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everythingacotarbxm1012 · 14 days

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They're Mates - with Y/N Pt 3

Summary - Y/N decides she wants to learn to fly again.

Warnings/Other Notes - This one is in 2nd person pov because the first two chapters were looking at Y/N and Az’s relationship from a source not within their relationship. 2k word chapter- Again, some of these lines/plot points are inspired by, or directly quoted from, ACOMAF. This chapter takes place prior to the first two chapters.

Injury mentioned, though not super graphically. Reader relives/remembers having her wings cut.

Part One || Part Two || Part Three

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You could feel the blade cutting into your wings. Tears spilled down your face as you screamed in pain, begging the Mother to make it stop. You were never going to fly again. The one thing that brought you unending joy, your only source of freedom, was being taken away.

“Y/N?”

The edges of your memories blurred. That voice, you recognized that voice.

“Y/N?!”

That sweet, honey-like voice called you. Something in you warmed and the pain lessened. Like you were basking in the sun.

“Y/N!”

You shot up in bed, your legs tangled in the sheets. A cold sweat dripped down your face and that same smooth voice kept saying something, but your mind was still catching up and couldn’t process them, not right now. Your chest rose and fell rapidly and then there were hands cupping your face. Not those smooth hands in the romance novels, but hands with bravery and adventure etched into them. Hands that felt like home. Your eyes shot up to meet a pair of hazel ones. Azriel.

“You’re safe. I’m here, your safe. Your father can’t touch you anymore,” the shadowsinger whispered to you.

You nodded and leaned forward to wrap your arms around him. He reciprocated. You chased away the nightmare, remembering where you were. I’m here with Azriel. With Cassian, and Rhysand. With Rhys’s mother. Az saved you. Your arms tightened slightly around the shadowsinger, burrying your face into his muscular shoulder. His shadows curled around the both of you. His scent felt like home. The same scent that you had become familiar with every time you fell asleep, the one still lingering in the bedding when you woke up and he was gone off to train, with a promise to come back in time for dinner.

Sharing a bed with the Illyrian didn’t start right away, not on purpose. It just happened one night. Azriel never made it back to his own bed, instead he fell asleep comforting you from the same nightmare. Then it became purposeful, falling asleep and not returning to his own chambers. And one night the shadowsinger didn’t even bother finding his way into his own bed, Az just went straight to yours. You certainly didn’t mind and Rhys’s mother never said anything.

“Azriel?” You asked against his shoulder.

He placed the gentlest kiss to your temple. One that reminded you of a waltz you heard one day in Velaris. “Yes?”

You lifted your eyes to look at Az’s face. “What if I never fly again?” Your chest started heaving again. You broke away from the shadowsinger and looked away. It felt like someone had lit a fire inside you. Not one that someone makes to keep you warm on an incredibly chilly night, but a fire started out of malice, one to kill and destroy.

Azriel’s features became softer, contemplative if that was at all possible. “Impossible…because I’ll teach you.”

Your eyes shot up to his face. “Are you…certain? Do you not need to train? I don’t—”

“I would spend the rest of my life in that damned cell for you again, Y/N.” He paused. “Don’t think I wouldn’t teach you to fly. Unlike Cass and Rhys I remember learning. Both of them would tell you to just flap your wings. I understand the fears and mental blocks of being older.”

You let out the softest laugh, wiping a drop of sweat from your forehead. “Thank you, Azriel.”

He nodded in his silence, considering something a moment. Az stood from the bed, his pants sitting low on his hips as he disappeared into the washroom and reappeared a few moments later with a damp cloth. “May I?”

You nodded and he gently pressed the cool cloth to your forehead, making the sweat disappear as if it had never happened. His shadows flitted through your hair. Whispering to you. Care. Care. Care.

The shadowsinger tried to call them back, but they had a mind of their own, especially around you. You chuckled lightly. Silly little guys, acting like a bunch of toddlers. When Az decided he had done a sufficient job of wiping your face he pressed another kiss to your forehead before hanging the cloth to dry and returned.

You were lying down in the bed when he returned. He climbed in next to you before pulling you against him. You both fell asleep and slept soundly for the rest of the night.

The following day you went into Velaris with Rhysand’s mother to run a few errands. Her skills as a seamstress were impressive and she used it as an opportunity to occupy a portion of her time. You stopped at your favorite bakery to pick up a few things for dinner that evening. You also found a used book on diplomacy that was on sale. Rhys’s mother kindly bought it for you; well maybe more for Azriel’s shadow who seemed desperately intrigued with it. When you returned home, to your surprise, Trouble, More Trouble, and Too Much Trouble, were already there. (Nicknames you had aptly given to Azriel, Rhysand, and Cassian.)

Too Much Trouble grinned when he saw you and clapped his brother on the back. “This one here got us kicked out early today for starting not one, not two, but three fights. I mean he looked like death coming to collect souls for the next life. Don’t insult, Y/N!!”

“Shut up, Cassian,” Rhys said, giving a pointed look.

“You weren’t any use, Cassian,” Azriel growled back while shoving his brother’s hand away from his shoulder. Az had a black eye and dried blood along his cheek bone. He didn’t meet your gaze but his shadows happily slithered over to you. Protect, Protect, Protect, they whispered to you. Then you understood the shadows’ need to be near you, hovering. The reason why you had a shadow over your shoulder since Az saved you from your father. A form of protection, something to keep you safe, something to report back to the shadowsinger if you were in danger.

And that’s exactly what Azriel had done earlier that day. Defended you without remorse.

You glanced at Cassian who had a bruise on his jaw and then to Rhys who also had a black eye. Rhys’s mother looked far from pleased. “Cassian. Rhysand. Upstairs! Clean yourselves up.” Her gaze turned to the shadowsinger. “Azriel. Sit .” His mother announced as she put the bags down from your earlier trip to Velaris.

