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vasito-de-leche · 11 months ago

Note

okay I read your analysis on Forget Me Not and I'm in tears now thank you. (No but really thank you, it's such a touching piece.) Can you PLEASE for salvation of our fans souls write anything to like,,, give him hope? Forget Me Not x reader but it doesn't have to be actually all-out with hugs and kisses. We may,,,,,,,, just show him a new hobby? Any hobby of your choosing or idk play an instrument together. Just to give him something else to focus on, to channel at least part of his energy from self-destructive activities to something less hurtful. I'd personally like to bandage his (not actually wounded but still) hands as if they were bleeding. Something of the kind. Sorry for mistakes writing is incredibly inconvenient cuz tears aaa.

;R1999 FORGET ME NOT - "hands, fingers, scales"

Forget Me Not x Reader. 2.3k words. self-harm implied You've befriended Forget Me Not the same one befriends a rabid, beaten, old dog. And while he's much too busy fighting his inner demons, you're more worried about stopping these "pernicious habits" of his. A casual afternoon trying to make sure he's taking care of himself turns into something deeper.

thank you so much for the ask, nonnie!!

I got a little carried away with this request because thinking about how fucking insufferable and confusing FMN has to be just to indulge in HAND HOLDING and GETTING A FUCKING HOBBY made me so deranged and feral as if hes not fucking TOUCHSTARVED lmfao. this guy's love language is straight up worshipping, mf is not subtle about it

either way, hope you like it! here's the lil preview!

Sometimes, Forget Me Not understands the reason men and women kneel at the pew to worship and pray.

Devotion is something arcanists and humans share, whether honest or not. He's witnessed the rich and the poor, the pure and the depraved, and every binary that rules this world - all of them begging, pleading and praying at the end of their lives, casting away the pride they've held on for so long for the chance of salvation. Once stripped down to their core, there is nothing to do but hope God has enough love in His heart to look their way.

And sometimes, Forget Me Not prays that you’ll find someone else - anyone but him - to fill the role of devotee.

The gentleness in your eyes whenever you look at him is enough to bring him to his knees, and Forget Me Not doesn't know what to do with himself but to worship and pray. Praying that you'll continue to look at him for a little longer, silently begging for your attention until you finally tire of him. Do you think yourself holy enough to replace the vitriol in his veins?

He does.

On good days, he even hopes that you can save him.

You never asked him to become your one and only believer, of course. You're not even aware of the space you take in his mind, nor the conflicting images he keeps conjuring of you at night, he's certain of this. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here, holding his hands and inspecting them for any injuries. This role is one of the many self-imposed tragedies in his life.

Your thumbs knead and massage his palm, as if you could soothe the pain away, and yet you refrain from pressing down hard. He's at your mercy, why hesitate? What do you see that he cannot?

Something is bothering you. It's obvious in the way you touch him, like you're afraid of hurting him, as if you were the one with a body count between the two. Every so often, your movements come to a halt and you both sit in silence, until you return to your ministrations, filling the nothingness with your sighing and humming.

All he needs is to look up, right at your face, to know everything he wants to know - but he's too much of a coward for that. Instead, light grey eyes follow your index finger as it slides under the cuffs of his shirt. You trace over the bone of his wrist and continue upwards.

He can't tear his eyes away.

Normally, Forget Me Not wouldn't mind. There is an addictive thrill to witnessing the shock of anyone who dares get so close and personal, but he feels himself shrink when you brush against his scales and recoil away on instinct. That's when he raises his head and finds your eyes in the dimly lit staff room.

That expression on your face - surely, you were regretting every choice that led you to him. By now, you might've surely realized that there is nothing for you to salvage in this shipwreck he calls a life. All attempts to check on him were surely a façade for whatever ulterior motives you continued to withhold from him. He's stubborn, believing that he can read you like an open book, but now he's just as lost as you are. When he opens his mouth to speak, you beat him to it and he grows a little restless at your words.

"Sorry, sorry! Did I, uh, hurt you? Dumb question, you would've definitely told me if that were the case. Anyway, it looks like you're okay! I don't know why I was so worried, actually."

His silence prompts you to continue, and all Forget Me Not can focus on is the absence of your warmth.

