#there’s not a moment of peace in this fandom

[arlathavellan]

Phantom Pains | III

Fandom: ACOTAR

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Reader: she/her, (3/4-High Fae, 1/4-Tartera), Y/N used

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 2.7k

Something is... wrong. Time missing, memories missing, thoughts missing. Wondering where things both big and small disappeared to, like the dress you were working on or even the past seventeen hours of your day. Something is very wrong, and the thought seems to slip your mind as soon as it comes. || Azriel has been a part of your life for years now, and has been courting you since the fall of Hybern. Only, things don't seem to be as simple as you'd both assumed they'd be. It seems someone thought you were the weak link-- the easy ticket to infiltrating the inner circle through its spymaster. And maybe you are.

|| Previous Part | Next Part (wip) | Masterlist ||

All Azriel ever wanted was to keep you safe. From the moment he first saw you, he knew you were something precious, something to be protected. Convinced he knew best how, he kept you away from the inner court, away from the side of himself he was afraid you would turn from in fear. His hubris and shame kept you away from the people who could protect you while he was gone.

Cas and Mor had wanted to be introduced to you years ago, before things were even official between the two of you. Afraid it would only put a target on your back, he let himself pretend it was better for you to never cross paths with that part of his life.

After the war, he started to let his guard down. Mor would commission gowns from you, both supporting you and building a professional relationship as a compromise to respect Azriel's boundaries. When he eventually decided it was time to officially introduce you to everyone, he went to Feyre first, thinking it would be easiest for you to connect artist-to-artist rather than let one of the others completely overwhelm you. She was happy to agree, and excited at the prospect of helping ease you into their family. When she finally got her dress, it brought your little shop more attention than you'd had since coming to own it. The way your face lit up when you told him about having to hire someone to help you out helped reassure him that he'd made the right choice. He wanted nothing more than to introduce you to the rest of his loved ones, knowing they'd love you almost as much as he did.

It was obvious to them all how much you meant to Azriel.

It was obvious to everyone who knew who he was that you were the Spymaster's weakness.

That was his mistake; growing too comfortable with the bubble of peace that had existed undisturbed around the two of you. When he was with you, he let himself imagine he was someone else, someone with less blood on his hands.

He never should have forgotten, never should have let his guard down. It didn't matter how many times he'd been able to walk you home with no issue— every moment you were seen with him was a public admittance that you were important to him. Azriel could never be a normal illyrian, never act like it was possible to separate the parts of himself. Every waking moment he was the Shadowsinger, the Spymaster. His love for you didn't keep you safe, it only made you a target. Everything he did to put a smile on your face made it that much easier for others to hurt you.

——

Azriel is on his way back from his mission when Rhysand gets in contact with him.

Come home, he says. Now.

He tries to ask questions. Anxiety swirls in the pit of his stomach as he flies, any response met with a resounding silence.

The mission had been underwhelming, the intel he'd gotten no more than cold tracks leading straight to a dead end. Whispers of rebellion, more faeries foolish enough to act out against Rhysand moreso because of what he is than what he's done. There was nothing when he'd gotten there, just a long-abandoned camp that left no clues behind. His shadows couldn't find anything either, returning just to whisper confusion in his ear. While he was ready to call it and go home, he didn't feel right dropping the thread without seeing where it might really end. After a week of searching, he felt like he'd been run in circles, and told Rhysand he was coming back to Velaris empty-handed. It seemed to be a routine the past year, a lot of low-effort surveillance that seemed to result in nothing.

Not even a souvenir? He'd joked.

He wasn't joking now.

"What's going on?" He asks in response, scanning the room. The atmosphere of the house is low, and it has all of his senses on high alert. "Is everyone okay?"

Azriel lands on the balcony of the Town House. If it were official Court business, Rhysand would be in the House of Wind. But the Town House? This was family business. He opened the doors swiftly, some of his shadows immediately fanning out to sweep the residence.

"Az," Cassian calls, voice tight and shoulders tensed as he practically marches towards him.

