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ofoceansandtombsanew · 25 days

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Of All Things, I Became an Aranara

You always imagined that if you woke up in the world of Genshin, the possibilities of being a Visionless wielder of elements and a slew of romantic shenanigans would lie in your wake. But when you instead find yourself in the body of an Aranara with romance likely out of the question, your only conclusion is that the gods of reincarnation isekai hate your guts.

cw. you're an aranara

pairing. scaramouche/wanderer x reader, cyno x reader, kaveh x reader, candace x reader (separate)

notes. don't feel like being an aranara today? well go ahead and go to the series masterlist and see what your life could be if you were something else in genshin.

While you would have preferred being human, you have to admit there are few things better than turning into an Aranara. You've most assuredly been given Genshin non-humanoid pretty privilege with beautiful powers concerning plants and dreams to boot.

An even bigger benefit is that you can talk, so communicating with humans in this world will be a cinch.

The only thing you can really complain about now is that you aren't really able to handle salt and spices the way you used to. But to be honest, if that's the only thing you have to complain about, you'll gladly settle with being one of the musically-inclined leaf children of the rainforest.

All of whom are your friends despite the predicament you've found yourself in. You may have technically lost the isekai 50/50 but you feel like you've won in a lot of ways too.

Scaramouche

Ironically enough he was one of the easiest individuals on the list to befriend. Why? You met him when his memories were completely reset to zero and he had a much more sweet and calm demeanor

Considering the sharp-tongue Scaramouche you're used to, it honestly gave you whiplash

Still, you couldn't bring yourself to leave the guy, bright eyed and full of wonder. It was the constant abandonments and perceived abandonments that turned Scara into the person he came

You accompany him when he regains his memories, after which he assumes that now you know the extent of his true character and the things he's done that you'll leave him now. he even encourages you to do so, shooing you away

you plopping your small self across his shoulder and telling him he's your best friend means a lot to him, even if he tells you in response that you're an idiot but you can do as you wish

Before and after regaining his memories, Scara is very clingy. Before regaining them, he slept with you nestled to his chest much like a child would a teddy bear. Afterwards, he considers it too soft and embarrassing to do so but if you snuggle up against him well, he won't stop you

Once you got lost while exploring and when you didn't come back within the time he expected you to, he grew quite panicked and nearly turned the entire forest upside down trying to find you

When he did, you were promptly scolded for making him have to look for you. What's the matter with you? Don't go traveling somewhere unfamiliar or you'll just make him have to waste time backtracking to look for you

(He was scared that you had gotten eaten or hurt or worse, that you decided to no longer travel with him, leaving him to be alone all over again)

Whenever he has nightmares, you turn his dreams into ones much happier. He tells you to stay out of his head but he appreciates the fanciful worlds you craft for him

You're also quite handy when he needs to avoid his new fanbase from the Akademiya. Taking him to the dream world to avoid talking to people is quite a useful trick of yours

But as it turns out, Scaramouche is quite popular with the Aranara and they all love to indulge him. So you kinda have some competition

You can't believe you're actually getting jealous of Aranaras. Wow, how the mighty have fallen

Cyno

A son of the desert who grew up in the rainforest, Cyno heard of stories regarding the Aranara but he never thought they'd be real. But as far as he is concerned, you're as much a citizen of Sumeru as he is

So Cyno quickly rolls with the punches and treats you accordingly with respect. Talk about a win!

But as far as you being a travel companion? Cyno isn't entirely sure since his work concerns apprehending wayward scholars and their affiliates. It's dangerous, so unless you can prove yourself to be sturdy enough to protect yourself, he'll tell discourage you from following him

Of course, he can't rightly force a creature of Dendro and dreams from doing that anyway if you stubbornly continue on with him

Thankfully, you can set his worries aside when you show not only are you adorable, but resourceful, using your powers of Dendro to apprehend criminals attempting to flee the scene when Cyno arrives (all while staying hidden in the realm of dreams. You're not trying to put a target on the back of every Aranara after all)

That aside, you don't really have any troubles with Cyno. When he rests by campfire, he will make sure you stay a comfortable distance from the flames and will teach you about GI TCG and will even tell you a joke or two (or three)

Cyno is a reliable companion. He'll protect you if you are under his protection but he doesn't make you feel less than because you're not human either

But when he isn't in work mode, he is very sweet and even let's you wear his headdress from time to time as long as you are careful with it. In return you place flower crowns atop his head

Is another protective companion. As one brought from the desert to the rainforest for the sake of experiments, Cyno knows what could happen should those at the Akademiya find out that Aranaras are more than just a tale for children

So he always makes sure you aren't sighted by those he cannot trust

Kaveh

Meeting Kaveh was a bit of an accident as you had to help disentangle from a mess of vines

For someone blessed with the power of Dendro, he isn't really one who naturally has an affinity for plants

As such, he is embarrassed when you find him in this situation. Embarrassed and quite amazed to find out that Aranara aren't just stories. One getting him out of a mess like this isn't really how Kaveh ever imagined meeting one back when he was a child

That aside, Kaveh straightens himself out, thanks you and honestly he tries to be polite about it but he has plenty of questions about your being an Aranara that you can't really answer outside of lore you got from the game

You tell him that you'll look out for him when he is prancing about the rainforest so he can avoid these sorts of mishaps in the future which he insists is unnecessary

But you're not trying to be stuck living in nature forever, you want to make sure you have guaranteed safety. It also helps that if you're going to attach yourself to a human in the game, they aren't just some random NPC. A player character comes with a certain level of stability you appreciate

Kaveh's too good an opportunity to pass up and Mehrak is quite cute too. Win-win situation

Out of everyone here though sadly, Kaveh treats you most like a pet. Something no one wants to get from a hot guy even if you understand why he treats you so

At least he gives you plenty of sweets to eat?

You become a surprising point of comfort for Kaveh when he grows frustrated with his roommate. You tend to use your powers of Dendro to weave flowers through his hair during those moments and listen when he vents

You think his kindness does him more harm than good and that he tends to be his worst critic, so you tell Kaveh to be kinder to himself

Candace

A desert really isn't the place for an Aranara but you stubbornly decided to try your luck at it anyway against your better judgement (and the advice of your fellow Aranara)

But a couple of near death experiences aside, you think you made a good decision when you get to Aaru Village. The children there are very sweet and fascinated by you, having never seen an Aranara themselves

So you become quite popular among them, making them all sweet dreams and becoming a sort of... Guardian, one might say

You also help maintain the few plantlife of Aaru Village from Sabbah's flowers to the ajilenakh trees

It isn't much work but it's honest work

Candace thought nothing of it, thinking it was cute for the children of the village to have something to talk about

Then she ran into you trying (and failing) to get some food from the storage and that is how you were discovered by the actual Guardian of Aaru Village

Despite that little mishap, Candace is sweet to you and presents to you the same rules she gives all guests of Aaru. She also appreciates you helping with the children

So she doesn't disagree when you label yourselves as a sort of duo protecting everyone in different ways

Candace seldom has time to rest or enjoy any sort of personal time, so you try to be her invisible company in the day and you pester her to take breaks

You'd threaten to keep her contained in vines to make her take a break but you know she is infinitely stronger than your own abilities

How else can she fight monsters for hours at a time without tiring?

Still if you're at that level of desperate to make her rest, Candace promises to take more breaks along the day and rely more on her fellow guards

#look she's writing #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #kaveh x reader #candace x reader #cyno x reader

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alexsoenomel · 8 months

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Silly Little Nightmare (Dean Winchester x Reader fluff)

Summary: You have a nightmare and you go to Dean's room

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: death and fluff (sounds about right, eh?)

Word count: 1.1k

Note: Found an old fic I wrote years ago. It was horrible so I did I little editing. Enjoy!

Like/ reblog or both if you like it :)

Not being able to sleep was a must in your book every night. You struggled with insomnia, nightmares and exhaustion your whole life and now living with two brothers in a cold bunker in the middle of nowhere didn’t help your situation whatsoever. The bunker was your home during the day, but a fucking nighmere during the night. The water in the pipes circling around your room made it almost impossible not to focus on the damn sound and cold air was trying to creep into your bones no matter how thick your blanket was – sometimes you hated it.

One night it got the best of you, it almost tore you apart completely and drove you to the brink of madness. When you decided to forcefully get yourself into a deep state of sleep by taking melatonin there it was: the dream – your worst nightmare. It started off as a pleasant scenario set in the late 50’s for some unknown reason. You and the older Winchester were on a mission to kill a creature who happened to have the ability to time travel. The younger brother wasn’t there; your brain was clever enough to take everything you love away from you – step by step. It made everything too real; every sound, every touch and every damn emotion seemed enhanced. It took you and Dean to a dark alley, similar to the ones where the worst killings and robberies would happen in real life. It made you think that Dean was the bad guy; it drugged you to the point where you couldn’t see nor hear straight. How the fuck did your brain manage to do that? You were a fucking masochist so maybe that was your answer. You couldn’t hear his voice, begging you to believe him and you didn’t see the expression on his face when you first took out your sharp knife. He looked like someone else – a monster in a human form with sharp teeth and yellow eyes, but it wasn’t Dean. He tried to run, but you were faster; he tried to fight you, but you were stronger in this universe. When you stabbed him it felt like cutting a piece of cake – surprisingly easy. You didn’t hear his hard groan but as soon as he hit the ground it was time to wake up and see what you had done. Your eyes were yours and true again as well as your ears, but you…you were far from yourself. He was laying there, blood all over his shirt and mouth, he was already far away from you. His eyes were open and empty. He was gone.

“Dean?” You got on your knees. “DEAN?”

Nothing. His groans and short breaths stopped. He wasn’t moving anymore.

“DEAN PLEASE?! Wake up?!”

“DEAN?”

The tears seemed so real and yet so foreign. Like a few drops from a cold autumn’s rain on your cheeks, but at the same time that familiar feeling of sorrow and emptiness hit you. Your body became weak, he wasn’t moving. He was gone.

You woke up. Sweat. Tears. The anger…everything hit you all at once. Shaking your head, desperately trying to pull yourself together and catch your breath, you got up and went to the hallway. It was pitch black; the darkness was overwhelming making you frantically wander. He was your first love, and first loves we tend to not forget nor get over it easily. Love sometimes wasn’t what poets make it to be; all happy and sweet as candy – it sometimes left scars, sometimes deep and more painful than any other childhood trauma you may have experienced.

No one knew about your love for Dean besides your heart. Sam was a friend, or even the brother you never had but Dean was the other side of the coin. If you could explain why he made your heart work faster you could but that was the thing about love, it was unexpected and unexplainable. The life you lived, the things you had seen, you couldn’t risk losing the friendship you had so you just buried it deep in your mind.

His room was the first one to the left. You gently opened the door and the silence was immediately replaced with soft snores coming from the bed.

“Dean?” You whispered, closing the door. “Dean?”

The sheets started moving in the dark as you sat next to him. “(Y/N)?”

“I’m sorry I-I…” You remembered the dream again. You saw his lifeless body again. “I had a nightmare.” With your sleeve you whipped the tears trying to not sound as pathetic as you thought you did.

“Hey, comere!” He pulled your arm and moved to the other side of the bed. You went with him under the covers feeling his warmth on your skin immediately. He smelled like mint with a dash of alcohol plus something that screamed Dean – a mix of leather and gunpowder. He wrapped his arms around your small frame pulling you closer to him.

You would hug here and there, but never like this. This was intimate and yet familiar.

“It was about you.” You said pressing your forehead against his chest.

“The nightmare?”

“Yeah, I killed you. I thought you were a monster and I killed you.” The tears started creeping in again as you tried your best to keep it together.

“It was just a dream, sweetheart.” He said softly. His chin was resting on top of your head.

“I’m sorry I woke you up. It’s just…” You couldn’t see him and you didn’t want to, you felt stupid. A grown ass woman crying over a bad dream – even worse a hunter.

You lifted your head up and feeling bold you placed a kiss on his cheek. “I’m sorry.” He was still a silhouette but his eyes were on you while he was trying to restrain himself from kissing you. You weren’t the only one who had deep buried feelings in the pits of your mind. He was hooked the minute you two jammed to Ramble On by Led Zeppelin in the Impala one gloomy Sunday night after a successful hunt.

“It’s…It’s okay.” You couldn’t see but he was flustered.

“Can I stay? Please?”

Something in his gut punched him, so he went for it. He kissed you. Not in the sweet ‘I have wanted to do that for a long time’ way, but ‘please never leave me I love you’ way. At first it felt like someone pushed your face into a candy bowl but with the sweetness and a light minty flavor there was also the pleasure that came with it. It literally took your breath away and you couldn’t help but moan a little.

