#first heir

[musesofmagnificence]

Suddenly remembered that the First Heir family tree only has "unnamed generations" listed between Auraline's life and Rosemary's

//idk who else needs to hear this, but if you're ever confused about how much fey blood Kit actually has, it's likely about 1/8th. Further explanation for anybody that hasn't done the math, Rosemary was about 44 when she died (we know because Johnny was 45 and about a year older than her bc they met at 16 and 17), making her born in 1968, which means that the baby that Jem saw Auraline and Roland with in 1936 was most likely Rosemary's parent (I believe the baby was a little girl, but I cannot remember off the top of my head).

[secretsdeblackthornhall]

De Jem et Tessa à Alec

Memo à l’attention du Consul Alec Lightwood

Re : Relations avec les elfes sauvages

Après plusieurs jours de tensions, nous sommes soulagés d’annoncer que les menaces à l’encontre de Christopher Herondale et Wilhelmina Carstairs semblent avoir été éliminées. Nous sommes entrés en contact avec Gwyn ap Nudd, de la Chasse Sauvage, qui nous confirme que la fée n’ayant prêté aucun serment connue sous le nom de Mère Hawthorn a été déplacée dans un lieu isolé, où elle sera détenue à l’avenir par la Chasse Sauvage.

Malheureusement, la sécurité de Christopher Herondale n’est toujours pas assurée sur le long terme. Je vous prie de trouver ci-joint, à loisir, de la correspondance personnelle contenant davantage de remarques et questions informelles.

Nous soussignés,

James Carstairs

Tessa Herondale-Carstairs

Cher Alec,

J’ai demandé à Jem d’écrire la partie formelle de ce rapport parce que ça me donne la migraine. Je m’en voulais de lui demander, mais il a balayé mes inquiétudes d’un revers de la main : apparemment aucun d’entre nous ne croirait la quantité de documents administratifs que les Frères Silencieux doivent remplir. J’en ai été étonnée parce que j’ai du mal à associer « administratif » et « Cité Silencieuse », mais bon.

Bref, le rapport est exact. Julian Blackthorn, intelligent comme il est, a contacté Gwyn, qui a accepté de s’occuper de Mère Hawthorn. (Julian n’en avait parlé à personne, évidemment, parce qu’il aime ses révélations spectaculaires, comme nous nous en souvenons tous très bien.) Après avoir eu si peur, c’était vraiment magnifique quand la Chasse Sauvage est apparue, a saisi Mère Hawthorn et nous a ramené Mina.

D’ailleurs, Mina est heureuse, en bonne santé et absolument pas bouleversée, contrairement à ses parents. Elle était ravie au plus au point de voir la Chasse Sauvage, et depuis elle n’arrête pas de nous dire avec enthousiasme qu’elle a rencontré beaucoup de chevaux et que les chevaux sont ses amis. Kit, bien sûr, est au moins aussi bouleversé que nous, si ce n’est plus. Il l’a à peine quittée des yeux depuis son retour. Il dormait même par terre dans sa chambre. (Nous y avons installé un clic-clac après les deux premières nuits). Ça l’a fortement ébranlé. Il n’a pas beaucoup souhaité en parler, mais c’est évidemment très pesant pour lui. Depuis l’incident, il a ce regard inquiet que nous lui connaissons bien. Nous craignons qu’il ne commence à comprendre ce que son héritage peut réellement signifier, même si nous avons tout fait pour l’en protéger.

Malgré l’aide de Gwyn, ni Julian ni nous ne savons ce qu’il s’est passé exactement entre la Chasse Sauvage et Mère Hawthorn, et nous sommes peu disposés à le demander. Nous savons que le Royaume des Fées peut être cruel, qu’il est le plus cruel envers son propre peuple, et qu’il a un sens de la justice et de la discipline particulier, qui semble parfois très… inhumain. Ceci dit, nous faisons confiance à Gwyn, notamment parce que nous faisons confiance à Diana Wrayburn. S’il dit que Mère Hawthorn n’embêtera plus Kit, nous le croyons.

Nous ne savons toujours pas parfaitement ce que Mère Hawthorn a dit à Kit pendant qu’ils étaient seuls – quand nous pouvions les voir, et Mina aussi, mais pas les entendre. D’après Kit, c’était seulement ce à quoi nous pouvions nous attendre, mais quand il est revenu vers nous, il avait les yeux hagards. Je voudrais pouvoir exiger de savoir ce qu’elle a dit, ou quelles étaient ses menaces ou révélations, mais je sais que je ne peux pas. Il nous parlera quand il sera prêt.

Cela dit, nous ne savons pas si Mère Hawthorn a des alliés qui pourraient aussi connaitre le secret de Kit. Peu importe comment elle a essayé d’amadouer Kit, nous savons qu’elle a des intentions hostiles. Nous l’avions rencontré à Buenos Aires, avant même de savoir que Kit existait, et elle était très claire. Ses mots me sont restés en tête : « Un Premier Héritier existe encore dans ce monde. Quand le Premier Héritier émergera, dans toute la terrible gloire née du sang de la Cour des Lumières, de celui de la Cour des Ténèbres et de celui des Nephilim, j’espère qu’il détruira les Chasseurs d’Ombres ainsi que le Royaume des Fées. J’espère que le monde entier sera perdu. »

Je ne peux pas regarder Kit – étendu sur le clic-clac dans la chambre de Mina, la main serrée autour d’une des lattes de son berceau, même quand il dort – et penser « terrible gloire ». Il est comme n’importe quel autre Chasseur d’Ombres, une sorte d’ordinaire peu ordinaire. Il aime les films et les soirées spaghetti et il se ronge les ongles. Il n’est qu’une personne, pas un destin.

Pour l’instant, très peu de gens connaissent l’héritage de Kit. Emma et Julian, bien sûr, toi et Magnus, Jace et Clary… même les frères et sœurs de Julian ne savent pas, ou connaissent seulement un vague semblant de vérité. Mais à qui d’autre Mère Hawthorn a pu en parler ? Pas à la Cour des Lumières, certainement : nous sommes tous les deux sûrs que la Reine aurait déjà pris des mesures pour s’emparer de Kit si elle savait. Kieran sait, évidemment, mais nous ne savons à quels membres de la Cour il a pu en parler (d’après Emma, Mark et Cristina connaissent la situation en partie seulement). Kieran est clairement un allié, et sa Cour lui est fidèle. Mais il est facile d’imaginer qu’un courtisan audacieux (ou un elfe sauvage) ait pu découvrir cette histoire et cherche à en tirer profit.