You raise a hand to gesture dismissively at your behaviour, brush it off to ease your embarrassment, that much he understands - though it's painful to watch you fumble like that, to deny what he hides under his clothes. Forget Me Not thinks of filling the space between your fingers with his own, just to drag you back to that quiet, albeit suffocating, moment of peace. Instead of doing that, he retreats and places both hands neatly on his lap.

"Thanks for indulging me and, yeah uh, again - sorry about that? It just caught me off guard. I should've been more careful."

But you were never careful with his space or his rules, plunging in and out of his life and leaving him to figure out where he stood in his game of push and pull. Why were you being careful now?

"It's nothing, I understand," he lies. Everything you do means the world to him and he doesn't even understand why. "It cannot hurt to know what sort of things the person pouring your drinks might be hiding under their sleeves."

The word "hypocrite" lingers at the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill out with as much venom as he can muster, but it stays lodged behind his teeth because he knows he's even worse: Forget Me Not prays that you'll stay with him, while also opening the door right out his life for you. As much as he wants to, he has no right of calling you out.

He's not used to receiving apologies and so he chooses not to think too hard on yours - though he's dreamed countless of times for the perfect situation in which he finally rips out one apology after another from the throats of those who wronged him, this one feels different. Undeserved, even.

His heart, that wretched lump in his chest, finally settles down and he prepares to end this interaction to save you the awkwardness of addressing his "deformities". But then you go and surprise him once more.

"Come on, I already told you..." You sigh and he inhales in tandem, but you're much too busy rolling your eyes to notice. "That whole thing you do, when you start scratching or, like, picking at your hand? You've been doing it more lately. It had me worried you might've been doing, I don't know - something."

Forget Me Not's eyes widen in surprise. The audacity to notice such things about him? And to put them on display without a warning? What else did you find out?

Part of him wants him to embrace his nature and scare you away, but that's the side of him that's been slowly losing this battle of attrition in his heart - you're a bad influence for him, after all. The other part... Well, it's still trying to sort itself out.

He settles for slowly undoing the buttons on his sleeve. It only takes a moment to roll up the fine fabric to his elbow, knowing you're staring right at him, through him maybe. The expression on his face is one of indifference, one he fights to maintain - this is the most vulnerable he's felt in decades.

That unsightly pattern begins exactly where his sleeves usually end, coiling around his forearm not unlike a snake and traveling upwards. The scales are dark, an iridescent black that reminds him of an oil spill in the middle of the ocean, and the ones at the edges fade away into lighter hues until they mix with the pale, sickly tone of his skin. He knows the sort of beauty he holds, one that can only be admired at a distance, turning into a grotesque imitation of a man when up close.

Forget Me Not presents himself to you and, with his free hand, gets ready to pluck one of the scales off.

"Wait, don't do that-!"

Seizing his arm and holding it close to your chest, you deprive him of the catharsis that comes with this level of self-mutilation. He knows you're connecting the dots, feeling the scattered, empty spaces from all the times you saw him pick himself apart and more. Your fingers brush against his bare skin looking for said spaces, counting them in your head, mourning their loss.

Some scales are in the process of regrowing like unwanted parasites, and he wishes he could feel anything at all just to be closer to you.

"God, what is wrong with you?! What was the point of that?"

Something compels him to laugh (perhaps it's your heartbeat reaching out to him loud and clear through your clothes, he feels it faintly) it comes across as sinister and condescending, the only way he knows how to express joy. Like he's making fun of your concern.

"Apologies," Forget Me Not begins to say, readjusting his glasses. The way you try to keep his own arm out of his reach doesn't go unnoticed. It's such a petty, childish gesture that makes his grin widen and your frown deepen. "I was under the impression you found this little oddity distasteful. There's no need to worry - they will return in a few days, they always do."

"Still, don't do that. It's not funny. It must...hurt a lot."

"Ah, but it doesn't. If else, I'd compare it to being pricked by a very small needle."

"You're just going to find something to nitpick and contradict everything I say, aren't you?" It's the least he can do to repay all the headaches you've given him, and for forgiving his transgressions too easily.

An intrusive thought makes itself known from the depths of his mind - would you forgive him just as readily if he were to kill someone in front of you? If he showed you just how destructive his arcane skills could be when given free reign? Where would you draw the line? And how much could he continue to push his luck before he lost you?