“Stay and never leave.” He said.

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #spn #supernatural fic #spn drabble #spn fanfic #dean winchester #spn fluff #supernatural fluff #spn fic #dean winchester x reader fluff #dean Winchester x Reader #dean winchester fluff #dean x Reader #dean x reader fluff

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fuumiku · 1 month

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Chilcille huh... ngl I was a little suspicious. like why would you do that, huh... hope youre not mischaracterizing anyone in your weird and wacky ship. a little weird. but then you said they both had flat asses and you know what? I salute you and your perfect characterization

The fact you seem to think you managed to not make this ask insulting is baffling. What the hell. Fuck off.

If you actually care to be open minded about the ship, I talk about marchil on my sideblog 24/7. Funnily enough I’m currently 4k words deep into an analysis of their character arc together in canon, but that’ll take some more days to get done. Some notable posts:

Of course without counting the analyses of Chilchuck on his own I’ve made, like my masterpost on his family situation. Or better yet you could also read my fics for them, see how weird and wacky they are here.

Wanna talk about mischaracterisation? They’re literally a comedic duo who interacts 24/7. Marchil is crazy bc ppl are like "did those shipper read with their eyes CLOSED?? They have no chemistry!" Meanwhile canon is like: "She’s obsessed with knowing everything she can about him and she reads him like a book." In her eyes he’s like that extra rare and hard and shiny unlockable dating sim character, that brooding mysterious character trope that’s thrilling to crack open and typically is at the center of the plot. The wife roleplay???? "Hey, did you know his type is blondes. Hey did you know he likes his women pretty and blonde. Hey did you know he likes her hair. Hey did you know that he teases her 24/7 and it’s one of the few things that consistently gets him grinning because he finds her reactions cute." Like a schoolyard bully pulling on the pigtails of the girl he likes.

It’s not like they have any thematic narratives or relevance. It’s not like she’ll live to 1000 and has existential dread about it while he’s logically gonna be her next friend to die at 50 and wether it’s romantic or platonic it’ll terrify her to lose him. It’s not like it’s fear of death x fear of rejection so they’re both obsessed with the thought of loss looming, past and ongoing. It’s not like it’s half-elf x half-foot and there’s an inherent journey that was and still is to dispel prejudices and truly come to see each other. It’s not like he’s painfully real and raw and flawed but still a good man, that he’s not the figure of prince charming that she’s always dreamed of while still being virtuous and worth fighting for. Or you know, her hair being golden and it being the epitome of beauty to him, and his hair turning silver and it being Marcille’s worst nightmare.

Just a weird wacky ship who means nothing but shallow things to people who have weirdo reasons for liking it. Like can you not. If you’re not imaginative enough to think of reasons why this ship may have an appealing dynamic that’s not my issue. But yes, yes, they’re both flat asses to me, thanks.

#Dungeon meshi #Ask #Spoilers #dungeon meshi manga spoilers #Marcille donato #chilchuck tims #Marchil #You me the parking lot after i finish and post my arc analysis #Sobbing……… we’re 20 over here in the rarepair pit come on. Like do u not see how obsessed i am. Do u think they like. Mean nothing to me #Do u think it’s all incidental and i slipped and the 10 thousands of words I write for them had no thought or feelings behind them or #Their arc is so beautifuuuuul they come to see each other and her standards become more real while he allows hope and openness #Into his heart again 😭😭 not the way two of their scenes lowkey read as a proposal…#Anyways I hope this makes it clear I’ll fight to my dying breath for them.#I don’t want trouble and i imagine you don’t either so just don’t come shitting on my doorstep #In positive news my fic Grind Me Down Sweetly recently reached 100 likes and 1k hits <3 it can also be read as just platonic so if you like #Them as a duo even as friends give it a shot #Every time I see someone shitting on marchil I start making marchil content faster btw #Not art

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jdeclerc · 10 months

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to dream of you

pairing: rhysand x reader

summary: Rhys has come home. It is not the return of the mate you once knew but his homecoming brings a second chance nonetheless.

author's note: this idea has lived in my head for longer than I'd like to admit so I finally put fingers to keys and wrote it, I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

warnings: some PTSD and slight allusions to SA

word count: 3,003

The sky outside of my room shows no sign of turning to morning, telling me that my fruitless attempts at sleep lasted much less time than it seemed. Sleep had evaded me from the moment I made my way to bed earlier in the night, as it had for the past half century. Falling into bed no longer held the same prospect of rest and retreat from the outside world, no sanctuary was to be found behind a closed bedroom door. And after the events of the last few weeks, I was beginning to believe it never would again.

I rise from the bed and pull the robe I had discarded earlier tightly around myself. I give the bed a wistful look before making my way to the door and stepping into the hallway, closing it behind me as silently as possible. My feet begin following a familiar path through the hallways of the House of Wind, my steps seemingly having a mind of their own. It was only when I turn a corner, look up, and meet the eyes of the Night Court’s war general that I truly knew where my path has taken me.

Cassian gives me the smallest of smiles as I approach. Without a word he opens his arms for me to step into. As he wraps them around me and leans his head onto mine, I know that he could tell it is exactly what I need.

His voice is barely above a whisper when he says, “I thought I was meant to be the only one awake at this time of night. We agreed you would get some sleep, now didn’t we dear sister?”

“I tried Cas, I promise I did. Tomorrow…I’ll try again tomorrow, like we agreed.”

I step back from his arms, look to Cassian’s left forearm and then to my own, our matching marks staring back at me.

“I don’t destroy the training ring every day and you try to find rest by getting into bed every night…quite the pair we make.”

I can’t help but let out a small laugh at his words, “That we do Cas…you know I wouldn’t have made it through the last 50 years without you.”

“And you know both Azriel and I wouldn’t have made it 5 minutes without you Y/N, you saved us.”

“We saved each other, don’t ever forget that.” I can tell by the look in his eyes he knows this to be true, that our family could get through anything if it could survive what we had. “Has he gotten any sleep tonight, do you know?”

At my words we both turn toward the open door behind Cassian. Through it we have an unobstructed view of the bedroom, or rather the empty room that used to be a bedroom. No longer did the Illyrian sized bed or matching nightstands rest against the far wall. The ancient bookcase and large armchairs that surrounded the fireplace on the opposite wall were also missing. Instead, they had been moved to the balcony, protected by a ward from the elements. No entrance is granted unless expressly given by the balcony’s occupant. It is a room fit for someone who needs an uninterrupted view of the stars in the sky, to feel the breeze against his skin, and to smell the air coming off the mountain.

From our vantage point we can just make out a head of raven hair laying on the left side of the bed, turned away from the door.

“He has been asleep for almost an hour now, I’m not sure if it will last but I’m hopeful. It’s the fourth night he’s refused Madja’s sleeping tonic, each night has brought longer bouts of sleep…but the nightmares –”

“They wake him, every night. I feel it when it happens, he sends wave upon wave of distress and fear down the bond.” I can feel the tears in my eyes when I look up at Cassian.

“He doesn’t know you feel it does he?”

I shake my head, “I know he attempts to close the feelings off from me, but I feel it all the same. I have since the first night he returned. The bond has been dormant for so long that everything is heightened. It’s why I have yourself and Azriel stand watch, I need someone to be here for him.”

“It should be you Y/N, you’re who he needs. I know he hasn’t been the same around any of us, but we need to –”

“He flinched Cas,” the look I receive at my interruption is one of confusion, “He flinched when I embraced him the day he returned, and he has kept his distance from me since. He may never need…may never want me again…so I give him everything I can from afar.”

I had not told any of them about what occurred on the day of Rhys’ return, of how he reacted to my touch as though it was engulfed in flame. Our interactions since had consisted of looks across the dining table and passing glances in the halls. The closest we came to touching again was when I handed him the book I knew he would be looking for in the library, the one I had kept beside my bed everyday he was gone because he had been in the middle of reading it.

I don’t realize my tears have begun to fall until I feet Cassian brush them away.

“He will come back to you Y/N, he may not be the same as when he left but he will return all the same. His love for you may just be the most impressive thing I have ever witnessed. Well, that and Azriel’s wingspan...which I will deny ever having said but it’s true all the same.”

I match his grin with one of my own, “Oh, he’ll be hearing about this. Of that you should have no doubt.”

“Do what you must you cruel female, I will take any retribution brought to me if it means that smile stays on your face for a moment longer…it has been sorely missed these last fifty years.”

“Thank you, Cas, for everything. Come find me before you head to bed in the morning, I wish to know how the night ends so we can adjust things if needed. I’ll be in the office, or the dining room should Azriel wish for our meal together tomorrow to be breakfast.”

“You will have every detail Y/N. Promise me only mundane court affairs this evening, if you must work let it be menial paperwork.”

“Only mundane court affairs, I promise.” I give Cassian a short hug before departing down the hallway, I can feel his worry upon my back with every step.

The office door is ajar when I reach it but is empty upon my entrance. As I round the desk I find a steaming cup of tea, my favourite biscuits, and a note that reads:

Y/N,

The house promised to keep the tea warm until you arrived.

I love you sister.

I expect to find an empty cup and plate when I come to collect you for breakfast in the morning. If you insist on working through the night, I insist on giving you simple comforts while you do so.

Your favourite brother,

- A

I smile down at the note, knowing words don’t come as easily to Azriel as they do to Cassian. Prythian will never know the heart of the shadowsinger and how deeply his love runs for his family. But I cherish every moment he trusts me with it.

---------

I’m not sure how much time has passed when the heavy silence of the House of Wind is broken, broken by a voice I had begged the Mother countless times to hear just one more time. One I would never again take for granted.

“You look much better behind that desk than I ever did.”

It takes me a moment to gather the courage to look up. I am not met with a sly grin or cheeky look but one of deep longing.

“It is the view of you behind this desk I wish to have restored. Sitting behind it was never a burden I wished to carry.” I regretted my choice of words the moment they left my mouth. His face betrays no feelings of hurt though. “Rhys, I…I’m sorry, that was unfair of me to say.”

“Say it again.”

“Wha –”

“My name, say it again.”

“Rhys…Rhysand.”

I realize it is the first time I have said his full name since he returned, I have resisted using it because it brings emotions to the surface I don’t wish to face. But I feel his relaxation through the bond, as though his name on my tongue is a salve to a wound I can’t see.

We fall into a few moments of silence, both of us never looking away from the other. It is Rhys who speaks first. “Walk with me?”

I manage only a nod in response. Wanting nothing more than to be with him in any way he would allow and not wanting to end the closest we had come to normalcy since his return.

He waits until I meet him in the doorway to begin our journey. I am unsure of his path, so I follow him in silence, allowing him to take control. He leads me to the giant balcony off the main foyer of the house and comes to a stop at its edge. I do the same, leaving an arm’s length of space between us.

I can’t say how much time we pass looking at the stars over Velaris, standing in utter silence. It is he who breaks the silence once more.

“It was your voice.”

Four words that raise countless questions in my head, but I remain silent, letting Rhys speak freely. I simply watch his profile, relishing in the ability to do so.

“That is what I missed most. Not the stars in the sky, nor the wind upon my wings. Not your scent, not even the memory of your skin upon mine but your voice. I longed to hear it’s rasp when we rose early in the morning, how it skipped when I brought you to the edge of euphoria, your laugh in response to one of Cassian’s terrible jokes. Even recalling arguments in which you, deservedly so, yelled at me brought me comfort.”

His quickly glances over at me as his voice begins to catch in his throat, he does his best to compose himself before he continues.

“I can’t imagine how these weeks have felt for you, I have spent every moment trying to find the right words but all of them have felt wrong. But I know I want to apologize; I haven’t been who you hoped I would be upon my return.”

It is hard for him, I realize, to give words to the fae he had become under the mountain. How it changed and molded him into someone entirely different than the one who left. How he thought he was no longer the mate I knew and loved.

“Who I hoped you would be? You silly, foolish male.” I shake my head in disbelief. “Look at me Rhys.” He meets my eyes. I hold his gaze, wanting him to hear every word I am about to say. “My only hope was that you would come home. For fifty years that is all I have wanted. Even if you came home and felt differently about all of us…about me, it didn’t matter. You would be home.”

He gives me the smallest of smiles and closes his eyes as he lets out a breath.

“You must know, I could never not need you – and I’ve certainly never stopped wanting you.”

“You heard me talking to Cas.” It isn’t a question; we both know it to be the truth.

“After fifty years of being closed off it would seem as though the bond responds to you at every turn. I awoke the moment you stopped outside the door, just having you near was enough. I didn’t want you to leave on account of my being awake.”