Shadows curl at his neck, overloading him with information. He winces, unable to sift through it all at once. They're panicked, some moving around the room so fast they're knocking chairs into the table and toppling over vases. The noise draws another person into the room as Cassian steadies him by his shoulders.

Room, he can barely make out in their desperate jumble of cries. Your room, your room. Five in house. Three in room. High Lord, doctor, sw—

"Azriel!" Mor cries, ducking around Cassian's wings to help hold him straight as his shadows continue their barrage of information, nearly knocking him off his feet in their haste.

Five in house. Three in room.

"Mor, grab a chair before they knock him down—" High lord.

"We don't have time—" Doctor.

"—just get Rhys—" Sweetheart.

Silence falls over the room as his shadows still in a single breath. His wide eyes meet Cassian's, flicker over to Mor's distressed, tear-streaked face, and the pieces fall into place.

"Y/N?" he breathes, terror gripping his chest.

Hands reach for him once more, mouths opening in explanation, but as his knees buckle, the light is sucked out of the room in an instant, and he's gone.

——

"Now," you say, making a few final adjustments to the garment in front of you. "There's still some work to be done, mostly alterations, but it will absolutely be done in time for the party."

The woman behind you is absolutely giddy, facing away until you give the word.

"Before we get started on all that, I know you mentioned you wanted a draping that was loose and flowy, but I was worried the fabric might snag on your jewelry." You explain. "So It's still a loose drape, but a little less than what I first showed you when we were picking out fabrics."

She lets out an impressed 'ooo' as you explain. "That's so smart; I can't wear my chunky bracelets with half my dresses. My lady, I defer to your judgment."

Letting out a laugh, you fluff out the skirt in preparation for its presentation. "Okay! Now, three, two—"

"—one!" Mor cuts off, spinning around to see the dress. Her hands fly up to her mouth as she bounces on her feet. "Yes, yes! Oh, Y/N, it's even better than I imagined."

Pride wells up in your chest as she moves closer to see the gown, but a wave of confusion washes over you as you sway slightly on your feet. She… liked the dress? No. No, she didn't like the dress. This isn’t what happened. Your head spins as you watch Mor fuss over the skirt, playing with the fabric to have the gemstones on the inner layers catch on the light like stars.

You ran out of that fabric. There wasn't enough left for a full skirt, so you had to go without it. You stumble backwards towards the wall, but nothing catches you. Panic grips your throat as you float weightlessly, and everything is drowned in black.

It's okay, a voice whispers in your mind. You're alright. I need to see what memories they locked away so I can figure out what they were looking for.

Memories… that was a memory? But that didn't happen. You try to close your eyes tightly against the darkness, but you feel nothing. Light floods your vision, and suddenly you're sitting on your couch alone.

"Hello?" You call, voice shaking. "Who's there?"

"I suppose an explanation is in order, now that you're here." The voice comes from everywhere and nowhere at once, until an unfamiliar faerie steps out of the shadows with his hands raised.

You stand unsteadily as he moves closer.

"My name is Rhysand, though you can just call me Rhys," he says.

"While I wish the circumstances were better, it's a pleasure to finally meet you, Y/N."

"Rhysand…" you mutter, feeling feint. "Azriel's brother?"

A fond expression crosses his face. "Not typically the first title that comes to mind for people, but I must admit it's refreshing."

The couch behind you seems to beckon you once more, and he has no objections when you sit back down. "What's going on?"

"I thought this might be easier to digest." A chair you certainly don't own appears on the other side of the coffee table for him to take a seat. "We're in your head right now. I can't say I've ever tried something like this, but I quite like it. Although I believe your mind may be doing most of the heavy lifting, so we don't have much time."

Holding your hands out, your flip them over as you curl your fingers. Everything has a bit of a smoky quality to it, like it would all disappear with a gust of wind, and feels the same sluggish consistency as your shadows.

"What… happened?" Quiet as your voice is, he seems to hear you perfectly well.

