#acid dipped | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eatsbooks · 7 days ago

Note

Hellooo Pookie do you have any WIPs https://ih1.redbubble.net/image.925298497.5443/flat,750x,075,f-pad,750x1000,f8f8f8.jpg (image cuz I'm anon 🧍)

hello my chicken nugget❣️the only wip i have that isn’t eiteio and is like actually in progress and not just quietly incubating in my brain is modern!azris at a music festival, but it’s lowkey in purgatory until i can make myself not hate it. (i was going to post it for the azris week free day and literally could not make myself finish it.) also one of azriel in the cuck chair talking another fae through fucking eris until his restraint snaps that i have lovingly temp named cuckriel. but that one has like nothing written so … here’s a lil festi!azris below the cut<3

The crowd is swallowing him whole, an endless miasma of willow-branch limbs and grinning, starry-eyed faces. The air is clogged both with the dust displaced under so many feet and the crunch of noise rattling into the stuff of his bones. So burdened, it chokes each breath he forces in, then stutters out. His skin is too-tight over his flesh, trapping his heartbeat, pushing on it until he can feel its fluttery pulse in his throat, his fingertips, his belly.

Eris, having been staring at the technicolor stage without seeing much of anything at all for some time now, abruptly turns away. He shoves out towards the nearest edge of the dancers without so much as a word called to those who dragged him to this wretched hippie hellscape. They pressed the crystal-filled capsule into his palm like he should already know what it was or what to do with it, and he could not bring himself to admit that he did not. He cannot now admit to not being able to handle whatever it is going to do to him.

But it is harder to hide that certainty from himself.

Even where the bodies become sparse and the air begins to clear, this dread in his chest remains heavy. Worse yet, it is no longer content to stay contained. Thorny tendrils of it crawl up his throat, no matter how he tries to swallow them down. They weave around his veins and constrict him from the inside, pin-prick gouges into each rush of his blood.

His heart is going to burst out of his chest. He can feel it trying—succeeding. It is going to stop, here, surrounded by these filthy, obscenely dressed children, suffocated by the truest perversity of music as an art form: electronic dance music.

What is left of his reputation will be ruined the moment his body is found. He will be yet another stain on the Vanserra name, known to the tabloids forevermore as the petulant heir found overdosed at a music festival and to his father as an even more bitter disappointment than he has been over the course of his life. Even posthumously, he will be able to outdo himself one final time. It would be better, he thinks, to go back into the crowd before this happens, let himself be trampled to nothing underfoot so that, at the very least, he is unrecognizable when the medics pu—

Someone sprays water into his face. Someone has the audacity to spray water into his face. As if he is some sort of misbehaving dog.

Eris claws towards awareness enough to look over at the mass of a man standing beside him, large and imposing, currently tucking a small spray bottle into the side pocket of his backpack.

“What the fuck?” Eris demands.

The guy frowns slightly, then shrugs. “Helps,” he says, unhelpfully, and adds nothing more.

Eris stares at him. “Helps—what?”

From beneath the fabric he has draped as though a hood over his head, the man only watches Eris, seemingly in wait for something.

Eris is about to ask if the drugs he’s obviously on have damaged his brain when a rare breeze flutters through and settles the mist into his skin. In a thousand small, separate dots, it cools. Each one travels down beneath his skin, into muscle, into bone, unwinding at the tightness throughout his body. Even his heart rate is no longer a startling thing.

The beat of it feels only like being alive.

“Oh,” Eris sighs, rolling onto the balls of his feet and bouncing on them. He settles and says, “Yes. That did help.”

The man nods, then turns back to the stage. As he does, the lights spearing through the night sky in bursts and beams catch on the planes of his face—all different colors, painting him fleetingly but richly, saturating him through.

Green and yellow. Red and blue, then purple. Orange. Green and yellow again.

Like looking through a kaleidoscope.

“Eris,” he says suddenly, hearing a smile in his words. He hears the music more for what it is now, too, and that brings him back to bouncing on the balls of his feet. “My name’s Eris. What’s your name?”

The man looks to him as if startled to find him still there, which strikes Eris as particularly funny. He says something, but with the music between them, Eris cannot quite make it out.

Eris moves closer so that he can hear better. With this proximity, he must tilt his head back to see the kaleidoscope-face properly.

“Azriel,” the man repeats. His lips are full and blue around the shape of his name, then red when they tip up into a smile, like he finds Eris amusing.

Distantly, far in the back of his mind, Eris thinks he should find this irritating, to be a source of amusement for someone who attends this sort of event — but he smiles in return, enjoying the stretch of his own mouth across his face. He smiles even brighter into that feeling.

