#Muse | Amarantha

[luxmaeastra]

Narcissus snorts and doesn't look up from the chess board in front of him.

Her eye flash and her fingers curling sound her taken pieces.

"Did you hear me? Clythia is in love with you -"

"I heard you. But I'm not sure what you want me to do about."

His eyes finally lift from the chess board and he looks to her.

"Maybe not toy with her like you do?" She countered a bit more sharply than she intended. It wasn't as if they had really gone any further with whatever they had, it wasn't as if he was...

Amarantha's lips thinned as she looked towards the chess piece, picking up the queen and looking at it.

"I love my sister, Clythia craves what she can't have and I don't want her hurt. She deserves to find happiness, to find someone who fulfills her. So please...don't play with her..."

[luxmaeastra]

Amarantha rolled her eyes as Narcissus burst out laughing, she was half tempted to kick him off the couch from his reaction but thought better of it the last moment.

"And not everyone is a glutton for punishment."

She paused in saying anything else when she felt her sister's arm, her head turned towards her as she saw the excited energy clear in her eyes.

"M-Maybe," she stuttered as she felt her cheeks warm. "And our parents do not know, and saying whether he is handsome is not is not something I want to disclose at this time."

Or he'll end up with a very large ego.

She blinked confused.

"Why would I make him squirm? Of course I said yes. Was I meant to -"

She stopped as Narcissus burst out laughing, nearly falling from the couch he lay in. He pointed to Amarantha.

"See! See I told you not everyone is a sadist -"

Her eyes went wide and she gripped Amarantha's arm.

"Has someone asked to court you? Who! Who? Are they handsome? Does Papa and Mama know -"

[gccdstories]

@siderealxmelody / *

Amarantha listened, of course she did, but the burning fire within her only heightened at those words. There isn't much you can do. Eyes narrowing, her arms crossed defiantly over her chest.

❝ I am not a child. ❞ The hissed words held every bit of anger she felt within her in that moment, Amarantha leaning closer so she could make them--all of them--understand. She looked at every grown up in the room, as if daring any of them to tell her she was.

❝ I want to know where he is. He shouldn't be alone-- ❞

[twistedtangledfate]

continued from here with @solstice-muse-collective

This was dangerous territory for the younger male and Amarantha's smile spread wide across her crimson lips. "And you would do anything in contrition now wouldn't you?" The words were practically a purr. She was challenging him because she knew without a doubt that there was only one answer he could give without provoking her ire.

"Oh, I can think of quite a few things you could do to make this right. Would you like to hear them?"

[tadpolesonalgae]

On The Wrong Side of History: The Queen of Hybern

Azriel x Hybernian!Reader

synopsis: Reader is one of Hybern’s generals, fighting for her freedom after Prythian turned her back. Born with no magic, she was forced to cultivate a different kind of power, one that could prove deadly to the inhabitants of magic-blooded fae of Prythian. But when she’s captured and thrown into the scarred hands of the Spy-master, which side of history will prevail? Will Hybern’s story be told, or will it be covered up and concealed before the suffering of her people ever makes it to the light.

warnings: miscarriage at the end, war, general suffering and grimness, slight torture(?)

a/n: I had this idea yesterday and wanted to write something so fair warning it’s a little rushed! It also lightly brushes over miscarriage which might be a delicate subject for some so please take care of yourselves 🧡💛

word count: 3,810

——————————————————————————————————————————————

The war is coming, and not a single inhabitant of Hybern will stand by and let the chance for freedom pass. It’s been five-hundred years since you were confined to that island, cut-off from the mainland and left to rot and starve. Now is the time to reclaim the ground you were deprived of. War is coming, and she is starving for revenge. Starving like your people have for centuries, and nothing will stand between you and fighting for your right to life. Not even the baby you know is growing inside of you.

The air is fresh and damp, and you take the time to inhale its freshness before hot blood is spilled, turning the ground to a mushy, fleshy soup. The day is overcast, heavy grey clouds that look like the mould on bread swelling in the sky, ready to start leaking, dripping down into the open fields. Grass stomped into a muddy mush as feet frantically fight for ground, desperate to keep steady before they’re trodden down into the dirt, trampled and crushed beneath the weight of an army.

If you fall, you cannot rise. Not with a writhing mass of violence crowding the land, oozing bloodlust so thick it won’t matter which army you fight for. A body shouldn’t rise from the mud, any attempts to would be met with steel slicing down in a frantic jolt.

You turn from the entrance of your tent, making for the bed, moving slowly, peacefully, to the protective coatings you’ll be wearing in a couple of hours. The leather that will stick and slide over your skin, wet with blood and sweat, hopefully some rain, too. Heat gathers quickly in the midst of battle, and between the stink of gore and the sweltering sweat that greases any soldier’s grip, rain and wind are much appreciated for their gentle touches.

Your nose twitches as a breeze passes through the camp, quiet in the early hours of misty, grey dawn. Even beneath the cover of your tent, the smell of the battlefield can reach you—damp and bloody, contaminating the fresh air you’d been treating yourself to.

Something shifts inside of you, and you glance down at yourself, hesitantly raising your palm to your lower stomach. You only found out about your condition mere weeks ago, but even had you only found out this morning, you would still be here, preparing for your freedom.

The baby won’t survive, anyway. Not with what your body has turned into.

————

“You’re ready for today?”

A wry smile curves your lips, settling deeper into the chair that’s been set to one side of his room, the large bed in the centre already made despite him having risen as recently as yourself. Neither of you have ever particularly been ones for sleeping in, having so much to do at all times of day. “I’ve been ready for the past five hundred years,” you answer, leaning your chin on the heel of your palm.

The King of Hybern reflects your smile—the slightest twist of his lips. “Perhaps I made a mistake sending Amarantha to seize control of Prythian,” he muses, slipping the shirt over his head, pulling his dark, shoulder-length hair free of the collar once it’s on, making to tighten the laces that can be used to close the V of the hem. A note of dissatisfaction slides beneath your skin as his amulet is obscured—a hollow iron circle, his crest welded from the dark metal inset to its centre.

“Perhaps,” you agree lightly, watching as his fingers tighten the ties of his trousers, noting the distinct lack of armour—he’ll be watching over the Cauldron today. “Though in that case she might still be alive,” you murmur quietly, a little smile dancing in your eyes.

“You disgrace her,” he chuckles lowly, pulling the thick coat from his bed, leather on its exterior to keep out the bite of wind or the lick of rain, while lined with a warm fleece. “You trained beside her for a good portion of your life, at least honour her memory.” The King of Hybern shucks on the coat, the hem of leather coming down past his knees, and he adjusts the cuffs before making for the large, wooden chest at the foot of his bed.

“There was little to honour,” you counter, straightening in the chair as you watch him decide on which daggers to hide beneath the coat. “She was brash and brazen at the best of times, too quick to grow comfortable on her throne. And I never liked her bedside manner. She was always too grabby and rough for my liking.”

“She was ambitious,” he counters, strapping a small blade to the interior of the coat, hidden away in a pocket on his left side. He pauses, briefly considering something, then glancing over you, how you’re lazily sprawled across his chair, “though her nails could have been a bit shorter. They were an unpleasant surprise, at times.”

Your lips curve at one corner, sharing a look with him, before he returns to selecting his daggers, settling on one with a jagged, serrated edge, a wicked hook to its tip.

It’s then he turns, blades concealed beneath his coat and he silently walks to you, charcoal eyes glittering as you sit straighter. “How long have you been serving me now?” He asks, pausing at your side, so you have to incline your chin to look at him, baring your throat. “Five centuries? Six?”

“Six and a half,” you reply, “if you’re counting foot soldier duties as serving.”

He smiles a strange smile, glittering teeth showing briefly beneath familiar lips. “Loyalties are rewarded,” he says cryptically, his palm settling beneath your jaw, inclining your chin—it would be easy for him to snap your neck with the slightest snap of his hands. “Have you thought about what you want?”

“It seems greedy to ask for something before I’ve even succeeded at winning this war,” you reply.

“Consider it a show of assurance,” he remarks, “I have no doubt you’ll prove instrumental to Prythian’s ruin. Now, what would you like, upon your victory?”

Your eyes gleam with hunger, and you wonder if it’s at all possible he might not already know what you desire, more than anything. And looking at the way those charcoal eyes of his are gleaming, as if goading you on, urging the words to spill like honey from your velvety tongue—you feel it’s impossible. He knows what your request will be. And he’s practically dragging the desire from your throat, with the grip he has on it.

“Make me your queen.”

———

Darkness pounds at your mind, eyes aching as if the blood vessels are bursting, hot pressure building, ready to splash out through your pupils. The air is cool…cold, skin hypersensitive to the slightest shift in temperature, telling you there’s a layer of sweat over your exterior, alerting you to each swish of air.

Your thigh stings, the laceration taking its time to heal, longer than others of your kind would. The small cuts you’d been given the day before—a few inches long—have scabbed over, no longer in danger of leaking blood, but there’s going to be a definite pucker around each cut. A shiver traces up your spine, an involuntary shudder passing through your lungs as coldness sweeps across your skin, like a winter’s breeze.

Slowly, keeping your breathing as even as possible, you crack an eye open, only to be met with darkness. Hesitantly, the other slides open, and you peek at your surroundings but the dark seems impenetrable, thick and absolutely solid. Your nostrils flare, and the faint smell of ammonia and iron waft up along with the sharp tang you associate with stomach acid, the air itself thick and damp, slightly humid. Fertile and rife, perfect for things to start growing.

Casting your gaze downward, you can spot the stitching that’s covering the split in your right thigh, jaggedly stitched up, and from the looks of it you’re quite glad you weren’t conscious for it. You also notice the grime that’s already begun settling on you, dirt and mud and gore still layering your skin, save for the small perimeter that’s been cleaned around your thigh. The thought of how you must smell is a grim one.

“You’re awake,” a voice observes from the darkness, making your ears twitch.

You keep your mouth tightly sealed, waiting to hear what the observer has to say. Let them speak their part first, before you start making your own moves. Already you can tell this one is different from the previous ones—yesterday’s one had a lighter voice, squeaky and dragging. This one sounds like the first roll of thunder before a storm breaks.

“You’ll forgive me for the haphazard stitching. Healers are needed elsewhere.”

So this one’s to blame for the child’s-quilt on your thigh. It’s more than likely it was done intentionally carelessly, rather than simply poorly—poor stitching could lead to further infection, while careless stitching just might leave a trace of a scar. On a regularly healing body, at least.