For all her softness, Rhys’s mother certainly had a sharpness to her not often seen. Rhys and Cass’s wings hung ever so slightly and only for a moment before they shifted again and they disappeared up the stairs. You followed them.

When you got to your room, you opened the book bought earlier that day and began reading on the bed. The sheets still smelled of him, of both of you. The shadow rested on your shoulder, appearing deeply engrossed in the words too. About fifteen minutes later you could hear the shadowsinger coming up the stairs. You knew it was him for the sole reason of his footsteps. You had learned how Azriel, Rhysand, and Cassian walked. The heaviness of their feet, the pace.

You could hear Az and Rhys out in the hall. “Your mom wants you,” is all you heard before Rhys is walking downstairs and the shadowsinger is walking into your room. You closed your book to look up at him.

“C’mon.” The shadowsinger stepped towards the small balcony and opened the doors. “You can’t learn to fly in here.”

“What,” you asked him, confused.

“You think I started the third fight for the fun of it?” Azriel asked, offering his hand out to you.

You only gave him a confused look, remaining on the bed.

He walked back towards the bed where you sat reaching for your boots. He knelt down on his knees. “Sure, the moron had it coming. That doesn’t change the fact that fighting with him for a third time got me the afternoon off to teach someone how to fly.”

Your mouth fell agape. “Azriel,” you admonished and a smile came over the shadowsinger’s lips before pulling on your boots. “I am perfectly capable of putting on my shoes, Az.”

He only offered you a hand after he tied them up. You took it before he swept you into his arms. You craved his embrace, more than so many other things. Azriel walked back towards the balcony and shot into the sky.

You never imagined how some people hate this, because Gods this felt good, felt like freedom. It reminded you of your childhood when you flew whenever you could, as if flying up into the sky might take you away from all of your problems. You just hoped the next time you flew it would be on your own wings.

Azriel landed in a clearing, gently placing you down on the ground carefully, to make sure you didn’t fall. “I want you to be careful. If anything hurts too—”

“I promise I’ll tell you,” you said to him with a nod.

“Is it…is it okay…okay if I touch your wings? For correction I mean? Should it be… necessary?” The shadowsinger asked from behind you, almost nervously. For good reason. The concept of touching someone’s wings without permission, in particular females, was beyond inappropriate.

You nodded, you could sense the shadowsinger behind you, observing your wings carefully. You could feel his eyes scanning up and down. “Azriel?” You asked quietly.

“I can’t say I am a healer and know the anatomy well, but perhaps we start at the beginning. Test the muscles, the ligaments.”

You nod, something feeling oddly intimate about the moment. You turn to face the shadowsinger whose face had contemplating written all over it.

“Try spreading them and tucking them in,” he said as you faced each other.

You nodded, spreading your wings as best you could. Mother above you hadn’t actually tried to do this in a while. You grimaced but managed to spread them, pushing them to your full extent, spreading your feet to offer you more balance.

A small smile of pride was clear on Azriel’s face. “Now fold inward.”

You did, slowly, afraid to tear or rip something in your wings. You couldn’t stop the smile when you folded inward with success.

“Good,” he said with a mild amusement in his eyes. “Try again.”

You spread your wings again, your muscles ached, but that was good. That meant they were there, that meant you had a chance.

Azriel’s eyes followed the movements, and cauldron boil him if your form wasn’t the most stunning thing he had ever seen. The shadowsinger had to put more concentration into not letting his knees buckle under him than he would like to admit. Beautiful. Stunning. Lovely. Beautiful, stunning. Lovely, his shadows whispered in his ear.

You pulled your wings shut rather than slowly closing them which caused you to lose your balance slightly, falling forward. Azriel reached out to catch you before you could land on the ground with a light amusement in his eyes before he suddenly realized how close in proximity you were to him.

You’d been this close before. By the Gods, you shared a bed every night, but something felt different. You gently rest your hands against the shadowsinger’s chest in silence.

“Y/N?” He asked quietly, hands shifting to cup either side of your face.

You looked up to see his face leaning down slightly. “Azriel.”

You don’t know who leaned in first, maybe Azriel, maybe you. It didn’t matter, because moments later the shadowsinger’s lips were on yours. They were sweet, and salty, and soft and warm. Like a warm biscuit on a cold night. Your fingers wound up in his hair before he pulled away. “Was that okay?”

His response was pulling your lips to his again, harder, more desperately like he had lived in a dry dessert for centuries and you were a tiny pool of water in the middle of it all.

You returned to opening and closing your wings, building the muscle until it was as easy as walking, though it certainly felt like the cauldron was burning you alive when you woke up the following morning. But you couldn’t be bothered, you were going to fly again.

Taglist: @5onedirection5

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #acotar fanfiction #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #2nd person pov #azriel x female!reader #azriel fluff #angst #rhysand acotar #cassian acotar #rhysand’s mother acotar #rhysand #cassian #rhysand’s mother #flashback

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spacerockfloater · 1 month

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My fave genre of ACOTAR memes has got to be people collectively being creeped out that Rhysand’s mother sat down half a millennia ago and made a gazillion lewd dresses for her son’s mate, who might or might not exist, while also guessing her exact measurements. Like, it’s so funny that we were all collectively so unsettled by this, lol. I love universal human experiences. Imagine marrying someone and finding out your mother in law has pre-decided your entire wardrobe forever. Thanks, I guess.

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #rhysand #feyre #feyre archeron #night court #spring court #rhysand’s mother

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yaralulu · 17 days

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I hate it when we talk about how the IC treats lucien and people start saying we need to stop babying him.Girl 🤨.Its literally a fact that the IC treat lucien like dogshit and we’re simply pointing out their bullshit behavior,if that’s considered babying then fucking sue me.