I have no rebuttal; we both know that the distance between us has not been completely one-way. I have never found the courage to speak with him either.

“I…after you first got back, I didn’t want you to feel as though I was pushing myself on you. I knew I needed to give you space.”

“Y/N…” I can hear the catch in Rhys’ throat once more, can see him swallow and force himself to continue. “Over the last half century touch has been used against me. It never held true affection, it was used as a tool of manipulation and control. Yours was the opposite. I felt your utter relief and unending love at the sight of me – it was overwhelming, and I reacted without thought. I’m so sorry to have caused you to think I didn’t want you near.” I can tell he is struggling to form his words, to relive the nightmare he had only recently escaped. And I can’t bear it as tears began to form in his eyes.

“You need not explain yourself or apologize to me. I hope to one day be let into that mind of yours – to know all that you have survived so that I can give you support however I can, but it need not be today. Nor even a decade from now, I will take what you give when you feel ready to give it.”

“You will know, as you have known every corner of my mind since we were younglings. It may take time, but you will know.” It is then that he reaches for my hand, tentatively, as though he has never done it before. He grasps it in both of his own, never taking his eyes off of them. “The cauldron surely made a mistake in bestowing a mate like you upon the likes of me. I will never deserve all that you have given me or this court. It is a debt that can never be repaid.”

“Rhys…what do you mean?”

“I had Cassian and Azriel show me what occurred in my absence, what they allowed me to see that is. There were gaps in what they showed me…because of their love for you, I think. Some things, they said, are for only you to tell me. I hope to learn them one day, every single detail.” His brow furrows with his next set of words. He grips my hand tighter and locks eyes with me. “I saw you give away every piece of yourself, you faded away as you refused to let those around you slip.”

“I did what any of them would have done, it was what they needed – it didn’t matter what happened to me, it only mattered that you had something to come home to.” I don’t stop the tears as they come this time, they are matched by those in Rhys’ eyes.

“You are my home. You are what I desperately hoped to return to. You are more than anyone in Prythian deserves. I hope to, one day, be deserving of the sacrifices you made, the mate you deserve once again.”

“You have always been deserving of me, who you are at any given time is deserving. For the first time in half a century I feel like I can breathe, I feel complete with you here…no matter what that looks like.”

“And I am on my way there, racing as fast as I can to match you. My steps may be those of a babe for a time; short and unsure. But I want to move forward, closer to you, all the same. I love you more than you could know Y/N, give me time and I will show you this in every way imaginable.”

“The pace of your steps is irrelevant, I’m just happy I get to see them once again. We are in this as a pair, as we always have been.”

Rhys drops my hand and straightens to his full height, looking every bit the part of a High Lord. He extends his right hand into the space between us.

“Then let us strike a bargain. We do this together. We take steps forward to grow and heal, as one, never letting the other fall far behind.”

I put my hand in his and we close our grips around one another.

“As one.”

If the look on his face is any indication, I know Rhys feels the seal of our bargain at the same time I do. I look down to see identical markings on the inside of our right wrists.

We drop each other’s hands and fell into a comfortable silence, both leaning against the railing of the balcony. I can tell that Rhys is exhausted, both mentally and physically. He seems reluctant to leave, reluctant to admit how much one conversation has so utterly drained him.

“It’s alright Rhys.”

He hums in response and gives me a questioning look.

“Go back to your room, you need sleep. I will be fine.”

“Our room.” He frowns at his own words. “It will be one day again, give me time.”

I give him a tentative smile in return.

“We’ve got all the time in the world.”

He reaches down to squeeze my hand before releasing it and begins making his way toward the door. I call his name and stop him just as he reaches it and is about to walk through. He turns to face me.

“Do me a favour.”

“Name it.”

“Try and dream for me, you deserve the peace it will bring.”

My words are met with an expression holding a difficult story I do not yet know and before Rhys disappears into the house he says,

“I simply think of you darling and I’m already dreaming.”

#rhys x reader #rhysand x reader #acotar #night court #acomaf #acotar x reader

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moodooivy · 9 days

Text

Swap verse

And here it is. The Swap Verse. I want this to be more than just "Character swaps with Character". So here is a full list of who is here and who they are. Enjoy.

Swap Nightmare is Phobos. Name inspired by the Martian Moon, and by the god of fear who goes by the same name. Swaps with Dream. In this AU, Phobos is the guardian of positivity. While he represents negative energy and such, it is his job to keep the balance and watch over the opposite side of the tree. And just like Dream, everyone loves him more than his brother. But unlike Dream, Phobos actually earns and deserves the adoration. He knew the villagers did not love his brother as much and tried his best to him without letting him know people didn't love him. I'll explain the "incident" when I get to swap Dream but just know that Phobos does still eat the dark apple and become a goofy octopus we know. But unlike the original Nightmare, Phobos felt bad after what happened and decided to leave the village, not believing he deserved the adoration anymore. Phobos is still the leader of a gang. But it's not a group Phobos started to spread death and fear across the multiverse. Phobos started his group which I shall title The Good Sanses (Real creative I know) was started by Phobos when he began to take in Sans AUs who were in pain and alone. AUs that had the most negativity leaking through. His Salt equivalent is Phosphor. Name inspired by the word that means fluorescent light.

Swap Error is Cyber. Name inspired by the word that means related to computers and technology. Swaps with Ink. In this AU, Cyber is still the "destroyer of AUs". I want to go or a The Collector from The Owl House vibe. Cyber's story is generally the same as Error's... Which is... Well... I'm not sure what Error's story is but here goes; Cyber was previously swap Geno (Who I will discuss later), who was previously Blue. Cyber agrees there AUs are anomalies of the original Undertale AU. But he actually likes them. His goal is not to destroy them but to make them look pretty. He'll decorate the AUs with long patches of his yarn, make it all look pretty, and then move onto the next. Cyber is not completely devoid of malice. Just like Ink, Cyber is not necessarily "good". If he believes an AU is beyond saving he will destroy it (Hense keeping the Destroyer Of AUs title). He sees the multiverse as his personal dollhouse and the monsters inside, his dolls. Whom which he can toy with however he wants. His Salt equivalent is Crypto. Name inspired by the word short for cryptocurrency.

Swap Cross is Scout. Name inspired by the word that means soldier or person who searches. Swaps with Blue. In this AU, Scout is basically if Cross were to instead join Dream/The good side. But he joined Phobos. Scout has a very similar personality to Blue. He is very helpful and is the shining beacon of The Good Sanses. His Salt equivalent is Scotch. Name inspired by the fact that it also starts with 'sco'.

Swap Dust is Powder. Name inspired by the word that means particals. He doesn't swap with anyone, but he is meant to have a similar personality to Horror. In this AU, when Stretch tried to kill Blue, Blue instead fought back and kills Stretch. He felt terrible for it. But at the same time it felt so "good". So nice to not be a weakling for once and have someone else's blood/dust on his hands. So he decided to keep going and start killing everyone to feed his newfound bloodlust. After the first reset he did it all over again And after the second reset, and after the third, fourth, and fifth. After about 50 resets the human just... Stopped coming back. Powder is very mentally broken but not in the same way Dust is. Powder is just a complete manic mess. He is very emotional and cries over every little thing and is very clingy. Powder is similar to Horror in the sense that despite having a very tragic origin he is in a way the least harmful and cares for the other members the most. Powder has a ghost Pap as well whom he pretends is real as a way of coping. Sometimes it seems like he knows it's not real, other times it can be very hard to tell. His ghost Pap usually just mocks and verbally abuses Powder. His Salt equivalent is Pollen. Name inspired by the word that means powdery substance.

Swap Killer is Hunter. Name inspired by the word that means someone that hunts. He doesn't swap with anyone, but he is meant to have the same personality as Dust. In this AU, I wanted to play off the fact that Killer lacks emotions. Instead of lacking emotions but still acting with a lot of expression (The best way I can describe Killer) Hunter shows little to no expression. And unlike Dust, Hunter has no sense of empathy or sympathy for anyone he's hurt or anyone around him that is hurting. Hunter tries his best with Powder and Spook because he knows how hard their past is but he can never bring it in himself to fully sympathize. His Salt equivalent is Heather. Name inspired by... I dunno.

Swap Horror is Spook. Name inspired by the word that means unnerving. He doesn't swap with anyone, but he is meant to have the same personality as Killer. In this AU, not much really changes. Blue is the one who's eye is required for the Core. Alphys is never able to bring herself to take it herself, but when Spook finds out about this, he himself offers to let her. Spook is very dim witted and empty-headed. A silly goofball. He usually just spends his time eating because he's always hungry. His Salt equivalent is Spade. Name inspired by the fact it also starts with 'sp'.

Swap Dream is Hypnos. Name inspired by the god of sleep that has the same name. Swaps with Nightmare. In this AU, Hypnos is the guardian of negativity. While he represents positive energy and such, it is his job to keep the balance and watch over the opposite side of the tree. And just like Nightmare, the villagers do not like him. But unlike Nightmare, Hypnos is kind o justifiable to dislike. He's a bit of a self entitled jerk. He is very jealous of Phobos and has always suspected the villagers loved him more. Hypnos is always trying to get some love but never can. Until one day he gets tired of it. Hypnos eats a positive apple to try and gain some attention. But when that doesn't work he snaps and tries to kill his own brother. Phobos eats the dark apple in order to become strong so he can fight back. But before Hypnos and him and fully fight, Hypnos turns to stone. Once Hypnos came back from stone he swore to himself that he'd get back at Phobos (For existing I guess). And so he started his own little group called the Fallen Sanses. His Salt equivalent is Hydria. Name inspired by the word hydra.

Swap Ink is Slate. Name inspired by a shade of grey and 'blank 'slate''. Swaps with Error. In this AU, Slate is still the "protector of AUs". Slate is still the one who creates the AUs. But here, his attitude is much more similar to Error's. He is VERY particular about his creations and if he finds that there is a single thing wrong with it he will destroy it. Even if it's when he changes his mind after creating the monsters that live in the AU. Slate gets very jealous. If he thinks someone is getting more attention than him he will purposely deface their work. Which is why he hates Cyber. After Cyber "ruins" the AUs Slate works "So HaRd" to "perfect", he will destroy it. Even if he could very easily just clean up the mess. If Slate befriends someone he might leave the AU they live in be. But one wrong move and he will destroy that AU just out of spite. His Salt equivalent is Sullen. Name inspired by the word that means gloomy and depressed.

Swap Blue is Cobalt. Name inspired by the shade of blue and material that goes by the same name. Swaps with Cross. In this AU, Cobalt is basically if Blue was recruited by the Bad Sanses instead. Blue became a royal guard in Underswap and then was recruited to become a Fallen Sans. But what happened was he didn't join by choice. Hypnos took him away from his AU before Slate decided to destroy it. Perhaps he say potential. Neither are sure. He just did it. Anyway. Blue was renamed Cobalt to sound more intimidating I guess? Cobalt will often question Hypnos and Slate's morals. His Salt equivalent is Cloud. Name inspired by Cloudberries.

Swap Lust is Poly. Name inspired by the word polyamorous. In this AU, Poly is feminine. That's it. Your welcome. His Salt equivalent is Posy. Name inspired by the flowers.

Swap Ccino is Muffin. Name inspired by the food. In this AU, Muffin will be made to be as cute as possible. He still has a cafe. But instead of cats he has a bunch of bunnies and instead of a bunny hoodie he has a cat hoodie. His Salt equivalent is Mocha. Name inspired by the chocolate.

Swap Geno is Cide. Name inspired by the last part of Geno'cide'. In this AU, Cide is basically Blue if he were put in Geno's situation. If the human were to somehow find a way to kill Stretch first. His Salt equivalent is Ciao. Name inspired by the fact that there weren't a lot of options.

Swap Reaper is Phantom. Name inspired by the word that means ghost. In this AU, Phantom is basically Blue if he was Reaper I guess. His Salt equilavent is Phasmid. Name inspired by stick bugs for some reason.

Swap Fresh is Tyke. Name inspired by the word that means young rascal. In this AU, Tyke is still a parasite. But with a few changes. Instead of being incredibly dark and intimidating, Tyke is very short and "cute". He is designed to deceive others and make them trust him. He bears a striking resemblance to fanon Blueberry. "Also he tawks wike dis". He wears a cute pair of glasses that neutrally say 'UwU'. But make no mistake. Despite his cutesy appearance, Tyke is still plenty dangerous. Tyke has a very similar aesthetic to a 2000s kid. His Salt equivalent is Tux. Name inspired by the word tuxedo.

