#Beron is the oldest of them too

[olenvasynyt]

Happy @nameless-acotar-weekend ! This is my Vanserra brother OC Raivis featured in my Lucien x Jesminda backstory fic A Court Of Embers and Sunlight! He is the second-oldest brother who was a general in the Human War. Suffered a severe leg injury which still causes him pain, but he smokes instead of using his cane. He is very analytical, cold, rarely smiles, and has a hatred for Eris due to Beron constantly pinning them against each other, but he hates Beron too 👍

My face-cast is George Daniel from The 1975 Charlie XCX’s fiancé 🤭 he’s my hubbbyyyy I’ve loved him for ages so I can’t help myself. I used this photo of him for reference!

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

My tears ricochet

Next chapter

summary: There are thunder clouds in the horizon that threaten Eris’s chance of being a high lord. Rhys strikes a deal. The only thing left to find out now is who gets out of this deal alive?

warning: death, blood, enemies to lovers, fighting, forced arrangements, talk of marriage of convenience.

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Things were changing in Prythian. With the length of fea lives, high lords didn’t change often. But when the shift did happen, it was as if someone were to open a beast's belly, and suddenly everyone was on the fence; the territory was for grabs, and others could gain something from the new weaker high lord until the power fully settled in him.

“I’ll need you with me tonight," Rhys said, slowly swirling his drink in the glass. The tension could be felt in all the courts, but Rhys had been deep in his thoughts ever since the news about the new high lord had circled. “You’re in a mood to kill the new high lord of autumn already?", you mussed, making Cassian let out a snort. You had lost the number of meetings that had been held in the past week alone. And while you didn’t like Eris, a small part of you couldn’t help but feel sympathy for him. On one hand, this, no doubt, had to be a relief. To know that the world was no longer tarnished by Beron. But the responsibility was still hard to carry all alone.

“A diplomatic meeting," Rhys clarified, making you roll your eyes, “That can be changed real quick with a dagger." But you could see the plea in his eyes. And something else. An emotion you couldn’t quite grasp. It had been there for a couple of days now. It was hazy at first, while Rhys was still contemplating it all in his head. Now, however, it was set and done, leaving a trail of unease in your gut when you caught a glimpse of it.

“I need you." You were not sure what exactly those words implied. Knowing how fond you and Eris were of one another, it was as if Rhys had planned a civil war to break out in the autumn. Unless he needed Eris to decline whatever offer Rhys was going to propose, and you were just the thing for that, “Fine, I’ll be there," you huffed, bringing the glass to your lips. Even if you knew that not even booze could make a meeting like that bearable, "I can't wait to see Eris’s face when you walk in." Azriel’s low voice filled the room, followed by Cassian’s chuckle. “You enjoy his misery way too much, Az," you said, shaking your head with a smile. “What can I say? I’m a simple man," the spymaster smiled before downing his drink.

Eris had been dreaming of this day since the moment he realized that this brutality would only end when Beron was six feet, make it ten so the bastard wouldn’t have a chance of crowning out, below. One thing he didn’t take into consideration was that the new power would rip at him from within. Leaving him quite shaky and restless. Not to mention that he didn’t have anyone to guard his back. His younger brothers were all corrupted by his father to be of any help at all.

“Apologies for your loss once again," Beron’s right-hand man clapped Eris’s shoulder. "The council will miss Beron’s presence," the other added sympathetically. No doubt, Eris thought. All the males in this room had been fed like pigs out of the same hod for decades. And Beron fed them well with promises that were never truly delivered. “But we do not doubt you, Eris," and here was the silent warning that they expected the same treatment from the oldest Vanserra. No doubt already able to sniff out Eris’s plans on wiping the council out. “Yet we are here to guide you if..." “If that’s all, I would like to end the meeting," Eris said, raising his hand. The yapping of these old men had drilled the last bit of sanity out of him today. With a flow of “Of course, of course," and “our apologies for holding you up," Eris watched them pick up their scrolls as they hurried out of the room.

The moment the door closed, Eris let out a deep sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. Exhausted. He was just so exhausted. If only he could sleep at night. To just… “You looked like a fox kicked by a hunter," Eris opened his eyes to the sound of a familiar voice. "Lucien, my patience is running low tonight." It came out harsher than Eris intended. He was glad that Lucien had agreed to listen in on the meetings in general. He didn’t have to. But Eris had no one to turn to. “This wasn’t that bad of a meeting," the youngest Vanserra said, pulling out a chair for himself. The meeting had barely touched on serious topics. Council had tried to swing the chatter to that, but Eris had fully focused on the food supplies and growing stock.

"Would be better if you came back to stand by my side fully," Eris pressed once more. While a part of him understood Lucien's choice, another was bitter that every offer had been declined. “You know I have duties elsewhere," Lucien replied like he had ever since Beron died. “This is home," Eris pointed out, fingers drumming against the table. Their eyes met, and Eris knew Lucien’s next words before they had even touched his lips. “This was never my home," he stated with a shake of his head.

Eris knew that, it clawed at him that Lucien had been out there, going from court to court. At the time, it felt like the best choice. To take him away from all of this. To make sure that no hits, whether physical or emotional, were ever directed at him.

“How’s mother?", Lucien cut the silence upon the two brothers. "She would have happily danced on his grave if she had a chance," Eris mussed. Both brothers couldn’t help but smile. It was crazy to think that she was finally free. No more playing pretend. Their mother was finally a free woman who could do anything she wanted. And even if it hurt to admit it, Eris knew that she too wouldn’t stay back home with him. Her heart had been elsewhere for decades already.

“Why are you still here, Lucien?" Even if Eris loved having Lucien back, he knew too well that he didn’t just linger to be there. There had to be a reason. “Can’t I come over to spend quality time?" Lucien smirked right as Eris cut him off mid-sentence, “Cut the bullshit." And here they were, back at square one. With all the real emotion swept beneath the masks they have been wearing, “Rhys wants to meet with you tonight." Eris let out a deep sigh at Lucien's words. He just didn’t have it in him to go through one more toying session today. “He has valid suggestions," Lucien reassured his older brother. “He can shove them right up his ass," Eris pushed back his chair, turning to pour himself another drink. “Eris, hear him out. You need allies now; you need recognition," there was truth in Lucien’s words. Even if the times were changing, some old rules still applied, even if Eris didn’t plan to rule by the textbook his father had created. But there were still things he couldn’t escape. “I’ve already made a name for myself, Lucien; they know what to expect," Eris stated bitterly. Not daring to look back. Not daring to meet his brother’s eyes.

Swallowed by the never-ending piles of work, Eris had lost track of time. Only the footsteps that sounded down the hall made him halt as he lifted his head. Listening. “Of fucking hell," Eris muttered. All the fibers in his body twisted. Because he knew. Knew without seeing. Knew it deep within his gut. "Joy and cheer!", your voice echoed as you opened the door to Eris’s study. The devilish grin shone across your face. "Hello, kitten," you mussed up at him. Cassian was grinning, barely holding back a laugh. Even Azriel ran a hand over his mouth to hide his smile. Eris slowly gazed up at Rhys, “I would have offered you to sit, but since you brought that malice with you..." his eyes darted back at you. Looking you up and down in that profound, unimpressed expression of his. Even if deep blue had always been your color. No one wore it better than you did in Eris’s eyes.

“Oh, because you’re such a cuddly bun," you purred, crossing your arms over your chest. "Y/n," Rhys stated firmly, glaring your way. You let out a huff, “Not my problem; he has his nickers in a twist." You pointed at Eris, who pinched the bridge of his nose, “Lord forbid... I have no time for this. You know where to find the exit." Motioning with his hand, the oldest Vanserra gestured to the door. Already turning away to leave.

"Eris, at least let me make a proposition," Rhys insisted, stepping forward before glancing back at you, “And you sit." The order was degrading, at least. Like a youngster being scolded. "I'm not your lap dog," you grumbled, eyebrows knitted. “You sure look like one," Eris muttered under his breath, making you gasp.

You were about to give him a piece of your mind when Rhys cut in, “There’s unease among the high lords." Eris blinked a couple of times. The low lights were doing no favors for his already paler skin. "Rhys, you either tell me something I don’t know or you leave," the high lord sighed with tiredness. He had heard it all before. And one more conversation about this might end up being the reason why Eris was going to drop dead himself. Rhys stood silent for a moment before uttering, “They want to make a vote; they deem you not fit to rule until they know how Beron died."

And for the first time that night, Eris’s eyes were truly forced on Rhys. A new layer of tension lined his shoulders. “What?" he muttered beneath his breath. “They are planning to hold a meeting without you." Now those words cut Eris deep. That same wound Beron cut open over and over again. You’ll never be good enough. Do you think you could ever sit among them? With me gone, you will be nothing in their eyes. “That’s nonsense; I have a right to be informed about this." Eris gripped the edge of the table. A flame of anger rekindled deep within.

“You need alliances and show them that you have it under control," Rhys pointed out, no doubt having gone through all of that himself. In some ways, “I do have it under control," Eris snarled bitterly. “Well, reports say otherwise," Rhys noted, pointing at the reports in his hand. Eris’s eyes skim over the text with urgency. “Look… I’m offering you help”. Rhys's voice died down.

That same sense of chill ran down your back. It was as if something from deep within was warning you that this was way more serious than you had thought. Eris shook his head as he read. Almost all of the high lords were in on it. There were no direct threats there, but the implications were obvious.

“Marry Y/N," and the room died down for a moment. The silence was so intense that the ringing in your ears nearly made you hold onto your head. “What?”, You both breathed in unison before your eyes fell upon one another. One heartbeat. Two. “Hell no", “Over my dead body," both of your declines fell one after the other.

"Eris, you know how the council runs and how they are about the business. You need to make public appearances. You need someone by your side," and Rhys had a point. If most courts had moved on from council power, Beron had held onto them for dear life. They fed his power. Stopped the fires of rebellion for him. And now their way was Eris’s people's way. “I sure as hell don’t need that leech," Eris said in frustration. “Hey, word choice," Azriel pointed a finger his way, making the frown on Eris’s face even deeper. “I’m not marrying that monster," you hissed.

“I would once again suggest you look at yourself," Eris grumbled back, running his hand over his face. But you were done with him. He could go to hell the way he was standing now. It’s your brother who met your angered face. “Why was I not informed about this? What right do you have to even suggest this?" You stepped closer to him, your hands reaching for his shirt. “It’s a marriage of convenience," Rhys said again, trying to kill the frustration his suggestion had caused, “You play by the rules; secure the spot for Eris among that table, and then we’ll find a way to split you apart. My word will be worth more if you’re courting my sister."

No, this couldn’t be happening. Gone were the times when women were traded like pigs. This was a joke. A nightmare. You pinched your hand once, twice. Nothing. It didn’t all fade away. “No, absolutely, no," you breathed, your hand falling on your chest. This was not the life you had dreamed of. Not how it was supposed to go.

“What’s the catch here, Rhys?" Eris breathed. Was he even considering this? Surely he wasn’t. “He left Mor by the fucking border! Do you want me in ribbons by your door?", you pulled at Rhys’s black shirt, practically hissing through your clenched teeth. “I wouldn’t dirty my hands with you that much," Eris’s voice killed your huffs as you turned back at him.

"Asshole," you spat his way. “Whiny little girl," Eris huffed back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I fucking hate you," you shrieked in frustration, pulling at the roots of your hair as the situation slowly sank in. “Oh, you hate me? Do you want to know how I feel?" Eris laughed bitterly, his eyes not leaving you, “If you were my wife, I would put poison in your morning tea." His cold words sliced through you. You let out a bitter chuckle. Taking a breath to compose yourself. A shaky hand running down the skirt of your dress to smooth the material. “Ah, well, if you were my husband, I would happily drink it." Your words lingered in the air,and you could see it even if it was just a flash. A blink. That second of shock that flashed through Eris’s eyes.

With a quick step forward, you pushed at his chest, "Never do you hear me?" You hissed one more time, “Will never happen." His hand caught your wrist with a swift motion as he pulled you closer to him. Your chest firmly pressed against his as he muttered right against your face. “You’re screaming at me as if it’s my idea," Eris huffed, dropping your hand.

You blinked, turning back to your older brother. Who swore to protect you. To always look out for you. “You’re a shit brother, Rhys," you stated. Finding it so utterly hard to even look at him now. All this time. He could have warned you. Said something. Asked. But no. “I’m trying to stop another war from happening," he stated as if this were a simple transaction, not a life-altering decision. “By sacrificing me?" You hit your chest in frustration. Your youthful years would spent slaving in another country, and for what?

“Don’t be so dramatic," Eris huffed, making you let out a frustrated whimper, "Oh, my apologies for not seeing any gain in this for me." Rhys took a deep breath. “The court wants a married man with a powerful woman by his side." Here it was his lord's voice. Not your brother. He stepped closer to you, trying to reach for your hands, but you backed away instantly. “This is more about you than anyone else," he tried to reason. So you were to be a play toy. A figurine in someone else’s game. “Just unbelievable," you said, shaking your head and stepping back. Your leg hit the cabinet, sending a couple of bottles tumbling down. Rhys called your name once more, but you didn’t. Couldn't be here any longer as you bolted towards the door.

"Y/n," Rhys called out in warning, moving towards the exit as well. “Don’t you dare follow her; you’ve done enough damage for the night," Eris’s cold voice made the Lord of the Night halt. And for the first time that night, the uncaring mask on Rhys’s face slipped: “Don’t lecture me when I’m trying to help," venomous frustration seeping through, “I’m landing you my biggest asset. She’s my only blood family." Eris couldn’t help the smile that crept over his face, “If you loved her so much, you wouldn’t toy with her like that”. Rhys’s jaw twitched.

"Careful," Azriel reasoned for the second time that night. Eris had forgotten that the two of them were even there. “Stop barking from the back rows," he hissed at the two batboys. Cassian quickly placed his hand on Azriel’s chest, stopping him in his tracks. Eris shook his head, “You miscalculated, Rhys; admit it." Turning back to reach for the bottle of brandy, Eris took a swig straight out of the bottle. “You’d gain power out of this. But your precious demon of a sister will never forgive you for this." That struck a nerve deep within Rhys. And suddenly, the suggestion itself felt ingenious. So there was a catch after all, huh? “A day," Rhys said firmly, “I’m giving you a day to think this through; then my offer is off the table." Like that. He was dismissed as if he too wasn’t a high lord now. As if Eris wasn’t in an equal position to demand. Eris leaned forward,“You were never the one offering, Rhys; it was never your call to make."

[readychilledwine]

Kissed by Fire pt 2

Summary - Amelia Archeron, the oldest of the made sisters, sacrificed more than her sisters would ever understand, and more than she would ever allow them to know. Now, they want her to sacrifice her one chance at happiness, too.

Warnings - talks of sex work, beron, implied abuse, Lucien getting to be the smartest, person in a room.

Series Masterlist Eris Masterlist Master Masterlist

Eris sat at a silent family breakfast. Per tradition, no one spoke. No one had spoken at breakfast since Lucien's exile.

Beron no longer allowed casual conversation between his sons. No discussion of how their days were laid out, of who was covering which territory for the day, of how they slept.

Beron no longer allowed brotherhood. At least, not in front of him.

The note casually passed under the table started at their mother. He soft elegant script gracing the page. It had gone to the now youngest Hermes, his red hair was shaved on the right side with an intricate pattern and then curled on the top. He showed no reaction on his face before waiting for the next opportunity of Beron Speaking down to a servant over the quality of something she had no control over to pass it to Ares. The smug idiot also controlled his face as he continued eating and scratched his facial stubble that he had allowed to grow for much too long. He then waited for Beron to look away, passing the note to the second oldest whom Eris immediately shot a look. Apollo had always been the diplomatic one, the scholar interested in music and arts much more than any throne. He played his part well, but the male was easy to read. He kept his face cold and indifferent, waiting for the chance to pass the note To Eris.

Eris was the riskiest pass. He was constantly sitting at his father's right hand. A testament to his efforts and the cruelty he'd inflicted for the sake of his mother, his brothers, himself.

Lunch and tea at noon? Your father is going to the Winter Borders Today.

It wasn't even a question in Eris's mind. His mother could ask him to carve his own heart out and he would say yes.

Walking alongside Beron was something Eris longed to end. He always felt an almost slime growing on him when he had to. He listened carefully as Beron's spymaster, an undereducated ruddy looking male who hardly could gather anything worth knowing, handed him a folder.

“Rumor has it the King of Hybern got a hold of the 3 older Archeron sisters and threw them in the Cauldron,” he paused as Beron did. A look of disbelief flashes in his father's eyes as he opens the Report. “All three of them emerged fae.”

“And where did this rumor come from?”

The male looked at Beron, a small smirk forming, “Ianthe. She's currently in Spring with the curse breaker. Tamlin and the boy witnessed the whole thing.” The simple mention of Lucien had Eris looking up. “One of the sisters is evidently his mate.”

Chill set over Eris at that thought. It settled when he looked at his father's face. In place of the normally stone cold mask was a smile, not one of joy or happiness. One that promised if he ever got his hands on that poor girl, she would suffer, just so Lucien did. Just so his mother did. “Find out if this is accurate and let Eris know as soon as possible. Then find out which sister.” Beron slapped the report on Eris's chest. “Ensure your mother does not learn of this until it is convenient for me.”

Eris went to the tearoom his mother and brothers sat in, stress lining his every muscle like a heavy coat as he did. “I have news,” he watched as they all sighed heavily. “Lucien has a mate,” he threw the papers down. “I am guessing these three are why Azriel came to me a few weeks ago.”

Andromeda held the papers tight, reading each line over and over. “This changes things,” her voice was soft, breaking slightly at what this could mean. “You four need to be ready.”

Hermes leaned back, nodding as he did.

Ares took the reports next, Studying them hard. “You said the shadowsinger made you a deal right? Can you use it to force Rhysand into a bargain?”

Apollo sighed heavily, having dealt with Rhysand the most in the 50 years they were all trapped together. “Rhysand isn't going to bargain for his assistance unless his family is at risk. That's his sole motivation in his world. Not his court. Not himself. His family.”

“We need more,” Eris concluded. “Helion might not be enough. Tamlin is an unstable support. Kal is unknown. Thesan is going to hand his support on a platter just because he hates Beron. Rhysand-”

“Has no hound in the race,” his mother finished with a distant look over her shoulder towards the window. Towards the sunlight she could never fully bathe herself in. “Find one.”

Amelia hated Rhysand. She leaned across a table from him, blinking at him like he was an absolute idiot. “If I could access it, I could learn to control it, Rhysand.”

The High Lord sighed. “And when you open a gate to Mother knows where, Welcoming Mother knows what into my court and home, what then Amelia?”

It had taken Amren the better part of three weeks. Three long weeks Amelia had spent on constant faebane.

She hardly ate anymore, not that she really was before.

All glow and color had left her skin, leaving her pale and lifeless.

Her eyes constantly held dark circles from dreamless sleep.

Rhysand saw the parallel. He was not foolish or blind. It ate at him, nagging loudly in the back of his mind and pounding over and over again whenever he'd shut his eyes.

He kept lying to himself, pretending it was for Amelia's own good.

There had not been a worldwalker since Amren first appeared. And even those thousands of years ago, the walkers were rumors. Ghosts in the wind passed down by busy body gossips who believe they possibly saw a gate open and close.

“And what will you do if I just refuse to take it?”

