#rhys story

[farfallasims]

Old & New Flames...

[alasforher]

[copypastus]

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

[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.”

[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

[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 ᴊᴏᴜʀɴ��ʏ 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.

[dreamyyesenia]

Always Keep Simming - This is what you get for messing with a mad Scientist, Stella..

That escalated quickly? 😂 Aileen was not a sim to mess with, not anymore, as Stella had to learn the hard way. She was not the little sweet angel that admired her big sister and would overlook her wrongdoings anymore (context: She forgave her sister - and her boyfriend- for sleeping with her boyfriend four times! It was at the fifth time in her own bed that she’d had enough)… Not anymore, never again!

So here’s what happened: The watcher watched (lol genius) curiously how Aileen would interact with her sister. They hadn’t seen each other since that day Stella left to live in Del Sol Valley with her lover. Years and years and three kids and a divorce later (he cheated on her 👀), she was seen at the twins birthday party. Aileen smiled at Stella at first and the watcher was actually hopeful. But, unfortunately, seeing Aileen, beautiful, successful and happy as she was, nagged at Stella’s self esteem. She lashed out and began insulting her little sister. She actually went so far as to try to take her leadership of their family club down (!!). Aileen’s mother had passed on the role of the leadership to her, as it was tradition in this legacy. Aileen was furious and heartbroken. She dismissed her sister from the club, which Stella took very badly… so she started a fight. Aileen won and before her sister could leave, she gave her a little taste of what it meant to mess with a mad scientist and disrupt her peace. 😈 Never again.

[himbosuplex]

Hairstyle meme Gambit edition #1: loose hair

[farfallasims]

Love All on the court...🎾❤️

[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

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[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! ♥)

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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.

[cressidagrey]

The Starlight Princess - Chapter 5

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: Definitely NSFW

She screamed. 

And into the world, she poured all her pain and her anger and her fury, her magic lashing out to the world that had taken so much from her. That had kept her prisoner for centuries and now threatened to take him from her. 

Seren wasn’t sure what she was doing, she only knew that the only thing she wanted was vengeance. 

Vengeance. Death. She wanted him dead. 

And she did that. 

Azriel plunged the knife and Seren was the one who pointed him in the right direction. 

The wards broke. The curse shattered. Her magic exploded.  

For just one single moment she felt like she was being flayed alive. 

And then…then she was back. Back into her body that she hadn’t felt in centuries. Back to having arms and legs and hands and feet. 

Back to feeling cold mud underneath her knees, the wind on her skin. 

She looked up, her eyes wide…and then she stared at him. 

She felt something inside her snap.

Seren had no idea what it was. She didn’t understand what was happening, couldn’t understand what was happening as it felt like the magic in her body swirled…

She didn’t understand what was happening. She didn’t understand what was happening to her. 

The only thing…the only thing that she knew was that he was hers. 

Hers. 

She had never in her life felt anything like that. She had never in her life felt anything like him. 

The only thing in her mind that mattered at that moment was he…he mattered. 

He mattered because he was hers. 

Mate.

Mate. 

Her mate. Hers. Hers and hers alone. Her mate. 

It was there. In her brain. 

And it was the truth. She could feel that in every fibre of her being. Mate. He was her mate. Her mate. 

Mate. 

Her eyes met his. 

Mine. Mine. Mine. 

She covered her body with her own, unable to think, unable to do anything but cling to him…

Her mind reached out, without her permission, unable to even recognise about the dangers she put both of them in as she threw herself against the comfort of his mind with everything she had. 

She needed…she needed…

The rhythm of his mind that she knew better than her own…the feeling of it under her mental touch, the love, the power it projected…it was the only home she needed. 

And so she blanketed it with her own, wanting to cradle it in safety, needing to feel it, needing to…

*Home. Safety. Protection,* he seemingly chanted. And while she agreed, she needed him first. She fit her mouth over his with a growl, needing him to touch her, needing his attention on her like she needed air to breathe. 