His gaze is pained when you look back up at him, eyebrows pinched as he tries to explain. "From what I can tell, someone has gotten access to your mind, and had been taking and altering your memories. I don't know for what purpose, so I've been trying to see what they've hidden to try and figure it out. Do you know when this may have started?"

The answer comes to you immediately, the incident having weighed on your mind since it happened. "I lost a few hours a little over a month ago. Azriel found me standing in the street."

Something passes over his face, and the moment of silence that follows has dread building in your gut.

"Az spoke to me about that night," he says softly, almost slowly. It reminds you of that moment with Mor, before everything in your head exploded. He opens his mouth to speak once more, but his attention is snapped elsewhere. Looking to the side, his expression twists with confusion and anger. "Someone's trying to break through my wards. I'll be back soon; let your mind rest, and we'll continue once you've regained your strength."

"Wait—" you lurch forward, reaching for him, but you continue falling forward as everything you see dissipates.

Your existence feels lighter and lighter, until you feel nothing at all.

——

Azriel feels the wards fighting him, digging under his skin as his shadows slip through cracks that aren’t there. He’s never tried to travel within the house like this, never had need to, but with his shadows guiding him to you he had no complaints.

His room explodes with darkness as he finally lands on his feet, the sound of an older woman screaming in shock filling his ears before they all congregated around his bed. Looking around frantically, he took stock of the occupants of the room.

Madja stood by his dresser, hastily straightening bottles of medicines and salves that had been knocked askew by his arrival. By his bed, stepping back from the writhing mass of darkness, was Rhys, with a displeased expression.

“What happened?” he asks before the High Lord can speak.

Rhys sighs, rubbing between his brows as they pinch together. “Was that you, bursting through my wards?”

“Rhys,” Azriel hisses.

“You were right,” Rhys says, leveling him with a look that urged him to try and stay calm. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you then, Az. But we can fix it, now.”

The ground seems to fall out from beneath his feet. Stumbling forward, the Spymaster catches himself on the foot of his bed, shadows curling up his arms.

“She’s had multiple memories locked away, and when Mor caught on…”

Azriel looks up at him, wanting him to finish but not wanting to hear the words.

“It was a Daemati.”

The breath leaves his lungs, and the illyrian curls in on himself at the jolt of pain that shoots through his chest. A steady hand grasps his shoulder, grounding him.

“She’s alright, now. I’ve shut them out of her head so they can’t do any further damage, but…” he trails off, as if it might ease the blow.

Azriel understands the implication loud and clear. “But they’ve already caused damage.” He digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, taking deep breaths as Rhys sighs. The only sounds in the room are his breaths, the rustling of his sheets, and the near-silent clacking of Madja’s equipment. “How bad is it?”

Rhys’ hand twists on his shoulder as he moves to sit beside him on the bed. “She may have some residual issues with memory loss in the future. I didn’t get very far, but they’ve locked numerous memories away, most pertaining to interactions with you or Mor.”

The silence that follows is somehow more tense than the last, and when Azriel finally straightens back up to look at Rhys, the expression that greets him is pained.

“When I asked her when she began to have issues relating to her memory… she claimed that you found her standing in the street a little over a month ago.”

A month ago. Had you really been suffering for so long unnoticed that you’d lost so much time? Everything he’d just chalked up to stress about the customer influx, and you were missing three months worth of memories. What had they even left for you?

He turns to look over his shoulder at you, his shadows parting just enough for him to see you sleeping peacefully in his bed.

“I’m keeping her unconscious for now,” Rhys tells him. “It will give her mind time to rest and heal itself, so I don’t do more harm than good.” His hand squeezes his shoulder, turning his attention back to him. “With the depth and frequency of attack… they have to be somewhere in the city, Az. Somewhere close to her.”

His fists clench tightly in his sheets, a low-bubbling rage festering in his gut. “Someone in Velaris did this?”

“We opened our gates to Hewn city,” Mor calls from the doorway. The two turn to look at her, a heavy weight settling upon the room at her words. “We should start with any frequent visitors, see who spends a lot of time in her part of the Palace of Thread and Jewels.”