Rhys looked up at Amelia, a sympathetic glaze to his eyes as he began to hold her mind and force her to drink the tainted wine. “It wouldn't matter,” his voice was flat. “I am sorry Amelia, but until we find out more, this is what I have to do to keep you safe.”

“Safe,” she whispered the word back like it was poisoned. “You all promised us that word before and failed,” she stood ignoring the look of pain that flashed on his face, on Cassian's, on Azriel's. “Hopefully you fail this time too.” She left the room, slamming the door so hard the frames shook.

Amelia walked down the hall, shutting her door Behind her and curled into her blanket, smiling at the familiar scent that screamed Autumn.

Amelia pulled out the map of Pryithian She had ripped out of a book. Studying it hard one more time.

She'd make it out of this damned court.

Even if she had to burn it to the ground to do so.

Lucien read the note over and over again. It had come to him through the hearth. It smelled of roasted chestnuts and a crackling fire.

He wished he could bask in it. He wished he could bottle up the scent and bathe in it, take comfort in it during nights when his dreams plagued him.

The sense of security the scent brought him was almost mocking as he read his mother's handwriting over and over.

“Beron knows. He knows about your mate. Hide her. Run away with her.”

Lucien sat on his bed, sending a silent prayer to the Cauldron. He had planned on running with Feyre anyways. He had been trying to find a way out for them for a week now, but the damn twins went everywhere with them.

Lucien hid the note as his door opened without a knock, “What do you want, Ianthe?”

“There's something in the forest. Tamlin told me to take you to look at it.”

Several days had passed since Amelia and Rhys fought. They had only spoken in passing, the female holding her head high and refusing to apologize. The high lord returned the sentiment. He had started having to have Azriel or Cassian watch her drink the tea, or else she would dump it according to the twins.

She had lost weight. Way too much weight. Her and Elain were walking skeletons. Rhys entered Amelia's room, heart falling at the sight of each bone visible in her back. “Feyre has escaped Spring. Lucien is coming with her.”

Amelia nodded. “Elain's mate. How does your dear Shadowsinger feel about that?”

Her bored tone had Rhys immediately irritated. “Do you not care that your youngest sister is currently on the run?”

She raised a brow, crossing her arms over the sweater that was now much too large for her. “I trust Feyre's abilities to get herself out of anything she walks into. I've had no choice but to do that for years,” she moved towards the window. “You do not know everything, Rhysand, you do not know the extent of my care nor the sacrifice I made.”

He sat in the chair he always took, “Because you refuse to tell me, Amelia. You refuse to tell me what oh so wonderful sacrifice you made while your younger sisters were cold and starving.”

Her mind flashed to that cabin, chopping wood for hours straight, stacking it nicely. To prepare them breakfast and leaving it to warm over a fire. Just for her to leave the house without eating and head to the pleasure house.

She'd leave before they woke, and return long after they slept.

Each night she'd hide money in Feyre's bags. Enough to get them food for the next week, if her younger Sister didn't decide to treat herself to unnecessary paints and brushes, then tuck the rest into another bag.

A bag she hoped to eventually gain enough gold stashed inside of to buy them a home.

One that wasn't one windstorm from falling apart.

“How long did you work there,” his voice broke. “How little were you paid to lay there.”

Amelia's father had lost and gambled away their wealth when Amelia was 15. “The second father was hunted down, so I went there. I was 15. I worked there long after that raging fluff ball decided we were his charity case. That's how Jurian found me. He bought me for the night using enough money that they'd turn a blind eye to whatever he wanted to do to me. The house took 90% of my Earnings. 20% would go towards paying off my debt to them so I could be free. They pocketed the rest. I'd take home a measly 10%.”

She could see the disgust washing over him. “How much was an hour with you?”

She shrugged, "Depended on what he wanted to do. I had a male pay 30 gold to beat me once. I had a male pay 50 to do things I never want to speak about again.”

Rhys nodded. “Why don't they know?”

“Because High Lord, nothing says hold on to your hopes like finding out your sister fucks for coin.”

She watched Rhysand get a distant look in his eyes, “I have to go. She's here.” Amelia nodded. “I will give her your love, even if you won't ask me to.”

She paused, looking at him in shock. He moved to her, kissing her temple softly. “No one will ever touch you without your consent again. I promise. Just give me time for the rest. We are still searching.”

Something soft was in his eyes. Something akin to care. To love.

It made Amelia feel bile set in her stomach followed by guilt.

Despite her anger and insults, he was trying.

And maybe, she should try too.

Lucien sat on the couch across from the oldest Archeron sister. He was trying to process her outfit. “Where did you get that sweater?” His brother's sweater, Lucien didn't say the words after a look from Azriel and Cassian told him not to.

“Az brought it to me,” Lucien hummed at her response.

They were studying each other. Trying to figure out each other's ticks like it was their passion project in court training. “Why do you smell like faebane?”

She countered immediately, “Why do YOU smell like faebane?”

“Poisoned by the same whore of a priestess who sold you out,” Lucien leaned back, raising and nodding for her explanation.

“Being forced to take it because that whore of a priestess had me thrown into an oversized Cauldron and it did something to me.”

“Enough,” Azriel said softly. “This conversation is done.”

“What do you mean?” Lucien pushed despite the warning.

“I can see strings,” Amelia said softly. “They're all different. Different colors, smells, materials. Some sparkle like what they're connected to is active and alive. Some are duller like light can't fully reach the end I can see.”

Lucien felt his face dropping, unable to school a reaction due to his exhaustion. “And these strings, when you touch them, can you hear anything? See anything?”

She nodded. “Between teas when they come back, I can reach them. One was dark, cold, when I touched it I heard a woman's voice. It sounded like someone was singing a dark song as she spoke in a language I didn't understand. Another time there was a string that almost seemed to glow. I could hear laughter, strange music, another language I didn't know.”

The three males shared a look. This was more information than they had gotten from her in a month, "Amelia, the night you followed me, did you pull one of the strings?”

She looked to Azriel, blue eyes sad. “In my sleep, yes. It smelled like fire and apples,” Lucien's stomach fell. “I was drawn to whoever you were speaking with. Like their voice was enough to keep me warm. Like they'd be enough to keep me safe.”

Azriel felt his face pale when she turned away and stood to leave the room.

“I think I already know the answer, but who were you with?”

Cassian sighed, sitting down. “He went to Eris. To get that sweater and a blanket in hopes he would enchant them. Amelia can't hold warmth since the Cauldron.”

“Has she met him?” They shook their heads. “I'd keep her away from him.” Azriel knew what Lucien was suggesting and voiced soft agreement. “Beron can't get his hands on a Realm Walker. It'd be too dangerous for every court and world she got him to.”

Lucien sipped the tea he had staring at the fire. "You should also check resources from Vallahan instead of here. The last recorded Realm Walker was born and trained there. Helion would be able to get his hands on some of their notes."

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanager @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes

Kissed by Fire Taglist:

@justdreamstars @coralseacourt @kemillyfreitas @impossibelle @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @believinghurts

[scorpioriesling]

Dream Come True

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Lucien x reader

Warnings: light swearing

Summary: When Elain rejects the mating bond, the High Lord of Autumn spares no sympathy for his youngest son (well… you know. Anyways.) Hosting a ball with all the most eligible maidens in the court, you are of course eligible and happy to attend, wishing from afar for so many years — but, you decide to take a different approach to hopefully win his heart.

SR’s Note: *sigh* this is my current favorite art for my favorite fox boy… did I stare at it for way too long? Maybe. Anyways, here’s the fic. Enjoy! xoxo

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Honestly, you couldn't understand what the fuck was wrong with the Archeron girl.

First of all, she was blessed enough to look the way she did -- not that you wanted to look just like her, you would thank the Mother every day and night for blessing you with such lovely parents of your own who'd only pass on their best genes to you. But, she didn't have to try so damn hard to catch the eye of every male in Prythian, just with the swoosh of her skirt or the toss of her hair over her shoulder.

It sure caught the eye of the youngest Vanserra.

Her mate.

Don't even begin with her newfound Cauldron-blessed gift, either. It seemed like everywhere she went, all that was talked about was, "Ooh! Elain, the seer" or "have you been seeing anything new?" blah blah blah, I mean really -- how much longer will we hyperfixate on this? On her? Long gone was talk of her younger sister, the one who literally saved the land from Hybern's hand. You wondered if she ever grew as tired of her sister's attention as you did, not that you knew the Cursebreaker personally.

However, none of it mattered the 28th night of September. You'd been working that evening in the Autumn Palace, completing the tasks assigned as the Lady of Autumn's first assistant when you heard probably the best rumors to ever grace your ears. Beron had been passing you in the hall with his oldest son Eris, and you spared both of them a nod as they passed. Eris returned the small smile, having known you for years, but you didn't expect much from his father, knowing how cruel he was even with his own wife. You also didn't expect to hear the conversation they were having, but you slowed your pace as they continued in the opposite direction down the corridor from you.

"The girl said she wanted the bond broken," Beron muttered in a menacing tone. Eris sighed, and your breath hitched.

"What do you think Lucien-" Eris started.

"I'm not asking Lucien what he thinks. We won't deal with some ignorant wench who doesn't know what she wants. I'm not surprised she doesn't want to deal with him, but I won't deal with the scandal of him going unmated..." Beron's cruel tone fades as the pair rounds the corner of the corridor, and you brace yourself on one of the credenzas along the wall for a moment. Elain wants to break the bond? There's no way. You look up, eyes catching on your reflection in the dimly lit mirror hung on the wall. Was she really so unhappy that she would ask to break something so sacred, with someone as special as Lucien?

You took a steadying breath, forcing your feet to keep carrying you and your completed task sheet to the Lady of Autumn's office. You could barely focus; what was Lucien going to do? How was he feeling? You remembered all of the times you'd stolen glances at him, all the memories of hearing his warm but rare laugher through these very halls with his brothers over the years. He wasn't around as much anymore, but that didn't stop the desire that still warmed your heart at the thought of him.

"Thank you for your assistance, Y/N," the Lady of Autumn's voice was a warm caress as you laid down the task sheet upon her desk. "You're free to go for the evening."

With a nod you made for the door, but instead of heading for the front of the palace, you made way for the back stairwell, one that led to the private bedrooms. You knew your way around this place as you'd worked here for years, becoming rather close with the family and the boys that lived here. You counted the doors: one, two, three on the right side, and gave the third door a soft knock. Within moments, it was unlatched and a familiar pair of mahogany eyes met yours.

"Oh... hello, Y/N," Eris steps back, allowing you into his room before his father caught on somehow that you were still here. You silently slipped inside, as you'd done so many times before and taken a seat on the edge of his mattress. He perched near the top by his pillows, and offerred a quizzical look. "What brings you-"

"I need to know. I need to know about Lucien." You cut in. Eris' face immediately softened in realization. You'd been in this position many a time, coming to Eris with your concerns about his brother and him confiding his own feelings in you. This is what drew the two of you so close and provided a friendship so precious you knew you had to keep secret, as Beron was unpredictable and could use it as a weapon in a time of his own need.

"Elain... she asked Helion today to break their bond. He told my father right after she'd requested it." His hand found yours, and you loosed a breath. Your heart constricted, only imagining what Lucien must be going through right now.

"And... and Lucien? Was he-" Eris only shakes his head. Your sadness turns to anger, and you yank your hand back. You rise from the bed, beginning to pace back and forth in his room as traitorous thoughts cloud your mind.

"So, he wasn't even there? He doesn't even know?" You say, voice rising in octave. Eris leans forward, pressing a forefinger to his lips and shushing you.

"Shhhh, he likely knows by now," he says soothingly. But it doesn't matter. You feel as though your rage is bubbling over like the milky substance of the Caldron.

"Yeah. You're right, he probably knows -- I'm sure it probably hurts pretty fuckin' bad when a cord inside of you just... just..." You're throwing your hands in the air, fists clenched and shaking. "...breaks right in half out of nowhere-" Eris is instantly on his feet, taking both of your wrists in his, eyes searching yours in all seriousness.

"Y/N." He says solemnly. "You have to calm down. Someone is going to hear you, okay?" He says calmly. Your breath is heavy, chest rising and falling rapidly as his hands still grip your wrists mid-air. He lets go, moving one hand to brush the stray hairs sticking to your face behind your ear, clinging to your forehead with the sweat you've worked up. "Just, take a deep breath, okay? I'm not too keen on it either, but this isn't my situation to have an opinion on, alright? We have to try and remember that."

You take his words into consideration, wiping your perspirating hands on your smock and breathing deeply. He takes a step back from you, allowing you your space and returning to sit on the bed. You follow, rubbing your hands over your face in defeat.

"My father doesn't want this to be a big thing," he continues, and you move your hands to look at him. He peers at the patch of bedsheets between the two of you, appearing to zone out as he continues. "He thinks if he finds someone else for Lucien quickly, the whole bond "thing" won't cause too much talk and Lu will be able to get over it faster or something." You roll your eyes, scoffing.

"That's the most rediculous thing I've ever heard." You say.

"I know." He replies. You shake your head, biting your bottom lip.

"What's he planning to do? Line someone up for Lucien to wed instead?" You ask. You really don't want to know the answer -- hearing he had a mate was already heart-wrenching enough, now hearing he would be betrothed to another would be even worse.

"He's planning to have a courting ceremony in two days, in the palace," he says. You perk up.

"Oh?"

"Mhm," he continues, eyes sliding to yours with a mischevious grin. "Now, don't get your hopes up, but he's only inviting the most eligible maidens and High Fae to attend, but anyone in attendance would technically have the right to Lucien's hand, if he accepts it. I've known a sly fox like you long enough that-"

"You know I'll find a way in." You finish. He chuckles.

"You also have to get him to say yes." You heart sinks a little. With Eris, its always been so easy -- the conversations, the getting along, the understanding. But, you started working here not too long before Lucien was on his way out the door. You could only pray you would be able to talk to him the same as his brother.

"Don't worry about it, Y/N. I'm sure when Lu sees how charming you can be, he'd be stupid not to take your hand." Eris flashes an award-winning smile, and you can't help but feel hopeful by his tone.

You only hope you can pull this off without a hitch.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ

The deep violet dress you wore clung to every curve, the soft fabric scrunching in all the right places as it brushed the against your legs and drug along the leaf-littered ground behind you. You'd allowed your hair out of your usual braid for tonight, the long wavy tendrils sweeping down your exposed back, locks illuminated by the moonlight. You had to admit, you did appreciate the way you looked when you put in some effort -- you'd do it everyday, only for him.

"Y/N," Eris' soft whisper-shout echoes from the illuminated doorway as you round the corner of the palace, just where you'd arranged to meet. Turns out, sneaking into the ball was a lot easier than you'd thought; Beron was too busy in the throne room to pay any mind to where his oldest son was, which of course, was helping you enter through one of the unguarded back entrances.

"Wow," he breathes, pulling the heavy door closed and ushering you inside. "You're a vision." You blush, swatting his arm.

"Well, while I appreciate the compliment," you state. "Let's hope your brother reciprocates the sentiment."

Eris chuckles. "He would be a damned fool not to." You followed closely behind him as he led you down corridor after corridor, some unfamiliar at first as he peered around the corners before leading you down the halls. The sound of people talking rang out, and you heard the approaching throne room, recognising more of your surroundings. You placed a hand on Eris' arm, the fabric of his ornate jacket rough under your touch.

"You go in first," you say.

"Are you sure?" He asks, a tender look in your friend's eye.

You give him a knowing look. "Yes, your father would be suspicious if we walk in together." He nods, opening the doors a slit and slipping inside. You take a deep breath, wringing your hands and grounding yourself once more. You were finally going to have a chance, a chance to see him again tonight - and try your very best to not mess this all up.

Opening the door, you inch inside, hoping to not catch the eye of Beron or the Lady of Autumn -- youwere, after all, not "technically" invited to this thing after all. Luckily, you'd waited long enough that their attention had drifted back to the dancefloor and Eris had made it to their side by now, and only he was looking to you as you slid along the wall noiselessly blending in with the crowd.

Your gaze searched the scene, looking for a certain redhead. Of course, Eris stood out among the crowd of beautiful maidens, all adorning lovely full gowns and makeup much more extravagant than your own. Guess you didn't get the memo. Nonetheless, you see a few of Lucien's brothers making their rounds as well, girls shamelessly flirting with them too. However, the Vanserra you were seeking was nowhere to be found.

That is, until a few moments later when Beron rose and cleared his throat.

"Good evening to everyone," he began and the room quieted. You slunk deeper into the shadows, trying to remain hidden as he peered out into the crowd.

"Thank you all for attending this rather, special, evening," he chuckles. Eris rolls his eyes at his father's indecency. You can't help but do the same as a few girls near you giggle in excitement.

"I would like to present my son of the evening, the most eligible and willing bachelor, Lucien Vanserra," he says. Lucien stalks out from the entrance beyond the thrones, and many of the ladies in the room gasp and giggle. You can't help but widen your eyes at his presence. You had to admit, his beauty was incomparable.

"Allow the ball to commence!" Beron ends his stupid announcement with that, and Lucien's stoic expression has your gaze dropping, remembering how hard this must be from him. Women all around are fluttering about, some gossiping, some flanking his side immediately -- Gods, that must be so suffocating. Your gaze meets Eris', and he tosses you a wink, motioning with his hands in a way that indictates give him some time. You then watch him glance at the incessant ladies pouncing on Lucien, and see him grimace and shake his head. You giggle, and head for the table of treats along the wall. If you have to wait your time, that's fine -- you'd been playing the long game for this long anyways, what was a few more hours?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ

Yes, you'd been crushing from afar for so long -- but now that you shared air, it was a lot harder to stay on a long leash.

Watching him share dance after dance with beautiful fae after beautiful fae was... well, hurtful. You knew what you wanted, well... what you damn near needed, but you also knew that you needed to wait for the right moment.

What did you have that these ladies didn't?

All night, you looked around, comparing -- they were gorgeous, all High Fae, all much more glamorous than you. But, did they know him? No. Did they have much of a personality, or were they just here in hopes of being married off to the High Lord's newly-available son?

You needed to take the different approach.

And, hiding out by the food tables would not get you noticed.

You knew by the look on Lucien's face that he was getting tired of dancing the same dance, over and over and over. Having the same conversations, over. And over. And over. Sooner or later, he'd need an escape, and you knew this place like the back of your hand.

So where would he go?

You slipped outside, to the vast expanse of the private balcony off the throne room and rested your arms on the marble railing. Eris didn't miss your exit, suggesting to his brother a breath of fresh air, which he was happy to oblige in. You would have to remember to thank him later.

"Uhh, miss? This is a private balcony-"

You turn, hair brushing over your shoulder with the movement. Your eyes meet his, and heat floods your cheeks at the realization that the moment has finally come. The moonlight illuminates every russet freckle on his skin, the color matching his iris as his eyes widen in his own realization.

"Y/N?" He whispers, taking a tentative step toward you. You crack a half smile. You shrug your shoulders.

"In the flesh."

He walks quickly over to you, gasping and wrapping his arms around your waist. He pulls you in so tight, and your arms wrap around his neck. He laughs against your neck, the sound as light and magnificent as the stars above. You inhale deep, his scent of amber and sunshine warming you to the core.

"I can't believe this, I... I haven't seen you in forever, I mean... how... wait, how are you here?" He chuckles again, releasing you. You wish he would hold you forever, but you pull back to look at him. He's still smiling down at you, a mere foot from you now, his hands still resting on the small of your waist.

"Well... you know I would never be invited to this sort of thing but... I've never exactly played by the rules." You wink at him, and he rolls his eyes, laughing heartly once more. He inhales fully and lets it go, gazing once more at you.

