#rhys story

[farfallasims]

Old & New Flames...

[alasforher]

[copypastus]

Feyre's selective hearing is the origin of my villain arc.

[thestarlitmidnight]

✨ Rewrite the Stars ✨

Summary: Being mated to Feyre doesn’t stop Rhysand to seek comfort from his former lover Y/N. One more night, that became their mantra.

Fandom: ACOTAr

Pairing: Rhysand X Y/N

Warnings: Mention of explicit content, be aware of that and consider being 15+ before reading this.

Word Count: 2 810

Previous Chapter

Master List

Chapter Two

"You are an insufferable idiot, Rhysand!" I raised my hand and threw a pillow at him, my voice fierce with anger.

"Angel, calm down, will you?" He raised his hands up, letting the pillow hit his tummy without any attempts to move aside.

"Take that angel and shove it up your arrogant ass!" I picked another pillow from his sofa in the River House, throwing it at him.

"I know about better activities involving those bodily parts," he dared to send me a seductive smile, sounding so damn sure of himself.

"I would rather throw myself off the nearest cliff with my wings tied before getting involved with you ever again!" I seethed and walked over to the sofa to a chair, where I picked another way too decorated pillow and threw it once again, aiming for his cock this time.

"Now, Y/n, let's not get ahead of ourselves," the seductive smirk fell from his face and was replaced with a more serious look.

"You said you had my back! So where were you?!" I picked up a vase that was holding some pastel pink flowers with a weirdly sweet smell and pointed with the vase at Rhysand, my eyes holding murder in them.

"I was tending to my duties, angel," he eyed the vase in my hand like it was his future executor. "Put that vase down, darling, those flowers were grown from seed by Elain, it would break her heart seeing them on the floor."

I bared my teeth at his damn aloofness and growled.

"I don't give a single fuck about what would break Elain's heart," with that, I grabbed the flowers out of that vase and threw them on the near table. "And frankly, you should not as well, not now, I am serious you piece of arrogant male, what the hell was more important than backing me up at the mission!"

He eyed me with caution in his eyes now, yet his eyebrows were raised with mocking amusement. This idiot always knew how to get under my skin.

"You speak of it as if I let you on the battlefield, Angel, it was mere two more hours spent in the presence of Helion," he tried to ease my irritation, but he was doing a terrible job at it.

"Exactly! One more hour with Helion might as well be two on the battlefield, and I would always choose the battle over that little friend of yours! If Azriel wouldn't come check on me, he would have me now in his bedsheets, making me scream his mane," I growled, throwing the vase with full force at him.

It never hit the target. His hand, swift as ever, quickly grabbed the vase a few inches away from his face. Those violet eyes were now glued on me, a predatory look set in them.

"Helion wouldn't dare lay a finger on you," he growled, the irritation in his voice clear now.

Caudlron forbid that another male will touch me. He can go around and fuck his precious little mate, and then situations like this come, and he can erupt with the stored wrath at the mere mention of such a thing.

"And why is that?" My voice was sweet, way too sweet, to the point it was laced with mighty venom. "I am no longer out of the market, as you made very clear when you introduced Feyre to them as your High Lady."

The moment he introduced her as his mate, the eyes of the other High Lords landed on me, the desire and challenge all over their eyes.

"Y/n, a very thin ice," he spoke with such a calm voice that a shiver ran down my spine. Icy fury and possessiveness were all over him. Clear and visible.

"Fuck you, Rhys, I had enough," I bared my teeth at him once again, my hand twitching to reach for my throwing dagger.

"Angel, you know just as I do that Helion or anyone else wouldn't dare to even come too close to you. Stop being dramatic and come here," he placed the damn vase back on the table and spoke with such confidence that I ached to slap that look out of his ridiculously handsome face.

"You were with her, weren't you? That's why you forget," I raised my hand, stopping him from coming too close to me.

If he were too close, I would lose my ground and give into those flirty eyes of his and let my feelings sway me back into the safety of his arms.

"She needed help with explaining the customs of Illyria, and time slipped from my mind. Y/n, angel, I am sorry," he placed his hand over mine, which was on his chest, keeping him at arm’s length.

His fingers brushed across my hand with a gentle caress, his voice a brush of midnight comfort, and those damn eyes, full of those cursed emotions, any of us should no longer feel.

"Can't you just send me on a few-year-long diplomatic mission on the Continent? It strengthens the relationship between Prythian and them?" I breathed out, feeling all the fight leaving my body, leaving just a pure heartache.

What else the fuck did I expect? Of course, he would prioritise his time with his mate over me. Lately, I had stopped being anyone's first choice.

"This is not fair. Not to Feyre, not to me, and not to you. We are just prolonging the suffering, don't you see? I am spending Rhys. I can't go on like this anymore. For a fucking three centuries, I was your only, and now, I was rendered into your fucking side piece! Do you understand how fucking unfair that is?!" I hit his chest, then again and again, angry, hurting, and desperate. "Just send me away and let me go. I am too weak to do it on my own accord, Rhys."