“Cool name,” he says. A warmth is suffusing his body, and tingles have begun running from his scalp to his spine as the air takes to flirting with his skin. “This is my first time at something like this.”

“Y’don’t say,” the man—Azriel—responds.

Eris only halfway hears this beneath the waves of sound rolling through him from the stage, beneath the distraction of two glowing girls nearby. Their hands are dancing between them. A flash of color, then another.

It takes Eris a moment to make sense of it: bracelets, beaded and every-hued, being traded between them.

He looks down at his own wrists, which are bare. All of him, in fact, seems rather drab compared to the bright world around him. He remembers that he had been offered a bracelet earlier in the weekend, but he had turned it down, thought it garish. He cannot imagine how he thought that, now. There is a story within their colors, a string of tiny planets to form a whole universe—and if he got a red one, it would match his hair.

The girls look kind, and their skin sparkles under the lights besides. He thinks they would be kind enough to give him a bracelet if he asked.

“Do you want one?”

At once, his focus is pulled into the voice at his side, which is richer than he remembers it being when he heard it last. The sort of voice that pebbles at the skin in the hearing; the sort of voice that feels like a lover running a finger down the spine as they pass by in a crowded room, beckoning you along, bidding you to follow.

“What?” Eris asks.

The man—Azriel—tips his chin in gesture to his side. Eris follows this from the sculpt of his upper arm down to the tattoos peeking out from the sleeve at his elbow down to the bulge of veins webbing along his wrist, where he eventually alights upon a trove of bracelets he had not noticed before.

Eris gasps. He bounces back up to Azriel, not having noticed how he had begun gravitating towards the girls he was watching, and leans in close as the other man holds his arms up between them.

“Do you— Well, I really wanted a red one. For my hair. Do you have a red one?” No, Eris thinks, Azriel is being so kind in offering at all; he doesn’t need to be picky. “Actually, it’s alright if you don’t.”

“I do.”

Eris spots it then. In the same moment, a rogue strobe light flashes between them. It draws his attention lower, and—

“Woah. What happened to your hands?”

Azriel makes to move them away, but he doesn’t get very far, and Eris does not notice that he tried to besides. He is already cupping them both in his own, running the pads of his fingers along the rippled texture, which shines brightly where he turns them into the painted light—a mosaic on his skin.

“They look so cool,” Eris says. “Seriously, I wish my hands looked like this.” He tips his head back to smile up at Azriel, who he finds looking very intently down at him. His smile wanes, just slightly. “Oh, fuck. That was fucked up of me to say. I don’t know why I said that.” He blinks, realizing for the first time that he has well and truly succumbed to whatever it was that he took. “It, uh— I wouldn’t have said that if—”

“It’s alright,” Azriel says.

“No, I—”

“Really. People usually pretend they don’t notice. It’s cool, you thinking they look cool.”

Eris does not just smile now. He grins, one with the other starry-eyed faces constellated around him—one with the proper joy on the mouth his attention has been captivated by. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Azriel lifts his wrist between their tangled eyeline. “Want your kandi now?”

“Mhm,” Eris sounds, nodding—or otherwise just bouncing again. “Will you teach me the,” and here, he wiggles his fingers, distracted momentarily by the wind dancing in their crooks, “the, ah, handshake, too?”

Azriel holds up two fingers, and Eris presses the tips of his to them. “Peace.”

Azriel makes half of a heart with his hand, and Eris completes it with his own. “Love.”

Azriel holds his hand out flat, and Eris presses his palm against it. “Unity.”

Azriel intertwines their fingers, and Eris feels this down to his toes. “Respect.”

Across the bridge of them, Azriel rolls a red, beaded bracelet from his own wrist to Eris’s. There is a cherry charm dangling from it, as well as white, bold-lettered beads. It takes Eris a moment, what with the dark of the night and the slight fluttering of his eyes, but he eventually makes out: FEST VIRGIN

Eris laughs then, like he cannot ever recall laughing before. Free and without reservation. When he rights his head again, he notices that Azriel has gone starry-eyed, too.

#ask #sabrina writes #acotar #azris #eris vanserra #azriel #idk what it is about modern verse #it always feels like my characterization is Wrong #which is ridiculous because eris is liiiiiiterally on molly #so like #trauma gone head empty pretty lights Only #and azriel is on acid #prolly like a double dipped tab too #but idk #smth abt it wasn’t working #gives u forehead kiss #thank u for the ask🥰

7 notes · View notes