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@highmati
𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃, 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐅𝐔𝐋, 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐏 – the power to destroy.
An indie writing blog for Rhysand from the ACOTAR series. Written by Mackie, they/them. 21+. Primarily headcanon-based and divergent from canon. Affiliated with Rionach's Nesta and Azriel.
RULES. / RHYSAND. / VERSES.
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Rhysand isn’t the only one with his attention divided. Shadows darken his office’s corner, but so too do they crawl through this court and the next, valuable as ever is this measure of security. Azriel feels the weight of that responsibility only distantly, far too engaged with the warmth left tucked back in his bed instead. Still, it’s no easy task to tune out the vitriol heavy in the air around him; all is well enough in the City of Dreams, much less so in the brutal camps the High Lord neglects, and yet the Shadowsinger feels the worst threat here in this very room. Sira can feel his frustration from home and he fails to soothe her, his growing anger too stifling even in the face of all her worry. Only when Rhysand demands his notice does he school his emotions.
Quick to throw a wall up lest he gets even a whiff of his mate, Azriel inclines his head as if to convey his High Lord has his complete attention. Cassian is practically vibrating with barely leashed control of his own feelings, but centuries of discipline might be the only thing saving Amren from the temper that she seems downright determined to exacerbate. ❛ No, ❜ the Singer responds simply and leaves it at that. Let Rhysand parse what he will from such a nonanswer. Azriel shuts him back out of his mind and returns his focus elsewhere.
The tension in the room is par for the course. Amren sinks her teeth into whatever meat she deems the closest, the easiest, and gnaws until she hits bone. That Cassian falls for her acridity every time is just as divined. His heart too often gets him into trouble, a problem far more likely confronted in the camps more than anything, but not so bad that Rhys finds it disruptive. If anything, he might be more entertained by all this, especially given the context, if not for the rising tension pluming from his Shadowsinger. It’s usually easier to scent the nearest threat. Rhys hasn’t, yet.
Nonetheless, bewildered as he is, his focus sharpens. Whatever dark ghost crosses his face, a remnant of another time and another generation, it catches everyone else’s attention too. Then, alerted by their High Lord’s pointed scrutiny, three more sets of eyes swivel to that cloudy corner, the topic of Nesta set aside. Aloud, Rhys asks again, “What troubles you, Azriel?” Quiet though they may be, @asidhara rarely disregards an opportunity to share their concerns if it meant keeping everyone in the loop. Rhys smiles cajolingly. “Hiding from us, brother? It must be bad. Come now and share your findings, hm? Is it Hewn City?”
@ranikaag
The problem with bravado is that it is as false as its wielder. Between the two of them, Nesta wonders which will crack beneath the pressure of such weight first, forgetting entirely that it is heat which melts metal and that the stars in the sky are nothing if not specks of fire. Her eyes are still silver; her anger still burns. Rhys’ condescension is no front in her eyes, but it’s all the worse for her ire. Whatever his purpose for twisting his own words now, she doesn’t care. She accepted his invitation, white flag she knows better than to mistake it for or not, for reasons of her own design.
❝ Willfully implies I have a choice, ❞ Nesta seethes. Steam no longer rises between them, though the temperature appears this time to drop in the room. She need not sit forward to assert herself. ❝ A pity you had no consideration for his wellbeing when you first made the offer to me. Or do you then admit, Oh Gracious and Most Considerate High Lord, that you gave me such an ultimatum knowing full well to which option I would submit? Knowing it was not a choice at all and, oh! Look at that. Back to my most recent conjecture. ❞
Nesta stands, the movement so abrupt that the tea tray on Rhys’ desk rattles, and she hopes he flinches. Her hands are shaking fists at her sides. ❝ I will help my sister, ❞ that purposeful distinction will not rattle him, but she makes it all the same, ❝ with the Trove and with the Court’s concerns regarding the human queens. And when I am finished, I will do what I can for the females in Windhaven. After that, it is no concern of yours, Feyre’s, or Cassian’s, what I do with myself in exchange for my absence. As it is preferred by us all. ❞
In the space behind and between his left eyebrow and the outermost corner of his right eye forms the start of a migraine. Already he can tell it will be an intense one, something he cannot simply ignore for the sake of whatever tasks he has left to do for the day. Despite knowing just how well this meeting would decidedly not go, it still catches him by surprise just how thoroughly she is capable of provoking his and her own fury. There’s an element of fear to that too. How long has he spent curating the perfect mask and how easily this female claws it right off his face...