She tasted his blood and the salty and iron taste soothed something inside her. 

One hand cupped the back of her head and she shuddered, leaning her forward against his, breathing in cedar and mist and something that was irrevocably him. 

Mate. Mate. Mate. 

He kept a tight grip on him, even when she could feel the magic swirl, grabbed her and they hit the stone floor in a house. 

Not that it mattered. 

Nothing mattered, but him. 

She straddled him, the need rising to a fever pitch, her nails scoring against his warm skin, stretched over rock-hard muscles, and she pushed away the leather falling off his shoulders in rags, the fabric disintegrating under her fingertips. 

Her lips pressed against his again, her tongue tangling with his as she needed to have him bare underneath her. Now. 

She needed him. She needed him as close to her as she possibly could, her body nearly aching, heat curling low in her belly, burning her from the inside out. 

Her instincts were screaming at her, to take and fuck and claim and have him. 

She needed him. She needed him. 

*Seren.* Her name in his mind only fanned the flames, only made her fingernails score against his skin, his skin slick with blood and sweat and she didn’t care. 

He pulled back from the kiss and she growled, staring at him. “Seren, wait.”

“Why?” It was a guttural sound ripped from her throat. Wait? Wait for what? Why should they wait? 

If she was going to wait, she would die. 

She couldn’t wait. 

She attacked his throat instead, nipping the delicate skin there with her sharp teeth, tasting salt and sweat and Azriel and wanting, needing more. Her hands slid over his torso and she could feel him shudder underneath him, could feel the arousal thrumming on his side of the bond…she bit back a smile. 

 *I need you,* she cooed at him. Hers. She needed him. She needed him. 

She could feel his mind, could feel him hover in indecision, could feel him get ready to push her off but she clung to him even tighter. *Please, Azriel.* 

Desperation bled through her, as she shifted…and the flames built into an inferno, as she could feel him notch against her there, even with layers of clothing separating him…She could feel him, rock hard and ready for her, ready for her taking. 

Her instincts shot into overdrive. *Big. Strong. Will give me strong children,* something inside her purred, pure undiluted need rushing into the cradle of her thighs, her body growing slick and warm in seconds, a throbbing pain making itself a home there. Empty. She was so empty. 

She needed…

That’s how far she came. 

He twisted them, her body suddenly buried underneath him, before he flipped her over, and dragged her hips up into the air until she was propped up on her knees. 

A thin, needy whine escaped her at his manhandling, the arousal suddenly at an even worse fever pitch than it had been before, one broad, scarred hand, shoving her head down, her hands squabbling for purchase against the rough stone. 

She fought against him, but she had no chance. Absolutely none, against the pure muscle mass and bulk off him as he leaned over her and pinned her to the floor, one hand grasping her hair, and twisting it around his hand like a rope, yanking her head to the side, his teeth against her neck. 

She could see him, could see the dark eyes, the snarl on his face as he buried her body underneath his, her heart thumping inside her chest, like a rabbit caught in the snare of an apex predator. 

Seren wasn’t scared. That didn’t even cross her mind. 

He growled, the sound feral, a warning.

She whimpered in response, her thighs growing slick with her wetness. 

Azriel’s nostrils flared and she knew the moment he caught her arousal. 

“Mine,” he snarled at her, magic enveloping them once again, her whole body trembling… enveloping the

And just like that she was at his mercy, her heart pounding in his chest as suddenly he was bare, the thick line of his cock dragging against her cunt, her whole body trembling at the shocking touch, her breath catching in her throat.  

His other hand, the one that was not buried in her hair, slid over her hip…pressing his fingers between her thighs, finding that needy, throbbing bud there that was driving her to the brink of insanity. She couldn’t help but jerk as he circled it, a whine escaping her. 

