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separatist-apologist · 4 months

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Never Not Mine

Summary: Elain Archeron has been betrothed to the seventh born son of Autumn for as long as she can remember. With her family's reputation in the balance, Elain is resigned to her fate.

That doesn't mean she has to like it…or that she has to make it easy for him.

Chapter 1 | Read on AO3

Feyre and Nesta come to Autumn the night before Elain’s wedding, tanned and a little blonder than normal. It was too late to intervene—Elain had already been fitted for the dress she’d wear tomorrow and was, essentially, under lock and key. No guards, but an endless parade of servants that seemed to pop up any time she tried to leave the room.

Elain knew that was Lucien’s doing. He’d been sleeping on the sofa she now sat on each night, keeping watch so she didn’t try to escape and vanishing before she woke up. They’d barely exchanged a sentences worth of words since she’d foolishly climbed over the balcony.

“How are you feeling?” Feyre asked as Nesta paced back and forth. If she told her sisters the truth, they were likely to do something foolish. Something that got them all in trouble. Nesta was already trying to angle out of her marriage and didn’t need Elain mucking that up.

“Excited,” she lied, catching the way Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “And nervous, of course. We barely know each other.”

“Is he kind?” Nesta demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Yes,” Elain replied, not bothering to add that he was rude in equal measure.

“All mother talks about is how handsome the Vanserra’s are,” Nesta said with a dark scowl. “I see nothing special about them.”

Feyre shrugged. “They’re not ugly.”

“They’re hardly beautiful, either,” Nesta argued. If Feyre said the sky was blue, Nesta would argue it was gray and if Nesta thought the Vanserra’s were ugly, then Feyre found them to be impossibly beautiful. They had always been that way, leaving Elain to mediate.

“There is a charm to them, certainly,” she agreed, not taking any particular stance. “I am acclimating well. How are things at home?”

“Dull,” Feyre said as Nesta opened her mouth. “I paint and Nesta plays piano and we wither away, waiting for our turn to be good, dutiful wives.”

“They’ve banned arranged marriages in Summer,” Nesta said sharply, her tone rife with implications. Run to Summer, she seemed to say. As if Summer would risk a war with their neighbors simply to harbor her.

“Perhaps other courts will follow suit,” Elain said noncommittally. It was too late for her. Tomorrow she’d walk willing with Lucien through a priestesses temple, watched by her family and his as they pledged fidelity and honor to the other. It was a farce and one Elain was committed to seeing through, now. If her sisters managed to escape their own prescribed fates, she wished them well.

But there was no more escape for her.

“Have you seen anything?” Feyre questioned. Elain bit her bottom lip.

Yes, she wanted to say. How did she explain that what she’d seen was a particularly steamy affair with the man she had sworn she wouldn’t touch until she was forced to. Elain refused to think about it lest Lucien scent the accompanying arousal that always followed and got the wrong idea.

Visions were imprecise, a snapshot of what could happen and not necessarily what would. A wrong turn, a different word spoken and the entire world rearranged itself.

That did nothing to remove the image of Lucien without his clothes shifting over her, or the expression on his face—

“Elain?”

She blinked. “No, nothing. I haven’t looked, though, either.”

“Well, maybe you should tonight,” Feyre suggested. Elain only smiled, certain she did not want to know what the next day had in store for her. Let it remain a mystery, even from her. If she saw herself beneath him, she’d panic and never make it down the aisle.

There was something she wanted, though, and Elain found exactly how to get it later that afternoon. Cadmus poked his head in, expression guarded.

“Lady Elain?” The second eldest Vanserra looked the most like his father, his red hair browner, his russet eyes lacking some of the ringed gold the rest of his brothers had. Even his features were those of the sharp elegance of the High Lord rather than the softer edges the Lady bore. “How are you?”

“I…” A dagger glinted off Cadmus’s belt, silver hilt inlaid with vibrant rubies. “Can I borrow that?”

Cadmus looked down at his body, hands hovering over the weapon. “My dagger?”

Elain made her eyes big and round as she bit her bottom lip, and hoped Cadmus was no better than the males back home. “I don’t know how to use it, if you’re worried for your brothers safety”

“What’s to know? Stick the sharp end in anything soft,” he said with a wry smile before unstrapping the hilt. “If you do stab my brother, try not to kill him.”

Elain blinked. “Just…just like that?”

“It’s become almost a tradition to provide my new sisters with a weapon to use against my brothers. I’m starting to think Vanserra’s like to be threatened.”

She frowned. “It’s not like that.”

“For you, maybe,” he chuckled, watching as Elain quickly hid the dagger beneath an ornate pillow. “If you’re frightened, though, you could tell me.”

That was curious. “Why? What would you do?”

“What any good brother would do. Knock him around like he’s a youngling again, and hope his good sense returns to him.”

“That’s…unexpectedly kind,” she murmured.

“We’re nearly family, right?” he said gruffly, glancing back toward the hall. “Anyway ah…don’t kill him. And uh…if you need any help, ask Arina. You know, for plausible deniability.”

“Right,” she agreed, holding back the urge to laugh. The Vanserra’s could be so unintentionally funny when they wanted to be. Absently, Elain wondered what Nesta would make of Cadmus. Nothing positive, she decided.

Nesta was supposed to marry a High Lord, which was a tragedy given how she hated all of them. Maybe all men, truthfully—Elain had never once seen her sister betray any interest despite the numerous men who had been interested in her.

Elain hid the dagger beneath her pillow once Cadmus left, just in case Lucien decided to try anything. Elain knew she was likely going to have to let him touch her, but if he tried anything she didn’t like, she’d whip the dagger out just to remind him that he might be married to her, but he didn’t own her.