Straightening in your chair, you try to pick out where the voice is coming from, but the darkness is so thick, and your eyes have barely had a chance to adjust, and with the faelight bobbing above your head there’s little chance they will anytime soon. Keeping them shut would be the quickest way, but it would be leaving yourself open. More open than you already are, that is, with your arms bound at your back. They haven’t bothered to shackle you to the chair itself today, the ties from yesterday are gone, and you can feel the weight of the stone around your wrists: Gorsian shackles—utterly useless on you.

“What do you want today?” You ask into the darkness, stretching your fingers to keep them awake and ready. It’s already been at least three days, and you suspect whoever has come to visit today isn’t just any old torturer. You can tell from the silence they keep, how undetectable they are despite your honed senses, sharper than most’s. They had to be, for you to survive.

“The same thing anyone might want from a prisoner of war,” the voice replies, ghosting through the room, bouncing about in the darkness so it’s impossible to tell its root. “And what is that?” You ask, following the script, familiar with the direction of the conversation—unaccustomed, however, to be on this side of it. “Information,” the voice replies, and there’s less than a second of detectable presence before your hair is wrapped around a fist and dragged back, your throat exposed as you’re positioned over the back of the chair, making it impossible to swallow. The faelight glares down at you, beaming into your adjusted eyes, and you’re forced to squint as your vision blurs from the sting of the light and the grip on your scalp. Cool steel settles just below your jaw, the tip of a blade spiking into the soft flesh just beneath the hollow of your mouth.

Your teeth grit together, hissing sharply at the roughness of the touch, thigh aching from the tension that shot through your body. A laugh forces its way from your chest, ragged and strained as you peer up into the faelight, pupils tightening to slits in the face of the brightness, “give me something in return. I can’t very well go back empty handed, can I?”

Your captor roughly tugs on your hair, your lip twitching a little from the pain but otherwise unruffled. “You might go back with no hands at all, unless you’re careful.”

“Threats already? You haven’t even told me what you’re after,” you bite out, voice heavy and grim.

A beat passes between you, then the steel is flipped away between deft fingers, removed from your throat in favour of pressing to your sternum—a warning before the cuts begin, gradually skinning you alive until they get what they want. Fury simmers quietly inside of you, but you keep it tucked away. That’ll only come in useful once the pain starts setting in. A fuel to fall back on when food would become a problem. But it’s high time you return to your king. You’ve spent long enough here, all because of a stupid, foolish…

“Would you like to hear something interesting, then? In the name of compromise?” The voice asks, low and rasping, and you sit silently, waiting for what they have to say.

“The one who visited you yesterday, the day before that, and the day before that…each one refused to come back the next day. Insisted there was something wrong with you.” The hand tightens on your hair then releases, the presence vanishing like a flame snuffed out, leaving your skin tingling with awareness. “Once is by chance, twice is a coincidence, but three…three’s a pattern.”

Something hisses past your ear, and you jerk in your seat, not foolish enough to stand. You glare into the darkness, peering deep from beneath your lowered brows, lips turned down in the corners as you try to pick out even the faintest shadow, but they all blend together so seamlessly, like one giant, blank wall. Not a single shape to be found.

Something whispers to your left, then cracks to your right, your pulse beginning to pick up involuntarily form the confusing stimulus, attention split between both directions.

A figure steps into the grey shift in light, silent and menacing as it prowls forward, one military-grade boot in front of the other, and you take in the towering silhouette, the great wings looming in deeper shadow. Your eyes follow the light as it glides up his frame, revealing long legs clad in Illyrian leathers, scarred hands within easy reach of visible weapons, a lean waist and broad chest, the Night Court insignia clear over his heart. Cold, cutting hazel eyes, with a glint you recognise. After having spent so many centuries gazing into eyes like that, it would be strange to not be able to place the intense glint of honed reproach, the look that desires utter eradication of the thing that’s causing suffering.

Calm and deadly, he is your exterminator.

“We’ll start with an easy question,” he says, gaze unfaltering as he meets your own.

“What is it that makes all kinds of magic recoil from you, General?”

A slow smile breaks across your lips, delicately curving in a mocking grin. You should have known this would be his question, that they would have figured something was wrong with you by now—the slowed healing, the way their magic leans back from you, as if trying to scuttle away.

“And you?” You ask, a gleam in your eye. “What’s your title?”

His mask doesn’t shift, not even the slightest hint of emotion in his dark eyes. Just silence. Patient, grating, silence.

“Not even the name of my captor?” You push, smile slipping away, settling back into a wall of ice to match his own—you can play that game, too. “Or are you nobody? You don’t seem like you’re nobody, though.” You angle your chin, shifting in the chair slightly, re-flexing your fingers, testing the gorsian shackles. “You’re clearly important, if you were sent in to investigate after three turned away, and considering the insignia you’re wearing, with those wings…master torturer of the Night Court?”

He inclines his head, “Spymaster. Shadowsinger.”

“And how do your shadows like me, Spymaster?” You murmur, able to guess the answer.

His dark eyes narrow on you almost imperceptibly, then his right hand is wrapping around the hilt of one of his blades, inset with strange markings, as dark as obsidian. The hairs on the nape of your neck rise as he thumbs the blade free, a sharp glint in his eye being the last thing you see of him before he steps away into shadow, falling seamlessly back into the darkness.

“How long had you planned to let this war go on for?” He rasps from the darkness, the question bounding in and out, coming from different sides that make it impossible to track his position. All while he’s free to observe from the shadow. “You ask that like we have control over the nature of war,” you reply neutrally, keeping your gaze sharp, but all it looks the same. If you could find a way to put the faelight out, or to lure him to stand before you… Getting some information first would be preferable, though.

“But maybe we had an idea.”

The sound of steel slicing through air comes from your right, and you instinctively follow the familiar hiss of a blade, body tensing, as if expecting it to come flying out from the darkness.

“You’d have to be confident in a victory to have a timeframe in mind.” His rasp echoes throughout the room you’re kept in, whispering in varying volumes as it’s bounced off shadow. “We’ve had a long time to prepare,” you reply vaguely, features remaining blank, despite being unable to so much as feel the weight of his attention. If it wasn’t for the fact you’d seen him, and were having a conversation, you wound’t believe he was in here with you. You hate to admit it, but it’s impressive.

“And I suppose you believed you’d win?” He questions.

“I know we’ll win. Whether I’m in here or not.”

The steel tip of a blade grazes the top of your back, slowly tracing the length of your shoulders, occasionally pressing deep enough to disrupt the skin, but mostly remaining as a taunting reminder—he could choose to cut you at any moment, as deeply or as slowly as he pleases. “What made you believe that? Numbers? Experience? Speeches?”

“We have the cauldron,” you reply, keeping apprehension clear from your voice, the tip of the blade pressing a little too deeply into the back of your left shoulder. “What was it like, by the way? Seeing your soldiers wiped from existence in the blink of an eye?” The blade bites into your skin, probably pushed in to about an inch of flesh, and you grit your teeth as he twists the steel, opening the wound up. “I’m fairly certain we targeted your aerial armies on the first day,” you grit out, remembering the wings at his back. “I’m guessing you knew some of that scum?”

The blade retracts calmly, but he makes no further incisions, walking back around to stand in front of you. He’s strangely under control, considering how badly the war will be going for his side.

“Why are you so repulsive to fae magic?” He repeats. Unruffled by the comment. Good. “Why don’t you come closer and figure it out yourself?” You reply, noting the living shadows that are gliding down from his shoulders. “See if your shadows can answer that question.”

He regards you silently, then slides the blade back into its home at his hip, walking forward until he crowds your space, scarred fingers biting brutally into your cheeks, squeezing as he leans down. “I don’t think I need an answer. Not anymore.” You keep your mouth shut, confused by what he’s saying. “You see, despite your certainty, you were proved wrong. Two days ago. I would like to know what it is about you that makes magic react the way it does, but at the end of the day, it’s ultimately of no importance.”

You glare up at him, muscles tense from the grip he has on your cheeks, squeezing your jaw.

“You lost the war,” he says, quietly. “Your king was decapitated by one of the humans he used as a test subject. Felled by his own creation.”

There’s no falsity in his gaze, just ugly, unforgiving, truth.

And he’s in reach.

You twist your wrists in a snappy movement, harsh enough the already weakened gorsian stone crumbles away, allowing you to launch from the chair, hand seamlessly wrapping around the hilt of his blade, sliding it free with the familiar sing of steel.

He’s caught off guard—it’s impossible to break out of those shackles—his moments of surprise allowing you to use his weight against him, pushing into the frame of muscle in the places you’re familiar with, tripping him up. His wings thrash as they’re caught beneath him, shadows vanishing at your proximity, shoved away to some godsforsaken pocket as you aim the blade for his throat, his own scarred hands wrapping around your wrists to loosen your hold. But fae are made of magic, their very strength dependant on it. Encountering a creature that nullifies any and all types…his muscles tremble beneath you, shaking with the force of keeping you from plunging the blade into his throat.

“I’ll kill you, and your High Lord,” you hiss, leveraging your own weight, so the blade sinks down toward the bare, unprotected part of flesh. “I’ll end every single one of you, and I’ll save that abomination for last,” you snarl, in regard to the human who he’d told you decapitated your king.

His strength is draining swiftly, and he knows you can sense it, can feel the tremble in his muscles, and the steel inches closer, spurred on by his weakness.

The Spymaster grits his teeth as he shifts suddenly beneath you, allowing you to gain precious inches so the steel scratches the swell in his male throat, but in turn allowing him to raise his leg from the ground, stomping his boot into your stomach, sending you flying back, crashing into the chair you’d been sat on, the faelight flickering above.

Your lips part, eyes going wide as nausea rises up swiftly, having only seconds before you’re vomiting onto the floor, heaving up chewed food and saliva, a dizzying feeling sweeping through your entire body.

You’re flipped over not even a second after you get the first clear breath down, the Spymaster over you, dark eyes cold as ice as the steel of that blade glints in the unnaturally pale faelight. The blade hisses down, aimed to slice up beneath your ribs, cutting into your heart, but his eyes have dropped to the hand you have over your abdomen. Nostrils flaring at the slight tang of blood.

His features slack. “You’re—”

You take the chance, knocking the blade from his hand, reaching to wrap your hands around his throat, but something impacts with your temple, a second figure coming from the darkness that you hadn’t noticed, and you feel as the hit registers.

A fresh wave of dizziness slams into you, the world tilting dramatically before you’re slumping, heading for the floor before hands catch you. Making sure you don’t land on your front.

The world goes silent.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

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[logcnz]

@amalucadoacampamento

If I had known... If I had known that you'd done that... That... that you cared that much about me, and about us... If I had known, then I would've fought for you. What do you mean? What do you mean? Fought for us. I would've fought for us. I mean, at prom and at the funeral. I mean, I... I would've been there for you, through everything. I would've been... I thought you knew. I thought you knew. From the moment we kissed on the beach. I thought you knew. Then why? Why? Why did you throw it all away? Why?