Swap Science is Gizmo. Name inspired by the fact Gizmo is a nerd name I guess. Gizmo is an absolute nerd and I luv him. His Salt equivalent is Gemma. Name inspired by the fact that Gemma is also a name that starts with G.

Swap Midnight is Goji. Name inspired by Gojiberries/Wolfberries. Swaps with Ivan. Goji acts like an animal like Ivan. But instead of a dog she acts like a cat. She is still shy like Midnight and doesn't like confrontation. She'll avoid any situation she thinks may lead to that the best she can. She's also not as angry and nippy as Ivan. Goji's parents are technically Cobalt and Cyber.

Swap Ivan is Shoah. Name inspired by the word that means catastrophe. Swaps with Midnight. Shoah is very very shy. He doesn't like to talk to people because he can't really talk well himself. Shoah will often refer to himself when he speaks instead of using words like "I" or "Me". Shoah's parents are Spook and Powder.

Swap Zany is Morose. Name inspired by the word that means sullen and gloomy. Swaps with Chip. Morose is basically Zany but if he was raised by Dream. His kind nature isn't held back by his evil surroundings. Morose is very cheerful and positive. Just like Zany, Morose doesn't really have parents. Phobos made him out of positive energy.

Swap Chip is Ennui. Name inspired by the word that means bored and lethargic. Swaps with Zany. Ennui is exactly what her name is. She is neutral to almost everything. She's glued to her phone. Ennui's parents are Cobalt and Cyber.

Swap Honeydew is Durian. Name inspired by the fruit. Swaps with Domino. Durian is still a very smart and scientific skeleton. She's just a bit more dirty like Domino.

Swap Pitaya is Peach. Name inspired by the fruit (Only because Plum was taken). Swaps with Mayonnaise. Peach is a cheeky little prankster like Mayo. But her pranks are food related. Like pie in the face or broccoli in chocolate.

Swap Mayonnaise is Nutella. Name inspired by the food because it's sweet. Swaps with Pitaya. Nutella is now the yandere for Peach.

Swap Domino is Flask. Name inspired by the contain, which can be used for chemicals or alcohol. Swaps with Honeydew. Flask is still into card games and stuff like that. But he's not a gambler. He's a good boy that just likes to do card tricks and magic tricks for fun.

Swap Casper is Felix. Name inspired by the name that means fortunate and because it sounds like a rich kid's name. Swaps with Constellation. Felix is just as cruel and hateful as Casper. But it's more so a spoiled cruel like the way Constellation is. He's like a generic mean rich kid you see in cartoons. But Felix is also a tricky devil. He likes to play mind games with people just to annoy them. Felix's parents are Powder and Hunter.

Swap Constellation is Calypso. Name inspired by the goddess who goes by the same name. Swaps with Casper. Calypso is basically Constellation but if she was raised by Nightmare. Hypnos fully indulges Calypso on her spoiled cruelty. Just like Constellation, Calypso doesn't really have parents. Hypnos made her out of negative energy.

Swap Abstract is Tinker. Name inspired by the word that means to fiddle with something and repair it. Swaps with Desire. Tinker loves to fiddle with anything they can get their grubby hands on to see what they can do with it and how they can make it look prettier. They still can't speak.

Swap Scarlet is Maroon. Name inspired by the shade of dark red. Swaps with Dread. Maroon is very dull like Hunter. She constantly has a blank expression on her face. Maroon's parents are Hunter and Spook.

Swap Dread is Blanc. Name inspired by the french word that means white. Swaps with Scarlet. Blanc is very hopeful and full of life. She likes to see the beauty in everything. Blanc's parents are Cide and Phantom.

Swap Desire is Iris. Name inspired by the word that means colorful and pretty. Swaps with Abstract. Since Desire can talk I wanted to go for the complete opposite affect Abstract has. Iris never shuts up and is constantly babbling about something. She loves the arts and is always on her phone taking photos and selfies.

Undertale: Toby Fox

Blue: Popcornpr1nce

Ink: Comyet

Dream: Jokublog

Nightmare: Jokublog

Geno: Crayonqueen

Error: Crayonqueen

Fresh: Crayonqueen

Horror: Sour-Apple-Studios

Killer: Rahafwabas

Dust: Ask-Dusttale

Lust: Nsfwshamecave

Reaper: Renrink

Science: HolyTraitor

Cross: Jakei95

Ccino: Black-Nyanko

Ivan, Midnight, Zany, Chip, Domino, Mayonnaise, Pitaya, Honeydew, Constellation, Casper, Desire, Dread, Scarlet, Astract: Me

Swap Verse: Me

#undertale #nightmare sans #horror sans #killer sans #dust sans #swap sans #dream sans #ccino sans #cross sans #science sans #fresh sans #geno sans #error sans #lust sans #blue sans #ink sans #ship kids #swap verse

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celenawrites · 10 months

Text

The House of the Rising Sun - I

Summary -

Running to the enemy territory, asking for help was foolish.

It was even more foolish of you to think that their help will not cost you anything.

Note -

This is a first draft with minimum/no edits.

Updates will be slow due to a multitude of reasons.

No Y/N.

Reader is female, for the most part.

Chapter Summary -

You make a deal.

word count - 4.8 k

warnings - slow-ish build up, violent descriptions, threats, sexism, cursing, etc.

AO3 version

God, you were stupid.

You had been told so your entire life - by your parents for believing you will be the master of your own fate, writing your life the way you want it to be; by your peers for wishing something different because they couldn’t comprehend why you wanted to run away from such a lavish, fulfilling life; and by your ‘beloved’ for even thinking that you’d be anything more than a fever dream rendition of ‘50s Stepford wife that he would occasionally bring out to galas and parties in tight dresses that showed off your bosom a bit too much, hoping to curry favors with like-minded bastards who leered at you with heady eyes and hands itching to cop a feel of you.

You feel the shame that comes with making the wrong choice - you can feel your ears burn and your eyes sting with tears, can feel your tongue turn to lead and your mouth dry up as if it’s filled with cotton. You inhale deeply, and you feel your throat bob painfully as you greedily gulp in any amount of air you can get in the clammy warehouse.

It’s either this or getting locked in a cage forever.

You didn’t even think of making a getaway the moment those men decided to bind your hands tightly and covered your head with a sack, cutting off your connection from the outside world entirely as they abducted you, hoping to get high praise from their boss for such a pretty catch. You feel your spine creep up with goosebumps as their disgusting hands touch you and manhandle you, forcing you to lie down in what you assume to be the trunk of the car. The sack over your head does a good job at hindering your sight, making it impossible to note the car or its license plate.

You stay stuck, occasionally moving and bumping around in the claustrophobic space and you can only pray to God that you make it out of this ordeal alive.

For what feels like hours, you let your body sway with the movement of the vehicle and feel the extra tyres dig into your ribs at every bump or pothole, helpless to do anything at all. Eventually, the car comes to a stop and you are grateful that the constant moving and the smell of petrol didn’t make you spill your guts out in the back of the car, the sack over your head promising nothing but a pitiful death by choking on your own vomit.

The trunk is opened and you are pulled upright, and all you are thankful for is that you are out of that closed box of a space and you can finally breathe. You feel disgust at the sweat that coats you, but sigh out in relief as the soft breeze caresses your skin as it cools your body. You do not resist as you are forced to walk, hearing nothing but a few uncomprehensive murmur behind you as your ears buzz and your mind screams at you to RUN RUN RUN RUN RU-

You shove that line of thought somewhere back in your mind, somewhere unreachable because you know, you fucking know that if you even slightly move in a way that seems threatening, these guys will not hesitate to empty their guns into your body.

They just need an excuse for it anyway.

You have decided to not give them that.

You feel the creaky metal doors slam shut behind you, the noise reverberating in your ears; your lack of sight heightening your other senses, making you undergo a sensory nightmare of sorts as you try your best to survive in the unknown territory.

You come to a stop, and feel someone guide you with their hand over the small of your back - the touch nauseating you, flashes of unpleasant memories making you shiver in fear and rage, and it is almost enough for you to strangle the guy; if not for your bound hands and the threat of death imminent in the air.

One of the goons takes it upon himself to grab your arm, hard enough to dig it into your skin - a promise full of bruises and malice. Then he guides you roughly a few steps forward, before pushing you down on a chair. He unties your hand, and you barely get a second of soothing your reddened wrists before he’s tying you to the arms of the wooden chair with ropes that dig into you. He does the same with your legs, and it’s not long until your body is bound to the chair you’re sitting on. The ropes are thick, and you resignedly accept your defeat when it’s due - knowing that you clearly don’t have the strength to break out of your binds. You can only hope that these people at least have the decency to hear you out before they discard your body down the river.

You feel the gun press against your temple, the gunny sack over your head doing nothing to cushion the pressure on your head. You can only hope that the safety is on, or the guy with the gun is not too trigger happy. You don’t want to paint your brains out on the grimy floor anyway.

It’s just a precautionary measure, you console yourself.

You won’t get shot. Not yet.

You are disoriented by your surroundings when your sack is pulled over your head, exposing you to the people around you. The few white lights dangling over you blind you, and the ropes are already chafing against your sweaty skin, and the white bodycon dress sticks to you, already dirtied by the grime and the dust you have encountered along the way.

I must be a sight for sore eyes, you think sarcastically, blinking away the pain to take in the men standing before you.

You have heard of them. Of course, you have. You do not stay a part of your family without knowing about the infamous 141. The elite of the elite in the dark, dirty business your family partakes in. People rarely see them, some even wish on shooting stars to get a meeting of a lifetime with the members of 141 - some of the finest, richest men in England’s mafia. Almost all of the sea routes belong to them, allowing them to easily smuggle in arms, drugs and more into the Queen’s dear country. Allies of 141 benefit from their profits, and are even offered protection. Relation to 141 meant only one thing for people - pure, absolute power over everything.

Your father had once hoped to be a part of this organization. He had endlessly tried to impress them, wishing nothing more than a lick of the power they held in their scarred, steady hands - all of the lies, deceit and illusions failing him, as he ultimately couldn’t carve a place for himself in the group. This failure of his made him jaded, angry at the world and the rest of your family for this unfair transgression committed against him. Finally, he planned to use you as a pawn to expand his power, forging an alliance in marriage with an ally that has always served as a thorn in the side to the chagrin of 141.

Enemy of my enemy…

You partly blame them for your sorry state, half-heartedly wishing that they would’ve entertained your mercurial father for just a little longer so you could elope with your friends and leave the country, never to return. However, the thought of that madman having the power to influence all of England always left a bad taste in your mouth.

The men in front of you are the most powerful men in all of England. Possibly one of the most powerful men in the continent of Europe even. The four men are dressed to the nines, a stark contrast to the filthy warehouse you’re stuck in, and you cannot help but look up at them with aching eyes, staring at them in awe and reverence.

The man with the skull mask draws your attention first, leaning against a table you missed to take note of earlier. He’s dressed in all black - a black coat over a white shirt that hugs his wide shoulders tightly, and you cannot miss the brown holster against his hip, his hands in the pockets of his black pants. You cannot deny that you’re intrigued about him and all that he hides behind that mask of his. His eyes, looking like two brown dots from where you sit, size you up - highly alert and ready to swiftly get rid of you, if it comes down to it.

Your eyes shift a little to the right and you find yourself staring at a majestic man. He’s dressed in a three-piece, along with a well-groomed beard, and his dark hair is combed back, not a strand out of place. He’s old enough to be your daddy, but by God, he looks like someone who could ruin you. The men behind you bow down in reverence and you can only assume that he’s the ringleader of this circus show - a dangerous circus show where you’re most likely to lose your life.

The man standing to his right seems to look closer to your age - dark, tall, slim with a pretty face and full lips. His curly hair seems to have a mind of its own, letting a coil or two loose on his face, which he quickly tucks behind his ears swiftly. What draws you in the most are his eyes - dark and mischievous, carrying a brightness in them that you can only recall in childhood photos and you almost feel envious as your own has dulled down over the years.

And the man beside you speaks, “You alright?” and your concentration shifts to him. Your eyes widen a bit, surprised to not notice him before - with his accent and mohawk and kind eyes that crinkle a bit when he looks at you, his visage directly blessed by a Hellenistic deity whose name you have long forgotten.

You drop your gaze to look at your lap, embarrassment creeping up on you like invasive ivies - you probably look out of place, with your white dress and the way you gaped at them probably gave them something to laugh about after they’re done getting rid of your body today. You do not reply just yet, your hammering heart making it hard to focus on them and the barrage of questions.

You have been ill-prepared.