We’re pointing out that the way they treat lucien is unfair and unwarranted because 1) lucien did nothing worthy of this hostility. 2)He’s already apologized for any of his shortcomings. 3)feyre has forgiven him. 4)He’s literally carrying the night court on his back as he juggles three different jobs yet despite all of this he’s deemed as untrustworthy and is treated with disdain and unkindness.“Oh well he should stand up for himself he’s a grown man” HE DID.He called cassian out when he was being a dick to him and that led to absolutely nowhere further proving their behavior is unjustified and without reason.And you know what I do not give a fuck I’ll baby lucien all I want because that man deserves to be babied and pampered with love.

#call me mother bc i’ll never stop babying that man #i need to post anti ic stuff atleast once every 3 days or I start losing it #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #anti inner circle #anti cassian #anti rhysand

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yearning-for-autumn · 3 months

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Acotar Trauma-Verse -- Part 1

Azriel

A/N - This is a self indulgent character study series, I wanted to explore the trauma of each of the batboys, and how it manifested in their childhood. This is pure angst.

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Summary - Azriel has been in Rhysand's house for about a month. He is struggling.

Warnings - Childhood trauma, angst, unhealthy coping.

Pairings - None

Word Count - 900

“Azriel? Azriel? Azriel.”

Someone was calling his name, but Azriel couldn’t hear them. Well, he could. They were muffled as if they were underwater. Or he was underwater. He felt wet, and warm, like he had been swimming. He would be cold if he had been swimming wouldn’t he? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t think he ever had been swimming before.

“Azriel, wake up.”

It was Cassian’s voice. At least, it sounded like Cassian. He loved Cassian. He loved both of his brothers. His new brothers. They were nice to him. He wasn’t always that nice to them. He had been mean to Rhysand today, he pushed him down the stairs. Rhys had cried. Why had he cried? Doesn’t he know there’s no point? No one’s coming to help you. Even if you cry. Even if it hurts. Even when you need someone to—

“AZRIEL!”

He jolted awake with a gasp. Instantly he could tell what was wrong. Cassian was sat by the foot of his bed, Rhys by his side. Rhysand had been the one to finally wake him, shouting directly into his mind. Both of them knew by now not to shake him awake.

Azriel’s shadows had flooded the space, swirling around his brothers frantically. By the looks on their faces, they weren’t contained to just his room. They must have infiltrated the entire house. He stared off into the distance, praying that they were at least masking his scent. His brothers couldn’t find out. They could never find out. He could feel his hands shaking violently and willed them to stop, they didn’t obey. Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes, but he wouldn’t let them fall. He could hear Rhys and Cassian asking if he was ok, what happened, what’s wrong, Az. Az?

“Azriel.” Her voice. Her scent. His shadows slowly retreated back to him. “Boys, leave him alone for a while, I will look after him. He’ll be ready to see you again in the morning.” Rhys’ mother. His mother. Her gentle hands, calloused from her hours of sewing and tailoring, guided him towards her. He couldn’t speak, but with Cassian and Rhysand gone, he could cry.

He took heavy, shuddering breaths as he cried. Hot tears running down his cheeks and wetting his mothers shoulder. She held him firm through it all.

“Now, darling.” She said as his tears calmed. “Let’s get you out of bed and cleaned up.”

Anger bubbled up inside him. He didn’t know where it came from. Nor could he control it. His shadows lashed out before he could and slammed the door that was barely ajar.

“No!” His voice was hoarse from disuse.

“Azriel, I know you’re upset. But you need to clean up. I will stay, I will help you.” His mother, held his hands in hers, gently massaging them over the thick bandages. He growled, and something like delight flickered in him when she flinched, before it was swamped by crushing guilt.

“Mama.” He said softly, and she kissed him on the forehead.

“My darling. Please let me help you.”

“I don’t want to!” He knew he was yelling, it felt good to yell. His mother looked resigned and let him. He screamed. Screamed and screamed and cried. The wardrobe door was squeaking on its hinges as his shadows flung it open and slammed it over and over. His desk was hovering just off the ground, as if the dark whorls of energy were ready to send it flying out of the window. The curtains ripped and tore.

Light returned, after a little while. After his voice grew tired, and his screams became sobs and his shadows got bored of wreaking havoc on their room. Rhys’ mum took a calming breath, in through her nose, out through her mouth.

“I know. I know you don’t. Let’s at least get you out of these wet clothes.” She said, her voice shook a little, but her hands stayed firm.

Azriel pulled his hands away, a movement that jolted his mother backwards. He scrambled out of the bed, grimacing at the cold air on his soaked pyjamas, and hurriedly hid himself in the corner, his shadows completely engulfing him.

He could hear nothing. He could see nothing. He could feel nothing.

His wings pressed up against the cold of the wall, but it didn’t matter, they were useless anyway. They weren’t like Cassians, or Rhysands. They didn’t work. Maybe they never would. It took him a while to let his shadows retreat again. But when he did, his mother was still there. Sat in the same place on the bed that he had left her. She smiled.

“Are you ready?” She asked. Azriel took a shaky breath, and nodded.

He let her dress him. Tried not to look at the wet clothes and sheets that got piled into the laundry basket. He wanted to help her make the bed. It was the least he could do. But she refused. Once she was done, she extended her arms and he was helpless to stop himself. He crawled into her embrace, letting himself be tucked up tightly under the duvet, his mother curled around him. She hummed gently, an old Illyrian tune. He let it lull him back to sleep. She kissed his hair, his cheek, his forehead. He could never deserve something so gentle. But he was selfish. And he took it for himself. His shadows sheltered under the duvet with him.

When he woke she would be gone. She always was. To work. To tend to her husband. Or her real son. But for now, he let himself dream that she stayed.