“The intel we’ve been getting,” Azriel says, voice raspy. “Almost a year of nothing.”

Rhys answers with a dawning dread. “Someone wanted you out of the city. Away from her.”

He shares a look with Mor as Azriel stands from his bed and storms out of his room, half of his shadows rushing after him.

——

Cassian is downstairs to meet him at the door. “Don—“

“Move, Cas,” he snarls, stopping in front of him.

“Think, Az. If you go tearing through the streets of Velaris—“ an attempt to shoulder past him is stopped with a hard shove, “—they’ll be in the wind before you can find them.”

The two have their stand-off, Azriel’s siphons beginning to burn as Mor makes it back downstairs, Rhys close behind.

“You’re needed here, Az.” She’s met with a glare, hazel eyes dark. “Don’t give me that. You know we need to narrow our search down so they don’t see us coming.”

Rhys steps forward with a subtle tilt of his head. Azriel’s gaze snaps towards him, brow cocking as he waits for a third iteration of the same argument. “Y/N needs you here, with her.”

Silence falls between them, a battle of wills crackling the air around them. Darkness creeps up his legs, his torso, curling around his neck to voice their deliberation.

Sweetheart, they say. Alone, hurt, with us, safe, sweetheart, safe.

He closes his eyes with a heavy, weary sigh, shoulders dropping and siphons fading. A heavy hand lands on his shoulder from behind.

“We’ll find the son of a bitch who did this,” Cassian promises. “And then they’re all yours.”

He opens his eyes for a moment, searching for deep blue. Rhys’ gaze meets his, darkening as he nods his confirmation.

“You’d do the same for me, brother,” he says. In a moment unshared with the others, the rest goes unspoken.

If it were Feyre lying there. If it were my mate instead.

----------

Here I am falling into my old dialogue-heavy traps! I was going to queue this for tomorrow but I got too excited lmao

TAGLIST (comment or message to be added/removed)

@pellucid-constellations @horneybeach1 @hyemishii @brujitafantomatico @batlokiuniverse

[queen-haq]

Fic: Never You - Part 10 (Penelope x Colin)

Fandom: Bridgerton (TV show)

Spoilers: S3 released scenes.

Summary: They may have been friends once but his callous words decimated their relationship. Determined not to have anything to do with him, Penelope is ready to move on. But Colin isn’t giving up, not at all. Friends or not, they are connected for life - and he intends to remind her of that.

Excerpt:

“You would hate me for not wanting to court you. You would be that selfish?”

“Of course you would think that.”

“What else is this if not punishment?”

Masterlist (contains links to previous parts and my other stories)

A03 link if that’s more your jam

Colin awoke with a start. His body was covered in sweat, his heart drumming in his chest. Complete darkness surrounded his bedchamber, exacerbating his jittery nerves. After taking a minute to settle his mind, he lit the candle next to his bed, slid off the bed and put on a shirt and trousers over his naked form. Desperate for some air, he walked out of the chamber, silently making his way along the extended hallway and down the staircase before grabbing his coat to head out to the gardens. The air outside was cool and crisp, exactly what he needed to soothe his frayed mind from the cursed nightmares that had been torturing him.

Since his last conversation with Penelope a week ago, he’d been haunted by dreams of her with other men. The first couple of nights his subconscious mind had conjured up the most horrific images of faceless men fucking Penelope. His Penelope. However, the nightmares from the past three nights had been far worse. Because it was no longer just visions of Penelope being seduced. No. The night before last he had dreamt of her marrying a faceless prick in the church. Last night Benedict painted her nude form while she fed his brother cake in return. And tonight was the fucking worst. Fife – Fife! – had his arm around Penelope, hugging her, holding her, while the two danced and laughed together. Just the thought of it made him want to stab Fife repeatedly, his hand instinctively forming a fist.

Images of her with all these other men elicited such a visceral reaction in him that he spent most of the week in bed, feeling sick to his stomach. But enough was enough.

