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rhysiana · 1 year

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Because I saw a post about how modern AU WWX would probably actually be as tall as LWJ, if not taller, since so many modern AUs don't feature him suffering as much childhood privation as canon, which reminded me of another thought I have had, about how an early life period of interrupted growth can in fact just delay a person's growth spurts rather than eliminating them. Thus: WWX who gets confusingly taller after graduating from college.

3 People Wei Ying Talked to About Suddenly Getting Taller and 1 Person Who Definitely Noticed On His Own

[Now also on AO3]

Wen Ning

Wei Ying looked down at his feet, perplexed. "Wen Ning?" he yelled down the hall. "Did something weird happen to the washing machine that you didn't tell me about?"

Wen Ning popped his head around the door to Wei Ying's room. "No? I don't think so."

"Then why are all my pants suddenly too short?" A new thought occurred to him and he looked up, now delighted. "Wen Ning! Are you actually pulling a prank on me? I know I don't have all that many clothes, but still, this must have taken so much work! I respect the dedication." He held out a fist.

Wen Ning just blinked at him. "I think... maybe you got taller, actually?"

Wei Ying scoffed. "I'm way too old for a growth spurt. Seriously, did Nie Huaisang put you up to this?"

Wen Ning gave up arguing and simply produced a tape measure instead.

~*~

Wen Qing

Wei Ying burst into Wen Qing's lab, which he might have felt worse about if she hadn't been babysitting an experiment while no one else was around. He still received an impressive glare, but he didn't have time to worry about that right now.

"Wen Qing, I need you to test me for every weird kind of chemical exposure you can think of!"

She blinked at him, looking remarkably like her brother for a moment. "Wei Ying, you're in computer science. Exactly when do you come in contact with chemicals?"

"Uh. A leak on the science campus somewhere?"

"What is actually wrong with you? Tell me in the next," she glanced at the clock, "three minutes or leave."

"I apparently grew another inch in the last month without noticing. That can't be natural. I'm 23."

She stared at him for a moment, frowned, and then her expression cleared. "You said once that you had a bad time when you were younger. Stopped growing for a while."

"Why do you even remember that?" Wei Ying asked with an uncomfortable laugh, looking away. He must have been drunk; he didn't usually bring that time of his life up in any detail. It just made people sad.

Wen Qing turned away briskly, ignoring his minor display of emotion, and checked some readouts he was pretty sure hadn't actually changed in any way yet. "Well, that's why. Your growth spurts just got delayed, not erased. It's normal. I'll send you some references tomorrow."

He swept her up in a relieved hug. "Thank you, Qing-jie. Even if this does mean I'm not developing some weird superpower mutation."

She poked him cruelly in the ribs to get him to let go. "Go away, you're distracting me."

~*~

Jiang Cheng

"You what?!" Jiang Cheng demanded at full volume. It'd been a while since they'd managed to get together in person--Wei Ying had nearly forgotten how red with frustration Jiang Cheng could get.

Wei Ying grinned and bounced a little on his toes to really rub it in. "Grew another inch."

"No! This isn't allowed! The universe can't do this to me!"

"What's the problem, little brother?" Wei Ying edged closer so he could prop his elbow on Jiang Cheng's shoulder and really lean on him. "I think I should get jiejie to measure me again and mark it on the door frame. Really make it official."

"Don't you dare!"

"Why don't I ask her now, so she'll be all ready when we see her next weekend?" Wei Ying fished out his phone and then held it up over his head, laughing, as Jiang Cheng lunged for it.

Jiang Cheng's eyes narrowed. "An inch isn't really that much," he growled, and hooked Wei Ying's leg in a takedown they'd both learned when they were 11.

Wei Ying tossed his phone out of wrestling range and turned his full attention to finding a hold that would make Jiang Cheng tap out.

~*~

Lan Zhan

"Wei Ying."

Most people claimed Lan Zhan's voice (and face) didn't have any expression, but Wei Ying could clearly hear the shock underlying his name.

"Lan Zhan!" he returned brightly. "You're back! Did you have a good trip? You've been gone for months and months!"

Wei Ying was used to the intensity of Lan Zhan's regard under normal circumstances--one of the many things he loved about being friends with him--but he didn't think he was imagining that it was particularly intense today.

