Latest Posts by ejkreader - Page 2

Nesta Week Day 2: Mask

I had this stained-glass-mask-metaphor idea but it ended up a bit too abstract and confusing, so I simplified to a stained glass window of Nesta with her Dread Trove (and Atraxia) She's standing in front of a gradient representing Prythian, and contemplating how to slay her enemies.

Then a few mask-related Nesta doodles.

@nestaarcheronweek

'ao3 needs a like and dislike button'

what you need, my algorithm-rotten minded friend, is a grip

This footage of Elmo after messing up a take on Sesame Street is peak relatable

I'm sorry who allowed you to make bryaxis hot???

Anon I CAN'T be the only one who read about him in ACOWAR and immediately thought "smash"

Human Form!Bryaxis has been occupying my brain so here’s a quick doodle. Some headcanons:

• Learns how to take on a human form after quietly observing the library’s Priestesses.

• An exiled Death God of Nightmares, confined to his beastly form at the NC library after challenging Koschei centuries ago and losing. Their dispute was over Koschei’s treatment of the females at the lake, which Bryaxis perceived as cruel and unnecessary.

• Stripped of most of his powers, he is but a reflection of other people’s worst nightmares. In his beastly form, his presence is enough to incite the horrid visions; in his human form, you must look into his depthless eyes. Your visions will occur whether he wants them to or not. He usually doesn’t.

• He sees the nightmares of all the Priestesses when they sleep at night, but due to the nature of his being, he is unable to stop any of them.

• Sometimes, he sleeps, too, and is plagued by nightmares of his own. When he does, he claws at his own skin, leaving scars that often take weeks to fade.

• In his human form, he has a deep, lulling voice that can compel anyone to fall asleep in mere seconds.

Don't mind me, I'm just waiting for my marker to recharge

Hell Hath No Fury Like a Sister Scorned

It is @nestaarcheronweek aka the best week of the year!

For Day 1: Bonds, I have brought you sibling bonding, women helping women, and holding Rhysand accountable for his actions.

Read the full story (Completed!) on A03.

---

Feyre had made this child out of love, with the notion that she’d be there to raise him. Nesta had thought, as High Lady, she’d have been granted the utmost care, the ability to make every single decision, to have a full working knowledge of her world.

Instead, they treated her sister no better than they did herself. With secrets.

Nesta closed her eyes, readying for her abduction off the streets.

Instead, the earth trembled, tilted, and abruptly, the male she felt too much for yet no longer knew how to deal with was stumbling away, flames erupting between them.

“Put your hands on her and you’ll lose them.”

Nesta blinked, pushing herself upright on the wall of whatever building she’d been leaning against, and looked over the barrier to see her sister in all her glorious fury, her hand outstretched.

“Feyre,” Cassian croaked, looking as shocked as she felt, something agonized in his eyes. “Rhys told me to-”

“Speak his name to me again, I dare you.” Her sister hissed. “I know exactly what he told you.”

---

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64906348/chapters/166834348#workskin

Tag List: @c-e-d-dreamer @podemechamardek @talkfantasytome @moodymelanist @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @eerievixen @sweet-pea1 @thewayshedreamed @agents-assemble @jsmelodies @aelinchocolatelover @unlikelypersonalknight1 @bri-loves-sunflowers @misswonderflower @acourtofladydeath @natasharomxnov @unhealthyfanobsession @fiction-loving-person @daddyduncan69 @bobanna81 @a-trifling-matter

@blueunoias @authenticgaymer @xstarlightsupremex

reblog this if your icon could kill a man

rb to tell prev they're being so brave right now and pat their head a little please

I have no mouth and I must bird

somebody ask nesta what's got her blushing like that

@nestaarcheronweek

I'm giggling and kicking my feet while imagining two fictional people getting together and slowly finding real love in each other and working through their trauma- and then one of them dies. Suddenly. Preferably, the other was blackmailed to kill them, or they died to save the other. And now the one who's left can never fully heal, but can never go back to how they were before that person changed their life, and slowly fade away. Maybe they spend the rest of their life trying to find out who killed their love, to no avail. Maybe the pain just eats at them so much that they let the hollow feeling consume them.

This is so fun. (What is wrong with me?)

Just a little bit of a passionate Elucien for you!

Not to pit two bad bitches against each other, but I see so many "Lucien apartment in Velaris" headcanons, and I can't stop thinking how Azriel's room looks like.