He came to a stop at the farthest edge of the Bridgerton garden, bringing him in close proximity of the Featherington property. Leaning against a tree, he watched the building in front of him. The mansion was dark, it appeared everyone was asleep.  Penelope’s bedroom wrapped around the northwest corner of the property, allowing him viewing access to the front window. The one and only time he had snuck into her room he had used the window on the west corner, so he wouldn’t be visible to others on the street. Right away his mind rushed to that night, the memories ingrained into his brain. The feel of her sweet, luscious body, the way she moaned his name as she touched herself, his cock sliding along her magnificent tits – fuck! Colin shook his head. Stop. He had to stop. Because he couldn’t fucking think when he was caught up in those sensations.

Anger surged through him as his eyes trailed back up to Penelope’s bedroom. The windows were closed, the room dark. She was probably sleeping without a care in the world while he hadn’t experienced a single moment of peace in weeks. The nightmares may have started recently but Pen had been weighing heavily in his mind ever since the Danbury ball. That was the night she had lambasted him about his unfortunate words from last season, and consequently his world had shifted on its axis. Of course he didn’t fault Pen; she had every right to be furious with him. After playing the hero for the Featherington ladies he had been full of himself and celebrated with one too many drinks. Foxed out of his mind, he grew increasingly irritated by Fife’s taunts and decided to shut him down. Unfortunately his ego stroke came at the expense of Penelope.  There were no excuse for his behaviour. He was an ass and deserved the tongue lashing, but what took him by surprise was how seductive Penelope’s rage had been. Dressed like a siren, the Penelope in front of him had been a fiery, intoxicating goddess and not the shy, sweet girl he grew up with. It was the first time she had revealed herself to him truly, and from that day on he was completely transfixed.

He inhaled a cold, deep breath as Penelope’s secret engagement flashed through his mind. She was engaged. Engaged. To another man. A man who was allowed to touch her and fuck her, hold her, comfort her, sleep beside her. She would marry this man and bear his children. She would take his name and build a life with him. Smile with him. Laugh with him. Love him.

Nausea hit him like a tidal wave. He bent over to retch, his body trying to expel all thoughts of Penelope with another man out of his physical form – but nothing came out. He dry heaved instead. Ironic. Even when she was making him sick, his body didn’t want to give her up. After a few more attempts, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before walking forward and crossing over to Featherington property. No doubt if someone were to see him now they would think him crazy but Colin didn’t care. He couldn’t go back to sleep, he needed to be close to her.

She had confessed to being in love with him. Not her secret lover, but him. Yet she’d turned down his proposal anyway. Colin wasn’t a fool, he knew exactly why. She wouldn’t marry him because he didn’t love her. A heavy weight lodged in his chest remembering the pained expression on her face when he confessed the truth. If he knew how excruciating it would be to have Penelope sever their relationship he would have happily lied. Unfortunately he chose truth and now had to pay the price for that honesty.

It's not like he didn’t want to be in love with Penelope. Things would be so much easier if he was, but what he felt for her wasn’t love. Because love was good, it was pure and kind, it brought out the best in people and made them want to be better for each other. His parents were deeply in love, and their relationship was forged from kinship and selflessness. Anthony, so cantankerous and domineering in the past few years, was a different man after falling in love with Kate. She brought out the joyous side of him, reminding Colin of the brother he grew up with before their father died. Even his own feelings for Marina were closer to love than what he felt for Pen. With Marina he was noble, not even tempted to kiss her because he was determined to be a true gentleman. But Penelope. A harsh breath escaped him. She was in his blood, running through his veins, calling out to him every minute of every day. Being good and kind, making a name for himself – all of his earlier pursuits no longer mattered. The only thing that did was being with her.

The depth of his feelings for her terrified him but not as much as the thought of not being with her. He would do anything for her. Whatever it took, no matter the consequences. If he had to risk her reputation to make her his, so be it. If he had to burn the whole world down, he would. What he felt for Penelope was caustic and dangerous. It made him selfish and desperate and volatile. It was all-consuming, leaving space for nothing else in his soul but her. 