"No," he bit out, but there was raw pain all over his beautiful face. Like he was battling his own demons, his own needs, trying to do the best decision with the best possible outcome. Like he always did. "I am not sending you anywhere, Y/n, you belong here with me."

"Do you even listen to yourself?" I hit him once more, but he grabbed my arms and held them still. "You belong to your mate, you made that fucking decision, not me! She belongs here with you. It's no longer me! We were a pair, we were so damn in love, me being idiot waited for you faithfully for those damn fifty years Rhys! I was there! Always. Yet you fucking accepted that bond! You threw us behind like it never happened and then came to me and wrapped me in this lying, broken blanket of who we used to be! We keep fucking, but why loving you feels like I need to give up my soul?! It's so fucking dysfunctional! Pleasure paid for with guilt and pain!"

It just poured. It always did when he made me this angry.

He let me speak. Let me slap him with my cruel words without protecting himself. Rhys knew how much it was eating me alive. How it was destroying me. Because he had it the same. This was destroying both of us...

"I fucking love you, you Y/n, not her, my heart was, is and always will be yours, hoping to rewrite the stars for us. My soul is the culprit, forcefully tied to someone I did not wished to be tied to. You are the only one I can imagine living my life with. It was always you, angel. Please, do not leave me, you are the last precious thing that I have left," he grabbed my face into his hands, brushing my cheeks with his fingers, pushing the stubborn tears away.

"Then choose me, if you love me Rhys, choose me," I sobbed, throwing my arms around his neck, sounding way too desperate to my own liking.

"Amren-" Rhys opened his mouth, but a sound echoed from the hallway leading into the living room where we were.

"Wait here," he quickly pressed a tender kiss onto my forehead and went to check what the sound was.

How low we fell? Scared of a little sound... Like we were doing something wrong. And being honest, we maybe were, but Cauldron, it felt so right at some moments.

"Oh? I did not knew you had a cat?" I raised an eyebrow, watching the creature with forcefully hidden appal. "The ugliest cat I have ever seen, might I add."

It was true. This can was something uncalled for. Way too large eyes that threatened to fall out of its sockets, each looking at different side. Legs each different length and it was way too long tail. The fur was the real deal though. Patches of different colours, length and structure.

"We do not have a cat. I don't know how this... strange thing... ended here," Rhys sounded just as surprised and stunned as I was.

"Are you sure it is a cat? Can't it be something that came stray from up the mountains? Weak cup of the hoard?" I came closer, suddenly completely forgetting about the argument we had, in favour to entertain the curiosity of inspecting this strange creature.

We had millions of those arguments, this was the first time I ever seen anything like this.

"I have no clue what this is supposed to be," he raised his violet to look at me and gave me a cheeky smile. "But it still looks better than you in the morning after a night full of creaming my name."

I cannot help but burst into laughter at that stupidly hilarious comment.

"This cat looks indeed better than you when you have a bad hair day," I nodded, shaking my head at the absurdity and looked closer at the cat.

"Hello there, little one, are you hungry?" I cooed at it, daring to touch the creature between its ears and scratched it.

To my surprise, it purred, just like a proper cat.

"I have a very expensive fish at my home, this manner lacking donkey fancied himself to have it for a dinner when he would come today, but I will gladly serve his portion to you," I kept cooing at the cat, ignoring the hurt snort from Rhys at my very purposeful teasing at his expense.

"You want to take this... resemblance of a cat... with you back home?" Rhys said with disbelief, looking between the cat he still held and me.

"Yes? Fangie looked rough as well when she happened to come across me," I reported to him, snatching the cat out of his hands. "I will feed this poor creature, bath it and do my research to find out, if it is indeed a cat or something that came down from the mountain."

"Do not mention that bat living in your closet please," Rhys started to laugh, a mirthful, joyful sound as he now studied me with the poor thing in my arms. "It's enough I need to greet her every damn time, I open the closet to take fresh clothes out and pray she will not claw out my eyes."

"Fangie did that only one time and you pissed her and you know it! She is nice bat with proper manners, thank you very much, can't blame a lady for defending herself when she is accused of getting fat," I gave Rhys a pointed look and rocked the reincarnation of misplacement in my arms.

"I merely said, that you are feeding her too much to the point, she can't see her little legs over that fluffy belly," he folded his hands over his broad chest.

He looked like a sulking child instead of a High Lord. I simply rolled my eyes at him and walked closer to him.

"I will go feed it, you tend to your duties and come over, if you will be lucky, this one will leave you some fish for dinner," I leaned forward and pressed a kiss on his lips.

Rhys grabbed my face and deepened the kiss, stealing air from my lungs.

"Wear that lingerie, angel, for me?" He made a sad eyes at me, knowing damn well what works at me.

I forcefully pulled myself away from the comfort of his arms and winked at him, without confirming or denying anything.

He will see, his patience deserves to have some practice as well. Cauldron knows that he gets everything he wants way too easily.

————

I was in the shower, when a warm body pressed against my back and my wings and strong, familiar hands wrapped  around my body.

"There is no time for this, seriously Rhys, are you still horny?" I giggled when I felt his hardened length at my thigh.