Nous ne pouvons pas ignorer la réalité : les secrets comme celui de Kit finissent par être découverts et ne peuvent pas être protégés indéfiniment. Le garder au sein d’un petit cercle d’amis de confiance, rien qu’entre les Chasseurs d’Ombres, ça fait quand même une douzaine de personnes.

Ce qui nous amène à notre première véritable demande : Magnus pourrait-il venir à Cirenworth rapidement, pour renforcer les sortilèges de protection contre les incursions de ceux qui pourraient vouloir du mal à Kit ? Nous devons reconnaitre que ce n’est qu’une solution temporaire, mais pour l’instant c’est le mieux que nous puissions faire.

Pendant ce temps, nous sommes d’avis (et nous sommes certains que tu seras d’accord) que nous devons essayer de devancer cette menace. Nous avons sollicité Kieran pour que ses espions prêtent attention aux possibles rumeurs au sujet de Kit qui circuleraient dans le Royaume. Serais-tu disposé à faire la même chose, via l’Alliance ? Nous savons que ce n’est absolument pas le bon moment pour toi. Si nous avions pu, nous aurions tout à fait choisi un moment moins politiquement précaire pour présenter ce problème à l’Enclave. Sache que nous te soutenons et serons toujours à tes côtés. Nous nous sommes peut-être retirés de la vie active des Chasseurs d’Ombres, mais nous serons toujours présents si tu as besoin de nous.

Tu as assumé toutes ces responsabilités à un si jeune âge. Ne semble-t-il pas que les responsabilités se présentent toujours à nous Chasseurs d’Ombres trop tôt à l’aube de notre vie ? Je regarde mon cher Kit et je sais. Nous savons tous ce qui se prépare, comme lorsque l’on sait que le soleil va se coucher sur une journée que l’on souhaiterait infinie. La longue journée ensoleillée de l’enfance de Kit est presque terminée. Je tremble à l’idée de ce qu’il va devoir affronter à la tombée de la nuit.

Avec toute notre amitié,

Jem et Tessa.

Texte original de Cassandra Clare ©

Traduction d’Eurydice Bluenight ©

Le texte original est à lire ici : https://secretsofblackthornhall.tumblr.com/post/697286698428694528/jem-and-tessa-to-alec

[neeksxoxo]

Anush: ah, so you're the famous Kit Kit: fAMOUS WHAT HUH Anush: you know.. because Kit: ohmygod did you find out i'm the first heir i thought i was doing so well- Anush: no... i wasn't- i- you're the first heir?? Kit:

[ambroisebloodlines]

Lyall d'Ambroise

First heir of the legacy.

The first Heir of my Long Legacy.

Description

Lyall has dark skin with a neutral undertone, curly auburn brown hair, and caramel brown eyes. Reddish brown freckles, and vitiligo that is visible on the left side of his face, from the chin to the forehead and his right hand, from the tip of the fingers to the knuckles.

As an infant he was dressed in pale blues, and as a toddler with brown shades, two of his mom's favorite colors.

Baby and Infanthood

Lyall was born at home, in a bathtub filled with warm water, with only his father and two close friends of the family present to help Raegan through the birth, because his parents didn't knew how he would look, since his father, Lou, was bitten and not born as a werewolf, he had no idea if werewolf babies looked like normal sims or wolf pups at birth. After many hours of labor, Lyall was born at midnight, a normal baby boy, and Lou rushed both him and his wife to the hospital to make sure both were healthy.

As a newborn, Lyall was fussy, constantly crying, traits he kept when he became an infant. Despite needing a lot of attention, he hated being held, which brought a lot of issues to his parents, for the first few months, Raegan would go to work and leave the care of Lyall to Lou. Eventually his mother warmed up to him and decided to put her career on hold in order to raise him.

Despite how difficult he was, Raegan adapted to him, staying up at night and sleeping during the day, Lyall refused to sleep once the sun was down, which surprisingly had a positive impact on their small family since Lou also slept from the early afternoon to the early evening, both because he worked in the early morning and finished before the late afternoon and his nature as a werewolf made him be active during the nights, which meant that before Lyall, Raegan and Lou would spent just a couple hours together before she had to go to work.

Lyall grew up rather quickly, he developed his motor skills faster than the average infant, standing up and even giving a little dance, enjoying his father's taste for Alternative music, his curiosity and awareness was beyond a normal baby, and said his fist word before halfway through his infanthood, which was 'mama', something that brought a fleeting moment of blissful happiness to Raegan, until Lou came home, and Lyall said 'dada", the only thing he would say until he learned to talk. Raegan's efforts and Lyall's natural ease to learn, earned him the Top-Notch Infant.

Toddlerhood

Lyall celebrated his first birthday with a sweet vanilla cake in a private small party that included his parents and his auntie, Norah, and uncle, Alastair.

Because of his fussy trait as an infant, he became a wild toddler, zooming around as soon as he was set on the ground. Lyall had a great advantage, developing the next stage of his motors skills quite quickly, loving to playfully wrestle with his father, his nature as a werewolf pup showing in his seemingly infinite energy and the small sharp fangs peaking from his babbling mouth. He enjoyed singing to others and meeting new people.

Near the end of his toddler years, Lyall and his parents welcomed a new addition to the family, his sister Lyra Rose. Since the moment she was born, Lyall became slightly calmer, enjoying singing to his younger sister and just watching over her brings a smile to his face.

Despite his parents now had another baby to take care of, Lyall was able to maxed out all of his skills, earning the Top-Notch Toddler, just in time for his birthday.

Childhood

After Lyall became a child, he quickly developed a friendship with Max and Luna Villareal, who he had met when he was still a toddler.

School came easy to him, having been born in a family where his mother was a scientist who loved art, and a father who was a university professor, it was part of his childhood to study and paint for fun instead of seeing it as a task, so he quickly became the top student of his class.

In the evening after school, he would invite over his best friend Max, and his sister Luna, playing in the backyard, playing videogames with Max or reading books with Luna, which made him develop a crush on her.

With this stage also came questions from the young pup, who grew familiar to his father's wolf nature, Lyall constantly asked when would he be able to transform like Lou, a question that every time was answered with 'soon'. The truth was that Lou had no idea, Lyall had been born with the scent of a werewolf, but very faint, he had many superior characteristic than that of a human child, yet he was still not as stronger nor faster as the other born werewolf children he had seen in his former pack, Lyall was nothing like a human but neither was he like a werewolf.