"It was as I texted you," Lan Zhan said shortly, and then, surprisingly, continued before Wei Ying could get a teasing reply in. "Wei Ying... did you get taller?"

"Oh, that!" Wei Ying felt himself start to blush, for some reason. "Yeah, I did. It was so weird at first, but Qing-jie assures me it's normal, and I've almost gotten used to it now. It was just an inch but I had to go buy all new... pants..." He trailed off as Lan Zhan pushed into his personal space much closer than he ever had without Wei Ying initiating it first, as far as Wei Ying could recall. "Hi?"

They were nearly chest to chest now, and he could see it when Lan Zhan actually had to tilt his chin up just a bit to meet Wei Ying's eyes.

"Hello," Lan Zhan said, grave and low and very, very focused.

Wei Ying wasn't entirely sure what was happening right now, but he was pretty sure he was into it.

#I dashed this off super fast #I invite other people to steal this concept #based on real life #wei wuxian #wen ning #wen qing #jiang cheng #lan wangji #a tiny hint of wangxian #modern AU #the untamed #rhys's stuff

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naturalshocks · 1 year

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Coloured pencils and a bit of white ink on Clairefontaine Paint On Naturel, A4.

#OFMD #OFMD fanart #Stede Bonnet #Rhys Darby #Our Flag Means Death #I think I finally figured stuff out when I reached the chin #asakdjakfj #I damaged the paper too much and it killed the vibe #but anyway here's the only moth man I believe in #I had to take a classic drawing-surrounded-by-crap photo because it was the only way to keep it flat

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dee-writes-smut · 12 days

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WINTER

FEATURING Azriel x Illyrian!reader

SUMMARY in the aftermath of your kidnapping, you find it harder than normal to cope and continue on with life, causing you to push the people closest to you away. (THIS IS A PART TWO)

CONTENT WARNINGS descriptions of injuries, pain, torture, severe depression, and PTSD. If you thought the last one was dark, buckle up.

AUTHORS NOTE wow, three fics in two days?! What happened to me? I have just been super motivated to write creatively recently, which is exciting! So here, enjoy the second part of the Season's series, Winter.

Winter's embrace was a bleak grip, the world laying shrouded in a suffocating blanket of ice and snow, each flake a cruel reminder of nature's indifference. The landscape stretched out before you like a desolate wasteland, barren trees reaching up like skeletal fingers towards a sky heavy with the promise of more bitter cold to come. There was no warmth to be found here, only the biting chill that gnawed at your bones and numbed your very soul.

Gone were the vibrant colors and lively sounds of spring, replaced instead by a deafening silence broken only by the hollow howl of the wind as it whipped through the skeletal remains of once-thriving forests. The air was thick with a palpable sense of despair, each breath a struggle against the icy grip of despair that threatened to crush you under its weight.

As you trudged through the snow, each step felt like a punishment, a relentless march towards an uncertain fate. The landscape seemed to taunt you with its emptiness, a cruel reminder of the futility of your existence in a world so devoid of life and hope. Shadows danced across the frozen ground, twisting and contorting into grotesque shapes that seemed to mock your very presence.

And yet, amidst the desolation, there was a perverse beauty to be found – in the stark contrast of black against white, in the delicate lacework of frost that adorned the barren branches, in the eerie stillness that hung heavy in the air like a shroud. It was a beauty born of darkness, a twisted reflection of the cruel whims of fate that had brought you to this forsaken place.

In the heart of winter's icy grip, you found yourself consumed by a sense of isolation and despair, a prisoner in a world that had long since abandoned any pretense of kindness or compassion. It was a season of suffering, of unrelenting cruelty, of darkness so deep that even the faintest glimmer of hope seemed but a distant memory. And as the cold crept ever closer, you couldn't help but wonder if there would ever be an end to the endless winter that had consumed your very soul.

(Wintertime, Velaris)

As the first rays of dawn painted the sky in hues of pink and gold, I sat alone on the edge of my bed, my gaze fixed on the empty space where my wings used to be. The pain, both physical and emotional, gnawed at me like a relentless predator, sinking its claws deep into my chest, a constant reminder of everything I had lost. My once majestic wings, the very essence of my being, were gone, severed from my body by those who sought to break my spirit.