You ran away on a whim, with nothing but the bare necessities packed up. You had not expected to make it this far, straight in the heart of your mortal enemies’ lair. You had focused so much on leaving without a trace, that you had forgotten to cook up a half-baked story that could satiate the natural curiosity of the 141.

They have been something out of a fairytale for you, a fable used to scare people into subservience. And yet, these godly men stand before you, grace your unworthy eyes to admire their visage until you’re ultimately slaughtered like a lamb for wandering too deep into their territory.

You wait and in turn make the men around you wait for an answer - something, anything really; and with each second passing by, you cannot help but give into the panic that’s taking control of your frail body. Your lungs burn, and no matter how deeply you breathe, you just cannot seem to soothe the ache within you.

Maybe I’m having a heart attack, you think earnestly. If I die right this instant, I will not have to deal with my family. Or my betrothed. Or with 141.

However, fate has often been cruel to you.

The man with the mohawk notices your shortened breath, instantly alarmed at your worsening state.

“Oi, Ghost. Pass me the bottle”, he asks, and through bleary eyes you notice him catch a flying plastic bottle in his hands. With gentle fingers, he grabs your chin and tilts your head up until your eyes meet his. His fingers rub gentle circles into your skin, raising goosebumps in their wake. He gently urges you, “Open ya mouth for me, hen. Drink up”.

Suddenly parched and unable to handle the multiple eyes on you, you silently comply as you tilt your head back and open your mouth. He gently presses the bottle to your lips, allowing you to take slow, sure sips from it. Some of it trickles down, wetting the neck of your dress but you can hardly care as you gently lean back as his fingers slowly play with your hair, sending pleasant tingles down your spine - almost enough to make you whimper in relief.

After a while, when he deems it enough, he retracts the bottle from you and caps it, putting it down near the foot of the chair. You compose yourself, silently berating yourself for letting these men see you at such a low point - so weak and vulnerable.

But no more of that.

The small reprieve offered by the man standing nearby gave you enough time to compose yourself - enough time to cook up a story that will save you from showing all your cards on the table. You can only hope that by the time you’re finished with this ordeal and have gathered enough resources, you can finally make your getaway far away from here.

God knows you’d kill for a vacation right about now.

Your eyes meet his again, and he smiles down on you kindly, deciding this is a good time as any to finally introduce himself to you.

“I’m Soap. Lassie, dae ye hev any idea aboot where ye’re?”

Weird name, but you nod your head nonetheless. You don’t know where exactly you have landed up, but you do know that you’re in their territory, with no allies to support you or protect you.

The very thought of it terrifies you.

“So, ye dae ken who 141 is?”, he asks again, and you nod your head in confirmation as you finally recognize his accent as somewhere from up north in Scotland.

“Why are you here then?” a deep voice with a Manchester accent asks you, and your eyes flutter across the room until they land on the masked man again. The distance along with his mask makes it near impossible to gauge what he’s thinking, how he’s looking at you - but you can wager a solid guess.

He’s probably looking at you with distrust, like you’re a skittering deer caught in headlights - about to run off to god knows where if given the chance. He’s thinking about how shady you are, how you need to be vetted before they even entertain you and your potential sob story or how he itches to shoot you in the head with the gun he has kept in his holster.

Frankly enough, you don’t give two fucks about his thoughts.

“You’re 141, and I have valuable information. Information that can help you gain access to parts of England you constantly fight over with other gangs”, you speak up, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear you. You are surprised that your voice doesn’t crack, your eyes don’t shy away from the heated look the skeleton-wearing man throws your way.

The leader straightens up, asking you what you have been dying to hear ever since you stepped foot in London.

Finally.

“And what do you want from us for that?”

“Protection.”

It isn’t long till you are untied from the chair by Soap, finally rubbing your raw hands - cringing at how your wrists ache and your feet are no better, but you leave them be. You thank him for untying you, finally ‘free’ to walk on your own as you are escorted by him and by his masked companion to a black Mercedes-Benz 200. Soap is kind enough to open the door for you, letting you sit at the back of the car. He closes the door and goes around the vehicle, finally taking his seat as the driver. You look out the window, wondering where the other man would sit - beside Soap or beside you.

Your query is answered when you hear the car door opposite to you slam shut, watching him warily as the hulk of a man climbs inside and adjusts himself, sitting carefully to not bump his head onto the roof of the Benz. The car hums to life as Soap finally inserts the key into the ignition, dabbling with the manual shaft and finally driving - enroute to a new, unknown destination.

The skull-face (a nickname your brain supplied you with) looks at you pointedly, and you finally look back at him after what felt like a millennia of him burning holes into your skull.

“What?” you snide, clearly with no energy or tact to be bashful around the man who is totally capable of breaking your bones with his bare hand.

He nods, and it draws your attention to the little blindfold he’s held in his hands.

You groan out, not ready to return to the shadows just yet.

“Not again”, you almost whine out, turning around so your back faces him and you wait for his deft hands to cover your world with darkness again.

“Gotta have to, love”, you hear Soap say as his steady hands steer the wheel around and work the manual shift to change gears, “Protocol says so. It’s just for newcomers, ain’t it, Ghost?”.

The man behind you grumbles but refuses to grace his partner with a response.

So he’s called Ghost.

You grumble slightly before crossing your arms like a petulant child, but not before making a sarcastic quip.

“If you’re going to get kinky with that blindfold on me, at least take me out to dinner first”.

You let out a sigh as you feel the dark piece of cloth tighten around your eyes, and you can hear Soap guffaw out loud.

“That’s a good one, lassie!”, he laughs, and you feel the car turn slightly as he drives on the road, feeling a few bumps along the way.

Ghost scoffs a little at your little snide - it’s lighthearted and breathy, and it seems like you may have just won the lottery by winning his approval.

It’s small but it’s a start.

“And if you’re worried about dinner”, Ghost speaks, and you jump slightly at the sudden sound he makes.

“If you survive the night, you might be able to get some after all”.

After what seems like a drive of thirty minutes, the car finally comes to a stop and you’re glad for that.

The silence had been comfortable, it gave you time to think and process all that has happened so far. But you’re also eager to get the blindfold off your face and finally see where these men have ‘escorted’ you to.

Feeling your anxiety, Ghost graciously takes off the piece of cloth over your eyes, and you blink dumbly, trying to get your bearings about you. He gets out of the car, before walking around it and opening your door for you.

What a gentleman.

You climb out of the vehicle, finally looking at what was in front of you.

Despite being a mafia heiress and witnessing luxury of all levels, you look at the mansion in front of you with a reverence unmatched - unable to believe that this is where one of 141 possibly lives here, or operates from.

The grandeur of this place is indescribable. The mansion is Victorian, and is surrounded by acres of grassland, laid with concrete routes that you’re currently walking on. There is a fountain across the main door of the mansion, and in the center of the water pool stands Aphrodite, her marble figure adding a touch of classicism to it. She looks serene, despite her residence being among the tumultuous water of a fountain. There are roses growing around the marble piece, surrounding the deity with color - almost as if these flowers have been planted as an offering to her.

It is a lovely sight. You wish you could look at her forever.

And yet you move onwards, leaving behind the goddess of love behind you, sneaking a final glance at her as the wooden door closes behind you.

There’s an ache that settles in the middle of your chest as you follow the two men inside, mourning your past and yet awaiting the future ahead of you.

The study room is majestic.

Walls are covered with shelves filled with thick books. You can recognize some of the classics kept there, mainly Russian literature that talked of death and human suffering. There is a red loveseat to your left, with a small coffee table with a glass top. And to your right, you can find a small cabinet, locked and untouched, as it collects dust in the large room.

You see the leader of 141, Jonathan M. Price, sitting in his leather chair, reading a file laid out on the oak table. He looks like he belongs here - regal and untouchable. And you almost feel out of place in your dirtied dress, and you’re certain that the sack over your head has messed up your hair now.

The fact that he looks attractive as fuck, sitting and reading with his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing his strong arms, does not help you. At all.

You wait until he finally looks up and notices you standing between his men. He gives them a look, and they both leave you. You feel Soap gently pat your shoulder as he closes the door behind him, following his companion out.

“So, why should I not throw you out for the police to find you?”

That’s the first thing he says to you, his eyes scrutinizing you as he gets up from his seat, walking until he’s at most half a dozen steps away from you. One of his hands picked up the glass of scotch on the table, sipping it with narrowed eyes.

You gulp a little at the unspoken threat - at the hidden promise of delivering your body in pieces at the threshold of your childhood home, at the implication that if the next words that come out of your mouth doesn’t satisfy him, you won’t walk out of this room alive.

“I know how to help you. I promise. The information I have is valuable”, you speak, feeling your chest swell with pride when you don’t stutter your words, when you don’t cower in fear in front of the dangerous mafia leader, when you don’t get on your knees and beg him to spare you.

“And the price is what, protection? Do you think I’m daft?” he raises his voice, and now you cannot help but flinch a little.

“Take a gamble, sir. It won’t hurt to try someone new for change”, you bargain with him, hoping that he’ll take the bait. You’d both win if he did.

There’s silence in the air, and you take this as permission to present your case before your metaphorical judge, hoping to persuade him from not condemning you to death and striking his gavel down.

“Just once. Give me a chance this one time. I won’t let you down, sir”, you almost beg, and you see his eyes waver - just a little bit, and that is enough for you to keep going.

“I’ll tell you something that’ll help you out, and if I’m right, you give me a fair chance. Keep me here, safe and protected. And if I fool you….”, you feel your stomach drop as you finish:

“You are allowed to do whatever you wish with me”.

You wait now.

He doesn’t speak for a few moments, and your agitation doesn’t help your restlessness. Your leg bounces in its place as you look at Mr. Price, unsure of what is going on inside that dangerous, beautiful brain of his. And when you finally open your mouth to say something, anything really - he beats you to it.

“What’s your name, girl?”

Your brain struggles with the sudden interest in what you’re called, and you wait a beat too long to answer him with an alias(“Marie”, you call yourself and all Price does is look at you like he doesn’t believe a word that comes out of your mouth). That makes you look suspicious. Fuck.

But you have been suspicious all up to now, you might as well keep up for now.

Moreover, they’d get off your back when you prove yourself right.

Or you’d buy yourself just enough time to run away again.

You’ve been getting better at that now.

After you tell him all that you can, making sure to keep the more sensitive information under wraps for now - for everyone’s sake really, you look at him as Price nods, gently rubbing his forehead and now he looks almost forlorn, the stress of running an illegal empire taking a toll on his body and soul. He looks older now, frailer somehow - and in this moment, you almost feel sorry for him.

“Fine, I’ll entertain you for now”, he breathes out, and you almost find yourself crying from joy.

You almost contemplate getting on your knees and bowing down to him to show your gratitude, but you do no such thing. Instead, you offer him a small smile and you don’t fail to notice how he drinks it all up like heady ambrosia.

But his next words force you to stay on your guard:

“But if you do anything suspicious, make sure I don’t notice. ‘Cuz I’m not as forgiving as I look”.

Price quickly dismisses you, now tired and in no mood to entertain his new guest, as he calls upon one of the men from the warehouse to show you ‘your room’.

Kyle(That’s the name of the young, pretty man) silently escorts you to a room on the third floor of the house, and despite following your escort with sharp eyes as you take a note of everything that interests you or stands out, you still find it hard to memorize the layout of this place.

He stands before a teak wood bifold door, and he opens the door for you to walk inside. Before he leaves you to your devices, he kindly informs you, “Dinner will be at 8. It won’t be hard to find the dining hall”.

And then he’s gone.

He has been apprehensive about your provisional arrangements; you had seen the look he sent to his leader when Price asked him to show you the room you’d be staying in.

You know he doesn’t like it any more than you do, but you’re touched at the hospitality he’s extending towards you - a temporary white flag for the unstable truce you have established between yourself and 141.

You take in the room with a white bed and white sheets, with sparse decoration and a cleanliness you can never find in someone’s room.

So this is a guest room.

You find your bag to be there, and you wonder if Price or Kyle asked someone to leave your belongings here. The bag looks untouched for the most part, and the tightness in your chest lightens a bit at that.

You think about taking a bath and changing into the spare clothes you packed in the duffel bag in a hurry. You think about going out and exploring the place, thinking of all the secrets you can soak up into your being.

But you’re so tired.

The clock hanging on the wall tells you it’s a little past 6, and you have some time before dinner will be served. You think of your bruised body, and your sore wrists and the headache that’s blooming across your temples, about how hard it is to keep your eyes open and look around you.

You look at the soft bed, and think how it won’t be too bad to rest for just a little.