As the years passed by, Lyall stopped asking, even when he would feel an unbearable rage whenever the full moon was at its peak, his bones would ache like they were trying to shift, but nothing would come of it aside from a terrible soreness and a headache the next morning. He also couldn't confide in his best friend Max, since Raegan and Lou had told him to keep the family's supernatural nature a secret from everyone, humans were not fond of werewolves, vampires were sworn enemies who still looked for his father, and Hunters were still on seeking to hunt down every supernatural creature they could find. All this became too much for the young wolf, which end up in a hot-headed trait, anger would suddenly be born from uncertainty and frustrations, making him be angry most of the time.

Late Childhood (Pre-teen)

Luna was a beacon to him, an escape from the struggle within his young confused mind, he would spent as much time as he could with her, reading books, drawing, or simply taking long walks around the crumbling island. Whenever he was with her, his heartbeat would quicken, yet his mind slowed down, and Lyall felt like he could breath, the uncertainty and fear would be replaced with peace and contentment.

Max on the other hand distanced himself, whenever Lyall called him to hang out, Max would have an excuse, homework, sleeping early, being sick, family dinner, his father needing him for something, all things that either never mattered to Max (specially his father whom he expressed many times he despised) or never happened as often as now. During school Max would avoid him, keeping his sister, Luna, at arm's length, away from Lyall.

Everything unexpectedly came down the night of his 13th birthday.

Early Teenhood

A few days away from his birthday, Lyall made a short trip to Moonwood Mill, the town where his father mentioned he had become a wolf for the first time. There he meet the twins Cassandra and Odysseus, young teenagers who happened to be werewolves, the three became friends quickly, and having sensed Lyall's faint scent, they showed him their werewolf forms, they were much smaller than his father, but they were just a magnificent sight as Lou was. Lyall showered them his praise and questions, finally having someone aside his father who could answer his concerns.

He went back home that night, with new information, the twins became able to transform on the first full moon after their thirteen birthday, it was a slow and painful transformation, the body didn't knew what was happening, so the first time it would always fight back the change, although they assured him it would be easier each full moon. Lyall also knew for the first time that his scent was much weaker than other wolves, it was almost human, the same scent dormant werewolves carry, those who are born from a wolf but can't transform.

On his way back, he encountered a rogue wolf, a wild lone werewolf, the beast snarled at him, before a shotgun was heard within the woods, the werewolf ran off into the opposite side of the path, and Lyall ran back to town, where he called his father, who came an hour later and took him back home, nagging him for sneaking out of the house and traveling all the way to Moonwood Mill.

To be added...

Trivia.

[illyrianbitch]

Of Our Own Devices

For @erisweekofficial Day 1: Bargains

Pairing: Reader x Eris

Summary: Desperate to reunite with Lucien since his exile to Spring, you find yourself paying an unexpected price to his older brother.

Warnings: some mentions of death & injury, swearing, spitfire reader and a cunty eris. <3

Word Count: 3.2k

Part Two

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

The storm had rolled in with frightening speed.

It was one of the rarer, powerful storms of Autumn. The type that caused the sky to turn to charcoal, produced lightning that illuminated the canopy of fall leaves and made them seem like flickering, live fires. 

You stumbled into the dimly lit cabin, drenched from the rain that had come pouring down in sheets. The cabin was one you had never seen before— a hidden refuge of Eris’s that you weren't aware existed. Despite its small size, it was surprisingly beautiful, furnished with deep, velvety fabrics. Eris had pulled you into the home without a word. 

Crossing your arms across your chest, you turned to him, watching as he shed his outer layer and hung it on a hook near the door. He moved to the cold, empty fireplace next, and with a flick of his fingers, he summoned a flame from his hand.  The flame danced briefly in his palm before he extended it toward the blackened wood in the hearth. 

Seconds later, a crackling sound filled the room, bringing the fire to life and filling the space with a warm, golden glow. Eris watched the flames for a moment. Then he stood up, facing you once more. 

"You promised me I'd be in Spring by tonight," you said. 

Eris tsked, brushing past you as he sat himself on a velvet, red couch. His scent lingered in the air—a smoky, strong aroma. A shiver ran through your body. You attributed the reaction to the influence of the rain on your warm skin. 

He didn't bother to meet your eye as he responded. "I promised no such thing. I said I'd take you to Spring tonight."

"Then take me."

He raised a brow and for a moment, you almost expected him to make a childlike comment, a brutish joke about the sentiment those words could hold outside of the context. But he didn't. His eyes, however, told you that he was thinking about it. It was unnerving, how you could read him so well, how years at Lucien's side had come with an unexpected consequence: becoming familiar with his brothers, too.

"It's a storm. Winnowing is risky in this weather," he said smoothly, voice as cool as ever. "I’m not risking both our lives just because you're impatient."

The wind howled outside the cabin, rattling the wooden shutters as you took a deep breath— in through your nose, out through your mouth. The eldest Vanserra noticed the frustration immediately, and your efforts to calm yourself dissipated as a small smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

“I’m not staying here,” you snapped. “I’ll walk if I have to.”

At first glance, the couch appeared almost pristine, but as the firelight grew and you paid closer attention, you could make out traces of dark grey, black, and brown hairs—the hair of his hounds.  The detail settled somewhere inside you. You weren't sure where.

“If you do that, you’ll either die of exposure or run into my father’s men. Either way, not a great plan.”

You froze, your hands tightening around the fabric of your cloak as you grasped your arms, fingernails digging into the material. “So my options are to stay here with you or die?”

He shrugged lazily, but the motion still held a sense of regality to it, an eerily elegant form. It made you even angrier.

“Seems so," he said, a smile forming on his lips. It was as warm and genuine as a snake’s kiss, much like the disarming charm you had come to expect from Eris.

You'd never spent this long with him alone, never needed to manage his calculated gaze or purposely chosen words without the buffer of Lucien. You would've gladly gone your entire immortal life without doing so. But you missed Lucien— your heart ached without him, longed to be near him, to have his laugh echo in your ears. And this was the only way to be with him again, even for a few days.

And Eris knew that. He knew it all. You assumed it was why he bothered to take you in the first place. It gave him the pleasure of knowing he had power– control.

Your blood boiled.

“Are you enjoying this?” You stormed toward him, standing over the couch as he stretched, clearly unbothered by the storm—or your anger. “Trapping me here, knowing I have no choice.”