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acourtofladydeath · 2 months

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Poly+ ACOTAR Week Day 1: Beginnings

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’d you all find out anyway?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Continue reading at the first cut on AO3.

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

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shallyne · 8 months

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Day 2:

Rhysand stomped down the paths of Windhaven, the icy wind of the mountains biting into his skin, making him shudder when it hit his sensitive wings. Usually, he walked down this path with his brothers, limping and bruised, but Devlon kept him in the camp for longer to try a new set of siphons. He had told his brothers to go on without him, Rhys didn't want them to unnecessarily wait for him in the cold. He was still limping, though, as today was especially a rough day.

Groaning, he stepped over a fallen log, his muscles screaming in protest. He couldn't wait to finally take a bath and eat dinner, his stomach grumbled in agreement. A sigh of relief left him when he finally spotted his mother's house. Even limping, he quickened his steps, ignoring the pain and the biting, cold wind until he finally reached the wooden door. Relieved, he went inside and was greeted by the usual crisp smell of the house and whatever his mother made. Stamping off the dirt off his shoes before he went farther into the house, then walking into the kitchen. Cassian and Azriel sat at the table, the former grinning up at him and the latter staring in question. Rhys only shrugged and went to his mother who stood at the kitchen counter and pressed a kiss on her cheek. "Can I help you?"

She huffed a laugh and shook her head, "I'm done, already." She took a bowl and filled it with soup and repeated this three times. Rhys took two and brought them to the table, placing the bowls in front of Cassian and Azriel, then met his mother halfway to the table and took his own. It was quiet as they all got seated, the only sound being the cracking wood in the fireplace and Cassian greedily snatching up his spoon.

"So," his mother broke the silence, flipping her dark hair over her shoulder. It was unusual for her to not wear it in a braid. It was long, down to her waist, and thick. It bothered her most of the time when she had to work, as a seamstress or around the house. Rhys's eyes flicked to the counter and when he found the broken leather band he realized that it must have broken not too long ago. "Why did Devlon keep you at the camp longer?"

Rhys stirred around his soup with his spoon, "He wanted to try the Siphons again."

His mother's hazel flashed in surprise, "And?"

Sighing, he put down his spoon."They all shattered again."

"Oh, Rhysand–"

Cassian snickered, "Must be hard being all powerful."

"Eat your soup!" his mother scolded him and turned back to Rhys. Cassian still smirked but kept his head down to hide it, "I'm sure you will find a way. Devlon might be…"

"An asshole?" Cassian threw in. The corner of Azriel's lips tucked up.

"Language!" His mother snapped. "He is but I meant to say strict. He is strict but fair and if you don't find a solution it's not the end of the world either. You keep learning how to control your powers, you already do very well. Although you have to work on your temper." and before Cassian could throw in another of his comments, his mother threw him a look that told him that his temper wasn't much better. Cassian kept quiet.

Already annoyed at the situation with the Siphons, Rhys looked around the room for a topic change. "What is that?" he asked, pointing to a chair in the corner that was covered in different materials. The one hanging over the backrest caught Rhys's eyes. It looked like starlight from his place but squinting his eyes he realized it was tiny, blue gems. Hundreds of these, if not thousands. On the cushion was a stack of other materials, the one on top of the stack was blue and the fabric below looked like gossamer.

His mother took a spoonful of her soup before answering, "It's fabric for a dress."

"For who?"

"You'll see," she answered. Something akin to mischief lit up her eyes, but it wasn't mischief. Rhys couldn't place the emotion. "Do you like it?"

Looking back at the fabric, he nodded. "It's pretty."

"I'm glad," she responded and before Rhys could open his mouth, she changed the topic. "While you are here, Rhysand, I can tell you now that I brought the sapphire ring to the weaver in the woods just today."

His spoon was barely picked up again before it clanked back into the bowl. "Why?" Rhys cried out.

His mother pointedly looked at Cassian, then Azriel and then Rhys. "Because you just showed me how much I can trust you with this prized family possession." she shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. A sound of outrage left Rhys but his mother continued, "Also, if you are to find a bride, or your mate, she must be intelligent or strong enough to live a life like yours, Rhysand. Take this as a test, if she is made for this life because if she can retrieve the ring, she certainly can keep up with you, my son."

"So it's to test my future wife's strength and intelligence?"

"And bravery." his mother added.

Rhys slumped in his chair, mumbling, "It's a quite deadly test for a ring."

Her hand rested on his cheek, "Look at me," she said, her voice gentle. Rhys met her eyes. "I'm not going to sugarcoat it, being a High Lord and being part of this family is dangerous. It's not for the weak." she looked at him, waiting for a reply but when Rhys didn't answer she leaned back and sighed. "Eat your soup, it's getting cold."

Rhys silently picked up his spoon, ignoring the gazes of his brothers.

What kind of female would confront the weaver and retrieve her own ring? If there even would be someone in the future who would be this brave.

Deep in thought his eyes wandered to a painting of the night sky, beside the door.

A brave, strong and intelligent female.

@officialrhysandweek

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #rhysandweek2023 #rhysand #rhys #rhysand archeron #rhys acotar #high lord rhysand #high lord of the night court #acotar fanfiction #acotar fan fiction #Acotar fanfic #acotar fic #Rhysands mother #Rhysand's mother #cassian #cassian acotar #azriel #azriel acotar

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itsagrimm · 6 months

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i am not saying Rhysands mother was a boy mum.

But she did give the engagement ring to the weaver so that Rhys future fiancé would have to "earn" it. She also made dresses for her son's future s/o. She generally thought and planned a lot about her sons future love life while her own partnership with Rhysands father was more physical than emotional.

All while also having a daughter who apparently was not granted that much attention and for which there are no surviving rings and dresses and considerations from the absolutely-not-having-a-preference-for-her-son-mother.