In the bed, under the soft covers, you think of everyone you left behind. Your power-hungry father, who is probably going off the walls, swearing to kill you with his own hands when he sees you next. Your ignorant little brother, who’s been sent to America to study business at Harvard. Your betrothed who has quite possibly become the butt of the joke overnight.

You are scared of how he’s feeling, about what he must be planning for you, should you ever make the mistake of returning back to him.

(You’d rather the 141 kill you and dump your body under the bridge, brutalized and scarred beyond recognition.)

And your poor mother, who will now deal with the repercussions of your actions.

For her, you cry.

fin.

NOTE -

*Reader doesn't use her real name, she uses an alias but it will be temporary and rare. (probably)

Also it was tougher for me to describe the places and furniture more than writing the overall plot, etc.

And I'm posting this late at night, so any errors are the responsibility of future Cel.

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bookishfeylin · 5 months

Note

this was a while ago (a couple months at this point i think) so i might be misremembering, but once in the comment section of an acotar critical video a commenter kept claiming that tamlin was never retconned (which... im not sure what else youd call one of his defining traits in acotar- being observant- suddenly disappearing due to trauma when he was still observant post-amarantha at the end of tar, or some of his values and opinions suddenly also changing in maf, but alright) because throughout the first book he was, according to them, manipulating feyre- specifically lovebombing her. they never specified which events led them to believe this, just that it happened. thoughts?

*sighs*

This argument is one that, unfortunately, I've heard many, many, many times over by now, and have made several posts about in the past. Because, truth be told, it's the best rebuttal they have when you point out direct retcons. The problem is that Tamlin manipulating Feyre, or even lying about his values, is disproven both in the book and in the sequels that follow, and this is because a lot of Tamlin's characterization is based on Feyre's observations of Tamlin, especially at times when he's not aware she's observing him (in contrast to Rhysand telling Feyre what to think about him every other page in ACOMAF).

A very good example of this was with the dying Summer Court faerie. Tamlin and Feyre care for the faerie as it passes away babies, and this scene is viewed by many as a good character moment for Feyre that establishes her kindness under a gruff exterior, but the same is not said for her other half, likely because all the Feysands who reread ACOTAR view all of Tamlin's actions as inherently manipulative. The problem here is that Feyre was never supposed to be present. Feyre was supposed to be asleep in her bedroom on another floor of the manor when Tamlin returned with the fae, and it's only through coincidence--her having a nightmare about killing Andras that wakes her up--that she's present to see Tamlin extend kindness and try to help the faerie in the first place. Ergo, Tamlin's action here can't have been an attempt to manipulate Feyre because Tamlin never expected Feyre to be present, and the kindness shown to lesser fae, and by extension, what that says about how Tamlin views individuals in lower socioeconomic classes than him, is a genuine facet of his character.

There's also a lot of background established about Tamlin that simply can't have been done on purpose by him to manipulate Feyre. What, did he start taking in refugees from other courts like Alis and her nephews because 50 years prior he had a psychic dream about Feyre and he wanted to make himself look really appealing to her? Did he treat them well solely so Alis could make him sound good to Feyre to convince Feyre to go UTM?

I also take issue with people arguing that Tamlin was love-bombing Feyre. It was already discussed before here by someone who's pro-Feysand who also picked up on this (and this ask is already getting longer lol so I'll just link it here and reblog it later) but the TLDR is that Tamlin demonstrably does not want to manipulate Feyre per another conversation she listens in on, and he decidedly chose to abandon the goal of making her love him when he sent her home. Every single "Tamlin never really love Feyre he was just love-bombing her and manipulating her" argument forgets that fact for some reason??? Like he sent her home before she could even do what she was supposed to. He sacrificed himself and his people to eternal damnation for her, without ever expecting to see her ever again. He offered himself to the woman he's known since childhood to shield Feyre from harm. So if you want to argue that, like the beast character he was based on, Tamlin originally brought Feyre to his manor for the purpose off making her fall for him to break his curse, then fine, but it's impossible to argue that throughout their relationship and by the end he was manipulating her and had no genuine love for her.

TLDR: it's a stupid argument that relies on selective reading and I hate it.

#ask #anon #acotar analysis #anti acomaf #anti acotar #Sjm critical #tamlin

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kristeristerin · 1 year

Note

HI I SAW U DOING THE ACOTAR TAYLOR THING and i wanred to ask if ud be willing to write an az x reader where shes been under the mountain with the song call it what you want ??? LOVE U THANK U

AN: Ok, this "Drabble" kind of took on a life of it's own and demanded to be a full one shot. Honestly though, I loved your prompt and couldn't tell the story I wanted to in less than 1000 words. Thank you for your suggestion! I hope you like it! As always asks are open for prompts!

Song: Call it what you want

Pairing: Reader X Azriel

Content Warning: None

Words: 2.5k

“Is he safe?”

Your High Lord turns to you with a raised brow, “Is who safe?”

“Azri-“

Before you’re able to finish the name Rhysand puts a hand over your mouth and wraps the two of you in darkness. Several heartbeats later and the two of you appear in a sparsely decorated bedroom. He walks to the door and briefly peers into the hallway before turning a cold stare on you.

“How do you remember him?” He demands, stalking toward you.

“I- uh” you shrink back, “I don’t understand, what do you mean how do I remember him?”

Rhysand runs a hand through his hair before looking back at you with wild eyes. “I removed them all from the memory of everyone from the Court of Nightmares.”

He takes another step toward you and slams his hand down on the desk beside you, “So again I ask, How. Do. You. Remember. Him?”

Your forehead creases and you shake your head. “I don’t know, High Lord. Maybe it’s because he’s my mate.”

Suddenly Rhysands eyes widen and he takes a step back from you. “I’m sorry” he whispers, “ I didn’t know. He hadn’t told me.”

“We haven’t told anyone,” you reply hesitantly.

You watch as your High Lord begins pacing back and forth, muttering to himself. You jump when he abruptly stops in front of you.

“I should have enough power left to get you out of here, but we’ll have to be careful. I think I can get you to Velaris though.”

He reaches for your hand but his eyebrows draw together when you swiftly pull it away.

“No,” you shake your head.

“No?”

You shake your head again, “If he’s safe then I’m where I’m meant to be.” You take a deep breath, “You’ll need someone you can trust, High Lord, and we both know it won’t be anyone else from the Court of Nightmares.”

“Please,” he offers his hand to you again, “call me Rhysand, and just know that I swear to you I’ll do everything in my power to get us both back to them safely”

You reluctantly take his hand and when you shake it you gasp at the sensation in your wrist. Pulling away you see a small tattoo of swirling shadows around your wrist.

-—————————

Rhysand had only been home for 30 minutes when Azriel came storming into his office.

“Where is she?” The Shadowsinger demanded. Rhys noted that his usually docile shadows now swirled around him frantically.

“I believe she returned to the Hewn City,” Rhysand responded carefully, “but Az, you might want to give her some time. The things that were required of us, of her,” he shuddered. “They took a toll on her. She’s not going to be the same female you remember.”

Azriel was silent for a moment before he sank to his knees. “I don’t care what she had to do, Rhys” He looked up at his brother with tear-filled eyes, “ I just need to see her. I need to know that she’s ok.”

Rhysand crossed the room and kneeled next to Azriel. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around him and held him as he cried.

———————-

The knock on your apartment door broke you out of your somber thoughts. You stare at your door for a moment hoping whoever is there would just leave, but instead, they knock more persistently a moment later.

Groaning, you stand up from your couch and trudge to the door.

“This had better be-” Your words die on your lips when you pull the door open to reveal hazel eyes and tousled black hair that you’d dreamed of for the last 50 years. Your lip quivers and you begin to blink rapidly as you stare up at Azriel. For a long moment, neither of you dare make a sound.

“Y/N,” he breathes. Reaching forward to cup your cheek. His brow furrows when you shrink back from his touch.

“Why are you here, Azriel?” you finally ask in a small voice.

“What do you mean?” he shakes his head, “I’m here for you. I’ve missed you so much.”

He takes a step forward and you step back further into your apartment, shaking your head.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, “you shouldn’t have come.”

You try to shut the door, but he puts his hand in the way.

“Don’t do this,” he pleads. “Don’t shut me out. I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through, but please let me help you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

You watch him for several seconds as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other and his gaze darts around your dark apartment. When you nod and turn to retreat further into the darkness he follows without another word.

The first thing he does when you settle on the couch is clean out your fireplace and build you a fire. Then you listen as he moves around the kitchen, opening, and closing cabinets for several minutes before he softly curses and comes back into the living room.

“You don’t have anything to eat. I am going to go out and see what I can scrounge up, do you have any requests?”

You just shake your head and pull your knees up under your chin.

Azriel begins to reach out to you but thinks better of it and lets his hand drop back to his side. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

You don’t reply.

When he returns you haven’t moved an inch.

Azriel stays with you for several hours before he’s able to coax you into eating. When he leaves it’s only because Rhysand insists that it’s important and he promises he’ll be back as soon as he’s finished whatever Rhysand needs.

When Azriel returns, he’s not alone.

A beautiful blonde female kneels down beside you and brushes your hair back from your face.

“Hey, Y/N,” she smiles at you, “My name is Morrigan. Azriel thought maybe you’d like someone to talk to.”

Your eyes snapped to where he leaned against the far wall.

“Do you mind if I spend some time with you?” She reaches into a bag to her left and pulls out a pile of clothes. “Perhaps we can get you cleaned up?”

“Sure,” your voice is hoarse from disuse, but you take her hand and follow her into the bathing room down your hall. She draws you a bath and turns as you undress and sink below the water's surface.

“Can I wash your hair?” She asks after a moment. When you nod she moves to sit on a stool behind you.

You let out a low groan as she works the soap into your hair and uses her finger to gently detangle it. When she’s finished she leaves you to wash your body and get dressed.

You can hear them speaking in hushed voices as you enter the living room. When they notice you Morrigan gives you another soft smile and gestures for you to sit in a chair in front of her. You watch Azriel’s contemplative gaze as she brushes through your hair and quickly braids it into a neat plait.

“There, doesn’t that feel better?” She asks you before clearing her throat and pointedly looking at Azriel.

He moves to kneel in front of you. “Y/N, Mor and I were wondering if you’d come back to Velaris with us. I can have a room prepared for you in The House of Wind, or Rhysand offered you a room in his townhouse for as long as you need it.”

“Rhysand?” You ask, averting your gaze from Azriel’s.

“Yes,” he reaches out and gently cups your cheek. He tilts your head so you’re looking back at him. “I’d feel better if you were closer to me.”

You close your eyes and lean into his touch before nodding.

—------------------------

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Azriel asks from across the room. “No one would blame you if you decided to stay home.”

You shake your head and try to give him a reassuring smile, “You need a distraction, and while Feyre might be somewhat of one, I am sure that after six months away I will be a bigger one.”

You smooth down the sheer panels of your dress and once again look at yourself in the mirror. You can see that Azriel is still watching you as well. His face pinched in concern. He runs a hand through his hair before crossing the room and coming to stand behind you. When he begins to run his hands up and down the length of your arms you lean back into his chest.

“I just don’t want to lose you again.” He finally whispers, “I’ve never been more scared than that first night in your apartment when you flinched away from my every touch.”

You turn to look up at your mate. “That won’t happen again, Az.” This time when his hands come down your arms you catch them in your own and interlock your fingers. “I have had so much time to heal. You have helped me more than I can even express. Everyone in our family was great, but you, Az, your unwavering support through all of the ups and downs. That made all of the difference.”

His eyes were glassy as he let go of your hands and pulled you tightly to his body. “I love you more than anything in this world, Y/N. There is not a thing I wouldn’t do to ensure your happiness. I would burn the whole of the Court of Nightmares to the ground for you if you wished for it.”

You pull away enough to smirk up at him, “That might be a little dramatic, Az.”

He chuckles and drops a kiss to your forehead. “I’m being serious though, if at any time you need to leave all you have to do is say the word and we will get you out of there.”

You smile at him and nod, but then the gravity of where you’re going hits you. Your smile falters and you bite your lip. “Hey, Az? You know the kind of things they’re going to say about me, right?”

He nods solemnly and brushes a lock of hair from your face. “I know the accusations they’re going to throw at you, but you know that we all love you and know the truth, right?”

You nod, but he doesn’t seem convinced. He pulls away from you and crosses the room to his dresser. You watch him with a raised eyebrow as he shuffles through his clothes and pulls out a small box.

“I was going to wait until your birthday to give this to you, but I think it might serve as a good reminder tonight. Turn around.”

