#she is definitely a fucking faerie

[faithinthestory]

Ok, so. The fact that JEREMY doesn't seem to realize/question the fact that he doesn't know The Legend Tripper's name is really fucking weird in and of itself. The fact that we see him behaving SO DIFFERENTLY with her than with anyone else - his guard is DOWN with her, automatically, immediately.

The past few episodes really highlight the contrast in his interactions, with Peyton, with Sophie. With Thomas, it's a bit of a different situration; but even with Vipin, he's still more guarded than with her in some ways, and that's after knowing and working with Vipin for years. And the fact that he CAN'T or WON'T see the weirdness of the situation is a huge red flag to me that something is off.

[jewishrizahawkeye]

i gotta power through my book tonight, it’s only 200 pages, so i can start my fma reread but on god my brain has lost any ability to focus and i just keep zoning out and thinking of random stories of mine

[taz-writes]

object memories

A fic I wrote as part of my D&D druid’s backstory that I’m in the mood to share. Do you ever write something for the sole purpose of splashing around in your own prose like a dog in a kiddie pool?

TLDR: POV character Hush and her father were held prisoner by a cult for 10 years in solitary confinement, before being ritually sacrificed. Unbeknownst to the cult, Hush wasn’t quite dead and woke up later in the mass grave mortally wounded but alive. As a druid, Hush can shapeshift into animals if she’s seen and studied them before. This fic is about how she 'discovered’ her first four wildshapes in the aftermath of her ordeal, while learning to survive alone in the wilderness and fend off the hunger that threatened to consume her.

~4,600 words; CWs: gore, animal death, take ‘em seriously I’m not kidding around. I feel like there’s also something going on here with the hunger stuff, but I truly don’t know what the fuck to even call that CW. If somebody knows, let me know lol.

The rat was the first. 

She doesn’t know exactly when she reached the tipping point, but she grew intimately acquainted with the ways of the rats over the years. She spent an eternity in that dungeon, curled in the corner among her clinking chains, feeling them scurry over her in her sleep. Grew acquainted with how they move, how they think, grew used to fighting them away from what little she had to eat, bartering with them for the space, for help to stay clean, teaching them to bring her things. She watched them for generations, while they nested in the dirty little pallet that she slept on,  until they were closer friends than she’d ever had among humans. 

She knew them, inside and out, long before she knew how to change into anything. When she awoke in the aftermath and the wildshapes came, the rat was like a second skin. She slipped into the shape like a shield, slick with blood, and slithered out with the last of her breath. 

The world outside was big. 

She couldn’t heal. The first word she spoke when she took her given shape again was a rattling, empty gasp that sent sticky gore oozing through the feeble scabs over the gash in her neck. It didn’t matter how desperately she grasped for the language, how well she knew the incantation, how crisp and adamant the gestures were that should have saved her. There was no magic without sound. And her angelic heritage did little to help when whatever the source of her limited innate healing, it simply didn’t respond. 

She spent the first week or so in the glade on the edge of the forest where she collapsed after running out of time as the rat. The summer heat broiled her skin, even through the shield of the canopy, leaving her parched and aching and crisp like a dead leaf. In the haze of exhaustion, she began to treat her wounds. 

The sacrificial shift they’d dressed her in shredded easily. She wound long strips of it carefully around her waist and chest, stomach churning at the horrid sight of the injuries, and tied the rest as tightly as she could across her ragged neck before the pressure made her choke. Every motion left her dizzy and sick. She might have laid there on and off for hours or days or a month, languishing in the softest patch of moss she managed to find and dragging herself back and forth from the clear little stream that burbled a few yards away. As many moments as she could, she hid behind the rat again. The rat wasn’t bleeding. The rat was safe. The rat could forage, devouring whatever it could find, just enough to sustain her. 

She learned the rabbits next. 

Timid creatures, cautious and quick, they watched her with their wide beaded-bright eyes and darted to safety at the sound of her rattling breaths. While she waited to recover her strength between wildshapes, she watched them back, tracking the little families back and forth among the wild grasses. They were solitary, but not alone—never truly alone. 

There was a nest not far from her resting place. She stumbled across the babies on her way to the stream. Their tiny forms huddled together in a depression in the grass and she looked one in the eyes and its little ears trembled, it tucked itself deeper in the shadows, bracing, and a sudden knife twisted in the center left of her stomach. 

It took too long to realize it wasn’t the wound this time. 

Her sunburnt skin ached desperately, throbbing to the rhythm of a heart that wasn’t hers. She fumbled past to the edge of the water and dipped her face below the surface, where the chill could bring her to her senses, but the soft curves of the current brushed their way along her cheeks like the perfect ghosts of her father’s hands. 

Her lungs burned before she came back up for air. 

The next time she changed, the new shape was a rescue. She was a stranger but she smelled like the glade, and the other rabbits allowed her there. In the shadowed night they huddled together, warmed by each other’s skin, and her tiny rabbit’s heart began to calm as it hadn’t before in a very long time. 

She couldn’t remain forever. She was keenly aware, the longer she lingered, that she was far too close to the cult. Any member could stumble across her here, out on a forage or traveling to the compound, and she wouldn’t get another chance at freedom. She couldn’t risk it. When her stomach sealed enough that the insides of her abdomen didn’t spill to the outside after any major movement, she staggered to her feet like a newborn fawn and began the journey. 

She stuck to the woods. Waterdeep was a death trap, anyone could be cult-aligned, anyone could see her and they thought she was dead but she couldn’t know who might know her face. The roads were too much of a risk, populated as they were. Stealth was her only option. The angels guided her when she slept, teaching her how to find north and south in the stars, how to know clean water from stagnant, how to name the leaves and berries around her and tell which ones were safe. She treated her aches with willow bark and bandaged herself with buffers of soft clean leaves. She passed the days in the shelter of her animal forms or huddled in the shade, thinking of anything but the black spots that swarmed intermittent in her vision and the weakness in her limbs. She stayed alive. It was a near thing. 

When the berry season faded, and the leaves began to turn, the hunger snarled in her like a wild beast. 

She stumbled to the nearest town under cover of night, shielding her body with her arms, following the smell of something delicious she couldn’t name that made her gut twist with starving, nauseous desperation. It was too open, the streets too broad, but every building’s door loomed and narrowed and filled her mouth with the suffocating taste of molding earth until her heart pattered the way it did in the rabbit’s body and the outlines of the structures blurred and blackened before her eyes. A too-cold breeze swirled through the streets and she shuddered from head to toe. 

There was a man ahead in dark robes that swirled and her heart moved like rabbit’s feet fleeing in her ribcage. She forced herself to the alley, forced herself back, and bolted into the safety of the sacred darkness. 

It was like that at the next few towns, too. There were kind people, here and there. One gave her a soft dark shirt and soft dark pants when she met him in the night, thrust them at her and skittered off when she tried through rattling gasps to ask if he wanted payment; a few innkeepers let her stay the night and gave her meals in the morning that softened the hunger’s brutal edge. But it couldn’t last, because the figures in the alleyways always came back, and names that she remembered from another life haunted her until she fled back to the safety of the trees. 

The days grew colder. 

The woods were safer further south, deep and dark, filled with birdsong and the golden colors of the waning year, the colors bright as life. She’d taken a sharp rock and cut a stick to hold her weight, easing the pressure on the days when walking was too much. Her breathing was growing easier, and her neck didn’t bleed anymore. But the words that would call magic to her side still couldn’t find their way from her mind out through her lips. 

She was losing strength. The angels taught her traps and snares, but her feeble hands couldn’t tie the knots tight enough, and the few beasts she trapped slipped free when she tried to claim them. The herd of deer that once bolted at the sight of her now didn’t even flinch, the great many-pointed stag that led their numbers watching her passively while his mate and children drank at the riverside and foraged from the dying grasses. There was little to forage and less to live by, and some days the wavering mists of exhaustion hardly left her vision. 

Sometimes, on the nights the angels didn’t come, she dreamed of the stag instead. Of his glinting eyes in the brush, watching her, unafraid. She murmured prayers in the morning to whatever forces listened. 

She met the wolves in the pits of a moonless night, by way of gleaming golden eyes and an uncanny silence sweeping over her resting place, and she knew they’d come for her. She resolved herself to at least go down on her feet. 

When the first wolf lunged, she lashed out with her staff, squeezing her eyes shut against the wave of fatigue that swept through her body from head to toe and sent the blood rushing out of her head, and felt herself make contact. The beast yelped, and she blinked spots from her vision just in time to fend off a second, sending it sprawling across the scrubby ground. Her hands shook.