It made her feel a little better, though only marginally. As she made her way through the palace, Elain found servants hanging floral arrangements and cleaning every surface for the upcoming spectacle. Everything smelled like cinnamon somehow and if Elain was braver, she might have made her way to the kitchen to see what they were cooking.

If she was braver still, she might have asked to help.

Instead, Elain emerged into the gloomy afternoon with a heavy sigh. It felt like the world was mourning, too. She intended to meander through the apple orchard again, kicking the rotting fruit on the ground with the toe of her boot until she didn’t feel so angry anymore.

Instead, she found Connall and Tanwen standing off to the side, flanked by two smoke gray dogs, each holding a rather large axe. When they saw her, their eyes lit up.

“Baby sister!” They called in unison, making their way toward her. “Want to smash some pumpkins with us?” “Smash some what?” she repeated as one of the large dogs wound its way through her legs, sniffing at her clothes with curiosity.

“Pumpkins,” Connall said, russet eyes glinting with mischief.

“It’s an old tradition,” Tanwen added. Of the two, Tanwen was taller and built more like a warrior. Connall was slighter, with a prettier face and hands that didn’t look like they’d done a hard day's work in their life. Tanwen’s hair was longer and braided off his face while Connall sported a shaggier look that seemed like it was popular with whoever he was courting.

With a face like that, Elain guessed everyone.

“Smashing pumpkins is a tradition?”

They nodded solemnly. Connall added, “Whenever the Forest House is overrun, we come out here and destroy the heaviest looking pumpkins we can find. C’mon, join us. Beats sulking through the grounds.”

“I wasn’t sulking,” she replied, though she fell into step between them.

“Sure you weren’t,” Tanwen said, elbowing her gently. “I’m sure you are merely contemplating the marital bliss you’re soon to find with little brother.”

“I don’t know how to swing an axe,” Elain admitted. Connall’s smile sharpened.

“We’ll teach you.”

The pair, accompanied by a dog she later learned technically belonged to Arina—Apollo—and another that Tanwen was fond of—Artemis—made their way toward a sprawling pumpkin patch. Elain was fascinated as Tanwen and Connall picked out three large pumpkins, hauling them each one by one before dropping them at her feet.

“Ladies first,” Tanwen said, cheeks ruddy from exertion.

Elain considered them, before pointing at one that was still a little green and covered in warts. Connall picked it up for her and set it atop a tree stump before handing her the smooth, wooden handle of the axe.

“Hold it like this,” Tanwen began, positioning himself behind Elain so his arms were wrapped around her. Warm, callused hands covered her own as he positioned them on the handle.

“Pull it back like this—not too far or you’ll drop it and hurt yourself. Use the power from your thighs, okay? And then swing hard—”

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

The three turned and Elain realized Tanwen and Connall must have known Lucien was nearby. He looked furious, though it was hard to take him seriously with Arina skipping merrily at his side.

“I’m debauching your wife, what does it look like I’m doing?” Tanwen said, throwing a rather charming wink in her direction. “She doesn’t know how Autumn Court females treat a male on their wedding night—”

A snarl ripped from Luciens throat before he settled himself, running a hand through his windblown hair. “Shut your fucking mouth.”

“Am I not allowed to be here?” Elain demanded, pointing the axe at her soon-to-be husband.

“Lucien’s just grumpy—”

“I’m not grumpy,” Lucien interrupted as Arina laughed, hands clasped in front of her body.

“Your sisters gave him a good dressing down.”

“It was pretty funny,” Eris Vanserra chimed in, wrapping an arm around his wife's neck to kiss the top of her head. “Nesta Archeron has a barbed tongue and no sense of propriety.”

“That’s not true,” Elain protested, interested in what her sister said. “You’re thinking of Feyre.”

“It was both of them,” Lucien grumbled as he rubbed his jaw. “I thought the ladies of the Spring Court were sweet.”

Elain took that moment to swing, her sharpened blade slicing easily through the pumpkin. Tanwen whooped as Connall and Eris laughed and Lucien…Lucien merely watched, his expression unreadable.

“Who told you that?” Elain asked him, dress covered in pumpkin guts.

It felt good, though, in that moment, to wipe the look off his face. She was sweet.

Just not for him.

LUCIEN:

Lucien tugged at the golden cuffs on his maroon jacket. He was deeply uncomfortable and somehow sweating despite how early it was. He hadn’t slept at all the night before and given the noises coming from behind the door that they were about to share, Elain hadn’t either. It hadn't been crying, exactly…but something akin to mourning had been happening. It occurred to him that perhaps Elain had her own Jesminda that she missed.

Lucien couldn’t bring himself to care much. Instead, he perched himself in a tree outside the palace, closed his eyes, and prayed.

Bring her back to me. Please, I’ll do anything. I’ll give you anything.

Easy words for a male who knew the Mother would not indulge this request. Lucien would have traded anything to see Jesminda right then. To hear her tell him it was going to be okay and somehow, someway this was all going to work out in their favor. He wanted to feel her hands on his face, her mouth slanted against his. He wanted to bury himself inside her and sob into her shoulder as he told her about the nightmare he was living.

And to do so would be the ultimate betrayal of the love he felt for her. To see her was to condemn her to death. She was gone, and Lucien knew she wouldn’t come back, and if she did, he wouldn’t touch her. Wouldn’t acknowledge her.

Wouldn’t look at her.

It didn’t stop him from pretending anyway. What kind of male was he, he wondered? His wife was inside preparing herself to marry him and he was outside wishing she was someone else. Daydreaming about another female. Would he think of Jesminda as he betrayed her later that night?

Lucien half hoped Jesminda hated him. He certainly hated himself.

Lucien remained outside until Eris tracked him down, dressed in a deep brown jacket and cream colored pants. His brother swung himself easily into the tree, grunting softly as he sat on the opposite branch. “Brooding?”