The moment @silvreflames rises, Rhys steels himself for the flames dancing in her eyes to outgrow her vision. When nothing so violent happens, yet, his shoulders remain stiffened. That she has such a power to disarm him infuriates him that he forgets to smoothen his voice. It cracks around the edges instead like a star before the implosion, fine cracks to preclude the more brutal devastation. “Sit. Down.” And he rises, a mountain above her churning sea, a vicious tower which her thorns could do little but scratch feebly at the surface. Still, something in his face flickers.
“Sit down,” he says again and this time his voice is strained, “and do put those out, will you?” Those, of course, being the white flames now predictably encasing her shaking fists. Vaguely he wonders if she knows she's even done it. Rhys eyes them with disdain as if they are more inconvenience than threat though he can feel it in his chest how much their appearance has disturbed him. His heart pounds in his ears and behind his eye where that headache blooms. When he speaks again, he has gripped the edges of his control and hauled them back into place and it reflects in the blasé effect he has applied once more to his tone. “I admit there were some decisions made that were wrongfully attended to, but know that everything I have done was for the best.”
A hooked claw of awareness drags down the back of Rhysand’s neck. It might have broken the skin if it was any louder which is a surprising feat given the source of what splits his attention. Amren is speaking, something poisonous about the weapons they should be wielding, and all this is directed at Cassian who grits his teeth in such a way that suggests he’s unwillingly heard this speech before and he doesn’t want to hear it this time either. His second needn’t say Nesta Archeron’s name to imply exactly to which weapon she refers. Rhysand should say something. / @singerblade
Instead his gaze strays to the dark cloud in the furthest corner of the room where that dagger stroke had risen the hairs on his nape. When he reaches towards the brewing storm of tendrils cloaking Azriel’s mind, he does it with wary gentleness. {You have something to say,} he presses against his Spymaster’s thoughts when the tiniest gap opens for him to do so. {What troubles you? Have you found something? We can circle back to Amren’s piece if you’ve something more pressing to add.}
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we’re going villain mode team
❝ I'm tired. ❞
And yet there is nothing dim about her. She’s no idea how well she suits here, how well here suits her, this City of Stars and Dreams and the way it bends to her as if it’d only been waiting. He’d been waiting too. She’s bright around the edges, shimmering like Starfall personified despite the exhaustion in her eyes, and he thinks if he said so, she’d probably swing at him for the insolence. Maybe he’d let @starslady hit her target, if only because it’d mean she’d feel something other than grief. Other than tired.
“Yes, I suppose it is quite taxing devoting such time to your letters.” Rhys extends his hand, tipping his fingers to indicate he means for her to reach back. It would require her relinquishing the pen she wields not unlike a weapon, vexed as she must be by his teasing. He doesn’t bother smothering his smirk. Hopes for her ire, hopes it blink the sleep from her eyes long enough to kickstart her weary heart. He feels its fatigue as well. Does he wear it the way she does? Would that he could bear it completely for her. Rhys crooks his fingers at her hesitance. “Come now, Cursebreaker. I’ll only bite if you ask me nicely.”
💫 TRENCH PT. 2.
I know I said I'm writing but I am also thinking about his sister who I am naming Chitra.
Mm....