“Please,” she tried to rasp, though nothing but a helpless wheeze came out. The wolves paced. She shifted back, making space, feeling acid adrenaline spread slow like venom down her arms and into her fingertips, biting back the way every motion tore at the scabby flesh of her still-healing abdomen. 

The wolves kept pacing. In the dark, they moved like dancers, every footstep intentionally measured. Silent, despite their size, dwarfing her with heavy bodies—direwolves, not just wolves, but their largest and most vicious cousins. 

Her stomach growled with a ferocity that nearly sent her to her knees. 

The third wolf lunged. She grasped for the little magic she knew, one of the rare spells that remained without her voice, and scared it back with a shard of ice that burst into bitter steam across the pack. Its yelp was piercing and sharp and left her dizzy. Through the haze as she recovered, she watched the wolf pack flee. 

She dreamed of the stag that night. She dreamed of blood and the careful steps of hunting beasts, tender in the foliage. She dreamed that she staggered to uncertain feet and the stag was there, his muzzle nudging against her arm, strong and stable, as she found her way upright. She wrapped her arms around him. He was warm and smelled of musk and the gentle decay of the forest floor in fall. He didn’t flee. His fur was soft like the velveteen skin of something whose name she’d forgotten, a precious something she’d loved in another life, beyond her memory, behind the veil of the endless dark. She awoke grasping for it, the name on her lips but not close enough to catch it, even if she’d had the voice to speak. 

She dreamed fitfully, in bursts, interrupted by the empty claws of a hollow stomach scratching at the inside of her vessel like nails on slate.

The next day, something whimpered in the bushes when she went to change her bandages at the stream. She braced herself against her staff, and nudged aside the leafy branches, and found the wolf. It was panting,  golden eyes glazed grey with pain, curled up defensively with hackles raised. It growled at her approach, but the sound was weak, and tapered to a whimper. 

Near its feet, the ground was muddied with black-red blood. She traced the line from its paws to the place in its side where the fur was shaved down to muscle and a thin line of bone. The ghost of a spell and an icy projectile flashed across her memory.

Her hands were shaking again. 

She went to the water. This stream ran clear and cold, down from somewhere in the mountains, carrying the mineral taste of glaciers high above. Flakes of mud and blood trailed free from her hands when she dipped them in the current, and she watched them swirl away through the eddies and whorls. 

It was all mechanical, in the end. She pried a piece of moss from the bank, hefted it, ran it through the water and watched the dirt run off the roots towards the valley. Washed it clean, squeezed it under the surface and watched it fill with water. Stood and turned back to the forest. 

The beast didn’t calm, but it didn’t bite when she pressed the pad of moss as gently as she could against the gash. It snapped, and she looked it in the eye, waiting. Its jaws were wide, teeth yellowed and worn from use. It could tear her to ribbons even now, if it had the nerve. She wouldn’t last long. 

She washed the wound, and padded it with clean dry lichen, and flinched when she touched the beast’s side and a warmth filled her fingers that hadn’t answered her since she first returned to consciousness in the grave. She caught it like a soap bubble, soft as a memory. It settled in her chest and the breath that filled her lungs was deeper than she’d had in years. 

She’d forgotten how it felt, when the warding darkness at her center answered. When the healing power in her blood responded to her call. 

She forgot it again when the hunger returned in a wave of dizzying force, chasing all other thoughts from her mind. The wolf, rising from its rest in the hollow, tilted its head with a calculating glint and watched her. Gold eyes met gold. 

It turned to follow the water, limping ever so slightly, and padded off. 

She followed. 

The pack was waiting in a stony cavern where the stream met a sparkling river. She felt their wary gazes long before she saw them, hidden as they were among the warm grey stone. But they recognized their lost member and pounced on him, tumbling together in a massive joyful bundle over the sandy patch of riverside, and before long it was like they hadn’t even seen her. She found a bright place on a rock by the shore, and waited for the sun to warm her bones more than the hunger chilled them. 

Across the river, the bushes rustled. She knew what she’d see there. 

The stag disappeared into the brush, and her vision blackened. 

She awoke to the hot wet stickiness of a tongue on her face, and flinched, recoiling from the threat. In front of her sat the injured direwolf. 

“Hi,” she whispered, bracing herself. “Hi there.” The words stuck in her wound and scraped. 

The wolf cocked its head, stood, and licked her face again. It… did not try to bite her head off. This was not a situation she had anticipated. She particularly did not expect to be licked a third time. The wolf’s breath almost made her faint again. 

Behind the wounded animal, the packmates slunk forward, watching her. Waiting. 

The hunger in their eyes was a mirror of her own, and the shapechange came in its aching wake. 

She followed them, that night, in a wolfish skin that matched their own. It wasn’t long before she had to pause, the time limits of her wildshapes forcing her back to rest while the pack moved on, but the howl carried on. They didn’t like to leave their own behind. She learned their faces—the mother the first to lunge, the father the second, the grown pups that followed them with their own faces and minds and hearts. They walked the trails of the forest, and she learned their gait, their stalking dance, their silent patience. 

She slept between great warm bodies, and dreamed of blood and meat and the beasts that once wore the bite-marked bones on the floor of the den. 

In the days, she jostled with the pups as one of them while she could. When she couldn’t, she rested on the rock by the river, while the echoes gnawing in her stomach dueled the white-hot claws of her bone-deep scars. She scrounged late-season eggs from a duck’s nest and swallowed them raw, on her hands and knees in the riverbank mud, eggshells scraping her gums and spilled yolk staining the ground, and coughed up half what she found when her scarred neck screamed with pain from bending low. It staved off the ache for an hour. She scraped up the spilled remains in her hands and wept. 

On the fifth night, she followed the pack to a valley full of marsh-weed, where they found a limping boar. The pack struck in a whirl of fur and fangs, iron-stink staining the water. They fought her back from the bounty until the leaders took their share, but the scraps she claimed sated something, hot and vicious in the pit of her gut. 

It was enough for a day. 

She dreamed of it after, the blood that dripped from her fangs, the viscera on her tongue, the hot iron taste of it, the texture of muscle rending against her jaw. The heat on her lips and gums, bone crushing and crunching and cracking in her grasp, the relief like a soft warm pelt at the end of a long day’s journey as the soft squishing prey slid down her gullet like a prayer… 

She dreamed of it night after night after night, waking with saliva in her mouth, thinking of it between the angels’ words, the ghost of that sensation dancing through her mouth in all her forms. She sat by the river and echoed it, conjuring up the giving resistance of flesh under her teeth, biting her tongue till it bled to remember the taste. She dreamed of nothing but. She dreamed even in her waking hours, as the first autumn frost laced over the land and the pack sat full and happy from the hunt. 

She dreamed of it until the dream consumed her, empty of everything but teeth. 

She left the den on an ice-bitter evening under ponderous slate skies when the dull weight of the thought hung heavy like an overripe fruit, when she wondered what the wolves would feel like beneath her fangs, if their heavy furs would rip and tear the way that scrap of boar did or if they’d linger in the teeth and scratch and bristle. She slunk up the hill to the north on the pack’s favored trail, filling her muzzle with the scent of heavy musk and petrichor. 

The stag was waiting. 

His antlers glinted in the cold dead moonlight, graceful as a halo, round as the crescent moon. He turned his head. She met his eyes and lunged. 

She tore out the flesh of his neck like pages from a holy book, paper beneath her fangs as his blood ran like wine at a ritual. His stomach opened just as easily, staining the fallen leaves in garish scarlet, and his legs kicked feebly as she tore through the viscera that spilled free, relishing in the iron stench. Mouthful after mouthful, she ate her fill. She tore through muscle and tendon until she finally sank her teeth into his bright-hot heart and swallowed it in shreds. It might have still been beating, or the pulse between her jaws might have been her own, racing and vicious. She felt every piece reach her stomach, filling the void, hot in her chest like a hearthfire, bright as a star, sweet and tangy in the wolf’s senses and prickling in her own. 

She hunted the liver down among the mess and swallowed it next, and the kidneys, and parts she knew no name for that glistened red and pink and sickish yellow in the light. She savored the feeling, the soft wet warm of it, the taste of the life that would fuel her own. She pried out the lowest of his ribs and it crackled in her jaws and she chewed out the marrow until there was nothing left of worth. 

She didn’t know when he stopped moving, only that eventually, he did. It took too long. 