THE SUMMER I TURNED PRETTY— 2.06 'Love Fest'

[daydreaming-nerd]

Hey, I saw that you are writing to Rhys and I have been asking, I just ask that you be patient because I don't know how to explain it very well

Anyway, would you like a fic, like, with two scenarios? where Rhys and the reader LITERALLY love each other with the same intensity? like, a scenario where Rhys defends and protects the reader, and another where the reader defends and protects him?

Thanks!

Unconditionally (Rhysand x Female! Reader)

Summary: you and Rhysand are fiercely protective of each other no matter what the situation is. 

AN: I hope this is kinda what you were looking for!

Warnings: fluff, mentions of abuse, Amarantha sighting (brotha ew), blood, death, mentions of rape, SA.

When I found the High Lord of the Night Court I was nothing but a weapon crafted and created from birth by Keir. Chosen for my impeccable beauty, Keir had molded me to be an assassin that could rival Azirel himself. Keir had long sought to own the entirety of the Night Court and he had every intention of using me to do it.  My beauty allowed me to seduce any man within an inch of his life. But my sleight of hand and dexterity made me nearly lethal. When Keir wasn’t using me I was locked away deep within the Hewn City, forced to train with men who were much bigger and stronger than me. Oftentimes I thought to run, escape, but I was always beaten into submission. 

The night I met Rhys was the mission I had been bred to complete for many years. I walked into Rita’s dressed to the nines and blended in perfectly. The second the devilishly handsome High Lord made to leave I followed him, waiting in the shadows until it was my time to strike, the second I got the blade under his neck he winnowed out from under me and returned the favor with a blade of his own. I’ll never forget his first words to me...

“Now what’s a pretty thing like you doing with such a dangerous weapon?” he drawled. 

He could've killed me that night, but he didn’t, he showed me mercy and maybe pity too. It turned out he knew much more of me than Keir thought he did. He saw how scared I was offered me sanctuary. At the time I didn’t have a clue who he was to me, but looking back, I think he knew all along. Through months of getting to know each other despite my fear of him at first, we grew to like each other. Soon we grew to have witty banter that kept me on my toes, and intelligent conversation about anything and everything that would surpass the long hours after dinner.  After a few months he started sending me on missions with Azriel, and eventually after a year or so he sent me on missions of my own, his way of saying he trusted me.  

One fateful mission I was sent on to an Illiryan camp left me battered and bruised. It seemed the Illyrian generals sought to teach me what happens when a woman comes into their camp and causes problems, even if it is at the request of their High Lord. I never would’ve made it home if Cassain hadn’t found my frozen body in the ditch they had left me in. Looking back I was almost thankful for the event, it was how Rhys and I realized we were mates. Ever since then we had been truly inseparable.

“Rhysand, I won’t ask nicely again,” purred that clearly female voice. 

Amarantha had been after Rhys since he escaped from under the mountain, but I had never seen her in the flesh. She would send letters and emissaries asking for Rhysand to be her whore, promising him riches and luxuries beyond his wildest beliefs. Yet now she stood in the townhouse, auburn hair cascading down her bare shoulders, her black off the shoulder dress squeezing her tightly.  How she got here? I don’t know, but I do know that from where I sat in the shadows she wouldn’t see me drive a knife through her skull. 

“Amarantha, I'm a mated male. The answer is no,” Rhysand drawled trying to keep up appearances, but down the bond I could feel a sense of fear. 

“She can watch if she likes,” Amarantha mused, and it was my last straw. 

I snuck up behind her with the stealth and dexterity that had been bred into me from a young age. I hardly needed to use it anymore, being Rhysand’s mate gave me ample immunity across Prythian. But god if there was ever a time. I press my dagger to Amarantha’s throat and I feel her body try to move but she's far too late.

“Sorry Amarantha I don’t like to share,” I growl, pressing the edge of the blade even deeper. 

“Did I mention that my mate is lethal?” Rhysand boasts with pride.

“I’m s-sorry,” she pleads and a tear falls on my black dagger. 

“Now mate,” Rhysand smirks. “We wouldn’t want to get blood on the new rug.”  

I roll my eyes at his snarky remark. It was little comments and that effortless swagger that had made me fall in love with him in the first place.

“Beg,” I utter in her ear. My voice filled with absolute authority. 

“P-please I’ll leave. I-I’ll never come back,” she says through her sobs. 

I yank her hair back further, “Why should I let you go?” I smirk. 

“Because I’m s-sorry. I-I’m so sorry.” she cries even harder.

“Sorry for what?” I ask condescendingly.   

“For what I d-did to R-Rhysand,” she says, like she’s too afraid to reveal the whole truth.

I felt Rhysand tense through the bond but it only made me see red even more, knowing that her presence still affected him. 

“What did you do to my mate?” I ask like I don’t already know the answer. She stays silent, choosing to cower. “Tell me!” I shout. 

“I’m sorry I f-forced him into my b-bed.” she admits and her knees go weak at her admission the only thing keeping her up is my hand in her hair and my dagger to her neck.

I couldn’t help but see the image of him and her. Rhysand helpless below her as she rode his cock, the reason he still was too scared to let me take him that way. Images of him cumming inside her, his body's natural reaction to what she was forcing him to do. I remember how he told me the stories of him crying himself to sleep while she slept soundly and happily. 

“You touched my mate, and for that you’ll pay the ultimate price,” I sentence her. “He’s fucking mine.” I growl before slitting her throat. 

Her body falls to the floor in a heaping pile of dress skirts and her own blood and I toss my bloodied dagger over her dead body. I check my hands for blood, but like a trained assassin should have it, not a drop is on me. 

“Well so much for the rug,” Rhysand drawls, standing from his chair. 

I walk over to him, the rage the mating bond caused me to see drifting away at the sight of him. He wraps his arms around my waist. 

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “But she was a dead woman the second she stepped in this court. Thinking about what she did to you still makes me sick to my stomach.” 

“Shhh,” Rhys coos, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I’m not mad at you. If you didn’t kill her I was going to.”

“Sorry I kind went all deadly assassin on you, but-” 

“The mating bond was provoked,” he cuts in, tipping my chin up to meet his gaze. “Trust me I know the feeling. How do you think I feel when you come home injured from a mission?”

“Holy shit y/n!” Cassian drawls from behind me. I turn to find him nudging Amarantha’s limp foot with his boot. “Mating bond chafing a bit?” he chuckles. 

“More than a little bit,” Rhys laughs with male pride. 

I simply raise my eyebrows at the Illyrian in a challenge and pull Rhys down to kiss me.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Rhys asks me for the millionth time. 

“Yes Rhys I’ll be fine! I promise!” I reply but I wasn’t too sure of my answer. 

I had never been back to The Hewn City since I left on that mission to kill Rhys all those years ago. But today I finally made my return. I had avoided the city as much as possible and Rhys never so much as asked me to come along with him. Returning would mean the torture, the assault and every nightmare I faced here, I would have to face again. Today I had decided I was done hiding, I wanted to face my fear, show Keir that I was more than just what he made me. I knew I would be more vulnerable down here, most likely off my game. But Rhys had assured me we would only be making a quick appearance at the party and then leaving, so I felt now was as good a time as ever. 

“Alight, but if you want to leave at any time you let me know okay?” he says, kissing my brow.

“I will,” I smile. 

We walk through the large doors to find the people of The Hewn City already kneeling. The second I come into view their gasps reverberate throughout the room. Everyone knew I was Keir’s pet, but now I stood dressed in black with a crown atop my head, beside the one man I was bred to kill. The High Lord. 

We take our seats on the twin thrones at the end of the room. Keir bows to us both and I don’t miss the shock in his eyes as he sees what became of his pet. It becomes clear to me that he thought I was dead for all these years, and now I walk into his city once more with a crown on top of my head. 

“Let there be music and dancing!” Rhys proclaims and the room fills with a beautiful orchestra as the festivities begin. 

“Welcome Rhysand, who have you brought with you tonight?” Keir asks, faking his innocence.

“My mate of course,” Rhys says, pressing a kiss to my hand. “I must thank you for introducing us. She is without a doubt the most delectable creature I’ve ever known.” he continues nibbling my palm. 

“I- uh. Well” Keir stumbles over his words. 

“Leave us,” Rhysand orders. 

Keir scrambles down the steps to wherever he thinks he might be safe from Rhysand’s death stare. I knew this place always put him on edge, no doubt with me here tonight he was fuming. 

“How are you feeling?” Rhys asks, fondling my hand.  

“Good, considering I’ve never seen Keir show true fear before,” I laugh replaying the image in my head. 

“Maybe next time I’ll have him juggle and sing you a song then too mate,” Rhys chuckles. 

I watched as people danced and sang and were generally happy. I never knew this side of the Hewn City. The normal side I should say. Keir always kept me locked in the dungeons, the only time I was ever allowed out was on missions and when he chose to parade me around like his little pet. His way of striking fear into the hearts of his subjects. Seeing the people act like, well, people was almost jarring. They were monsters, but they were still fae just like me. 

“I’m thirsty darling, I'm going to grab a glass of wine, would you like one?” I ask Rhys. 

“Yes but let me fetch a servant or come with you.” he replies and I can sense his unease. 

“No, I want to show them all I’m not afraid of them,” I say quietly so only Rhys can hear. He nods his head and I feel him tug on the bond as if to say ‘be safe’. 

I waltz down the dias steps and over to the corner where wine is held in large barrels.  I don’t miss the shocked looks from those around me followed by hushed whispers. No doubt all of them were talking about how I used to be Keir’s pet. I keep my head held high and reach for a glass to fill up. 

“Well hello beautiful,” a deep voice drawls from behind me and I whip around 

My shoulders tense up. I would recognize that voice anywhere. Dante. The man who helped to “train me”  in the art of seduction. He would come into my cell and teach me how to seduce a man, which of course led to him taking advantage of me. He was one of Keir’s favorites. 

“Remember all the fun we used to have little one?” he grins wickedly stepping towards me. 

“Normal people would call that rape,” I snipe at him, trying to act like I’m not terrified. 

“Oh but you used to make such pretty sounds for me,” he teases, stepping closer and I feel my back hit the wall. “Lets see if you still do.” 

In a second his body presses me to the wall and his hands are hiking up my skirts. I try to push him off or look for help, but here in the Hewn City it wasn’t uncommon for males to take what they want when they want it. 