"oh dear! oh... i didn't realize you were here! you..." you scared me to death. that last part you do not vocalize, instead you move around the large oak table, sturdy and ancient like the library itself, until you stand a bit closer to the high lord.
you find it odd, how a high fae that commands so much attention with his presence can turn to quietness when alone. lord rhysand seems to be a bit of a walking contradiction - perhaps, you think, right now, his solitude it's not so different from your own.
the library invites to all kinds of self reflection, rather like a temple. forgive me Gods, for all these ugly feelings i carry inside. i can't seem to stop wanting to scrub my skin sometimes.
"do you need help finding a specific book? i, humbly speaking, can find any of them in under five minutes if you wish. practice makes the master," you offer a shy smile, "i'm sorry for interrupting your reading." @highmati
She needn’t voice her fright for Rhys to clock the leap in her pulse, the wide of her eyes, the way she nearly jumps at the sight of him. So too is it easy enough for him to notice the immediate defense to her posture, the way she is all fight in the very presence of her even if she thinks herself a likeness to stillness. Rhys knows the choices that fear presents because he’s played the game himself before. A pity he finds the tells in the Priestess before him.
“Forgive me,” Rhys says with a smile intended to soothe whatever wound she thinks she’s dealt and the wound he might have opened in her as well. It’s all too natural that he takes up space, that he moves in such a way that draws the eye and enforces deference. He makes an attempt at conveying his own respect with the show of his empty hand, one small submission to peace. “I hadn’t meant to startle you.”
With feigned embarrassment with the intention to charm more than anything else, Rhys holds up his book and wiggles it. “I had wondered if you might inquire with Day regarding some texts they might loan us. They covet far more material than we house here and I’m not sure we have what I require. I’ve a need for mortal military strategies. The resources we have are outdated.”
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R.hys being able to just completely mist people, just wipe them out of existence, in the blink of an eye without blinking HIS eyes or breaking into a sweat is actually terrifying so it's no wonder people are frightened of the dude. But it just makes me wonder how many people are truly that intrigued by V.elaris/the N.ight C.ourt. If they're both wary and enchanted by the idea of it, especially in contrast to its horrifying leader. And how much of his own people truly respect him versus are just scared of him? Because we know the camps are respectful the way you're respectful of a shark in the ocean, that is you're scared shitless and won't go near it if you can help it LOL are the inhabitants of the C.ity of D.reams the same? Or do they see a different guy? The dichotomy between V.elaris and W.indhaven truly speaks to the dichotomy of R.hys himself too I think. The handsome H.igh L.ord vs the scary H.igh F.ae beast (vs A.marantha's Wh*re/Right Hand.....woof I know that follows him and haunts him forever). Just fascinating to think about, really.
She is not one of his close supplicants, willing to bow beneath the weight of his heavy hand, nor is she her fawning little sister, dazzled by the glamour he wears to leash the beast who cuts his teeth on her. Nesta knows an ulterior motive when she sees one. After all, she was raised in the sort of world that wields ultimatums like coin and coin like ultimatums. She knows very well that he did not ask for her because he’d like to share tea with her, no matter how excellent he brews it.
❝ Speak plainly, won’t you? Surely you can cut Feyre from your mind long enough to tell me how you really feel. Not that your face doesn’t speak for you. ❞ Nesta moves not an inch. She doesn’t need to, not when the very air she exhales takes up enough space to fill the room with her spite. ❝ Was exile to the mortal realm not an option you once offered? Have you truly rescinded a chance to at last be free of me? ❞ Queen of Queens lifts her chin at him. She may as well have spat right in his damned tea and she knows it if the lifting corner of her mouth wasn’t giving her away. ❝ You’ve done a fine enough job caring for Cassian thus far, judging by his devotion to you. What would my absence mean to him when his High Lord is more than content? ❞
The very air in the room warms so quickly, as much a presage as her mesial sister, that Rhys has the fleeting notion to leap over his desk and pin Nesta by the throat that she’ll rescind her flames. But there is no fire here save the spark of it in her gaze, the color more silver than blue. It’s not the first time he thinks of his brother, the male they speak of now in dismissive overtures on her part. Offense on behalf of Cassian rises in his chest, swifter than death herself, but he has not become who he is based on rash action. Rhys smooths a hand down the front of his tunic once. A definitive removal of the target she’s lashed across him from the moment they met and the temper he chooses to ignore. For now.