Azriel is efficency over style. He is a sleep deprived workaholic. He doesn't care about interior design. He's probably rarely even there. So, whenever I think about his room, I see this meme:

omgg baby’s 1st birthday!! 👏

What if after that you spent decades trying to bring my decying, lifeless body home, while with every year, my last wish doesn't just become a promise to your brother- it becomes an obsession. Your eyes slowly become darker and stop reflecting what you see; they only see one goal anymore, Earth. What if every roadblock becomes a mortal enemy to you as you try to bring the pile of bones, the ones that used to contain my soul, back- they're stripped of their flesh because you had nothing to eat on one of those long, Europa days when you were stranded from the rest of your brothers in arms. In fact, what if those brothers slowly began looking at you differently, and you know they're talking through their suits about something, but they're not including you. You can tell they're afraid of you, afraid after that night where they dug you out of the snow to see you gnawing on my skeleton, the remains of my moldy flesh scattered on the floor around you and spattered on your face. You didn't mind. Everything was for me, after all. So what if the others minded? You only had to finish the war to get back; you only had to defeat everyone else. You had to hurt the people who had taken me away. And as your good memories of me faded, they became the scraps of life you clung to, because you no longer had anything else. Your brothers never understood why if was so important to you to get me back to Earth, never understood that it wasn't because of my last wish anymore, it was because everything else around you had faded into static and your only peace would be found from burying me in my native land. You weren't even sure what you would do after, but you didn't think about that, all you had to do was keep on putting one foot in front of the other; keep killing one person after another. And what if, as the faces blurred together, you accidently killed your family? Your pack, that had traveled along with you, now lay silent among the pink-stained ice and snow? Well, you were fighting a war. Casualties were bound to happen. It wasn't even really your fault, was it- they were holding you back, trying to make you see that you were slowly dying from some disease you contracted after eating my flesh. But you knew, of course, that that wasn't true. They were only trying to keep you from returning with your brother to Earth, to stay there forevermore. If they were right? You didn't care. You trudged on, through snow and ice and sleet and bullets and guns and fighting and death, even though you were getting slower with every step, you kept walking. And what if, in the end, you looked around and saw that not even my bones were there anymore; your soul was now lost somewhere in the rubble. What if you looked up and thought you saw a glimpse of blue and green, somewhere out there, and felt your heart stop, there amongst the snow.

What if, later, your body was found and brought back to Earth, and I was finally able to rest happily?

What if that's when it ends?

What if it goes on forever?

what if we were brothers in arms in the war torn landscape of europa and i held your bleeding wound as the blood stained the endless, blinding white tundra, your bated breath asking me to bury you back home and our last memory together was looking up to the swirling rings of color on jupiter. what then.

I've been so tired of all the "Lucien is ugly" and "Lucien isn't hot enough for Elain" rhetoric on the internet. No, he doesn't have black hair, he doesn't have bat wings and lurks in darkness, but that doesn't make him any less hot!

Firey red hair? A facial scar? A golden mechanical eye and a whole ass sexy and flirty personality to boot? YES!! Give me a man who fights against his sexual urges and puts the care of his love interest first. Lucien is beyond sexy, he's dripping with charisma, charm, and personality! I know once we get Elain's book, we will get to hear just how much Lucien's looks makes her knees weak!

i think i need more dark azriel. i think i need more irritable, sleep deprived, angry azriel. azriel whose hands shake and you don’t know why, you don’t if it’s stress or anxiety or a deep sated fury he can’t stifle anymore. azriel whose chest rumbles with growls and hisses he is too tired to stifle. bitter azriel. disillusioned azriel. azriel who is too disgusted by everything, by those around and by himself, to play nice anymore. azriel who doesn’t eat, doesn’t drink anymore because he is so….so lost to his ever increasingly dark thoughts that he just…forgets to eat and drink. azriel who can’t sleep—not because he doesn’t want to, but because he can’t, because his shadows have grown darker and needier over the years, wrapping around him and not letting go, sticking to his skin like tar and wriggling in all his thoughts, tainting them, staining them. and azriel lets them, because of course he does, he and the shadows are one, after all, aren’t they? he cares for them. he craves them. he doesn’t mind all that much that they become the only thing he cares about, because the shadows are right. he should be angry. he should be bitter. no one understands him, not really, but the shadows do. they do. and so he spends all his nights awake with them, listening to their whispers, letting them nestle deeper inside of him, until that line he’s always been so aware of, the one that has always separated him from them begins to blur. he doesn’t care. he doesn’t care. and the shadows don’t care very much, either, rather they are almost…happy with this turn of events. and the happiness is a muted thing of course, they cannot be happy, but azriel’s closeness grants them more freedom, and so they begin to roam. they are curious by nature. they like to hoard things. they like to seep and to stain and to steal the light from all their encounter, greedy things that they are.

