible.

Azriel is the go-to for sleep regression given his own insomnia.

When Nyx wakes up in the middle of the night, it's often Azreil who slips into the nursery, lifting the babe into his arms, rocking him gently and whispering stories in his low, soothing voice.

He tells Nyx tales of faraway lands, hidden valleys, and ancient heroes and his shadows dance across the walls, forming little figures to keep the babe entertained until he goes back to sleep.

When he has his own baby, Azriel falls into the same habit - found sitting by the window, his baby cradled in his arms, gazing out at the night sky as he murmurs about constellations

He likes to think that these quiet nights are their little secret, just him, his baby, and the night.

When Azriel has a babe of his own, he spends hours perfecting new shadow creatures -- tiny wyverns that curl up and "breathe" little plumes of darkness, or shadowy butterflies that flutter around the crib.

Despite his skill with shadows and natural gentleness, Azriel is surprisingly awkward when it comes to certain aspects of fatherhood.

The first time he tries to change a diaper, he stares at it like a puzzle.

He follows Nesta or Feyre's instructions entirely, determined to get it right, but his hands are so careful, so precise, that he's barely halfway done before the babe wriggles out of the diaper.

When he finally manages it, he sighs and smiles down at the babe, "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

As the kids get older, Uncle Azriel takes on the role as the patient teacher.

He takes Nyx and his own children for gentle "flying lessons" which come with a lot less frustration than when Cassian teaches them or guides their small hands to throw punches.

He's incredibly careful, making sure lessons are safe, but also fun, and he can't help the quiet joy he feels when they take to the air for the first time or a little hop when they throw a surprisingly strong punch.

When it comes to bedtime, Azriel is always the one the kids beg for stories from.

His own little ones love curling up in his lap while tells them stories of enchanted forests, magical creatures, and hidden lakes.

They fall asleep him his arms, heads resting on his chest, while Azriel continues on until he's sure they're asleep.

He's the kind of father who watches from the sidelines, keeping a silent eye on their little one for their first steps.

He knows to never tell them to "be careful" to not teach them to fear the world.

He lets them explore and take risks, but the second they fall too hard, he's there, gathering them up into his arms with a quiet, "You're alright, little shadow."

The first time his little one gets a scrap, Azriel's heart nearly stops.

He carefully tends to their bloody knee, his hands steady but face drawn with worry, murmuring reassurances of their bravery.

He carries them home in his arms, wings wrapped protectively around them, as if he could shield them from every dangers in the world.

One of his favorite tricks to get Nyx to laugh is when he touches his nose, Azriel gasps and whispers dramatically, "How did you know my secret weakness?"

Eris

Eris never thought he would be the fatherly type, and when his child is born, he finds himself overwhelmed by a swirl of unfamiliar emotions.

He initially is distance, convinced he's too hardened and sharp-edged for such a delicate little being.

He holds his newborn like they're made of porcelain.

But the moment those tiny fingers curl around his thumb, everything shifts.

He would do anything - burn anything - to keep them safe.

Eris is meticulous when it comes to the comfort of his children.

Their nursery is decorated as perfectly as he can make it, particularly about the soft autumn-hued fabrics draping the crib.

He's the type to pace the halls of the Autumn Manor with the babe bundled in his arms, using his powers of fire to keep them just warm enough, adjusting the temperature until it's perfect.

When he lays them down to sleep, he'll smooth the blankets over them with a gentleness that surprises even him, his precise hands lingering a moment longer to make sure they're truly safe.

Despite his cold demeanor, Eris quickly finds a soft spot for holding his child close.

He's surprisingly good at soothing their cries, rocking back and forth into the early hours of the morning.

He paces pack and and forth in his study, the babe nestled against his chest, his steps slow and even as he murmurs about the ancient trees of the Autumn court.

His child's small breaths against his collarbone are a comfort he never knew he needed, a reminder that not everything in his world has to have a sharp edge.

As his child grows, Eris takes on the role of storyteller, sharing tales of the Autumn Court and its beauty.

He doesn't sugarcoat dangers, but he talks about the world in a way that makes his children's eyes widen with awe rather than fear.

He paints a picture of a world where fire and foliage blend into one, where foxes dart through shadows and ancient magic hums beneath the forest floor.

Eris is determined to pass on a sense of elegance and poise to his child, even if they're only a toddle.

He dresses them in miniature versions of his own tailored coats, rich in autumnal reds and oranges, and delights in showing them off when they toddle through the manor.

He's patient as they stumble through their first steps, guiding tiny hands with pride he doesn't bother to hide.

He teaches them to bow with a flourish that makes him laugh, even if they're far too small to get it right.

"Style is everything, little fox," he'll say with a smile while ruffling their wild hair.

He invents little games, like hide-and-seek among towering stages of books in his study, letting out exaggerated gasps when the "find" him behind a chair.

Sometimes he pretends to be a fox himself, crawling on all fours and playfully nipping at them.

If anyone else saw him like this, he'd immediately retreat into his usual cool demeanor, but with his children's laughter ringing through the halls, he finds himself not caring as much as he used to.

Eris isn't one to gush, but he shows his love through quiet gestures.