“Truly,” Rhys purrs, “it is a talent how you continue to willfully misunderstand me.” Nesta fumes on her side of the desk between them. It’s so visible on her face to him. How carefully she has crafted such a look, he thinks, in all her short years of existing. It’s clear to him that this is the face of a well glamoured fae, something hidden in the harsh lines of her stern veneer that he sees because he wears the same mask. It discomfits. Rhys grinds his teeth for just a moment. He’s perfected his mask for centuries. How frustrating that hers is nearly as perfect as his in only a few decades of practice. “Is it sport for you, disrespecting our beliefs, or simply what you choose to manufacture in your heart? Do not speak on what you do not understand. If you left him behind, it would destroy him.”
I love the running joke that the Bat Boys have old creaking bones especially because 500 isn’t even old for fae but the shit they’ve been through actually makes the jokes a reality LOL
I hate M.arvel especially the M.CU but Henry Jackman had something going on when he wrote the Winter Soldier theme back in 2014 and I just think it’s soooo Bat Boys gearing up for and arriving on the battlefield.
𝐁𝐆𝟑 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.
a selection of lines from the various companions' banter quotes (not cut scene dialogues!) from baldur's gate 3. these are generally spoiler free and non context specific so they can apply to different settings and dynamics! feel free to change names and the like to customize the prompts.
“Death can't have me. Not yet…”
“Calm yourself. There is plenty of me to go around.”
“Realmspace is vast. Countless worlds to be mapped, kingdoms to be conquered.”
“I have missed this. The adventure. The danger. The kicking of butts!
“Let me guess - you need something.”
“Such attention.. I never realised I was so popular.”
“Let's cook with fire, baby.”
“Do you intend to vocalise every thought?. Or just the most obvious ones?”
“Wherever we go, ye gods let there be something green.”
“Careful, or I will take your toy away from you.”
“Watch your elders and learn.”
“Perhaps try attacking the enemy?”
“So much we don't know, lingering in the furthest reaches of existence.”
“All the world's my stage and you're just a player in it.”
“The shadows are my friend.”
“Yes, yes, have your fun. It isn't you they're trying to kill.”
“Feet planted firmly on Faerûn, please.”
“Admirable stamina, yet terrible priorities.”
“Well you certainly have the 'omnipresent' part down, don't you?”
“I am ready, whatever may come.”
“My faith protects me.”
“Need a throat slitting?”
“Death greets us all - but not today.”
“You need my expertise?”
“Can you feel death's cold grip?”
“So many stars, so many mysteries yet to be discovered.”
“Death comes quietly.”
“And I thought we were going to be friends.”
“Locked tight, but there must be some way to open it.”
“No, you can't die. Get up, damn you!
“You had my attention, now you have my fury.”
“From silence to suffering.”
“So many worlds out there. You'd need a thousand lifetimes to see them all - more.”
“I hope this is important. For your sake.”
“Let them gaze deep into their own abyss, and wonder just what it is they are trying to achieve.”
“I ought to just burn this whole thing down.”
“We have slightly more pressing matters to attend to.”
“You have still have time to surrender.”
“Every kicked buttock, another step on the path.”
“Weave save me. I can't take much more…
“You are right to fear me.”
“Let me look around. Might be something that'll help me crack this thing.”
“Incredible, to think how many worlds exist beyond this tiny speck within a speck I call home.”
“I really wish I could cast a Hold spell on you.”
“I can fawn over my face later.”
“Ready for another round?”
“Keep your blade close.”