#rhysand #acotar #rhysand mother #rhysand sister #lord of the night court

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norwigianbluefairy · 8 months

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Some Of The ACOTAR Family Trees.

Morrigan's Family.

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Cassian's Family.

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Rhysand's Family.

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Azriel's Family.

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Archeron Family.

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Tamlin's Family.

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ennawrite · 1 month

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Super late (I misread the dates and thought the first day was TOMORROW) but here’s a bit of a heavier piece for Day One of @tamlinweek 2024:

Title: Spring’s Stars

a Tamlin x Rhysand’s sister story

Synopsis: After Tamlin’s father gains intel on the Ladies of the Night Court, Tamlin has to pick himself up to rescue the female he loves and her mother.

Word Count: 4,709

You can also read here

For this prompt, I wanted to write about the days leading up to Tamlin becoming High Lord. I know there’s a lot of tension in the books about what happened, and so I wanted to write from Tamlin’s POV. I also played around with some of the fan theories that have been floating around. This story is a bit devastating (or at least I hope so 😉) so be warned. ***It also plays on Tamlin’s father being a shitty man. We’ve heard he was worse than BERON, and there’s bit of child abuse/torture happening***

Scroll to read!

Tamlin awoke on the cold marbled floor of the Spring manor’s basement; the coppery tang of fresh blood filled his nose. His back was burning, the flesh in sloppy ribbons. Prior to the lashes, his father had forced a faebane tonic down his throat so he would not heal quickly. It often went that way, if Tamlin was not cooperating.

He tried to rise but could only make it to his knees before the room began spinning. Nausea filled his stomach. Tamlin closed his eyes, trying to find anything in himself to grasp onto to pull his thoughts away from the pain. He thought of music, of playing the fiddle with some of the males he met in the war camps years ago. The small spark in his chest quickly extinguished when he realized it would be weeks until he could play again, until he could do anything, really. Any movement would reopen the wounds splattering his back, that is if his father even offered him the grace of healing. He liked to linger the possibilities over Tamlin’s head, stringing him along on his sick game of life or death.

Tamlin opened his eyes and stared down at his hands in his lap, dark red ran down his arms and dripped off his fingetips onto his black trousers. He had half a mind to lay back down until he inevitably bled out, but then he remembered why his father had dealt out the beating. Why this time had been so bad, why Tamlin was not cooperating.

For some reason unknown to Tamlin, his father wanted to know the daughter of Night’s location. How his father knew his son knew her whereabouts, Tamlin wasn’t sure. Maybe it was his friendship with Rhysand, or maybe his father could sense something amiss. For fuck’s sake, he’d just seen Laila the night before. He probably still smelt like her, a mistake that he’d surely pay for if he didn’t get the fuck up now.

Tamlin gritted his teeth as he lifted off his knees, his hands shaking as he searched for any form of leverage on the blood splattered wall. His slid in the red mess causing him to jolt forward. Tamlim cried out as the gashes in his back ripped deeper from the sudden movement.

However, the pain would not deter him. His father knew where Laila and her mother were. He dealt Tamlin lash after lash, and yet Tamlin did not break. Not until his father brought a ‘friend’ in. A mind reader, apparently. He had an official name, but Tamlim could not remember it now. If anything, he was more of a mind torturer. He easily got the information out of Tamlim after worming his way through his brain, but he left visions of Tamlin’s mother being whipped on his departure. The female so badly bloodied, Tamlin actually threw up at the picture.

Tamlin realized the male was waiting outside the room the entire time, his father did not need to stoop to whipping him for the information. But Tamlin knew the lashes and the manipulated visions served a purpose of a different kind. It was loud and clear, ever since Tamlin had shown those early signs of powerful magic as a child and his mother’s worried face pleading for him to stop. Her begs him to hide his new magic. But like a fool, Tamlin eagerly showed his father.

Tamlin searched for any sign of that golden power now, but to no avail. His well was empty with the faebane in his system. So, he had to do this the hard way. Tamlin spit out a mouthful of blood onto the floor, the noise echoing throughout the dingy room. There was no furniture in here, just a wooden post to tie a victim to. Usually, Tamlin was the victim. A room solely dedicated for his father’s dark hobbies.

Tamlin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing red across his cheek. He took in one deep, agonizing breath and pushed off of his own raised knee for leverage. The muscles in his neck strained, the veins nearly bursting and his teeth almost shattering from the force of him clenching them together.

Finally, Tamlin was standing. He leaned his head against the wall, trying to ward off the swaying of the spinning room, but nevertheless, he was standing. Tamlin tried to control his breathing, the air in his lungs escaped in fast, shallow pants. His back burned like it had been lit on fire, but Tamlin could not focus on that. Somehow, he had to get to Laila before they did. His father and his brothers would not be kind to her nor her mother. Whipping was just a sliver of the grotesque arsenal they proudly carried on their belt. Even worse, they really enjoyed the chase of the hunt.

Tamlin turned away from the wall, heart pounding, and fire coursing through his veins as he thought about his father and brothers being let loose on Laila.

He would find a way to save her or die trying.

•

Tamlin made his way up the stairs, relying heavily on the rail to get up. Mercifully, the door to the basement had been left unlocked. He assumed his father did not expect him to wake up so soon. In fact, he had made sure that would be the case from the intensity of the lashes, but by the Mother, Tamlin had awoken. He would not let that divine intervention go to waste.

The manor was eerily quiet, the servants must have been sent home as there was no bustling about. His father probably deemed their prying eyes as a nuisance for his big plans for the evening, whatever they may be. Tamlin’s stomach churned at the possibilities, and he quickened his pace.

He made it to his room and nearly keeled over as he leaned over his desk, flesh blood dribbled on the rug, soaking deeply into the white wool. Tamlin blindly rummaged through a drawer until he found it. A small bottle, hidden in the very back. A gift from his mother, one that would surely have them both beaten half to death if ever discovered.