"I am always horny, when you are around, you are well aware of that fact, Y/n," he practically purred and started to shower my neck with torturous kisses, while his hands started to explore.

“The dinner is supposed to be in half an hour,” I reminded him, but let my head fall backwards, resting it against his shoulder.

“Plenty of time to hear you cry my name, angel,” he assured me and I did not doubted that statement even the slightest.

His leg came between mine and forced them further apart, while his fingers crossed the path over my chest, down my belly and landed right where I wished to have them.

A pleased moan fell from my lips as they started to brush between my folds, spreading the wetness around.

“Always so fucking ready for me, aren’t you?” He growled into my ear and then bite at it with quite a force, while two of his fingers entered me, forcing a load cry of his name filled with pleasure.

His other hand traveled from my breast, where it was contently busy till now, and he travelled with it to my neck, where he playfully squeezed and at the same time he added more pressure into his fingers pumping in and out of me.

Then that hand disappeared from my throat and went up. “Open that pretty mouth for me, darling.”

It fell out right away and he placed two of his fingers inside. I sucked on them instinctively, he always had a weak spot for a good sucking on various places of his body.

Those fingers then stoped on my tongue and I moaned out loud when he starts to mimic the same rhythm on my tongue that he was using on my clit.

The same time his fingers lazily moved on my clit, it did the same on my tongue.

“Fuck,” I whimpered over his fingers, overwhelmed by how erotic this prick could make it feel witch such a simple little things.

And when I thought it couldn’t get any better, he entered my body with his cock and started to pump into me without any mercy, while in contrast kept the slow, lazy, torturing tempo on my bud and tongue.

“My name, Y/n, I went to hear it,” he grunted, his voice full of dirty demands.

And I obeyed. His name started to fall from my lips like a prayer, even though mumbled by his fingers in my mouth.

My arms reached behind me, wrapping my arms around his neck, trying to gain some stability to don’t fall forward by the force he was taking me with.

My undoing was when his cursed mouth began to kiss at my wings, rendering me senseless when my mind clouded with overwhelming pleasure, forcing me over the edge.

When we walked out of the shower, now cleaned and satisfied, smiling like, I almost had a heart attack at the sight that came across us.

“Cauldron that’s truly one hell of an ugly cat,” Rhys made a grimace and then leaned towards me and started to place kisses all over my wings.

“Rhys! You offended it!” I stared to laugh, even though I tried to sound scolding.

The cat seized both of us and limped away from the bathroom with quite an attitude.

“I will buy it pretty bowl and keep it full, that ought to make up for stating the obvious,” he dismissed the matter completely and kept the gentle assault at my wings.

With Rhys, I could feel so blissfully happy, that it was impossible to don’t forget about all the looming problems and dramas surrounding our difficult situation.

I trusted in Rhys. When he say he will rewrite the stars for us, he will do it, even if it means to travel through the space and time to get the Mother into a chokehold and force her to untie what she ties together.

Chapter Three

Tag-List: @j-pendragonx @stonerpersona

[acourtofthought]

If Sarah wrote an entire book from Nesta's pov showing all the negative traits of Rhys yet still went on to say Rhys is the best person ever and that Nesta's opinion was wrong then I think it's safe to say Az, not Rhys, was the one in the wrong in his bonus. Meaning Rhys is not the bad guy keeping two lovers apart. Instead Rhys is the good guy who has known Az for centuries and realized he was not going after Elain for any of the right reasons.

[hansoeii]

the steard is making a return!

[jay-wasstuff]

FINAL SEASON!

[cressidagrey]

The Starlight Princess: Prologue

Summary:

There is a Pool of Starlight in the Spring Court. A piece of the Night Court that has no business being in the land of Eternal Spring. So how did it come to be?

Or: How the Spymaster of the Night Court starts hearing a voice, realises that no, he is not insane after all, frees a princess, kills a High Lord…and finds his mate all at the same time.

Warnings:

Discussion of a flirtation 300 years in the past, Discussion of the Death of Rhys' Mother and Sister, Feyre being nosy, Cassian serving all the gossip

(thanks to @tsunami-of-tears for the dividers!)

“Can I ask you a question?” 

If Feyre could still ask him that question, Cassian was pretty sure that he was definitely not hard enough on his High Lady. 

They were back to training, even hard-won peace was not a time where one could slack off…and Feyre had wanted to return to it after the pregnancy with Nyx and everything that had happened. 

So…Cassian got to teach his High Lady. 

And his curiosity was piqued now. “Yes, of course,” he responded carefully.  What was this about now? What question did Feyre have for him? 

“What was her name?” Feyre blurted out and he stared at her. 

Of all the questions, she could have asked of him, that one was not one he had expected. 

“Whose name?” Cassian asked. Who was she talking about? What name didn’t she know? What name…

“Rhys’ sister,” Feyre clarified. “What was her name?”

Oh. 

That question…

Well, he understood why she had come to him with that question. Though it did surprise him that Rhys had never…never even mentioned her name to Feyre. That he had never…

Cassian remembered her. Of course, he did. Even centuries after her death, she wasn’t somebody Cassian would ever forget. Not just because of who her big brother was, but because…

He would never forget seeing her unattached head. 