Your eyes widen when he sweeps your hair to the side and fastens a thin chain around your neck. From the chain hung a small silver heart-shaped pendant. Your eyes widen when you notice the A delicately engraved into the front of the charm.

“This is to remind you just how much I love you,” he whispers into your ear. “So you know even when I have to be far away.”

Before you had a chance to thank him, there was a knock on your door. “Are you two about ready? Rhys wants to leave in 5.” Mor called from the other side.

You fingered the charm for a moment before giving Azriel another reassuring smile. “I’m ready.”

—---------------------------

You leaned against a pillar with Mor and lazily sipped wine as the two of you stared out at the crowd. When her father's cries could be heard over the crowd Mor turned to you and smiled, “Oh, I have to see this. Are you coming?”

She pouted when you shook your head no, but promised to return soon and winked at you as she disappeared into the crowd.

It takes no more than a minute after Mor leaves for a male to take her place beside you. You barely spare him a glance before looking back at the crowded dance floor.

“What do you want, Finn?”

“Now, Y/N, is that any way to address your brother after YOU disappeared for 6 months?” he puts a hand to his chest in mock outrage before moving in front of you to block your view. “Although, I suppose no one is particularly surprised to see you show up with them.”

You roll your eyes at him, “Say what you’ve come to say, or leave me the fuck alone.”

“One has to wonder though,” he puts a finger to his chin and raises a brow, “Why are you not the one perched up there on the High Lord’s knee? Could it be that you're no longer his favorite whore?”

The familiar accusation causes you to snarl at him. “You should be careful speaking about things you know nothing about.” At that moment you notice a commotion behind Finn. When you crane your neck to look at the crowd you can’t help the smirk that comes to your lips.

The crowd hastily parts as Azriel saunters toward you. The rage that is rippling off of him is palpable as he gets closer and has even the more powerful High Fae giving him a wide berth. When he approaches he rams a shoulder into your brother before moving next to you and pulling you to his side.

“There you are, my love.” he says gruffly as he pulls you in tighter, “I’ve been looking for you.”

When you notice the amusement dancing in your brother’s eyes you can’t help but wonder if he was dropped in infancy or if he was just plain stupid.

“Oh, this is delicious,” he laughs. “The Highlord got bored of you so he passed you off to one of his Illyrian brutes?” He shook his head as he continued to laugh. “You know, after the shame you brought our fam-”

Your brother didn’t have a chance to continue his train of thought before Azriel left your side and had him pinned against the wall. “You will watch how you speak about my mate. Is that clear?”

When Finn didn’t immediately answer Azriel’s grip tightened, causing him to whimper. He looked at you for a moment before nodding to the Spymaster. He sagged in relief when Azriel set his back on the ground, but the relief was short-lived when a moment later Azriel’s fist made contact with Finn’s jaw.

You could still see the hatred in Azriel’s eyes when he turned back toward you, but you just held your hand out to him and led him from the room and onto a balcony.

When you were alone you once again touched the charm around your neck, “Az?” you asked in a small voice.

“Yes, my love?” he hesitated as if he feared that you were moments away from cracking.

“This time, I don’t need you to save me,” you smiled broadly at him, “But will you run away with me?”

“Always,” he returned your smile and wrapped his arms tightly around you before shooting into the air.

#acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #azriel x reader #reader x azriel #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger

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wishcamper · 2 months

Text

Heavy Lies the Crown: Rhysand, greatness, and the pressures of power

Or: the librarian’s daughter, former playwright, licensed counselor mashup of my nightmares dreams because I am vast, I contain multitudes.

No content warnings and no real HOFAS spoilers, I don't think, other than that he's in it but I feel like you know that by now. Spoilers for Breaking Bad (lol).

---

In working on my current fic (on ao3 here!) I've been thinking a lot about Rhysand and how he really goes off the rails in ACOSF and HOFAS. It's easy to chalk it up to poor writing, but I like the challenge of trying to make it make sense. What are Rhys’ motivations, truly? What would explain the vast array of heinous shit he does the text tells us is justified?

Rhys is shown over and over to be quite Machiavellian ('ends justify the means' dude, who was maybe writing satire). It's easy to list the times he shows this. The 50 year Velaris hostage situation. The bargain UTM with Feyre. The Weaver's cottage. Stealing the Book from Tarquin. CLARE BEDDOR. Infiltrating people's minds. Torture. Assassination. Allying with Kier. Concealing his wife's medical information. Being an ass to people in general. According to Mr. Machiavelli, any action is warranted if it the goal it achieves is morally important enough.

It seems like Rhys can justify anything to himself if he believes it will serve the greatest good at the end of the day. He does so many things with the air of “it’s for your own good” or “you’ll understand why one day” but that day never.. comes? Not yet anyway, which begs the question: is he that unself-aware, or is there a longer game he’s playing that all of these minor skirmishes are leading up to? What if he knows what's coming? And what kind of cause or threat would feel so great he could justify everything he does up to this point?

Okay I'm gonna talk about Aristotelean literary structure, please don't leave me.

The idea of a tragic hero is a character whose downfall is inevitable but who fights against it anyway. Hamlet is a classic example of a tragic hero, Oedipus being the de facto first, Walter White from Breaking Bad a more modern version. We see Walt learn he’s going to die in the first episode, in the middle he does a bunch of stuff to prevent his physical death (cancer) and metaphorical death (failure/obscurity), and then both his body and reputation die in the last episode as a direct result of his attempts to avoid fate. It’s blissful Aristotelean symmetry. *chef’s kiss*

Every tragic hero has hamartia, more commonly known as a ‘fatal flaw’. In Hamlet, his fatal flaw is procrastination, and his delays create space for all kinds of the fuck shit he was trying to prevent. It’s important to note that hamartia is by design a neutral term - not so much a flaw, but a trait, motivation, or decision that sets off the chain of events the character is trying to avoid. Tragedies have occurred equally from too much love as too much hate, and doing nothing is just as much a decision as doing something. The word itself comes from the Greek for ‘to miss the mark’. To try and fail, the backbone of tragedy.

One of the most common hamartia is hubris, a modern synonym for arrogance but which more specifically means an outsized belief in one’s ability to affect and control the future. Well-known tragic heroes taken down by hubris include our boy Walter White, Tony Soprano, Viktor Frankenstein, Achilles, Jay Gatsby, Kendall from Succession. It exists in real life, too: Lance Armstrong is a perfect example of a modern tragic hero brought down by hubris. And what do all these men have in common? Power, via money, fame, strength, the state, intellect, violence etc.

I’ve been enjoying looking at Rhysand through this tragic hero lens because while it doesn’t really make him more sympathetic, it does make his actions easier to understand logically, which is its own kind of humanization. If Rhysand is aware of a prophesied or fated event sometime in the future and is pulling the cosmic strings now, it must be incredibly important, like annihilation-level important, which is so much pressure.

So he grows to maturity with an understanding that he will one day have to face this intense evil that could completely destroy his world, and it plants in him a hubris. He believes that his immense power grants him a certain amount of influence automatically. And honestly, is he wrong?

And this is where it’s important to think about how power makes people weird. Power gives people a false sense of confidence in their actions and choices, because their status and privilege protect them from so many more consequences. In this way it’s easy to see how someone can get a big ego - no one is stopping me, so I must be doing well! Or: everything is going well for me, so I must be really killing it! I know I feel that way in the first tingles of hypomania, but hypomania is fundamentally a distortion of reality and I believe so is power.

Power not only gives people confidence but also access to make decisions for others. They begin to think they should share the success they’ve found by leading and guiding others to see how great it can be if you do what they say. Just look at one of those cringe 'billionaire morning routine' videos to see what I mean. It’s a very patronizing form of altruism, because the leader genuinely believes they have the people’s interest at heart. And I use the word patronizing intentionally - leaders have often referenced feeling paternal towards their people, Winston Churchill + FDR, 'God the Father'. Power and fatherhood have been linked for a long time. And direct from our girl Wikipedia, "paternalism is action that limits a person's or group's liberty or autonomy and is intended to promote their own good".

I was talking with a girlfriend of mine recently about how I think some men don’t have the experience of other people depending on them in a significant way until they get married and/or become fathers. Like, afab and femme people learn very early to be considerate of others, to think about how others feel, to act in ways that keep others happy, etc. This plants in us a sense of duty to perform in ways that please others, to smile, to create comfort and provide caretaking in every environment we enter. So by the time we get to marriage and motherhood, we already know how to put others’ needs before our own because we’ve been doing it from the jump.

For men, however, this can be a completely novel experience. And it seems like it's SO HEAVY FOR THEM. George ‘Father of his Country’ Washington just wanted to go back to Virginia the whole time he was President. So many men talk about the pressures of being a provider and their families depending on them in a way women don’t, and I think it’s because for the first time others truly depend on them and they don’t know how to handle it.

In response, they either shove down their emotions as patriarchy demands and have a midlife crisis, or they abdicate that responsibility and go completely absent physically and/or emotionally to continue living for themselves. (Obviously there are good men and dads out there, and bless you if you’re lucky enough to know, have, or be one.)

And this aspect of power feels relevant because from the text it seems like Rhysand is unraveling. Between Feyre, the baby, the Trove, Nesta and being threatened by her power, Koschei, Bryce, the whole High King shit - I think he’s starting to crack under the pressure. And honestly, I’m kind of surprised it didn’t happen before now.

According to Aristotle, the tragic hero must:

Be significant (virtuous/capable/powerful/important etc.)

Be flawed

Suffer a reversal of fortune.

Rhysie boy definitely ticks the first two. I wonder what it would look like to get to three? I don’t think Sarah has the balls, but it’s definitely enhanced my reading experience and given me a lot of interesting things to think about.

Okay that's all I've got. Love ya, see ya soon xx

#prythian university #acotar #acosf #rhys critical #sjm critical #tragic hero #lit crit #i love thinking way too deeply about things

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eventinelysplayground · 4 days

Text

Just A Moment

This is @aquagirl1978 request for my 50 follower event. I posted her ask yesterday if you want to read it. This originally had a slightly different ending but it gave off a vibe I wasn't happy with and that didn't entirely suit Nokto's character so I changed it just a bit and the vibes much better. I hope you enjoy it and that it at least hits some of what you wanted and thank you again for the request, WC approx 1300.

The nights were always long, lonely and unbearably silent. Tonight was proving to be no different, though lately a new pleasant torture had been added to the list of why Nokto hated night.

“Mmm Nokto.”

Soft hands slid around his neck followed by warm lips pressing a light kiss to his ear.

“I want you Nokto, so so badly.”

Clear desire filled eyes looked deep into his crimson ones, filling his vision with nothing but her.

“Emma.”

Nokto reached a hand behind her head and kissed her with an insatiable hunger. They moved swiftly towards his bed, never breaking their kiss. Their hands roamed over each other's bodies making swift work of their clothes. They reached the bed and Nokto felt Emma push him down onto it, his head dropping hard against the pillow.

“Damn.”

Nokto slowly sat up in his bed and rubbed the back of his head. Unlike just a minute ago he was alone, Emma's presence there had been nothing but a sweet yet torturous dream.

“As if the nights weren't bad enough already.”

Nokto let out a sigh and flopped back down onto his bed staring up at the ceiling. He used to dream often about that fateful night, they were horrible nightmares but he adapted and learned ways to deal with them but these new dreams… They were such warm fantasies but they hurt much more than the nightmares ever had and so far nothing could rid him of them.

Nokto had tried his usual methods to chase away unwanted dreams but neither books nor the warm and flushed body of a woman could chase these away. He even tried some herbal teas and sachets with calm and soothing scents but nothing worked. He figured it must be because unlike his nightmares deep down these dreams weren't actually unwelcome.

I'm horrible, I can't keep doing things to hurt him.

Nokto sighed once again and looked toward his window. It was still a few hours before dawn but he was wide awake now and in desperate need of any distraction.

I may as well take a walk.

The palace corridors like everywhere else during the dead of night were silent. Nokto walked aimlessly down the familiar halls, the moon offering a small amount of light in the darkness. As he walked his thoughts were of his twin, the other part of himself, the part he kept on hurting. After Licht met Emma he had finally stopped wanting to die and started to actually live again.

Licht is finally happy after all this time and he deserves it more than anyone so why…why did I have to start wanting what he has?

When and why did it start were questions Nokto had asked himself more than once over the last several months. He never gave himself an honest answer though, preferring to lie to himself and every time he did so his dreams became more detailed and the blackness in his chest grew bigger.

As Nokto continued on he noticed a faint light coming from under the parlor door. Figuring it may be Jin or Clavis he decided to open it, his older brothers could be good entertainment and it would help the long night pass quicker if he had company. When Nokto opened the door it wasn't who he expected to find that was on the other side.