“Trapping you?” He laughed softly, sitting up slightly to meet your gaze. “You came to me, Vixen. If you want to go, the door’s right there.”

The sound of the wind howling through the trees outside made his offer ring hollow. You struggled to rummage through your thoughts, through the anger, frustration, and disgust that he managed to stir in you.

The stupid, stupid nickname was all you could focus on, now. Memories of a younger you flooded your senses, memories of a younger Eris, one much less rigid, much more open, almost. An Eris you crushed on. You'd never admit the truth to anyone— that the reason you and Lucien had become so close, despite your natural connection, was because once upon a time, he was glued to his older brothers hip. And so you'd glued yourself to Lucien's.

Eventually, the years evened things out, and your feelings flowed from the eldest Vanserra to the kindest one. To Lucien.

Lucien. Your mind reminded you. This was for Lucien. Don't piss Eris off, don't ruin your chances at seeing him again. Don't engage—

"Stop calling me that, you arrogant prick."

Your hands dropped to your sides, instinctively curling into fists as Eris peered at you with a burning, amused stare. His amber eyes gleamed like a predator toying with its prey.

"I see Lucien's absence has impacted your ability to maintain that temper. Those breathing exercises not working well for you?"

Something twisted deep in your gut.

"Now that I think about it, I think I'll take my chances with the storm."

Before you could make a move to leave, Eris was standing, his chest now inches away from you as he peered down at you. You didn't move, then, only straightened your shoulders and met his gaze.

Eris wasn’t the beefy, broad-shouldered type that other males in the court might have been. He didn’t have large, bulging muscles meant to intimidate. Instead, he was a lean kind of strong, with a pointed nose and sharp features that cut through the dim light of the cabin. He exuded a different kind of intimidation, one that stemmed from his inherent authority and the staunchness of his posture. He carried himself like a prince—elegant and commanding, every inch of him a testament to his future role.

Beron was merely keeping the throne warm until Eris was ready to claim it for himself.

"We both know you're not going to do that."

You tightened your fists further. "And why not?"

"Because you aren't stupid, Y/n."

Eris cocked his head, his eyes narrowing as he studied your face with a cold, calculating gaze. His features were sharp and chiseled, the faintest freckles dotting his high cheekbones. 

"You're not going to risk losing your chance to see Lucien."

 He leaned down and his breath fanned your face, warm and mingling with the scent of cedar and smoke. His eyes danced across your face, moving from holding your gaze to traveling further down, lingering on your lips—on the scowl you wore on them—before he met your eyes again. The fire's flames grew larger, consuming the oxygen in the air that had already seemed to be thinning. 

You said nothing as he continued, "Uncurl those fists, take that soaked cloak off, and wait. "

You stayed quiet, taking a deep breath before you stepped to the side, purposefully brushing your shoulder against his broad chest as you moved. Despite your urge to resist him out of spite, you reluctantly removed your cloak and tossed it on the clean floor of the cabin.

Eris scoffed. "Really? Must you act like a child?"

The floorboards cracked as he walked and, faintly, he mumbled something about how his hounds were better mannered. Eris picked up your cloak, dusting it off with a gentle hand before hanging it up next to his own.

"I'm curious," he began, glancing over his shoulder as he walked towards the couch. "Does Lucien know?"

You glared at him. You were growing tired now, the exhaustion of the trip slowly growing deep in your bones.

"What are you talking about?"

Eris smirked, his gaze lingering on you with a knowing glint as he settled back on the couch. "I'm talking about how you're in love with my sweet, sweet little brother."

You stiffened, a wave of emotion crashing over you—cold and awakening, a nauseating mix of embarrassment and fury. 

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Eris's face remained insufferably composed, a cocky grin playing at his lips. His eyes gleamed with a self-satisfied spark.

"No need to lie. It's just us two here," he purred. "I've always enjoyed how honest we can be with one another. It's why I preferred you over Jesminda."

A sharp, uncontrollable heat seared through every nerve in your body, a wave of anger surging like a wildfire.

"Keep her name out of your mouth."

It felt like a disgrace to have him say it, to hear her name immortalized on the tongue of the brother that allowed her to die. The brother that had killed her, according to Lucien. His sobs still echoed in your mind, the image of a broken male etched into your memory. You'd had only five minutes with him before he fled, five minutes of frenzied packing, desperate promises, and anguished confessions of what his father—and his brothers—had done.

Eris's gaze lingered as he analyzed you.

A beat passed.

Then another.

You were beginning to feel naked, as if he had stripped you of every defense you'd managed to muster around him. You turned away, unable to bear the weight of his stare any longer.

"I didn't kill her. I didn’t help.”

Your face went slack, caught off guard and momentarily confused. You pulled yourself together quickly, straightening your back, hoping he hadn’t noticed your reaction.  As you turned a little, your face almost sad now, you could’ve sworn you saw something in his eyes—something akin to regret, maybe even compassion.

Your voice was low, not bothering to hide the sadness, mourning, the raw anger, as you responded.

“I don’t believe you.”

The trace of care in his gaze vanished as he shrugged, the same indifferent gesture he’d made earlier. “Have I ever lied to you?”

You stared at him, taking him in with the same analyzing gaze he'd offered you. 

It was strange how alike he and Lucien looked, how alike yet so different all the same. But the longer you stared, the more you began to feel stuck— hypnotized, tempted to walk closer to him, to ask him what it was that went on in his mind, what caused those flickers of emotions you couldn't name across his face. 

But another moment passed, and all you could see was a male who Lucien hated, a male who was selfish, who reveled in the pain caused by chaos.  Your mind drifted to other rumors and stories you’d heard about him. You settled on one in particular. 

"You left an innocent female to die in the woods because she didn't want to mary you. Butchering your brother's lover doesn't seem outside of your past-times."

A cold shift washed over Eris’s face. His disinterested expression hardened into a mask of disappointment, then flared into a simmering anger. It was a contained fury, like a finely tuned flame.

"Don't tell me you believe the lies of Night Court trash. Surely you're smarter than that. I know you are."

"Fuck you," you snarled. "You know nothing about me. I'm not going to let you play some twisted mind games with me. I'm not a doll."

He shook his head. "You are not."

A beat. Then a smirk grew on his lips. "But you are just as pretty as one, if we're still being honest. You're wasted in your one-sided love, Y/n."

You said nothing, turning to walk to the other side of the cabin. The corner held a bookshelf with carefully arranged volumes, a finely crafted wooden table, and a collection of artifacts on the windowsill.