He leaves small, enchanted trinkets for his child to find - a tiny firefly made out of flame that hovers around their crib, or a leaf that glows like embers when they touch it.

He'll tuck a blanket tighter around them when they fall asleep in his arms, pressing a barely-there kiss to their forehead before slipping out.

He keeps a close eye on them whenever they play in the gardens, his gaze flicking to them every few minutes, ready to step in if needed.

He doesn't hover - he's far too subtle for that - but his presence is always there.

When courtiers dare make snide remarks about how he has softened as a father or suggest he's too indulgent with his child, he simply smiles, the fire in his eyes saying more than any words could.

"My child will never know the fear that I did," he says quietly to those who push too far.

He would burn entire forests to the ground if it meant keeping his family safe.

Though he never says it, Eris worries constantly about his child's future in the Autumn Court.

He fears one day that they'll see the shadows lurking behind the grandeur, the same shadows that shaped him.

He does everything he can to show them the beauty of the world first.

He takes them on long walks through the autumn woods, carrying them on his shoulders as he points out ancient trees and hidden streams.

He talks of a future where they might one day rule with kindness instead of fear, but it's a dream he keeps close to his chest, only revealing it in those quiet moments when they're alone under the red and gold canopy of leaves.

At the end of each day, Eris is always there to tuck his little ones into bed, not matter how many duties have filled his hours.

He lingers by their bedside, brushing stray hair from their face as he watches their breathing slow.

He’ll conjure a tiny firefly of light that hovers above their bed, casting a gentle glow, and he’ll murmur a quiet blessing in the old language, the words carrying warmth and protection.

He stays until their little fist unclenches from the fabric of his sleeve, and only then does he slip away, leaving the door open just a crack so he can hear their breaths through the night.

Lucien

Lucien never thought he’d be a father, but the day he holds his child for the first time, he feels something crack open inside him—a space he didn’t realize had been waiting to be filled.

His voice is soft, almost reverent, as he gazes down at the tiny bundle cradled in his arms, a rare hint of vulnerability in his usually confident eyes. “Hey, little one,” he murmurs, and his heart lurches when a tiny hand curls around his finger.

He doesn’t let go for a long time, marveling at how something so small could completely change his world.

Lucien’s favorite way to bond with his child is to take them out into the woods, cradling them close as he wanders through the sun-dappled forest paths.

He points out every little detail, from the way the leaves shift in the breeze to the shape of animal tracks on the ground.

As they get older, he’ll carry them on his shoulders, letting them tug at his long hair as he shows them secret clearings and hidden streams.

He tells them stories about the creatures that live in the woods—both real and mythical—and he likes to believe that with every step, he’s helping them fall in love with the natural world as much as he has.

Lucien has a way with babies that surprises even him.

It starts with his own child, whom he manages to soothe almost effortlessly.

When they cry, he instinctively picks them up, rocking them back and forth while humming old tunes from the Autumn Court that he learned from watching Eris with his own children.

Soon enough, the Inner Circle and his own brother starts jokingly calling him the “baby whisperer,” since he always manages to settle down even the fussiest little ones.

Despite his easygoing nature, Lucien’s protectiveness over his child runs deep.

He’s always hyper-aware of their surroundings, scanning the forest or the streets of the Day Court for anything that might pose a threat.

When they scrape their knee while playing, he’s instantly at their side, murmuring, “You’re as tough as they come, just like your mama and dad.”

Lucien is determined to raise his child to be kind and empathetic, so he leads by example. He teaches them how to care for the smallest creatures they find on their woodland adventures, like a baby bird that’s fallen from its nest or a fox cub separated from its den.

He’ll kneel down beside his child, showing them how to gently guide the animal back to safety. “We take care of the world, and it takes care of us,” he says softly, a lesson he wishes he’d learned sooner in his own life.

Lucien isn’t afraid to be openly affectionate with his child.

He’s always scooping them up into bear hugs, pressing kisses to the top of their head, and ruffling their hair.

He’ll carry them on his back and run through the woods, pretending they’re riding on a wild beast, much to their squealing delight.

When they start to get sleepy, he’ll tuck them into his side, wrapping them in his cloak as they sit together by a campfire, watching the stars flicker through the treetops.

Despite his easygoing demeanor, Lucien sometimes struggles with doubts about whether he’s a good father.

He worries that his own fractured past might somehow cast a shadow over his child’s future.

On sleepless nights, he’ll stand by their crib, watching them breathe and wondering if he’s doing enough to keep them safe from the dangers of the world. “I promise, I’ll give you a better life than I had,” he’ll whisper, smoothing a curl of hair away from their forehead.

When his child wakes up and smiles at him with unfiltered joy, he feels a flicker of reassurance—like maybe, just maybe, he’s doing something right.

Lucien wants his child to see the world as a place of endless wonder.

He’ll sit them down beside him as he watches the sunrise over the mountains of the Day Court, holding them close as the first rays of gold light wash over them.

He’ll point out the way the shadows shift as the sun climbs higher, whispering, “Look, the world’s waking up.”

When his child starts to understand, they’ll reach up to touch his scarred face, tracing the path of light across his eye, and Lucien feels a warmth in his chest that nothing else can match.