Before Forget Me Not realizes it, you've loosened your grip on his arm and returned to that previous moment of suffocating peace - the only difference is that you've gone from being deep in thought to troubled and miserable, one hair away from darting out the room and refusing to speak to him. At this, his pinky finger wraps around yours and neither of you mention it.

"Can't you... I don't know, do something else?"

"I could be doing my job, but alas, you're keeping me prisoner here." He says, like he's not delighted to be given your undivided attention. There are no complaints when you step on his foot with a huff, he deserved that one.

"I'm talking about the scales thing! You could wear gloves. If it happens when you get distracted then, I could hang around to make sure you stop in time." A pause, and then the sound of your voice becomes unsure and so very small. "Maybe if we covered them with bandages...? But that could be annoying. Band aids? No, no - too unprofessional. It would ruin the whole aesthetic you're going for."

You continue to trail off, coming up with many different ideas and solutions to a problem he caused. He doesn't understand why you'd even bother in the first place. For you to reciprocate the attention he gives you, to care about him? That's the hardest pill Forget Me Not has ever swallowed - it's something he twirls around with his tongue, as if deciding whether to poison himself with bliss or spit it out and continue latching on to his doubts and insecurities.

Outside, in front of everyone at The Walden, he's the one leading the crowd and talking for hours on end, commanding their attention and manipulating the flow of every conversation.

Behind closed doors, all he does is listen to every nonsensical thought, unnecessary opinion and strange anecdote you throw at him.

"...No, that won't work either." Absentmindedly, you fix and button his sleeve back into place.

You've grown used to his silence the same way you've adapted and grown used to his flaws.

"I mean, it worked on me - getting a little slap on the wrist whenever I started biting my nails, but..." Without even thinking, you rub circles with your thumb across his knuckles.

You might as well be the stupidest angel in heaven.

"Why don't you just get a hobby? That's good enough, right? It's been so long since I've heard you play piano, the one by the stage." And just like that, you're on your feet attempting to drag him outside for a demonstration. "You could teach me! That way, we get to do something fun and I get to keep an eye on you."

Forget Me Not knows he has nothing to offer to this world, but when his saint looks at him with such hope, he cannot refuse. The path to recovery seems almost doable when you bump your shoulder into his, challenging him to play the hardest song he knows.

The stars in your eyes whenever you recognize all the songs he plays becomes intoxicating, more so than the sweet, sweet revenge he's yearned for since he spiraled into decadence.

Some days, his patrons join with their own singing or humming, and he forgets that he hates each and every one of them for as long as his fingers dance across the keys - a momentary reprieve from the constant stream of negativity. It doesn't take long for his body to remember his training and soon, he's improvising.

A melody for gloomy, rainy days. A whimsical tune here and there for celebrations.

A song for you and himself - the first one he teaches you and the only one he plays in private, when he's all alone with nothing but his thoughts. Solitude has gone from a noose wrapped around his neck to the perfect time to compose and hone this long forgotten passion. For the first time in forever, he doesn't dread the silence of an empty room, the endless wait between his shifts at The Walden - not when he can simply fill them with more and more music.

And so, Forget Me Not plays, hoping that you'll continue to cheer him on. Hoping that this tiny spark you've ignited in him can truly become his salvation.

#reverse 1999 #reverse: 1999 #r1999 #reverse 1999 x reader #reverse 1999 fanfic #reverse 1999 forget me not #forget me not #outing myself as a huge fuckin religion/devotion as a metaphor for relationships freak #and as a hand freak as well. love it when the smallest acts of intimacy are the BIGGEST FUCKING DEALS for characters who are touchstarved #i love writing reader inserts from the pov of the character instead of the reader like #what goes in their head and shit??? THE INNER MONOLOGUES AND DRAMA ?????#FORGET ME NOT'S WHOLE ACT IS A COVER FOR THE FUCKING MESS HE IS WHEN YOU LOOK AT HIMMMMM!!!!!!!#soggiest wettest most pathetic man at manus vindictae #i hope i got his whole fuckin two faced and contradicting mentality across. mf is not having a good time healing but my GOD hes. trying #he hates you but he loves you but god he hates you so much but yeah he'll still worship the ground you walk on #the title is a pun btw. scales. musical scales. his snake scales #IM VERY SMART

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azrielsshadows42 · 2 months ago

Text

A Court of Scales and Fire V

A/n: Sry about the wait, I had assessment after assessment plus 2 exams, then I had massive writer's block, but it is here, finally. Thank you all so much for your patience. This is also my submission for @erisweekofficial, day 7: free, I'm hoping this will help get my story out there. btw, you cannot read this as a stand alone it will not make sense.