He would never forget Rhys’ screams of utter turmoil and terror. He would never…He would never…He would never forget that cold wrath on his face…Would never forget everything that happened afterwards…How Rhys had become High Lord, his ascension overshadowed by the death of his sister and mother…and his father…a whole family snuffed out. 

And for what? 

But even without all of that…Cassian would never forget her. 

He would never forget the girl seemingly glowing with magic, the perfect princess, controlled within an inch of her life. 

There had only been very few things that could crack that perfect facade…

His brother had been one of them. 

“Seren. Her name was Seren,” Cassian answered the question finally, his voice hoarse. “Rhys never told you her name?” 

It didn’t lay quite right with him. But then, if there was one thing that he had…realised centuries ago, then that everybody grieved differently. 

Some took comfort in talking about the fallen…and then there were some who didn’t speak of it at all. 

Cassian had seen both. 

He could understand both in a sense. 

And Rhys…in a lot of ways, he fit the second. 

“No. He has talked about her…sometimes…but…” Feyre shook her head. 

“Her name was Seren,” he repeated again, for one moment fondly remembering her as a child. She had been…She had been beautiful. A spitting image of Rhys in a sense, the same dark hair, the same startling violet eyes…her magic dancing on her skin, and her innate abilities on display. The older she had grown, the more she had reigned all of it in. He still didn’t know if it had been her father’s fault or if she herself had realised that she was putting herself at risk, by showing her abilities that obviously. 

 “She was also called the Princess of Starlight by the people of Velaris…When she was a kid, she used to glow with magic,” he continued with a soft smile. 

She had been stunning. 

Still half a girl, not yet a female grown the last time he had seen her, over a year before her death…

She hadn’t deserved her death. But then who did? 

Nesta had reminded him of her often…The similarities were definitely there. Both had been more blunt than anything, though that habit had been beaten out of Seren by her father until she acted like the princess she was supposed to be. But he had never managed to break her will. Iron-willed and with a spine made out of fucking adamantium…Seren had been a sight to behold. 

“Did you know her well?” Feyre asked him curiously, but he shook his head

“I did know her, but I wasn’t…I was never that close to her…by the time she was…by the time she was born, we were all adults. She was just 17 when she died. Rhys was in Illyria...I was a grunt in the army…The one that was closest to her was Azriel,” he recounted. 

A noise of surprise escaped Feyre. 

“Azriel?” she repeated, surprise colouring her tone. 

Cassian nodded, swallowing. It was something that was unspoken, never voiced aloud. 

But Azriel had taken her death the hardest, giving himself the fault for something that wasn’t his fault.

Then, Azriel had already been Spymaster. And Cassian knew…Cassian knew that Azriel still thought that his shadows should have been accompanying Seren and her mother when Tamlin and his brothers had ambushed them. 

Azriel still thought that he should have known that this was a possibility…should have been aware of the risk. Should have prevented it from ever happening. 

“He used to work for Rhys’ father,” Cassian said quietly. He didn’t want to even imagine the horror of these years for Azriel. He knew that this was still something, centuries later, that Azriel muddled through. “And I always…” Cassian broke off, not daring to voice it aloud. 

“What?” Feyre asked curiously. 

“They were close,” he finally said quietly.  “Seren was three weeks shy of her 18th Birthday when she died. I always wondered if…if she had made it…if three weeks later, the mating bond wouldn’t have snapped for them.” He had had that thought so often over the centuries. 

Wondered if Seren’s death hadn’t taken away every chance of a mating bond his brother had…a chance at happiness. 

Feyre stared at him, blue eyes wide. 

“Was Azriel in love with her? What about Mor?” she asked, quietly, and Cassian shrugged. 

“I don’t think he ever would have allowed himself to act on it,” Cassian said carefully. “She was a princess and he was just an Illyrian bastard. But he would have given his life for her. Do not doubt that for a second, Feyre. She was so young when she died. Too young. And Azriel would have never allowed himself to act on whatever he was feeling…And even if…Mor and him…He knew that that would have never worked out. He knew that then. And I think that after Seren died, he just clung even tighter to Mor.”

Mor was still alive. Mor was the only one that Azriel could still protect because in his mind he had failed horribly with Seren.

“Seren was…she was pure political capital,” he said darkly. “Her father was very much aware of that. He would have married her off to any other court in this land…and a mating bond with Azriel wouldn’t have stopped him. He was already planning on it…The perfect princess with starlight dancing at her fingertips…and daemati abilities that make you and Rhys look like a bad magic trick humans conjured up,” he recounted with a snort. 

Nobody had ever stood up to Seren’s mental abilities. None. 

“She was better at it than Rhys?” Feyre asked, a small smile on her face and Cassian couldn’t help but laugh softly. 

“Even Rhys was powerless against her. He may had more magic…but Seren wasn’t to be underestimated. She plucked thoughts out of your head without anybody noticing. It was…startling. And even her own father knew…” 

“Knew what?” Feyre asked as he hesitated. 