With trembling hands, I traced the scars where my wings had been, feeling the phantom sensation of membrane-like skin against my fingertips. The memory of their hard, bone-like ridges, their graceful span; it lingered like a bittersweet melody, haunting yet achingly beautiful. Tears welled in my eyes, blurring the world around me with their shimmering veil, but I refused to let them fall. Crying felt like admitting defeat, acknowledging just how shattered I truly was. So instead, I pushed the pain down, burying it deep within me, where no one could see.

But the emptiness inside me was a vast abyss, yawning wide and hungry, impossible to ignore. I had always prided myself on my resilience, my strength, but now I felt like a mere husk of my former self. The trauma of my kidnapping weighed upon my mind like a heavy shroud, casting shadows that danced and twisted in the corners of my consciousness.

As the days stretched into weeks, and weeks into months, I withdrew further into myself, cocooning my heart in layers of solitude and silence. The world outside seemed distant and hazy, a blurred landscape of faces and voices that I could no longer connect with. I couldn't bear the pity in their eyes, the whispered words of sympathy that fell like stones upon my wounded soul. So, I built walls around my heart, brick by brick, until I was encased in a fortress of my own making, impervious to the outside world.

Even Azriel, my steadfast companion, my unwavering ally, found himself barred from the inner sanctum of my heart. He tried to reach me, to break through the barriers I had erected, but I turned away, unable to bear the thought of exposing my vulnerability to anyone, even him. I didn't want their pity or their well-meaning words. All I wanted was to be left alone with my pain, to drown in it until it consumed me completely.

But even in my darkest moments, a flicker of hope danced on the periphery of my consciousness, a tiny flame that refused to be extinguished. It whispered of resilience and redemption, of healing and renewal, but I pushed it away, hiding from its warmth like a frightened child. For now, I would remain adrift in a sea of darkness, lost and alone, clinging to the fragile thread of hope that promised a way out of the abyss.

The memories played out in my mind with vivid intensity, each scene etched into my consciousness like a brand of torment.

I remembered the moment I was jolted from unconsciousness, the harsh voice of my captor slicing through the haze like a blade. "Wake up, whore," he hissed, sending a shiver down my spine and igniting a primal fear within me. Blinking against the darkness that enveloped me, I felt the oppressive weight of a bag over my head, suffocating and disorienting. Panic surged through me as I realized my bound state, my struggles against the restraints futile in the face of impending doom.

The voice, dripping with malice, mocked my defiance. "No need to struggle, sweetheart," he sneered, his words a cruel reminder of my helplessness. As I strained to make sense of my surroundings, fear clawed its way through my throat, leaving behind deep grooves of despair. The familiar scent of damp earth and mildew filled my senses, a chilling reminder of the unknown horrors that awaited me.

A flicker of hope emerged in the form of Azriel, my steadfast protector, but it was quickly extinguished by the looming presence of Lyris, a childhood friend turned tormentor. His eyes gleamed with sadistic delight as he brandished a dagger, the cold metal glinting ominously in the dim light.

With a cruel smirk, Lyris descended upon me, his voice filled with twisted pleasure. "Time to finally take what's mine," he taunted, the blade poised to inflict unimaginable pain.

The first cut tore through me like a bolt of lightning, a searing agony that ripped through flesh and soul alike. My cries echoed off the walls of the chamber, lost in the darkness that enveloped me.

But the torment did not end there. With each merciless stroke of the blade, Lyris carved away my very essence, leaving behind a shattered shell of my former self. I watched helplessly as my wings, once symbols of freedom and strength, were mutilated and discarded like worthless scraps of flesh.

And as the last remnants of my identity fell away, a hollow emptiness consumed me, leaving behind only the cruel scars of my torment. I was no longer whole, no longer the person I once was. I had been robbed of everything that defined me, my essence stolen by the darkness that lurked within the depths of my captor's soul.

As the soft rap echoed through the hollow corridors, it felt like a distant echo of a life I once knew, one filled with warmth and camaraderie. Reluctantly, I approached the door, each step heavy with the weight of my turmoil, the heavy thud of my heart matching the rhythm of my footfalls.

Feyre stood there, framed by the soft glow of the hallway lanterns, her presence both a comfort and a reminder of the bonds I had once cherished. In her hands, she cradled a delicate tray, a small offering of sustenance amidst the darkness that engulfed me.