Above all, Lucien’s loyalty to his child is unbreakable.

He’s determined that they’ll never feel unwanted or unprotected the way he once did.

He tells them every day, “You’ll always have a place with me, no matter what,” his voice steady with the weight of that promise.

Even when they throw their worst tantrums or make a mess of his papers, he simply ruffles their hair and grins, saying, “You’ve got a spirit like wildfire. And that’s something worth protecting.”

Tamlin

Tamlin is terrified when his child is born.

For all the power he possesses as High Lord, holding something so small and fragile makes his hands shake.

Despite his awkwardness, he’s committed to learning, determined not to let his uncertainty stand in the way of being a good father.

He spends hours reading through ancient scrolls and asking the court’s healers for advice, anything that might help him understand how to care for a newborn.

He practices cradling them gently, murmuring words of comfort even when his voice comes out unsure. It’s a clumsy start, but his heart is in it, and the first time his child smiles at him, something in him starts to melt.

The Spring Court has always been a place of wild, vibrant beauty, and Tamlin takes pride in sharing that with his child.

From the earliest days, he takes them out into the gardens, wrapped snugly in soft blankets.

He shows them the blossoming flowers, the streams that weave through the estate, and the animals that roam the grounds.

As they grow, he lets them toddle through the grass, pointing out each new bloom and teaching them the names of plants, a quiet pride in his voice as he shares the secrets of his lands.

He shows them how to gently touch the petals of a daisy or listen to the hum of bees gathering nectar.

“This is our home,” he whispers, as they look up at him with wide eyes. “And I’ll make sure it’s beautiful for you.”

Tamlin’s protectiveness over his child is fierce and unyielding.

He knows all too well the dangers that lurk beyond the borders of the Spring Court, and he’s determined that those threats will never touch his child.

He layers their nursery with enchantments and wards, barriers that would keep out even the most persistent of threats.

But it’s not just about magic; Tamlin is always nearby, watching over them with his keen senses, ready to intervene at a moment’s notice.

When they fall and scrape their knee for the first time, his heart stops, and he rushes to their side, his expression a mix of relief and worry.

“You’re safe,” he murmurs, over and over again, pressing a kiss to their forehead as if trying to convince himself as much as them.

Tamlin has spent so long shrouded in sadness and anger that he’s almost forgotten what it’s like to laugh.

His child’s joy is infectious, and soon, he finds himself letting his guard down around them in ways he never imagined he could.

He chases them through the garden, letting them clamber onto his back as he pretends to be a wild beast, growling playfully.

Their laughter is a balm to his soul, and he treasures these moments more than he ever thought he would.

The first time he hears them call him “Papa,” he feels a lump in his throat and has to look away to hide the tears that well up in his eyes.

Tamlin has always had a love for music, though it’s a passion that’s grown quiet over the years. But when it comes to bedtime, he finds himself singing again, his deep voice carrying old Spring Court lullabies that his mother once sang to him.

He’ll sit by the window, his child tucked against his chest, singing softly as he watches the moon rise over the forest. The songs are gentle, filled with the magic of the earth and the stories of ancient creatures.

His child’s eyelids grow heavy, lulled by the warmth of his voice, and Tamlin feels a sense of peace settle over him that he hasn’t known in years.

Tamlin’s connection to nature becomes a way to bond with his child.

He teaches them to respect the animals of the Spring Court, showing them how to feed the deer that wander through the gardens or gently pet the soft fur of a fox cub.

He’ll hold their tiny hand as they release a butterfly back into the air, watching with a proud smile as their face lights up with wonder.

He wants his child to understand that their home is more than just a court—it’s a living, breathing place, one that needs to be cherished.

Tamlin carries a lot of guilt from his past, and becoming a father only makes those feelings more complicated.

He’s haunted by the mistakes he’s made, the lives lost under his leadership, and he worries that he’s not good enough for his child.

He often stands by their crib late at night, watching them sleep, his mind swirling with doubts. “You deserve better than me,” he whispers into the darkness, his voice barely a breath.

But when his child wakes and reaches out for him, clutching his finger with a sleepy smile, Tamlin feels a flicker of hope, as if maybe he still has a chance to make things right.

Tamlin isn’t always great with words, but he shows his love through small, thoughtful acts.

He’ll carve little wooden animals and leave them by his child’s bedside, each one carefully shaped to resemble the creatures of the Spring Court.

He’ll braid flowers into their hair or weave a crown of ivy for them to wear during their adventures through the garden.

On warm afternoons, he’ll take them down to the riverbank, showing them how to skip stones across the water, even if their tiny hands only manage to make a few splashes.

Slowly, as the years go by, Tamlin finds that his child’s presence has brought a bit of warmth back into his life.

He begins to smile more often, his laughter echoing through the halls of his estate. He finds himself hopeful for the first time in a long time, dreaming of a future where his child can grow up in a world free of war and bitterness.

He plants new flowers around the estate, hoping that one day his child will run through the fields of wildflowers with a carefree spirit.

Above all, Tamlin’s love for his child is like the Spring Court itself—wild, fierce, and enduring.

He would go to any length to protect them, standing between them and any danger that might come their way.