"Ohhhh, Y/N, it sure is good to see you again. And no, you never have played by any kind of rules," he shakes his head, and you register your hands still softly bracing his biceps. You grin up at him, and he seems to realize the intimacy at the same time you do. He releases you in that moment, moving to the balcony and loosing a breath, looking out at the Autumn Court beyond. You move to stand next to him, feeling his body heat even from a few feet away.

"Can you believe my dad would do such a rediculous thing like this?" He asks after a few beats of silence. You chew your lip, sneaking a glance at him. His jaw is tight as he continues to look straight ahead.

"Honestly... yeah. He is... he is somethin'." You say. Lucien turns, facing you once more.

"Has he gotten worse since I left?" He asks. You think for a moment, and his eyes search yours.

"I mean... I don't know. I talk more with your mom. He's still, well, cruel, not with me in particular, but with just everyone, I guess." He swears under his breath.

"I should have never left." He says. You place a hand over his and he glances down at it, then back out at the court, swallowing thickly. "None of this would have ever happened. I would have never met Elain. It never would have gotten worse here. I would have never-"

"Hey hey hey, don't say that," you say. He gazes at you again. You smile kindly at him. "We're all okay here -- the only thing that got worse was how much we all missed you." You trace a vein atop his hand and he breathes in deep, eyes fluttering down, then back up to yours, growing darker. "Well... how much I missed you, anyways."

He smiles softly. "Is that so?" He says quietly, and you nod.

"And... Elain is... so... so blind for not seeing the amazing man she's missing out on..." you lift your gaze to meet his eyes, and he slides his empty hand to your hip, pulling you close. He pulls you so close that you're sharing a breath as he practically whispers the next words into your mouth.

"Honestly... I might be glad she broke the bond. She is nothing compared to what I've been missing out on."

His lips press to yours, and you can only feel a rush of golden fireworks inside as his fingers brush through your hair, moving to cup your jaw and stroke your cheek. His lips move, kissing you sesually as your hands hold onto his shoulders, finally reveling in the moment you'd only dreamed would come true.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ

[roseodelle]

Arcane  Pt4 - Eris Vanserra x Unnamed OC

Eris’s best kept secret is infiltrated.

No use of y/n

WC: 1634

Warnings: Angst

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 (end)

It had been an hour. No words had been spoken. No questions. Rhysand had only left the room briefly to pull a chair for himself in. Azriel still stands stoic and emotionless in the corner, shadows swirling. Feyre and Madja still tended to the broken body before him. Eris hadn’t shifted in his seat, nor had he taken his eyes away from his mate. His tears and panic had subsided, and a meager attempt at his usual mask of indifference had been implemented. There was no use, he knew. The inner circle had already seen him as he was. The charade was over. His father knew of his indiscretions. The Night Court knew of his soul.

Footsteps on the other side of the door have Eris on edge, quickly rising from the chair. Hand on hilt, he takes a step to shield his mate and the two women tending her. Rhysand takes one step toward Eris, hands raised as if to say, “It’s okay.” Azriel remains unmoved and unconcerned when the door cracks open and the familiar figure of his youngest brother enters. Long red hair frames a scarred face. Mixed eyes, russet and mechanical gold, meet Eris’s amber. And with a sad smile, Lucien takes a singular glance toward the body on the table behind him and rests against the unoccupied wall across from the spymaster.

“You’ve made quite the mess of things, brother. You should know better.” Eris’s grip on his sword falls as he examines his brother. Unharmed, though shadows have made a home underneath his eyes. Shaking his head, he takes his seat again, eyes finding their home on his mate and the healer. Feyre, who had yet to say a word or glance in his direction, now stood next to Rhysand. Taking a break, he surmises. Madja is still at work, gentle magic fleeing her fingertips and bringing color back to his mate’s skin. The burns have subsided exponentially. 

“How many of my brothers remain breathing?” Lucien asks.

“Bastian lives.” From his peripheral, he sees Lucien give a small smile. Bastian, who was less Vanserra than any of them. Mild-mannered and even-tempered, he was rarely involved in the malignancy of the court. Hopefully, Eris would not need to kill him upon his return to Autumn. It was a problem for later, he thinks. His mind is stretched too thin to strategize. Not while his mate still lay unconscious. A few moments of silence pass between them before Lucien prods at his oldest brother further.

“You should have known better, Eris. After Jesminda-” 

“Do not speak of which you do not know, brother.” Eris cuts off, temper rising. Lucien’s jaw clenches, hands wringing together in an effort to hold his tongue. An uncomfortable quiet falls over the room once more as Lucien examines his brother’s mate. With a tilt of his head, he looks back to Eris.

“I recognize her.” A solemn smile rests on Eris’s lips in response.

“She adored you.” When Lucien had been but a babe, not yet old enough to hold a bow on his own, Eris would take him to the border to play in the forests. She’d be there with a wild smile, ready to chase him through the trees and toss him in the air. For every four days over a few short years, she’d doted on the young male as if he were her own. She’d been heartbroken when Eris deemed Lucien old enough to pose a threat to her. They’d fought over his descision, but Beron’s influence had begun to take hold of the boy. Eris would not risk it.

“You said she left the court. Emigrated to Summer.” 

“You started asking questions.” Eris explains.

“I wouldn’t have told them.” Shaking his head, Lucien leans forward with his hands on his knees. “I would not have put her in danger.” 

“I could not trust you, Lucien. You were so young. You would have led them to her. I would not allow it.” Lucien takes a deep breath, carefully picking his next words before he responds.

“I know now what you did for me and what you tried to do for Jesminda. And I thank you for it.” Eris nods his head in acknowledgment, hiding his surprise at his brothers thanks. A few more beats of silence follow before Lucien breaks the reprieve once more.

“She’d run with me, wouldn’t she? Chase me through the forest until I was too tired to walk on my own. That was so long ago, Eris. I was a boy.” He shakes his head once more before continuing, “For how long did you hide her?” 

“Two hundred years.” Lucien does not respond, and the quiet that follows lasts for another hour. At some point, Azriel and Lucien left the room. Feyre had done her part, it seems, and had taken to her own chair next to Rhysand, who still rests silently. It’s Madja who finally breaks the silence, addressing Eris as she begins to pack away her tonics, potions, and bloody supplies.

“Her internal injuries have mostly healed. The burns have faded but will remain permanent. She will likely rest through the night, and she’ll wake in pain, but she will recover.” A breath of relief escapes Eris as he stands, stepping to the healer to grasp her hands in his.

“Thank you, Madja.” She responds in kind, patting his hand with hers as she nods in reply. 

“Clean her,” she says as she moves to the door, “and be with her when she wakes.” Nodding his head, Eris takes Madja’s place at the table. It’s the closest he’s been to her in hours, and his breath shudders in his chest at the sight of her. Her skin is ashen, mottled with puckered red burn scars. Madja and Feyre had healed the deepest cuts on her arms and chest, leaving just the smallest marks and bruises that would heal with time. They’d wiped away most of the blood, but some remained on her skin and torn dress. He crouches to his knees beside her, a shaking hand rising to brush a wisp of hair away from her face. He pets her hair gently before he finds her cheek; her skin is warmer than before but still so cold. He allows his heat to escape him, warming her ashen skin slowly. 

“My love,” he whispers, “I’m so sorry.” His voice is choked, and his audience is forgotten as he examines her. He aches to see her eyes and hear her voice. He takes her hand in his, bringing it to his lips for a chaste kiss before he returns to gently running his hands over her skin. She’s still so cold. She hates the cold, he thinks. He startles when his concentration is broken, Feyre stepping into his line of vision, but does not stop his soft movements against his mate’s skin. 

“We have prepared a room for her here as she recovers. You may stay with her, Eris, until she is well.”

“Thank you. All of you.” Feyre nods in response, motioning her head toward the door.

“Follow me.” 

Feyre assisted him with the task of bathing his mate. Once she’d been settled in the grand guest room, the two were finally left alone. He’d bathed quickly in the connecting chambers, accepting the clothes offered to him by Feyre before returning to her side. He took his spot next to her on the plush bed, sliding under the covers and ensuring her warmth. Hours were spent watching the rise and fall of her chest. Watching as color returned to her ashen skin. His hands never strayed from her body. Gently caressing her hair, her face, and her arms. 

As the hours continue to pass, he finds himself growing tired. His mind begins to race, worrying about what’s to come. He will soon be facing his father once more. His remaining brother. His mother—gods, his mother. What will she think? What will she have to say? Has Beron taken his anger at Eris out on her once again? His most worrisome thought, though, is how he will keep his mate safe once she heals. The Night Court has offered him more than he could have hoped for, but their mercy will run out. Eris has spent hundreds of years ensuring that. Their grace today relied upon their belief that his mate should not have to pay for his actions. 

His fingers pace gentle patterns upon her hand, his eyes examining the new burn scars with intensity. He pulls her hand to his lips once more, another chaste kiss upon her skin, another whispered apology escaping him. Another tear rolls down his face.

“I’m so sorry, my love. Forgive me.” He closes his eyes, resting his head above hers.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” His heart stops beating, and his lungs falter at the sound of her voice. So hoarse, so broken, and so beautiful. He lifts his head, immediately taking her face in his hands. Her eyes are heavy lidded, but his tears renew as they meet his. Her hand raises to grasp at his hand on her cheek.

“Do not cry for me, my love.” He laughs, a bright smile overtaking him. A sob escapes him as he leans forward, a chaste kiss against her brow. His shoulders shake as he kisses her cheek. His chest heaves when he kisses her paradisiac lips. 

“Are you okay? What do you need?” He pulls away, ready to serve her. “Water? Are you in pain?” She instead shushes him, a weak hand grasping his to pull him back to her.

“Water,” she croaks, “and your brothers heads on a golden platter.” His sobs turn to laughter, and after pressing another kiss on her brow, he summons a glass of water.  

[starrbirrd]

Concept for Witches in ACOTAR

I understand there's a highly likely chance if SJM brings them up she'll just rely on her own already made lore but these are MY barbies now

- magic in general doesn't work on them. not in the 'they can shield against it' way, but in the sense that they are literally the antithesis of magic. null. void.

- real fire? works. magic fire? nothing. real damage? applies. daemaeti abilities? absolutely nothing. winnowing? nope.

- it's one of the reasons the fae fear witches and have since the dawn of time. the powers they rely on become absolutely useless.

- "but how do they use magic if they repel-"

- witches aren't born with magic, but they are born with the ability to harvest it. everything in the world they exist in has magic. fae, for example, are born with magic in their souls. there's magic surrounding humans, they just lack the ability to see it. it is in all living things, it is what keeps things living, etc

- witches, who can be born by bloodline or have the ability randomly appear, take that magic for themselves. the more living things around them and the better trained they are, the more they can take. the oldest witches could even siphon magic directly from the fae themselves or rely on their blood to cast powerful spells

- thus another reason why the fae are so terrified of them. back in the day they literally used to be any magical creature's worst nightmare.

- mostly peaceful, primarily female. used a lot of their powers for healing and defense, but we all know what happens to a people who are too powerful, especially women who are too powerful.

- betrayed and thought to be wiped out by the fae before the first great war. which literally shot everyone in the foot and is one of the reasons the war lasted as long as it did.

- but it's impossible to completely eradicate a people, especially when the ability can pop up randomly or generations later. there were even cases of witches and fae having children together and passing their magical abilities down the bloodline.

- see: the Archeron sisters, notably Nesta Archeron, and the Lady of Autumn, who was specifically sought out by Beron due to her family heritage, and Saint Jurian.

[some-sort-of-firefly]

For @tamlinweek day 2, I chose to focus on the prompt of Spring Mythology and Celebrations. In ACOTAR, religion does have a focus, but we are only told about how the priestesses are revered. We are told about the Mother, and we know there were Gods before her. We know they still existed, even, in Stryga, The Bone Carver, and Koschei, the Old Gods. But they can't have been the only things worshipped. So I researched some old Spring festivities, and also took inspiration from Throne of Glass celebrating Beltane, though I chose to follow SJM using the old Scottish Gaelic for Samhain (Samhuinn) in Throne of Glass, and I used the same origins for the Bealltuinn of the Spring Court. I also looked at Imbolc, and took inspiration from some of the tales I found about flowers and The Cailleach. Being a spiritual person who doesn't celebrate anything or anyone specific, it felt really peaceful to research into older stories. Ones from the part of the world that I'm so close, yet disconnected to. This was easily my favourite prompt to write. I've always loved the idea of Tamlain, and exploring them platonically was so much fun.

Title: The Court of Beauty and Bluebells Word Count: 3360 Relationships: Tamlin&Elain Archeron, Lucien Vanserra/Elain Archeron (Mentioned) Characters: Tamlin, Elain Archeron, Lucien Vanserra Tags: Mythology & Folklore, Pagan festivals, Friendship, Cultural appreciation

Read HERE on AO3

It was hard to explain. The court, his beloved court, had begun to bloom again when she moved in with Lucien. It was a temporary arrangement, but Tamlin remembered the day fondly. Elain Archeron was not the shrinking violet everyone had been led to believe. Not that there was anything wrong with being shy. He just hadn’t expected someone as vibrant as she was. Even at his worst - and he was there quite often - her smile made Tamlin want to wax poetic. Made him want to smile too.

To learn! Elain had declared her intentions at his door with a wide smile, as Lucien shrugged every so slightly, a fondness in his gaze as he watched her. Tamlin had blinked, and let them in. Mostly because it was nice to have a friendly face in his home again. He had still been confused by the time they’d sat for tea.

“I’ve only ever seen the Night Court. Since being Made, I’ve only been able to explore one court. And even then, I wasn’t learning about it. I was just… there.”

Tamlin had sat there, listening to her talk about her former contentment. The complacency. It was something he could see in himself to some extent. Of course, he had never been torn between his brothers. They had all despised him equally, mistaking his softness for weakness.

“They confuse Nesta’s sharpness for hatred,” Elain had replied to that sentiment, making Tamlin nod a few times.

He knew many fae like that. Kallias’ coldness was mistaken for apathy. Tarquin’s dreams for naivety. He found it was a cycle that many struggled to break. No one ever mistook Beron’s cruelty for insecurity (though it was), nor Rhysand’s protectiveness for controlling. They only saw the negative traits of those they thought weak as something else.

That was the problem, in truth. Tamlin hadn’t asked for details at first. But after a few weeks, he’d found himself sat with her while Lucien went for a hunt. Like old times. She’d started speaking first. Soft, and then with more power behind it. He’d heard the whispers on the spring breeze before now, but hearing Elain tell the story certainly felt more… real. Nesta. The oldest sister. Not once defended. Only ever seen as a threat, something to tame.

“Were you worried they’d hurt you?”

“I was worried they’d make me into what they wanted, without any input from me,” she’d said, in little more than a whisper, as if someone may overhear. “So I tugged on the bond, and I pleaded for a way out. Lucien was there the next day.”

Tamlin could understand that, honestly. If he had a choice, he, too, would seek out Lucien. His unyielding loyalty and unwavering bravery made him the perfect person to have around in times of doubt. And he knew Lucien was a good male, and he wouldn’t pressure the female to accept the bond. Content to get to know her first.

Wait–

“Do you prefer female, or woman?”

“No one has ever asked me that before… I think, as I am now, female is fine. I am fae, and that is something I’ve come to terms with.”

Tamlin nodded, female it was then. Frankly, it was easier for him, after so many years of using it. But he would have tried, had she suggested otherwise. Tamlin found himself glad that Elain had chosen to get to know Lucien. In part because it had brought her here. And that felt like something special. She was truly wonderful. And quite funny. And, since they had a wonderful crop of rhubarb, he got to enjoy all the treats she made with it. And Tamlin was never one to turn down rhubarb crumble.

“So,” he started after they’d found a routine. “You wanted to learn about Spring?”

“Oh, yes! I feel like I’ve barely had a chance to explore fae life, and if I’m going to live among the fae, I feel I should understand.”

They started with Imbolc. It seemed the most fitting. It was the first festival of the Spring Calendar, marking the beginning while Winter still held the strongest power of the seasonal courts.

He took Elain to the altar of Imbolc, standing in the field of Lus an Chromchinn. He could feel her delight at the sight, and as she laughed, he found his gaze drawn to her. She was so wonderful, and even the daffodils seemed to turn to her. Why wouldn’t they? She felt as perfectly warm as a spring breeze. Perfectly bright as a morning sun.

“Your laugh sounds like bluebells.”

She turned to him, doe eyed and curious as her head tilted. It was a moment that passed between them as she considered how to respond to that.

“Bluebells don’t make sound,” she finally replied. She sounded hesitant, though, as if he truly did speak the truth.

Tamlin’s gaze softened, but his smile widened. He forgot, that being Made, she never would have experienced the true scope of Spring. Especially since she had arrived at the height of its sadness. Of course bluebells made sound! Of course they did! Flowers had a wonderful place in Spring. But they’d have to wait, of course. The bluebells didn’t come out for a few more months. So Tamlin continued to talk to her about Imbolc. He went into detail about the traditions and beliefs. He talked about the Old Gods who used to roam the forests of Spring.

“You know of the Gods who sacrificed themselves in the war.”

Elain nodded. He wasn’t surprised. Everyone knew, now. The Weaver of the Woods, Stryga. The Bone Carver, his name lost to history.

“Sometimes, I even hear the whispers of Koschei on the wind. It seemed to have stopped since the visions had slowed down, though,” she had explained, voice low.

Tamlin had just watched her, sensing the shift in her mood, and he reached to touch her hand, offering a silent support. That sounded… concerning. Especially when there were whispers of more war on the horizon. When Koschei collected women with power. Held them in a lake. Cursed them. What would his magic do to one such as Elain? What would he make her See? No, if it came down to it. Tamlin would be there alongside her, alongside Lucien. The Deathless may try, but Tamlin could only hope that her visions would keep her one step ahead of those whispers.

But enough about Old Gods of other realms! They were here to learn about Spring. This wasn’t the time for him to lose himself in his thoughts. So he got back on track to the Goddess he had wanted to talk about in the first instance.

“They weren’t the only ones. Long before Prythian was known as such, there were Gods for all things. While we may primarily worship the Mother, it is good to remember the history, and that which hasn’t truly faded. Imbolc is the celebration of the coming of Spring. It lays between the height of Winter and the height of Spring. We pray for guidance on how to plant, and when we should do so. The Cailleach is one of those Gods whose names have tried to fade into obscurity. But the funny thing about Gods, is that they only truly die when we stop speaking of them.

“The Cailleach is the land, Elain. She is no mythical being to disrespect the Mother Creator of Prythian, for she existed before. She is fertility, She is death and rebirth. That is why She is the Goddess of Imbolc. She symbolises the bridge of Winter into Summer. She is Wind and Water alike, and She guides us into Spring by walking the world and granting us sight to the most fertile land. She aids our weather, to help our crop grow. Respecting the Old Gods does not mean to disrespect The Mother. But understanding that The Mother is not the only Goddess of Her type.”

Elain’s eyes were wide, filled with wonder as she contemplated the existence of Gods beyond her belief. But Tamlin just smiled, letting her absorb the information. He knew it would feel like a lot. But it also felt important to let her know about the Old Ways. Tamlin was far too young to recall the Old Ways, and only knew what had been passed down in history books and verbal retellings, but he did his best to make sure the origins of Spring were properly respected.