“I can't unlock it from here, but there must be a switch or a button somewhere…”
“No, that's not moving. There must be a way to open it somewhere.”
“Battle favours the fearless.”
“Sleep with one eye open, evil. Maybe both.”
“Gotta be something around here to unlock this thing.”
“Why do beautiful people taste better?. It hardly seems fair on the ugly - they have such wonderful personalities.”
“Oh, calm down. I'm happy to see you too.”
“Just go for the Magic Missile and fire away. Never fails.”
“Still standing, no matter what you heard.”
“Enough waiting. I crave blood.”
“Hang on - I won't allow this. You aren't dead, go it?”
“GODS, it's HOT in here!”
“No rest for the wicked, I see.”
“Better to hide than fight, sometimes.”
“Would that I could hide from you, too.”
“Are you feeling lonely, perhaps?”
“There is no right or wrong, only truth.”
“Battle is afoot - you can poke me once we are safe.”
“What good all this ethereal eladrin blood if I can still get pimples?”
“I should've been a drow. They have such stylish armour.”
“I am armed! Armoured! And entirely sick of your foolishness.”
“Let's have some fun.”
“War is an old woman's game.”
“No rest, be you wicked or wise.”
“I'm getting too old for this nonsense.”
“I would poke you back, but I fear that's what you want.”
“You have my attention - now do something with it.”
“You are insistent, are you not?”
“Do what must be done.”
“Your suffering will be spectacular.”
“Lest I sit down for a rest and not rise again.”
“Better to look evil in the eye. Even if it be very small.”
“I'm not built to crouch.”
“I think I could go another round.”
“Always the same old song.”
“Is perfection too much to ask?”
“Eyes on victory, tummy on dinner.”
“So many places to be.. and I chose Baldur's Gate.”
“I'm not opening that. Not from here, at any rate.”
“What is the point, if not victory?”
“Won't last much longer like this.”
“Let's hope the locals are friendly.”
“Let us show them how it's done.”
“Weapons high. Standards higher.”
“Must everyone be so exhausting?”
“What I would not give for a chunk of fresh honeycomb…”
“Which way to the nearest library?”
“Now this is my happy place.”
“Who shall I silence?”
“Stop, or die.”
“Wear your scars proudly.”
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I love fae glamour magic. And also the idea of each High Lord's lands reacting and working with them like how you see in the Folk of the Air series (the flora and animals in each court flourishes alongside its ruler!!!!! works against those in opposition to it!! like if Tamlin came to Night, I knoooowwwww it's extra cold to him when he's passing through!). Which leads me to say that Night Court, particularly Velaris (since the camps and Hewn City are suffering from neglect regardless of Rhys' absence), was truly almost like a wasteland while Rhys was UTM. And once he returned all that magic came back and the land is thriving once again.
❝ I don't know which way I'm going. ❞
In the garden is a fawn. In the garden is a beast. One pulls flowers by their roots from freshly turned soil because they couldn’t have survived the conditions this high in altitude. The beast probably should have told her that but she’s found out well enough on her own. It’s still a waste of pretty blooms although those petals curl at the edges with rot so bad it spreads even from the stems. The beast crouches to brush his fingertips to the dirt. There’s no imagining how the green that does thrive shimmers like the night sky the closer he gets to touching them. He stops just short of purchase before @fawnseer can protest his interfering.
“Are you unhappy here, Elain?” He hadn’t thought to ask before. After all, what could be worse than that poor hovel in the human lands the Archeron sisters once called home? And certainly the City of Dreams could provide far better. Anything they wanted, truly. All for the tidy fee of war, of course. Rhys turns his head, an animal movement, and one perfect eyebrow crests regally. In certain light, the middle sister blooms. In others... “If this is about the bond, I have been thoroughly threatened to remind you that you need not make any decisions in a timely manner. I hope this eases your conscience.”
💫 TRENCH PT. 2.