As much as he’s determined to keep them safe, he’s also learning to let them grow, to let them explore the world at their own pace, even if it means letting them wander a bit further into the woods each day.

He’s far from perfect, but he’s willing to try, and for his child, he’ll keep trying for as long as it takes. Because to Tamlin, his child represents a new beginning, a second chance to build a life worth living—not just for himself, but for the one he loves most.

Tarquin

When Tarquin first holds his newborn child, his heart swells with a joy that he didn’t know he could feel so deeply. He cradles them in his arms, looking down at their tiny face, and he can’t help but smile, a soft, awed expression taking over his usually calm demeanor.

He strokes a finger along their cheek, marveling at how small they are, and whispers, “You’re the most precious treasure the sea has ever given me.”

It becomes a sort of ritual for him, holding them close each night before bed, breathing in the sweet scent of their hair as if to remind himself that this isn’t just a dream.

Tarquin’s child is never far from the water, just like their father.

From the moment they’re old enough to toddle, he takes them down to the beaches of the Summer Court, their small hand held securely in his as they dip their toes into the warm, gentle waves.

He shows them how to find seashells along the shore, turning over rocks to reveal the tiny crabs and starfish hiding beneath.

As they grow older, he’ll teach them to swim in the clear blue waters, catching them in his arms whenever they dive in with a laugh that echoes across the beach.

The sea becomes their shared sanctuary, a place where they can be free and unburdened, where the worries of the court fade away with the tide.

Tarquin uses his magic to bring a bit of ocean wonder into his child’s life. He’ll create miniature whirlpools in their bath, making little water creatures dance in the currents, or conjure glowing fish to swim through the air at bedtime, casting soft blue light across the walls.

Sometimes, he’ll use his powers to shape the water into a gentle wave that rocks them to sleep, the motion like the gentle swaying of a ship.

Tarquin is fiercely protective of his child, but he has a calm, steady way of showing it. He makes sure the waters around their home are free of any danger, setting wards beneath the waves to keep away the creatures that lurk in the deep.

He also wants his child to understand that the sea, like life, is both beautiful and wild. He teaches them how to respect the ocean’s power, how to listen to the rhythm of the tides and understand the signs of a coming storm. “The sea can be our friend,” he tells them as they walk along the beach at sunset, “but only if we respect it.”

Bedtime is always a special time in Tarquin’s household, filled with stories of the ocean’s mysteries.

He’ll sit with his child on his lap, wrapped in a blanket, and tell them tales of underwater kingdoms, mythical sea creatures, and the great ships that have sailed through Summer Court waters over the centuries.

He paints pictures with his words of merfolk who sing to the moon, of hidden caves filled with pearls, and of daring adventures across the waves. His child listens with wide eyes, always begging for “just one more story,” and Tarquin is happy to oblige, his voice carrying the cadence of the waves as he speaks.

Tarquin is determined that his child will understand the importance of kindness and generosity, just as he strives to embody those qualities as High Lord.

He teaches his children to not view other children as lesser just because of their status. In fact, he encourages servants of the palace to bring their children to play with his own.

He’ll hold his child’s hand as they distribute baskets of fresh fruit to the workers in the fishing villages, explaining, “A good ruler is one who understands the citizen's needs.” He wants his child to see the beauty in giving back, and to grow up knowing that the strength of their court lies in the bonds between its citizens.

One of Tarquin’s favorite ways to unwind with his child is to dance with them under the stars, where the sea breeze whispers through the trees and the moonlight glistens on the waves. He’ll lift them in his arms and sway gently to the sound of the ocean, their laughter mixing with the soft rush of the surf.

As they grow older, he teaches them the traditional dances of the Summer Court, their small feet stepping clumsily alongside his at first, but growing more graceful with each passing season. “You’re a natural,” he’ll tell them with a proud smile, twirling them around until they both collapse onto the warm sand, breathless with laughter.

He brings them to the coral reefs where rainbow fish dart through the crystal-clear water, holding them up so they can look through the enchanted glass of the Summer Court’s underwater grottos.

He teaches them how to sail, guiding their hands on the ropes and showing them how to read the direction of the wind. When they stand on the deck of a ship together, feeling the wind in their hair and the salt on their lips, Tarquin can’t help but feel a surge of pride at the way his child’s face lights up with joy.

He makes a point of telling them every day how much he loves them, whether it’s during a quiet moment on the beach or when he’s tucking them into bed.

He believes in the power of words, and he wants them to know without a doubt that they are cherished. “You are my greatest treasure,” he tells them with a smile, ruffling their hair as they look up at him with adoring eyes.

And when they fall asleep in his arms, a sense of contentment settles over him like the gentle lull of the tide, reminding him that despite all the duties of being a High Lord, being a father is the role that brings him the greatest joy.

[shadowqueenjude]

I just thought of something super funny. What if the High Lords were low key cursed as a way to keep their power at least somewhat in check? Like Tamlin can shapeshift others but as a result he has no beast form. Beron can burn others with his magic but a man-made fire can kill him. Tarquin has his water magic, but he has to drink ample amounts of water or he’ll die. Kallias has his winter magic, and as a result is always cold and is prone to frostbite. Helion has a sun allergy. Thesan can heal others but not himself; no healing magic works on him. Rhysand has shadow magic but if he stays in the shadows too long he will melt into them. Idk I think it would he kind of funny if the High Lords were both super powerful and super vulnerable and this has kept the other High Lords from attacking one another.