There was no comfort in what he felt for Penelope. Around her he was aroused, excited, elated. Frightened, because every moment he was with her he was also paranoid about losing her. Fear and ecstasy coursed through him when she was near, her eyes on him, her body close to his. He couldn’t breathe around her, his heart constantly pounding. And he didn’t even want to think about how painful it was to be away from Penelope. The ache in his chest was palpable, it physically hurt, wounding him deeper and deeper. It was only her touch that stopped the pain from searing through him. None of it made sense, nothing did anymore.

It didn’t used to be like this. In the past their friendship had been earnest and meaningful; they shared their hopes, their dreams.  Looking back, however, he realized their relationship had been superficial in nature because Pen always held herself back. Like she purposely only showed him the good parts of herself, never the flaws - no fear, no sadness, nothing remotely real. The only time he remembered any discontent was when she had tried to warn him about Marina but even then he had been able to sway her easily. But things were different now, she was different. She no longer attempted to hide behind a mask of happy emotions to appease him. There was an assuredness in her which meant she wasn’t guarded around him anymore. He liked seeing her heightened emotions, liked watching her unravel in front of him. Because it meant he wasn’t the only one out of control.  They were both spiraling, because of each other.   

Under no circumstances would Penelope marry anyone else, not as long as he was alive. He would never allow it. She belonged to him; they were connected forever. She owned his mind, his heart, his very soul and he owned hers. It didn’t matter if she wasn’t a virgin. The past was the past, and he was her future.

Resolved in his decision, he started walking forward. One week was enough without Penelope, he wasn’t going to waste any more time away from her. Intending to climb up, he made his way towards where her chamber was located when the sight of a hooded figure exiting the far corner entrance caught his attention. He stopped in his tracks. For weeks now he had watched Penelope, studied her intently, her face, her hair, her curves, the way she moved through a crowd, how she danced – and he had catalogued every inch of her, including her gait. That’s how he knew with full certainty it was Penelope sneaking away from her home despite the oversized cape and hidden features.

Immediately red-hot anger coursed through him. Where was she going so late at night? To meet her lover? Jealousy burned inside him. His nausea returned with a vengeance but he ignored it through sheer willpower. No. Absolutely not. He was willing to accept a past lover but that’s where he drew the line. She was his. His. And he would kill anyone who tried to take her from him.

He trailed behind her while she crossed several streets, keeping his distance so she wouldn’t notice him. After she jumped into a hired hack, he did the same, following behind her until she came to a stop in front of a rundown tavern in Bloomsbury. 

This was no place for a lady yet his fucking Penelope waltzed inside the establishment like she owned the place. His temper rose exponentially, it took everything in him not to grab her and drag her home. But he knew that would be a mistake; he needed to know who she was meeting and surveilling her was the only way.

The tavern was loud and busy, filled with rowdy drunks and lascivious women. What the fuck was Penelope doing here? Colin scanned the crowd until he finally spotted her sitting in a far corner. Her face may have been hidden but he recognized her anyway. Like finding her here wasn’t troubling enough, he felt even more disgusted when he saw the man conversing with her. Because Colin knew who it was, had seen him conduct business with both Anthony and various other men amongst the ton.

He was a solicitor and old enough to be Penelope’s grandfather.

To be continued...

A/N:I hope Colin's POV was a bit illuminating on where his thoughts landed on Penelope. Also hope it wasn't disappointing :)

Your feedback is truly loved and cherished. If you're so inclined, I would love to read your thoughts! And so excited for the show to come back this week!

[padfootsashtray]

marauders fan or masochist? (they’re the same thing)

[kandii000]

[general-yasur]

Me excited about euphrasias new curly hair because it looks like mine only to see people complain about it?

Yall telling me you want another generic ass long bang high pony straight haired female character where you can’t tell the difference between their silhouettes? Bffr

[written-in-the-stars06]

Percy asking his mom why she’s “trying so hard to get rid of him” is my thirteenth reason seriously.

You’re telling me this woman is doing everything she can to protect him, because loves him more than anything and my poor sweet boy is here, thinking that she doesn’t even want him around.