When the wolf’s stomach filled, she lost the shape and scrabbled at the stag with her own weak human-shaped hands, her fingers shaking, nails digging into the slickened meat for purchase and prying up scraps to devour. She shook and shuddered and buried her own face into the stag’s shattered chest, drinking the lifeblood until it dried sticky on the edges of her skin, until she was full, until her aching stomach silenced and stopped and grew bloated with bleeding flesh. 

She raised her head and her gaze caught upon his eyes. They were wide, and glassy, and milky with the haze of death. 

She turned away from the kill and threw up nothing but bile, choking on the taste of steel. 

“Thank you,” she murmured, too hoarse for anyone to hear, shuffling to the side and cradling his head in her lap, the warm blood filling her soft dark pants and seeping through to her skin. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Thank you.” 

She leaned over him, wrapped her arms around his neck, curling her fingers into his short soft fur. Velveteen. Buried her face in his, her eyes hot and stinging, she swore she felt the ghosts of hands in her hair as the blood dried sticky on her face and melted down her cheeks. She clutched him tight enough to strain the scabs down her chest and belly, threatening to once again reopen the wounds. And she stayed there, waiting, until nothing came. Her stomach was quiet. 

As she rose to her feet, she carefully bent and lifted as much of the stag as her body could manage. He was lighter than seemed fair, even to her haggard limbs. 

Her hands didn’t shake. 

There were hunters in these woods. The angels had told her, murmurs in the night, between the endless thoughts of hunger. They could help her. She stumbled through the brush, dragging the stag behind her, listening for someone larger than herself. 

In the hours before the dawn, she found a young man in the valley, carrying a crossbow and a knife. He stiffened at her approach, and stood there wide-eyed, watching. 

The words she spoke to explain herself died in rasping whistles in her throat, but still he watched, rapt, his eyes darting between the stag and her own face. 

“You… you killed that?” the man asked, gesturing. 

She nodded. Her neck twinged. She felt the man’s gaze skirt over her scarred neck, her hands slick with blood, the wrinkled scabby mess of her stomach where it was visible between the hem of her shirt and her makeshift belt. 

“Do you… need to… take it somewhere?” She shook her head. The man swallowed. “That’s a lot of meat for one person. Erm…” He looked around, and she tilted her head. “…Do you know how to treat it? If you’re planning to eat that yourself, you probably want to salt-preserve it, it’ll spoil quickly otherwise. I could… help?” 

She shook her head quickly, forcefully, then nodded, please, and the man flinched.  But he was true to his word. 

He led her to a clearing, his hands fluttering and his soft eyes nervous as she followed like a wraith, and showed her how to lay the stag down and open the rest of its body with a clean sharp knife. How to strip the meat from the bones, careful and keen, and process it into chunks and then lay it in pieces in salt to let it dry. She watched the process with singleminded focus, noting down every last motion, memorizing each flick of the knife. 

He let her borrow his blade, so she could clean the carcass and keep that velveteen skin. With a few weeks’ drying and treatment, it would make a good blanket to last the winter through. She stripped the stag to the bones, and kept those as trophies. That night, the angels taught her to sharpen them into knives. 

When the man had left, knife and bow in hand, retreating into the shadows, she realized that he never once quite looked her in the eyes. 

She kept the skull. Late at night she stared into its face, searching for the glint of the stag’s all-knowing gaze in the depths of his bones, knowing there was nothing on the other side. She stared at him until somewhere deep inside, a part of her became him. Until his eyes became her own. 

She took the form of a deer in the morning, wearing the weight of his antlers like a crown. The herd moved by her in the bushes and watched her like a ghost. 

She went south. The winter was upon her, and it was time again to travel. The herd had enough to haunt them.

[lockedtowers]

‘would cassie have been better off if her family was in her life’ her dads the j/abberwock and the one who took her her conscious to physically kill her to unlock her powers its hard to say if she’s have the same level of trauma or worse trauma but she would have had a father who loved her. in his way. which is still kinda shit.

[little-diable]

DIABLE. I feel your lack of inspiration deep within my soul as I, too, have been struggling.

That being said, I'm back on my Cillian Murphy bullshit and would love to see some domestic Tommy, maybe after a really long day of blood and gore he comes home to a plush world of softness and love and consideration and he can turn it all off.

My darling, thank you for sending this in, it definitely inspired me! I hope you enjoy this little drabble. <3

Summary: Tommy will always do what his wife asks of him, especially when he needs a few calm moments himself.

Warnings: nothing, just nudity, full on fluff and fun

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (about 800 words)

Somewhat of a follow up Drabble

It was a mild August evening, a day that had been too hot for (y/n)’s liking which had passed all too slowly. Perhaps it had been the fault of all the running around she had done – whatever it was, the second the kids had been put to sleep, she had told their staff to leave for the night, desperate for a few hours of silence.

The second she had been left alone, (y/n) had hurried outside, shoes long forgotten as she dragged the old, ceramic tub through the garden. Sweat had pooled on her forehead, forming pearly drops that dripped down to the ground, but she had been determined, set on cooling off while watching the sunset.

She had run back and forth to fill the tub, arms and legs begging her to slow down and rest for a minute or two. But (y/n) hadn’t stopped moving until the tub had been filled to her liking. And with a satisfied grin glued to her lips, she had shuffled out of her dress, underwear following moments later.

Her squeals had echoed through the evening as she had sunken into the cold water, unable to stop her laughter from clawing through her. She had been grateful that nobody else was around, they surely would have called her a hysteric madwoman, calling the doctors on her for the childish glee the cold water had shot through her veins.

(Y/n) was too focused on the sunset to hear the call of her name, she was also too distracted to pick up on the confused expression tugging on Tommy’s features as he spotted her through the windows. With a cigarette between his lips, he slowly stepped outside, undoing the buttons of his jacket as he moved closer.

“What a nice view to come home to, eh?” She jerked in surprise as Tommy spoke up, forcing her wide eyes towards her grinning husband. Tommy’s gaze wandered down her throat, watching the water drops stick to her soft skin. The water was clear enough to expose every inch of her body, leaving Tommy groaning as he dipped his head down to kiss her. “Tell me, how did that tub end up right here?”

“Well, what do you think? I doubt the faeries miraculously carried it over here.” A deep rumble of laughter vibrated through Tommy, momentarily reminded of the stories he had read to their children the night prior, feeding their obsession with faeries and mystical creatures. “Will you just stand there or join me like a good husband would?”

Tommy watched her for another moment before he threw his cigarette to the ground and began to shrug out of his clothes, exposing his body inch by inch. (Y/n) pulled her knees to her chest to make room behind herself, grinning in excitement as he began to step into the tub.

“Fucking hell, do you want me to freeze my cock off?” His curses left her giggling, eyes sparkling with mischief. But Tommy kept on moving with curses rolling off his tongue, till he finally got into a seated position. He pulled her against his chest with a hum, pressing a kiss to her cold cheek. 

“How was your day?” (Y/n) murmured her words, eyes closed, head resting against Tommy’s shoulder. He interlaced his fingers with hers, letting his thumb run over the back of her hand with slow movements. 

“Exhausting, sometimes I wonder if I’m still made for this life. I’m getting old, eh?” She froze in his grasp, let her eyes shoot open and slowly turned towards him. Her eyes wandered over Tommy’s exhausted features, instantly able to pick up on the hurt flushing through him, the anger he couldn’t shake, and the greedy desperation he had never been able to feed well enough. 

(Y/n) cupped his cheek, she pressed a kiss to his lips before she began to speak up, “You’re anything but old, dear husband of mine. And trust me, if I’d feel like you’re getting old, I’d instantly sell you to the faeries.” 

Loud laughter rumbled through him, a sound so carefree, (y/n) hadn’t heard it in a long time. And with a widening grin stuck to her lips, (y/n) pressed another kiss to Tommy's lips, knowing that their evening together was just about to get exciting.