It was almost comical. It was a scene they’d played before, only in opposite roles. Lucien had once gone looking for Eris the day of his wedding, finding him in the same tree likely with the same look of frustration on his face. Eris had wanted a way out, too, and he’d known what was waiting on the other end for him was his mate. There was something to work toward, at least.

Lucien didn’t care what Arina said—he didn’t believe he could love someone as deeply as he loved Jesminda and not be mates.

“Just thinking,” Lucien said, wishing Eris would mind his own business.

“You’ve got ten more minutes to find a last minute loophole,” Eris warned. “Though, I think you should marry her.”

“Of course you do.”

“She’s better than the females at court. Do you want father to pick one of them?”

“I want him to let me choose my own wife,” Lucien snarled, unable to keep his anger down.

“Love is for the lesser fae,” Eris said, ignoring the fact that he was in love with his wife. That was merely luck, Lucien supposed. “You are simply a cog in fathers political machinations. You know that.”

“Why not Tanwen? Or Cadmus?”

“Because Elain is a second daughter with no magical ability, unlike her sisters,” Eris reminded him, a cold edge creeping into his voice. He ought to have known better than to look for comfort from his brother. Eris had done his duty no matter how little he’d wanted to, giving Eris a mate and Beron a foot in the solar courts. “He needs sons he can marry off to all his most important nobles. Count yourself lucky that isn’t your fate”

“Is this luck?”

“Elain is nice,” Eris reminded him. “She’s not scheming and you’re unlikely to find her in Tanwen’s bed.”

“Are you sure about that?” Lucien asked, a surge of jealousy flooding through him. He didn’t want her, and yet didn’t want anyone else to want her, either. She was merely off limits. If he could have, he’d have ordered them all not to speak to her, either.

Swinging his legs out of the tree, Eris landed smoothly back on solid ground. The world was mocking him—after two weeks of rumbling thunder and moody fog, the sun had come out blazing, igniting the world in a golden glow.

“I’m certain. Now get down before father realizes you’re missing and takes the lash to your back on your wedding night.” Lucien considered it only briefly, but ultimately chose to join Eris on the ground, heart thudding painfully in his chest.

Eris didn’t look at him at all, adorned in a crown of burnished leaves similar to the one Lucien wore. As they stepped back into the Forest House, Lucien felt the full weight of it for the first time in his life. Never had he ever felt more like a High Lord's son, the weight of his responsibility and duty dragging behind him like chains wrapped around his ankles.

He was drowning, and it didn’t matter. Lucien followed Eris through the labyrinth of halls toward the adjoining temple that spiraled deep into the ground, housing their family jewels and a private library you need permission to enter. Lucien knew on any given day, Arina would be down in the dark reading by faelight.

Priestesses historically were not welcome in Autumn. Beron found them too scheming, but feared angering the mother by shutting them out entirely. His solution was using daughters of Autumn, deemed unlikely to marry by their families, and making them priestesses with fathers that had a vested interest in curbing their ambition. Housing them in the palace allowed the High Lord to keep a watchful eye on them via his wife, who was charged with overseeing the priestesses along with the ladies at court.

Now the head priestess stood at the end of the temple, adorned by multicolored light from the stained glass behind her. Rows of benches held their families, though Beron sat behind the priestess on a throne built specifically for him, lest anyone forget the true power of Autumn.

Elain was waiting in the atrium just outside, dressed, hilariously, in a fluffy gown of white lace and pale pink ribbon. Her hair was piled high atop her head, as if someone with a grudge had decided to try and make the beautiful Elain as unappealing as possible.

It was working, too. Lucien couldn’t help his barking laugh when he saw her, the sound echoing off the vaulted ceilings overhead. Elain turned, eyes wide with horror that melted into irritation.

“Be quiet,” she hissed, shoving the traditional red ribbon of Autumn against his chest. His brothers filed in behind them, not daring to make eye contact or otherwise react.

“Who did you piss off?”

“This was my mothers wedding dress,” Elain informed him, chin held high in the air. “And the traditional bridal clothes of Spring.”

Lucien only shook his head, thinking of how lovely Arina had looked draped in red. There was no point in starting his marriage by telling his wife she looked awful, but…well. Lucien wondered if Elain felt beautiful right then.

“Come on,” he murmured, offering her his arm. Elain took a breath, eyes glassy, but otherwise nodded her head. She had more conviction on her expression than Lucien felt, and it was sobering. This was happening, he realized. Under the watchful gaze of not just his father, but the High Lord of Spring, Lucien was marrying this stranger. Lucien could barely breathe, couldn’t think as he stood in that beam of light, eyes trained on Elain without actually seeing her. Elain seemed to be employing similar tactics, repeating the words when demanded but otherwise standing utterly still.

Something was building, some emotion Lucien thought must be radiating out of him. It wasn’t fear and it wasn’t hatred, though it felt somehow like both mixed together. Holding the ribbon in his hand, Lucien began winding it around their wrists until the long sleeves of her ugly dress pushed upward, pressing them skin to delicate skin.

The scene of Elain invaded his senses once again, making him dizzy. He needed fresh air, to get far, far away from her. Elain looked up at him through dark lashes, their eyes connecting just as the priestess pronounced them married. Something solid slammed into him.

No, not slammed.

Snapped.

Lucien stumbled backwards, forgetting for a moment they were still tied together. Elain came with him, falling into his chest and oh, he wished she wouldn’t touch him just as his traitorous body ignited with pleasure.

Touch her, smell her, taste her—

Lucien righted Elain, trying to apologize but unable to get the words out. If he spoke, he might just blurt the truth out.

You’re my mate.