Part of returning Spring to its former glory was to make the traditions rise again. To fill his people with hope for the future. Just as their court was the home of rebirth, optimism, and hope, so too would Spring resprout from the ashes of war and return to them with a flourish like never before.

They held an Intention rite. The way Spring celebrated was with fields of candles among the Lus an Chromchinn, and the wrote their wishes and set them alight. They sent their intentions to the Higher Beings, and they sat among the nature around them. And for the first time since Amarantha, Tamlin heard the giggles of the Narcissae as they felt the magic flow, and he opened his eyes to watch them. He nudged Elain gently, and gestured to one of the daffodils. From the centre of the flower came a tiny creature, with clawed fingers and pollen dipped feet that glinted in the fading light of sundown. The Narcissae didn’t have hair, rather from their head they sprouted fine antennae that seemed to leave trails behind them.

He heard Elain gasp in delight, and he turned to her to see a group of Narcissae playing in her hair. He smiled, wondering if the key to Spring had been Her all along. Lucien was a lucky man.

Thankfully, the lucky man in question was not late. For when the sun went down, Tamlin smiled and raised his hands. The power of the High Lord of Spring shook the forest, and the trees granted them with a pile of loose and dead branches, which were promptly set alight by the Sun Sprites that came to celebrate. Imbolc was not a particularly loud celebration. It was a meditative time, and Tamlin closed his eyes, listening to the sound of Spring.

He felt warm like this, surrounded by… by friends. Perhaps teaching Elain about their holidays was going to remind him how Spring was meant to be, too.

As the season drew on, the bluebells blossomed, and with them came the perfect opportunity for Tamlin to show Elain what he’d meant that day when he commented on her laugh. He dragged Lucien along with them, because he did feel like he’d been neglecting his friend in favour of Elain, which was far from his intention. Besides, he thought Lucien should also see what he meant. She truly sounded like the bluebells. It was fast becoming one of Tamlin’s favourite sounds. It had been so long since he had heard laughter in his halls, and he’d made it his mission to find out what else could draw it from her.

He was lucky Lucien was so patient with him. He’d known some males who would tear his head from his shoulders for merely looking at their mates, bond accepted or not. But Lucien knew him better than that. He had no intention of trying to ‘steal’ Elain. Especially since he had learned that one couldn’t actually steal someone that didn’t want to be stolen. Feyre had not been kidnapped, and Elain was trying to see if she and Lucien would work together.

Tamlin thought it was a wonderful match. But perhaps he was biased, because seeing his best friend with his newest friend made his heart sing. The Fates worked in strange ways, after all. He wondered if they had known this would come.

They entered the Midspring, the central area of Spring which truly came to life in the months between their beginning and end celebrations. Tamlin let a breeze open up the waterfall they would have to step through, holding it for Elain, and grinning as he let the water cascade over Lucien, earning him a startled yelp and a string of curses that made Elain laugh. Wonderful. Tamlin grinned, stepping through the waterfall into the meadows. Towards the edge of the carpeted floor, the blooms were a soft pink, having only just opened. But deep in the centre, the world turned blue. And as Tamlin led them into the depths of the bluebell fields, he shifted, taking the form of a stag. To show off, really, as he pranced through the flowers, careful not to trample them, lest he upset the spirits.

Elain laughed, watching him, and Tamlin trotted over, and nudged his head between her and Lucien. He shushed them, and then lay down, inviting them to sit in the centre of a perfect circle left in the bluebells.

Silence, and then the breeze came through, and a gentle chime began to fill the meadow, the bells ringing together in a gentle symphony as they celebrated the return of the eastern winds. It had always been one of Tamlin’s favourite sounds. It was a beautiful, charming little noise that was most definitely echoed in Elain’s laugh. He heard Lucien exhale, and his head turned to his friend, inquisitive. When was the last time Lucien had relaxed like that? Around him, or at all? But he looked at peace here, in the warming sun with Elain against his shoulder and Tamlin laying at their backs, protective. Not that anyone or anything would disturb the sacred peace of Spring anymore.

It was easy to fall asleep like that, the three of them basking in the meadow as the sun filtered through the tops of trees, setting the world aflame. The chiming of bells, soft and constant like the spring breeze. The world, quiet and still outside of their little bubble.

Tamlin had missed these moments. He had missed being carefree and just existing in his court. He’d spent so much recent time trying to rejuvenate it after its fall that he’d failed to take the time to admire Spring for what it was. Paying special attention to the observances of the lesser fae and nature sprites really reminded Tamlin what he fought for.

“They used to say mortals who picked bluebells became faerie-led,” he explained later, after the sun went down and the wind turned a little colder. They were walking back to the manor, and he thought it a good time to share such tales. “Fae who found them picking the sacred blooms would judge their intentions. Those who only plucked the flowers for pure reasons, or children, would be led back to the outskirts of their villages, blessed by their newfound faerie guide. We believe in Spring, that the Children of the Blessed may be descended from those mortals, growing up with not entirely faithful accounts of benevolent fae.”

“And those with bad intentions?”

Tamlin faltered at Elain’s innocent question, peering back into those large eyes as he hesitated.

“Ah… That is definitely a story for another day, My Lady.”

Lucien rolled his eyes, and mentioned something about slavery that made Tamlin’s nose scrunch in distaste. But it wasn’t like it was secret history. It was practically recent history. Just because Tamlin hadn’t been directly involved in that first war didn’t mean he hadn’t learnt about it. He just preferred not to remember. His family had sided with Hybern then, after all. It was a reminder of what Spring had been before him. Elain was understanding though, and dropped the questions for now.

“What other flowers are important to Spring?”

“Bealltuinn!” Tamlin declared, as yet another bonfire soared towards the skies.

It was the midpoint between the height of Spring and the height of Summer. The second of their baton-passing festivals. And it was, personally, Tamlin’s favourite. It was loud, and animated. A real celebration of the nature sprites and what they had to offer.

But first, what they had to offer to them. They fetched milk from livestock, and whipped it into cream mixed with their wine from the previous year. They laid it out at altars surrounded by flowers. Sunflowers and sprouting dahlias. Alliums to zinnias. There was such an array of colours, and those only came from the mundane flowers. Those Elain would be familiar with. Later, as magic took the world, flowers from the world of fae would take their place at the base of the fire.

Tamlin led Elain to the altar with their offering, and he knelt by it and set his bowl in the centre.

“Bealltuinn celebrates The Maiden Goddess’ transition to The Mother. It’s a way to celebrate the nature sprites for all they give us. And it brings forth the true beauty of Spring.”

“True beauty?”

Tamlin grinned, and gestured behind him. In the west of Spring, the sun was setting, and it threw its rays into the Spring Crimsons and the Glitter Hibisci. The world was bathed in red through the petals, and the hibisci were plucked by children who sprinkled the delicate pollen through the hair of their friends and family. Tamlin bowed his head as a young, chitin-winged fae approached him with one of the flowers, allowing him to sprinkle the pollen into his hair.

“And some for my friends?” he whispered in suggestion.

The young male laughed, and called over some more Aurae over. Together, they sprinkled Elain and Lucien with the glittery pollen too, wings fluttering in excitement. They rarely got to play like this. Lesser faeries were still generally ignored, in spite of Tamlin’s best efforts of including them. And the Aurae were still considered such. Because they weren’t considered as ‘useful’ as the Illyrians, or the Peregryns. All because they were a peaceful people. Tamlin didn’t think it fair. But he couldn’t change perceptions overnight. He could keep trying.

Tamlin was sad to see them go, but they had plans to spend some time in Dawn. He couldn’t begrudge Lucien some time with Nuan, of all people. Though he would miss them terribly.

He still felt more and more like himself every day. He hadn’t felt so… light since Amarantha. It had been more than a dark time. But he was coming to the realisation that neglecting his court had not been the answer. He’d been too quick to reject that which he’d never wanted. He’d just needed a reason to reconnect with the land, and return to being a friend to his people. He didn’t have to be High Lord all the time anymore. He could just be Tamlin. And he knew he still loved his lands. He’d always loved them. He’d just forgotten how to help them thrive. Telling stories almost lost to time. It made him feel like he truly understood himself again.

He had Elain to thank.

As Elain and Lucien visited more frequently, the court kept growing. Even when they weren’t around, Tamlin could be found at various villages, in various forests. He could be found frollicking with fae children, and discussing prospects with adults. He supported businesses and trade. He enjoyed seeing his people flourish. And it was nice not to feel so lonely anymore.

When Vassa and Jurian visited, he felt even more grateful to Elain and Lucien. Sharing their friends with him as they were was such a kind gesture, and it did wonders for him.

Rhysand never visited. Neither did Feyre. And while he did, sometimes, find himself thinking about their former relationships, it was no longer with grief in his heart. Instead, he was finally able to look back fondly on his former partner, former friend. Some relationships were never meant to heal. And that was okay. As long as he didn’t let himself dwell on the negativity. He could remember the good times. He could reflect on his own faults and behaviours. He could move on. He didn’t need their blessings to move on. He needed his own.

Spring was alive once more. It had never felt more like home.

Dividers and page breaks by @olenvasynyt

Banner by me following template examples by Tamlin Week

[the-ruby-enchanter]

Ghost of spring

So this idea of fiction was in my mind long time ago and this post encouraged me and inspired me more to write it chapter 2

Chapter 1: The funeral of the third son.

The golden light of the Spring Court filtered through the trees in beams that felt far too gentle for a day of mourning, the funreal of the third son of spring, Tamlin.

Rhysand stood quietly behind him Cassian and Azriel, all three dressed in formal Night Court attire—sleek, dark, and severe. They didn’t blend well with the lush, flower-scented splendor of Spring, but they hadn’t come to blend.

Rhys had been sent by his father, the High Lord of the Night Court, as a representative. “Let the boy go. Show face for politics’ sake,” his father had said, too bored to bother with death. “It’s only the third son.”

But Rhys had come for more than politics.

Around the gathered mourners were nobles and warriors from nearly every Court. The High Lord of Autumn, Beron, had arrived in person, flanked by two of his sons—the oldest and the youngest, both faces unreadebal. The high lord of summer came in person too. The Day Court had sent a delegation. Dawn too. Even Winter’s envoy stood cloaked in frost-blue robes, silent and cold.

Yet none of them watched the coffin the way Rhys did.

A carved vessel of white stone, lined with ivy and lilies, was lowered slowly into the earth. Soldiers stood beside it in neat rows—broad-shouldered, solemn, their heads bowed. Real grief shadowed their faces. Rhys recognized several of them. He’d seen them before, always near Tamlin, like a personal squad. They looked like they’d lost a brother—not just a commander.

It was hard to believe he was gone.

Cassian leaned closer, his voice a quiet murmur. “Looks like only the soldiers are mourning him.”

Azriel said nothing, shadows curling tighter around his boots.

Rhys’s eyes drifted toward Tamlin’s family. His mother stood near the front, face veiled in white, shoulders trembling. But the father—the High Lord of Spring—and Tamlin’s two older brothers? Their faces were still, bored even, as if this were a tiresome ritual to get through, not the burial of blood.

Rhys's jaw clenched.

A memory surfaced, unbidden.

Two young males, alone in the woods behind the Spring Court’s training field. Their blades clashed beneath the silver gleam of moonlight. Tamlin moved swiftly, with more precision than he ever showed in public. Rhys was panting, sweat on his brow.

"You are stronger than you show. Why do you lower your level when we train with others?" Rhys had asked, panting.

Tamlin had hesitated, then said, "I prefer to be unnoticed. Not a threat. Not worth looking at."

"But you are powerful. Stronger than most of them."

"Exactly. And that’s a problem." Tamlin’s voice had dropped. "If my brothers think I’m a threat… I wouldn’t be surprised if they sent someone to kill me one day."

"So this is why you hide your strength," Rhys had said between blows.

Tamlin had offered a half-smile. "Better to be overlooked."

"Why? If the land chose you, then they have no choice but to bow."

Tamlin’s eyes had shifted, distant. "That’s the thing Rhys. Even if the land chose me... I don’t want to be High Lord."

Rhys had stilled. "You are really weired"

"It’s not weired. It’s honest. Being a High Lord is like being chained in gold in a diamond cage. It’s gold and diamond but it’s still chains and cage."

"That’s a strange way of thinking. "

Rhys had laughed softly then, thinking Tamlin was being dramatic Now, he wasn’t so sure.

The priest finished his chant. Magic swirled in the air, flowers curling over the coffin. One of Tamlin’s soldiers clenched his jaw, lips trembling.

And Rhysand stared at the earth, a chill blooming in his gut.

Something about this isn’t right.

The ceremony ended in solemn silence, and the Spring Court faded behind them as the trio soared across its borderlands—wings slicing through the golden sky.

Rhysand flew ahead, but something itched beneath his skin. The wind whispered wrong.

They were on their way then… Rhysand paused.

A whisper of something brushed the edge of his senses.

He raised a hand. “We’re being watched.”

Cassian snorted. “Bold to spy on the heir of Night.”

Rhys didn’t smile. “Not stupid, though. They’ve hidden well.”

Azriel vanished instantly into shadow. Rhys turned, letting his power swirl outward like ink in water.

There—behind the thorns. He moved with speed only matched by fury, grabbing a cloaked figure and slamming them against a tree.

“Who are you,” Rhys snarled, “and who sent you?”

The soldier struggled—but then shimmered.

And shifted.

The scent hit him first. Spring. Fresh grass. Power.

Then the face came. Bloody, battered, but unmistakable.

Tamlin.

Rhys’s breath caught.

It’s actually Tamlin… alive… barely but alive.

Bloody, battered, his face pale and drawn, but very much alive.

Cassian’s voice rang out from behind, wings snapping open as he and Azriel landed.

“By the Cauldron,” Cassian whispered, half in shock, half in rage.

Tamlin glanced sideways. “I was planning to show myself when you were alone,” he said dryly, eyes flicking at Cassian and Azriel.

Rhys turned to them. “Leave us.”

Cassian stepped forward. “You’re seriously going to—”

“I said leave us.” Rhys’s voice cut like a blade.

They hesitated. Then, with a last glance, the two vanished into the sky.

Rhys turned back slowly.

“We were literally at your funeral, Tamlin,” he said quietly, voice low and lethal. “Are you aware of that?”

Tamlin gave a shaky breath, a bitter smirk on his blood-streaked face. “Yeah, I hope you let down all your tears for me.”

“This isn’t funny,” Rhys snapped. “And it’s not the time for your usual shit.”

Tamlin swayed. His knees buckled, and he barely managed to catch himself on a tree. Rhys instinctively moved forward, but didn’t touch him.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” Tamlin murmured.

“What happend exactly ?“ Rhys asked with conscern about the blond bloddy state.

“My power—it’s been leaking out the last few days, impossible to hide. Everyone noticed. Even my father. And everyone knew that my will or not I’m getting stronger than them” He coughed, spitting blood to the ground. “It was just a matter of time before my brothers acted. And they did. Sent assassins.”

His voice cracked.

“I killed them,” he said, not looking at Rhys. “Shifted one of their corpses. Burned it with my scent. It worked. They think I’m dead. It’s obvious until I’m dead in their eyes they won’t stop trying get ride of me…. So I gived them what they want. And now I don't have anyplace to go to, I can’t go to any court—Spring would hunt me, the rest wouldn’t trust me. ”

He sagged against the bark, eyes dull but defiant. “I just need a few days Rhys until my wounds heals. That’s all. Then I’ll disappear again. I won’t cause trouble.”

Rhys stared at him.

This male—arrogant, reckless Tamlin—looked like a ghost of himself.

“Shift into another form,” Rhys said coldly. “Now. Before someone else sees you.”

Tamlin didn’t argue. He grit his teeth and shifted, the blood vanishing under the illusion of a different face, a different body.

But Rhys knew. He saw the flicker of something else in Tamlin’s green eyes.

Fear. Desperation.

And something buried far deeper—something Rhys couldn't name yet.

It was nearly dawn by the time Rhys reached the hidden outpost—a stone-and-cedar cottage nestled deep in the mountains of the Night Court. A place forgotten by most, fortified by old enchantments, and rarely used except in times of war.

Tamlin didn’t make it to the bed on his own. The moment Rhys opened the door and nudged him forward, the shapeshifter collapsed face-first onto the mattress with a groan, unconscious.

Rhys cursed under his breath and summoned a healer—one of the best, one who owed him enough not to ask questions.

She came quickly, cloaked and silent, tending to Tamlin’s wounds with practiced hands. Bones snapped back into place. Torn muscles knit. Deep gouges sealed with a shimmer of silver light.

When she finished, Rhys offered a polite smile—then reached into her mind and wiped the memory clean.

She left moments later, unaware of who she had just saved.

Rhys stepped outside, the chill of dawn curling around him. Cassian was pacing beside the outpost, arms crossed, rage simmering beneath every step. Azriel stood nearby, his shadows coiling in unease.

“What the hell are you thinking, Rhys?” Cassian growled as soon as the door clicked shut behind him.

“I’m thinking,” Rhys said calmly, “that I wasn’t about to leave him to bleed out in the woods like an animal.”

“You think this is mercy?” Cassian snapped. “This is treason. If anyone finds out we’re hiding him, a Spring’s heir, who the entire continent thinks is dead—”

“Then we make sure no one finds out,” Rhys interrupted. “Not if we don’t say a word.”

Cassian stepped closer, wings flaring slightly. “Your father would skin you alive.”

Rhys didn’t flinch. “My father can rot. He sent me to Spring. This was my decision.”

Azriel’s voice was quiet but sharp. “He is dangerous Rhys. Maybe even more dangerous now than before. If someone learns what you did, it won’t just be your neck. It could bring war to our court. His family wanted to kill him they could claim you’re harboring a traitor.”

Rhys’s eyes turned to ice. “Again if we don’t say anything to anyone, no one would know.”

Cassian opened his mouth again—frustrated, furious.

But Rhys cut him off with a flick of his hand.

“Don’t make me erase your memory too, Cassian,” he said coldly. “It would save me a headache from all the shouting you’re doing.”

Cassian’s jaw tightened. He looked ready to punch him. But he didn’t.

He just spat on the ground, muttered something foul, and stalked off into the trees.

Azriel lingered, shadows brushing his shoulders. He met Rhys’s gaze for a long moment.

And then nodded once—silent approval or reluctant trust—before disappearing into the darkness.

Rhys turned back to the cabin where Tamlin lay unconscious, shifting faintly in his sleep.

“I hope you’re worth the chaos you're about to bring,” he muttered.

Then he stepped inside and locked the door behind him

[chairofchaos]

Always An Angel; Never A God

Pairing: Eris &* OC (Alastair) Summary: Eris grapples with his thoughts about a bargain made by his mother.Rating: Teen Word Count: 1.6k Tags & Warnings: Angst. Domestic violence and abuse are core topics in this work, because of the overshadowing presence of Beron Vanserra. A/N: See end of post for full author's note. *"&" indicates that it is a platonic pairing/set of characters.

He had seen the fight coming. Of course, he knew his favorite coat was his father’s least favorite. His words were not polished or poised enough for the oldest son of a high lord. It was not enough, never enough to please Beron. 

The scorch marks on his sleeve wouldn’t be fixed. It didn’t matter that his mother had bought him the coat for his birthday, or that his aunt had done her best to spell it to be resistant to flame.

Eris could not withstand his father, no matter how much others tried to protect him. 

The dinner had been fine. Acceptable, by all accounts. Eris had spoken to the mother of the girl, no more than a child, really, who sat across from him. His father had placed him there intentionally, not because the girl or her mother were important in any way, but to reinforce that he was not.