[ae-neon]

The original post was said as a joke so no shade to op, I'm serious please I just wanna curb something before it emerges

Any character can be gay, fuck canon

but pointing at a dude in a faerie smut book and saying "look at the way he talks, look at the fanart, look at his twink body he must be gay" and "people shipping him with a woman are crazy, lol"

when

1) the hack author has described every dude including him as "built like a warrior" and the body diversity is mostly fan made

2) the hack author is very apparently a champion of heteronormativity and gender essentialism (she's homophobic and a misogynist) and the best gay and straight ships are all (so far) also fan made

3) the author was the one who shipped Neris in the first place ??? That's why we got those scenes

4) the implications of slim men being gay while buff ones being straight when one of the beefiest guys in the series (Cassian) is clearly the biggest dick rider

jkjk but I'm not bcz between the two men most shipped with Nesta, only one canonically prefers his male bestie to his female mate and it's not the 'twink' sooo

Like Tamlin is very definitely a big buff dude and canonically so is Rhysand even tho he should be as "twinky" as Eris is seen to be but Tamsand is definitely one of the most popular gay ships in acotar fanon

5) there are other people who also see Eris as gay and ship him with men but don't see him as a twink...

Anyways let's set aside the idea that men who are not coded as contemporarily "masculine" as possible are immediately this or that sexuality

I'm not saying you can't HC Eris as a sassy twink, in fact I love that, but it's still just your HC

You don't need to joke about how people who ship Eris with women are wrong, you can just ship and let ship

This fandom is notoriously dumb and reactionary, we don't need another fan war

[beloved-daydreams]

Interesting Jurdan moments we need to talk about more 🧐

1) Jude enjoying Cardan tied up and helpless 🥰

People often remember Cardan admitting that he thought about Jude on her knees begging for him and all that, but look the feeling is mutual 💗 Except in Jude's case, it's him tied up and begging for his life to be spared.

2) Jude putting on Cardan's ring when no one is watching 💍

In TWK when Cardan stole Jude's ring and used it to marry her in the end I thought of him as so silly, like "haha Cardan that's not how exchanging rings works!" But then I remembered that Jude had done the same in TCP 🤭 She took his ring then gave it back to him. So Cardan must've definitely taken that into account. He must've thought of it and done the same -> stole her ring then gave it back, thus closing the "exchange of the rings." That's so fucking cute.

3) Jude using obvious sarcasm and Cardan being confused 😵‍💫

Cardan must've been flabbergasted, like obviously his mind can register her words as untrue but as a faerie, getting this much sarcasm from a human all at once must've been very disorienting. To the point, in fact, that he admits it instead of trying to say something witty back at her.

4) Cardan telling Nicasia that Jude ties very tight knots 🤨

Don't have a pic for this one, sorry!!! But it was in TCP when Jude and Cardan made it back to the um Palace I believe? To put Jude's plan of stealing the crown into action. And one of the VERY first things Cardan tells Nicasia is that Jude is very good at tying knots 😶 Hmm, well so not only does Jude enjoy having him tied up but Cardan must've also somewhat enjoyed it as well 🧐

[prythiansfavoritefox]

For day 1 of @lucienweekofficial Gentleman

Lucien is tasked with bringing the Archeron family over safely to Feyre’s wedding- and warming them up to the Fae in the process.

It would’ve been a strange day by any other human’s standards, but the Archerons had had stranger. As it was, Nesta Archeron hardly blinked when the faerie lord showed up before their doors.

Lucien Vanserra stared at the woman who had to be Nesta from Feyre’s descriptions of her. He definitely saw the resemblance to Feyre, but Nesta’s features were stronger, sharper. She had siren eyes, her brows were thick and arched, and her full lips were pressed together as they appraised him. Her purple dress was surprisingly elegant, albeit dated: light fabric, a full high-waisted skirt, puffy elbow-length sleeves, and sparkly silver leaf embroidery throughout. It looked like a dress a lesser faerie might wear to sneak into an Autumn Court ball.

“What do you want,” Nesta asked flatly. Lucien flashed a practiced smile, sketching a bow. “Greetings, Lady Nesta. I am Lucien, courtier and emissary of the Spring Court. I come here on behalf of my High Lord, Tamlin Donnachaidh.”

Nesta’s eyes widened in recognition. “Feyre’s High Lord. What does he want with us?”

Lucien swallowed his laugh. “He wants nothing to do with you, but I’m afraid your sister insists.”

Nesta’s face remained unreadable. “And why is that?”

Lucien let his lips pull into a smirk. “She has invited you to her wedding, of course.”

                              ~~~~~~

After the Archerons had sat down in the carriage, Nesta turned to Lucien, who she had sat next to in order to keep an eye on. “What’s with the eyepatch?” she asked. Lucien flashed an arrogant smile that Nesta had quickly realized was his go-to. “Tamlin’s idea. Thought it would make me look less…threatening.”

“You can tell him it’s not working,” Nesta snapped. Her voice shook a little on the last word, and she clenched her fists in her lap. She was trying so hard to be brave for Elain, but she couldn’t deny her fear. Lucien could rip the three of them to shreds in seconds and not break a sweat. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to take a deep breath.

“Hey,” Lucien said, surprisingly gentle this time. “I’m not going to hurt you. Feyre is my friend, and she cares about you.”

“Sure she does,” Nesta choked. Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry. “It’s been months since we heard from her, not a note or fuck you or anything. And now we find out she’s getting married to a High Lord? Will she even be safe there, surrounded by so many enemies?”

Lucien bit his lip, seemingly debating something. “I should probably warn you about something.”

Nesta sniffed. “What?”

Lucien took a deep breath, bracing himself for their reactions. He knew it wouldn’t be good; these people had grown up fearing the Fae, and for good reason. It couldn’t be nice to find out their sister was one of them.

“Your sister…she died freeing us from our High Queen. The only way to save her was for every High Lord to give her a piece of themselves. So, when Feyre’s eyes opened once more, she was reborn as one of the High Fae.”

Elain gasped. Nesta went inhumanly still. Then she took a few deep breaths, as though trying to calm herself. “So she’s one of you now.”

“She’s still the same person, Nesta,” Lucien tried to explain. “Just…stronger.”

“She has become the very thing we fear. She is not the same.” Nesta began moving her thigh up and down. Lucien sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “We’re not all so bad, Lady Nesta. Many Fae fought tooth and nail to free you from slavery. Tamlin was too young to do so, but I can assure you that he and I would’ve fought for the humans had we been able to. And with me, Alis, Tamlin, and now your sister, I can assure you that no one will dare lay a finger on you or your family during your stay,” he murmured.

Elain tilted her head, peering at Lucien. “You are not much like Feyre’s High Lord.”

It was amusing to hear the way Feyre’s sisters spoke of Tamlin. Tamlin was one of the most powerful High Lords ever born, but to these ladies, he was just Feyre’s High Lord. 

“No, I am not,” Lucien confirmed. Elain smiled slightly. “He was…odd.”

“You can say it, Elain. He was violent and beastly,” Nesta muttered. Lucien snickered. “You’re talking about his little entrance? Tamlin never was good at communication. That’s why I’m here.” Lucien pulled a knife out of his belt and began twirling it in his hands. Nesta continued to stare at him, as though trying to figure out his weakness.

“Are you missing an eye?”

Lucien raised a brow at Nesta’s bold question. “Not exactly,” he replied.

“Take off the mask,” Nesta ordered.

Lucien grinned. He could sense the woman’s fear, but she was not backing down. How brave. Lucien could respect that.

“I’m afraid I only take commands from my High Lord, and he gave me strict instructions to keep it on,” he drawled.

Nesta did not back down, holding his stare. “He said that under the assumption that we would be scared if we saw what was underneath. But I think we’d trust you more if you showed your true face. Right, Elain?”

Elain bowed her head softly. “You shouldn’t have to hide yourself for our convenience,” she said softly. The diplomatic one, then.

“Alright,” Lucien said. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Lucien slipped his fingers underneath the eye patch and pulled it off.

[bookish-whore]

Falling Part X

Azriel x Reader

Words: 3.5k

Warnings: Heavy Content (nightmares, SA Trauma, flashbacks)

A/N: After a long hiatus, IT'S FINALLY HERE!!!! If you’re new to this fic then welcome and if you are one of my og readers welcome back. I can’t thank you all enough for your support for this story and I am so ready to continue this journey. I hope you guys like it!! (also this one is definitely for the Lucien shippers ❤️)

My Masterlist -> Here

Falling Masterlist -> Here

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It had been months since Azriel came to the Day Court, but our conversation replayed on a continuous loop in my mind:

“Please don’t go y/n” he begged “Not like this please just- fuck I know how it seems but I have been honest, doesn’t that count for something? I know- I know I hurt you and I hurt Elain but If you just give me a chance, I can fix this, I can fix us.” “I can’t Az” I said, my own tears falling in tandem with his “maybe someday I can forgive you and we can move past this, but not right now” I made my way to the door, reaching for the knob to leave when his voice halted me. “I’m not giving up y/n” he said “I promise you; I don’t care how long it takes. Even if it takes an eternity, I am not giving up on this.”