If Elain knew, she was doing a far better job than he was hiding it. Her expression was one of confusion but not of recognition. If she didn’t know, good. There must be some way out, he reasoned, even as every other part of him rebelled at the thought. The Mother was mocking him. Elain Archeron was mocking him, with her beautiful face half lost under the weight of her gown and hair. Who had done this to her?

Lucien wanted to kill them.

“Are you okay?” Elain whispered, ignoring the crowd promptly descending upon them.

It wasn’t a lie when he said, “No. I’ve never been less okay in my life.”

And it was all her fault.

ELAIN:

Elain wanted to cry. The Lady of Autumn had done her best to try and make Elain look presentable, but it had been her mothers wishes to see her dressed like a traditional bride of Spring—the sort that had fallen out of fashion centuries before. She could still hear Lucien's barking laugh in her ear and the look of disgust on his face once he’d tied that ribbon around them.

It shouldn’t have mattered, truthfully, but Lucien had looked every inch an Autumn Court prince and she…she’d looked ridiculous. Embarrassing. Only her mother was happy, which seemed to be the only thing that ever mattered. Who cared if Elain was suffering internally so long as everyone else got what they wanted?

Stomping from the great hall, where a lavish feast in her honor had been prepared, Elain made her way outdoors into the sunshine. It was only there that she began pulling pins out of her hair like a petulant child, tossing them to the leaves with reckless abandon.

Why couldn’t she make peace with what was happening? Everyone else in her position had. Arina and Eris were in love, her parents were in love, the Lady of Autumn and the High Lord…tolerated each other. And Elain couldn’t even muster that.

She hated Lucien with a passion that clawed at her chest and threatened to strangle her. She didn’t want him to touch her, not like this. Not when the sight of him cringing away as he disentangled himself from her and promptly walked away without so much as a reassurance that things would be okay.

She’d left him downing a cup of wine and imagined he’d be so drunk he was incapacitated for the night. That was a good thing, right? So why did it make her feel so awful? So ugly, so…so unwanted. Cast aside by everyone, loved by no one. She wanted to curl up somewhere and wait to see how long it took them to notice she was missing.

Elain turned her attention to the forest, determined to march right in. She bet Lucien noticed when it was time to do his husbandly duty. Then he’d be missing her. That's all she was good for anyway, right?

Elain didn’t make it two steps before someone stopped her. It wasn’t Lucien or his brothers, nor was it her sisters or anyone from the Spring Court. The male standing before her oozed darkness, with shadows trailing after him like a cape and eyes so vividly blue they looked like twinkling, violet stars.

Elain took a step back on instinct. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said, knowing exactly who stood before her. She’d never met him, nor his father, though she had heard the rumors about the High Lord of Night. They said he’d killed Tamlins father.

They said Tamlin killed his.

Rhysand didn’t need to wear a weapon to seem lethal. Tall and powerfully built, she was certain if he wanted to, he could end her right there. His lips curved upward into a smile and too late, she remembered the people in his court were rumored to read minds.

“I hear congratulations are in order. Married to little Lucien…how delighted you must be.”

“I…” Elain trailed off, heart hammering like a jack rabbit.

“I don’t think I’d leave my new bride to wander the grounds,” Rhysand continued, jamming his hands into his pockets absently. “But perhaps the males of Autumn are more…liberated…here.”

Elain’s mouth was dry. “Can I help you with something?”

Rhysand cocked his head, a lock of blue black hair trailing into one of his eyes. “Can you help me?” he asked, pondering this question with faux concentration. “I suppose you can. I’m looking for—”

“Rhysand!” Eris Vanserra barked, crunching onto leaves without ceremony. “Decided to show your ugly face for once? Or will I find your spy lurking in my woods again?”

“There’s no need for hostility,” Rhysand purred, eyes trailing behind Eris toward Feyre, who’d clearly been trailing Eris. “I’ve come to speak with your father.”

“Does Elain Archeron look like the High Lord of Autumn?” Eris demanded, his annoyance plain.

“She is far lovelier, I’ll admit, though your father has his charms—”

“Stop talking,” Eris muttered, nodding his head toward the doors so Rhysand would follow. Elain watched the High Lord of Night even when Eris’s fingers curled around her wrist, dragging her back inside with him. Rhysand was looking at Feyre in her spring green gown, hair half braided off her face. There was something curious about his expression—as if he’d never seen a female before and wanted to study her.

Feyre wrinkled her nose back, betraying her unguarded disgust before turning on her heel and flouncing back inside and to Elain’s surprise, Rhysand chuckled. He didn’t know how skilled Feyre was with a weapon, training in secret with a sentry she’d once been friends with before Tamlin found out and had him sent to the border. It was too late, then. Feyre was a menace with a bow and arrow and not horrible with a sword, either. No one could control her and in truth, not many tried.

Elain wondered what Tamlin would do with a wife that liked to stalk the woods for monsters. Monsters like Rhysand, Elain thought, wondering if Feyre hadn’t sensed his presence and come looking for the disturbance. She half wanted to see the showdown, if only to watch a High Lord get trounced by a noble's youngest daughter.

Feyre was nowhere to be found by the time they all landed in the Great Hall. The once lively feast fell silent—even the musicians stopped their playing to watch, wide-eyed, as Rhysand strolled into the room. His eyes slid over the long tables piled with food, the people stopped mid-dance, and those that sat at tables holding goblets, drinking until their fair skin was ruddy from wine.

He grinned when he saw Beron. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, not sounding very sorry at all. Beron looked murderous, though he stood quickly while eyeing Eris trailing just behind. Elain watched as Cadmus fell into step beside his elder brother, the two flanking their father when he came down the elevated platform that held the throne he’d been lounging on. Everyone tried to pretend this was merely business as usual.

