Somebody Ask Nesta What's Got Her Blushing Like That

Lucien really asked her if he got her a moon on a string, would she give him a kiss, and she didn’t jump his bones. Insane. Absolutely bonkers.

Wip update in honor of poly week @polyacotarweek

Nesta x cassian x azriel just having a Sellyn Drake good time

reblog this if your blog is a safe space on april fools and won’t have any jumpers, screamers, or anything scary or anxiety inducing

"the uwufication of chuuya" "the feminization of chuuya" and it's a fic or fanart where chuuya cries

Bark like you want it

Azriel/ Inner Circle | 8.9k | explicit | master/pet

(pls be mindful of the tags contains non-con & dub-con <3)

He was nothing but a pet to them, wasn’t he? A trained dog that stayed still and quiet while they discussed their matters.

He hated it. He did!

But a part of him... loved it.

His thoughts spiralled, confusion blending with the heat spreading across his skin. No, I’m not a pet. He wanted to protest, to argue, to remind them of the warrior he once was—the spymaster of the Night Court.

Yet every word seemed to stick in his throat, silenced by the knowledge that, in this moment, Rhysand owned him completely.

Or: Azriel serves as the Inner Circle's personal cocksleeve

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64453297

Reblog if its ok for your moots to stalk your blog and interact with everything you've posted.

day 2: Dark Spring

@tamlinweek

What once was yours

_______________________________________________

Feyre bargains for Rhysand's life.

But all magic comes at a price, some more costly than others.

_______________________________________________

“...Please. I will- I will give you anything.”

Tamlin raised his head at that, finally looking up from the pale corpse of Rhysand.

“Anything?”

“You’d best be careful.” Mor warned, stepping forward.

“Quiet.” He snarled, the single word cracking in the air like a whip. 

Mor's lip curled, but then she dropped her eyes to the golden threads of magic twining between his fingers. 

Pulsing. Rumbling. 

Her fingers tightened around her blade, but not another word left her lips.

“Just bring him back.” Feyre begged, twisting her hands into Rhysand’s clothes. 

“Please, just bring him back.”

Tamlin knelt beside the lifeless body of her mate. “Are you certain what you ask of me?”

Feyre stared up at him with wild, unseeing eyes.  “I am. I will give you anything.”

“Do you swear it?”

“I do,” she whispered. Feyre looked up into Tamlin's face.

"I do."

His lips curled into a smile, and it was almost tender.

“I want the Night Court.”

“No!’’ 

“Feyre, don’t!” 

Mor made to step between them yet again, but Feyre stopped her with a tattooed arm, blocking her path.

“Yes. I accept.”

Cries of dismay wrenched themselves from the throats of the Inner Circle, utterly hopeless as Feyre reached out her other hand; unblemished with nightly ink, clasping Tamlin's hand tightly in hers.

“It is done,” he murmured.

A shroud of smoke ensconced Rhysand’s body, lifting him into the air. Feyre cried out, stumbling back as the cloud swirled around him. A tendril of silver began to wind its way out of the cloud, twinkling as if it had been spun from the stars themselves. It reached towards Tamlin like a vine. He took it into his hand tenderly and it lay there, seeping into his skin until he glowed like a star.

And then there was utter stillness.

From the farthest corners of Prythian to the now crumpled wall, the wind rumbled with a single name…

Tamlin Silverthorne, the Stone-hearted, Killer of the Never-Fading-Flower, Protector of the Emerald lands,

High Lord of Spring and Night.

I wasn't going to participate in Tamlinweek until I got the PERFECT idea for day 4 (on day 5...)

So, this is for @tamlinweek day 7- free!

And now, a closeup on the birds and squirrels hanging out in the hair-tree (they were my favorite part of this to draw.)

And I have to show the original drawing, which I made when I got jumped by the idea, and the only thing I had near me to draw on was a notecard- oh well!

AAAND that's it :)

I hope anyone reading this has a good day/night! 💛

What SHOULD have happened during the High Lord meeting

Beron moved to the Lady of Autumn's seat, resting a hand on her shoulder. The same arm that now bore a bright scar. She did not so much as flinch, but her hand tightened around Eris's wrist.

"You have injured my wife, viciously attacked my heir, and made an attempt on my life. These are acts of war, little girl. Perhaps your mate should have done better filling you with knowledge of politics and common sense rather than vile seed!"

"Beron!"

"I have spoken my piece!" he snarled in answer to Thesan's snap. Beron turned back to the Night Court and pointed his finger.

"Too long have we endured the arrogance of this insolent half-breed. Well. No longer." Beron spat out the words, "This meeting was the last straw in a bale of thousands. As High Lord of Autumn, I declare war on Night."

The ripple was instantaneous.

"Father, are you certain of this?" Eris murmured.

But Beron did not answer his son. His gaze was fixed on Rhys's frozen face. The male recovered quickly, a sneer forming on his lips.

"What matter is it of mine whether you wage war on us or not? We both know your forces are nothing in comparison to Night's."

Beron's face turned thunderous, and he opened his mouth to reply when a voice cut through, sharp and clear.

"Spring will stand with you, Lord Beron."

Rhys barked out a laugh, relaxing "Oh? With what army?"

Tamlin merely smiled, unsheathing those deadly claws and letting them gleam in the steady candle light.

"I don't need one. I killed one High Lord of Night before. I can do it again."