"I brought you some food," she offered, her voice a soothing melody in the stillness of the room, a fragile thread of connection in the vast expanse of my solitude. "I thought you might be hungry."

My response was curt, a reflexive defense against the vulnerability her kindness exposed. "I don't need your pity, Feyre," I retorted, the bitterness in my voice a stark contrast to the warmth of her offering. "I can take care of myself."

For a fleeting moment, hurt flickered in her eyes, a silent plea for understanding that cut through the barriers I had erected around my wounded heart. But she quickly masked it with a forced smile, her resilience a testament to the depth of her compassion.

Without another word, she set the tray down on the table beside me, the scent of warm food mingling with the heavy silence that enveloped us. It was a gesture of kindness in a world that had grown cold and indifferent, a fleeting glimpse of the friendship I had once treasured.

As Feyre lingered in the doorway, her gaze lingered on mine with a quiet intensity, a silent invitation to let her in, to share the burden of my pain. "Is there anything else I can do for you?" she asked, her voice a gentle reminder that I was not alone, that there were still those who cared enough to reach out a helping hand.

But I shook my head, my walls still firmly in place, my pride a shield against the vulnerability her presence exposed. "No," I replied curtly, my voice a harsh echo of the emptiness that echoed within me.

With a nod of understanding, Feyre turned to leave, the weight of her disappointment a heavy burden on my already burdened soul. And as the door closed behind her, I was left alone once more, the silence of the empty room a stark reminder of the walls I had built to keep the world at bay.

The evening air was thick with the scent of spices and laughter as I made my way through the bustling streets of Velaris, the soft glow of lanterns casting a warm hue over the cobblestone pathways. Each step felt heavy, burdened by the weight of my own thoughts, as I navigated the vibrant tapestry of the Night Court.

Amidst the lively chatter and cheerful bustle of the city, familiar voices pierced through the haze of my melancholy. Mor's vibrant laughter echoed through the air, drawing my gaze towards her radiant figure standing across the street. Beside her, Cassian, his presence as imposing as ever, offered a welcoming grin that tugged at the corners of my lips despite my inner turmoil.

"Hey, there she is!" Mor's voice carried on the breeze, her smile bright as she beckoned me over. "Come join us!"

Cassian's invitation followed, his boisterous enthusiasm contagious as he gestured towards the tavern. "We're heading for a drink. You should come with us."

My heart clenched at the genuine warmth in their gestures, a stark contrast to the icy grip of my own despair. The desire to lose myself in their company, if only for a fleeting moment, warred with the overwhelming sense of unworthiness that gnawed at my soul.

But as Mor reached out to take my hand, her touch a gentle reminder of the bond we shared, a surge of jealousy and resentment swept through me. My gaze flickered to Cassian, his powerful wings a constant reminder of everything I had lost. Anger boiled within me, bitter and consuming, as I struggled to suppress the envy that threatened to engulf me. "I appreciate the offer, but I think I'll pass," I managed to say, my voice betraying a hint of regret. "I'm not really in the mood for drinking tonight."

Mor's smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of concern crossing her features before she masked it with reassurance. "That's okay," she said softly, her words a soothing balm to the ache in my heart. "But if you ever change your mind, you know where to find us."

With a nod of understanding, I watched as they disappeared into the throng of revelers, their laughter fading into the night. Left alone on the deserted street, the weight of my solitude pressed heavily upon me, a reminder of the chasm that separated me from the warmth of their companionship. As the echoes of their laughter dissolved into the stillness of the night, I couldn't shake the pang of resentment that lingered in my chest. But even amidst the darkness of my despair, I knew that I couldn't risk dragging my friends down with me. So, with a heavy heart, I turned away, retreating into the shadows once more, the silence of the night swallowing me whole.

The faint glow of moonlight, a silver cascade, filtered through the windows, casting ethereal patterns across the dimly lit kitchen of the Night Court's sprawling estate. I stood amidst the chaos, surrounded by a haphazard array of pots, pans, and ingredients scattered across the countertops. My attempt at cooking had quickly spiraled into a messy disaster, each failed endeavor only serving to fuel my frustration further.

As I grappled with the stubborn lid of a jar, a voice sliced through the silence, its presence both unexpected and unwelcome.

"What in the world are you doing?"