The music restarted and chatter resumed as Beron and Rhysand made their way out of the room, but Elain knew every immortal ear was straining to hear what was whispered between them. Why now, she wondered? Tamlin was gripping his goblet so tightly Elain could see the whites of his knuckles and Nesta’s eyes danced with silver flames, arms crossed over her chest.

Elain started to make her way to Nesta to ask when Lucien caught her attention. He was drunk, she realized. Stumbling forward, he grinned broadly not at her, but at someone behind her. Elain didn’t turn to see the female he was making eyes at, unwilling to even acknowledge how humiliating his behavior was.

“You reek,” Elain hissed, catching Lucien by the arm and turning him around. “Go drink some water.”

“Telling me what to do already?” he asked, eyes strangely glassy as he looked down at her. There was an intensity to his expression she didn’t think she liked. It was as if he was undressing her with his gaze.

“Yes. Water. Now,” she hissed quietly enough that no one but Lucien could hear.

“And if I say no?” he challenged. Elain wanted to cry.

“You are not the only one experiencing misery, Lucien, and yet am I out here making a fool of you?” she demanded, hating the way her voice cracked beneath angry tears. “You could at least keep it behind closed doors.”

Lucien considered this. “You’re right. I…” he swallowed, sliding his hand over hers in the crook of her elbow so she had to join him as he went for water. “Sit down and eat something.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Do it, or I’ll feed you from my hand like a baby bird,” he threatened, pulling out a chair from a neglected, empty table. Lucien dropped beside her, gulping down icy water as Elain picked food from a platter in front of her and spread it over two plates.

“Here,” she said, pushing a plate toward a wide eyed, strangely ashen looking Lucien.

“I—I’ve eaten already,” he said, gingerly moving the plate further from view. “You’re kind to offer, though.”

He was so strange, she decided. If he didn’t want to eat, he could suffer, then. No one could say she hadn’t tried, though. Elain began chewing, lost in thoughts of Rhysand just outside the forest grounds and her family that would vanish before the night was over. Her stomach tumbled as she thought about what the night had in store for her. Perhaps if she closed her eyes tightly it would be over quickly without a lot of fuss.

“Was there another male?” Lucien asked abruptly, interrupting Elain’s considerations. Looking at him, she found that same burning intensity from a few moments before. She didn’t think she liked when he looked at her that way.

“What?”

“Back in Spring. Was there a male you…preferred?”

Elain shook her head, though she wanted to ask why it even mattered? She was here, wasn’t she, wishes be damned?

“None?”

“No, Lucien. I’ve been set aside for you my entire life.”

“Sure, but…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “That didn’t mean you had to…”

Elain wished a hole would open beneath her and swallow her up. Surely he wasn’t implying that he wished she’d been with someone else mere hours before he was about to be with her? If she’d been less of a lady, she might have launched herself across the table to throttle him.

“Please do not worry about it,” she implored, desperate for this conversation to end. “Let’s just…lets just get through this afternoon.” Lucien eyed her dress again, but kept whatever comments he had to himself. “Fine.”

His reluctant compliance was better than expected. And Elain would take what she could get.

LUCIEN:

“You’re acting strange,” Arina said, catching Lucien in the hall on the way to his new bed chamber. His old one had been cleared out without ceremony, and he’d bet if he went to Elain’s room, he’d find her folding his clothing like a good little wife

“I’m not,” he lied. Lucien was desperately trying to avoid his brother and Arina, if only because he was afraid that might see him and just know somehow. Or smell it, more likely—the way he could currently smell the mating bond Arina and his brother shared wrapped around her like a lingering perfume.

It smelled like sex. Lucien hated it. It was like a warning pushing up against him, reminding him that she belonged to someone—a male who might rip Lucien’s throat out, should he feel like it. Elain seemed oblivious to what was happening which was the only mercy Lucien could find in their miserable situation. How long could he keep her in the dark before she realized? Before she felt the pull, the urge to touch him, too? Before someone scented him on her and told her?

“What’s going on?”

“Besides being actually married to a stranger, nothing at all. I, for one, have never been better—”

“Don’t use that tone with me,” Arina snapped, clearly irritated. “There’s something else about you.”

“I’m just…” Lucien ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “It's my wedding night, Arina, and my wife hates me. Put the pieces together.”

“I doubt she’ll be upset if you put it off.”

“Or she’ll run and tell her father to get out of the marriage,” Lucien retorted, though truthfully, Elain simply didn’t seem like the vindictive sort. His mind drifted back to lunch, watching as she put together two plates as his mind warred. On the one hand, the part of him driven by instinct had been screaming and clawing for him to simply accept it from her, thus cementing the bond before she ever had a choice.

The other, more rational part of him, wanted to throw that plate across the room before cursing at the Mother for what she’d done. It was supposed to be Jesminda. It was Jesminda. Lucien’s heart beat erratically at the realization that all the times he’d laid with her and sworn she was his mate, when they’d laced their fingers and talked about when it might snap…all of it had been a farce.

Lucien couldn’t stop thinking about Jes’s own mate. He was out there somewhere. Maybe she’d find that male and she’d realize what they had paled in comparison. Would she laugh a little at their silliness? How young they’d been, how foolish to believe what they had transcended the gods.

Lucien would have left Elain if Jes appeared right then. If she’d asked him—he wouldn’t make her beg—he would have left. Damned Elain, his life, his mating bond, just to see her again. And he knew that if Jes learned he had a mate, she’d bow out entirely. When the bond snapped, there was a finality to it.

He was a mated male. He owed it to Elain to try and make things work, and maybe he owed it to himself, too. That didn’t mean Lucien wanted it, either. Gods, he didn’t know what he wanted other than to drink himself into oblivion and wait for some obvious answer to present itself.