Dante’s motions stop and his eyes go wide, like his brain is about to explode. He falls to his knees before me and every vein in his head and neck look like it’s about to burst. I look up to see Rhys standing behind him, nothing but pure murder in his eyes.

“I would think twice before touching another male’s mate,” Rhys grits out standing in front of me so he can look down on Dante. “Especially your High Lord’s.”  

“I’m sorry Rhysand I didn’t know,” Dante wheezes. 

“Have you touched my mate before?” Rhys asks and Dante neglects to answer. “Very well then I’ll just have to find out for myself.” 

Dante screams in agony writhing on the floor, Rhys no doubt tearing into his mind to find out what he wants to know. I look around at the stunned faces watching one of their own lose his mind in the middle of the ballroom, even the orchestra had stopped. I felt shame fall over me as I realized what Rhys was seeing. Images of me, dirty, bruised and helpless being forced to seduce and please the man writing on the ground. Rhysand’s shoulders tensed and suddenly Dante stopped writhing. 

“So you have touched her before,” Rhysand drawls. “What a pity, I almost considered letting you off with a warning.” 

Within moments Dante’s screams echoed off the walls and I knew what Rhys was doing, he had done it to the Illyrain who threw me in a ditch all those years ago. He was melting his mind from the inside out. He didn’t even have to lift a finger. 

“Let it be known that whoever disrespects my mate again shall meet the same fate!” Rhysand’s voice booms, addressing the crowd now. “Maestro you may continue!” he finishes, turning to me.

Rhysand’s shadows shield us from the rest of the onlooking crowd and the second I look into his eyes I’m immediately comforted. 

“Are you okay?” he asks me, taking me in his arms. 

“Yeah I’m fine, you got here before anything happened.” I sigh, melting into his touch. “I’m sorry you had to see that, you know, the things he did to me. I hoped you’d never know” I say, casting my head down in shame. 

“Hey don’t you dare be ashamed,” he says tilting my chin up. “What he did to you was unforgivable. If I had known earlier I would’ve had his head on a pike.” 

“I love you Rhys,” I say, burrowing my head into his chest. 

“I love you too mate,” he smiles stroking my hair. “Let’s go home.” 

[velarisnightsky444]

Scorched Shadows Part 6

Eris x AzrielsSister!Reader

Summary: Y/N is the younger sister of Azriel. She has shadows just like him, and is also a spymaster for Rhys. When she meets Eris, she initially hates him, but after a bargain is made between them, things begin heating up.

CW: Amarantha

Series Masterlist

Part 5 || Part 7

»»————-　♔　————-««

Year 4

"That mask makes you look so mysterious," Mor teased you as you got ready.

Amarantha was throwing a masquerade ball Under the Mountain. Rhys had no choice but to make an appearance, and you had insisted that you go with him. You didn't want him to be alone. Besides, he rarely let you go on dangerous missions. He usually left those to Azriel.

The only thing you were dreading was facing Eris Vanserra. While you knew he was invited, you weren't sure if he would attend. It had been two months since you saw him in the Summer Court. You hadn't felt that thread in your chest since.

This time, you wore a more classy gown than the one you had dressed in for the Autumn ball. It was still black, and it dipped low enough to reveal your cleavage. The skirt flowed out, reaching you ankles. You also wore sparkly, black heels.

Mor had curled your hair and left it loose over your shoulders. She'd done your makeup as well, smearing red lipstick on your lips. Plus, a black masquerade mask.

"The males will be all over you," Mor continued, grinning at you.

"I don't want any of them," you told her, rolling your eyes.

"A female, perhaps?" she grinned.

"Oh, hush," you pouted, glaring at her. She just laughed.

"Well, come on, Y/N," she insisted, hauling herself to her feet. "Rhys is waiting."

You had kept Rhys waiting for twenty minutes, now. But he was well aware you always took your time getting ready.

"Look who's finally ready," Cassian taunted as you and Mor finally emerged from your bedroom.

"You would understand if you put effort into your own appearance," Mor shot at him.

"It was good enough for you when we were seventeen," he reminded her. She stuck her tongue out at him.

Rhys was standing in the foyer, his hands in his pockets. He donned a black suit with a black undershirt. The jacket and pants were embroidered with stars.

"Are you ready, milady?" Rhys joked with a smile.

"I am," you confirmed with a nod.

"You look beautiful," he complimented.

"Thank you," you curtsied.

He bowed, kissing your hand, before rising again. You couldn't help but grin. Your brothers had always treated you like a princess, despite the fact that you were a bastard-born nobody. They made you feel like you were special.

Within a second, he winnowed the two of you away. You clutched onto him, your shadows surrounding you.

When the both of you had materialized, you were in a place so similar to the Hewn City.

You had heard the rumors that Amarantha had modeled this place after the Court of Nightmares. It seemed you were in a throne room, one almost identical to the one Rhys ruled in.

The room was crowded with High Fae and Lesser Fae alike, all in their finest clothes, wearing masks.

Your shadows whispered to you, warning you to be careful. You brushed them off.

You spotted Amarantha on her large throne, wearing a crimson dress that matched her long hair. Her lips were twisted in a smirk as she watched the crowd.

"I have business to attend to," Rhys said smoothly. "Stay safe. Don't wander off. Reach out to me if you need anything."

With that, he disappeared into the shadows. You went off by yourself, glancing around as you did so.

You strolled over to the refreshments, pouring yourself a glass of red wine. Most of the Fae around you were already drunk and stumbling around.

As you took a sip, you felt that abandoned string in your chest go taut. You were well aware that Eris had approached before your shadows told you.

"Mate," they whispered to you.

"I didn't take you for a red girl," you heard him muse.

"What?" you demanded, whirling on him with narrowed eyes.

"Your wine," he clarified with a raised brow. You glanced at the red wine in your hand, then at him.

He wore a golden undershirt, embroidered with autumn leaves. Over that, he had an emerald jacket and brown trousers. His short hair was combed neatly. And his face was adorned with a golden mask.

"You don't know anything about me," you mumbled, swirling your wine in the glass.

"It was just an assumption."

"Listen, if you want nothing to do with me, why don't you leave me alone?" you questioned, glaring up at him.

"Maybe I quite enjoy pissing you off," he grinned. You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

"Maybe you're just a prick," you corrected.

"Both can be true," he mused.

You wanted to snap--wanted to piss him off right back. But the sound fingers snapping distracted you.

Amarantha was situated on the platform, accompanied by all seven High Lords, each of them holding glasses of wine. Rhys had his gaze fixed on her, nothing but pure hatred in his eyes.

"I'd like to offer an apology to the youngest Vanserra," Amarantha crooned.

It had been said that this ball was her apology for carving Lucien Vanserra's eye out.

"We shall toast to him!" she commanded, raising her glass. The High Lords raised theirs as well before drinking deeply.

But you could tell that something had gone wrong the moment you saw Rhys's face.

The fierce power that normally radiated from the High Lords had diminished significantly. The night that glowed around Rhys was almost entirely gone.

Amarantha's red lips formed a grin as she gleamed with power that had not been there before.

Commotion broke out all through the room. Every single one of the High Lords seemed to realize that they had been robbed of their magic.

You met Rhys's eyes, but he shot you a warning look. One that told you to stay where you were.

Eris was already shoving through the crowd, likely to get to his father, but you didn't budge. You trusted Rhys.

"Welcome to my court," Amarantha smirked. "I am your Queen. Don't bother trying to leave."

Your eyes went wide, your mind going to your family. Azriel, Cassian, Mor, and Amren. What would you do without them?

Chaos broke loose, Fae shoving through the crowd. You grunted as you were shoved to the side. You clutched onto the table, holding yourself steady as everyone went wild.

"And, you, dear Tamlin--" Amarantha practically purred, dragging a finger down his chest. "Shall be my King."

Tamlin snarled, shoving her away from him. She stumbled just slightly, but quickly got her bearings.

"I would sooner take a human to my bed--I would sooner marry a human than touch you," Tamlin shot at her. "Even your sister preferred a human's company to yours. She chose Jurian over you."

Everyone in the room seemed to halt at that. You let go of the table, standing up straight. That was too far, and Tamlin was well aware of it.

"You're quite lucky I'm in a generous mood," she crooned. "So I'll give you chance to break the spell you're all under."

Tamlin spat in her face, but she only laughed, wiping it away with her sleeve.

"You have seven times seven years before I claim you," she stated. "If you want to break the curse, you only need to find a human girl willing to marry you. But not just any girl--a human with ice in her heart. A human willing to kill a faerie. And the faerie must be one of your men. And only if she kills him in an unprovoked attack. He must be killed for hatred alone--just as Jurian did to Clythia. So you may understand my sister's pain."

Tamlin could only glare at her. Without his power, he was defenseless.

"The Spring Court is free to leave," she announced. "The rest of you shall remain here."

You tried to meet Rhys's gaze again, but his was so focused on Amarantha.

She met his eyes, a smirk on her red lips. She kept eye contact with Rhys as she flung The Autumn Court power out--towards where the Court of Nightmares was gathered.

You could feel the heat on your face as the flames flew at the Court, hitting half of them. Half of Rhys's court. And she kept her eyes on him the entire time.

Shrieks echoed from the entire room, and you realized that you, too, were screaming as you watched hundreds of Fae burning to death. The scars on your hands seemed to ache, just as they always did when you were around flames.

They began to drop in fiery masses, their skin burning up until they were nothing but smoldered corpses.

Your shadows had gone quiet, and when you looked down, you realized that they were gone.

Rhys finally met your eyes, and you sent him a desperate expression. He shook his head at you just slightly.

You noticed Eris standing with his mother, his arm around her protectively. You were always surprised by how fiercely he protected her. Whenever you mentioned her, he got defensive.

"I still have a small portion of my power left," Rhys said into your mind. "I've secured Velaris. I've informed our family what happened. You need to lie low, Y/N. I will find you when I can."

"I'm scared," you admitted to him, eyes wide.

"I know," he said. "Just stay away from her until I can get to you, and you'll be fine."

»»————-　♔　————-««

Scorched Shadows Taglist: @the-sweet-psycho @hnyclover @lilyevansstudygroup @esposadomd@fxckmiup@lilah-asteria@a-court-of-mischief-and-madness@sourapplex

Eris Taglist:

Comment to be added to the Scorched Shadows or Eris taglists!

»»————-　♔　————-««

[legionofshaza]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚

Eternal love･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

@officialfeysandweek

The stars winked down at them, as though they held secrets too ancient for the world to remember. But Feyre had always known the truth—there were no secrets between her and Rhysand.