I went over our last interaction constantly, the desperation in his eyes as I left him on his knees in that room. I felt confident in the moment but leaving him there didn’t make me feel better about any of this, about Elain or our situation. If anything it had left me more confused about what I wanted.

It had also been months since the incident, and I wasn’t sleeping. I found myself plagued by nightmares. No matter what I tried I would wake up every night in a cold sweat the sound of that voice ringing in my head.

“you’re a pretty little thing aren’t you?”

It was paralyzing, I knew that I was safe and in my own bed, but I could feel the chill of the night air as it sank into my bones, I could feel the rough texture of the alley as it scraped my back. I could smell the smoke and liquor on that male’s breath as he leaned in close to me.

“You can scream, but no one’s coming to save you”

I covered my ears, but I could still hear the distinct sound of him unbuckling his belt, the sound of fabric ripping and sliding. Every night I woke up to the feeling of being completely helpless.

But I wasn’t alone in my pain anymore.

I had my first nightmare after the meeting with Azriel and I remember three things distinctly: screaming, throwing the bedsheets off my body, and Lucien.

That night Lucien had heard my screams and barreled through the door ready to fight off an intruder only to find me curled in a ball on the floor at the foot of my bed.

He pulled me into him and didn’t let me go through it alone. He smoothed my hair from my face and let me cry into his chest while whispering words of encouragement in my ear, not that I was cognizant enough in that state to process he was even speaking.

It had become a habit, him holding me when I woke in that state. He would pick me up and tuck me into bed seating himself beside me. I would lean my head on his shoulder, and he would gently ask me If I wanted to talk about it and the times I said no, He would distract me with stories to make me feel better.

He told me about how Feyre was when she came back from under the mountain, that she would have nightmares every night about what she had done to those faeries and he told me he often wondered how Tamlin did nothing when her pain was so loud she was practically screaming to be heard, to be felt, to be understood and he told me how he was so grateful to Rhysand for bringing her back to life. During these conversations he would often tell me that if she could become who she is now out of what she endured that I too would survive and come out of this all stronger than ever.

There were also times when he thought I was asleep that he told me about his own demons, about Jesminda and his family, about lying to Feyre when she first arrived in the Spring Court, and his regret helping Tamlin align himself with Hybern for selfish reasons and how he wished he could explain that to Elain, to Nesta, how he just wanted a chance to apologize.

Lucien had become my savior and he never let me be alone, he was bringing me back to life, whether or not he knew it.

--------------------------------------------------

Today was a late morning, the kind that followed a rough night of shit sleep because the same tired nightmares kept me awake, but Lucien’s calming presence was keeping me sane, he rarely slept in his own bed these days. I stretched out my limbs careful not to wake him beside me and rubbed the sleep from my eyes sitting up to appreciate the day.

It was springtime now and the Day Court was in full bloom, the vibrant colors exploding on every surface as the flowers blossomed, their aroma constantly wafting through the halls, the entangled scents of lavender, gardenia, Hyacinth, Peony and gods knows what else was constantly invading my senses.

Lucien stretched out next to me, making that small little noise in his throat he makes every morning when he wakes up.

“Good morning” I said softly

“Mhmm” he muttered into his pillow; I had learned that despite his consistently friendly demeanor Lucien Vanserra was not a morning person.

“So, what’s on the agenda today” I asked, gently hitting him with a pillow to rouse him faster.

Lucien turned over, sitting up and grabbing the pillow from my grip “Well…” he drawled out with a yawn “I was thinking we could go to the equinox festival.”

“What is that?” I asked.

“Well, you would probably know it as Starfall but it’s a weeklong endeavor here and everyone really goes all out. I mean there are markets and live music and food stalls everywhere. It’s truly a celebration and I think it would be fun.”

“Oh gods- It’s already Starfall?” I asked; my voice much smaller than I intended it to be, Lucien knew that it was one of my favorite celebrations in the Night Court and the thought that I wouldn’t be participating in it this year brought tears to my eyes, but I swiped them before he could see.

“I know how much it hurts not to be there” Lucien said pressing his forehead to mine as he grabbed my hand, interlocking our fingers as his thumb drew circles on the back of it.

“New traditions right” I said softly, reiterating our agreement to work towards moving forward despite our pain.

“Right” he agreed.

“This equinox festival…it sounds like exactly what I need.”

Lucien flashed me a smile, before getting out of bed and pulling on his slippers and dressing robe.

“I’ll meet you downstairs for a late breakfast in an hour?” he asked “Then we can head into town and do some shopping.”

“Only if those lemon blueberry muffins are involved.”

“I will personally see to it.” He said with a smile.

“Then it’s a deal, see you soon Vanserra.”

He made his way to my side of the bed and pressed a kiss to the top of my head before quietly making his way to his own rooms.  

--------------------------------------------------

I took my time getting ready, enjoying the warm bath and soothing salts. I only got out because the water was tepid, and I was hungry. I chose a simple green dress for our outing, it was short sleeved with a flowy skirt that was decorated with floral embroidery, it reminded me of the things I loved about springtime: the way the flowers bloomed, the way the sun shined, the way the birds sang, it reminded me of new beginnings, and I needed that kind of thinking today. I slipped on my everyday boots and pulled my hair into a braid securing it with a ribbon to keep it out of my face during the day and I made my way downstairs.

Lucien was wearing what he usually did, a simple pair of linen pants and a sleeveless vest brocaded with intricate swirling patterns, today it was gold and green. I smirked at his choice because we were practically matching. I had to admit that the green really brought out the color of his eyes, the russet one in stark contrast to the gold mechanical one that was always subtly watching, the green also brought out the fiery orange of his hair, which he had in a loose knot at the back of his head.

I turned sharply at the stairs to make my way to the dining room when Lucien gently grabbed my arm.

“I figured since we were already having a late start that we could make a day of this.”

“How so?”

“Well…” He winnowed away and appeared a moment later holding a large wicker basket “I figured we could set off to the town, taking the scenic route of course, and that we could stop by Larimar Lake to have lunch.”

I went silent, mostly because I was taken aback at the quick planning and his attention to detail. I had just mentioned last week how much I loved that lake and how I wished I could find time to visit more.

“I think that’s a great idea” I said interlocking my arm with his as we began our journey.

We walked towards the stables talking about nothing really, the weather, the flowers and our excitement for the day.

I saw the horses saddled and ready to go. Helion had gifted me Adira, she was a beautiful black mare with a thick wavy mane, she was good tempered and docile. I had taken up riding a few weeks upon arriving as a hobby and had immediately bonded with her and Helion had seen that, He gifted her to me a few days later and we had spent countless hours together. Next to her was Arion, he was Lucien’s horse a chestnut stallion, he was larger than Adira, but they got along well. The stable hands had prepped them both and were waiting for us in front of the stable. Lucien helped me get on Adira first, making sure I was settled comfortably with the reigns and secured the basket to my saddle bag before mounting Arion with ease. With a click of his tongue, both horses began at a slow pace up the winding road towards the lake.

It had been maybe two hours into our ride when we approached the lake, I could smell the water long before I saw it. It was a sight to behold. I remember Lucien told me the first time we came here that they called it Larimar Lake after a crystal of the same name that is a dazzling sparkling blue, according to an old wives tale, when the mother created Prythian she left the crystals to grow in the lake which is how it got its magnificent blue color.

I swung my leg over Adira, jumping off her onto the soft ground below and handed the reigns to Lucien who took them both to a nearby stream and secured them to a tree. He picked a spot close to the lake on a grassy patch and began setting up. He started by putting down a large blanket and setting out the contents of the basket he brought. I however had other ideas.

I quickly took off my boots discarding them and my socks near the blanket Lucien had set up and made my way to the lakes edge. I just wanted to feel the cool water on my skin, as I looked out over its vast depths I couldn’t help but admire the way the sun glittered on the surface like crystal. This- this felt like an integral part of healing, being able to see the beauty in a world that had wronged me so badly.

As I stood barefoot on the sand, letting the delicate waves wash over my feet and up to my ankles. I tipped my head back soaking in the sun’s gentle warmth.

And for a brief moment, everything else slipped away.

And I was…happy

--------------------------------------------------

She was a sight for sore eyes.

I had that thought earlier when she came downstairs in that green dress. I loved her in green, the way it complimented her eyes and the perfect tone of her skin. Y/n looked good in everything but oh gods did she look radiant today.