Eris just laughed behind you, a sound so smooth and soothing that it felt sinful against your skin.

You resisted the temptation to snoop, to explore the cabin and bask in the rare vulnerability of the brother who had always captivated you in the most wretched of ways. It felt strange seeing him like this—relaxed, almost at ease— as if simply crossing the threshold of this modest cabin had stripped away the invisible chains and burdens only a prince could bear.

You stayed still and stared out the window, focusing on the sounds of the storm. You hoped that the rain would drown out the sounds of his breathing— sounds that rang too loud in your mind. You didn't want to know why he seemed to do that, why he lingered so deeply in your head. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The storm raged on for a few more hours.

The time was spent in tense silence—at least for you. Eris remained on the couch, reading through a novel about the history of the continent. You would've never thought him to enjoy such a thing, to want to know about those outside of his court, of mortals, humans, no less.

And when the rain finally stopped, he rose wordlessly. With a brief gesture toward your cloak, he led you out, winnowing you the rest of the way in silence.

When you finally reached the border of Spring, a wave of relief washed over you.

The vibrant greens of the new season were almost blinding after the gloom of the storm. You took a step forward, eager to escape the tension that had gripped you for hours. You'd be with Lucien soon, be able to hug him, to tell him of all the things he'd missed in your life since his exile. 

But before you could move any further, Eris's hand closed around your arm. You turned to him with a glare, meeting his glowing gaze and infuriatingly calm smile.

“Are we forgetting payment?”

You strengthened your glare, gritting your teeth before you pulled yourself out of his grasp, reaching for the small bag hidden within your layers. 

Eris stopped you with a casual wave. “I don’t want your money.”

You stiffened, straightening your posture. The sounds of Spring echoed behind you, their vibrant melodies almost taunting as you lingered on the border. Eris’s smile shifted into a smirk, his eyes glinting with something dangerous, something that made you swallow instinctively. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t ask sooner.”

You thought back to how he had offered to take you to Lucien, how this entire arrangement had been his idea. You should've held back, should've been more wary of his motives. But you'd been too excited, been too blinded by the joy of being with Lucien once more. 

“What do you want, Eris?” 

He took a moment to take you in fully, eyes scanning you from head to toe, and then he took a small step back.

“A bargain,” he finally said.

 “A bargain?” 

He nodded. “You will not tell Lucien it was me who brought you here.”

You frowned, a crease forming between your brows as you blinked at the male before you. Perhaps you'd heard him wrong. “What?”

“If he asks, you’ll say you bought off a hunter in Autumn, a mercenary. Whatever you’d like,” Eris continued.

You drew your brows tighter. 

“I thought you'd want to revel in the fact that he might somehow owe you. Prove your power, even."

Eris shrugged nonchalantly. “Then maybe you don’t know me as well as you’d like to think.”

He extended his hand, his palm open and the gleam of his ring-clad fingers catching the light. You hesitated for a moment, body still stiff with unease, with confusion. 

You scanned his face. Eris loved played games. This was no different. There was no point in reading into it. So you rolled your eyes and prepared to shake on it, reaching for his hand.  He pulled it slightly out of reach.

“What now?” You groaned.

He hummed in amusement.

“And when I come to get you to return to Autumn, I want your help.”

You raised a brow. “My help?” you asked, incredulously. "How the hell would I ever be able to help you?"

Your family had no title, no powers beyond a tame ability to fight and heal. You survived in Autumn because you were ordinary—and ordinary meant no one looked for you. Noticed you. 

“I want to call in a favor,” he clarified.

“What favor?"

"We'll see," Eris said with a smile and a tilt of his head. “I think you could help me out dearly."

You let his words settle for a moment. His eyes, glistening with a dangerous glow, seemed to hold something predatory, something that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. There must've been an underlying threat in his proposition, something sinister you had yet to notice. After all, he was a male known for his ruthlessness— 

You stiffened.

He was a male. There was one easy way for males to assert their dominance, to gain pleasure, to accept payment. 

You took a step back instinctively and Eris’s gaze tracked your movement before returning to meet your eyes. A shadow flickered in his eyes, reminiscent of the dark, unsettlingly soft gleam you’d seen in his cabin when he first glimpsed your saddened expression. Seconds later, his face shifted to one of mild amusement. He rolled his eyes with an empty chuckle.

“Settle yourself, Y/n. Not that kind of favor. I can bed females without resorting to bargaining for their affections,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension.

A flush of embarrassment crept up your cheeks. You looked to the ground for a moment, taking a deep breath as you regained your composure. When you finally met his gaze again, he was already extending his hand towards you once more.

“A favor in the future in exchange for this time with Lucien,” he purred smoothly. “And your silence. Consider it our little secret.”

The smirk that grew on his lips was maddening and you could feel the heat of his gaze, the flickering fire of his amber eyes urging you to comply. Every instinct told you that binding yourself to him was a terrible idea.

You glanced back over your shoulder, looking to the green, sunny expanse behind you. Lucien was there, somewhere amongst the greenery, and with a simple bargain you'd be with him again. 

Without a second thought, you turned back to Eris and took his hand.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

happy eris week yall!!! rising from the dead specifically to post this lol, i fear i love this pairing so lets see if i decide i wanna write anything else for them. thank you for reading!! (i miss writing so so so much)

i might make this into a miniseries, so lmk if you’d like

to be tagged <3

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[paperglader]

they really put alicent in bridgerton blue on the reunion and genuinely expected me to think that she didn’t in fact march all the way to dragonstone to get wifed up? bfr

[butadailovehim]

movie aragorn would not get along with book aragorn

[artist-rat]

swordtember 2023: queen, king, royal heir, royal guard, enchanter

[uniasus]

When your brother dates your secret, other brother...

Danny joins JLD as an axillary member - not a regular member of the crew but called in as needed based on 1) is the problem ghosts? 2) do they need the equivalent of a supernatural superman?

Normally a new JLD member is simply announced in the spirit of resource sharing at a regular meeting between JL and JLD, but Danny insists on coming when he learns the next meeting is at the Watchtower. As it happens, Nightwing is randomly on the Watchtower that day. One little pun "I've been dying to meet a Bat" and Dick is done for.

Phantom and Nightwing go from texting to calling to meeting to maybe dating to deciding they want to not just fool around and actually pursue a relationship. This means identity reveals.