and so it’s natural that they fixate on eris. eris is bright. eris is warm. eris is as fickle as the flames that play at his fingertips and azriel’s shadows taunt their other half with snippets of dreams and memories they steal from eris; scents and flavours that make saliva pool under azriel’s tongue. he dislikes it at first, of course he does, but the shadows burrow deep inside of him and those snippets of eris that they hoard become azriel’s own secret treasure. and his sanity begins to ravel, obviously. his anger grows, the trembling in his hands worsens. and he can’t blame it on the shadows, because he is the shadows—and so he blames it on eris, because that is easier and sparks an aching, burning hunger in azriel that is better than the hatred, than the numbness that it brings after it spills out of him in violence.

azriel doesn’t stop the obsession when it comes. doesn’t stop the anger, the jealously, the bone deep urge that grows in him to take eris and peel him open, layer by layer, rib by rib; to peer inside of him and learn what his heart tastes like when he sinks his teeth into it. he doesn’t stop it. he doesn’t stop it.

Tamlin Week, Day 7: Free Day

I got inspired last night to do some art, since there was no way my ficlet would be ready on time. Thus, let me present a (kinda messy) portrait of everyone's favorite High Lord of Spring, in what is probably his current mood these days.

Art by me, @themadmorrigan on Procreate, 4/19/25. Please do not repost this image as your own. For @tamlinweek!

@tamlinweek day 7: crossover/au

for today i tried to do tamlin in the style of one of my fav games hades.. 🥺🎉❤

and this is the full without background 🤲❤ i wanna yap and say that if he has a Call, it'd just be his beast form running to your rescue mhm mhm 🙂‍↕️ chomping on your enemies. his trinket is a violin ofc ofc and and whenever i get artemis boons especially with the seeking arrows it just gives tamlin vibes 👉👈

honorable mention ty @highlordofkrypton this wouldn't happen without u ty for recommending me games hades tamin is for u 🫶

I wasn't going to participate in Tamlinweek until I got the PERFECT idea for day 4 (on day 5...)

So, this is for @tamlinweek day 7- free!

And now, a closeup on the birds and squirrels hanging out in the hair-tree (they were my favorite part of this to draw.)

And I have to show the original drawing, which I made when I got jumped by the idea, and the only thing I had near me to draw on was a notecard- oh well!

AAAND that's it :)

I hope anyone reading this has a good day/night! 💛

Day 4 : Hair

Tampunzel!!!!! 🤭

I’ve been wanting to do this for the longest time because I call him Rapunzel. We do not acknowledge any hair cuts given to this male in acotar 🙅‍♀️ Long hair will forever be the superior choice 😌

I’ve had this sketch for a while now but unfortunately I did not have enough time or energy to execute the vision in my head 😭😭 sigh.

@tamlinweek

hey azris community, can y’all pls lmk ur absolute fav fanfics on here or on ao3?? i need to read some more goodies

The other day I was dying laughing at the thought of Zoro (first time feeling attraction) talking to Luffy (never felt attraction in his life) about his feelings for Sanji and them coming up with a wildly incorrect assumption about what's happening

soukoku, kunikidazai, sigzai... can we stop letting quality men be victimized by the tragic phenomenon that is dazai osamu 💔💔💔

(they should form a support group and kiss each other)

Okay I have a fic brewing for today's @tamlinweek prompt biting/chest, but I don't actually know if it'll be ready to post to AO3 by the end of the day, so I figure I'd give a little snippet now!

This fic is Rhysand/Tamlin, past friends to enemies, present strangers to lovers. There's technically an age gap but Rhys worries about it way more than he actually needs to.

I promise my real post for it will be prettier than this haha. But anyways, the clip is below the cut if you'd like to see what's in store!

It’s maybe a little weird. Or a lot. Rhys can't really tell.