Chapter 4 Character Moodboards

A/N: The dividers are made by @tsunami-of-tears , and comment 🐆 if you got the Kipo reference

Warnings: Swearing, No misogynistic Illyrian lords were harmed in the making of this chapter (unfortunately)

Both = Mind speak (Colour will vary depending on who is speaking)

Bold = Ancient Language

Italics = Thoughts

Word count: 3.2k (Excluding Recap)

Recap:

"Focus. I thought you said he's not your friend"

"He's not" I immediately replied with, saying it so fast I almost interrupted her. "If you're not friends, then why is he here?" I sighed deeply; this shit was not exactly my forte "He is the High Lord of Autumn, we made a deal with him a little while ago, and now we have an alliance" That was explained terribly, but it will have to do.

"What does he want now?" My eyes shot toward where the 'discussion' would surely be taking place, as if I could see through the walls, right to where Eris was standing and glare at him to make sure he didn't try anything stupid.

"No idea"

Rhysand's Pov

We sat there studying each other for a moment in silence. Ever since both ends of our bargain had been held up, Eris never visited the Night Court, he wasn't welcome here. Just because our courts were allies, for the benefit of the Autumn people, did not mean we suddenly liked each other, and it certainly gave him no authority to waltz into MY home, unannounced.

"What do you want, Eris?" My voice was cold, as it always was during official High Lord correspondence. His eyes regarded me with indifference, and he raised a goblet of wine to his lips, painfully slowly. I somehow had a feeling he did that just to grate on my nerves.

"I would have thought that brute of yours would have told you" He drawled. "While Under the Mountain, we were attacked by a witch who, as I understand is now under your roof, you wouldn't happen to know her, would you?" Eris took another slow drink from his glass, my eyes narrowed, sharp enough to cut through his mental barriers if I wanted. "Are you suggesting that I planted the female there?"

"Well, it is rather suspicious you learned of it and dispatched one of your dogs at the same time I did, especially considering how much farther the Night Court is from the place of incidence." His know-it-all tone annoyed me beyond belief, but I managed to speak my next words with the same cool indifference as the rest of this discussion. "We did not know her prior to the events of yesterday"

"Really? I could have sworn I heard her and your general talking earlier, they seemed pretty comfortable, has he tired of Nesta already? Typical of Illyrians." I failed to keep the rage out of my eyes, the anger out of my voice. "If there is nothing else you're here for, High Lord" The title was spat out like an insult "Then leave, now"

"Actually, Rhysand, there is" The words were spoken with a thoughtfulness that didn't match the fae speaking them. I did not say anything, did not deign him with a response, my silence was his invitation to elaborate.

"Recently my guards have found traces of people passing through Autumn with our regular traders, People I have not permitted, carrying with them something unfamiliar, and certainly not from any of the seven courts, nor the human lands as well as a mysterious break in the trees, perhaps your new little witch friend has something to do with it"

I considered that this might be true, though whether this female was a witch or if that was just another thing Eris assumed about her was unclear, although I also considered that these strange occurrences might be caused by the apparent weapon smuggler's Y/n told us of, in which case she is telling the truth, at least about this.

"We shall keep a close eye on her, in the meantime, she is innocent until proven guilty, and she is under the protection of the Night Court, so I believe it is time for you to take your leave" I stated it with finality in my voice that left no room for him to argue. The new Autumn High Lord huffs slightly in displeasure, but makes no retort, winnowing back to his Court without any further fuss, merely saying: "I will be back tomorrow".

I really hope I don't regret this.