Our relationship was complicated to say the least. In the last few months all of our time has been spent together. I mean I practically lived in her bedroom returning to my own only for a change of clothes. I also found myself craving the comfort of her presence, the way she laughed, and I mean really laughed from deep in her chest which was becoming more and more common; or the way she clung to me after her nightmares, I even found it hard to fall asleep without the steady soft snoring she did when she fell into a deep sleep.

I felt guilty for developing these feelings for her. Especially when I knew what she endured, when I knew what haunted her, the demons she was avoiding that came for her at night, I held her while she screamed and thrashed and cried and I lulled her to sleep with various stories I thought she would like. Stories that would distract her from her pain, and when I couldn’t think of any, I shared my own pain, to show her that I understood to some extent what she was going through.

I seemed to be the only person she could trust right now, and I valued that more than anything. I would never do anything to jeopardize that, but I couldn’t help but have these feelings for her. Not all the time but there were moments and I wonder if she felt them too. I don’t know exactly when it started but maybe they were always there.

I reminded myself constantly that she wasn’t ready to consider a life without Azriel, he was her mate and he would always have a hold on her life the same way Elain seemed to have a hold on mine, but I also knew that over time the mating bond felt like a headache, a dull pain that would come every once in a while as a sullen reminder of a life that could have been, but one that isn’t a reality and how could I think of what could have been when she was here and she looked so perfect, barefoot with her face angled to the sun.

Here on the lake, she was alive, and she was vibrant, and she was beautiful. Here on the lake, there was no trace of the broken woman I found that night curled into herself, no inkling of doubt, or despair, or pain. I wish I could keep her like this. In fact, I would resign myself to loving her in the shadows so long as she was happy.

I brought myself back to reality at the soft sound of her padding over and plopping herself on the blanket.

“Thank the mother, I am starving” she said grabbing one of the lemon blueberry muffins she requested, as well as various berries and popping them into her mouth

“When are you not?” I teased handing her a plate of all her favorites and a glass of wine.

“Very funny Vanserra” she said grabbing the glass and taking a sip.

“So how far out are we from the town?” she asked after a while.

“Mmmm” I took a sip of my wine “I would say another two hours or so to Illmire”

She nodded, a sly smile crossing her face as she tossed a blueberry at me. I made sure to feign a disappointing smirk at her as it bounced off my forehead and into the grass.

She saw right through it, she always did.

“So, we have a little time?” she asked

“That depends on what you have in mind.”

“I just want to enjoy this a little longer.”

“Okay, I’ll be right here.”

Her face morphed into a frown.

“What?” I asked.

“I want you to come with me.”

“Absolutely not” I said firmly “I have to pack this up and get the horses ready”

“You can spare a few minutes” she pleaded tugging my hand softly “Come on Lucien…come lay in the sun with me.”

I rolled my eyes, getting up from my position to follow her to the water’s edge, and I followed her lead, laying out on the sandy beach letting the sun warm my face.

I looked over at her, her eyes closed as she simply soaked in the sun on her face, letting the cool water gently touch her feet before receding.

If she only knew, I would do anything for her.

--------------------------------------------------

I was surprised Lucien indulged me for as long as he did.

After a while he stood, pulling me up with him and made his way to the blanket, packing away the containers and folding the linens. He piled everything into the bags and secured them to Arion’s side.

I stood in anticipation, fiddling with my hands.

“Go” he said with a smile “I know you want to.”

“you’re the best” I said pressing a kiss to his cheek as I turned and ran towards the water, I pulled my dress over my head and dove in wearing just my undergarments. The water was so clear and cool. I submerged my head, diving to the bottom to look up at the sky through the water. I loved the way the sun reflected off the surface. I came up for air and floated there with my arms outstretched.

Lucien chuckled as he approached with a towel.

“Don’t worry…I planned accordingly.”

“You know me so well” I shouted.

“Take your time” he said “but there are some clouds rolling in from the north, looks like a storm.”

“Help me out?” I asked gesturing my head to the towel in his hands.

Lucien unrolled it, holding it out for me. I walked right into his arms, and he bundled it around me.

“You ready to go?” he asked

“Mhmmm” I nodded toweling my body dry and putting my dress back on, I had to re-braid my hair but it was definitely worth it.

Lucien helped me back into the saddle and we were off to Illmire.

He was right, it was about two hours, but as soon as we got into town the skies opened up and it started pouring. The townsfolk were all scrambling into shops and taverns to get out of the rain, I didn’t mind it so much and neither did Lucien but we made haste to the inn.

The innkeeper’s name was Rasmus and he was a sweet old man, he immediately took Adira and Arion to the stables and set them up for the night. Not to mention he recognized Lucien immediately and refused to let us pay for a room, he even insisted on bringing us dinner later, which worked out because the storm only worsened.

It looked like we were staying the night.

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Taglist (Falling) ->

@moonfawnx @we-were-beautiful @96jnie @frgman-sins @fromdelos @goldentournesol @ruler-of-hades @mrs-azriel @feyretopia @daily-dose-of-sass @mulansaucey @owllover123 @redbleedingrose @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @marigold-morelli @aelinismyqueen @elizarikaallen @clueless-gold @starrstrucked @em---r @bankerfrog @strawbwebbie @morks-watermelon @kristalhi @lolabell0556 @intrxde @aubreylovesthegames @xxoverthinkerxx @caosfanblr @mis-lil-red @haswellington @wolfyland07 @answer-the-sirens @kaz-2y567 @judig92 @esposadomd @violet-shadows @meghan52300 @biblophilefox82 @issybee0611 @writingsbychlo @katherinereid @baarishkiboond @hernameispia @positivewitch @dragonqueeneliza @minipiglover

[hmshermitcraft]

Gem's a minecrafter. She knows zombies aren't fictional. She's been killed a few times by zombies. But they're definitely not meant to be sentient. Or this hot. What the fuck Cleo? And then she goes and meets a faery? Why are all these creatures so fucking hot?

Lizzie and Cleo just laugh at her. They know the effect they have on people. And they're starting to like their little human girl.

- 💜

All of the zombies Gem has met were... Not Cleo. Just shambling corpses, no further thoughts than to hunt down food. Whilst faeries were supposedly all aloof, cruel beings with a disregard for mortal lives.

Cleo might have a bit of a limp at times, and Lizzie may have less empathy than the average human, but they're by no means what Gem expected.

And she quickly proves that she's to be taken seriously too. She might be a human, but she's certainly not weak.

[kmmachilles]

heres the list of my favourite shadowhunter couples from all the series (not including twp for obvious reasons) bc i cant sleep

TID: Gideon n Sophie. I KNOW KNOW EVERYONE LOOVES HERONGRAYSTAIRS I DO TOO THEYRE MY HEART ND SOUL but gideon n sophie man. cmon. theres sweet hurt sophie that thinks men like gideon r assholes bc of her former employers son and will, and gideon REINFORCES that by constantly talking in spanish while hes actually absolutely down BAD for sophie. she thinks shes not good enough for him, her being a mundane 'servant' and 'ugly' from her scarred face and him being the eldest son carrying the great shadowhunter lightwood name. and then hes just there ordering scones to his room just to see sophie, and ending up stashing them under the bed bc he doesn't even LIKE them. and pretty, smart sophie, although FURIOUS at first, goes 'so yea u dont like scones. what about SPONGE CAKES???????? THEYRE MY SPECIALTY' and then he falls so in love with her and proceeds to tell everyone hes marrying her before even proposing to her. i love them.

TLH: Alastair n Thomas. i love love love them not only their pair but them as separate characters too. esp bc the two didnt have the kind of shit the other ships had to deal with like james n cordelia were 'OH HE LOVES GRACE BUT I LOVE HIM / OH I LOVE GRACE BUT IM MARRIED TO CORDELIA / I SHOULD RUN AWAY W MATTHEW / fuck im in love with cordelia.' and lucie n jesse were like 'IM IN LOVE W A GHOST WHO'S THE SON OF A WOMAN WHO HATES MY FAMILY / shes only in love w me bc im a ghost and she likes writing stories so im one of her stories SHE DOESNT REALLY LOVE ME BUT I LOVE HER BUT IM A GHOST SO I CANT *REALLY* LOVE HER PROPERLY LIKE SHE DESERVES' and ari and anna were like 'OH I LOVE HER BUT I WANT KIDS SO I'LL MARRY CHARLES WHO, BTW, IS GAY :3 / OH I LOVE HER but im a stony heartbreaker women, lock your daughters and then yourselves im coming after you / oh my god i cant marry charles I LOVE YOU ANNA TAKE ME BAACK / ha! im stony heartbreaker.' and we all know the problem w matthew n cordelia, and alastair and charles AND grace and christopher (my heart stopped beating i swear to you). like i know Alastair and thomas definitely HAD to overcome some shit but Thomas KNEW he liked guys and alastair and alastair was pr sure about it too so when they got together, they GOT together ykwim??? no hanky panky. plus theres also the 'thomas-is-basically-michelangelos-david' so yea. no brainer. theyre my fav.