Startled, I turned to find Rhysand standing in the doorway, his silhouette a stark contrast against the luminescent backdrop. His wings, a breathtaking display of power and grace, unfurled behind him like the majestic sails of a ship, the membrane-like skin gleaming in the moonlight. They seemed to pulsate with an otherworldly energy, each beat a testament to the freedom and strength they embodied. My heart clenched at the sight, a bitter pang of jealousy twisting in the depths of my soul. Once, I had known that same sense of freedom, had soared through the skies with effortless grace, my wings slicing through the air like a blade through silk. But now, they were gone, cruelly ripped from my back by those who sought to break me.

An ache, dull and persistent, throbbed in the space where my wings had once been, a constant reminder of everything I had lost. I longed to feel the wind beneath me, to taste the exhilarating rush of flight once more, but it was nothing more than a distant dream, forever out of reach.

"None of your business," I snapped, my voice a whipcrack of frustration, my fingers still wrestling with the stubborn jar lid. The last thing I needed was his pity, his condescending attempts to help when I clearly didn't want it.

Rhysand's gaze softened, a flicker of concern crossing his features as he approached with cautious steps, his movements a ballet of grace. "You're making quite a mess," he observed, his voice gentle but firm, like the soothing murmur of a distant stream. "Let me help you."

I recoiled from his touch, the anger bubbling to the surface like molten lava erupting from the depths of the earth. "I don't need your help," I spat, my voice tinged with venom, the bitterness like bile in my throat. "I don't need anyone."

There was a brief pause, a pregnant silence hanging heavy in the air as Rhysand regarded me with a mixture of sympathy and frustration. "You're clearly upset," he said softly, his words a gentle caress against the storm raging within me. "Let me help you. Let us help you."

But I refused to listen, the tempest of my emotions raging unabated, the walls around my heart fortified against any intrusion. With a strangled cry of frustration, I shoved past him and fled from the room, the echoes of his words following me like a haunting refrain, the cadence of his footsteps a melancholy echo in the corridors of my mind.

Alone in the sanctuary of my darkened chamber, I collapsed onto the bed, the weight of my own solitude pressing down upon me like a suffocating avalanche. Tears welled in my eyes, hot and stinging, as I buried my face in the pillows, the emptiness consuming me like a ravenous beast, its jaws gnashing at the frayed edges of my soul.

"Mind if I join you?"

Nesta's voice broke through the silence, her presence a welcome intrusion in the stillness of the night. I turned to face her, my expression guarded and wary, unsure of what to expect. She stepped onto the balcony, her graceful movements a stark contrast to the heaviness that weighed upon my own shoulders. There was a quiet understanding in her gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the pain that lingered beneath the surface.

"I know what it's like," she said softly, her voice a gentle murmur in the quiet expanse of the night. "To push people away, to build walls around your heart so high that no one can reach you."

I bristled at her words, the anger and resentment bubbling to the surface like a dormant volcano awakening from its slumber. How dare she presume to understand the depths of my despair, the darkness that threatened to consume me from within?

"You have no idea what I'm going through," I snapped, my voice tinged with bitterness. "You have Cassian, you have someone who loves you unconditionally. I have no one."

Nesta's gaze softened, a flicker of sympathy in her eyes as she reached out to take my hand. "I may have Cassian, but that doesn't mean I haven't faced my own demons," she said gently. "I know what it's like to feel like you're drowning in darkness, to feel like there's no way out."

I recoiled from her touch, the walls around my heart growing ever taller with each passing moment. "I don't need your pity," I retorted, my voice laced with venom. "I don't need anyone."

Nesta's expression faltered for a moment, a fleeting glimpse of hurt crossing her features before she quickly masked it with a steely resolve. "Fine," she said, her voice tinged with resignation. "But just know that I'm here if you ever change your mind. No judgments, no expectations. Just someone who understands." And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving me alone once more with the weight of my own sorrow.

The library exuded an atmosphere of solemn tranquility, its shelves adorned with ancient tomes and illuminated by the soft glow of flickering candles. I sat ensconced amidst the towering pillars of knowledge, a solitary figure in the midst of a vast sea of wisdom, my thoughts tumultuous and unruly.

"I’m joining you.”