“When Eris informed you that you were his mate, what did you do?” Lucien asked, interrupting Arina’s self-important lecture about being a good husband.

“I suffocated the air in the room until he got on his knees and apologized,” she said, eyes gleaming with amusement. “That’s different, Lucien.” Elain probably couldn’t nearly kill him—he’d been told she had no magic to speak of—but he imagined her reaction would go nearly as well.

“Just…let me deal with my marriage my way, okay?” Lucien ordered, unwilling to be nice to Arina at that moment. Butt out, he wanted to add, though slipping into his bedroom and closing the door behind him was response enough.

Inside was something out of Lucien’s personal hell. Elain rose to her feet when she saw him, eyes bright from what seemed to be some amount of crying. Her hair was unbound and artfully arranged around a night dress that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Lucien blinked, frozen in place as his eyes moved of their own accord.

BETRAYER

“I—put on a robe, please,” Lucien managed, turning in a circle like some kind of animal. She was his. He had no claim to her at all. The competing desires threatened to unmake him. Lucien heard Elain sniff.

“Shouldn’t we…”

“Not like this,” he breathed, certain he would have felt that way even without the mating bond. “I—we could just…go to bed?”

“What about…you know?”

Lucien took a steadying breath and turned again, relieved to find Elain had wrapped a throw around her body. Her face had a little more color, her eyes a little less red.

“If I offered to just…pretend…would you tell someone?”

“No,” she breathed with the saddest look of hope on her face. “I would swear we did.”

Oh, thank the Mother. “Then we’ll turn the lights off, get into bed, and in the morning go about our business as if we did.”

Elain nodded, dropping the blanket gently to walk to their bedroom. Lucien nearly choked at the sight of her from behind. Mother spare him, she’d be the death of him. Lucien didn’t need to like a female in order to admit she was appealing and Elain…Elain was just as pretty from behind as she was from the front. His eyes slid down her spine, landing on the soft curve of her waist, the flare of her hip, the sway of her ass.

Cauldron damn him.

Elain turned as Lucien steadied himself on the frame, wondering if sleeping beside her was a good idea at all. Servants talked—and everyone was nosy. If he was caught sleeping on the sofa, his father would know and put Lucien in a deeply uncomfortable position. Lucien wouldn’t put it past his father to demand to watch. He’d like enjoy knowing that he ruined every other coupling they’d ever have.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she warned, holding up a trembling finger. Was he looking at her in some particular kind of way? Lucien was certain he wasn’t. Still, he merely crossed his arms over his chest as he eyed his new wife.

“I was lost in thought,” he said, forcing himself to look only at her face. As if that made things any better. She was so heartbreakingly beautiful it made his teeth ache. She’d always been beautiful, which had warranted the space—if he spent too much time in her presence, he might find he liked her, and liking the woman who’d been forced upon him felt like giving in to his fathers demands.

Or worse, admitting Beron might have been right about him.

Elain still eyed him warily as he crossed the room, grabbing a pair of linen pants neatly folded in a drawer that had her scent all over it. In the bathroom, Lucien splashed cold water on his face and ordered himself to get together. The mating bond was making him stupid. He didn’t want her…and yet he did. Physically, anyway. Lucien wondered if he could get away with escaping to one of the nearby cities for a few weeks just to clear his head long enough to stand in her presence.

He returned to find Elain dividing the bed in half using pillows. “That’s not necessary,” he mumbled, reaching over her to toss one to the floor. “And obvious.” “I don’t want you getting any ideas,” she replied in that prissy way of hers.

Lucien bared his teeth. “Trust me, lady. My only idea is sleep.”

“I thought all males wanted—”

“I’m not an animal,” he growled, fully aware he was a liar. “I don’t relish the thought of forcing myself on someone, wife or otherwise.”

“And if I never want you?” Elain asked, eyes narrowed to slits.

“I’ll tell all of Pyrthian you are terribly infertile and I’m a martyr—”

Elain launched a pillow at his face. “You’re not funny.”

Lucien flopped into bed, one hand thrown over his face. “You wound me.”

“I don’t believe anything could wound that over inflated ego of yours,” she responded. Lucien was learning that despite her meek appearance, his wife had a sharp tongue. He rather liked it, if only because it absolved him of any guilt he might feel for his own remarks.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Lucien said, settling against the pillow. “You could tell me, you know. If there was another male.”

“There wasn’t. There isn’t.” There was something bitter about her tone.

“Never?” he questioned, his curiosity making him stupid.

“Never.”

“You’re not…?” Shut up shut up shut up— “You’re not curious?”

“Stop talking, Lucien.”

“If it were me—”

“I know where you’re going with this, and I’m telling you to stop while you’re ahead,” Elain gritted out. “Find someone else, if you’re feeling frustrated, but don’t try and frame my lack of experience as an opportunity.”

“Cauldron, Elain, I wasn’t…” But he was. Lucien knew it was a bad idea. If he got himself in her with the mating bond pounding in his chest, he was likely to take things too far, to do something he regretted. He couldn’t help himself no matter how badly he wanted to, and her proximity was clouding his judgment. He tried to pull up an image of Jes, but his mind shifted to Elain in sheer white lace and the rosy pink of her nipples—

Lucien rolled over, frustrated more with himself than anything else. There was no way he was going to sleep, no way he trusted his dreams not to betray him.

Not for the first time, he wished he was dead.

But maybe it was the first time he’d wished for it the loudest.

And the gods did nothing.