And his little voice BREAKING when he says it ??? When i catch you Ricky

[spiocean]

someone: mischaracterizes Solomon or makes a hate post of him even if as a joke

me:

[lovvecherrymotion]

so things will just keep happening every single day????

[stripysockstumb]

Thinking about how Jon and Martin were having such a nice heartfelt moment hiding from worms and the TIMOTHY STOKER ARRIVES LIKE THE FUCKING COOL AID MAN CRASHING THROUGH A WALL!!!!

Jon: Martin I....

Tim: *bursts in leaving a full body cut out in the wall covered in dust and bricks* SUP MOTHERFUCKERS GUESS WHO HAS A CONCUSSION AND A FAT ASS!!!

[recitedemise]

𝗚𝗮𝗹𝗲 𝗼𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗻 𝘃𝗶𝗲𝘄𝘀 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗶𝘁𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗲𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗳𝗮𝗶𝘁𝗵. That said, when speaking of his paramour with the mention of Mystra, it is not a slight. After all, Mystra, the goddess, wasn't just his lover; she, as she'll remain, controls the Weave.

As a scholar of magic for all his life, Gale is thoroughly enamored with it. He's always had the Weave, casting spells and enchantments for as far as his long memory goes, and there's no power on earth that can pale that devotion. When Gale says Mystra's name, in love, it is never with yearning. When he tells his lover that he forgets his goddess when he stands beside them, he means quite literally that he foregoes his faith. He doesn't mention her like a quality benchmark with which they've somehow surpassed, but to punctuate how wholly he has fallen for them. With a new, honest love, he is turned entirely from Mystra. In fact, so utterly bewitched, he's like a born again man. He isn't besotted by his goddess, held stalwart in her sway and seemingly, abundantly, and frustratingly stubborn. After that disastrous relationship, I promise you, Gale spares not a single thought toward her. She might have control of the Weave, and as such, stands still his only patron deity, but his new, doting lover? They become something of a new religion for him; he is most devoted, taken by, and so loyal to them.

He does not see Mystra. Do not assume he still feels for her.

He's a man of one love, and they will have all of him.

[averlym]

HI I DIDNT KNOW YOU WERE INTO ADAMANDI HOLY SHIT. Can’t believe so few people know about this masterpiece of a musical

:OOOOO hai i agree it is criminally (haha yknow bc there are crimes..) underrated!! and really brilliant!!! discovered it literally midway through the week and akdfjgsjhdsjhjgdf

have a doodle of the saints :3

[probablyhuntersmom]

I'm still emotionally processing the finale and of course the show in general. But which scenes in the show did you find funniest?

[floralembarrassment]

Hi! So you’re probably tired of getting these request but I was wondering if you could write jegulus angst? I’m sorry, I’m a sucker for that and I like making myself cry by reading tons of angst in the middle of the night haha

Hello! I really am back just to hurt your feelings so sorry but not that sorry about it! I'm actually never tired of these requests but I do feel bad sometimes that you aren't just getting sunshine and fluff. That being said, you get what ask for! (sorry its taken so long) with love

Aftermath (1/1) (jegulus)

This wasn't the first time they had slept together but it was the first time it had felt incredibly close and intimate. James was holding Regulus, laying on top of him, when he heard Regulus crying.

"Are you crying?" James asked.

"Uhhh... yes," Regulus replied, only a small hesitation as he wasn't able to hide his emotions any longer.

He quickly moved his hand to try and wipe away his tears, but James got to his cheeks first. Gently moving his thumb to swipe away the tears, James stared at Regulus who stared back.

"Do you want talk about why you are crying?" James asked next, voice to sweet and smooth Regulus was shocked he felt enticed to answer his question.

"Hmmm" Regulus hummed. He let himself be still, to think, to feel. His tears still rolling gently down his cheeks as James' body remained draped over him. Instinctively protecting him.

Regulus felt James hand on his shoulder, squeezing slight. "Open up to me, love." James whispered into the dark.