“He knew that one day there was going to come a time where his children would topple his throne…a day where Seren and Rhys would join forces…and not even the cauldron could have helped him then.”

[feyreswaterybowels]

𝙰𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝙵𝚎𝚕𝚕

ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ x ʀʜʏꜱ!ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2ᴋ

ᴛᴀɢꜱ/ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ʟᴏꜱꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴀᴛᴇ. ᴅᴇᴘʀᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ. ɢʀɪᴇᴠɪɴɢ. ᴘᴀɴɪᴄ ᴀᴛᴛᴀᴄᴋ. ꜱᴜɪᴄɪᴅᴀʟ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛꜱ. ʀʜʏꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀꜱꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ. ʜᴇᴀᴠʏ ʟɪʙᴇʀᴛɪᴇꜱ ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ ꜱʏꜱᴛᴇᴍ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ.

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ꜱɪx ᴍᴏɴᴛʜꜱ ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ꜰᴀʟʟɪɴɢ ꜱᴛᴀʀ. ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ ɪs ɢʀɪᴇᴠɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏss ᴏꜰ ʜɪs ᴍᴀᴛᴇ. ʜɪs ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ʜᴀs ʙᴇᴇɴ sᴏ ᴡᴏʀʀɪᴇᴅ ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪᴍ. ᴡɪʟʟ ʜᴇ ᴘʀᴇᴠᴀɪʟ ɪɴ ʜɪs ᴊᴏᴜʀɴᴇʏ ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ʜɪs sᴛʀᴇɴɢᴛʜ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰɪɢʜᴛ ʜɪs ᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴅᴇᴍᴏɴs ᴀs ʜᴇ ᴛʀɪᴇs ᴛᴏ ᴍᴏᴠᴇ ᴏɴ ᴏʀ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ʙᴇ ᴍᴇʀᴄɪꜰᴜʟ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴀʟʟᴏᴡ ʜɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪs ᴍᴀᴛᴇ?

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

Azriel’s eyes shot open when he sensed a presence in his room, instantly reaching for the dagger on his night stand. He looked around wildly but there was nothing. No one.

His shadows were tense. Alert. They sensed it too.

Azriel stood from the bed cautiously, bare feet on cold stone. His shadows instantly shielded him. If there was something in this room he would be invisible to them now.

He crept around the room, taking in every inch. Every shadowy corner. He looked behind the curtains. In the massive wardrobes. Under his bed, in his bathroom. Nothing. He walked to the balcony—that feeling of another being there rushed over him. He stepped out, the night breeze chilled his skin instantly and his eyes narrowed.

Nothing.

Then he felt it.

He gasped, dagger dropping to the ground as his hands clutched at his chest.

There was a tug. A tug right in the center of his chest, a tug in that black hole that had been there for months.

He fell to his knees. He couldn’t breathe. His chest was pounding.

“Rhys!” He hissed to his shadows, “Go get Rhys!”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

One hundred and eighty days.

Twenty six weeks.

Six Months.

Six months since Azriel lost the love of his life. His beautiful, sweet mate that he had foolishly turned away—who in her final moments may not have believed his love for her.

He would never forget the look on her face when that damned hyber soldier shoved a sword through her, how his shadows tried to desperately tend to her wounds as he tried to find help, the way she clung to him as her blood soaked through his armor. He remembered it, all of it. Every touch, every look, every whispered word from their last moments together played on repeat in his head.

It was all he dreamed about.

That was probably why he hadn’t left his room much the last six months. All he wanted was sleep because that’s where she was. Even if it was only a glimpse, even if the dream turned into a nightmare he didn’t care. If he could see her that’s all he cared about.

And when he wasn’t sleeping?

Well, he just laid in bed, his shadows curled against him as he stared at the roof or hid under his blanket and considered leaving this earth behind until sleep finally consumed him once again.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Violet blues were in front of him and Azriel immediately reached for him—scarred hand fisting in the dark material of his shirt.

“Az—”

“I can’t,” Azriel gasped, his shadows in a flurry around him. “I can’t breathe, Rhys. I can’t. I—”

“You can, come on, you have to take a breath. You have to calm down before you pass out,” Rhys said, grabbing him—one hand on his shoulder the other on the side of his face.

“Breathe. Come on, Az, breathe with me brother…”

He couldn’t. Rhys' words were drowned out by the ringing in his ears. He gasped again, doubling over again as that tugging in his chest began again. Feeling as if he was being shredded apart from the inside.

Azriel met Rhys’ eyes, saw the panic there, caught just a glimpse of Cassian as he landed on the balcony behind Rhys. The distant concerned shrill of Feyre’s voice. Rhys’ hand left his shoulder, grasping the other side of his face—he looked to be nearly yelling at him, shaking his head at something Cassian said.

His lungs hurt so bad, refusing to take in the air he was desperately trying to breathe. He’s going to pass out, he knows he it, he can feel the lightness in his head as his vision started fading around the edges.

He looked at Rhy again, but this time those violet blues didn’t belong to Rhys.

No. The face looking back at him was the one he’s been searching for since the last time he saw it all those months ago. The one his heart called out for. He reached out, scarred fingertips tracing along her cheek, his lungs finally filling with the breath he was so desperate for.