The girl’s father sat beside Eris’ and paid no attention to his wife or child. He flirted with Eris’ mother. He wouldn’t pay for that until Eris came to power, but he would, since it was Carmina Vanserra who would pay for it tonight.

The sound of clinking glass and a splash of liquid brought him back to the dim light of the sitting room. Eris gazed out the window, barely feeling the press of the glass in his hand, his friend’s silhouette blocking the faint light from the candles in the hallway. 

“Any injuries?”

Eris sipped the drink. “None visible.”

“It’s always that way, isn’t it? Game of chess?”

Eris shook his head. “No.”

Alastair sighed. “If you always mope, you’ll never feel better.”

“If I don’t mourn, don’t I become complicit?”

“If you are, what does that mean for the rest of us?”

The night was cool, and the moon was high, its sickle poised to raze the forest over which it hung. He could see himself in those trees, his laughter carrying on the breeze to where he stood in his mother’s stead, a frown rather than a smile on his face.

“Don’t we owe it to her?”

“Of course we do.”

“How do you set it aside so easily? She raised you, too, as much as your own family did,” Eris asked, turning to set his empty glass on the table between the armchairs where Alastair reclined, his glass in his hand. He gestured absently towards the fireplace in silent demand, then polished off his drink. Eris blinked, and the wood lit with a blaze, another destruction in which he would find himself complicit. One day, one day.

Alastair leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as he stared at the floor. “She made that bargain of her own volition.”

“He’s getting stronger.”

“So are you.”

“It’s taking her with him.”

“That was the bargain.”

“I need to sleep.”

“If you try, will you?”

Eris bit his retort back. Alastair had seen him wander the halls in the middle of their childhood nights. On occasion, he’d joined him, the two of them in night clothes, their feet padding against the wooden floors to sneak out into the darkness and light the world ablaze with fire and rain storms, Eris’ flames shooting like lightning through Alastair’s clouds which shrouded them from view.

One such night had brought them here, the freedom of their powers having buried them in this living tomb, strangled by a choice neither of them would ever make and a promise they would never fulfill. The sickle moon, taunting him with each passing day.

“It wasn’t supposed to be this way,” he had told his mother the last time she had come for tea. She waved a dismissive hand, ignoring the scars which the movement exposed on her arm. 

“It wasn’t your choice to make.”

“He hurts you, more now than ever before.”

“And he will not lay a hand on you.”

Eris hadn’t told her the damage had already been done, that the initial promise his father had made to her when he was a child had not been kept, and that Beron held it over his head for thirty years while he tortured others in Eris’ stead.

“So others must suffer?”

“Better them than you,” Carmina had said softly. When he met her gaze, her eyes were hard, their burnished gold lit with a fire Eris rarely saw lit anymore, another destruction to fuel his fire. He had said nothing, and after a moment, turned the talk to the weather.

Alastair cleared his throat. “I could use a real walk.”

“Alright.” Eris took the three steps forward to stand beside his friend. “Lead the way.”

Alastair snorted, turning his eyes up to Eris. “I think that’s your job now.”

Eris’ stomach turned. He was thankful his friend couldn’t see the despair which crossed his face at the sight of the clouds in the eyes which had been blue, a rarity among the Autumn Court nobility, the biggest sign that Alastair’s father had not been of this court. Eris made himself breathe a small laugh. “Let’s go.”

It had been ten years since Beron had performed the spell which removed Alastair’s sight and Alastair had been dumped on Eris’ doorstep, dried streaks of bloody tears on his cheeks where they had streamed down his face. The lack of color in his eyes since that night served as Eris’ reminder of all he owed to his childhood friend, and the darkness which awaited him for all he had allowed to happen.

“I warned you,” his mother had hissed as Eris dragged Alastair’s body inside. “I told you what he would do.”

“Mother, please help him,” Eris had begged. 

“I cannot save him,” Carmina’s hand pressed to her chest, “even if I had the power to.”

“Why?”

“The bargain.”

The bargain. Always the bargain, the tattoo which graced the space over his mother’s heart, which shielded her from feeling, from involvement. That flame burned his skin as much as it did hers.

So Eris had cared for Alastair. Until he couldn’t anymore.

“Promise me,” Alastair had asked him when he woke. “Promise me you’ll stay out of it, no matter what happens.” He wouldn’t relent, no matter how Eris deflected, how he avoided the promptings.

Now, they stepped out the door together, a warm coat draped around Alastair’s shoulders. The bite of cold pressed into Eris’ upper arm where the scorch marks were. ‘So it goes,’ he thought.

After fire came cold nothingness, the emptiness of wrath spent on the deserving and undeserving alike. He knew it all too well.

“What was it this time?” Alastair asked. Wisps of clouds danced across the ground around them, parting only as they walked through, a single line left behind them.

“The guest of honor flirted with her all night. She was tactful. Either way, he would have been displeased. She couldn’t offend the guest. She couldn’t flirt back, either. She was stuck.”

“He’s a bastard.”

“If only he were,” Eris mused. “Maybe then I could unseat him.”

“You’ll get your revenge one day.”

“It won’t be soon enough to save us.”

Alastair said nothing. Eris could hear the faint cracking of leaves beneath his feet. The call of an owl in the forest to his left reached his ears, and he sighed. What could it hurt, to join them in this forest every night? To know the call of the owl, and the scent of the trees, as if they were a part of him, and he a part of all of them, living under the threat of the blade above their heads?

“Remind me, what was the phrasing of the bargain?”

“It won’t help you to go over this again,” Alastair reminded him. They stepped onto the forest path, Alastair staying close beside Eris to follow where his friend stepped.

“I know. Indulge me.”

“‘Eris is to remain safe from you and anyone you control. You, and those you control, will not harm him. You may not make a deal which could result in harm to him. In return, I will give you my power, freely and without reserve, as your carranam, until the day of my natural death. I will not request your power in return. I will not act against your interests. If either of us breaks this bond, we will suffer immediate death.’”

Eris tried to focus on the words, but they were fuzzy. Spoken in his presence, but so many years ago that he could not find them in himself. Alastair reminded him, when he wished to hear them, but it never helped.

“There’s no way out,” Eris murmured. 

“For any of us,” Alastair remarked. His voice was flat. “It was your saving.”

“And your undoing.”

“I suppose.”

“I can’t even wish he was dead, because it means she goes, too.”

“Death isn’t so bad.” When Eris said nothing, Alastair went on. “It’s freeing.”

Eris focused on the crunch of the leaves beneath his feet, the path winding up the hill away from the stream. “And what of those left behind?”

“They survive, in their own ways.”

Eris emerged into a clearing. “Is it really surviving?”

The sickle moon emerged overhead, its light brighter here atop the hill, the darkness of the forest between him and his home striking a contrast against the gleam of a large white headstone in the center of the glade. Eris paused. It was undisturbed, the marbled pattern a reflection of the fog which surrounded it in the cool night.

“Am I surviving? I never wanted to do this without you, carranam.” Alastair gave no answer as Eris knelt beside his headstone, the penitent at an altar of grief. He placed the coat by the headstone. “For you. If it’s cold.”

Eris lay his head atop the coat and stared at the sky, the moon burning into his eyes until he hoped he, too, would go blind with death. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Alastair.”

The fog blew across his face, brushing against his cheek in the night as if, on the other side of the cloudy veil, someone wished him a good night, too.

A/N: A huge thank you to the mods @erisweekofficial for putting together this week! I'm so glad we all get to celebrate our autumn prince together, and incredibly thankful to be a part of my first Eris Week. Thank you to @tsunami-of-tears for all of the beautiful Eris Week dividers (you can find them here!). Last, but certainly not least, thank you to @dusk-muse and @ninthcircleofprythian for the super last minute beta read, brainstorming and coming up with titles with/for me, and for never actually attempting to kill me at the end of a fic. I hope you all enjoyed it! All my love, Chaos

Taglist: (if you ever want to hop on the taglist train, whether for a character, a pairing, or all of it, lmk! and if I fail to include you, I probably didn't see it or messed up some admin thing, so give me a holler in asks or another comment!) @dusk-muse @ninthcircleofprythian @lilah-asteria @c-starstuff-man0 @unanswered-stars

[elsbookblorbos]

ACOTAR ACTOR AU

This is all just silly little things I thought up, so don't take this too seriously. (This fandom is so viscous istg.)

Tamlin is actually very funny. His twitter is a lot like Misha Collins. He had a baby while filming and declared him heir to the Spring Court.

Cassian once brought 12 boiled eggs for lunch. The cast spent days teasing him over it.

Elain curses like a sailor. She once dropped her coffee on her shoes and traumatized Beron with the words that came out of her mouth.

Elain takes a lot of sneaky naps on set. The woman is always tired.

Eris has his own fashion line. Came out with special clothes during the release of A Court of Silver Flames.

Rhys once got canceled back in 2018 because he ate a Chic Fil A samwich.

Feyre and Rhys are married in real life.

Surprisingly, Nesta was the hardest to cast for. This is her first major feature.

Elain is actually the oldest of the actors. Followed by Feyre then Nesta.

Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie actually ended up getting along really well while filming. And you regularly see one of them cameo in another's movie.

Cas, Azriel, and Rhys have a prank war happening on set. Cassian almost got fired over this

Tamlin cut his hair after the filming of the first movie. Now the wig he wears is the itchiest thing imaginable.

Cassian has a blooper is during the first kiss with Nesta. Instead of kissing her, he leans into her ear and whipsers. "I'm Batman."

[zenkindoflove]

ACOTAR OCs: Vanserra Brothers

This is apart of a series of posts where I share depictions and short bios of Original Characters I have developed in various fanfics. All art displayed was created using the Crowesn Tiefling Maker Picrew.

This is a deep dive into my depiction of the Vanserra Brothers. I've also included Eris and Lucien Vanserra because I couldn't make the other five brothers without making them too. They are listed oldest to youngest.

Eris Vanserra (not an OC): Oldest brother and presumed heir to Autumn, Eris has the weight of his family on his shoulders. He toes the line, holding his spot as heir by slipping under his father's thumb to protect his family and his mate, Alexius (male OC; see Autumn Partners), meticulously moving every chess piece across the board.

Conan Vanserra (deceased): As the second oldest, Conan was shaped by Beron's hand as the spare. Brutal and cut throat, Conan is Beron's strongest weapon, living in his image, and being twisted into a male who has little regard for others. After the murder of Jesminda (see Canon Characters) which Conan played executioner, he is killed by Lucien and Tamlin at the border of Spring.

Kian Vanserra: Kian leans more into being a scholar and courtier in Beron's court. His skills lie in his charm and ability to make friends anywhere he goes. However, his charm only goes so far, as his cunning ways sometimes gets him into hot water with those he double crosses in gambling halls. He's sarcastic and a thrill seeker, which includes taking risks with lovers that brings him to a place that not even his older brother Eris can save him.

Cael Vanserra (deceased): Fraternal twin with Rory, Cael is team Conan in the rivalry between the oldest brothers. Court citizens refer to him as Conan's henchmen, as Conan is the only one able to tame him. He is known for terrorizing small folk, especially on drunken tirades leaving taverns, and rumors swirl about his involvement in the bodies that appear around the Blood Tree that mysteriously end after his death at the border of Spring.

Rory Vanserra: Stoic and severe, Rory used to have a defined place in Conan's crew, but in his new reality where Eris rules them all, he feels caught between the living and the dead. He follows orders, inheriting the role as Beron's fist after his brothers' deaths. Living on the border of Autumn and Winter, Rory secretly visits Ada (female OC; see Autumn Partners), widow to Conan and now banished from Autumn.

Callum Vanserra: Decades younger than his brothers and the last son of Beron and Orla (see Canon Characters), Callum is "the useless one" in Beron's eyes. Callum devotes himself as Eris' right hand, eager to see his brother on the Autumn throne. Although Eris keeps him at arms length, Callum sees than his older brother realizes. When his arranged marriage to Lorna (female OC; see Autumn Partners) becomes more than a political match, his loyalties are tested.

Lucien Vanserra (not an OC): Banished from Autumn, the fateful night of Jesminda's death (see Canon Characters) haunts Lucien. He once loved the Autumn forests, as he called them his home escaping the horrors of The Forest House as the seventh and presumed bastard brother of his mother Orla (see Canon Characters). In his eyes, each of his living brothers were complicit in her death, but destiny has plans for Lucien that brings him back to Autumn centuries later, this time with his mate Elain Archeron.

Read fanfictions featuring these OCs on my Masterlist

Other OC Lists: Autumn Partners | Day Court | The Continent | Canon Characters

[separatist-apologist]

We Could Call It Even

Summary: Newly made and terrified, Elain Archeron's human fiance tells her of a creature that could turn her back and keep them together and Elain will stop at nothing to make rumor a reality.

There is no force that can undo fate. No magic that can unmake a mating bond. And Lucien Vanserra isn't about to let his mate throw herself in the path of certain death on a fools hope. Lucien will be forced, instead, to watch her love another man for eighty brutal, miserable years.

While Elain Archeron will have to contend with a life she hoped to never live…and a mate she never wanted.

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

“Mr. Vanserra,” Odessa began, sliding into his pub before it was open.

“Why did I give you a key?” he grumbled as she made her way forward, mug of coffee in her hand.

“That’s why,” she said with an easy grin. “Have you heard the rumors?”

“No,” he replied, taking that first sip. Lucien didn’t know if it was the beverage itself or merely the act of drinking something hot that seemed to bring him back to life. “Is Bernard in the harbor again?”

She laughed. “No. He quit drinking, remember?”

“Oh, of course. That explains why he was here carousing all night,” Lucien replied with a bite of sarcasm. “Tell me.”

“Remember the florist?” 

No, he didn’t—people seemed to forget that Lucien hadn’t lived here for centuries. Merely eighty something years, the vast majority spent making his little pub profitable. The florist had been gone by the time he came in—she’d simply moved away to be closer to great, great, great grandchildren he thought. Someone had to tell him that, anyway. Still, Lucien wasn’t about to admit all that. It would remind people he was still relatively new despite living there for nearly a century.

“Of course.”

Odessa’s grin told him she knew he was a liar. She didn’t call him on it, which was one of her better qualities.

“Well, she swore she was never going to sell that storefront. I think she was afraid of another pub—she was always going on and on about young people and their drinking habits. She sold it, though.”

“To who?”

Odessa shrugged. “No idea. Someone I’ve never seen before, and I thought she must be from the inland but her accent…sounds awfully familiar.” He narrowed his eyes. “No one from Prythian is coming out here to work.” Certainly no one he knew, anyway. 

“Maybe they’re from Rask, then. They’re always sneaking over the border, stealing our jobs—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Lucien interrupted, uninterested in yet another long-winded diatribe on why everyone who wasn’t from their home was an evil. It was a common refrain—everyone thought so, Prythian included. Nationalist sentiment was especially high as one of their independence holidays was nearly upon the city. Flags of cerulean and white hung from nearly every storefront, waving in the breezy, ocean wind. Lucien's shop was no exception, though the whole thing amused him. He didn’t care one way or the other. It was simply good for business. 

He did like Vallahan, of course—when he pictured his future, he didn’t see himself leaving. The memories were still far too fresh to return to Prythian, and despite the time that had passed, it seemed very little had changed. His mother was still married to Beron, his brother likely still schemed. Feyre’s oldest son was nearly grown and she still governed as High Lady of Night, her inner circle also unchanged.

She came to visit sometimes, spending an evening in his home above the pub. Rather than the small room he’d once furnished, his home had expanded to three bedrooms, an actual living room, and a full-sized kitchen he spent a lot of time in. One of those bedrooms was designated for Feyre only, dressed up in soft lilac and cream to suit her tastes.

She spent more and more time each visit, telling him of everything he’d missed. It was mostly amusing personal stories or inter-court drama that still amused him. She was careful never to mention Elain. At first, Lucien had thought she was dancing around the subject to spare his feelings. In time, however, he realized that Ferye simply didn’t know. Elain didn’t keep in touch, and Feyre hadn’t reached out.

Sometimes he wondered if the human male had died or not. If Elain had gone crawling back to her sisters, begging for absolution that they’d absolutely give her. Was it wrong to hope that Rhysand, at least, might give her a little hell? 

The pain had lessened to a dull ache in his chest. Some nights it pained him more than others but for the most part, Lucien could ignore it entirely. She’d made her choices, and he’d made his. There was simply no road where they might meet again. Elain would return to Prythian, she’d embrace being faerie, and would likely find some new male to torment for the rest of her days. Lucien had no intention of returning unless he could return to Autumn itself.

“Do you have anything else for me?” Lucien asked Odessa, pulling himself out of his depressed thoughts. He took another sip of his rapidly cooling beverage while Odessa continued to grin. 

“You’re not going to say hello? I heard she’s very beautiful.”

The thought made his stomach clench. He’d had enough of  beautiful females. Sure, when he’d first gotten to Vallahan, he’d made a name for himself, sleeping with whoever interested him to mask his own pain. For twenty years Lucien had acted that way until one morning he woke up miserable, angry, and still in pain. It wasn’t helping. It had never helped. What was the point of moving away if he was going to bring all his same bad habits with him?

So he’d stopped. Sometimes he missed the warmth of another body in his bed, but it passed easily. 

“Why don’t you say hello to her for me?” Lucien suggested. Odessa had just as fearsome a reputation with females as Lucien did. Her smile only widened.

“I’m trying but she’s like a nervous little fawn—scampering off anytime someone gets a little too close.”

Lucien only shrugged, draining the rest of his coffee before sliding the porcelain mug over to her. “Sounds like your problem. Not mine.” If there was more Odessa wanted to say, she wisely kept her mouth shut. She took her mug, threw Lucien a rather saucy wink, and sauntered out of the pub. She had other people to make the rounds with, spreading the gossip as far as she could. Lucien promptly forgot as he made the climb back upstairs to fully dress himself for the day. It promised to be warm, and when the weather was uncomfortable, folks retreated indoors for respite and a drink. When it was pleasant, they sat outside drinking and eating and talking well into the early hours of the night.

No matter what, Lucien came out on top. 

He took his time bathing before braiding his hair off the crown of his head once the warm air had dried the strands. He dressed casually, leaving the buttons in his shirt undone just below the collar, and a little untucked as well. It made him seem rakish, and Lucien rather liked his reputation, even if it was no longer deserved. 

Perception was everything, after all. 

Back downstairs, Lucien unlocked the back of the pub so Bernard could drop off meat and the cook could start preparing for the lunch. He made his way to the front to set out chairs, gaze turning to the florist just across the street. There had once been boards over the windows and the yellow paint had been chipping and peeling along the street. 

Who had purchased it, and painted it? The peeling paint was gone, revealing pretty limestone washed brick and vibrant, sage shutters thrown open. Planter boxes held swaying flowers and the yellow, rounded door had been thrown open. 

Lucien made his way across the street, narrowly avoiding a horse pulled cart filled with sun mellons stacked so high he was certain a few would spill out before they reached the grocer. Knocking on the front door, he called out, “Anyone home?”

Inside was far nicer than whatever had existed before. White walls ought to have been boring and uninspiring, but the owner had hung up pretty, twinkling lights where the wall met the ceiling along with bright floral displays that made the space seem alive. Bright.

Beautiful, he decided. 

“One moment!” called a soft, feminine voice. “I—oh, no—” her voice became muffled as the sounds of something crashing abruptly ended whatever she’d been about to say. Lucien hopped over the counter to push open the swinging door where a pair of fair legs jutted out from beneath a pile of heavy looking boxes. The soft smell of honey and jasmine invaded his senses, causing his heart to race. 