Knowing Nightwing is Dick Grayson doesn't mean much to Danny, other than it really doesn't break his bank to pay for fancy dinners. Being that connected to a rich guy is a little uncomfortable, thank you Vlad, but he's known Dick long enough to know he's not a fruitloop (opinion on Bruce Wayne forthcoming, but Danny's not ready to meet the parents or introduce the Fentons)

Knowing Phantom is Danny Fenton on paper doesn't mean much to Dick, but his appearance to Damian in human form is so uncanny it makes him a little uncomfortable. And when they realize Danny is Damain's brother, Dick has to reevaluate his relationship.

[dranka]

Devon

[smurny]

“He won’t kill you just for lying down next to me,’ said James.

‘Who won’t?’

‘You know who,’ said James. ‘My jealous master.”

‘I think he might very well kill someone for that.’ The words just came out.

THE SCREAM I SCRUMPED WHEN I READ THESE LINES. 😵

[rainbow-sunshine-unicorn]

gif source

Just realised that not only was Anthony kissing Kate’s pregnant belly, he was also gently patting her stomach with the utmost reverence

[tywvin]

— @paletmblr event xxxiv: usernames

When your enemies defy you, you must serve them steel and fire. When they go to their knees, however, you must help them back to their feet. Elsewise no man will ever bend the knee to you. And any man who must say 'I am the king' is no true king at all. Aerys never understood that, but you will. When I've won your war for you, we will restore the king's peace and the king's justice.

[bichobolitach]

Unlikely? Yes. But I'm delusional so who cares

(Edmund is Sinclair's first name for anyone confused ❤️)

[cienie-isengardu]

Zuko and Azula in "The Beach"

Lately I think a lot about "The Beach" episode [x], especially about this small detail of great teamwork Zuko and Azula have during the game.

Zuko is looking ahead, directly facing their rivals (who had the control of the ball at this moment) but his body is clearly lowered to the ground, left hand most likely touching the ground, legs bent and widely spaced - a clear contrast to Mai standing near and how he stood before on two separate occasions

which is why I think Zuko willingly create an opportunity for Azula, so she could jump higher - something she definitely used to their team’s advantage. If Azula simply jumped on her brother’s back when he wasn’t expecting it or wasn’t ready, he would probably just fall face down from the impact but as the scene shows, he had no such problem nor was angry about it in the following scenes.

During the game sequences there was no dialogue shown between our protagonists, so it is hard to determine if Azula in advance called Zuko to give her a “lift” or Zuko offered on his own, or did they were that much in sync they just acted without thinking. Regardless I like this few seconds long interaction, because for me it implies how they trusted each other despite all the rivalry and bitterness from previous episodes. Like Zuko trusted Azula won’t use that moment to hurt/humiliate him by overuse of force, the same as Azula trusted in Zuko’s strength and that he won’t mess up by losing his balance. It is a small thing but no less sweet to see them working well together when fighting for the same goal - what reminds me a bit their teamwork from the previous season finale.

Interestingly, it was also the second time Zuko assisted Azula in scoring against their rivals while not scoring himself any point on screen. The first time happened almost right at the beggining of the game (second from total five sequences)

while each girl have the solo sequence of winning a point:

Azula's first attack,

later Ty Lee landing on the net

and Mai kicking the ball (and presumably scoring)

while Zuko’s two actions are shared only with his younger sister while there is no sense of competition between the siblings, something contrasting a lot with some previous and later episodes.

Azula is bossy and competitive through most of the episode and her brother lets her be that without a complaint. Azula and Zuko get along pretty well and A) do not argue (with the exception of the campfire scene and then they argue not even for the whole scene itself) and B) don't get on each nerves the way they do in the palace, with Ozai's presence looming in the back of their mind. I absolutely adore this episode, as it humanizes all our Fire Nation characters by showing them as teenagers outside the war zone but also giving us a bit of insight into what Azula and Zuko could be if Ozai didn't pit them against each other. And they could be a great team!

[illyrianbitch]

Of Our Own Devices — Part Two

For @erisweekofficial Day 2: Legacy

Pairing: Reader x Eris

Summary: Eris Vanserra carries a legacy of cruelty, a reputation forged in whispers and fear. But something doesn't quite fit anymore. You’re beginning to think that the male doesn't truly match the legend he's left behind.

Warnings: brief mentions of abuse, cruelty, injury, battling to death, introspection? like a lot, readers head is soooo big from these big thoughts

Word Count: 3.1k

did someone say eris week mini series???? technically can be read as a stand alone, just squint

Part One | Part Three

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

When Eris Vanserra was born, his mother wept in the bathroom for hours after.

Her trembling hands muffled her soft cries as her handmaidens swaddled a newborn Eris in fine cloth. Beron hadn’t been there for most of the birth—hadn’t held her hand the way her father had held her mother’s. He came only at the end, just in time to praise the heir as he left her womb, presenting him like a trophy before promptly leaving for court business.

She was still young, felt like a child herself— at least in her own mind. So, while she loved her son dearly, his birth had cemented her fate to a male she didn’t love, a male whose hands she feared more than death itself.

His mother loved him, this Eris knew. Even at a young age, he felt that love. It burned in him like a comforting flame, the same warmth as the heavy blanket she would tuck around him at night or the sunlight that seeped into his skin on warm afternoons.

And yet, even surrounded by that love, Eris grew up lonely.

His loneliness led him to finding a home in curiosity, in sticking his pointed nose into matters that often didn’t concern him, picking out small details he'd unconsciously store for later. He was a collector from the beginning—of people, of excuses, of emotions he had yet to name.

Perhaps that was why he was so sickeningly fond of you, so starkly different from the others, equally curious, equally lonely.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It wasn't Eris who people met first.

It was his reputation.

Eldest son of the High Lord, equal parts cunning and cruel, a loyal soldier with the venom of a viper. Anguish seemed to follow him, seemed to follow any with Vanserra blood, but there was something distinct about Eris, something divinely alluring. Terrifyingly sinful.

It was all true. So you weren't sure why it bothered you so much when your patrons talked about him, when his name was thrown into conversations surrounding the High Lord.

Your family's tavern was always filled with stories. Its dimly lit, worn wooden tables had overheard more whispered secrets and slurred confessions than you could ever count. Most nights were like this, with drinks spilling over into the laps of locals, the hum of conversation swirling in the air like smoke from the hearth. Tucked in a corner of the court’s lands, it was a place for those not high enough to feast in grand halls but not low enough to beg in the streets. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was home. A comfortable middle ground.