She was caught between the insistent press of his cock, still sliding slowly against her, never entering her, and the touch of his fingers that were…

He clucked his tongue at her as she tried to get away from him, the hand in her hair pulling her back sharply. *You’ll take what I give you,* he snapped in her mind, the order like a whip crack and she had no choice but to submit. 

Not that she wanted to. a part of her mind was purring in response, more than pleased by him taking control. 

*Mate. Mate. Mate. Mate will take care of me,* her mind purred, her trembling only intensifying. 

She whimpered, pushing back against him, his fingers having ceased their slow circled

*I will. I will take care of you. What does my mate need?* he purred into her mind. *Do you need my cock?*

Yes. Yes. Yes. Maybe that would finally help against the incessant emptiness that was gaping inside her, maybe then she would no longer feel quite as…

He pulled back and that was all the warning, she would get as he plunged inside her, ripping apart her maidenhead with one deep stroke. Her back bowed, a scream escaped her, at the pure size of him, the width and length that was forced inside her with brutal pressure. 

Her walls fluttered helplessly against him, straining and failing.

She tried to shift away, and bucked her hips against his, as everything hovered over the knife's edge of being too much, whimpering pitifully. 

He kept her pinned underneath him, so easily it would probably been amusing under any other circumstances. Panic clawed up into her chest, but as she could feel a low growl rumbling from his throat…He forced her body to adjust, to submit, and suddenly something inside her relaxed. 

Her body grew lax, no longer fighting him. 

But something…something inside her slid into place… something inside her relaxed at the biting heat and pressure and pain and pleasure that this brought her…something inside her slotted right where it should, the bond between them flexing and shifting…

*Such a good little mate, princess,* he purred into her mind and she wanted nothing more than to hear that every day for the rest of her life. 

Her instincts purred, satisfaction turning languid…like a cat stretching out in front of a fireplace.

Her thoughts grew hazy, heat pooling low inside her belly as her cunt clenched around him, against the sheer size of him…pinned into place between him and the floor. She wriggled, but she didn’t really want to escape his grip…just wanted to see if she could move…and she couldn't. 

Desire pulsed through her at that, at how helpless she truly was in the face of his strength…how heavy and big her mate was as he pinned her to the floor, surrounded her…utterly and completely. 

“Mine,” he growled against her throat and she felt his teeth prick against her skin. 

“Yours,” she agreed, the words coming out of her mouth in a soft whine, just as he went back to circle that nub begging for attention…

He pulled back slightly and snapped his hips forward, making her gasp. She was quite sure that he was going to bruise her, and she couldn’t fucking care less. Seren could hardly draw breath to scream, her nails scratching against the stone floor as he fucked her hard and mercilessly. It was almost too much to bear. 

Almost. 

But she revelled in it. She loved every fucking second of it, every second of gasping for breath, her body aching, climbing towards that peak that she was barreling towards too. 

This was…this was more than simply taking pleasure from each other, this was a claiming. 

And she gave each other over to him with every fibre of her being. 

“Mine,” he snarled once again, his teeth snapping closed against her neck and she arched into that sweet pain, as she choked out an affirmative, a high-pitched cry escaping her mouth, as he picked up the pace. 

He was ravaging her. 

“My mate. Mine.”

Hard punishing thrusts, until finally, her body hit that point where…that point everything went white surrounded her, a wordless high-pitched scream on her lips. 

He didn’t stop. 

She didn’t stop either. Her body started clenching around his again and again and again, and she wasn’t sure when one climax ended or another began. Peak after Peal, rolling into each other, again and again, until it was one constant cresting wave that destroyed every last bit of her sanity.  

She was a prisoner to the pleasure he gave her, every thrust of his giving her another peak or maybe just lengthening that one until her body violently shook in his grasp. 

Her mind reached out on its own accord, cracking open, every bit of pleasure he was giving her, pouring out of her and into him and into the world, sharing it, making it stronger….

Two, three thrusts later, he came with a roar. There was no other word for it. 