“Stella…” he gasped as he lost consciousness.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

It was the midst of battle when he felt that tug in his chest, worry spreading through his chest. He shoved the dead soldier off his sword and spun around looking for her. She tugged again. He felt panicked, something felt wrong—had been feeling wrong all morning.

When his eyes met hers, she tugged that bond between him and he felt it. She had the same awful gut feeling he had. He nodded in confirmation, tugging that bond between them—the first time he’d acknowledged it.

He almost smiled at her, almost urged her to come closer when a figure suddenly appeared behind her.

No!

But the words wouldn’t come out. All he could feel was dread. He tugged that bond again trying to alert her. Why couldn’t he move? He felt frozen in his spot. He tugged that bond as hard as he could, hoping, praying to the mother that maybe he could pull her to him.

His entire body ran cold as that Hybern soldier appeared right behind her. The he felt it as it happened, watched as that sword pierced right through her stomach.

No. No. No. No! He was screaming, fighting that invisible force was holding him.

He watched her face crumple as she looked down at the sword impaling her. She looked back at him, a gasping sob ripped from her throat as that soldier pulled his blade from her body.

“NO!” Azriel’s shout left his throat, so loud it shook the earth around them.

He watched as she touched that bloody wound in shock—only half paying attention to the fact that Cassian had just killed that soldier but Stella was falling. Her wings had given out and she was plummeting towards the earth—

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

He woke with a gasp, nearly toppling from the bed he'd laid on.

“Hey, hey, Az,” A voice echoed before a hand came down on his shoulder. He looked for the owner of that voice, finding his brother there—a look of concern on Rhys’ face.

“What the hell happened?” Azriel breathed, rubbing his hands over his face roughly, his body feeling fatigued and weak.

“We could ask you the same question,” the owner of that voice was Cassian.

“Azriel, I’ve given you time. I know it's been hard but it’s time to talk about it. You can’t keep living like this and I can’t keep watching you waste away,” Rhys said, firm and commanding.

Azriel looked at him, then Cassian. Felt the tears in his eyes, saw the worry in theirs.

“Fuck,” he breathed, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. Sat there silently for a moment.

He didn’t see the look his brother shared, the way they silently communicate their concerns to one another.

“I don’t know…” Azriel started, thinking of the words he wanted to say. “I don’t know if I want to live without her anymore.”

The weight of those words was heavy, hitting his brothers hard.

“Is that why you’ve been in your room? Refusing to eat or train? Because you…because you want to die?” Rhys asked, his voice still strong but there was something else there—a silent fear.

“Not entirely,” Azriel shook his head. “Three months ago I started having dreams of her. She’s all I think about in my waking moments and she’s all I see in my dreams. Sometimes they are horrible dreams but I—I stay in bed because when I am awake all I remember is that she is gone but when I sleep she is still with me. I can see her, I can hear her laugh, I can hold her in my arms, kiss her, tell her—tell her I love her and want to be her mate. And I just—”

A sob cut him off as the tears fell freely from his eyes.

“Az,” Rhys breathed, reaching out to grab his brother, wrapping him in a hug the best he could from the side.

Looking to Cassian he saw those hazel eyes brimmed with tears, their brother's pain so strong it hurt them too.

“I miss her so much,” Azriel sobbed, clutching to Rhys.

Cassian couldn’t stand there any longer, moving to the bed and sitting, reaching out and wrapping his arms around his brothers. He wasn’t afraid to let his tears flow as they all sat there together, trying to bring whatever comfort they could to their broken brother.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

It’s three days later when Azriel wakes, his body so exhausted from crying and speaking his feelings that he just slept and slept. Only dreaming of his girl. Not a single nightmare in sight.

As he was laying in bed, the dreams circled over and over in his head. He felt as if she was trying to tell him something, that maybe wherever she was she was still trying to be there for him.

She wouldn’t want this for him. She wouldn’t want him to lay in bed wasting away. She wouldn’t want him to die alone in his room. He couldn’t live his life with her. But he could live his life for her.

So he got up. It was slow, his shadows helped him. His muscles and joints hurt. His wings felt incredibly heavy. And…gods, was that smell him?

He looked towards the window. If he bathed now maybe he could have breakfast with his family. He missed them.

His brothers. His high lady and her sisters. Mor. And even Amren.

He was slow to move to the bathroom—he hadn’t noticed a few days ago or even that night he thought someone was in his room but now? Fuck, he felt it all now.

The bath was already steaming and he had half a mind to praise the house for that but his mental capacity wasn’t quite there yet. Instead he let his shadows undress him and balance him as he stepped into the large deep bath, immediately submerging himself in the warmth, sharing the weight of his body with the water took off a huge strain from his muscles.

Step one: get strength back.

He almost felt too weak to even bathe but while he washed himself his shadows took over the responsibility of washing his hair.