#elucien #im planning to update 3 on tuesday #ill be out of town all weekend

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sarawritestories · 7 months

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All Too Well OC Character Bio

Estella

Nicknames: Stella, Star (Only by Rhys), Little Night Light (Mostly Mor), Es or My little Viper (Eris)

Birthday: Summer Solstice

Age: 289 years old

Eye Color: Light Blue

Hair Color: Raven Black

Height: 5'4

Scent: Ocean Mist and Jasmine

Power: Starlight (She calls it being a glorified night light), Daemati

Siblings: Rhysand

Best Friend: Lucien

Lovers: Cassian...for now

Hobbies: Playing the Piano, Singing, Lunch dates with her Brother, Stargazing with Cassian, spending time in the Apothecary, learning about poisons and how to cure them.

Personality traits: She loves her family. There is nothing she wouldn't do for them even helped Rhys put up the Wards around Velaris. She loves her people and works diligently to help those in need in her territory. She is loyal to a fault and will try not to ruffle feathers even to her own detriment.

She comes back from Under the Mountain with a few sharper edges and keeps to herself and has stopped playing music, though a certain heir reignites for love for those things.

She is kind and loving to all even to the male who killed her mother and her sister. Upon returning she buries the frustration of being treated like a baby and begins wondering if she will ever be seen as an equal in her own court.

#cassian x reader #cassian acotar #acotar fanfiction #cassian x you #eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris acotar #taylor swift #all too well

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jdeclerc · 1 year

Text

a brother's intervention - part one

part two

pairing: eris x reader.

summary: Lucien uses a day spent with his brother to do what he believes is best for him - even if Eris doesn't agree.

author's note: for my friend; this is an extension of an idea she wanted to see come to life - part two anyone?

warnings: none

word count: 2,034

Lucien can’t remember the last time he’s seen his brother smile like he has today. Or smile at all, for that matter.

The last five years have been filled with countless meetings, treaty creations and signings, and the rebuilding of a broken court after centuries of tyranny. Rarely was Beron’s name mentioned after his death, but his presence had been felt all the same. Lucien had watched his brother work to undo their father’s destruction, sacrificing himself with each and every day. Eris shouldered it so those around him wouldn’t have to.

But today, it seems, he carries none of that weight. Thanks, in large part, Lucien thinks, to who he had invited on what was supposed to be a day of brotherly bonding.

Y/N had been in their lives for as long as either of the Vanserras could remember, having been taken in as a ward of their mother after the death of her own parents. None knew why Beron allowed his wife to do so but no one was foolish enough to question him.

She was the daughter their mother had dreamed for. She was taught to paint, to play the piano, and to move eloquently through high society; everything a proper Lady of the Autumn Court was expected to be. But their mother understood this would never be enough, knew that Y/N needed the skills to protect herself in ways their mother never could.

For every lesson in swinging a sword or perfecting the magic they wielded that the Vanserra sons were given, Y/N was given the same lesson. This duty fell to Lucien, the most patient and compassionate of the brothers. He would show her everything he learned under the cover of night. It was when Eris discovered them practicing defensive maneuvers that everything changed.

Lucien had expected his brother to immediately drag them both in front of their father and watch as they were punished. Instead, Eris began correcting Y/N’s stance and going through the motions alongside her. And every night from then on, he would join them. Though he would never admit it, Eris became invested in Y/N’s training and her advancement. He transformed her into a force as deadly and lethal as he was.

Lucien would never forget the smile Eris tried to hide the first time Y/N had beaten him in a sparring match. From his position on the ground, he looked up at her as though she was the most beautiful star in the sky. Much like the first time Eris had trained with them, Lucien knew something had changed in his brother that day.

For every scar, both physical and emotional, Y/N received from the High Lord of Autumn, Eris received three for doing everything he could to protect her from their father’s wrath. As they got older, Eris could do nothing to prevent Y/N from doing the same for him. Lucien couldn’t count how many times their arguments over the topic had ended with the two screaming at one another. Neither willing to concede that the other was right in wanting to stand between the other and Beron.

Lucien truly believed that who Eris and Y/N became to each other was something only the workings of fate could have crafted. Where one ended, the other began. They challenged, supported, and loved one another in ways no one else could. Neither would be who they are without the other.

They were two of the smartest fae Lucien had ever met but they were both still too foolish to get over themselves and admit what Lucien had known from the beginning; they both wanted, needed, more than friendship from the other.

That ended today.

Lucien would see them happy, see them together, and he hoped that what he was about to do would finally put an end to the two dancing around one another.

Their day had been a tour of places the brothers haven’t visited since they were young. Eris was currently showing Y/N the stone castle they had built as children. They had all grown too much to go inside but Lucien could see Eris playing out the fake battles and wars they had fought against one another, with Y/N laughing and playing right along.

They were far too engrossed in one another to notice Lucien rising from the rock he was sitting on. They missed him making his way toward where the horses had been tied, missed Lucien untying the reins and mounting his horse. Not even Eris’ two hounds that had accompanied them alerted their master, as though even they knew this was what is best for him. It was only as Lucien was riding away with the two unoccupied horses following that he heard both of their shouts of protest.

As their voices fade behind him Lucien slows the horses and looks up to the sky. He prays to the Mother that he had made the right decision, that the next time he sees the two they would have begun seeing each other in completely different light.

----------

“I swear I will kill him where he stands when I see him next. What the fuck was he thinking?!”

I can’t help but roll my eyes at Eris’ words, knowing full well they hold the emptiest of threats.

“A slow, painful death.”

“Eris.”

He simply keeps speaking, not having heard me say his name.

“I will not have him thinking he can do this and there be no –”

“Eris.”

My second attempt at getting his attention does nothing to stop him.

“Perhaps I will have my hounds do it, they have an affinity for –”

“ERIS!”

It was my shout that finally has Eris cease his pacing and turn to face me. He levels his amber eyes with my own as though he knows exactly what I will say next.

“You are about to tell me that you’re sure he had a reason, a very good one at that, for abandoning us in the middle of the woods. For leaving us with no way of getting back to the Forest House that won’t take hours.”