The next morning - Y/n's Pov

It was early, the sun hadn't even crested over the mountain yet, Y/n was still in her guest silk night gown. She sat atop the massive bed, Everest in her lap. "Ok, granted, we haven't gotten anywhere with our mission" Her long leafy tail flicked a piece of lint off her knee, very pretentiously, in Y/n's opinion. "Told you." She would have retorted, but they both heard footsteps, judging by the length between each sound and how deep it was, she guessed it was Cassian. "Hide"

Y/n scrambled to the top and threw the linens over herself while Everest shrunk further to the size of a large mouse and crawled under the bed. The footsteps stopped right outside the door, then they were violently flung open. "Gooooood morning!" Cassian's booming voice sounded out into the room with a sing-song aspect to it. "Time to get up sleepy head" While yes, she was already awake, it was four-thirty in the morning, what the hell was he talking about?

"It's too early to be awake" came her grumbled response, she made sure her voice was deeper and slightly rasped. "You said you wanted to go to Illyria, right?" There was a pause in which she used to process what he had just said. "Really?" she questioned.

Cassian's grin brightened; he is way to energetic right now. What the hell does he put in his coffee, cause whatever it is, he needs to share, I need some of that too. "Really, but only if you get up now" His hazel eyes looked at me expectantly. I looked back at him, lips thinned. "Well are you going to leave so I can change?" That seemed to snap him out of it. "OH, right, right, yes, I'll leave" He bolted out, closing the door behind him.

Once they knew Cassian was out of earshot, Everest climbed back on to the bed giving Y/n the sassiest, most flat look a dragon could. "Illyria, really?" "What? I'm curious!" She rolled her emerald eyes.

"And what am I to do while you're out galivanting?" Y/n stood up from the bed, taking off her sleepwear and replacing it with her undergarments and armour. "Have you found a princess to torment yet?" Everest's head whirled around so fast she worried she might snap her own neck. "I will bite you." hissed Everest.

"Right, cause you've never bitten me before, I'll be in true agony, such unexpected pain" Y/n's words oozed sarcasm. Everest huffed, turned toward the open pavilion and flew out over Velaris, but not before throwing one last glare at Y/n, just for good measure.

Y/n put her hair up in a simple braided updo before exiting the bedroom. She grabs one of the sandwiches the house put on the table as she walked past and into the training room, where she assumed Cassian would be. Y/n was proven right when lo and behold, there stood the Night Courts general, next to their emissary, Mor. "Greetings, and salutations" she said cheerily, Cassian matched her energy while Mor appeared as if she would fall over any second. Someone clearly had not yet woken up. Y/n clapped my hands together "So, how are we getting there?"

"The lovely Morrigan will be winnowing us" Her eyes trailed the females tired form sceptically. "Does 'The Lovely Morrigan' know that?" Mor was now leaning almost all her body weight on Cassian. "Yeah, I asked her yesterday" She let out a grumble, opening her eyes a bit more while pushing off of Cassian. "You failed to mention that I needed to do it at four-thirty" He feigned confusion "Did I? Huh, must've slipped my mind, and technically, it's five now" This, unsurprisingly, didn't improve Mor's mood.

"Just get over here so I can go back to bed" They stepped closer to her, each putting a hand on her shoulder, the world warped, twisting and turning once more until they were on a snowy peak. The second they got there, Mor shook their hands off her, and winnowed back before they could thank her. It was not long after that the cold penetrated Y/n's armour. She shivered, and goose bumps rose on her skin under her sleeves.

"Not used to the cold?" She had been in plenty of cold places before, but usually Everest would be there to warm her up, always blocking the wind so she never felt it. "No, I'm fine with the cold, I just never knew this place warranted the use of igloos" Cassian laughed uproariously. "It's not that cold, if you want igloos, you'll find them in Winter" Y/n watched as their breath plumed out in front of them. "We'll agree to disagree"

Snow crunched ahead of them, Y/n could see three winged figures, one in front, the others trailing a few paces behind. She wasn't sure why, but she didn't like the vibe they gave off, and the middle one looked very punch-able. "Lord Devlon" Cassian said in greeting.

"Cassian" His eyes roamed over Y/n in distaste. "Have you brought another witch here?" She didn't know who this Devlon was talking about, or if Cassian had actually brought a witch here, but she decided if she was only going to be here once, then she'd have as much fun with it as she could.