When he finally pulled himself from the water a fresh warm towel was waiting for him with a stack of clean clothes. He paused mid drying off when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

His skin was dull and pale, dark bags under his eyes that looked nearly sunken in. A thick, scruffy beard covered his chin and jaw and his hair fell well past his ears, nearly resting on his shoulders. The majority of his muscle definition was gone and he looked…fragile. Like he could break so very easily. His wings drooped behind him and when he tried to tighten them it was painful.

“Fuck,” he breathed, shaking his head. He hadn’t realized how bad it had gotten, how much his health—mentally and physically had declined.

Azriel brushed his teeth then grabbed the scissors from the counter, grabbing chunks of the beard off and snipping them off. He left some facial hair, and half ass style the hair on his head—he refused to go in front of his family for the first time in months looking so unkempt.

The clothes were simple and he didn’t bother with shoes. He stood at the door of his bedroom for a moment. He didn’t remember the last time he left this room. The little he had eaten had come directly from the house or his shadows.

He pulled open the door and stepped out. There was no one in the halls but his shadows clung to him protectively. They hadn’t spoken at all, merely clung to him. He began down the hall, dreading the stairs knowing they would kill his legs but he had to do it. He had to.

He was moving slowly but he could sense his family in the dining room on the level below. He held the railing and as he finally reached the last stair he took a moment to compose himself. He could feel a thin sheen of sweat coating his skin from the effort it took to descend the steps. His thighs and calves burned. And he had to take a few breaths to calm his racing heart.

He wasn’t sure the last time he ever felt like this. All he knew is he didn’t want to keep feeling like this.

Taking another breath he nodded to himself, placing a hand on the door and pushing it up. He was silent and as he looked around the dining room he wasn’t sure how he felt, but they were there—everyone except Amren anyway.

“Azriel,” Mor gasps, her brown eyes widening as a range of emotion washed over her face.

Every eye in the room turned to him. He lifted his head, tucked his wings and squared his shoulders back. He would not falter. He would be strong. He could do this. So he walked over, he took his normal seat between Cassian and Rhys, still open and ready for him.

He hadn’t yet spoken a word before a plate of food appeared in front of him. Looking up he met the eyes of each person at the table, varying looks but not of pity, sadness or contempt. No all of those eyes, the eyes of his family held pride, love and respect.

So he reached out, grabbed his fork and began to eat.

Azriel spoke to no one and no one spoke to him. Their conversation continued and he felt lighter listening to their voices. When he got back to his room, he fell into bed and he cried. He cried until he fell asleep.

But when he woke up the next morning, he got out of bed and joined his family for breakfast one again.

[poirott]

Agatha Christie's 'Towards Zero' tv series: First Look

The BBC has released the first pictures of Towards Zero, based on the classic mystery by Agatha Christie.

England, 1936. After a scandalous celebrity divorce, Nevile Strange and his ex-wife Audrey make the unthinkable decision to spend a summer together at Gull's Point, their childhood home and the coastal estate of Nevile's aunt, Lady Tressilian.

With unfinished business between the former childhood sweethearts, plus the presence of Nevile's new wife Kay, tensions are running high. Add to this a long-suffering lady's companion, a mysterious gentleman's valet, an exiled cousin with a grudge, a venerable family lawyer, an inquisitive orphan and a French con man, and soon there will be murder. A troubled detective must rediscover his purpose to untangle a toxic web of jealousy, deceit and dysfunction. Can he solve the crime before another victim meets their death?

The new pictures give a first glimpse at Lady Tressilian (Anjelica Huston), Inspector Leach (Matthew Rhys) and British tennis star Nevile Strange (Oliver Jackson-Cohen) - seen in the pics with the two ladies in his life: ex-wife Audrey (Ella Lily Hyland) and new wife Kay (Mimi Keene). The series is also starring Clarke Peters as Mr. Treves, an old friend of Lady Tressilian, Anjana Vasan as Mary Aldin, another party guest caught up in this disastrous mess, Jack Farthing as suspect Thomas Royde, Jackie Clune (Motherland), Grace Doherty (Call the Midwife), Khalil Gharbia (Mary & George), and Adam Hugill (Sherwood).

Towards Zero is expected to premiere on the BBC over the 2024 holidays and arrive on BritBox in early 2025. It's been adapted for screen by BAFTA-nominated Rachel Bennette (NW) and directed by the Olivier Award-winning Sam Yates (Magpie).

Source: BBC, Agatha Christie Official Instagram - October 1 2024

[farfallasims]

Love All on the court...🎾❤️

[himbosuplex]

Hairstyle meme Gambit edition #1: loose hair

[theimprobableone42]

I wanted to try and write something that would eloquently sum up my feelings, but I am not sure that’s possible.

I think I have been fluctuating between every stage of grief for the last 9 hours. When I saw the news about season 3 I was not in a place where I could react. I had to pretend that it was a normal day for another 5 hours until I got home. I didn’t want to be told “it’s just a show.”

The truth is it was, and will continue to be, so much more.

Ofmd came to me at a time when I truly needed it, as I am sure it did for many others. Truth be told I think it came at a time the world needed it. When queer peoples rights to be people are being debated and criticized left right and center, when hate is filing the world around is, OFMD came in with an open embrace. It came with acceptance and unconditional love. With it we found friendship and community. It helped us find our place in the world.