The voice, sharp and unwavering, pierced the silence like a dagger, its intrusion disrupting the fragile peace that had settled over the room. Startled, I glanced up to find Amren standing before me, her gaze penetrating and incisive, cutting through the veil of my solitude with unnerving precision.

"Fine," I sighed, my voice tinged with resignation as I gestured for her to take a seat. Amren wasted no time in settling herself across from me, her movements fluid and purposeful, her eyes fixed upon me with an intensity that made me squirm.

"You look like hell," she remarked bluntly, her words a harsh echo in the stillness of the library.

I bristled at her candor, the urge to lash out bubbling up from the depths of my despair like a tempest on the horizon. But there was something in Amren's gaze, a glimmer of genuine concern beneath the steely facade, that gave me pause. She wasn't asking out of idle curiosity; she genuinely wanted to understand the turmoil that churned within me.

"It's nothing," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper as I averted my gaze, unwilling to meet her probing stare.

Amren snorted in disbelief, her lips curling into a sardonic smile as she leaned forward, her eyes boring into mine with unrelenting intensity. "Don't give me that bullshit," she retorted, her tone sharp and unyielding. "I may not be the touchy-feely type, but even I can see that something's eating you alive."

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat growing with each passing moment as I struggled to find the words to express the depth of my despair. But before I could respond, Amren reached out and grasped my hand, her touch surprisingly gentle despite the steel in her eyes. "I'm not going to pretend to understand what you're going through," she said softly, her voice a quiet reassurance in the stillness of the library. "But I do know one thing: you don't have to face it alone. We're your friends, and we're here for you, no matter what."

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, hot and stinging, as I looked into Amren's unwavering gaze. In that moment, I realized that she was right. I didn't have to carry the weight of my despair alone. I had friends who cared about me, who were willing to stand by my side through the darkest of times. But even as the realization washed over me like a tidal wave, a part of me rebelled against the idea of letting them in. The walls around my heart, built brick by brick in an attempt to shield myself from further pain, felt impenetrable, insurmountable.

With a trembling breath, I pulled my hand away from Amren's grasp, my movements abrupt and jerky. "I don't need your help," I said, my voice strained with emotion. "I don't need anyone."

Amren's expression hardened, her eyes flashing with barely concealed anger as she stared at me, incredulous. "You're a fool if you think you can face this alone," she spat, her voice cold and cutting. "But fine, if that's how you want it. Just know that when you finally come crawling back, don't expect us to welcome you with open arms."

And with that, she rose from her seat and stormed from the room, leaving me alone once more with the weight of my own despair. Even as the silence settled around me like a suffocating blanket, I couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that gnawed at my soul

As the twilight descended, casting its ethereal veil over the Night Court's training grounds, I found myself standing alone at the edge of the courtyard, my heart heavy with the burden of my own anguish. The fading light painted the world in hues of amber and indigo, a melancholy backdrop to the tempest raging within.

With measured steps, Azriel approached, his presence a soothing balm amidst the chaos of my emotions. His silhouette merged with the shadows, his eyes alight with concern as he drew near. "Are you alright?" His voice, a tender caress against the backdrop of the evening's symphony, reached out to me, offering solace in the darkness.

I turned to face him, my heart aching with the weight of unspoken words, the tumult of my soul laid bare in the vulnerability of my gaze. "Do I look alright?" I whispered, the bitterness of my sorrow echoing in the stillness of the night. "Do I seem like someone who has it all together?"

Azriel's expression softened, his gaze a mirror to the storm brewing within me. "I'm just trying to help," he murmured, his voice a gentle melody that stirred the depths of my wounded spirit.

Tears welled in my eyes, the ache in my chest threatening to consume me whole. "Maybe I don't want your help," I confessed, the admission a fragile confession of my deepest fears. "Maybe I'm tired of everyone trying to fix me, like I'm some broken thing in need of repair."

The hurt that flickered in Azriel's eyes pierced through me, his anguish a reflection of my own. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice laden with remorse, a silent plea for understanding.

My resolve wavered, the walls around my heart crumbling in the face of his compassion. "I don't need your apologies," I confessed, the weight of my pain heavy upon my shoulders. "I just need… I don't know what I need."