It's definitely a little weird that he's at a high school reunion for a class that he was never a student in, but Mor had asked until he relented, and he loves his cousin enough not to make a big deal about it. Plus, it's basically a form of community engagement. Good PR.

And it’s not like he wasn't curious.

(But Rhys supposes he knows what curiosity does to the cat.)

It probably is weird. He should just let it go. Pretend he didn’t even see that flash of pale hair, that once-familiar smile, the eyes that somehow still look green from afar in the dim throwback-to-homecoming lighting. Rhys knows that he’s become a little dry, distracted, and that people will start noticing, but he just can’t stop searching.

Looking for a trace of the boy he knew ten years ago in the man he sees now.

Tamlin looks practically unreal. His hair has gone from sandy, dirty blonde to vibrant, spun gold, practically platinum in some places. It cascades down past his shoulders, wavy and thick, holding none of the country club pretentiousness that his preppy little swoop had back in high school. His shy grin is the same, but the face it decorates is practically foreign. Angular and distinct, high-definition in human form.

When Rhys first met Tamlin, he’d looked like he was growing like a puppy. Linebacker shoulders that he didn’t seem to know how to grow into, a jawline hidden in lingering baby fat that he hadn’t yet grown out of. He’d always moved with a clear cautiousness, like he didn’t know what to do with his size, a kid piloting a teenage body. With the soft roundness of his face and the unsure gait he walked with, he'd almost appeared small despite his height.

Now, it seems like there’s not a part of him that hadn’t stopped growing since Rhys last saw him.

He fills out his sage green dress shirt like it was tailored to display his form in the most accurate way possible without the stitches ripping. He’s thicker than most average men, his chest curved, arms thick, and hell, even his legs show their definition through his light tan pants. He’s very clearly jacked.

It’s understated enough, though, that he doesn’t look crazy or roided out. Just very carefully crafted, like somewhere along the way, he’d turned himself to stone just to reshape his body into the cut he wanted.

His clean-shaven jaw is now entirely visible and perfectly sharp, not too severe. His cheeks have hollowed a bit as well, but not in a way that suggests cosmetic help. Broad shoulders now have the muscle to make up for it, his large hands finally matching the rest of his body, his strapping chest smoothly leading down to a slim waist, creating a figure that simply dominates among regular layfolk.

And he’s tall. Even taller than he’d been when Rhys graduated, towering over his company, easily clearing six feet.

He’s a man now. Practically a whole different person.

But it still feels so weird. That spark of attraction racing along Rhys’ veins, teasing the inside of his mouth, under his tongue.

If they were strangers, he wouldn’t think twice about it. It’s not that big of a difference.

But the fact is, they’re not strangers. They knew each other, once. When Rhys was already awaiting his acceptance letter from Brown, and Tamlin was fourteen.

My fan art of nesta aka lady death.

What I’m not understanding here, I suppose, is the American understanding of ethnicity in SJM’s world.

Some people seem to think Tamlin is Germanic or Dutch….even though he is based off Tam Lin from Scottish mythology. He plays the fiddle, again very coded, fiddles are heavily associated with Northern English, Scottish and Irish folk music.

They celebrate Calanmai in the Spring court…which is Welsh…and Calanmai is written in the Welsh language…so very Welsh.

Roses have a very important meaning in British history, especially red and white ones, considering we had a civil war called the Wars of the Roses. The House of Lancaster was represented by a red roses, House of York White and House of Tudor combined the two roses. Also an attractive English woman is called an ‘English Rose’ see Princess Diana’s funeral song where she is called ‘England’s Rose’. I find this bit funny to be honest, since Tamlin never calls Feyre the Spring Court’s rose but he says he loves her “thorns and all.”Roses are important symbolism in the Spring court as well seeing as how Feyre has a panic attack at seeing red roses/the first book is literally A Court of Thorns and Roses. Tamlin’s parents have a rose garden and Feyre rips a rose out and cuts herself on the thorns (personally I think this could be symbolic that she was never supposed to be part of his family). In fact, she chucks the rose into a bush and Tamlin picks it up to put it behind her ear.

Roses become a theme of Feyre’s rejection of Tamlin, funnily and sadly enough. He brings her a bouquet of white roses from his parent’s garden and she dismisses them.

Tamlin’s beast form looks like a lion…the national animal of Britain.

I fail to understand how you can think Tamlin is not Scottish/British from the text after looking at all of that.