They stood together on the balcony of the House of Wind, the night air cool and fresh around them. Velaris sparkled below, a breathtaking view of their city, their home. The soft glow of faelights illuminated the streets, a reminder of all they had fought for, all they had endured.

But tonight, there was only stillness.

"How long do you think the stars have been watching us?" Feyre asked, her voice a whisper in the silence of the night.

Rhysand’s arm tightened around her waist, pulling her closer against him. His wings, dark and magnificent, unfurled slightly behind him, as if they too wished to protect her from the cool breeze. He gazed at the sky, his violet eyes thoughtful. "Long enough to know that some things—some people—are eternal."

Feyre tilted her head to look up at him. The Lord of Night, her mate, her husband. In him, she had found not just love, but her equal, her partner in all things. His gaze was soft but held the intensity she had always known—the kind that promised forever.

"And us?" she asked, her voice barely a murmur, though she already knew the answer.

Rhysand smiled, that crooked, devastating smile that sent warmth flooding through her, even after all these years. "Eternal," he whispered, brushing a kiss against her temple. "You and me, Feyre darling. Even the stars will grow tired of watching us."

Feyre’s heart swelled, her chest aching with the depth of her love for him. It was more than just the bond that tied their souls together—it was the quiet moments like this, where words were unnecessary because everything had already been said in the way he touched her, in the way he looked at her.

And yet, as she rested her head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, she couldn’t help but think about all the trials they had faced—Amarantha, Hybern, the wars, the losses. There had been so much pain, so much darkness, but somehow, they had always found their way back to each other.

"I used to wonder," Feyre said softly, "if we would ever have a moment of peace. If we would ever stop fighting, stop running."

Rhysand’s hand found hers, their fingers intertwining. His thumb traced soothing circles on her skin. "We’ve fought enough battles to last ten lifetimes. But the real fight was always for this—for us. And that, Feyre, is eternal."

She closed her eyes, letting his words wrap around her like a warm blanket. He was right, of course. The battles they had fought were behind them, but their love—that was something beyond time, beyond the wars and the bloodshed. It was woven into the very fabric of who they were.

Feyre shifted in his arms, turning to face him fully. The moonlight bathed his face in silver, casting shadows that only made him look more ethereal, more like the High Lord of Night that he was. But to her, he would always be more than that. He would always be her Rhys.

"I love you," she said, her voice steady, though her heart raced with the weight of the words. No matter how many times she said it, it never felt enough to capture the depth of what she felt for him.

Rhysand’s smile softened, his eyes glinting with something fierce and tender all at once. "I know, Feyre darling. I love you, too. More than words can ever express."

*＊✿❀　❀✿＊*

They stood there for a long time, wrapped in each other, in the quiet promise of forever.

Eventually, Rhysand turned his gaze back to the sky, his hand still holding hers. "Do you think the stars will ever fade?" he mused, his voice thoughtful.

Feyre followed his gaze, watching the glittering constellations. "Maybe one day," she replied. "But not for a long time."

Rhysand hummed softly, his wings rustling behind him. "Even if they do, we will still be here. In whatever form we take next. You and I—eternal."

Feyre smiled, leaning into him. The future stretched out before them, vast and unknowable. But for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t afraid of it.

Because no matter what the future held, they would face it together.

And together, they were eternal.

»»——End——««

[shadowqueenjude]

The only parts of ACOWAR you need to know

Did you hate ACOMAF and you're scared of reading ACOWAR? I gotchu. This is all you need to know from ACOWAR (this will be pretty long):

2 pages later... “You sent the Bogge after them!” Tamlin roared at (Feyre and Lucien). Not long after...

I would've chosen Lucien... Lucien's POV:

Later...

And now the real drama begins...

Rhysand: “I’m not in the business of discussing our plans with enemies.” “No,” Tamlin said with equal ease, “you’re just in the business of fucking them.” “Seems a far less destructive alternative to war.” “And yet here you are, having started it in the first place.” “If you hadn’t stolen my bride away in the night, Rhysand, I would not have been forced to take such drastic measures to get her back.”

“You don’t get to rewrite the narrative,” (Feyre) breathed. “You don’t get to spin this to your advantage.” *gets ignored* Tamlin: “When you fuck her, have you ever noticed that little noise she makes right before she climaxes?” Azriel: Be CaReFuL hOw YoU sPeAk To My HiGh LaDy. *gets ignored* Tamlin: “It was not enough to sit at my side, was it? You once asked me if you’d be my High Lady, and when I said no …” A low laugh. “Perhaps I underestimated you. Why serve in my court, when you could rule in his?”

Rhys: Well, played, Tamlin. You're learning. Tamlin: “You asked why I’m here? I might ask the same of you.” He jerked his chin at the High Lord of Winter, at Viviane—the few other members of their retinue who had remained silent. “You mean to tell me that after Under the Mountain, you can stomach working with him?” A finger flung in Rhysand’s direction. Rhys: “I had no involvement in that. None.” Kallias: “You stood beside her throne while the order was given.” Rhys: "I tried to stop it." Kallias: “Tell that to the parents of the two dozen younglings she butchered. That you tried."

Rhysand: “When your people rebelled...She was furious. She wanted you dead, Kallias. I … convinced her that it would serve little purpose.” “Who knew,” Beron mused, “that a cock could be so persuasive?” *Rhysand gives another bullshit sob story* “Stories and words,” Tamlin said, lounging in his chair. “Is there any proof?” Kallias: "Why are you here, Tamlin?" Tamlin: “I am here to help you fight against Hybern." Thesan: “You will forgive us if we are doubtful. And hesitant to share any plans.” “Even when I have information on Hybern’s movements? Why do you think I invited them to the house? Into my lands? I once told you I would fight against tyranny, against that sort of evil. Did you think you were enough to turn me from that? It was so easy for you to call me a monster, despite all I did for you, for your family. Yet you witnessed all that he did Under the Mountain, and still spread your legs for him. Fitting, I suppose. He whored for Amarantha for decades. Why shouldn’t you be his whore in return?” Mor: “Watch your mouth." *gets ignored*

Helion: “Noble as it sounds, who is to say that information is correct—or that you aren’t Hybern’s agent, trying to mislead us?” Tamlin: “Who is to say that Rhysand and his cronies are not agents of Hybern, all of this a ruse to get you to yield without realizing it?”

Feyre: “You’re insane. Do you hear what you’re saying? Hybern turned my sisters into Fae—after your bitch of a priestess sold them out!” Tamlin: “Perhaps Ianthe’s mind was already in Rhysand’s thrall. And what a tragedy to remain young and beautiful. You’re a good actress—I’m sure the trait runs in the family.” Feyre: “What do you want? An apology? For me to crawl back into your bed and play nice, little wife?” Tamlin: “Why should I want spoiled goods returned to me?” *Rhysand does violent shit and ruins our fun* Mor: “You still certainly like to hear yourself talk, Eris. Good to know some things don’t change over the centuries.” Eris: “Good to know that after five hundred years, you still dress like a slut.” *Azriel tries to choke Eris to death because he's crazy*

Daddy Lucien to the rescue as usual

Rhysand: “Then don’t take (the antidote). I will. My entire court will, as will my armies.” Tamlin: “At least you have armies to give it to. Though perhaps that was part of the plan. Disable my force while your own swept in. Or was it just to see my people suffer? Surely you knew that when you turned my forces on me, it would leave my people defenseless against Hybern. You primed my court to fall. And it did. Those villages you wanted so badly to help rebuild? They’re nothing more than cinders now. And while you’ve been making antidotes and casting yourselves as saviors, I’ve been piecing together my forces—regaining their trust, their numbers. Trying to gather my people in the East—where Hybern has not yet marched."

Beron: “Did you know that while your mate was warming Amarantha’s bed, most of our people were locked beneath that mountain? Did you know that while he had his head between her legs, most of us were fighting to keep our families from becoming the nightly entertainment? And now Rhysand wants to play hero. Amarantha’s Whore becomes Hybern’s Destroyer. But if it goes badly …Will he get on his knees for Hybern? Or just spread his—” *Feyre attacks Lucien's mother like a bitch then gives a pathetic apology* Beron: “Don’t talk to her, you human filth.” *Rhysand attacks Beron like a bitch* Then Nesta stands up and gets every mfing High Lord to listen without attacking anyone because she's a goddamn queen! And that delightful Neris moment: (Nesta) looked to Beron and his family as she finished. Only the Lady and Eris seemed to be considering—impressed, even, by the strange, simmering woman before them.

[luxmaeastra]

Anastasyia had never been happier, she had also never danced this much in one night. She was positively beaming, she followed Aleksander to a small balcony.

He looked nervous, was he going to say he didn't have a good time? Was he -

She blinked, staring.

"I'm sorry could you repeat that?"

He shifted on his feet, rubbing at the back of his neck meeting her eyes again. But his eyes weren't nervous.

"Can I court you Ana?"

------

"Amie!!!"

She burst into the card room she knew her sister was in. Thankfully it was just the two of them.

Narcissus lay on a couch watching her, probably drunk. She set her wooden chisel down turning to her.

"What? What's happened? Are you alright -"

"Aleksander asked to court me! I told you!! I told you!'

She spun in a circle falling onto the couch next to her beaming. Narcissus chuckled, rubbing at his face. His lips looked swollen, Anastasyia hoped he wasn't coming down with something.

"Finally, he's been agonizing about for weeks -"

Sometimes she wondered how the males of their own even got dressed in the morning, especially with how much Aleksander had gone out about this. She had heard it through Narcassius, the whole ordeal had been nerve wrecking and it wasn't even her relationship.

Amarantha sighed, sitting back as she looked towards her sister.

"It is about time, if I had to hear about how he was moping around anymore I was about to throw him on the next ship." Despite the lack of teasing in her tone, it was obvious she would never throw him on the next ship out of there.

No, she knew how much he meant to Anastasiya. "And did you say yes, or are you making him squirm?"

[gccdstories]

ANSWERED ASK ::

It was Alaric who brought anything to their attention. How Narcissus wore a thin gold chain around his neck that he wouldn't let any of them touch.

That he did all the chores and wouldn't let his brothers or him help.

It was concerning but not enough that Sebastian felt the need to intervene. Natalia and he agreed boys were probably over exaggerating. Noelle had been getting better, she doted on Tisiphone, she was happy. Motherhood had finally made her understood there was good in this world.

She deserved to be happy - even with all fraught history between them.

Then Beron had summoned them.

Narcissus had been found on their land, just shy of the border with Winter.

His veins pulsed with dark shadows as if he'd consumed them. Tisiphone kept begging for her mother, and Narcissisus was a feral thing - wouldn't let any healers get near them. He let Amarantha though, but at 13 it was harder to man handle, his magic was growing.