TMI: Alec and Magnus. okay so this is for both obvious reasons (fan favourite) and some other personal ones. Living where i do, i had no idea you could like the same gender as yourself or ltr anything about the LGBTQ+ community at all. These two were the first gay ship i had EVER read and they are what lead me to be as confident in my sexuality as i am right now. they introduced me to the concept of thinking beyond what i was told or shown by the people that surround me and look into the world the right way, without projecting judgement. i love them for that. theyre my comfort characters and the one of the biggest reasons i am who i am right now. also magnus is pr much why i adore glitter and i manage to put it on my face every other day ahaha

TDA: Diana n Gwynn. a very, very close second is Mark n Cristina n Keiran. but about Diana and Gwynn, they literally have my entire soul im not even kidding you. Gwyn is the first person Diana opens up to about her transition and its honestly so heartwarming that Gwyn, the leader of the Wild Hunt, known to be vicious and feared by faerie, is literally just there for her to lean on. He supports her and is so, so calm and soft with her it genuinely melts me. like, this man is basically the reaper of souls and he rides a magnificent steed into the night but hes so gentle with Diana. obviously my obsession w them is reinforced by the fact that the FIRST time Gwynn sees Diana he goes 'O' and is all like 'HELLO my fair lady beautiful one gorgeous strong lovely lady' and gives her an acorn like 'call me ;)' and diana my love just, THROWS the acorn to julian and emma and goes 'do w that whatever u will' and acts like she doesnt care and when they call on gwyn he comes to help nd immediately goes '...THAT WASNT FOR YOU but ig i'll help bc ur the magnificent lady's brats :/'

so yes thats it. now pls, whatever fucking ghost is haunting me with these thoughts, PLEASE LET ME SLEEP

[faithinthestory]

OK YEP DEFINITELY EVIL FAERIE HOOOOOOLY SHIT

The whole episode was so intense, and while I'm so glad Jeremy finally got to really express his anger and have a well-deserved breakdown, I wish he hadn't jumped off from the bullshit "hope" that the evil bitch had been giving him. God the whole conversation between Jeremy, Thomas, and Anne was just So Much. Especially when they say that they plan to go in to the Liminal and you can just FEEL Jeremy's PANIC at the idea of losing not just Thomas all over again, but also Anne who DEFINITELY means more to him already than he either realizes or will admit. The EMOTIONS that were just POURING out of everyone, especially Jeremy and Thomas; the beautiful disconnect between what a parent and "child" need out of a situation.... just all of everything was just So Much.

Thank god for Vipin and Olivia going to the bar at 8am lol, being there and talking with Peyton was prolly one of the least intense bits in the whole episode. Of course now we know that there's a missing boy, time is of the essence, and shit is gonna go down soon. (The conversation with Peyton was very validating too, I knew "separation" was meant to be the correct rune, and that Evil Bitch had fucked it up on purpose! I mean, obviously, but still!) And I think the breather was necessary, before THAT ENDING

HOOOOOLY FUCK HOLY FUCK, NOOOOOOPE, EVIL FAERIE. HOW DID SHE GET SCARIER!? SHE LITERALLY WAS GIVING ME ANXIETY EVERY TIME SHE SHOWED UP AND SHE'S MANAGED TO GET *SCARIER!?*

"Francine."

Fuck.

I'm gonna have to trust Jeremy to not be a COMPLETE IDIOT, because it sounds like he's FINALLY realizing the gravity of the situation, and that it (and she) are Not Good. I don't think there's enough time for her to be a plot-twist-good-guy, at least not this season, so at least for now, PLEASE USE WHAT IS HYPOTHETICALLY A VERY GOOD BRAIN AND DO NOT TRUST HER, JEREMY.

(And just because I need to say it, when my brain FIRST CLICKED to the idea that she was fae, the name I went to was Morgan le Fey, which while not ACTUALLY the same as Queen Mab, depending on the legend, the two kinda overlap, so I'm giving myself at least partial credit and simultaneously saying OH SHIT WE'RE FUCKED IF SHE'S QUEEN OF THE FUCKING FAERIES.)

[umthisistheonlyusernamenottaken]

In conclusion, FUCK rhysand

Currently up to ACOMAF, and I just finished the part with Rhysand's exposition justifying his actions UTM, this scene in particular pissed me off beyond measure. I already hated Rhysand in the first book, but this one was the nail on the coffin.

'So I watched your first trial. Pretending- always pretending to be the person that you hated. When you were hurt so badly against the Wyrm... I found my way in with you. A way to defy Amarantha, to spread the seeds of hope to those who knew how to read the message, and a way to keep you alive without seeming too suspicious.' (ACOMAF p525)

Rhysand can change memories. If he'd truly wanted to help Feyre, he literally could have visited her in secret and wiped the memories of anyone who found out about their alliance.

'I found those three picts. I broke into their minds, reshaping their lives, their histories, and dragged them before Amarantha.' (ACOMAF p 523).

Honestly, he could have just been like 'I know that you hate me and I hate Tamlin, but it would be really great if you could break this curse for the good of all of Prythian, so I'm gonna help you. You just gotta pretend to hate me until the curse is broken, m'kay?'

Whilst writing this bit, I also realised that he never apologised for GRABBING HOLD OF AND TWISTING THE BONE OF HER BROKEN ARM?!?

'Let me see it.' A growl rippled from him. Without waiting for my reaction, he grabbed my elbow and forced my arm into the dim light of the cell. I bit my lip to keep from crying out - bit it hard enough to draw blood as rivers of fire exploded inside me, as my head swam, and all my senses narrowed down to the piece of bone sticking through my arm. (ACOTAR p. 331)

Rhysand: Don't you dare touch my mate or even look at her wrong, but yeah I totally twisted her broken arm into an agreement with me that utterly humiliated her for WEEKS :)

(canon, Rhysand was also too stupid to figure out Amarantha's riddle, that's why he had to pull all of this shit.)

Moving on,

'I made you dress like that so Amarantha wouldn't suspect, and made you drink the wine so you would not remember the nightly horrors in that mountain.' (ACOMAF p.525)

I spent my days sleeping off the faerie wine, dozing to escape the humiliation I endured.' (ACOTAR 354)

HORRORS AND HUMILIATION THAT YOU SUBJECTED HER TO YOU FUCKING SJERGT$GT%H

Yep, absolutely, the obvious answer is to dress her provocatively, drug her, make her perform lap dances, and basically put all of your attention on her, that's definitely keeping her out of harms way and out of anyone's attention. TF??!!!

Rhysand has been Amarantha's toy for 50 years now, don't you think she would find it more suspicious that after all that time, he's decided to spend time in any capacity with the one person that is meant to break the curse and defeat her? I just *give up*

There's plenty more that could be said, but these are the things that stuck out to me the most. In general, this entire bit of the book sounded too practised, you know? Like during the time they spent apart because Feyre was justifiably pissed about him keeping the mate secret, he was busy cooking up this convoluted, air-tight story that explained away all of his bullshit. He had an answer for EVERYTHING, and explained it all away as 'but it was for your own good'.

He also never apologised for ANY of the shit he pulled on Feyre, not even a 'By the way, sorry for twisting your arm or making you dress in half a tissue or drugging you or making you do lap dances on me or treating you like my property that no-one else could touch.'

I also find it hard to believe that Feyre, don't-lie-to-me-or-treat-me-like-a-pawn-feyre forgave him so easily for that. She was literally just like 'OH well, you love me, actions excused have some soup :)'

Anyway, that's about as much as I've got energy for right now. Would love to hear anyone's thoughts!

[gabessquishytum]

When Dream gets out of his prison, he tries to find Hob only to discover he has been missing from the human realm for decades. Dream cannot find a trace of him. Until finally he attends a gala in the fae realm and is shocked to discover him there, sitting on the lap of king Oberon himself. It turns out the king and queen have acquired a new plaything.