I am not the same person I was when I first sat down to watch the silly little pirate show. It has left a permanent mark on me, and I hope one day I can put this energy back into the world.

I still have a small sliver of hope that as a community we can turn this around, but I am scared to set myself up for more sadness.

Simply by existing OFMD has made the world a better place. I can not express the deep sorrow I feel that it will not be able to finish telling its story. We have had far to long a history of obscuring queer stories from public view.

The last line spoken by Holmes in Arthur Conan Doyle’s stories was “someday the true story may be told.”

OFMD was one step closer. Todays news doesn’t prove the word isn’t ready, it proves that we are still being held hostage by the same structures and ideals that were in place what Conan Doyle wrote those words. OFMD was revolutionary but it shouldn’t have to be. Real or fictional, everyone deserves their stories to be told.

That’s why todays news was more devastating then “it’s just a show.” It’s another battle lost. But we mustn’t stop fighting. Not for Our Flag Means Death, not for anything we believe in.

I just want to thank everyone who worked on Our Flag Means Death for putting so much joy into mine, and countless others lives. While I am devastated it’s over prematurely, I am so glad it existed.

“Nothing’s sad till it’s over. Then everything is.” - The Doctor.

[nerd-elf]

I’m still mad

[fallstaticexit]

Chapter Seven Adie (Fate pt 1) - Previous // Next // Beginning // Werewolf Lore

Transcript Coming Soon

[yandere-sins]

pls feed us with more rhys headcanons. nsfw or sfw !! - 🌙 moon anon

I've had that request in my asks for so long because I always wanted to write more but also had emotionally closed Rhys' chapter on this blog, but he is and always will be my fucking menace baby and I do have some more thoughts to share ;;♥

(Also tagging @glacierleice because I know you love him just as much! ♥)

»»————-———— ♡ ————————-««

Daily Rhys ☀️

♡ For someone who prioritized being a social butterfly and well-liked all throughout his young adulthood, he is actually a big homebody. Rhys forced himself outside all the time, to parties and outings, just so he could keep up his image of the cool guy, but once he settles with you, he's quickly turning out to be an introvert. It's easier to watch over you this way, and he seems comfortable hanging out with you all day, almost looking sad when he has to go out without you. No one would know since Rhys keeps up being friendly and approachable outwardly with customers and neighbors, but he only cares for you, so why would he go out? He's very crafty, not just when using ropes for your restraints, but also for fixing broken machines and making you new furniture. You'll never have to go without enough space on shelves because Rhys will immediately get his things to make you a new one! You might not appreciate the creativity of his tools and projects when he uses them to punish you, but for everyday life, they are very handy!

♡ Rhys is obsessed with your hands. Hand-holding, comparing hands, watching your hands as they work on something—he loves all of it! He'll hold your hand at all times, even while he sleeps. Or play with your fingers while watching a movie, rather than fidgeting with his own. Most of the time, he has to force you, but he'll become grumpy if he doesn't get to nuzzle his face into your palms once a day, dragging them to his face if he must and cupping his own cheeks. In winter, he makes sure to moisturize them for you, linking your fingers playfully with a big grin as he puts hand cream on. Every morning, he slips your wedding ring on your finger, kisses it reverently, enjoying the peace it brings him. And he gets mighty upset over every little paper cut or worse. Your wrists, on the other hand? If they aren't raw from his restraints, he'll make sure to get them bloody, latest when the shop is closed, and he gets to drag you upstairs—screaming and crying—to the apartment.

Nightly Rhys 🌙

♡ It is an obvious fact that once Rhys got his hands on a Shibari book for the first time, it became his new favorite pastime. You look divine, strung up and hung from the ceiling, like his beautiful little angel descending from heaven! He takes the few moments he has before he has to take you down to memorize the image, rarely using a camera as the pictures never come close to the true sight. Even when you're crying, sobbing, or wincing in pain, he can't look away, too mesmerized by it. If he does take photos, he has a habit of wanting to show them to you and discuss how beautiful you are from every angle, handling it almost as if you two were browsing through an old photo album of memories. Rhys always keeps the newest picture somewhere on his person in case he's feeling down and unable to be with you right away, the beautiful sight of you bringing a smile back to his lips as he kisses the paper softly, deciding to practice a new pose that night.

♡ One would think he's really overly kinky, and he has his moments where he catches himself thinking bizarre stuff. But his favorite position? Missionary. Hands tied to the headboard over your head, legs spread widely so he can push every inch of himself into you, and either you wrap your legs around voluntarily, or he'll put them in place over his thighs. His arms are on either side of your head, hands beneath it so he can keep you from straining your neck as you two kiss to the point of breathlessness. Your bodies are rubbing tightly together, the warmth mixing as you can both feel each other breathe, nipples brushing against each other, and he can see the glorious face you make as he stimulates you to the point of orgasm. Later in life, Rhys rarely comes first, too mesmerized by the sight of your ecstasy and unable to reach orgasm unless he watched yours. At the end of the day, you are his whole life's purpose, and if he can see you happy just a little bit, then he, too, can feel the same happiness.