His fingers imprinted on her skin with the force of his touch, bruising her and she sobbed with pleasure as she could feel his pleasure pouring all over her, the molten heat that he poured deep inside her as his cock twitched. 

She was utterly surrounded by him, inside and out, his scent covering her. 

He collapsed on top of hers, and she could feel that ravaging need deep within her subside slightly. 

For just a moment, she only existed, catching her breath, her mind blissedly empty as the only thing she felt was Azriel’s weight on top of her, the mating bond thrumming between them into one golden bond. 

Seren was safe. Seren was home. 

And then suddenly, Azriel’s feelings poured all over her, shock, horror, an absolutely ridiculous amount of self-loathing, fear and…

“Gods, I am so sorry, Seren,” he choked out as he lifted off her and she managed to crack open one eye, not understanding what he had now. 

“Hm?“ She couldn’t even manage to build a complete sentence. To blissed out. 

Too…pleased. 

“Seren,” Azriel’s hands fluttered around her, not daring to touch and she managed to push up on a pair of shaking arms, her body still thrumming with aftershocks, to catch his hands. 

*What’s wrong? Why are you sorry?* she demanded. What was...

“What’s wrong?” Azriel asked her incredulously. “I fucked you like some kind of animal! I bit you!”

“Yeah, and you don’t hear me complain,” Seren shot back, somehow managing to sit up, flinging a blob of mud from her shoulder down onto the floor. She really wasn’t going to complain. Not when she had loved every fucking second of this. 

“I can smell your blood,” Azriel choked out and she stared, watching the self-hatred that made himself a home on his face. 

*Azriel,* she said pointedly, pushing her mind against his, pushing into his mind, showing him exactly how it had felt…the pleasure he had wrung from her. How much she had loved. 

*I am so sorry,* he whispered into her mind and she somehow managed to drape herself half over his lap, pressing herself against his body. 

*You don’t need to apologise. There is nothing that you did wrong. But if you need to hear it: I’ll forgive you,* she whispered into his brain. Quite frankly, their first kiss had been her nearly biting off his tongue, so…maybe this wasn’t quite the first time she had expected but that didn’t mean that she didn’t enjoy it. 

*This was your first time,* Azriel realised weakly. 

*And it was perfect,* she cut him off before he could start it up again. *Though I could use a bath…I do not enjoy being covered in mud.*

He bit out a laugh at that, weak and thin and still lifted her into his arms like she weighed nothing. She was quite certain that they trailed mud and blood all over this house as she tipped her head back against his chest, feeling his heartbeat underneath her touch. 

*Where are we?* she asked idly, taking in the comfortable furnishing of wooden furniture and thick carpets over the rough stone floor. It was a far cry from the luxurious appointed House of Wind where she had grown up. Or even the Moonstone Palace on top of the Hewn City. 

It was…home. 

She quite liked it. 

*My house in Velaris,* Azriel answered as he pushed open the door to the bathing chamber. His home? 

He had lived in the House of Wind before. Since when did he have that house? 

But that question went unanswered, as Seren blinked twice at the absolute massive pool that doubled as a bathtub. 

*Makes it easier to wash my wings,* he admitted unashamedly and she grinned as he carefully put her down, dragging him in with her. 

Not just his wings. Her wings too. 

He indulged her, as she pressed a soft kiss against his mouth, stepping into the steaming water behind her as the pool filled magically. He cradled her face, soft and sweet and languid as the pool filled with warm water and she could feel the mud washing away from her 

*You deserved it to be courted like a princess,* he still thought weakly at her as she cupped the water in her hands and gently started to wash him, taking in the sluggishly bleeding scratches on his chest as she cleaned them carefully. She was sure they would scar, disrupting the Illyrian tattoos that marked his skin with scars gained for her. 

*Well, I have never turned down a gift,* she quipped, making him bark out a burst of laughter. *You can just make it up to me.* She suggested brightly. *You can be as sickening sweet and doting as you want after we have cleaned up. I am prepared to endure your thorough attentions.*