"No, this time he got the witches mentor" Y/n grinned evilly at them. Panic flashed across Devlon's face, though he tried to conceal it. His companions however, made no such attempt. She could hear Cassian mutter under his breath saying "You and Nesta both" with an exasperated look and shook his head. Oh, so Nesta was the 'Witch' he'd brought last time, I should've guessed.

"She is here to learn, just like Nesta was" Devlon's eyes narrowed, his lips pursed and just a general air of supreme asshole about him. "No."

"We weren't asking" Cassian replies, with an edge to his voice. "I will not have you bring more disgrace to this camp" He sniped sharply. It was then, that Y/n stepped forward, her eyes dark, menace in every move she took. "Oh really, is that so?" To intimidate them, she started chanting in the ancient language of the dragon riders known as Draconic.

"Feta, Gouda, Chevre, Fromage"

The two lackies pulled their weapons as she made the marks around her eyes glow, Devlon's face revealed the fear he felt in that moment, even Cassian looked at her unsurely. "Stop, STOP IT THIS INSTANT" Y/n only chanted louder.

"FETA, GOUDA, CHEVRE, FROMAGE"

"Alright, alright, enough, you can train here, just stop your curses." The glowing faded and she plastered a sickly-sweet smile on her face watching Lord Devlon heave breath after breath. "Lovely, thank you so much for your generous hospitality"

Cassian's Pov

I was starting to think that maybe Eris wasn't entirely wrong about Y/n being a witch. I have never heard a language like that, and her face glowed, at least, some of it. And it has been officially confirmed that her and Nesta would get along swell. All she needs is a smut book in front of her and they're practically twins.

We walked through the camp, snow crunching beneath us, I could tell the cold was starting to get to her. I guided her past the buildings, pointing out certain shops, explaining anything she questioned. "Why was Devlon so pissy about me coming here? I mean, I get the whole 'No outsider's' thing, but it almost seemed personal.

"I'm not regarded very highly here, anyone I bring, he would immediately hate. I already brought Nesta here and she also said she was a witch, you can imagine how well that went over. And finally, you're another female I have brought to train, he doesn't want to lose more weapons. There is a superstition here that if a female touches a weapon, it will bring bad luck to the wielder" I winced, this was the part of Illyrian heritage I wished I could erase, it was silly, but mostly, I worried it would deter Y/n, make her want to leave.

To my surprise, she laughed. "Then my blades must be double cursed, they were forged by a female too" I couldn't help but chuckle at that. "They would lose their shit if you ever told them that"

We only stopped once we got to the furthest training ring in the camp, just in case she did anymore witch-stuff. "What exactly did you do back there?" Her brows pulled together in confusion, so I elaborated. "The chanting and the glowing eyes?"

"Oh, that was nothing" My eyes told her that was not enough of an answer. "I just said a bunch of words from a language we are taught when becoming trackers, and the marks on my face can glow when I tell them to, apparently it's got something to do with a survival tool that we no longer need, but still have the feature. If Lord misogyny is just gonna assume I'm a witch, I might as well have some fun with it."

As if Devlon didn't hate me enough, he gave me plenty of shit about bringing Nesta before even knowing she's not a witch. However there will be no way to convince him otherwise after that little stunt Y/n pulled.

"Are you ready for some real Illyrian training?" I asked as a challenge. She unsheathed her blades, spinning them around herself elaborately for show before crouching in a fighting stance, prepared to leap.

"Ready"

Eris's Pov

I was back at the house of wind, to my surprise, it was Rhysand who had contacted me about a meeting today, saying he did indeed have information about who he suspects is behind the unauthorised traders. I walked into the room, eyes scanning for imperfections, I found none, they prepared well, I'd give them that. Both Rhysand and Feyre were sitting at an immaculately set table, finger foods plated beautifully dotted its surface.

I sat down opposite Rhysand, my hands had not even touched the table before a commotion was heard, voices and wingbeats. My heart jumped for some unexplained reason, and I beat it down because who gave it the right to start flapping around like a lovesick puppy?

The witch and general came in while talking to each other loudly, they were both covered in sweat. She was flushed and panting, her hair littered with fly a ways, but I struggled to redirect my gaze from her form. Her armour shined in a way those Illyrian leathers Cassian wore could only dream of ever comparing.