Tamlin uncorked the bottle with shaky hands and brought it to his lips. The milky liquid cooled his raw throat, soothing as it went down. Tamlin nearly fell to his knees as he felt that iron chain on his power shatter.

He sighed in relief as he felt his body beginning to heal. It would still take days for him to be fully recovered, but this was enough to get him to Laila.

Tamlin pulled a dark green tunic over his head, careful not to disrupt the slowly-healing wounds too much. And then he strapped the bandolier of Illyrian knives across his chest, a gift from Rhysand last Winter Solstice.

With the power now pulsing through him, Tamlin ran out of the Spring manor and into the darkness waiting beyond.

•

Tamlin’s power hadn’t replenished enough yet for him to winnow, so he took his chances on horseback. The stable was nearly empty when Tamlin got there, the scent of his father and brothers lingering. His father could have winnowed them all to the Illyrian camp, but that wasn’t their style. They would be enjoying the ride of this night, drawing it out as long as they could. Tamlin’s blood chilled and he quickly saddled up the small white mare that had been left behind.

They raced through the woods, the back of Tamlin’s tunic now soaked. His wounds were in a constant state of healing and opening due to the movement. But that was the least of his worries. He didn’t know how long he was unconscious, how much further ahead his family was. He prayed to the Mother that Rhysand was there. That somehow, someway, something was stopping his father from harming the females.

Tamlin kicked the heels of his boots against the horse’s side, and they ran faster through the thick canopy of trees.

•

It took too long, way too damn long, for him to reach the Illyrian camp Laila and her mother were staying at. Tamlin quickly tied the mare to a tree on the outskirts of the camp, not willing to risk being seen because of animal’s glaringly white coat.

Tamlim quietly made his way down the hill, making sure to stay as hidden as he could behind the bare trees. He did not hear any yelling, which was hopefully a good thing. But he also could not hear much of anything. Like even the nocturnal animals of the forest had been run off by some threat. Tamlin willed his quickened pulse to steady as he made his way to the closest house, a small thing made up of grey mortar and bricks.

Gripping a dagger in his hand, he peered over the side. When he didn’t see any immediate threats, he pushed further. His back had stopped bleeding, though the pain still lingered, and he hoped his scent would not be too strong to any passerby.

Tamlin made his way to the front of the house, heart pounding at what he beheld. It wasn’t the gory murder scene he’d expected. No, instead, the camp looked abandoned. He made his way down the path. Houses were ransacked, like his father heavily searched each one and got angrier as he went on, his job becoming sloppier and sloppier. But there were no bodies. There was no blood, or at least none that Tamlin could sense.

Tamlin ran to the house he was in the night before. He pleaded with the Mother as he ran up the stairs and into Laila’s room. The place was torn apart, her belongings strewn about, but her scent was faint. She had not been here in hours. However, his father’s scent was overwhelmingly strong. He would not be far away, if his smell still lingered so. Tamlin growled over the mixing of the two scents and quickly exited the room.

•

Tamlin was walking back up the slope to his horse, coming up with ideas of where Laila could be when he heard it. The ever so faint sound of wings flapping. Then the light scent of lavender and cedar. In an instant, Tamlin was swept up, completely embraced in the arms he knew too well.

“Are you okay? You’re bleeding,” Laila fretted, cupping his face with both palms. Tamlin leaned into the touch. She found the nook of a large tree branch to settle them into.

“I’m fine. My father—“ Tamlin trailed off, looking deeply into Laila’s strikingly blue eyes. “Did he hurt you? I saw what he did to the camp.”

“No. One of the scouts spotted he and your brothers in the forest. I was able to winnow most of the camp out, the rest flew,” Laila shook her head fast, brows deeply furrowed. “The scout overheard your father boasting about where he would hang my wings.” Her voice broke on the last word, and tears welled in her eyes.

Tamlin grabbed her, pulling her tight to his body. He pressed his lips to the top of her head, her black curls dancing in the wind.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” He mumbled into her hair. “I should have been here. I should have—“

She pulled back from him, shaking her head. “You could not have stopped it if you were here. These evil creatures in power cannot be stopped,” Tears trailed down Laila’s tan face and onto her light purple dress, the droplets darkening parts of the fabric.

“I would have killed them for you. Or at least die trying,” Tamlin cupper her cheek, wiping the tears away with his thumb. His own eyes now burned with emotion.

“I know, my love. I know you would have. And I could not bear witnessing that,” Laila kissed his palm and continued. “My father, he’s no better. Not really. He plans to marry me off to an Autumn Court son.”

Tamlin went wholly still, his hand dropping from her face as his breath hitched in his throat.

Laila nodded, a small sob escaping her. “The papers are signed, the wedding is set for next week,” She laughed lightly, the sound bitter. “That is, if your father doesn’t kill me first.”

“No.” Tamlin demanded, shaking his head. “No. I’ll get you out of here. You and your mother. I won’t let you two suffer anymore.”

Laila smiled sadly, “There is nowhere for us to go, Tamlin,” She placed a hand on his heart. It thummed in answer to her touch. “You are a good male. My brother as well. But there are not many others like you. No matter where we go, they will either hunt us for sport or sell us off like cattle. This is not anything new.”

Tamlin’s heart broke at the look on her face, at what she had been going through her whole life. Yes, Tamlin had to deal with his father, but he was able to walk freely without outside threats looming over his head. He wished he could scoop her up and bring her to a new world, where females did not have to fear living. Wish he had the power to create that new world for her.

Tamlin embraced her tightly, holding onto her as if this would be his last time doing so. “I love you, Laila. You are bound to my soul, like roots in the spring soil.”