[moviesismylife]

ACOTAR MEN

Their favorite body part✨

Includes:

Rhysand

Cassian

Azriel

Lucien

Eris

Helion

Tarquin

Note:

This idea just popped randomly into my head. But here’s what I think is the ACOTAR men’s fav body part with you x

Rhysand

THIGHS

This man is a thigh man. Believe me. I just know Rhys absolutely LOVES your thighs.

He loves them no matter how thick or skinny they are.

But if you do train a lot with him, and gain some muscle in your thighs - let me tell you this man goes feral. He just adores the sight of your juicy, muscular thighs. How they look in leathers. How they flex when you squat. Ugh.

He always has to have a hand on your thigh whenever your sitting down. Eating dinner. In Hewn city. At a restaurant. In bed cuddling. Wherever.

NSFW: Rhys loves to bury his head in between your thighs. And he loves the feeling of your thighs squeezing his head. Especially when you come. The way your thighs just completely tighten around him, forcing him to stay buried in your pussy longer. Oh cauldron - it’s his favorite thing in the world.

And he also loves the feeling of your thighs squeezing his waist when he fucks you.

Cassian

ASS ASS ASS

I feel like this is a given, and I feel like everyone in the fandom has agreed to this. But Cassian is the ass man.

The way his hands are always grabbing, squeezing or smacking your ass. Gurl he can’t keep his hands off you.

And for the girlies with a smaller bum (like me), honey he doesn’t care. He just wants to touch. No matter how much muscle or fat there is. Ass is ass. And Cassian worships ass.

I feel like if you’re training together Cassian would be the guy to tap your butt if you’re squatting as motivation. (Like if you’ve seen those videos on TikTok.)

NSFW: I am a firm believer that Cassian spanks your ass when fucking you. His hand imprint will be on your bare cheeks for days. And when he sees that it’s disappeared, he’ll bend you over his lap and do it all over again.

He also LOVES when you sit on his face. When he just gets to hold onto your ass cheeks while he completely eats you out. That’s how he wants to die. I swear. He wants you to suffocate him.

Azriel

TITS

I honestly think Azriel would be into boobs. No matter the size or shape. He just loves the sight and feel of them.

The way they look in the lingerie he buys you. The way the look in low cut dresses and shirts. The way the look in tight leathers. This man is acting like a damn beast.

Azriel always has to rest his head in between your tits when you’re cuddling. Like his head is just buried face down into your chest. As I said with Cassian - this man could die happily with his head buried in between your tits.

NSFW: I feel like Azriel would be into nipple play. Like either his shadows tease them or his hands. Or mouth. He loves seeing the way your nipples harden through your clothes whenever he’s teasing you in public. That way he knows he’s affecting you just as much as you affect him. This poor man needs the reassurance that you actually do want him. Gods I love him.

Lucien

TITS

Like Azriel, Lucien is a boobs guy. If he had to pick one single body part, it would be your tits. He also doesn’t really give a fuck about the size and shape of them - but he does prefer someone who isn’t afraid to show them. Like he loves that you wear low cut shirts and dresses and see through lingerie and bras. Anything you can think of that will reveal you boobs to him more.

I think that when you’re cuddling, Lucien would either have his head buried in your tits, or he would have his hands on them. Quite literally using them as his own personal stress balls. He would just slide his hand under your shirt, and grab a handful, beaming with male pride.

NSFW: When he fucks you, I think Lucien would prefer you riding him. That way he gets the perfect view of your stunning tits just jiggling up and down, while you bounce on his cock.

I think he also would like you to lean down in that same position - your hands on the headboard as he mouths and sucks at your tits, while bucking his hips up into you. Oh god this man is so underrated.

Eris

THIGHS

Eris loves your thighs. Like loves them. He loves how they make you more feminine. More attractive. They’re his holy grail.

He’ll always keep a hand on at least one of your thighs whenever he’s out. Or when you’re alone. Like Rhys, he just has to touch them at all times.

The size, shape, or amount of muscle on your thighs does NOT matter to him. As long as you allow him to have free rein whenever it comes to them - he’s absolutely fine.

NSFW: Again, like with Rhys - he loves to bury his head in between your legs. He loves to PRY your thighs open, so he can push his head in between and eat you out.

He’ll also pry them open to slide a hand in between. If he figures he wants to finger you instead. It doesn’t really matter, cause he’ll force them open anyway (with your consent of course).

Helion

ASS/THIGHS

Come on, we know Helion is down bad for everyone. I doubt he even actually has a favorite body part. But if I had to choose, I would definitely say ass or thighs.

I think like Cassian, he’s always going around smacking or grabbing your ass. Shamefully too, if I might add. You’d just be out and walking and he’d smack your ass in front of his entire court. This man, I swear.

He absolutely melts whenever you get ready, and you do a little spin to show him your outfit, because - yeah you guessed it - he gets a perfect shot of your ass.