With that, I turned away, the vulnerability of my confession hanging heavy in the air between us. As I retreated into the enveloping darkness, I felt the warmth of Azriel's presence recede, leaving me alone with the ache of my own brokenness. And in the stillness of the night, I grappled with the realization that perhaps, amidst the chaos of my despair, what I truly longed for was the one thing I had pushed away—the comforting embrace of someone who cared.

But even as I yearned for solace, the sight of Azriel, the one who had rescued me from the clutches of darkness, stirred within me a tumult of conflicting emotions. His Illyrian heritage, his wings—symbols of strength and freedom—served as painful reminders of the horrors I had endured. And in his compassionate gaze, I saw reflected the shadows of my past, haunting me with memories I longed to forget. It was hard to see him, to confront the echoes of my trauma that lingered in his presence, yet even amidst the pain, there remained a flicker of hope—something that clung so tight, that wouldn’t let go, and that throbbed in the presence of him.

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captain-flint · 6 months

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Ed and Stede: out here living our best lives 🥰👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨 Guys, Zheng is under attack Ed and Stede: this ain't about her

#our flag means death #ofmd #ofmdedit #blackbonnet #blackbonnetedit #gentlebeard #gentlebeardedit #edward teach #blackbeard #stede bonnet #taika waititi #rhys darby #zheng yi sao #ruibo quian #zheng: GUYS! FUCK!#ed and stede: don't mind if we do #my stuff

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stedebonnets · 6 months

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Stede Bonnet + his fancy 'cursed' red suit

#i am sure this was made so many times but still i needed to gif it myself because i'm obsessed with this costume #stede bonnet #rhys darby #our flag means death #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd s2 #ofmdedit #ofmdaily #ofmdsource #dailypiratemedia #dailyflicks #userkristi #usercaptainflint #filmtvdaily #my stuff #mygifs

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krotiation · 5 months

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sometimes i forget that jack and rhys have a son together

#KSDJHGKJ THIS IS ONE OF THE MOST CURSED THINGS IVE DRAWN #and ive drawn a lot of unhinged stuff in my lifetime #borderlands #tales from the borderlands #rhys strongfork #handsome jack #dumpy #rhack #fanart #comic #lets not talk about how jack murders dumpy in cold blood if you reject hyperion okay

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ourflagmeansbts · 3 months

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Source (Season 2 - December 29th 2023)

sambaschutte: Today’s Crew Shoutout: the hilariously talented @nathan_foad who plays Lucius🏴‍☠️ He can sing, dance, write and be cute- a quadruple threat☠️ Plus he beat Samson at Monopoly Deal, so he has that going for him…⚔️

#ofmd #ofmd bts #our flag means death #our flag means death bts #s2 #video #nathan #madeleine #joel #samba #vico #fane #rhys #nat #2023 #sambaschutte #joel so clearly does not want to be involved in their social media stuff lol #and i respect nathan for letting him get away from it actually

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rhysdarbinizedarby · 28 days

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Rhys Darby has ‘not an ounce of scaredness’ about son’s band dreams

NZ actor Rhys Darby and his musician son Finn interview each other. VIDEO CREDIT: David White/Stuff

Rhys Darby is proudly listing career moments - but they’re not his own.

He’s recalling watching his son Finn’s band, Great Big Cow, “absolutely rock” iconic LA venue Troubadour to sold-out crowds.

As a parent, “you worry about a bit of nepotism,” he admits.

“Are we just ‘yay, our boys!’ when really they’re dreadful?”

But, he says, the band’s indie folk rock is “brilliant”, and keeps getting better. And, he insists, people are paying attention.

“We’re shocked as parents a little bit,” he jokes.

The band, Rhys and I are nestled between a Street Fighter arcade game and a pinball machine, in a dark corner of Auckland’s Whammy Bar. The US-based teen band has been sound-checking for their first international show.

Rhys has donned weathered jeans and a plaid jacket - approved by Finn. His son is wearing Dad’s socks for the night. While Rhys talks, Finn pulls faces and shares quiet in-jokes with his band mates. There are plenty of laughs.

Finn, Paolo Pesce, Will Angarola and Wyatt Nash originally played together in a school jazz combo, and went on to form Great Big Cow in 2022.

Rhys Darby, left, watches his son Finn’s band dreams without “an ounce of scaredness”. DAVID WHITE/STUFF

Now, Rhys insists, they have a growing fanbase. Some of whom “[do] that thing where you dance really closely … Moshing”. He points to my notebook.