Laila looked up at him, her blue eyes twinkling in the moonlight. “And I love you, Tamlin. I will love you, even when the last star in the night sky fades into nothing.”

She stood on her tiptoes, interlocking her hands in his blonde hair. Their lips met and the outside world faded into nothing. Their problems no longer existed as they kissed, becoming one against that tree.

•

Later, Laila flew them to a nearby lake so Tamlin could wash away the blood from his body before they went to her mother. His tunic stuck to his back, courtesy of the dried blood, and Tamlin winced. Instantly, Laila was behind him, and she tenderly unpeeled the shirt from his back. Tamlin thanked her with a soft smile and waded into the water, just enough to be half submerged.

Laila followed and began lightly washing him with a makeshift rag (a piece of Tamlin’s tunic she ripped off). Tamlin looked out at the water, at how the hundreds of stars reflected on the surface. It was hard to tell where the sky ended, and the water started. A starlit lake, of sorts.

Tamlin began thinking of the starlight pool in his own court. How odd the little body of water was, and the stories that came with it. Some claimed it to be a portal, a door built by the Mother herself.

Shivers went down Tamlin’s spine as Laila hummed quietly to herself, scrubbing his hair.

In that moment, Tamlin knew what he had to do.

•

“You can’t be serious.” Laila’s wide gaze burned into him.

“We have to try, Laila. You two can’t live like this,” Tamlin said, rubbing her shoulder lightly.

They made it to the small cottage she left her mother at. The older female managed to scrounge up a small dinner for them with the few resources she had, and Tamlin decided now was the best time to lay out his plan.

“You don’t even know if it leads anywhere.”

“I will make sure of it in the morning. If it doesn’t, I will find you somewhere else to go. I will not let Beron keep you in his claws. Or my father.

Laila stared into his eyes for a moment, and then silently nodded her head.

“Rumors say the pool leads to another world. I have heard of it enough that parts of it must be true. There is always truth in rumors,” Laila’s mother spoke from the head of the small table. The Lady of the Night Court looked fragile, her skin unusually pale, with a blanket wrapped around her. Her plate left untouched.

“Will you travel through it?” Tamlin asked, setting his fork down.

“I will do anything to get my daughter out of here.”

“Okay, then. We will set out tomorrow.”

•

At sunrise, Tamlin winnowed to the Spring Court. He knew his father or brothers would get word of his arrival soon, so he had to be quick. Tamlin jumped into the water, and rapidly kicked his feet until he hit the bottom. A sliver of glowing golden light caught his eye, he swam closer to it. He did not have the time to go through it, so he threw a rogue conch shell into the crack. It disappeared. He waited a moment. Still, it did not come back. Where it went, he was not sure. But for the first time in a long time, his chest glowed with hope. With a promise for the future.

•

A few hours later, right at dusk, Tamlin was back at the pool. Laila and her mother in tow. Late last night, he’d set a trap for his father and brothers to keep them occupied with. A couple of vandals he’d picked up from Spring’s dungeons, glamoured to resemble the Ladies of Night.

“Are you ready?” Tamlin asked the females, both trembling slightly, their wings drawn in tight.

They wanted to seek out Rhysand, but time would not permit. He did not know how long the glamor would hold out on the males, or if it even would. It was a power he had not gotten a chance to utilize much, especially not on others. It was either now or never. Laila’s mother was the first to move, she nodded quickly.

“Right. I will go first. To ensure there are no threats on the other side.” She said, holding her head high on her shoulders. She hugged her daughter tightly, kissing her on the cheek. She moved over to Tamlin, squeezing his shoulder and nodding once at him. A small gesture of approval for what he was doing. Then she walked to the pool and dived in headfirst. The water rippled in her wake.

Tamlin looked back at Laila, her blue eyes shining with tears. She stumbled into his arms, her lavender and cedar scent fully engulfing him. “Please don’t make me wait too long.”

He gently rubbed her head, her hair feather soft under his calloused palm. “I would never dream of doing such a thing. Though, I do often think of that one night when I was gone for two weeks. You seemed to miss me a lot. So much so, actually, that we didn’t sleep a wink the entire night.”

Laila lightly slapped his chest and Tamlin laughed, the sound reverberating through the trees. The birds answered, their sweet songs echoing back. Laila stared up at the darkening sky, at the canopy of trees surrounding them, swaying in the warm breeze.

“I would have loved to marry you in this world, Tamlin. To leave the courts behind and live simply as you and me.”

Tamlin pulled Laila tighter to him and their lips met, the feeling so sure and right. Tamlin’s chest burned, his soul aching to be with hers. He would be with her in the next world, or the next life if the Mother did not permit this one. But he would find her soul in every life, he knew that much to be true.

“Laila, it is time,” The Lady of Night said from the pool. Tamlin looked at her, her usually braided back black hair was now loose down her back from the water, the starlight casting it in a shine. Her hazel eyes twinkled, in a way Tamlin had not seen before. “The portal is real. And we must go now.”

Tamlin’s pulse quickened and he let go of Laila. “Go,” he said. “Go and I will be there soon.”

Laila nodded, brushing his face ever so slightly with her long tan fingers. A shiver went down Tamlin’s spine. He watched as she jumped into the water. She looked back once, her blue eyes burning into his green gaze, before both of their heads disappeared fully under the water.

Tamlin quickly turned, headed towards the manor. He had one last thing he needed to take care of.

•

When Tamlin reached the manor, no one was home. His father and brothers were of course accounted for, but he had no idea where his mother could be. And he would not leave without her. Would not let her live like this any longer.

Tamlin searched every room in the manor, and then the grounds. He’d hoped she would be in her rose garden, where she often spent much of her day, but she was nowhere in sight.