Beron turned from the window in the door to Sebastian and Natalia.

"What is happening to -"

"Did he say anything about the boys?"

Sebastian cut him off scanning the room again. Beron shook his head, his face growing grim.

Determined.

"Regardless he is staying here. They're Fated and I'm done watching that boy slowly die year after year -"

"Beron there's probably an explanation for -"

"Is there? What was mine Natalia? My mother was fucking insane. Should I draw the same conclusion with Noelle?"

Sebastian stepped between them, edging Natalia backward just a bit.

"Nasha let's get the boys. Maybe something happened? Beron let's not jump to conclusions. He is still a Prince of Winter you can't just take him -"

"I can. I have. Zefera is writing the contract, he will have visits with his cousins, perhaps Andulvar and Twyla but -"

------

Noelle knelt before the other, flicking her wrist for her shadows to put the fire out.

"Now. No more lies alright little one? You don't want to end up like Azriel right?"

He had been sent to a timeout for stealing one of the muffins she'd had been cooking on the counter. She'd branded his hands with fire and sent him to the hole - the darkness and fire would do him good.

He was coddled, arrogant just like his father. This would teach him never to lie again.

@siderealxmelody

Natalia felt it, deep within her. The way everything in her very blood screamed that something was wrong. Even as she listened to Beron, she still wanted to defend her sister. Even as her own soul screamed that Noelle had walked a very fine line, there was always a line--wasn't there?

That darkness hadn't completely destroyed her sister so much that she'd do--

Eyes darkened, and her own anger had her pacing across the room, her own shadows nearly pulsating as they covered the walls, the floor. Natalia whirled hard on Sebastian.

❝ Say it. I know you want to. I know you're just dying to say it, Sebastian. ❞ The words, nearly growled from her, felt like a harsh whip across the room. ❝ But I can't have lost her so far she'd do-- He's still young-- ❞

But the idea that Noelle might bring harm to her own sons was an idea that Natalia didn't even register. It didn't even form at all in her mind.

There could never be a risk of that...

~~

Amarantha sat next to Narcissus, this time just silent. She kicked her feet off the ledge, giving him both space at the same time as letting him know he wasn't alone. That she wasn't going anywhere. It's always the way she was with him.

It's how they were together. She never liked it when someone crowded into her space, either, but she didn't want to be utterly alone, abandoned, either.

Narcissus understood that.

Her hand brushed across the space between them, rested atop his fingers, stilling the way they drummed against the stone. His dark eyes weren't as endless anymore.

Amarantha knew the others--a few healers, one or two of the guards--stood just out in the hall beyond the door. She didn't care. Right now, it was just them.

❝ I'll kill her if you want me to, ❞ she whispered, the vow so strong, so absolute, that Amarantha didn't even hesitate to say it. She may still be young, so very, very young, but she would rip out that female's heart for hurting him like this.

❝ You know I'll kill anyone who ever tries to hurt you ever again... ❞

~~

Azriel had curled up tighter, like maybe that might make it hurt less. Or make him not feel it as badly. If he hid further back in that corner, even in this small space, it wasn't so bad...

No. That was a lie. A foolish little lie and even at this age, he knew he couldn't make himself believe it.

He'd just wanted a snack, and it'd smelled so sweet, so good...

Azriel was pretty sure he'd never, ever take one of Aunt Noelle's muffins ever again.

[luxmaeastra]

Luscia was someone she trusted around Narcissus, she was one of the few who she had built a bond with and trusted. Of course she knew Narcissus before her, there was history she was not involved with, but she felt an understanding with her.

"It is hard to tell, I would assume he was one of your from how he acted. However, you couldn't really tell if he was full or half." Both options left a lot of questions.

Her focus remained upon him as he lay there, she could feel the tiredness down their bond. He had been through so much, he had done so much over the last little while.

Amarantha jumped slightly when she felt the other touch her hand, grounding herself once more in the now instead of her thoughts. She looked to Luscia.

"I am fine," she finally answered. "I...I am just trying to understand this," she answered honestly. "As for Felix, I am sure Luda can handle him. He will take a little while to fully recover though."

Narcissus nodded, his body sagging from the adrenaline.

--------

Luscia dabbed at forehead and looked to Amarantha. Her long silvery hair loose unbound. She'd rolled out of bed and hurried to them.

"He'll be fine. Probably horrified but he - they didn't too much damage."

She frowned and looked to Amarantha. Of all the Asteri her brother kept around him she seemed to know more about their way of life than anyone else.

"So was the prince one of us or presumedly just the mother? Was she killed? Had she dissapered?"

She knew the riddle but Narcissus had been correct. It was an old one, but she didn't know immediately.

Her father might, but the riddles had a purpose. Sometimes Changelings lost their contact. They still all the same riddle or the basis for each house was the same.

So hopefully they'd find each other again.

Luscia reached for her hand, squeezing it.

"Are you alright? Did you need anything Amie? How is Felix I could help Luda heal him if needed."

[twistedtangledfate]

Continued from here with @solstice-muse-collective

Amarantha watched him, waiting somewhat patiently for him to answer. She couldn't press him too much, that would expose more than she was willing to reveal. When he rested his hand over hers, Amarantha glanced down briefly and then back up again, smiling at him. "Indeed, but the truth can also set you free."

Amarantha wasn't playing a part, not to the same degree that she did usually. In the recent times when it had just been her and Tamlin, she had found that there was a certain level of her authentic self that could be shown to him. There was much that she had to keep close to her chest but there were some things that could be released, some things that she could show him about herself.

Amarantha had her designs on Tamlin which was why she had to investigate what she had learned to ascertain the truth. She would not be made a fool of by anyone.

[lexluvswriting]

ꔫ L'autunno.

ꔫ Ch: 5 [last page] [next page]

-> Pairing: Eris x ballet dancer!fem!reader.

-> (CW): x fem!reader (she/her), slow-burn, rivals to lovers, tinkle of angst on occasion, fluff, non-specified identity Summer Court!reader, no specific time in storyline except it's after Amarantha.

-> (TW): um… you guys now like each other ig. KIDDING! romance, pining, Eris opens up a bit, and so do you!! and you both kinda chill and it’s really fluffy.

W/C: 4.4k

╰┈➤ Lex's note: um… hey… me again. i promise i'll sincerely apologising for neglecting you all, but pls accept this fat, juicy peace offering <3 i love a male who has to yearn! as i always say: “to earn the puss, you must yearn the puss” (i only thought of this now, at 12:02 a.m.)

Your eyes widened, a laugh of disbelief leaving your lips as you shook your head, stepping back from him- to prevent from shaking him or kissing him again, you weren’t entirely sure.

“No. No! Absolutely not- Have you not listened to a word I’ve said?”

“Of course I have, and I meant everything I said- and did.” He tried to meet your gaze as you stubbornly looked away, trying to gather your bearings from what the hells had just occurred. He let out a breath, stepping forward with his palms exposed in what looked to be a placating gesture.

“You, my dear, are a radical.”

Your brow raised,

“A revolutionary,” He tried again.

“I don’t think that’s what it-”

His hand grabbed your face easily, as if it fit like a missing piece in his hand, and squished your cheeks to stifle your flat reply,

“Just… Listen to me. Brains like yours cannot be wasted in some- some shoddy little apartment complex. People like you- People with your sense of courage,” He amended after a not-so-silent silent look from you, “Are exactly what I need for when I become High Lord.”

“Huh?” Your eyes bugged out of your head as you finally pulled his hand away from your mouth, too distracted by his sudden shift of thought to even think of walloping him. Since when did you sign up to some lordling’s political campaign?

“You’d be absolutely perfect to meet the High Lord. Granted, your bedside manners need a bit of work, but you could really stir him up-” Eris kept pushing the topic, and your mind raced. 

“Eris! We- I… Alright, listen!” You held a hand up in case he wanted to interject, “Look, your strange, spontaneous agenda means nothing right now, not when you just- You just-” You gestured between you and him, and he rolled his eyes, as if you were the crazy one.

“Here we go.” He sighed, leaning against a nearby tree, watching you with a look that made you want to throttle him.

“Oh, ‘here I go’- You kissed me, Eris!”

“Darling, there are people dying-”

“With no warning?! No context?! Nothing!” And it was a damn good kiss too- weirdly enough.

“Yes, darling, I did. I don’t regret it currently, but I’m starting to think I should.” His tone was dry and amused, yet that same fire stayed in his eyes- like infant embers, waiting for more firewood. You faltered for a reply, before grabbing his arm and pulling him back to you as if he was some sort of doll.

“Hey!” Were you overreacting?! Were you just going insane? Yes, that must be it. Being with this absolute idiot must be making you lose your sanity- and you certainly told him as much. He simply snickered at your tangent, shaking his head.

“You almost had me beat, darling. I figured I’d find a way to settle the score.” The heir shrugged, making you growl softly as his trademark smugness surfaced again.

“No, Eris! It was strange! It was strange, and spontaneous and- You can’t just do that!” You argued, making the Vanserra male shake his head as he grabbed your face again with two hands to cup, looking into your eyes with a look that you swore held fondness amongst the blatant amusement.

“See what I mean? You work yourself up. You’re hardly a swan- more a headless chicken.” He mused, making you pause, looking up at him as you tried to decide whether to kiss him again or smack him- hard.

“Stop avoiding the subject-” You opted to grab his wrist, removing his grip on you, but keeping him close in case you changed your mind on not smacking him.

“First of all: I am meeting your father at the Equinox ball solely because you invited me to perform. End of discussion.” You affirmed, and Eris sighed in mock defeat, waving a hand dismissively.

“Next: are we going to talk about how you completely blacked out on me?”

At the mention of his flashback, he tensed slightly, jaw setting before shaking his head, wanting to pull away.

“It’s none of your concern.”

“None of my concern?” Your grip tightened around his hands stubbornly, “You looked unwell. Visibly. I couldn’t just ignore that-” You scolded like a worried parent almost, glaring up at him as you did so. He looked at you after you brought it up, his eyes narrowing slyly. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“And why, little swan, did you feel the need to be so kind? I thought you were supposed to have a severe ‘distaste’ for me.” He pushed it back on you, making you groan. Why did he have to be so wily and infuriating?

“Because I- I… Well, I’m not a bloody monster.” You replied hotly, cheeks warming as you glared at him, taking a moment to recompose before you fixed him with a stern scowl, squeezing his hands to prompt his attention.