“Put down there that I did know what moshing is.”

Sure, Rhys Darby - one of New Zealand’s most well-known comedy exports - helped the band get bums on seats and lock in bigger venues, but they were also recently featured on LA public radio station KCRW’s Young Creators Project, can be found on Spotify and their mainstay is house parties.

“I think because I'm a bigger deal [in NZ], it might have been a little different. In LA, no-one really gives a shit about who I am,” he laughs, looking over at Finn who’s patiently had his hand raised while Dad spoke.

There are people and groups in LA that have helped the band too, says Finn, and he’s not sure those opportunities would have happened back in NZ.

“I would have got you on bFM for sure,” Rhys quips back.

He looks on at Finn’s creative path with, “not an ounce of scaredness”.

“Obviously as a child I had many different dreams, but at the base of everything was art and performance,” he says, describing his younger self as a “dreamer” who wanted to entertain.

Rhys Darby with son Finn before Great Big Cow played Auckland’s Whammy Bar. DAVID WHITE/STUFF

“When it comes to [my kids], I see different ambitions, but they have the artistic talent - I’m completely open to whatever they want to do. I’ll always be there for them.”

Where New Zealand has a bit of a reputation for tall poppy syndrome and an air of negativity, LA is hugely positive, says Rhys - especially for fostering young talent.

And it was in LA, at a house party, that Finn recalls being caught up in the “electric energy” of playing live.

“The whole audience was moving. And I think two people got lifted up above the crowd and surfed around above the crowd,” he says.

Finn’s not the only Darby putting in some work while in Aotearoa. Following Rhys’s joint 50th celebration with wife Rosie, he’ll be returning to the local stage, performing his Rhys Darby 25 Years stand-up show at Waiheke Island’s Wild Estate on April 3.

It encompasses the best bits from his previous shows, but performing it at Waiheke is “just another excuse to put on a show, really”, and to show his US mates another part of Auckland.

Rhys Darby, following a stint in the army and then university, kicked off his career with stand-up, before becoming a household name with an impressive TV and film CV, including Flight of the Conchords, Yes Man, The Boat that Rocked and Our Flag Means Death.

As for whether he still loves stand-up, “love is a strong word”, he laughs.

“I still enjoy it. But it's it's less of a thrill than it used to be.”

What he’s really loving is throwing himself into acting, and challenging himself with more dramatic roles - different to the very physical, crazy “shenanigans on stage”, requiring more focus for the comedian and “not just being a silly bugger”.

Plus, he’s 50 now.

“It’s much easier to do the stuff where I'm just sitting down,” he laughs.

Still, there’s no denying he’s been part of a movement that threw New Zealand comedy into the wider world, and he speaks proudly about his own work, but also that of other Kiwis such as filmmaker Taika Waititi and actor Rose Matafeo.

It’s a type of comedy, he says, that “has a signature” and can’t be copied.

Rhys Darby and son Finn at Auckland’s Whammy Bar. DAVID WHITE/STUFF

“I think it’s that positivity thing, which is ironic coming from a place with tall poppy syndrome. We don’t like each other but you guys love us, eh?”

It’s one of the reasons Darby is still living in LA, “still waving the flag [and] not changing my accent”.

And while Darby’s big break may have been the role of band manager Murray, when it comes to Great Big Cow he and Rosie “don’t want to be helicopter parents too much”.

“We're there when they have a question.”

And while Rhys says he can’t talk about any of his own projects, Finn interrupts with a quiet word about vague plans for a comedy musical theatre show featuring Rhys and the band.

Looking back at his own career, the highlight was breaking into the US market - name-dropping X Files and Our Flag Means Death as highlights.

“What's next? It's all peaks and troughs,” he says - mentioning Hollywood is turning to AI, but “thankfully, there's no one that can do a better robot impression than me”.

Still, the changing industry is worrying.

“People are losing their jobs, and AI is having a lot to do with it,” he says - dropping the quips and gags for a moment.

“After the strikes, I know, it's taken a while to get the industry back on its feet, but I'm hoping that it will get there,” he says.

“But it is worrying. It's really worrying the moment.”

Source: Stuff NZ

#rhys darby #finn darby #interview #great big cow band #stuff nz

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