Frustrated, Tamlin paced his bedroom. Hours passed, the moon rising fast in the night sky, until finally he heard the front door open. The sound of his brothers' obnoxious voices and then his father’s steps down the hall. Tamlin froze, waiting for his door to swing open. He had his knives, but that would do no good against a High Lord. Thankfully, his father’s footsteps kept going.

He heard his brothers walk by and return to their rooms as well, his mother’s rose scent with them. Tamlin sighed out in relief. She was here, he would have to get her alone somehow, but she was here.

He sat down on the edge of his bed, his body exhausted. He’d been running on adrenaline for the past two days, his back still healing from the lashes.

At sunrise, when his father and brother went on their morning hunt, he would get his mother and take her to the starlight pool. But tonight, he would rest. His chest seemed to ease a bit as he laid down fully. It did not take him long to fall asleep, and soon he was dreaming of a life with Laila. Of their wedding. Of their children running to their grandmothers.

But the sun never did rise for his mother.

•

It was midnight when Tamlin heard his mother scream. He threw his bedroom door open, knives completely forgotten in his haste. His nostrils flared as the coppery tang of blood filled his nose. Tamlin ran faster down the hall until he reached his parent’s room. His father laid bleeding out on the floor; the male’s throat deeply slit. Even his High Lord’s magic was having a difficult time repairing the wound. Tamlin looked up, his mother’s golden curls flashed as the perpetrator lifted her up by her neck, her bare feet dangling in the air.

“No!” Tamlin yelled, racing towards them but it was too late. Barely a breath later, his mother’s head landed at his feet.

Tamlin did not think as he shifted. He felt power course through his veins, more than he ever had before. Perhaps his power fed on anger. On heartbreak and devastation.

In a blind rage, Tamlin leapt on the male. The beast he’d become had long, razor-sharp claws. A real blade was not needed as he ripped through the male’s neck. Blood spurted out and Tamlin dug deeper until he sliced through bone. Tamlin growled loudly as the male’s head detached fully from his body. He stood over the body, teeth snared and dripping blood.

“What did you do?” A voice demanded from behind him. It was familiar enough that it brought Tamlin out of that angry haze.

Tamlin looked to see the son of Night. Rhysand. His friend. Tamlin looked back at the body he stood over and he finally realized whose head he’d just ripped off. Who killed his mother. The High Lord of the Night Court. Laila and Rhysand’s father.

Tamlin shifted into his fae form and stalked towards Rhysand. “What are you doing here?” He commanded from the male.

“Oh, don’t act so innocent, I know you told them. Your brothers squealed like pigs before I ripped their fucking throats out.”

At Tamlin’s bewildered expression, Rhys continued, “They sent my mother and sister’s heads in a gods damn box, Tamlin. You let them do that.”

“You don’t know wha—“

“I saw them. I opened the fucking box,” Rhysand’s face turned a sickly green. “You were my friend. I introduced you to my sister and you what? You fuck her and give her whereabouts to your father? You helped them kill, Laila.”

The sound of sentries running through the manor’s grounds filled Tamlin’s ears. They must have heard the commotion and would be here soon. Tamlin shook his head slowly, “Rhysand, listen, they—“

“No. I don’t care what you have to say. But never cross me again, or your head will be on a spike in your mother’s little rose garden,” Rhysand slowly began to disappear into the shadows whirling around behind him. “I guess congratulations are in order, to the new High Lord of Spring.” And with that, Rhysand disappeared fully into the darkness.

•

Tamlin did not linger for much longer in the hallway. Did not even wipe the blood from his hands before he was out the door and headed to the starlight pool. It was sunrise by the time he made it, the trek longer without a horse and his chest ached as he watched the morning sky open.

He failed to save his mother. The female he’d found comfort in throughout all these years being his father’s toy. The soft, broken female who deserved to live in a world far better than this one. And he was so fucking close to giving it to her.

The morning birds began their song and Tamlin felt the power course through his veins. The wind blew his golden locks across his face, and Tamlin wielded it to stop. It did.

There was now a well of power in him, so deep he knew he could never fully fathom it. He could probably spend the next century diving into it and never hit the bottom.

No longer was he heir to the Spring Court. It was now fully his. He could change it for the better, if he chose to do so. But if he stayed, he would not bring Laila back. Could not. Not with Rhysand and not with Beron looming about. It was too dangerous here, the threats too extreme. As High Lord, he would always be a target for people seeking power. He would not force Laila to be part of that game.

Even more so, if he left, then there was no telling who the power would go to. Tamlin would not let someone else like his father lead the Spring Court. Their people had suffered enough under his rule.

Tamlin thought of Laila, of his dream of their life beyond. A future that had been ripped to shreds in the span of mere hours. But perhaps it was enough to get her out of here. Her and her mother could live freely in this other world, without the limitations they’d face here.

By noon, Tamlin knew what he had to do. He just wasn’t sure if he truly wanted to. But as High Lord, what he wanted didn’t matter anymore. Maybe it was selfish, but he spent hours looking for a sign from the Mother, any sign, to lead him in the right direction. He’d put his full trust in her thus far, so when a lonesome stem of a lavender plant landed in the pool and sunk under, he knew what was expected of him.

Tamlin dived under the silvery water, stars clinging to his skin. When he made it to the crack of the portal, he threw all of his power into it. His powers shone brightly as it hit the slit, casting the water in iridescent light.

He gritted his teeth, his leverage wearing thin under the water. In a blinding flash, Tamlin was thrusted back, the impact weakened by the water. He swam back to the crevice, only to be met with a faint line in the sand. A faded, white scar left behind in this world.

A twin to the one now etched on his very heart.

#tamlin week #pro tamlin healing arc #pro tamlin #acotar fic #rhysand sister #rhysands mother #rhysand #rhys and tamlin #prior to acotar #heir of spring #starlight pool #pro spring court #spring court #night court #spring vs night

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