NSFW: Its canon that Helion is a horny motherfucker. Always needing to fuck at all times. And when he’s got you right there - honey it’s five to six times a day at least.

Like Cassian, I think he absolutely revels in you sitting on his face. It’s his favorite hobby. He’d casually offer it, because he just needs to taste you. And he just needs your perfect ass and cunt on his face.

This man has the BEST head game EVER. Like the best. It wouldn’t even take him two minutes for you to squirt all over his face. And he’d smirk against your cunt too. That bastard.

Your thighs are just a bonus, because he gets to squeeze them and grip them as tightly as possible. Whether it is when he’s eating you out, or when he’s fucking you. And the fact that you let him bruise your thighs. That you like when he leaves purple and blue marks on your flesh- gods he feels like dying.

Tarquin

TITS

Tarquin is often seen as the innocent one. I feel like everyone thinks he’s just a sweet little angel. But girl- he goes feral for your tits. The sheer femininity of them sends him into a spiral.

He couldn’t care less if they’re watermelons or tennis balls, as long as you let him worship them, he’s perfectly happy.

Like Lucien and Azriel, he LOVES when you show them off. Any slight glimmer of them will make him bark like a dog. And of course he’ll buy you clothes and underwear that show them off EVEN MORE.

NSFW: Sucking on your tits? Uhm yes. That would definitely be THE one thing he’ll never get tired of. He’ll come into your chambers after a long day of being High Lord, and pout at you. And you KNOW what that look means immediately- what he’s asking for.

And who are you to refuse him?

The next three or four hours, you’ll sit in his lap while he mouths on your soft boobs. He’ll swirl his tongue around your peaked nipples, and often nibble at them too. And if that doesn’t make us all wet.

He could come just from sucking at your tits and listening to the feral moans you make. Gods that gets him rock hard in mere seconds.

And if you’re fucking? You best believe he’ll keep either his hands or mouth on them through the ENTIRE thing. Sometimes both. Usually both.

[acourtofmishapandmistakes]

Feyre, Rhys, Azriel and Amren have all been called to the Summer Court for an impromptu meeting to review territory negotiations. Cassian, was left behind in the Night Court.

Feyre and Rhys are strolling down the beach when they come across someone laying in the sand.

Rhys: Cassian? What are you doing here?

Cassian, wearing a Hawaiian shirt, sunglasses, and holding a margherita: My best.

[tilseptemberends]

The best thing about writing stories set in the Summer Court is that the characterization of everyone there is so bare bones that I can make shit up and no one can disprove it. Quick fire headcannons:

Varian steals Tarquin’s dessert regularly.

Cresseida like to read at the dinner table.

Tarquin knows each of the kitchen staff by name. Especially those not originally from the Summer Court because he wants them to feel welcome.

All three of them were partying menaces before Under the Mountain and it drove Nostrus a little crazy.

Cresseida had so much of a specific citrus liquor when she was young that she can't hear the name of it without risking losing her lunch.

Varian broke his arm once when he and Tarquin decided to jump between ships in the harbor while absolutely toasted on faerie wine. Tarquin dove in to help and somehow nearly drowned in the process

Tarquin has a tattoo over his heart that he has no recollection of getting but anytime his cousins see it at the beach they cannot stop laughing.

I'm wrong? Where? Do you have a passage in the book that disproves these? All we got for any of them is "Tarquin is progressive and kind" "Varian is into Amren" and "Cresseida is lonely so let Rhys flirt with her"

[readychilledwine]

✨️ACOTAR Thighs✨️

Just Liz giving you her silly thoughts on what her favorite ACOTAR male's thighs look like 💕

Warning - yummy thighs and men ahead.

A/N - The race/skintone of the picked thigh picture does not indicate anything other than the body type I picture when thinking of these characters. Please keep that in mind.

Rhys-

Thanks to @sarawritestories , these are Rhysand's thighs. She thought she was just sending me another attractive professional wrestler, nope. She found Rhysand's thighs. And look! He even has knee pads 💕 extra support and protection for our damaged shadow daddy.

Cassian-

You already know because I posted this already, but he is now Cassian, and those are most definitely Cassian's rideable thighs.

Azriel-

Azriel had slutty thigh muscles, but not as ripped as Cassian or Rhys. He's more trimmed down to maintain speed and stealth mode.

Helion-

These are the thighs of legend that your mother told you to stay away from. 🥴🥴🥴

(Ps - I do not watch rugby that often, I picked on vibes alone. Please don't laugh at me)

Tamlin-

Chest so hard you can Crack a nut on it, and yummy thighs to match

(Plus the birkenstocks scream Tamtam)

Lucien-

I still stand by this. All of it. Replace the blonde with ginger hair, make him a bit more tan, boom, Lucien's body.

@thelov3lybookworm will let me know if I'm close. He is her husband after all 💕

Eris-

Brock O'Hurn doesn't bless us with his legs very often, but when he does, it's delicious. That's how I imagine Eris's thighs are. A yummy surprise wrapped in fine fabrics

Tarquin-

It's only fitting to picture Tarquin with an Olympic swimmer's body

Jurian-

Jurian (when he isn't busy being an eyeball) totally has thickem thighs. It's all the work he does as a general coming through.