You placed a handful foaming drinks before the three males at the bar, taking a moment to analyze their appearance. They were relatively large, muscular builds hinting at some form of laborious profession. The callouses on their hands told you that they handled weapons often. But their clothes weren't nice enough to be one of Beron's men, weren't tailored enough to be one of Eris's either. Perhaps they were border patrollers, the lowest and grimiest of the forces.

They thanked you with lingering, appraising eyes as you moved away to fetch more drinks.

“I heard,” one of the them said, leaning closer to his companions, “that the eldest boy has a new game he plays with those who cross him. A real spectacle.”

The male next to him, the oldest of the three, nodded eagerly. “They say he’s got a private arena where he forces traitors to fight each other to the death. It’s supposed to be brutal—nothing but blood and screams. And Eris just sits there, like it’s a grand show.”

You clenched your teeth, turning around to face the wall behind you, forcing yourself to attend to the pile of glasses waiting to be wiped down. You tried to focus on your task, hoping to drown out their disturbing conversation, but it was no use. You could feel your grip tightening on the material of the rag, knuckles white as they continued to talk, their voices growing louder and louder with every drink they took.

It was a lie. A rumor. Nothing more.

Yes, Eris was cruel. He was manipulative and calculated. But you'd seen slivers of something else, something brighter, kinder, even. While you believed that a male should face the consequences of his actions, there was no honor in perpetuating lies that simply weren’t true.

It made no sense, anyway. Eris had done plenty of questionable things. There were multitudes of actions to choose from, many things worthy of criticism. There was no need to indulge in falsehoods. The image they painted of Eris—a male reduced to a sadistic spectator in a grotesque spectacle—seemed far removed even from him.

“A grand show?” the third scoffed. “He’s not just watching. He’s placing bets on who’ll survive, like it’s some sick sport. It’s all for his amusement. I’ve heard he gets pleasure out of the carnage. Let's his hounds ravage the bodies.”

A knot tightened in your chest and you gripped the glassware harder, cloth bunching in your grasp. Before you could register the motion yourself, you spun around, the movement abrupt enough to make the males flinch.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," you sneered. The males stiffened, large angry eyes boring into yours. You continued. "Bold of you to traverse around spreading rumors of a High Lord's son. Be grateful he isn't around to correct you himself."

You blinked, the anger draining away as quickly as it had surged, leaving a wave of embarrassment in its place. You took in the male’s faces—initially stunned, then quickly morphing into anger. It was an expected reaction from those who felt their pride wounded, especially from males who had just been scolded by a low-court fae like yourself.

You straightened, trying to regain your composure as you cleared your throat.

The largest of the men leaned forward, his eyes narrowing with a sneer. “Well, well, boys,” he drawled, his voice dripping with disdain. “I think our pretty little bartender might be one of the Princeling’s whores.”

You weighed your options as you stood there, hand still gripping the glass. For a fleeting moment, you were tempted to shatter it over his head. The thought of the glass breaking, of the shards embedding themselves in his skin, was almost satisfying.

But you didn't. Your father would be angry, would be disappointed above all. You needed the business.

You took a deep breath and your grip on the glass loosened.

“Allow me to apologize,” you said. “It seems I’m more sensitive about our court’s reputation than I realized. I don’t know what came over me. How about a round on the house?”

Their faces shifted to smug satisfaction as they accepted the offer with eager grins and, soon, their cups were filled once more. As they happily downed their next round of drinks, you slipped out from behind the bar.

The door’s bell chimed softly as you stepped outside, itching to find the heir that was imprinted into your mind.

Strangely enough, you knew exactly where he'd be.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You found him in a clearing south of The Forest House, an expansive area bathed in the warm light of the afternoon sun. It was a dedicated space for the hounds, adorned in various obstacles that Eris used during their training—wooden jumps, tunnels, and agility courses set up with careful precision. You'd seen the area of land a handful of times before, times when Lucien found Eris to argue or hurl curses.

You approached carefully, watching as Eris kneeled by one of the hounds, gently tending to what seemed to be a cut on its paw.

After a moment, he finally looked up, his gaze meeting yours. The corners of his mouth quirked upwards and a playful glint manifested in his eyes.

"Even after all these years, a vixen without a fox at her side is still a strange sight."

You gritted your teeth, taking a deep breath as your eyes roamed the face of the male before you.

It was an unnecessary jab.

Lucien hadn’t been by your side for centuries now. Though you had visited him as often as you could, the friendship you once shared had changed. He had changed. You had, too. You'd grown into your life at Autumn—managing the tavern that bore your family’s name and living vicariously through the stories that came your way.

The last time you had seen Lucien was marked by a change. You'd looked into his eyes and somehow understood that things were different beyond what had been anticipated.

"Why do you do that?" You asked. "Be a dick when you don't need to be?"

Eris stood, brushing his hands clean as the hound trotted away to rejoin the rest. He narrowed his eyes at you for a moment, a scrutinizing, analyzing moment. Then he offered you a shrug, something so casual and dismissive. You were sure it would've warded off anyone else, that his disinterestedness would have begun to tired them already, turn them the other way.

"Maybe it's part of my charm," he finally responded, "Or maybe I'm just a dick."

He made no attempt to hide the amusement in his voice as he emphasized your insult. Eris had been called many things— you'd heard them, even delivered a few of the titles. But so far, you were the only one to call him two things: a dick, and a prick. Perhaps it was delusion, but you swore that he seemed to enjoy it when you said such things, seemed to smirk in a way that wasn't just cruel, but impressed.

You rolled your eyes. "Most wouldn't wear that title with such pride."

He narrowed his eyes for a moment, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. "What's the use in denying my nature?"

You sighed, a sound of frustration, of annoyance. "Do you not grow bored of your little games?"

Eris rolled his shoulders and straightened his back. He always had immaculate posture, his stature was often so perfect that it was almost uncomfortable to witness. It emphasized his wealth, somehow— emphasized his power. He towered over you even more now.

"Did you seek me out solely to criticize me?"

You bit the inside of your cheek. "No."

"Then why?"

You still weren't entirely sure why you had come.

"Perhaps I was bored."

Eris raised an eyebrow. "Do you not have any friends?"

You bristled. "I have plenty." You paused, allowing your gaze to settle on the view before you, on the open land and the animals that in the open expanse. You turned back to Eris. "It's you that doesn't seem to have any. Your only companionship recently seems to be those hounds. I'm surprised you're not running on all fours."