“Look- I agreed to accompany you, and do whatever is required for the Equinox, yes. But we aren’t lovers, or casual bedtime partners for you to just use-”

“I have enough of those already, my dear, but thank you for the offer.” He flashed a canine in a smug grin, proud of his stupid humour, before your snarl made it fall back into a still smug smirk instead. You stepped into his personal space, grabbing him by the collar of his fancy shirt and pulling him to your eye level,

“I’m being serious! I am not some sort of toy you can reach for whenever you feel vulnerable, Eris.” 

You snapped, irritated at how badly that kiss had flustered you, rocking you off balance emotionally. His eyebrow raised at your assertion of the boundary, and he blinked slowly as if considering your blatant irritation, before his eyes trickled down to where your lips waited. Something must have flipped within when he kissed you, because you caught yourself wondering for a moment if he’d bridge the gap again.

Cauldron above, that kiss had practically ruined you.

That, or maybe, it was because you barely allowed yourself to get close to anyone beyond casual unions in the night, rendering you sorely touch-starved.

But you could not lie to yourself and deny that, in the moment, the way he held you- as if you were porcelain- the way his eyes softened- before kissing you so gently as if you were something sacred- hadn’t made you feel things you hadn’t felt in possibly ever.

“Get distracted, darling?” He caught the way you fell silent and hummed, before looking at the way you clutched the lapels of his jacket, reminding you that you were still holding onto him.

“You know, for someone so adamant on disliking me, you’re quite content to keep your hands on me.” 

“Yes, because you were- you are- acting like a damned child! I’m trying to talk to you about something important and you keep interrupting, or finding ways to distract me.”

Eris sighed, tilting his head to either side as he stretched his neck lazily, before smirking down at you.

“What a charming little wife you’d make. Nag in the morning, nag at night... How endearing. I pity the male who falls victim to you.” He hummed, prompting a soft huff as you rolled your eyes again.

“Oh, go off and fuck yourself-”

“Only when you’re watching, swan.” He winked, before adjusting his jacket and shirt once you stepped back to create a safer distance again, and sighed as you did not indulge him in more fiery banter.

“Fine, fine. I’ll address your concerns, since I do enjoy helping my citizens.” He drawled, catching your hand before it whacked him and tutting. He looked at you, as if he was trying to figure out how to handle you, before deciding to twirl you around and dip you, soliciting a squeak as your body aimlessly bent to his will.

“Number one: I kissed you because I wanted to. Granted, perhaps I should have asked, but I’d rather not have you bite my head off,”

You could feel blood rush around your body as your cheeks heated, and you became painfully aware of the way he held your wrist gently, and his other hand which had planted itself comfortably against the small of your back,

 “Number two: I… went ‘distant’, as you say, because I had a bitter memory of my father beating my mother the way he usually does, and I’ve realised it kills me a bit more each day I do not interfere. I mean, having the constant attention from everyone in the Court always being on you… having such high expectations placed? It’s utterly exhausting.” He huffed, as if he was talking about the weather, or the price of pumpkins at the markets. On the other hand, your eyes widened, your jaw dropped- bewildered by his casual delivery, but he shushed softly,

“Uh-uh, focus, darling,” He shook his auburn head, as if he didn’t want you to speak, “And number three: I am insisting on you meeting my father, because I-”

“Wait-”

“Because,” He tried again, “I do believe that, upon hearing of your unexpectedly high intelligence and combining that with your thorough contempt for him, it could mean that he will either get so offended at your criticisms and combust from the rage, or have a heart attack late in the night from stewing on your brazen audacity alone, which speeds up the process for me and makes my life easier.”

Your mind was convoluted with certain words of his that paralysed you with absolute shock- your eyes widening as you looked up at him with alarm, with shock- with concern.

“Hold on- I’m sorry-”

“Forgiven,”

“Did you just say the High Lord hits his wife?” A chill went through you as you asked it, already having your answer as he went rigid, eyes darkening for a split second, before he righted you on your own two feet with a scoff, adjusting his sleeves.

“Really? That was the part you paid attention to?”

“Eris?!” His only response to you was a sigh before he escorted you up the hill again.

--- ⋆⁺₊✧˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☾⋆⁺₊✧⋆ ---

You two returned to where your picnic had been, where there had been tea waiting, and talking.

A lot of talking.

Eris Vanserra, pompous prick and heir to the Autumn Court, had come clean with a lot of information you thought you’d never become privy to. Yet what bewildered you more was how horrible you felt about it. All of it, including your treatment of him. Your expression had never changed from the slightly stunned one, from the moment he started talking to the moment he finished explaining, and he snickered half-heartedly at your gaping face.

“Careful, darling. If you look at me like that, it might lead me to believe you care.” His smile was wry, yet his eyes watched you with a careful understanding, like he was worried you might keel over, or combust. Good. He should worry. It was certainly a lot to take in, listening to him explain how brutal it had all been living with such a monster, how it had structured his relationship with his many other brothers, how he watched his own mother lose her light. You made the mistake of picturing a young, chubbier-faced version of Eris, which made your insides squirm.

“Sorry-” You corrected your expression, forcing yourself out of your stupor as you looked anywhere else, not wanting to outright patronise him with pity or offend him with your mortification, “I’m just… processing.”

“Understandable. It is quite the tale.”

“Yes… it is.” You both fell into a contemplative silence, back at the top of the hill overlooking a myriad of fiery leaves that rolled throughout the forest. Finally, in a softer tone, you broke it first.

“I’m sorry.” 

“For?”

You snorted in disbelief at his tone, which made his russet eyes flick to your face. It was a good question, you’d give him that. Certainly one you weren’t sure how to answer. But you figured he had earned himself a sliver of redemption, so you allowed your walls to shrink ever-so-slightly.

“Living through all of… that.”

He waved a hand, brushing you off with a huff, but you shook your head,

“No, no. I’m serious.” You pressed, glancing at him before looking out at the sky,

“Having that for a childhood… It’s... That’s a different kind of horrible. I mean, I told you about me-” You gestured to yourself, not noticing how attentively his eyes followed your hand, before focusing on your face.

“I can’t ever really imagine having parents, let alone parents who never truly… liked each other.” You tread carefully as you referred to his parents' situation, which he seemed to appreciate as he nodded for you to continue mentioning your own life.

“I mean, I guess my upbringing was a little less… turbulent than that, in a sense.” He nodded in amusement, before waving for you to continue, so you did.

“My earliest memories are… probably ‘little me’, being brought up in an orphanage where I was coined ‘the odd one’,” You elaborated, scoffing in bitter amusement at the deep memory, barely catching that his gaze softened slightly. You shook your head, not wanting to let his sympathy soften you- as if the last few hours hadn’t already.

“I mean, they weren’t wrong. Still aren’t.” You shrugged, yet he continued listening, sitting up slightly, “But I learnt to embrace what were supposed to be my ‘differences’. Figured it wasn’t fair that everyone else felt content in their appearance while I couldn’t love my own.”

He nodded at your words, and you looked back at him occasionally, feeling… appreciative at how he seemed to process every word while you told your own story, bare and raw and brutally honest, all for him to have. It felt a little intimidating, feeling how his gaze never left you for a moment, even as you looked away from him at times, but you grew accustomed very quickly. He was listening… listening to you.

“I suppose, what I’m attempting to say is that… as different as we are… I can understand some of it. The burden of carrying such memories… the-”

“The loneliness,” He murmured, and you raised an eyebrow, stopped mid-thought.

“The loneliness… of going through something you’re absolutely certain nobody else is going through.” He finished the thought for you, looking uncharacteristically docile when you glanced at him to make sure he wasn’t mocking you, before slowly nodding in agreement. Something in your stomach ached at the way he looked so small, sitting all quiet and contemplative. It almost unnerved you, really, having a conversation with him that didn’t include the haughty bravado he would usually put on, when he acted like the heir of the Autumn Court.

That’s how you’d define the change, you decided. And at the moment, you certainly preferred ‘Eris, a mother’s son’ to ‘Eris Vanserra, pompous prick and heir.’ 

“Yes… That.” Your mind was practically screaming, your heart racing in your chest. This… this newfound levelling ground- this… connection- it was too deep, too intimate- far too intimate for your liking. You weren’t sure why this made you more uncomfortable than when he was angry at you in the carriage, but your heart was absolutely restless in your chest. You cleared your throat, looking down at the cobblestone of the amphitheatre floor and tracing idle shapes with your fingertip as you decided to lighten the mood.

“I mean, that, and having to pretend like it doesn’t haunt you… putting on a brave face for all the people who scrutinise you from their shoddy little apartment complexes… I couldn’t possibly imagine.”

A ghost of a smile curled on your lips as you repeated his previous words, and he chuckled softly at it, which pulled a knowing smile from you.

“Ah, yes… Woe is me, having issues with my father in our luxurious Vanserra mansion with our  many acres of land… What will I do with myself?”

He asked so miserably, playing perfectly into the role you set up for him, and for the second time that day, you rewarded him with your unrestrained laughter. At that sound, his face watched you with interest before you groaned softly. His eyebrow quirked up as he watched expectantly, seeing you shaking your head in a sardonic fashion before clicking your tongue, 

“Damn it all…” Your palm hit the floor of the amphitheatre you’d be dancing on in a few days time as you spoke with faux disappointment,

“I can’t believe this is happening.”

“What?”

“A civil conversation with you! It’s making you seem relatable, almost- as if you have the potential to be likeable… or something stupid like that.”

He snorted as you finished- snorted, like you were actually funny- before shaking his head as he rewarded you with a clear laugh of his own. You ended up chuckling too, watching as his smile grew- admiring it- while he thought over your words, before you realised your eyes were on each other again.

“[Y/N]... I’d like to start over.” He declared, making you tilt your head curiously.

“Perhaps there is something wonderful- dare I suggest, a friendship- to come from this.” He extended his hand, one you found yourself taking with a broad, wry smile of your own.

“Friendship, huh?” You raised your brow, watching him amusedly, like you were pretending to think about it. What kind of friends kissed each other, or despised each other the way you two did?

“If that’s the case, then I should apologise for the horrible presumptions I have for you, and the raspberry I ruined your shoes with, the day we first officially spoke.” You reflected on the bitterly comical encounter, both of you grinning at the image it planted, and your chest seemed to tug as you saw his smile.

“Ah, yes. Well, I forgive you. Please- forgive me for the horrible notions I have allowed the newsletters to fill your head with. I’d like to show you that I’m not just a callous, conniving bastard.”

“You missed heartless, womanising and cunning too.”

“I’d argue my cunning makes me lovable. And it’s not really womanising if females offer themselves willingly to me.” That damned smile made your chest tug again- your heart was doing pirouettes of its own- and you rolled your eyes.

“Fine. I suppose I can try to be civil.”

“Cordial?” He suggested,

“Cordial.” You amended, and he nodded, satisfied with the correction.