Kallias-

Kallias is slept on. He 100% has thighs and a dump truck to match. He'd have to in order to pull Viv. Think baseball guy legs 🫠

[breadnabutterfingers]

Witches in ACOTAR...

So, I'm super passionate about the idea of introducing the witches in ACOTAR, and before you say "yeah, but there are witches in TOG" and all, I haven't read TOG and not really planning to do it anytime soon and it doesn't mean they have to be the same. I wanted to develop my own story around a witch OFC and with that, I started drafting stuff to introduce my vision and give my future work a solid base. Don't know if it worked, but here's what I've written so far about the witches and how I see them fitting in the ACOTAR realities...

Witches reside in covens and practice their magic in the sacred isolation within their own kind.

The Coven name: Each coven is named after the court it resides in, tying their identity to the land they inhabit. For instance, the Summer Court Coven reflects the waters and tides of its domain, while the Night Court Coven draws power from the celestial energies of its skies. This naming tradition reinforces the deep connection between the covens and the courts, even if witches refuse to recognize the authority of the High Lords.

Hierarchy: Each coven is led by a Magister or Magistress, who acts as the head decision-maker and represents the coven in any political matters. Right below them is the Archmage, second in command, responsible for the day-to-day wellbeing of the coven, overseeing living conditions, and ensuring the safety of anyone under the coven’s protection.

The number of Archmages depends on the coven’s size—larger covens might have several, each managing a specific region or location. Within the covens, witches of different types bring their unique skills and magic to the table, working together to channel the power granted to them by the Mother.

Magic: Not every child is destined to inherit magic, as it is a gift granted by the land itself, not by blood. They are taught the craft—the rituals, the laws, the lore—but only when they come of age does the truth reveal itself: what magic, if any, they will carry within them. 

Procreation: Witches are free-spirited when it comes to pleasure, but strict rules govern the matter of procreation. 

1. Witches are forbidden from laying with Fae who don’t belong to their court or with lesser Fae. Such unions are considered a violation of coven laws.

2. If a witch chooses to conceive with a Fae, the act is seen as a ritual of creation where the male’s role is minimal. After taking his seed, the witch is bound by law to end his life. This ritual reflects the belief that the true power of life creation lies with the female. In their view, no male has the right to claim any part of that power. The witch carries the full weight of creation, and the act of conception is hers alone to control, with the male’s involvement seen as nothing more than a necessary, but fleeting, step.

3. The child conceived in this way is typically named after the father, though this is more of an honoring gesture than a recognition of equal contribution. It’s a way to acknowledge the brief role the male played in the creation of life, even though the witch carries the full weight of the process herself. The name serves as a token, a way of marking the connection without granting any real claim to the power of creation.

4. Warlocks are strictly prohibited from procreating, as the gift of life is reserved solely for witches. This rule underscores the covens’ matriarchal and, admittedly, sexist traditions.

5. If a witch sets her sights on a particular Fae and desires his seed, she is allowed to use spells—subtle or otherwise—to sway him into her embrace. This practice is seen as a natural extension of their craft, especially given their frequent use of Sex Magic.

The Coven system: Prythian once held seven covens, each unique in its magic and traditions, but the aftermath of the War left their legacy fractured and bleeding. Hybern's purge swept through the Spring Court and the Mortal Lands, annihilating the witches there in a bloody attempt to cleanse the land of their existence. Now, only six covens remain, scattered across Prythian, each led by a Magister—a High Fae master of High Magic, a power bestowed by the Mother herself, whom the covens revere.

The Summer Court houses Geraldine, a Sea Witch deeply connected to water. Her abilities allow her to call storms, summon rain, and weave visions through her Seer’s gift, her power ebbing and flowing like the tides she commands.

The Autumn Court is led by Alaster, a Ceremonial Warlock who thrives in the complex world of rituals and tradition. High Magic is his thing, full of detailed ceremonies and precise, dramatic moments that demand both respect and flair.

The Winter Court, home to Caedmon, the Gray Warlock, walks a fine line between light and dark magic, using curses and hexes as tools to bring justice. He redirects twisted energy to restore balance. Gray magic doesn’t shy away from where others fear to tread, but it has a clear purpose—justice and fairness, guided by the spirits that hover just out of sight.

The Spring Court once was led by Mackenna, a Green Witch whose magic was deeply entwined with her land. Her power could coax life from the soil with a thought, manipulate the earth itself, and grow forests overnight. But she and her coven fell to Hybern’s slaughter, leaving nothing but haunted whispers in their wake.

The Night Court coven, now relocated to Illyria after Rhysand’s father deemed them too dangerous yet too undeniable to erase, is led by Elena, a Nightmage. Her magic revolves around the cosmos, drawing strength from the Moon’s cycles and the vast energies of the celestial void. Stargazer, lunar weaver, protector of cosmic tides.

In the Day Court, Karina, a Hedge Witch, practices an ancient and solitary craft. Her magic walks the hedge—the boundary between realms—and blends shamanism with nature magic. She journeys between worlds with ease, merging the seen and unseen with a simplicity that belies her deep connection to the otherworld.