“Let me help,” he said, pulling that first box of what looked like discarded hardware off her form.

“This is my fault,” she said, pushing at the boxes on top of her. “I knew I shouldn’t…”

Lucien nearly dropped what he held directly back on the woman now staring up at him. Anger bloomed in his chest at the sight of those wide, brown eyes, half obscured thanks to the tangle of hair in her face.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, dropping the items loudly to the floor. He was panting, he realized, his anger warring with familiar desire. His blood was awake, chanting the same word over and over.

Mate, mate, mate, mate—

Elain blinked, bottom lip trembling.

“Oh, here we fucking go,” he muttered, turning his back to her. “Did Feyre send you?”

“No, she didn’t send me. Why? Did she finally realize the error of her ways and exile you?”

He wanted to throttle her.

He wanted to inhale her scent from the crook of her neck.

“Turn around and go home, Elain,” he dismissed, needing to get away from her. He’d lose his mind if he had to live across the street from her, and Lucien wasn’t picking back up and starting over. He’d come here to get away from her and she had no right to encroach on his territory. “Surely your husband needs his diaper changed?”

“Oh, go to hell, Lucien,” she spat. 

“I don’t want you here—”

“I don��t care what you want—”

“Yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear!” Lucien exploded, his rage betraying him. “Everything has been about what you want since I found myself tethered to you! I bow to your whims and you don’t consider anyone—”

“Do you ever stop talking?” she interrupted, rubbing her temples with her fingers. “Poor, sad, Lucien. Maybe you can write about it in your journal? I’m here. I’m not leaving.”

They stared at one another, jaw set, shoulders squared. It was a fight she wanted? He could give her a fight.

“There are no humans here,” he informed her, making a show of examining his nails. “Just fae,”

She narrowed her eyes. “I know.” Obnoxious. “Does Feyre know you’re here?” He tried a different tactic, desperate to convince Elain to leave before she ruined everything. 

“I’m sure you’ll tell her,” Elain replied, her irritation plain. 

Lucien wanted to vomit. He could feel bile churning in his stomach, burning a path up his throat. This was all wrong—it had taken him nearly a century to stop dreaming about her, to push her out of his mind and move on. He was happy.

And here she was, come to ruin that, too. Elain Archeron felt owed, and had decided to get back everything taken from her even if it came at his expense. Especially if it came at his expense. Elain would think nothing of staying here, would think nothing of encroaching into the next place he moved, on and on until she’d marked the whole word as hers, and he simply had nowhere else to go.

“If you stay, I will make your life as miserable as you’ve made mine,” Lucien threatened. Elain blinked up at him, eyes watery. If she cried, he thought he might lose it and fully explode with rage. 

“I died,” Elain hissed, closing the gap between them to jab her finger into his chest, “and the first thing I heard when I came out was your horrible voice declaring we were mates. I could never make you half as miserable as you’ve made me.” Lucien was unmoved. “Watch me.”

He turned, then, delighted to have gotten the last word, and made his way back into the street where the air didn’t smell like her. Small mercies. His body was a betrayer, heart thudding not with hatred or fury, but excitement. Some stupid part of him wanted to go back into that room and bury his nose in her hair. Instinct, he supposed, that he couldn’t wholly overcome.

Smelling her wouldn’t make him like her any better. Maybe fucking her would ease some bruising ache in his chest, but it certainly wouldn’t ease his aching heart. 

Lucien made his way back into his emptied pub, ignoring that it was nearly set up for lunch. Renatta would be in soon to serve while Lucien worked the bar and a few back of house staff cooked and stayed on top of dishes. He wanted to simply close it all down, pack up his things, and continue moving west. Lucien had a life here. A world that made sense, with friends who’d only ever known him as Lucien—not a High Lord's son, not an emissary to a court, or anyone of importance. 

Why should he go, he asked himself silently, seething with anger. She should return—surely she had a host of hybrid children that would be missing her? The thought was a punch to the gut, another reminder that he was never going to have that. His whole future had been ripped out from under him not once, but twice. Elain had gotten a lifetime with the male she loved, more than Lucien had ever been given, and still she was unsatisfied.

Spoiled. 

Lucien would make her regret it, he decided. She was an outsider, had purchased the business of a well-loved person, and was about to be known as the enemy of Lucien who was loved. For whatever that was worth. Lucien knew everyone and Elain knew no one. A few well placed rumors, a couple pieces of salacious gossip, and she’d become a shut-in. No friends to speak of, no social life, and little business to sustain her. He’d have her back on a ship to Velaris before the first frost bit at his nose. 

The thought offered Lucien a small amount of relief. And not to prove Elain right, but before he went back downstairs, Lucien fired off a quick missive to Feyre, furious she hadn’t warned him. Were they friends or not, he asked? How dare she meddle in his life knowing how badly Elain had wounded him. Not all mates were happy pairs. Lucien could think of very few who were happy. 

Feyre needed to butt out.

Once his letter was on its way to Prythian, Lucien felt like he could breathe a little. Taking the stairs two at a time, Lucien went behind the bar to wipe down glasses and prepare himself for what he hoped was a decently busy day. 

Renatta was there in her long, lacy blue skirt and her cinched top which she swore caused her to receive better tips. Lucien thought it was because her breasts were spilling out over the neckline, in danger of coming out entirely each time she bent low to drop off drinks or pick up plates. He wasn’t going to say that, of course—if nothing else, it would make a room full of half drunk males happy. 

She made her way toward him once she was done, leaning up on the counter with a smile on her face. “So,” she began, looking him up and down with an expression he was immediately distrustful of, “there's a new female in—”

“No. Matchmaking,” he interrupted, a familiar refrain he’d repeated a hundred times before. 

“She’s so pretty—”

“I heard she had screaming fever,” Lucien informed Renatta, a lie he was well aware of. Prythian had never had a case of screaming fever, to start, and Elain certainly bore none of the tell-tale scratch scars on her face from the ailment. “I heard she was on the run from a High Lord in Prythian.”

Renatta loved gossip—it was what made her so good at serving tables. She’d spread it among the patrons that night under the guise of friendly customer service. Everyone who came through would hear the rumors—Elain, too, who would have to stutter and stumble her way through explanations no one quite believed.

Lucien grinned, turning toward his tap as Renatta stood to seat the first people coming in. Her eyes were bright with excitement, bouncing toward them with a secret she’d get to share. The night passed in much the same way—Lucien stayed so busy he didn’t have time to think about Elain.

He wouldn’t have thought of her at all had she not come storming over that next morning. He’d managed to throw a pair of trousers over his hips, unlaced and revealing a trail of hair that vanished along the waistband. He assumed it was Odessa with his coffee,  banging to let him in so they could gossip quietly for the next hour. 

It was Elain, arms crossed over her chest, hair plastered to her face thanks to a drizzling rain just outside. Lucien hesitated, suddenly too aware of his body. Lucien was uncomfortable, made worse when her eyes widened in horror, causing her to stumble back a step. 

“You—put on a shirt,” she ordered. Lucien’s temper flared.

“What do you want?” he replied, unwilling to do anything she asked, even if he privately agreed with her. Lucien was tired of her face, of her voice, of everything about her that she kept shoving in his face.

“Stop telling people I had screaming fever,” Elain hissed, looking over his shoulder rather than at him.

“I didn’t tell anyone that,” he lied, barely able to suppress a grin. “Maybe I just told them I found you impossibly ugly and they drew their own conclusions.”

Her eyes snapped to his face, narrowed to slits. “You’re a liar.”

He only shrugged. That was well-known. “Is that all?”

“You can’t run me out of this place, Lucien,” she said, unaware that the sound of his name on her lips made his whole body jerk with excitement. Traitor. 

“You can’t control everyone to get what you want,” he shot back, venom dripping from every word. “I’ve been here for eighty years while you shacked—”

She slapped him. Lucien saw her hand strike forward, felt her palm collide with his cheek. The string was brutal, filling his mouth with the coppery tang of blood. He grabbed her wrist before she could snatch it back, holding it tight enough that when she tried to pull back, he was certain he was bruising her skin.

Was this the first time he’d ever touched her? Like genuinely touched her? Lucien thought it might be. He’d once daydreamed what it would be like—nothing like reality. “If you do that again, I will make you regret it.”

“I already regret it,” she hissed, yanking vainly again. Lucien didn’t release her, though he should have. He could feel her fluttering pulse beneath his fingers, could practically taste the sweet scent of her. He hated her and he wanted her in equal measure. He didn’t want to let her go because touching her skin was soothing something angry in his chest. 

She was going to do far worse than hit him if he didn’t. He’d deserve it, too. Reluctantly, Lucien forced himself to let her go, watching as she cradled that hand against her chest. She looked like she wanted to pummel him. Lucien would like to see it, if only to witness a little spunk from the otherwise docile Elain. Sure, she was constantly telling him off, but those words were toothless. Elain always did what he wanted if he insulted her forcefully enough.

Only, Lucien didn’t want to right then. He suddenly felt exhausted, worn down by his strange life and the female with her heaving chest staring up at him with so much hatred.

“Leave me alone, Elain. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to speak to you. I want nothing from you.”

That ought to have been the end of it. Lucien certainly hoped so, anyway. He reached for the door, but Elain slammed out a hand, preventing him from shutting it in his face.

“Why not go back to Prythian, then?” she suggested silky. His anger spiked again.

“Why not go back to the humans you love so much?” he shot back, eyes trailing to her ears. The tips warmed, turning a bright shade of pink as though she were embarrassed he could see them peeking out from behind her mass of thick curls. 

“You don’t know anything at all,” she hissed, turning on her heel to stalk off. “And if you don’t stop telling stories, I’ll start telling stories about you. Maybe I’ll tell them who you really are. Or maybe I’ll tell your brothers. I heard they were looking for you.”

Lucien paled and Elain smiled, triumphant to have the upper hand for once. 

“This isn’t over!” he yelled at her retreating back. And to his surprise, she looked over her shoulder and offered him a rather rude gesture with her hand. Lucien would have laughed had he not been so surprised to see it. She vanished inside her little shop, leaving Lucien half naked on the front step of his own.

Game on, Elain Archeron.

Game on.

[readychilledwine]

Hello!! I recently found your blog and I love your writing! I was looking at the writing prompts and I fell in love with the touch starved ones.

I was wondering if you could write a Eris or Tarquin x f reader for “the reaching out with their hand without saying anything, wanting the other one to grab it”? I love both males so which ever one is easier for you. But I love the idea of like a stoic reader but the male knows they like physical affection as long as the reader doesn’t look needy.

Thanks in advance and Happy Holidays :)

Take my Hand

Warning - I changed a little bit of the High Lords meeting because THEY ALL WERE TOO NICE. I love Rhysand, Feyre, and the Night Court, but Kal and Tarquin were way too nice for people who felt their courts were personally targeted by Rhys (Kal especially), self doubt, Beron

A/n - the man in that gift has delicious forearms. I just know it. Ps- I know the fandom as a whole wants to push this narrative that Beron is ugly, but you're calling my book one Lulu ugly when you do that. SJM specifically says Lucien's face in that book is similar to Beron's. I think we all need to face the reality that the man is attractive. He's just a dick and that ruins it.

You were drowning.

High Lord's meetings were not your cup of tea, and they never had been.

Maybe it was your young age, rivaled only by your mate's. Maybe it was the amount of loud males yelling and throwing insults that reminded you far too much of your power-hungry father. Maybe it was just that you were "a sleepy girl," as your mate always so lovingly suggested when you'd rest on his chest.

But this just wasn't your scene.

You rolled your eyes, keeping that bored mask in place as Rhysand went into yet another long dragged out monolog about how he wasn't the monster you all believed he was. It was his third one in less than an hour.

You felt Tarquin look at you from the corner of his eye.

Despite how much you hated being here, you loved him, Gods did you love him. And he needed you.

There were arguments from every delegation of who has the most handsome High Lord. You saw beauty in all of them, though.

Tamlin for his flowing golden hair and piercing green eyes.

Helion for that smirk, his skin that was so flawless you had begged him countless times for his skincare routine.

Kallias was the vision of untouched beauty. He looked like freshly fallen snow.

Thesan for his sharp casual wardrobe, his untouched skill and intelligence, his kind eyes.

Rhysand for being the beauty of night itself. Dark inky hair on golden sun kissed skin. Eyes that held the cosmos like he knew all their secrets.

Even Beron, the oldest of them, had looks that held wisdom as he aged like a fine wine before all of you.

But Tarquin, none of them could hold a candle to. His white hair contrasting against his skin, those ocean eyes, his voice.

You had won the mating lottery with him in looks alone.

But it was his kindness, the one trait so many mistook for weakness, that made you truly fall for him. His kindness and his observational skills.

Tarquin's brows knitted, mouthing a soft "Are you okay?"

You only responded with a smile and small eye roll as Rhys began claiming he had not slaughtered the children in Winter. That another unknown daemati had, and he had convinced Amarantha to do that instead of murdering Kal. All before trying to garner sympathy.

You set your wine glass down a little harder than intended at that. Annoyed that he had an excuse for everything. That he blame shifted everything he had been confronted with so far. Kal rose a brow at you, then smirked. "I believe even, y/n, thinks you are full of shit, Rhysand."

You looked down instantly, cheek heating as everyone's gaze fell toward you. "Would you like to say something?" Thesan spoke gently to you. "Perhaps you can shed some light on the situation in the Summer Court?"

You felt it then. The soft tug on the bond as Tarquin held his hand out to you.

He didn't mean to make you look or feel weak. He didn't mean to make it look like he was reigning you in. He meant it to comfort you. To bring you back to him. Back to this moment. This critical meeting that could decide the fate of your court. Your home. His fae. Fae you two had been spending so much time bring to break the social standards with. Fae you were just earning the trust of.

He offered you his hand as his love, as his support, and as a grounding tool. You took it silently, body easing at the softness and warmth of his fingers and palms.

"You came to our home, and we welcomed you as honored guests," you started slowly, refusing to look at him. "We told you our hopes, the steps we were taking for equality, far taxation, wages, you pretended to care and support us. Then you stole from us. You stole from us when we welcomed you as our friends."

Feyre looked down, guilt now hitting her. You two had grown close quickly. Instant friends who enjoyed each other's company. "We had no choice," Rhysand answered smoothly.

"You could have asked us," Tarquin replied. "You could have told us the truth and asked us. Now you ask us to blindly trust you when you've already done that, and your mate, your Court's High Lady, opened the gate for Hybern to enter my territory out of rage against Tamlin."

Rhys had no response. He was looking to you. "Your only saving grace with me, Rhysand," you felt Tarquin squeeze your hand to calm the wave of emotion going through you, "is the fact that your court is the only one who came when we were attacked. Why did you bother doing that after everything you had done?"

Tarquin hummed his approval softly, another gentle squeeze and tug on the bond.

Rhysand's offer was soft. His voice showing he understood the hurt he had done. The personal damage his actions had caused. "Because that's what friends do."

You sighed, allowing Tarquin to take over as the stoic mask of silence fell back in place. Three squeezed came to your hand. A message you and he had made when you were trapped under that mountain together.

It was a message.

One you felt as you squeezed his hand three times back.

"I love you," it said.

Five squeezes came next, conveying the message you needed, "You are safe. I'm here." You broke that mask. Hand moving up to his bicep and head falling into his shoulder. You didn't listen as Rhys addressed you, your court.

You knew you personally would not forgive them.

But if Tarquin did, you would support him, so long as he kept your hand in his.

[scorpioriesling]

Dangerous Woman (pt 2)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Eris x reader

Warnings: ehh… none

Summary: Now that Eris is finally ready to confront his feelings, will reader do the same?

SR’s Note: My apologies for the wait! I have so many WIPs, requests, multi-part series, etc. right now. I appreciate your patience & continued support <3 Tags: @lilah-asteria @infintyfandoms @peachcontour-blog

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Part 1

The soda water is a relief to your pounding headache as the morning progresses, a constant reminder of the night before and just how much alcohol you’d consumed. If not for the headache, the state you were in would surely give it away; smeared makeup, ratty ponytail, the works. Thankfully, you’d rested in your own bed last night, Eris being the gentleman he is escorted you home after your… well…

That in itself was a reminder.

You couldn’t help but smile just a little bit, even though you knew today you’d have to face up to what had happened. It wasn’t the part about wondering if Eris would return his feelings — he’d all but laid them out on a silver tray for you last night. However, would said feelings change when he found out how you’d manipulated him into thinking you were someone else for a sexual experience? Well, yes. That part was rather terrifying.

Usually you’d feel heavier than a ton of bricks trying to drag yourself from bed, but this morning it’s the hope in your heart lulling you to the shower and quickly to your vanity to allot extra time for your primping before work. You knew you’d see him today, you had to be sure you were ready and obviously looked your best. Not that you’d been out drinking and, well, having sex with him the night prior.

Your burgundy milkmaid dress was simplistic but flattering, dipping low enough but not too low to anger the High Lord. Tying a ribbon to match in your curled ponytail and touching up your lip gloss once more, you set off for the Autumn Palace.

ﾟ:* ✧

“These need to be filed immediately.” Beron’s voice was flat as he plopped another hefty stack of papers onto your desk in the East Wing of the Palace. He only so much as glanced at you, making to move from your office without so much as further instruction. You nod quickly, the Lady of Autumn catching your eye from the doorway as she followed him out.

“Thank you,” she mouthed. You nodded your head politely at her, earning you a kind smile in return, one that reminded you so much of her oldest son. Speaking of…

The clock on the wall read half past three, and you hadn’t seen him all day. Usually you’d at least see him during your lunch hour as you’d stroll through the gardens, sitting under an oak tree for a quick chat or catch him passing your office a few times a day. Come to think of it, he didn’t have much need to be in the East Wing, but you’d at least find him passing by your office once if not twice a day.

Sighing, you move quick work of the record keeping, signing and dating the records and filing them into the correct folder drawers lining the walls. You tried to focus on your work, you only had thirty minutes before you were to leave, but you hoped to finish early and maybe find Eris somewhere. He had to be around, where else would he go?

Your mind wandered to last night, the way his hands felt on you, his lips, how beautiful he looked bathed in the moonlight…

You stop yourself, halting from filing a record in an incorrect folder. You shake your head, ponytail swinging side to side. Let’s just get through this, you think, turning back to your work.

ﾟ:* ✧

It’s nearly four in the afternoon when you shove the last file away, and you practically race from the office, locking it hastily and bounding down the long marble hallway toward the central courtyard. Your eyes dance from left to right, no one in sight inside or beyond the windows. All that is heard are the pattering of your maroon flats as you continue your hasty path toward the West Wing — the family chambers. If he wasn’t in the East Wing, the gardens, the offices, even the central courtyard, he must be in the West Wing.

You skid to a halt when you hear a conversation becoming louder and louder, the High Lord of Autumn’s familiar angry tone increasing in volume as you continue down the hallway. The last thing you need is to be caught, especially near the family’s quarters after hours. You make a split second decision, veering right down an unfamiliar hallway and pushing through the large wooden door at the end of it.

Your eyes squint at the afternoon sun blinding your vision, and taking a deep breath, your nose furrows at the pasture smell you’ve come upon. Taking in your surroundings, you realize you’ve left the palace, running right outside to the horse stables in the back. You glance around, noticing the large barn in front of you and not a soul in sight. Taking a few exasperated steps inside, into the shaded barn, you let out a loud sigh and sag your shoulders.