“Perhaps we’ll also share a few kisses of our own on the night of the Ball- proper ones, I can assure you.”

“Don’t push your luck, lordling.” He laughed at that too, his voice smooth, warming; like a strong whiskey. It kept something of an endearing smile on your own face as you sighed contentedly.

“Now… about meeting your father for matters of a ‘political nature’…”

“Yes?” You sighed at his eager tone,

“Eris, I appreciate your confidence in me, but I… I can’t.” Your face fell as you shook your head, making him scoot closer to you. Immediately his mouth opened, ready to refute your claims, but you held up a hand that had him biting his tongue obediently- albeit impatiently- as you shook your head again.

“From what you’ve told me… your father is the lowest of lows. Mud in a puddle is more honourable than he is. What could I possibly bring to him? What could I possibly say- How could I possibly say it in a way that’s important enough- powerful enough- for him to even listen?”

You posed questions that made him hesitate- and rightly so- before he shook his head. He even grabbed your hand in his own, to reign in your focus and emphasise the seriousness he wielded as he looked at you. Also because he couldn’t help himself.

“For me to say these points, he would ignore it. To him, all I am is a puppet. Heir in his eyes is a means to an end. If I were to suddenly show a change of heart and advocate these things in the comfort of our manor, he would wave me off; he'd say I’m as flowery as my mother, and dismiss it. But you- For someone who is, as you point out to me,  not of this Court… if you say something, it puts him in a predicament, [Y/N].”

His points did make sense, but you thought about your little apartment, the royalties you were barely living off, and your loving neighbours. It wasn’t like you had nothing to lose.

“Eris, if I offend him, he can erase me like that,” You snapped your finger, “I have a life here- as… conditional as it is. As far as I know, I was born here, dumped on a doorstep here, therefore I live here. I know nothing about the Summer Court- I have no friends, no family, nothing. Where could I go, should he want my head on a stick? My passions are dance, and music. Sure, I know how to read and write and put words together but I’m not a prolific politician. Who would take me in?”

Eris stilled at this, handsome face falling as his brows pinched together thoughtfully, before he waved a hand, not understanding the implications in depth,

“My brother has friends, as he calls them. Friends who could happily help you-”

“Eris! I’m not leaving my fucking home because your father can’t handle being told how shit of a Lord he is!” You scolded, pulling your hand away, but his face lit up, a fanged smile flashing as he clapped. You felt a pull in your chest as he smiled so brightly, 

“There it is. That fire! That’s what Beron needs to see. That is what he needs to be exposed to.” He urged while you groaned softly, holding your head in your hands.

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

“We’re friends now, darling. My father will not touch you- not if he still wants his heir.”

You looked up at him, the expression on your face radiating ‘Bullshit’, yet you felt that strange pull yet again.

“So what? I get special treatment while your- while Beron’s men drag innocent people out of their homes in the dead of night still? No. That would make me no better than those who do nothing to help.” You shook your head stubbornly, sitting back as a servant came up to the Vanserra heir, murmuring something to him that made him sigh, before looking at you again.

“I wish you’d understand how brilliant your mind is, sweet swan.”

Your chest warmed at that, your heartstrings tying the endearment down, though your eyes drifted, unable to stay on him while your brain rattled at the cocktail of desperation and admiration his voice had spoken with.

“I know I’m brilliant, Eris,” 

Didn’t hurt to hear from him, though.

“Just… let me get the Equinox over and done with, before you try to get me killed off.” You negotiated, hating how convincing he could be, and how you felt yourself beginning to bend as the idea lingered longer in your mind.

“That wasn’t a ‘no’, darling. Oh, don’t give me that look- I’ll relent.” He stood up, taking the hands you stuck out for him to pull you along, and you nodded in thanks- enjoying the way he managed to make you feel like a ragdoll when you had relaxed completely. You both began to walk back to the carriage that had awaited you, not even realising how much time you two had spent together until the sun began to set, and your mind buzzed at a content frequency while you walked side by side, you hugging yourself from the mild autumn chill that developed in the sun’s absence.

“Excited to dance with me?” He nudged slyly, his cheeky smile pulling a chuckle from you. You almost hated how easy it was to laugh with him now that you had come to understand him. Strange, how easily perceptions changed with a simple conversation. Of course, he still had his moments like now, making you push his face away gently as you both walked, only for his hand to catch your outstretched wrist and pull you back, his other arm encircling your waist as he looked down at you, your bodies pressed flush together.

“That wasn’t an answer, partner.” He mused, the mere name making your breathing stop. You were helpless as you looked up into his eyes again, lips parting only for nothing helpful to slip out. Your own eyes shuttered before you turned your head away, as if to reduce the intimacy like you two hadn’t kissed already, and you huffed softly,

“What, am I excited for you to waltz me around like some little lady?”

“I’ve been told my footwork is magical. So magical, that it even strips ladies of their garments.” He hummed, full of confidence; confidence that made your stomach flutter. Truthfully, in the comfort of your private mind, you allowed yourself to admit that you felt aroused at the idea of being in a situation with him where he could strip you of your undergarments. But you saved face- refusing to let him have too much confidence- shaking your head with an amused glimmer in your eyes, voice full of mirth,

“There’s no possible way that line has actually worked on someone before.” You uttered, before giggling lightly, and his eyes narrowed playfully. For a moment, you thought he’d kiss you again, and pull you into that carriage as if to prove you wrong, but he twirled you around instead, letting you go as if to let you dance independently, and you laughed as you spun freely. After a moment, you slowed to a stop, the skirts of your dress fanning out before falling back against you while you watched him, tilting your head slightly.

“You plan on twirling me around like that all night?”

The way he looked at you in that moment felt like a manifestation of the tension that had slowly begun to accumulate, all of it gathering up in his eyes as his gaze followed you,

“If you smile, and sound like that after each spin, then yes.”

The words caught you off guard. You knew Eris Vanserra was a heartthrob- a complete and utter flirt, who could charm the pants off a statue if he wanted- but this look was new. This look was different. Deeper than he let on. There was no sly smirk, no cocky attitude, no cheeky banter to lessen the tension that settled, and your heart… your stomach, your core seemed to squeeze as he beheld you. Your gaze softened, your smile falling slowly as you swallowed, eyelids fluttering before you nodded, advancing towards the carriage again, though your gaze never left him.

“Right.”

╰┈➤ Lex's note 2: friends... i am so sorry for being inactive for so long! it was an unexpected hiatus, i didn't do as well as i thought i would in my exams, i was severely burnt out and struggling with my adhd meds as well as a plethora of mental/other issues but i pinky swear i am back and ready to pump out fics!! i had a bit of writer's block with L'autunno but we are back in business, baby!! i have had loads of ideas that i wanna write n share with you all (across whatever fandoms i feel creative inspo for) but pls send requests bc they do actually motivate me to stay consistent! as always, pls let me know what you think, be it a dm, a reblog or a comment!! love always, Lex <3<3<3

[bright-side20]

Azriel's shadows dynamic :surrounding him/Vanishing

(art by jessdraws)

*First, in the book, when Az is angry, upset, or sad, the shadows always seem to gather around him and darken his face to hide his emotions. Here are some examples:

_"If Amarantha showed up at that door right now," Rhys snarled, pointing toward the foyer entry, "and said she could buy us a chance at defeating Hybern, at keeping all of you alive, I would thank the fucking Cauldron."

Azriel’s shadows gathered close, half veiling him from view.

_Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows. Nesta said, “Then you will die.”Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

_“The Illyrians are pieces of shit,” he said too quietly. I opened my mouth and shut it. Shadows gathered around his wings, trailing off him and onto the thick red rug. (we all know how much he hates Illyrians).

_Amren: "I did not even remember what they felt like. I did not remember sunlight.".... It was to Azriel that her attention drifted—the shadowsinger’s darkness pulling away to reveal eyes full of understanding.

=When he wanted to show he's emotions, shadows pulled away.

_Azriel stilled. “What happened to Elain?”

Cassian waved a hand. “A fight with Nesta. Don’t bring it up,” he warned when Azriel’s eyes darkened. Cassian blew out a breath. “I take that as a no regarding the meeting topic, then.”'.... 'Shadows gathered around Az.“You all right?” His brother nodded. “Fine.” But shadows still swarmed him. Cassian knew it was a lie, but didn’t push it. Az would speak when he was ready.

=This literally shows that when he has negative feelings, shadows hide him, and Cassian knew something was wrong just by the shadows.

*Second, in the books, his shadows lightened or vanished only with Mor, Feyre after she became a High Lady, and Elain.

With Mor:

_"Mor breezed onto the balcony... It was almost enough to distract me from noticing Azriel as those shadows lightened."

_"Yes, Azriel, who kept a step away, whose shadows trailed him and seemed to fade in her presence. I opened my mouth to ask about her history with him, but the clock chimed ten."

_“He did not,” Mor said, and the shadows that Azriel had indeed been subtly weaving around himself vanished.

With Feyre:

I only offered my hand to Azriel. “Come sit beside me.”

Azriel’s eyes slid to Eris, the High Lord’s son panting beneath him. And the shadowsinger leaned down to whisper something in his ear that made Eris blanch further.

But the shield dropped. The shadows lightened into sunshine.

=The shadows shielded him, and he only dropped them when Feyre asked him to come.

With Elain:

_Azriel arrived first, no shadows to be seen, my sister a pale, golden mass in his arms. Azriel smiled faintly. “Would you like me to show you the garden?”

_"What now?” Elain mused, finally answering my question from moments ago as her attention drifted to the windows facing the sunny street. That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room.

_"They'd always been prone to vanish when she was around."

*Third, shadows skittering because of breath was mentioned with two people:

Elain:

"Elain sucked in a soft breath that whispered over his skin. His shadows skittered back at the sound."

And Azriel 😃:

_"The shadows gathered around his shoulders, like they were indeed whispering to him, shielding him, perhaps. His broad chest expanded with a deep breath that sent them skittering, and then he set into an easy, graceful stroll after them."

_Azriel chuckled, shadows skittering. “Did you listen at all last night?”

Which means the argument that shadows skittered because they hate Elain is entirely biased.🤷🏻‍♀️

Lastly, I want to mention Feyre's description of Az in sunlight: In the blinding sun off the turquoise water, his shadows were gone, and his face was stark and clear. More human than I had ever seen him.

To conclude, Az's shadows are a part of him, and he earned them during the period when he was imprisoned in darkness. They serve as a defense tool, shielding him and hiding his emotions. When they lighten or vanish, it indicates that he's comfortable enough to expose himself, his feelings, and his vulnerability. Therefore, it is not a bad thing at all, despite how some people may try to portray it.