Finally, the Dawn Court is guided by Koreolanus, Karina’s brother, also a Hedge Warlock. Unlike his sister’s spiritual wanderings, his magic is grounded and pragmatic. He creates remedies, heals with the elements, and keeps his rituals stripped down and minimalist, focused solely on the task at hand.

And then there’s the Mortal Lands, a void where magic once thrived. Alexandrina, an Elemental Witch, had led her coven with power tied to the raw forces of nature itself. She was burned at the stake in a ceremonial execution that wiped out her coven entirely, leaving their magic as nothing more than ash scattered to the wind.

Involvement in politics and the High Lord jurisdiction: Witches, as a species, don’t recognize the authority of the High Lords, but there’s an unspoken arrangement between them. The High Lords grant the covens land and the freedom to use it, largely as a way to honor their worship of the Mother and the role witches play in maintaining the land’s well-being through their rituals and ceremonies.

The relationship between a High Lord and a coven’s Magister varies greatly. While the two roles are often intertwined, neither has the right to speak or act on behalf of the other’s interests. Some High Lords maintain strong alliances with their coven Magisters—Helion and Thesan, for instance, are deeply connected to the covens in their courts and occasionally benefit from collaborative efforts. Others remain neutral, seeing witches as a necessary but distant presence. Then there are those, like Rhysand’s father before him, who openly despise witches but tolerate them begrudgingly.

Despite these varying dynamics, witches are fiercely protective of their independence. They rarely share their knowledge and almost never invite outsiders to join their covens or step into their sacred spaces. Witches exist as a closed and guarded community, revealing only as much as they deem necessary to maintain peace or advance their own interests.

Codex: 

1. The Coven is the law. A witch’s ultimate loyalty lies with the coven above all else.

2. No interbreeding. Witches are forbidden from breeding with lesser Fae or Fae outside their respective court.

3. All magic is permitted. Within the coven, any form of magic is acceptable for practice.

4. Stay out of Prythian politics. Coven members are prohibited from engaging in political matters unless their existence is directly threatened.

5. No recognition of High Lords. The covens do not acknowledge the authority of High Lords. Decisions regarding witches are made solely by a consulate of all coven Magisters.

6. No harm to one’s own. Witches who harm or kill their own kind face execution without trial.7. The Tithe is mandatory. Every witch within the coven must contribute to The Tithe as part of their duty.

Of course, this is in works and will be elaborated and maybe even make more sense in the context of the future fanfiction plot, but for now...that's that. What do you think?

[fourteentrout]

random headcanons about ACOTAR men

i've already brought some of these up in pasts posts or comment sections but i'd figured i'd put them here too for fun

i always imagined helion as being like. ridiculously tall. like 7 feet at LEAST.

though all high fae have unnaturally long limbs and fingers, it's most obvious with the vanserras.

tamlin's canines can obviously lengthen into fangs, but even when they're resting naturally, they're visibly sharper than average.

rhysand's ears are pointed, but have more of a round arch to them and they're less long than non-mixed high fae ears.

i've talked about this one before, but high fae don't really have facial or body hair aside from pubic hair--and im talking like only in the crotch region, not pubic hair like under the arms, or even trailing below the belly button. they can't grow beards, and their smoothness is just another testament to their distinct lack of humanity. this applies to almost all high fae, except tamlin. he def has a happy trail and can grow stubble at the very least. his father considered it somewhat of an abomination, and would use it as an excuse to punish him when he couldn't come up with any other "valid" reason.

lucien's eye prosthetic extends beyond the actual eye--the gold gilding has also been implanted within the areas of flesh that had been clawed away above and below the eye socket, as almost a metallic skin graft, so it almost looks like he doesn't just have a mechanical gold eye, but an entirely gold skull underneath.

eris vanserra has short hair, and his drip is endless. he prizes jewelry as one of the most important garments a male can wear and is never seen leaving the house without it. his outfits are always tailored perfectly.

i always saw tarquin as having either desi features or central american indigenous features, but with hair shorn almost in a buzz, reminiscent of the style of deep-water free divers. i know it's an uncommon interpretation, but it's been what i've envisioned him as from the start.

in a similar vein, I always saw thesan as east asian, because i'm like 95% sure he states that his parents are from xian, which i assume is SJM's stand in for all of asia, which obviously encompasses an insanely large amount of cultures and common physical features depending on area. however, i always pictured him as specifically chinese inspired because xi'an is an actual city in china that has been around for a WICKED long time, so i just always assumed he was modeled with a chinese visual in mind.

cassian is bisexual. this one i've had since maybe the moment he was introduced. the bisexual vibes just radiate off of him i can't explain it.

azriel is a switch but he's more into bottoming than people often assume.

eris enjoys sports.

the illyrian males have traditional styles of dance reminiscent of hardcore slavic dances, like the ones where the dudes are like spinning around on their knees and crazy shit like that. the more they are able to keep their wings from scraping the ground, the more successful a dancer they are considered to be.

ok i have to go to bed so that is all for now

[dellamortethelesser]

why is Tarquin so salty to a shadow dragon rook 😭 mannn what did I do. why do I feel like I’m being treated like your ex boyfriend