“What the FUCK!” You shout, a soft neigh coming from a stall in the distance. You bury your face in your palms, the weight of the day finally sinking in and your longing feeling all too heavy. You didn’t want to wait, you’d waited too long for this, been a coward too many times over to keep waiting. Now it was simply because you couldn’t find the male-

“Y/N?” A soft voice from behind you questions. You immediately straighten, your arms falling to your sides at the recognition. You turn slowly, heavy footsteps drawing nearer by the second.

“Y/N, are you,” Eris’s fingers lightly grace your exposed shoulder and you literally jump at the contact, causing him to retract immediately. His eyes search yours, his face the portrait of concern at your unusual attitude towards him.

“My Gods, Y/N — are you alright?” He asks softly. You face him, your mouth only opens to speak and you close it, unsure what to say.

“I… um…” You try. He reaches for you again, but thinks better of it, curling his fingers into a fist and dropping his hand.

“My dearest friend have I,” he swallows, unfurling his fingers to twist the silver ring on his index finger nervously. “Have I done something wrong?” He asks. Your eyes widen, and you take his hands in yours. His gaze flicks toward the contact, but your focused on his face.

“No! Oh Gods no Eris, never,” you assure. His whisky irises meet yours again, brow furrowed in uncertainty as his thumbs delicately trace across the backs of your palms.

“Well then, what has you so upset?” He asks. His tone, the honestly in it just breaks your heart in two. You knew this would be hard, but standing before him, before your Eris, the male you’d loved so long… admitting your truth would be the hardest thing you’d ever done.

But, it had to be done.

“I… I didn’t see you. Today.” You begin. He smiles a little, the corner of his mouth tilting upward as his gaze fixates on your delicate fingers still sitting in his.

“…I didn’t know you’d been looking for me.” He says after a moment’s pause.

“I was,” You continue. “I had… a matter. To discuss, with you I mean.” You stammer. His eyes drift toward yours once more, gazing at you through his half lids.

“Mhm… and that matter was?” He prods. You sigh, pulling your hands from his grasp and turning from him. You pace, taking a few steps and then turning back toward him once more.

“What’s so important you can’t talk to me about? Come now, we’ve been friends for…” he tilts his head. “Well, forever, anyway.” He shrugs. You meet his gaze again, and he scoffs looking away. “Unless you came to tell me you dropped the male you’ve courted, I can only await the day-“

“I never courted a male, Eris.” It comes out more forcefully than you’d like, but it has him peering at you once more in confusion.

“What are you talking about.” His voice has dropped an octave. He doesn’t ask — he demands. Heat creeps up your neck, all the words in your head feeling like the milky substance of the Cauldron, bubbling, bubbling…

Bubbling over.

“I never had a male to begin with Eris, I only said that because I was doing things to try and get your attention, because every time I would think I was getting close with you, you’d shut me out so I made it up-“

“Stop.” His voice halts your rambling. The short red locks of his hair fall to his forehand as he shakes his head slowly, eyes downcast toward the ground below. “Just… stop.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep it from trembling. You were sure he was going to banish you from speaking to him ever again, and you hadn’t even gotten to the worst part yet.

“Eris, I… there’s more-“

“I slept with someone last night.” He interjects. You raise your eyebrows at his interruption, and his apologetic gaze meets yours after what feels like an eternity. “I went to a brothel. And I slept with another female.”

You only stare blankly at him. “Eris, that’s… you’re allowed to bed whomever you please-“

“Not when I’m so madly in love,” he steps forward, grasping your hands once more and holding them close to his chest. Your breath hitches, his eyes searching yours for any answers. “I’m in love, Y/N. I have been for a very long time, I think.” Your bottom lip quivers and you allow it, tears stinging the backs of your eyes as the moment you’d only ever dreamed of was finally happening right before you.

“Then why push me away for so long?” You whisper. Eris’s face falls slightly, but his hands slowly snake their way around your arms and down your back.

“I wouldn’t live if anything ever happened to you Y/N,” he says, leaning in closer. One tear falls as you gaze hopefully into his eyes, and he wipes it away with his thumb. “You know how my father is. He’d destroy anything I hold most dear to my heart.” He swallows thickly, and his nose bumps yours gently. One hand rests on your waist, the other still cupping your cheek as his thumb gently brushes over the skin.

Inch by inch, he pulls you closer, eyes fluttering closed when his soft lips finally touch yours again. This feels different, this kiss is so soft, so tender and full of love. You can’t help but allow a few stray tears fall, parting your lips to keep kissing Eris as your hands find their way to his shoulders. He holds you close to him, only pulling away to come up for air a few minutes later.

It’s quiet, the only sounds that are heard are your shared breaths and the fidgeting of the mares in their stalls around you. He gazes down at you, resting his forehead on yours before he shakes his head and chuckles. You can’t help but smile up at him.

“What is funny?” You ask. He sighs, pulling back a bit to run his gaze over your face, down your neck and over your chest.

“I’m but a fool for not realizing it sooner,” he mutters, still shaking his head. You only raise an eyebrow.

“Realizing… that we could have been together much sooner if you’d just allowed me in before now?” You tease. He looks skyward, contemplating.

“Perhaps,” he suggests. “Or, realizing the beautiful female who sits behind a desk all day is actually quite the little performer after hours,” your cheeks heat at his accusation — the realization that he’s finally figured it all out.

“Isn’t that right, bunny?” Your jaw drops dumbly, and he tuts.

“Ohhh bunny,” he purrs lowly, running his thumb over your bottom lip. “Don’t leave your mouth open like that unless you want me to put something in it.” You close your mouth, eyes wide at his bold choice of words outside the confines of a private room. His hand has begun tracing idle circles through the fabric of your dress at your waist.

“Eris… I was going to tell you-“

“Doesn’t matter. Figured it out anyway.” He shrugs, his other hand moving to cup your cheek once more as his amber eyes bore into yours.

“Right now I’d rather you use those pretty lips to kiss me again anyway.”

ﾟ:* ✧

[moonlightazriel]

Chapter 16: When a friend is in need /// Azriel X F!Reader

Summary: Lucien goes after his family for help, stepping in the Autmun Court for the first time in centuries.

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: The usual angst.

Notes: I thought about not posting this today, since everything that's been happening but I decided to post to bring some joy in between the terrible things that are happening, I hope you guys understand my position. Love u.

Main Masterlist

Worlds Apart Masterlist

Lucien held Elain’s hand and she noticed how his palms were sweaty, with a slight shake. She knew he was nervous, coming home after so long, she didn't even know how long it was. But here they were, strolling through the hallways of the Forest House. 

The wooden walls are adorned with centuries of Autumn Court art, orange curtains and the smell of oak. The decorations were picked to complement each other, everything ornate to create a magical atmosphere, but something felt wrong. 

She didn't know if it was the way the servants avoided looking at them, quickly bowing their heads at the sight of the youngest autumn prince or how they immediately ran away from their path. The atmosphere felt tense, like they were afraid of doing the wrong thing and being punished for it. 

But her mate had asked her to join him, he wanted her there, she even dared to think that he needed her there, to ground him and remind him that he had gotten out of that, he wasn't stuck under his father's grip anymore, he was a free male. 

The guards at the double door bowed their heads to him, pushing the doors open to reveal the throne room, Beron sat with a sneer, crown atop his head as he eyed Lucien and Elain up and down. By his side, silently, his mother sat, her eyes litting up with love and longing, her fingers twitched to touch her beautiful son. 

His eyes lingered on his mother for a little while longer, before he turned to his brothers standing by the sides, Eris first as always, being the first born and the heir. Arathorn by his side as the second oldest, Inialos as the middle born and then finally Elissar, the second youngest. Lucien could almost see himself by his side, serious expression and impeccable posture, like they did now. 

“I couldn't believe you would actually have the audacity to show up after that letter “demanding” a meeting!” Beron said and Elain flinched with the look directed to her. “Especially with someone like her, not even a real fae.” 

“I'm not here to talk to you.” Lucien said, ignoring the disgusting tone in his father's voice. “I came here to talk to you, brothers.” He turned to his siblings, they all looked at him with interest. 

“I'm here to ask for your help, we have an enemy in common, Koschei.” He started but Beron scoffed. 

“Koschei is not an enemy, he's here to save us all from someone like Rhysand and his whore of a mate.” Lucien felt Elain squeezing his hand harder. 

“Is that the lie he feeds you, father?” Lucien's stern gaze focused on the male at the throne, how he hated him. 

“It's the truth, and he'll make us powerful again.” Beron said with his chest puffed, confidence filled him. 

“More like kill you all.” Elain replied. 

“What do you know about it?” He barely looked at her.

“Koschei is from a world of demons, they kill and conquer, and do you know what can kill the likes of him?” Her voice didn't falter, she was ready to get them to work together no matter what. 

“What does kill him, dear sister?” Eris spoke, earning a growl from his father, Lucien needed him and he wouldn't fail him, not anymore. 

“Fire.” All of their eyes were on her now.

“Our fire.” Lucien added. “The fire of Celeste Vanserra, the only one who was close enough to kill Koschei.”

“There's no Celeste Vanserra. They are lying and you're too dumb to believe it, Eris. But I shouldn't be surprised.” If looks could kill, Eris would be dead by now. 

“She was my ancestor.” His mother spoke and he basked in the warmth of her voice, he missed her. “They tried to erase her from history, but her name was passed through the females in my family, no one forgot her, Celeste was the fire born, we carry her blood and her power.” 

“Lies!” Beron yelled, rising from his spot. Elain felt her head hurt, her vision getting blurry and her head was filled with visions, from a nearby future, where no autumn court remained, destroyed by Koschei. 

“It will be the end of your lineage, Beron Vanserra, and your own end. Koschei won't stop until he kills every single fae with fire abilities.” She warned, she could see his dead corpse in her head, his sons laying by his side. 

“And what do you want us to do, brother?” Arathorn intervened, stepping forward.

“You need to fight, we need to end Koschei, or else he'll end us.” Lucien begged and his brothers nodded. 

“We'll come with you.” Elissar promised, but Beron laughed, so loud that made Elain's ear hurt. 

“You won't do such a thing, no one will leave this court as Koschei isn't a threat.” He commanded, fear clouded his sons' gazes, they never respected him, but fear has a way to control people, make their bend to their will, but not anymore. 

“Your children will help us if they choose to do so, you won't stop them, or else your end won't come by Koschei’s hand. You will learn why they call me the King slayer.” Elain promised, her irises still white from the vision she had, Beron trembled with the simple promise her words carried, either he got out of the way or he would die. 

“If you go, don't dare coming back.” He threatened but for the first time, this felt more like a blessing than a curse. So one by one, his sons followed to their brother's side. 

“I will fight too.” His mother got up from the throne, walking to stand among her children, Beron was fuming but he wouldn't dare to try anything when his sons could do much worse to him. So he watched in silence as she cupped Lucien's cheek, pulling him in for a long, tight hug, whispered something in his ear and turned to Elain, repeating the motion. “Welcome to the family darling, I promise we are better than this.”

“I know. And I'm glad to be a part of this.” She gestured to the males surrounding her, and Beron sulked into his seat as he watched his wife and kids leave the throne room, leaving him alone and feeling disrespected for the first time in centuries. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

The Vanserras gathered around the dining table, the spectre twins serving them plates filled with food. Feyre talked happily with Wendy, lady of the autumn court. Azriel occasionally squeezed Y/N’s thigh under the table, feeling a bit uncomfortable in their presence, after all, centuries old feud between the two courts weren’t easily forgotten over a good meal, but he was happy they decided to help. 

“So…” Eris said, clearing his throat, all the attention drifted to him, the chatter dying down. “What’s the plan we have?” 

“Well, we will free Koschei.” The autumn heirs gasped.

“Do you  think this is the best way of handling this?” Inialos inquired, trying to be as polite as he was taught, not wanting to disrespect a High Lord in his own home. 

“Unfortunately it’s the only way of doing it, that’s where you will shine.” Y/N replied, giving the males an encouraging thumbs up. 

“We need you all to create a fire dome. Once Lucien, Azriel, Y/N and I are inside, nothing can come out. It’s your job to prevent Koschei from getting free and conquering the rest of Prythian.” Nesta said with a smile gracing her beautiful harsh face. 

“And you think we can do it?” Arathorn raised his eyebrow in disbelief. 

“We are the only ones that can do it, we carry the blood and the name of Celeste, we will finish what she started.” Wendy Vanserra guaranteed and her sons looked at their mother, the confidence that they hadn't seen shining in her eyes for centuries was finally back. She was free now and she would never go back to being a slave. 

“Then it’s settled. Let’s kill that bastard.” Eris raised his glass in a sarcastic toast, he was sure they were fucked but if Koschei was half as dangerous as he suspected, using his powers to its fullest was the least of their problems. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“Are you okay?” Azriel asked, watching as Y/N sat by the large window in her room. Her eyes distant, her eyebrows scrunched like she was in pain.

“I miss him.” Azriel smiled at that.

“It’s only been two days.” He sat by her side, his thumb tracing the side of her face, along the bumpy patch of skin that formed her scar. 

“We’ve never been apart for so long.” She took a deep breath. “After Asterin, he was my anchor for so long. He had lost his friends just like me, so I couldn't force more suffering upon him. Whenever I was nearing the edge..” An iron nail slided across the skin of her neck and Azriel swallowed harshly at the thought. “He kept me alive.” 

“He is fine, I know that.” He kissed her hand, the one he pulled away from her neck. “Soon you two will be together.” She rested her head against his chest, letting the beatings of his heart soothe her distressed mind. “Let’s go to sleep, we have a busy day tomorrow.” 

Y/N nodded, getting up and following the Shadowsinger towards the bed, allowing him to pull her closer and wrap his arms around her waist, his scent filling her mind. His fingers tracing invisible random patterns on the skin of her hips. 

“Do you think you will ever forget me?” She blurted, not allowing him to answer before she continued. “Cuz no matter the distance between us, how many worlds I travel to, you’re engraved in my heart forever, you saw me, truly saw me when I was afraid of looking at myself, you mended the broken pieces of my soul and made me someone again.” 

“Is this your way of saying goodbye?” He inquired and truly? She didn’t know.

She kept quiet for a while, her mind in a violent battle with her heart. She had to go back, Manon needed her, she had her duties to fulfil, Asterin would be so disappointed if she left it all behind. She couldn’t let Manon down cuz letting Manon down meant letting Asterin’s efforts all go to waste. 

“I don’t know.” Her heart bleeded with that answer, that stupid thing ready to throw it all out for him, her soul claimed for him. If the time ever came, she didn’t know how she would be able to choose. 

“In that case, I'm glad I had this time with you, it's more than i could’ve asked for, thank you for allowing me in your heart.” He kissed her lips with a delicacy that broke her heart just a bit further. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

The next day came, Y/N shuffled in bed, feeling more tired than the day before, her body rested but her mind kept awake, frantic thoughts preventing her from actually resting properly, she kept quiet, not wanting to wake Azriel up, she didn’t wanted to face the sadness that clouded his eyes after their conversation last night, too damn coward to face him, to tell him that she loved him more than she had ever loved anyone. Why would she say it, just to break both of their hearts when she eventually went home? She wouldn’t be that cruel.

So she sucked it up, taking a long scalding shower that usually helped her through the day, getting in the Illyrian leathers that were like a second skin to her now, attaching both her sword and cloak behind her back before she stepped out of the bathroom. Azriel is long gone. 

The house was empty, just Nesta sat there, silently sipping tea from a mug, her icy blue eyes moving upwards, following the movements of Y/N sitting down with a sigh. She took in the prominent dark circles and the sadness darkening her gaze.

“Hard night?” The oldest Archeron inquired, getting a shrug as a reply.

“How am I supposed to leave you all behind?” She said, looking far away from the female in front of her, her fork poking a fluff piece of scrambled eggs. 

“You know you don’t need to, you can stay here with us.” Nesta offered and her eyes filled with tears, so heavy that she lowered her head.

“I can’t.” She took a deep breath. “They need me!”

“Do they? Or is that what you tell yourself?” Y/N turned her cold gaze towards Nesta, the female almost flinched with the pain reflected in them.

“I don’t even know at this point. I don’t belong anywhere.” She hiccuped, tears falling down the sides of her cheeks. “I am no one, I’m not important anymore, I keep telling myself that they need me but you’re right, do they? Are they even looking for me?”

“That’s not true, you know?” Nesta slides her hand over the table, opening her fingers, letting her know that she was there for her. “You matter and you are important to us.” 

“I’m sorry I didn't mean to burden you with all of this, it’s just so lonely and suffocating sometimes. I’m sorry.” Nesta felt her placing her hand on top of hers, she grasped it, squeezing it hard.

“Never apologise for your feelings. I’m your friend, I'm here to carry this weight with you.” She smiled at the Archeron, sniffling and looking at her with bright blue eyes.

“I don’t deserve a friend like you, thank you for everything Nesta.” The female smiled back at her.

“You don’t have to thank me, it’s my pleasure to call you my friend.” Nesta gave two light squeezes in her hand. “Let’s go?” Y/N nodded, getting up, her barely eaten breakfast disappearing. 

“Alright.” The two females walked towards the training balcony, everyone was there apart from Cassian, he was with the Illyrian troops, gathering them and transporting them towards the Manor, Jurian was already waiting for them with all they needed to feed an army that big. But if everything went according to the plan, it wouldn’t be longer until they were back to their camps. 

“Good morning ladies.” Elain greeted, waving from Lucien’s side. She was more certain of her abilities of Seer now, she thought that she could help if she was around, Lucien wasn’t very fond of the idea but he would never tell her no. 

“Good morning.” Y/N replied, her eyes landing on the distant figure of Azriel, on the farest corner of the balcony, his shadows darted towards her, wrapping themselves around her ankles and wrists, brushing over her face and making her smile. He watched the exchange in silence.

“Since we’re all here, it’s time to go.” Rhysand warned. They all started to get in small groups, the ones able to winnow carrying those who couldn’t.

She felt the breeze on her face, opening her eyes, Morrigan had winnowed them to the front yard of the Manor, where people walked around, getting settled. Winged warriors in battle gears and sharp swords here and there. 

His loud roar sounded when Meraxes felt her closer, startling everyone around. He had been in a sour mood since she left, she knew that. So she ran, looking for him, finding him near Azriel in the backyard. The shadowsinger petted his nose, pointing towards her with a smile. Y/N threw herself against her wyvern, arms engulfing him in a hug. 

“I missed you.” She said and he growled in agreement, like he was telling her to never be apart from him again. She stood like that for what felt like an eternity, just feeling him, their hearts beating as one. “I need to ask you a favour.” His big eyes opened and he stood still. “You won’t be able to protect me once I’m inside, so please protect Lucien’s brothers, they will be vulnerable and we need them.” Meraxes nodded. “I love you.” He puffed some steam around her body, his way of saying that he loved her too.

“I’ll take care of her, I promise that to you.” Azriel said from behind her, he had stayed silent until now. He was hurt from the idea of losing her, but he understood whatever decision she made, he would accept it and he would still love her with every fibre of his being. Meraxes nodded towards him and pushed Y/N away, making her stumble towards Azriel, collapsing against his chest.

“He respects you.” She said as the two walked inside. 

“Just because we both love you.” She stilled, turning to him, cupping his cheeks and pulling him down for a kiss. It was getting harder to think about leaving him. 

“We need to meet them, get everything planned for tomorrow.” She pulled him towards the dining room. 

“Why are we always the ones saving the world?” Cassian groaned, eyeing the map that displayed the lake and the cabin.