Eris's expression shifted. He let out a small chuckle and you fought against the twitch in your lips, cursed the warmth that blossomed in your chest. But the amusement dissipated from his face soon after, replaced be a resolve of cold indifference. His eyes seemed tired in this light.

"As much as I…enjoy our little talks," He began after a moment, "I didn't ask for company. You should find someone who wants it."

A small sense of rejection passed through your skin like a cold, morning chill. You were never foolish enough to think Eris would welcome your presence with open arms and a smile, never naive enough to consider yourself anything more than semi-peaceful acquaintances. But still, there was something deep within you that wished he’d show you something beyond the disregard he showed others.

That wasn't a fool's wish— because you knew it was possible.

You'd seen it.

Strangely enough, you had. In the stolen glances when he thought no one was looking, how he lingered after you stumbled, offered a hand before quickly retracting it. There had been flowers at your door after your mother passed of Autumn fever, an unusual number of wealthy patrons who had frequented your father’s tavern for months afterward, tipping generously despite only having a drink or two. They all adorned attire of a specific, deep green that you’d come to recognize easily—the shade often worn by Eris’s personal guard.

His name was never attached to any of it, but you could trace it back to him. You'd always wondered why he'd never taken credit, never basked in somehow proving your presumptions about him wrong.

Twenty-nine year old you, freshly bonded to Lucien after he'd stumbled across your father's tavern, would be shocked that centuries later, she'd be spending more time alongside his cruel brother than Lucien himself.

You’d had an image of Eris back then—an image painted by Lucien’s words. It was accurate, to an extent. You never doubted your best friend’s judgment, never questioned the stories of cruelty and ambition that followed Eris like a shadow. He had, indeed, made Lucien suffer. There were reasons he disliked his brothers so deeply, reasons you knew were valid.

But you were curious by nature, always craving to understand things deeply, intricately. And Eris Vanserra called to you like a riddle from an ancient tale—dangerous, alluring, and impossible to ignore.

Above all else, you wanted answers. Throughout the years, Eris had never called upon your bargain, never asked for a favor, never even mentioned the price you’d paid for that first visit with Lucien. Not once.

It unnerved you.

"I don't understand you," you said, without realizing the words had fallen from your lips.

You hadn't intended on voicing it so blatantly. You weren't quite sure how Eris would respond, how he would interpret your words. It was a tossup, really, between a snarky response or something condescending, something to make you feel silly, naive.

Silence.

Eris shifted, turning his body to look out into the horizon before him.

"Not everything in life is meant to be understood."

You paused.

Eris was complicated. Unfortunately for you, you loved complicated. It wasn't boring. It made you think, made you wonder. You gravitated towards the eldest Vanserra more often than you'd like to admit. It was easier now, you decided, since Lucien's watchful eye wasn't around. He didn't have to witness your betrayal first hand, didn't have to see as you attempted to find something in his brother. You weren't sure what that something was, but you were certain you were searching for it. You had been for years.

"That's not true. I can understand things if I try hard enough."

Eris played idly with the rings on his hands. "You set yourself up for disappointment, Vixen," he said to the empty air before him, not turning to look at you. "Why does everything need to have a deeper meaning?"

You studied his face further. Noting the lines etched around his eyes and the set of his jaw. He was beautiful. You weren’t one to deny it—all of the Vanserras were. But where Lucien had been handsome, radiating a gentle charm that made you blush with every lingering gaze, Eris was more akin to the sharp edge of the season’s chill—striking, with an air of regal severity. His amber eyes alone seemed to hold the crisp, unyielding essence of autumn itself—beautiful, but not without its bite.

"It doesn't need to," you replied. "But it often does. I think details are important."

He didn't respond as he turned to face you. You glanced up at him, his eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that seemed almost tangible.

"You've never lied to me," you stated. It was a statement more than it was a question.

"No," Eris replied.

His gaze didn't waver. You were almost impressed that you'd managed to hold his stare for so long. No one had ever looked at you like this before—so deeply, so penetrating. You understood now how his mere gaze could make people crumble, understood the rumors of how he only took his partners from behind, how he never made eye contact.

You pushed away the burning thoughts that arose.

"Is it true?" Your gaze bounced around his face. "Do you force your traitors to fight for your amusement? Place bets on them like animals?"

Eris's eyes flickered with something dark, but he didn't move.

"Do you think it is?" he countered.

You shook your head. You were certain of your answer, but you needed to hear his. "No. I don't."

The corner of his mouth twitched upward, and he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Then it’s not," he said simply.

His expression revealed nothing more as you scanned his face. He didn't seem startled by your question, didn't seem confused at the context. He was aware of the rumors, of the stories circulating like the last morsels of food at a feast—passed around, savored, and eagerly consumed.

"It doesn't bother you? That these lies exist?"

A hint of confusion crossed his features, as if the question itself was somewhat absurd.

"Why would it?"

You blinked, momentarily retracting into yourself.

As a hound trotted up to Eris, his attention shifted. He crouched down, meeting the beast at its level. The gentle manner with which the hound regarded him, the affection in its eyes, stirred something inside you, deep within your gut. Your father had always said that a male’s nature could be understood through how animals responded to him.

Eris clearly cared for his hounds, and they, in turn, cared for him.

You found yourself wondering if, deep down, Eris was ever troubled by his reputation.

Lucien always had been.

He cursed the blood than ran through his veins, spent every moment trying to prove himself to be better than the legacy of his family— he did everything he could to avoid the curse of a wicked kin.

But then there was the male before you.

Eris, the rightful heir and firstborn son, was different.

You had always assumed he was bestowed with the legacy of the kingdom, that he was born for the role of High Lord, eagerly embracing the title and its accompanying glory. He seemed built for it, seemed to thrive under its weight.

You watched as more hounds approached him, watched as they surrounded him like a loyal fleet.

Could it be possible, you thought, that perhaps it wasn't all gifted. That it was possible Eris was burdened with the legacy of a Court?

You realized, then, that you'd never truly acknowledged that what he had become allowed for a kinder brother to grow in his wake.

The thoughts came faster, hazy, so many that your vision began to blur. It all made you itch, made you uncomfortable, made you overwhelmed and desperate for more.

None of this felt right.

You stared at Eris for a few more moments. When he stood up straight once more, about to turn toward you, you turned and ran to your horse.

You could feel his stare burning into you as you left.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

reader panicking when she has deep intellectual thoughts about sexy man as he tends for his dogs. shes so me fr

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