Hob is being alternatively teased and sent to dance with other enthralled humans for the fae’s amusement. Indignant, Dream yanks him free from the dance and calls his name, but Hob looks past him with no recognition, as if Dream is a total stranger. There is no sign of his usual spark. He looks tired, malnourished, as if his life is being slowly drained away.

Dream demands his freedom, but Oberon and Titania just laugh. They inform Dream that his claim on Hob long since faded and they have no intention of letting Hob go.

Finally, Titania offers a cruel bargain. Hob may choose who he’d like to belong to. First, Dream and the rest of the fae will watch as she and Oberon fuck him, right there in the middle of the ballroom. They have an hour to do whatever they want to him. And then, Dream will have an hour to do the same. Whoever makes him come the most times will get to keep Hob. If Dream doesn’t agree, he knows he will never see Hob again.

Gritting his teeth, Dream agrees. Then he’s forced to sit and watch them tear off Hob’s clothes and push him to the ground. He’s mindlessly enchanted, and he cries as Titania sits on his face and Oberon pounds into him. They wring orgasms from him, without relenting. He’s made to beg on his knees, spanked and degraded and laughed at and it only seems to make him come harder. By the end, he is covered in scratches and bites, hickeys and bruises, and he’s glassy-eyed and mindless with want.

Dream alone doesn’t jeer or laugh. He is no longer sure what will remain of his friend when they are done. Perhaps he is too far gone. Perhaps he will never be the same.

When it is his turn, Dream kneels down beside Hob. He touches him softly, stroking his hair back from that dear face. First, Dream kisses each bruise tenderly until a healthy flush begins to rise under Hob’s skin. And then, he eases between his thighs, parts his cheeks and teases him open with his tongue. Soon, Hob is mewling with pleasure, not the same desperate, unhinged lust from before. When Dream has him, he goes slow and deep and starts whispering all the things he’s been wanting to tell Hob. That he is beautiful. That Dream has thought of him often. That Dream has seen the best and worst of him through his sleeping mind. That he is such a good slut, and that he has nothing to fear. That he deserves to be cared for. Hob looks at him and for the first time there is a distant spark of recognition. Dream hopes he is not imagining it.

By the time the hour is up, Dream has beaten the king and queen at their own game. Victorious, he scoops Hob up in his arms and takes him away to sleep off the decades of enchantment. He has no idea how Hob will greet him when he wakes up… But he know what he hopes for.

Hob definitely has the vibes of a guy who would get kidnapped by the fae. I'd be surprised if it hasn't happened to him tbh.

Poor Dream can't believe what he's seeing. He came to the gala to relax, and now all he can look at is Hob being touched and fondled by the faerie king. It's pretty traumatic for Dream to see his friend imprisoned by magic, after everything he's been through. But also it might be therapeutic for him to rescue Hob from this whole situation, right? Anyway, he's got to do SOMETHING.

At first Titania and Oberon offer him the opportunity to share Hob with them (just for the night), but Dream refuses. And so The Oldest Game (Orgasm Style) begins. Poor Hob is reduced to a puddle on the floor, surrounded by jeering fae and constantly brought to his peak again and again. His body is dripping sweat as he's used, and even though he seems to physically enjoy every cruel touch or smack, his eyes are very far away. When the fae royalty have finished with him he slumps on the ground, exhausted and barely recognisable. A man who's at his limit.

Dream doesn't know if he even has the power to help Hob, but he has to try. He kisses him sweetly (much to Oberon and Titania's great amusement), and holds Hob’s exhausted body against his chest. Dream finds his sweetest and kindest words from deep down in his heart, and pours them into Hob’s ear like honey. With soft touches to his genitals, and coaxing whispers about how beautiful he is when he cums, Dream draws more and more orgasms from his dear friend. Even the fae are impressed.

At last, Dream is allowed to leave freely with Hob bundled up in his arms. He hurries to the dreaming and ensconces Hob in the warmest, softest place in the whole realm. Hob needs to sleep off the terrible things he's endured, and Dream honestly needs a minute to take the equivalent of a cold shower. Talking Hob through multiple climaxes has made him so fucking horny.

When Hob wakes up and the enchantment properly breaks, he's mostly just mad that now he'll have to start a whole new life with a new identity. He doesn't remember much of his time with the fae, but he does remember that Dream came to save him... he blushes scarlet as he realises that his oldest friend made him cum so many times, and he never even got to reciprocate! It's so frustrating.

He quickly starts trying to adjust to his new life and the changes that have happened while he was gone. But he constantly wonders how he could get Dream to come and visit him in the real world. He's got a lot of thank yous to say...

[pinkrasberryfish]

I knew Elriel was endgame the moment Azriel volunteered to save Elain from Hybern.

Because arguably, if anyone other than Feyre was going to join the mission to save her, it should have been Rhysand. Elain is his literal sister-in-law, a person extremely special to his mate, and someone he should consider family.

But who goes charging off into the night on a suicide mission?

Azriel.

On orders from Rhysand?

Nope.

Because Elain and him were already a couple?

Nope.

She literally walked away from camp to go find her fiancé. Azriel was just a friend… someone new she had met in the faerie world. They arguably had very few moments together at all, and Azriel is out there risking his life for her.

And is that just something he does?

Not really. Our man’s didn’t give two craps when the Valkyrie’s got sucked into the Rite.

But in ACOWAR, Azriel would have rather died trying to save her than let her go.

And they weren’t even a couple yet!!!

This man has done more for Elain than anyone else who is *cough cough* wondering if she is even WORTH fighting for, and that is why he is most definitely pissed off about who “deserves” to be with Elain. Because he’s right: if anyone deserves a chance to win her heart, it’s HIM. He actually cares about her and has proven it, over and over again.

And their book is gonna be so fucking good because of this foundation.

[ranticore]

hii happy stbh anniversary almost!!!! I love ur stories sm forever and wanted to cheer for you BUT I also have a question I Hope is interesting: In stbh or in mvf as a whole, what is the worst thing they think they've done (and potentially why), either as a general action or maybe specifically to another person, for potential spoiler-dodging?

thank u bestie !!

the worst thing each one THINKS they've done... oh man

this one will be tvm spoilers soo

Félix: it shifts depending on his mood at the time. sometimes he thinks the worst thing he's ever done is let anyone treat him like a doormat (anyone = literally any person he knows at any given point), you know the whole "i was TOO NICE to them!" schtick from a person who has never been nice at all. but mostly he acknowledges that the worst thing he ever did was sell out Bowman to Helena. He knew it was a mistake as soon as he realised what type of person she was and spent most of his twenties trying to make himself a shield between her and his friends, constantly self-sacrificing until he wore his own goodwill out and the respect of all his friends with it

Bowman: he has actually killed people but he still thinks the worst thing he ever did was not try harder to keep the peace between Félix and Islin. there was nothing he could have done, but he still sometimes thinks that if he'd just said the right thing then none of That (gestures at stbh) would have happened, and the three of them would be living peacefully somewhere, without five years of bad blood between them.

Islin: where to even begin. He thinks the worst thing he ever did was experiment on innocent patients at the knights' bidding - no, wait, the worst thing he ever did was bring captain torben back to life - no, wait, the worst thing he ever did was let félix back into his life - no, the worst thing he did was leave félix in the first place - or was it when he first used evil magic and got arrested - no it was definitely choosing to become a surgeon at all, nothing bad would have happened - no, it was when he forced Félix to deal with faeries to help him survive, just because he wasn't good enough to stand on his own two feet - no, it was when his father died and he was just another drain on his family's resources - actually, the worst thing he ever did was be born in the first place. everyone's lives would have been easier if he hadn't.

Léa: she genuinely thinks that choosing to leave Félix to die that one time was one of the worst things she ever did. She made a cold calculation, knew that with his bad leg he would never outrun their pursuers, and she threw him under the bus. It stuck with her for a long time - whether or not he lived wasn't the point. She didn't like that she had become someone who would make a choice like that with so little internal resistance, or that it had felt so normal for her.

Jean: he invented fantasy nukes and handed them to the worst person he knew, irreversibly altering the course of history, so

Erica: he's done something bad and he knows it. but we'll have to find out later what that was

Macha: has never done anything wrong in their life

and then just for fun the non mvf characters

Nico: if you meet a strange and extremely suspicious guy who claims he can help you with an ongoing case as a key witness, do NOT fuck him

Pascal in 2017: he desecrated a grave and it haunts him. quite literally. the guilty feeling persists