"I take it back, I wasn't ready" she spoke, panting heavily as she walks over to the couch and collapses on it. "Told you so" She rose her upper body on her elbows, turning to face him. "Hey, you try doing my work out without breaking a sweat, mine is a lot more cardio" Cassian's face scrunched up. "I'm good, thanks"

"Perhaps Y/n should join this meeting, as it is her mission to capture the people causing these disturbances, yes?" She perked up, raising herself higher and twisting her body to face us. "You've heard more about the weapons league?"

"I believe your weapon smugglers are the strange people mingling with Autumn's merchants" Her face brightened, the streaks of blue in her eyes coming to the forefront. There was something about the idea of working with her, of being closer that just pulled me in, I can't explain it, and I am finding that it won't be long before I can't fight it either. That could not happen, I will not develop... whatever this is for her, I need to stop it here and now.

"She is not from here, she can't possibly have a lot of information about them, there is no need for her to participate in this meeting, besides she seems..." My eyes trailed over her body with appreciation masked as disgust "...Occupied"

"On the contrary, these fae originally were causing trouble in her homelands and have stowed away here, she is more knowledgeable on this adversary than anyone we know." Rhysand interjected. I wanted to point out something else, something that would keep her away from this table and more importantly, away from me, but nothing came to mind, so I just tersely nodded my head, accepting her involvement.

"Alright, just give me a moment" The female got up off the couch, making her way to what he assumed was her guest bedroom limping a little. "Is she seriously postponing a meeting with two high lords and a High lady to primp?"

"You have no space to argue about primping, Eris" I knew that, and really, I was glad she was taking the time to get herself ready, unlike the brute who just sat down radiating heat like a second, very unwanted sun smelling of sweat and picking at some of the food laid out.

It isn't long before she returns with her hair down, still wet from the quick shower she took, her scent of caramel with a hint of pine invaded my nose and I couldn't help but notice how well it mixed with cinnamon and earth that I have. What is wrong with me?

Her hair swayed with her movements, blowing a more potent dose of her scent toward me, Y/n sat down beside me and started speaking about the contraband the fae were smuggling. I listened to every word but it went in one ear and out the other, all while I stared at her with intense focus. Before I knew it, everyone was looking at me, expecting some kind of input.

"Why are they in my lands?" I really hope that she hadn't already answered that. "I suspect it is because of the new power shift, there is always a certain acclimation time where mistakes are more easily made, therefore easier for them to work in, the fact that it is a straight line from Elethairia to Autumn is just a nice little convenience for them."

How dare they? How dare they think that just because I am in charge now, they could slip by undetected, I am not weak, and nothing happens in my court without me knowing. "I'd like access to your lands so I can track them down" Her voice broke through my rage, effectively gaining my attention.

"And how would this arrangement work?" Her eyes fixed on mine "I would go to Autumn from morning till evening, then return here until the job is done" I had no idea where my next words came from, they had not received approval from my brain before they were said, laid out for everyone to gawk at. "That's ridiculous, you'll stay in Autumn, track them down and then I shall assist in getting them back to Elethairia" I was seconds away from saying something truly stupid like getting you back to Elethairia, but luckily he wasn't that far gone.

I should have just agreed with the original proposal, that was what I was planning on, but my mouth had other plans, and I couldn't take my offer off the table now, otherwise I'd look like an indecisive buffoon. Instead, I said this:

"I shall await your answer" I then got up, thanked Rhysand and Feyre and winnowed back to Autumn, though a part of me longed to bring her with.

Only so she could get to work sooner and rid my lands of these weapon smugglers. No other reason. None. She would catch them, I'd get her back to her home and these frivolous feelings would end. I would continue to rule Autumn, she would do whatever she does, and our paths would never cross again. That is what I want.

Then why did the thought hurt so bad?

Tag list: @imma-too-many-fandoms @rcarbo1

Chapter 6

A/n: Hope you enjoyed, again, my sincerest apologies about the wait

#acotar #a court of scales and fire #eris vanserra #eris vandaddy #eris x oc #cassian #inner circle #eris x reader #eris fanfic #eris fanfiction #eris acotar #autumn court #night court #best friend cassian

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