And for the first time, Regulus wanted to. He wanted to give everything to James. More than his devotion, attention, and body, Regulus wanted to give himself to James in a away he rarely even gave to himself.

And then he cried harder.

Regulus knew that his initial tears were because he felt so safe. He felt so loved. He felt so wanted for what felt like the first time in his whole life. Regulus knew that he wanted all of this, this everything, this life and the next with James. And he knew that his current tears were because he couldn't have any of it.

He opened his eyes and looked at James' worried face. Looked at his glowing golden eyes, and his soft brown skin, and left himself feel James' warmth for what he knew now would have to be the final time.

And when he spoke it was ice cool. It was agony. It was slashes and cuts and bruises. It was every curse and dagger and punch he knew how to throw. It was a simple, "James, I can't do this anymore."

It was as hard as it was easy. It was four crushing, devastating, life protecting words: "I don't love you."

And just like he knew it would, he felt the sun pull away.

[bohemian-nights]

It was bad enough when Daemyra stans were trying to say Nettles was just a “plot device” and should be cut from the show or replaced with Rhaena, but now some Green stans are trying to reduce her characterization and significance to the narrative as well 🤦🏽‍♀️I can’t emphasize this enough, Nettles is not just some downtrodden teenage girl that Daemon screwed.

Nettles is the only canonically Black character in Fire & Blood. She’s possibly the only non-Valyrian dragon rider that we know of. She claimed a dragon not with blood ties or magic, but with her own cleverness. She tamed Sheepstealer, a wild dragon who had never had a rider before. Who killed numerous dragonseeds before her. She comes from absolutely nothing. She survives the dance, and she is worshipped as a freaking fire goddess. Her story begins and ends independently of Daemon.

At any rate, there is nothing wrong with Daemon and Nettles' romantic relationship. Fans are underestimating its importance to the story. Yeah, the age gap can be questionable, as well as the power dynamics, but Daemon does actually put Nettles first above everyone. Above everything. She helps him to realize the possibility that Valyrian supremacy is built on a lie. That there is more to life than power or the Iron Throne. You are more than your blood or your name and she shows that.

Nettles is his light. Daemon is not a morally gray character without her. Daemon and Rhaenyra was never supposed to be a love story. Rhaenyra was a tyrant(and yeah it’s partially Daemon’s fault) by the time Daemon and Nettles became lovers. Hell, he was already "cheating" on her with Mysaria. If he had stuck by his wife’s side what kind of man would he be? If he had gone back to Rhaenyra or let her orders for Nettles' head be executed in a bid to remain “loyal” to her and her cause, what does that say about him?

He would have have never progressed as a character. He would have remained a conniving overly ambitious man with a superiority complex willing to use and trample over innocents for a throne.

Daemon genuinely cares for Nettles. For the first time in her life, she has someone willing to do everything for her. He loves her. Unselfishly. In a way, I would say that they liberate one another from fear and dogma. So no, she doesn’t need “saving” from him. Nettles isn’t Daemon’s poor unfortunate victim.

You dislike Daemon or whatever fine, but don’t bring Nettles into it as a “gotcha moment.” Nettles can stand on her own. She’s not a good-time girl. She’s not some little girl being misused. She doesn’t serve to make Daemon look more villainous. She’s not some trivial character that can be replaced by another in the show just because they now happen to share the same skin tone.

She is an important character in her own right. She has her own story. Her relationship with Daemon is not one based on grooming or abuse. Let Nettles be complex. Let her be loved. See her as someone who is vulnerable yet resilient and capable. See her as her own force. Put some respect on Netty’s name👏🏽

[swagart-man]

Idk why but I'm paranoid about the wdy fandom here for some reason like I just feel like someone's gonna cause drama here and shits gonna hit the fan and it's gonna be like wdy twitter

Idk man I'm just scared I don't want there to be drama again...

[thatfizzyyyy]

the way i fear cameron or matt will make it into top 3 bc the fandom is so divided among many people... and a lot of fandom favs werent given great edits either (think izzy/america) so there may not be a ton of overlap between casual favs and fandom favs like there was last year...