“Because we’re fucking awesome.” Morrigan replied, earning a chuckle from the table. 

“Then this should be easy.” Y/N spoke, getting closer to the table.

“Yeah, let’s get everything sorted.” Rhys silenced the table. “The illyrian troops will hide around in the forest along with the Vanserras.” Devlon and the red haired males nodded in agreement. “Azriel will disguise him and Lucien as Y/N and Nesta’s shadow.” Azriel nodded. “Y/N will pretend to take Nesta to him, and as soon as they’re inside, the dome needs to be up.” 

“It will be.” Eris spoke, earning an approving glare from Rhysand. 

“The monsters will attack as soon as he feels that something is wrong, so pay close attention, cut their heads out, and they will 100% die.” Y/N advised. 

“You already know the words Nesta?” The female nodded, she had been studying the freeing spell from the diary, they hoped it worked. “Then I think we are ready.” They all nodded. 

“You all should rest. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day.” Elain kindly advised.

“Just a regular day for us folks.” Azriel said, the inner circle started to laugh. “You should rest.” He said, guiding her upstairs to the room they shared in their stay there. 

“If anything happens tomorrow, I'm glad we had this time.” She said, feeling dread setting in her gut. She couldn’t wait for this nightmare to be over.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

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Never Meant To Be

Beron Vanserra x Reader

Summary: an elite member of the society and a poor girl from the lower part of the town are destined to never be.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: this is a beron fic. i do not in any way support abuse irl, but i wanted to write for him. if you dont like beron, please dont read 😭

also. BIRTHDAY GIFT FIC FOR MY BELOVED @fell-in-luvs 🥹❣️

(dividers by @tsunami-of-tears <3)

anywho. enjoy!!

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Y/n paused midstep, curious eyes peering over the railing, trying to find where the sound was coming from. Hands tightened on the wooden bannister of the stairway, eyebrows furrowing. Maybe she should have brought a candle with her. The room was too dark for her to make out anything but the window in the far wall, lit up with the moonlight that spilled in, liquid and shimmery under the cover of night.

Breath escaping her lungs, Y/n descended the rest of the stairs, carefully tiptoeing so as not to wake her father sleeping on the floor above. By this point, she could recall the creaky steps from memory, and it was easy to avoid them. What she was more concerned about was bones lying around. Those sharp bones that flew around as her father butchered animals was the only thing Y/n was concerned about, really, considering she was barefoot.

Quietly, she made her way towards the window, slowly pulling open the drawer where she kept the candles. By the time her fingers wrapped around the waxy stick, her eyes had started drooping already. It hurt to keep them open, to the point she considered just returning to her room and ignoring the dripping liquid. But the area she lived in was poor, and the people here could not afford to waste resources. Water was precious, most of it being used up by the elites of the society, whatever little was left flowing down to the lower suburbs where Y/n resided with her father.

She brought out the candle, shutting her eyes tight before blinking them open again in hopes it would help her shake the fatigue that began weighing down her shoulders. Lifting her fingers to the wick was a task that seemed impossible, but she somehow managed to light the candle up. With that, she hurried towards the faucets in the kitchen, squinting. Sure enough, water dripped from the tap. A breath escaped Y/n as she reached her hand out, grabbing the handle and twisting until the water stopped dripping.

She turned, wondering if she should take the candle back to her room.

Whack.

Y/n blinked, wincing. What was that? She made her way back towards the window, peering out. As her gaze wandered out towards the street between the crowded homes, her eyes narrowed. A group of what looked like… higher up males messing around.

Scoffing, she turned away, ready to just go back to bed.

Alas, the males had other plans for her as the moment her attention flitted away, the sounds of howling and loud, obnoxious cheers reached her ears.

Pompous snobs. Rolling her eyes, Y/n decided that her father waking up because these boys who lived on their daddy’s money thought it’d be funny to be loud in the night, when everyone was sleeping, was not worth it. Her father was always so tired, and the few hours of rest he got were precious.

She yanked open the window, leaning her head out. "Hey! Shut it!"

The four males turned to look at her, their eyebrows raised. They all looked young, maybe around four hundred years old. They had expensive looking embroidered jackets on, their hair either slicked back or pulled into a ponytail.

"Oh? And what will you do if we don’t shut it?"

Jaw clenched, she studied the males. Two of them had dark hair, blue eyes, and the build of a teenage mortal. Possibly more into studying arts and literature than being a warrior. One had long, flowy blond hair, his eyes hooded and green like the skin of a toad.

That thought brought satisfaction to Y/n.

The one who looked the oldest among the fae, the one with short length auburn hair, stared straight at Y/n, no emotion on his face. The others had sneers and taunting smirks plastered on their faces, but not this one. He stood stoic, his eyes fixated.

She stared back at him for a few moments, unable to look away. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she somehow knew him. That she was supposed to know him.

But then he turned away, dismissing her. She stared at his back in bewilderment, her temper rising, sleep long forgotten.

Who did he think he was?

She wanted to call him, demanding an explanation. But that would have consequences, and neither she nor her father could afford it. Not to mention that if any of these males were a part of the high lord’s court, it would mean a death sentence or banishment.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Y/n retreated, blowing out the candle and shoving it back in its drawer before she stomped her way back to her room.

Y/n was mad because of the males behaviour, but more than that, she was mad at the fact that she was so bothered by the red headed male turning away from her, like she meant nothing. Like she was less than the dirt on the bottom of his boots.

Fuck him.

Sleep evaded Y/n for the rest of the night, her mind too busy trying to dissect her reaction to the male.

It was unusual for her. She never really cared for what people thought of her, having learned long ago not everyone would be nice to her all the time. But this male. He stayed on her mind, refusing to leave.

Morning came earlier than it should have. And with the first rays of the sun came her father’s booming voice, yelling at her to stop sleeping and to get her ass moving.

It grated on her nerves, and she had half the mind to yell back at him. But she pulled herself together, donning a simple dress. She did not help with the butchering, not really, but she did have to go out every morning to get some extra water from the creek nearby.

"Father! I am leaving!" She called out as she slid on her boots. A grunt was the only answer she got in return.

Early mornings were a precious time, for most of the people only started to leave their houses once the sun was higher in the sky. That meant that Y/n was all by herself at the creek.

Silence, cherished and peaceful, surrounded Y/n, only occasionally broken by the chirps of birds flying overhead in search of food for their younglings. The sun peeking out from behind the distant hills bathed Y/n in a soft warmth, warding off the early autumn chill. She was grateful for the sun’s loving embrace and its company as she settled down at the riverbed, the wet soil under her legs soft as she started to fill up her bucket.

Water gushed around her hand as she broke the water's current, filling up the vessel in her hand.

Crunch.

Y/n’s body locked up, her heart rising into her throat at the sound. No one should have been here. Not at this time. It was too early. Her instincts roared at her to get up, to flee. But she did neither.

She turned her head, glancing over her tensed shoulders to look for the predator that had decided to make her their prey. Because this was a predator, Y/n knew in her bones. Be it fae or animal, it was a predator.

Her eyes wandered, cautiously landing on the immaculately dressed male.

Amber eyes met her own.

Auburn hair. Amber eyes. Embroidered, expensive jacket over a silk tunic and tailored pants.

The male from the previous night stared back at Y/n, a sadistic glint in his eyes.

"Think I lost my way." He called.

Y/n narrowed her eyes. There was no way he didn’t follow her.

"What do you want?" Y/n questioned, getting her feet under herself, trying her best to not have her back facing him.

A corner of his mouth lifted. "Nothing, really." At her skeptical expression, he chuckled. "Did you have a good night of sleep last night?"

Y/n narrowed her eyes. "Is that all you came here for?"

He took a step forward, grass bending under his boots. Y/n took a step back instinctively, a lump rising in her throat. Muscles rolled and moved to try and accommodate it, but swallowing did not help as he continued to come closer.

"No. That is not all." Y/n glanced behind her, realising she stood at the very edge of the bank. One step was all it would take for her to tumble back into the water, and she’d rather be yelled at than drown in front of him.

"I wanted to make it up to you."

Y/n blinked. "I… what?"

He smirked, barely inches between them when he next spoke. "Did you not hear me the first time?"

Blood rushed to Y/n’s face. Now that he was so close, she could make out the shadow of a beard on his face, like he hadn’t shaved in days.

"I don’t understand how you are going to get me back my sleep."

His head tilted to the side, animal like. "How old are you, little fawn?"

Her chin lifted, refusing to budge under the intense gaze of the predator. "Twenty three."

The corner of his lips lifted higher, and for a moment, Y/n could not help but stare.

Eyes flitted away after a moment, realising she had been staring. "Twenty three? You’re basically a child."

Muscles rolled in her neck, then she met his eyes. "And?"

He shook his head, leaning back. "Let me make it up to you, beautiful. Meet me at the town square at sunset."

She blinked. "Why would I do that?"

He smirked. Shrugged, his jacket moving with the movement of his wide shoulders.

Then he turned, and stalked away, leaving her gaping at his back.

What just happened?

She did not have the answer to that question, but she did know she was not going.

Quickly, she composed her thoughts and set to filling up her bucket again, already dreading the scolding she would receive from her father because she took too much time to return home.

"Was he at least rich?"

Y/n froze, her fingers curling tighter into the sponge she had been rubbing against the pot. "What?"

"The male who wasted your time this morning. Was he one of the elites?"

Cold eyes turned to look at the weathered butcher, his eyes fixed on the meat he continued to whack with his knife. But Y/n knew his attention was fixed solely on Y/n and her answer.

Blowing a collected breath out of her nose, Y/n turned back to the pot she’d been scrubbing. "Maybe. How would I know?"

He scoffed. "Don’t play coy with me, girl. Do you want to keep all his riches for yourself?"

Eyes wide, she turned back to stare at him. "What do you mean by that?"

"You cannot expect me to believe your lies. A male just approached you out of nowhere, talked a little, then walked away, with no ulterior motives in mind?" Y/n simply stared at his back, and he finally dropped his knife, meeting his daughters eyes. "He obviously wanted to do something with you. He either wants to marry you, or he wants to use you for one night. Surely you can’t be that naive?"

Huffing, Y/n placed the pot back in the sink, throwing the sponge next to it and washed off her hands, trying to calm down her rising temper as she watched the soap suds vanish slowly.

"I’ll be outside."

"Go wherever you want, girl, as long as I get my share of money!"

Her eyes closed, a frustrated sigh puffing out from between her lips. Deciding that she needed more than the fresh air outside her walk, she began walking towards the town square mindlessly.

Not realising that it was almost sunset.

The square was busy, filled with males returning home from work and people who just wanted to have an early start to their nightly activities. The area was so crowded that Y/n debated turning around, but the thought vanished when she remembered why she was here in the first place.

To get away from her father. Maybe sit with some older ladies and have a chat.

"Going somewhere?"

Y/n glanced over her shoulder.

The male from the river side.

Her eyes widened, realising what time it was. He simply smirked and stalked forward, the crowd automatically parting for him. He didn’t even seem to realise that there were people around him.

"You look surprised." He mused.

Her eyes narrowed. "Maybe because I am?"

He chuckled. "You look like you’re in need of a distraction."

Y/n turned away. "Do I?"

He hummed. "I can provide a distraction."

She shot him an incredulous look. "No thank you."

She turned away, beginning to make her way through the crowd again. But… 

Maybe it would be a good idea to indulge him. At least for some time. Maybe she could even figure out why his nonchalant attitude bothered her so much.

"You know what? Humour me…"

A smirk spread across his lips, the first genuine expression Y/n had seen on him. "Beron."

Her brows furrowed. She knew she had heard that name somewhere.

There could be so many more males named Beron, She tried to reason with herself.

"Hmm. Let's see what you can do, Beron."

Being a four hundred year old heir was a hard job, one Beron excelled at. His father was a fucking monster, but at least Beron could forget about the asshole when he snuck out with the bastards who kissed his ass every chance they got. Beron knew that they did not really care for him. No, they just wanted a shiny title once Beron became high lord.

Beron never really considered himself a nice male. He knew he was going to turn out just like his father, and if he was being honest, he was fine with that fact. He had no interest in becoming a better person.

But then Y/n pushed her way into his life. Or maybe he simply dragged her in. All that mattered was her, and nothing more.

She was a shiny gem.

Beron was a dragon.

And he wanted her in his collection, no matter what it took. Beron would gladly take all the torture his father made him go through if it meant at the end of the day he would get to see her. Maybe fuck her. But she made him come alive. And for the first time in all his four hundred years of existence, Beron wondered.

Wondered what a family with her would look like. Maybe he would become a better man.

But if there was one thing Beron wasn’t, it was delusional. He knew it was all wishful thinking. She was a nobody, a poor butcher’s daughter from the lower clans of autumn court. He was destined to take over ruling the whole court. They were never meant to be.

But in the cover of night, within the safety of the four walls of his room and under his blanket, Beron let his thoughts run wild, letting himself imagine a world where his father was a better man.

Of course, his hope was dwindling down day by day.

Particularly after his run in with his father that morning.

"You summoned me?" Beron muttered, his eyes lowered in deference.

The high lord hummed. "Come in." Lungs expanding, Beron made his way to stand in front of his father. "I will save us both time and get to the point."

Beron blinked.

"The peasant girl you’re fucking. I don’t want anyone finding out."

His blood chilled, eyes flying to fix on the relaxed figure of his father. "What?"

The high lord snorted. "You think I am naive? dumb? Listen closely, Beron. You are most likely going to be chosen by the magic to be the next high lord. I don’t want you marrying a good for nothing peasant. Fuck around, sure. But if I were you, I would make sure she did not fall pregnant." He finally looked at his son. "Oh and, start preparing. I have set up a marriage for you which will be beneficial for everyone."

Nothing ever surprised Y/n. And if it did, she was good at hiding it.

It was a surprise to Y/n when Beron showed up at her house every day since then, but he was one of the elite families in the autumn court. So that meant he was never denied anything in his life, so it came as no surprise when he thought he was entitled to her time.

But what did surprise Y/n when she actually wanted to spend time with him. So she just went along with his plans, often spending time together sitting at the cliff sides, watching the sunset.

He just… pulled her in. He enchanted her, and she was grateful he did. He had bewitched her, body, mind, soul. And she never wanted to go back to what she was before he came along.

She was aware that their union was improbable. Maybe impossible. But no one could fault her for being hopeful.

The crisp autumn air swirled around Y/n as she made her way to the hut outside of the town's borders, invisible to the fae passing because of the cover of trees around it. Shivers wound up her spine, leaves crunching under her boots. She pulled the scarf around her neck tighter, already anticipating wrapping herself around her lover when she got to his secret home.

He had revealed the place to her late one evening, handing her the keys to it. Later Y/n found out he had brought the place specifically so the two of them could meet in peace.

Moments passed in silence, only broken by her steps and the movement of the trees, animals and spirits around her in the forest. She hurried on, eager to tell Beron about the kitten that had started following Y/n around the previous day, only slowing down when the wooden structure came into view.

Along with it came dread.

Why, she did not know.

The surroundings were eerily quiet, like even the wind was holding its breath.

Confusion dug its claws in, along with doubt and fear. Was Beron home?

The door creaked open, and she tiptoed inside, a resounding click echoing behind her. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness inside, she stopped breathing.

What happened here?

The whole interior of the house looked like a storm had been inside. Shards of glass, cutlery, plants, wood pieces littered the ground, a dark stain covering a small area on the opposite wall. Hell, even the dining table was upended.

Her heart slowed, then resumed its hard pace. "Beron?" The sound of the name was shrill, panic evident as she discarded the basket in her hand next to the door, running deeper. "Beron? Are you home?"

Crash.

And then silence.

The door to the bedroom was cracked open, and the closer Y/n got, she could hear heavy breathing from the other side of the wood. Steps slowed, air rushing in despite the barrier in her throat as she peeked inside.

The first thing she noticed was the blood.

A lot of blood.

Dripping from his fist as he stood there, staring at the shattered glass at his feet.

"B- Beron?"

Wild, primal eyes met hers, mad intent in them. Fear started to seep into her blood the longer she stared back at him. And if she hadn’t been watching him so intently, she would have missed his whispered words.

"I’m getting married."

Ice. So cold, so numbing, took over any other emotion in her body, overriding her senses.

"Oh," deep breath, "well. Congratulations then."

And with that, Y/n turned away, ignoring his incredulous laugh echoing through the hollow walls that surrounded her.

"Go on, run away! Everyone does."

His words followed Y/n all the way to her home, haunted her all night. That laugh, the crack in his voice, the emotions that ran rampant in his eyes. All of it kept her up. Pained her, dug its claws into her heart and ripped her apart from the inside.

It felt like someone had cut open her body and lit a fire to her organs.

And she deserved it.

She hurt all night long, the tears running down the sides of her face and back into her hair burned too, like acid. But growing up in the lower parts, she was used to ignoring all pains. That's what people did when there were things to be done.

Ignore the pains during the day, cry about it at night. But keep it all inside, don’t let anyone find out.

So when the sun’s rays broke in through her windows, she made herself get up. Got changed. Stared at herself in the mirror until she was sure there were no cracks.

And then she went about her day, ignoring the shards of her broken heart that poked at her flesh.

Just like she had ignored the shiny, golden string that tied her to Beron.

The females had been whispering. Everyone around Y/n seemed to know what was going on. She could not be quite sure what they were talking about, but from an overheard conversation between two housewives at the town square, Y/n drew the conclusion that the high lord had passed.

And the heir was going to take over soon. He was also getting married in a few hours in the sacred temple in the middle of the town, and anyone was free to come see and give their blessings. As Y/n had expected, her father jumped at the opportunity to even be breathing the same air as the elites.

Y/n knew he also wanted to go and see if he could find a male willing to pay in exchange for Y/n’s hand.

"Y/n! We will miss the wedding! Can you be any slower?"

Deep breaths. She reminded herself as she fixed her skirts, eyes fixed on the mirror. When she deemed herself fit to be presented, she turned.

Her father looked livid as he stood outside the house, and Y/n knew a tantrum was on its way. But to Y/n’s surprise, he turned and walked away, leaving her to run after him to catch up.

The air was unusually humid the closer they got to the clearing in the forest where every high lord had held important events.

It seemed like everyone had come to see the new high lord get married. Every few moments, an elbow would hit Y/n in the back, in her ribs. Anywhere, really.

It was by the time that she was sure that her skin was going to bruise that the high lord came into view.

And Y/n’s lungs turned into rock, refusing to expand to let air in.

Amber eyes surveyed the crowd, landing on hers with unnatural precision.

Eyes prickling, Y/n watched him glance at his bride, who nodded along to the priestess, before returning to her.

A silent, long moment passed. And then his eyes widened, shining with so much emotion. She had never seen him this bothered.

And finally, the empty, cold void that had been on the other side of the golden string that had laid dormant in her chest filled, light and fire filling her chest.

But Y/n turned her head away.

She was not someone he should have even talked to in the first place. She was far beneath his level. He would not forfeit his throne for her. And she could not forfeit the simplicity of her life for him.

They were simply not meant to be.

And the light that had just reached her slowly diminished, the life going eerily quiet. She knew she hurt him, but she could do nothing to fix him, even as her chest started filling with numbness, anger and resentment pouring in from the other side.

With one last glance, Y/n sprinted away, back to the little hut she shared with her father.

She would never be able to forget that look on his face. The hrd angels that seemed accentuated by the weeks worth of stubble on his jaw, the fury that seemed to age him another century.

But they were never meant to be.

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