Emma…

Nokto stared at her in silence not believing what his eyes were seeing. Emma stood in front of one of the windows, her figure illuminated in the light of the moon as well as a dying fire, she looked mysterious and welcoming all at once and he felt his heart clench in his chest. His head told him he should leave but his heart hesitated just long enough for Emma to notice somebody else was there and turn around.

“Nokto! You startled me, are you only just getting back?”

“Unfortunately, no. The young lady I had plans with originally couldn't come out to play tonight, but since you're here maybe we could play together? You're already dressed for it.”

Emma wore a long flowy nightgown made of silk, a shawl draped around her shoulders.

“Though I would prefer you in something more revealing.”

Emma shook her head and let out a small laugh.

“Nokto be serious.”

“I'm being completely serious.”

Nokto gave Emma a sly grin as he came to stand at her side. He couldn't tell from the doorway but up close he could see the different emotions playing out across Emma's face.

She looks even more irresistible than usual.

“Are you worried about Licht?”

“A little. I know that it sounds silly, it's just a regular inspection but I'm still worried. More than anything though I just miss him.”

Nokto was spellbound as he watched Emma pull her shawl tighter around her slender shoulders.

“I thought that it would get easier with time and I wouldn't be so sad when he would have to be away but…”

“But it hasn't.”

Emma shook her head as she held back her tears.

“Licht wouldn't let himself get hurt, he'll be home soon.”

Nokto reached out and tucked some stray hair behind her ear and let his fingers trail down her neck for the briefest of moments.

“Nokto, are you up because you're worried about him too?”

“Mmmm, why don't I walk you back to your room?”

“I'd like to stay here actually.”

“Okay.”

Nokto turned to leave, he hadn't taken more than a few steps when Emma called out to him.

“Nokto?”

“What?”

“Would…would you mind staying here with me? I don't really want to be alone right now.”

Nokto's heart stung but he plastered that familiar smile on his face.

“As long as you're willing to entertain me.”

He studied Emma as she looked around the room until her eyes suddenly brightened.

“How about a book, we can read together.”

“Is that really what you want to do?”

“Nokto.”

Nokto could hear the exasperation in Emma's voice.

“Fine, on one condition.”

“What?”

“That you read to me, at least that way it seems like we're actually spending time together.”

“Okay, I can do that.”

Nokto settled on the sofa and Emma joined him after picking out a book for them. The time crept slowly by until eventually the sound of Emma's voice stopped, replaced by the faintest sounds of her steady breathing . Nokto had been falling asleep himself but it was Emma who succumbed first falling gently against his side, the feeling of her warm breath falling across his chest.

Is this it? Is this my punishment for forcing Licht into the half life he lived for so long? To want what's finally made him happy? To fall so in love with his wife that I…

Nokto wasn't consciously aware of it but he wrapped an arm tightly around Emma holding her close.

Please, all I ever wanted was for Licht to be happy again…And Emma makes Licht happy, happier than he ever was and that makes me happy…

“Just…”

Nokto dared to twist his head to look at Emma's closed eyes. Those clear, honest eyes that he had hated. Those eyes that would never look at him the way they did in his dreams. Those eyes that looked only at his twin. Those eyes so full of light and love that they had pulled Licht out of the darkness.

If I'm ever going to be honest with myself..

“Just…”

Nokto placed his chin on the top of Emma's head and closed his eyes. Her warmth flowed steadily into him and he tightened his grip around her.

Just give me this moment. Just a moment to hold you in my arms like this. To feel your warmth, how soft your skin is, the way your heart beats. To pretend for just this moment that you're mine.

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri fanfic #ikemen prince nokto #ikemen prince licht #ikepri nokto #ikepri emma #ikepri licht #nokto klein #50 followers #ikemen prince fanfiction

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lurlur · 1 year

Text

I've been getting into hockey for the last, like, 16 months. I'm running a little bit of a fever. I'm British so the concept of mascots is a little bit weird to me. Let's do this.

In order of the current whole league standings, as of January 25th 2023:

Rating the NHL mascots

Part 1

Completely arbitrarily! My system makes no sense!

Boston Bruins

Blades the Bruin

Bruin means bear, so this makes sense as a choice. I guess I get what they were going for with the name but it just kinda makes it sound like a low level gangster. Feels like they couldn't decide whether to make a teddy bear or a scary bear and just got an unsettling middle ground. The eyes are very dead.

Vibes: 6/10

Aesthetic: 4/10

Horror: 3/10

Fuckability: 3/10

Overall, 4/10. Not awful, but not great.

Honourable mention for methbear from the winter classic this year. That was a design team that knew how to make choices.

Carolina Hurricanes

Stormy

Stormy is, apparently, a pig. If there's some obvious North Carolina/pig connection, I'm not aware of it. Stormy feels very low effort. The design is weak and lacking in character. It doesn't even look like a good fur suit, tbh. Very big eyes so we're definitely not trying to be intimidating here. Stormy must not be one of those 30-50 feral hogs you used to hear so much about.

Vibes: 5/10

Aesthetic: 2/10

Horror: 0/10

Fuckability: 1/10

Overall, 2/10. Horrible but not for interesting reasons.

New Jersey Devils

NJ Devil

Why does it have abdominal muscles? Clearly, this one is a slut, which I approve of. The name is super uninspired and the design is pretty obvious, but I still find myself on the way to liking it. It's got character and it's not trying to be too human. I know it's not what the New Jersey devil is actually supposed to be, but it looks a horrible kind of fun. What that tongue do?

Vibes: 7/10

Aesthetic: 5/10

Horror: 5/10

Fuckability: 7/10

Overall, 6/10. I don't love it, but I don't hate it either and that's something.

Toronto Maple Leafs

Carlton the Bear

Carlton is named after the street where the old Leafs arena was. And he's an adorable polar bear. Look at him. He's like the coca cola polar bear without the mischief. That's a face you can trust. Looks like he gives great hugs. I would like to find out.

Vibes: 10/10

Aesthetic: 9/10

Horror: 0/10

Fuckability: 8/10

Overall, 7/10, but the lack of horror is a feature and not a bug. So really he's 9/10.

Dallas Stars

Victor E. Green

There's so much to hate here. The name is a bad pun on the Stars "victory green" colours. The character is supposed to be an alien but the design is so lazy. They could have gone in so many directions with this one and instead they just did this. Why even have a mascot if you're going to put this little effort in? No expression. No character. Just green.

Vibes: 2/10

Aesthetic: 2/10

Horror: 1/10

Fuckability: 1/10

Overall, 1.5/10. Very bad showing.

Winnipeg Jets

Mick E. Moose

Someone's trying to get suuuueeedddd! Nah, it's been over a decade and the mouse doesn't appear to have come knocking so I guess the jorts are getting away with it. Mick, here, looks quite the formidable fellow. I like his flying cap and absolutely unhinged expression. I truly believe that he could find me in my dreams and make me regret decisions I haven't even made yet. There's something wrong with him and it looks interesting.

Vibes: 7/10

Aesthetic: 8/10

Horror: 7/10

Fuckability: 8/10

Overall, 7.5/10. Very respectable. I will see you in my nightmares, Mr Moose.

Tampa Bay Lightning

ThunderBug

ThunderBug is a lightning bug. Sensible choice for the Lightning. I've seen him on broadcasts a few times but never been able to ascertain if his butt glows. I think it should and anyone who disagrees is wrong. The first time I saw him, he had a big fake beard and I was not a fan of that look at all. Unadorned, I think he's a decent mix of cute and goofy. He's definitely got some character and energy to him.

Vibes: 7/10

Aesthetic: 7/10

Horror: 1/10

Fuckability: 6/10

Overall, 5/10. Again, lack of horror is not really a negative. This is a pretty good boy.

Vegas Golden Knights

Chance the Gila Monster

Look at this boy. This is what perfection looks like. I think he should be President of the whole world. I would marry him tomorrow. Look at those kind eyes and sweet smile. He could fit my whole head in his mouth and I would thank him. He's literally never done anything wrong in his whole life. You can't see it in this photo, but he even has a very cute tail. Best boy. The only horror would be at the thought that he might not love me.

Vibes: 100/10

Aesthetic: 100/10

Horror: 0/10

Fuckability: 10/10

Overall, perfection. The platonic ideal of mascots.

LA Kings

Bailey

This is Bailey. Bailey is a lion. This is, apparently, a pretty new look for Bailey. He used to look a lot meaner but he underwent cosmetic surgery and now looks like this. I wish that wasn't the story that the Kings used to relaunch a mascot with a difficult history... But here we are. I'm just judging mascots. Bailey looks weird for a lion, too dark, too smiley, not enough teeth. I feel like there's a spark missing here. Something that would bring life and character to Bailey. He's just a bit generic and underwhelming.

Vibes: 5/10

Aesthetic: 4/10

Horror: 2/10

Fuckability: 3/10

Overall, 3.5/10. Could have and should have done better.

Seattle Kraken

Buoy the Troll

New for this season, Buoy the Troll has a lot of attention to detail that I really like. He's got stuff in his hair and ears that tell of a nautical background. I'm pretty sure he fucked a kraken. I feel like "troll" is a cop out in the same way that "alien" is, but Buoy makes it work better. My main gripe with Buoy is that I can't make myself say the name out loud. It's not said the way that I pronounce the word. That bothers me more than it should.

Vibes: 8/10

Aesthetic: 8/10

Horror: 3/10

Fuckability: 2/10

Overall, 5/10. Largely because fuckability goes way down if I can't say your name.

New York Rangers

None

Perfect. No notes. Keep doing what you're doing, sweeties. This is the best way to have a mascot: not at all.

Vibes: immaculate

Aesthetic: unparalleled

Horror: unknowable

Fuckability: Schrödinger's fuckability

Overall, no one else is doing it like the Rangers. And they should. (not you, Vegas. Obviously)

Full disclosure, I fell asleep at this point. So now I have to use the standings as of Thursday 26/01. Deal with it.

Edmonton Oilers

Hunter the Lynx

I hate it. I'm saving you from the image, but please know that this lynx also has sculpted abdominals. Again with the bad fur suit vibes, the face is the stuff of nightmares, I'm deeply upset by the jowls. Should the NHL start hiring furries to design their mascots? MAYBE!

Vibes: 2/10 Aesthetic: 1/10 Horror: 8/10 Fuckability: 1/10 Overall, 3/10. Horrible. Soulless. Bad in a bad way, not even a fun way.

Pittsburgh Penguins

Iceburgh

Mixed feelings here, gotta be honest. Love the name and, obviously, it had to be a penguin. He looks pretty fun. But the beak and eyes are giving me "lifeless glove puppet" energy. He could be more penguiny and less flat. Curse the performer's need to see and breathe, eh?

Vibes: 7/10

Aesthetics: 5/10

Horror: 3/10

Fuckability: 2/10

Overall, 4/10 because he loses out on both horror and fuckability by looking too socklike. Sorry, Iceburgh.

Washington Capitals

Slapshot

Slapshot is a really big seagull eagle. He looks pretty fierce, which is not an expression I'm used to seeing on bald eagles. Beautiful plumage. I like him. Good vibes, I think. No word on whether he also has abs to flash at us, but I'm choosing to believe that he doesn't. It's better this way. I wouldn't trust him not to steal my chips though.

Vibes: 8/10

Aesthetic: 8/10

Horror: 4/10

Fuckability: 8/10

Overall, 7/10. Really decent showing for this birb.

Colorado Avalanche

Bernie the St. Bernard

That's a good boy right there. Look at his little barrel! The face is missing something that I can't quite put my finger on, but I do like the lolling tongue and droopy jowls. Maybe what's missing is copious amounts of drool? Just something to make it look a bit more alive and engaged? I know it's possible, I've seen it on other mascots!

Vibes: 9/10

Aesthetics: 7/10

Horror: 2/10

Fuckability: 3/10

Overall, 5/10. He's a good dog, Brant.

Calgary Flames

Harvey the Hound

What the fuck is this? Why does it have a metre long tongue? (Not gonna lie, that's points in favour for fuckability) You know those vintage photos of kids meeting the easter bunny only it looks like everyone involved was in hell? That's what I'm getting from this. Dead face. Cheap fur suit. He does know how to accessorise though, check that hat/collar/belt combo.

Vibes: 2/10

Aesthetics: 4/10

Horror: 5/10

Fuckability: 5/10

Overall, 4/10. What that tongue do?

Part 2 is here!

#nhl mascots #nhl #hockey #lurlur rates mascots

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