I remained silent and the grin that took over Eris’ face told me he knew he was right. I had been about to defend Lucien without hesitation.

“That’s what I thought.”

I know there is no reason or explanation that will placate Eris in this moment so without another word I turn in the direction Lucien had gone and begin walking.

“And where do you think you’re off to?”

“According to you getting back to the Forest House will take hours, so we better start walking. Wouldn’t want to miss the lovely dinner Lucien invited us to.” I throw the words over my shoulder, missing the expression of annoyance on Eris’ face at the use of his own words against him.

---------

No words pass between us as we walk, Eris keeping pace with me the entire time. I can feel the frustration from our earlier conversation passing between us but don’t protest to Eris’ position beside me.

Eris is the first to concede, as was the case with most of our arguments ending in us not speaking to one another.

“Are we really doing this? We’re not speaking because of my imbecilic brother?”

“If you continue to act like a babe who had their candy taken away, then yes, this entire walk will be spent in utter, never-ending silence.”

“You’re truly taking his side on this? He left us in the middle of the forest, taking our horses with him, without a word. Knowing full well, I may add, that neither of us can winnow because we are still on the Forest House’s grounds. Why I ever let you talk me into having that ward put up, I will never know.”

“If I recall, you agreed that not giving anyone the power of winnowing on the grounds was a good strategy, should we ever need to defend our home. Or am I not remembering correctly?”

“You know damn well you are.”

I shoot him a shit-eating grin, to which he responds with an eye roll of his own.

“There will be consequences for this, be sure of that. I will not have him thinking he can do something like this again. He better have the best cauldron-damned excuse or so help me he will be banished from this court for the second time.”

Y/N knows two things in that moment.

The first, that, like earlier, Eris doesn’t truly mean the words he is speaking. He had watched Lucien leave his life once before and would do everything in his power to prevent him from leaving his home, his family, for a second time.

The second being that the only way I could get Eris to move on from his ranting and raving is to tell him the reason I believe Lucien did what he did. Putting words to things I still don’t believe I’m brave enough to say even though I may be moments from saying them.

I slow my pace, coming to a stop. Eris notices only when I speak, my words just above a whisper.

“He did it for me.”

I can see Eris’ body stiffen, tension taking over, and he does not turn to face me.

Moments feel like years in the silence that envelopes the grove we find ourselves in. The only sound being the late autumn wind through the trees, making it seem as though my words cause the entire world to pause.

Eris’ back is still to me as he says, “Explain to me how my brother could possibly think this situation is to your benefit?”

It is the lethality with which Eris speaks the words that has me stumbling over my own.

“Well, I’m…I’m obviously not absolutely sure why he did this or if he did do this for me. I’ve certainly never implied or hinted that I’d want him to abandon me, us, in the woods.” My voice becomes quicker the longer I speak. “We’ve spoken about certain topics; he’s wanted me to speak to you countless times and he’s told me to stop being a coward and tell you but…but I never asked him to do anything about it. Why he would choose this course I do not know.” By the end I am speaking to myself more than I am speaking to Eris. Too wrapped up in my own words to notice Eris turning and pinning his gaze on me.

“Tell me what Y/N?”

My gaze shoots to his, instantly realizing my mistake and cursing myself. My shock so sudden that I can’t form the words of a response.

“What would Lucien have you tell me that would cause him to call the female he most admires a coward?” He raises a single eyebrow in question. “Tell me Y/N.” With every word Eris steps closer to me, leaving him nothing but an arm’s length away.

Once again, the world seems to pause. Every bit of oxygen having fled, much like I wish I could at the moment. I tear my gaze from his piercing one, knowing I can’t bear to see his face when I speak the words I swore I never would. I keep my eyes to the ground as I say them.

“I love you.”

I’m met with silence, and I feel my tears coming before I feel them gather under my eyes.

A hand comes to rest along the edge of my jaw, tilting my chin up to meet eyes that are an endless pool of gold.

We both know my words are not the same as when one of us leaves for an extended period, not the same as those I say to Lucien, and not the same as those his mother says to both of us every day.

Eris searches my expression, looking for what I know he has come to expect from vulnerable moments. His father having taught him that vulnerability went hand-in-hand with manipulation and deception.

After a moment longer he drops his hand and steps back, his voice filled with resignation and finality as he speaks.

“You can’t love me, not in that way.”

#eris x reader #eris vanserra #lucien vanserra #acotar #acotar x reader #autumn court

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an6elic-d3vil · 2 months

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If you had a choice out of the ACOTAR cast who would you think could be Tamlin’s mate? And if it’s not someone in the cast what kind of background or original character would you think may be better?

Me.

But in all realness I don't think there's been a character in any of the books that I would ship him with. If we get a Tamlin book they would have to be introduced then. In my mind I think it would be better if they were some random fae who just happened to stumble across the high lord of the spring court withering away. She's had trouble with depression in the past, and had to be there for herself so she helps him because she knows how hard it is. Going out to get food for them, cooking it, bringing life back into the mansion by cleaning and just being there. Every so often trying to get him to go out and help his people that had nowhere to go after the war. Trying to get Tamlin to open up. Their relationship would be one sided for a very long time because honestly he thinks he's worthless. Why would someone so beautiful and kind be helping him this much? Don't you know what everyone says about him? But he's not an idiot, he can feel the way his heart tugs and pulls when you're around. The way it feels like half of him has been replaced by something foreign but so incredibly warm that he wants nothing more than to explore it. But he doesn't let himself. She would have to be around for at least a year🤷🏾‍♀️ Helping him put his court back together and his people love her. We know it's bad for both parties to ignore a mating bond but she won't even mention it until he brings it up. She will choose him but she wants him to choose her. Sleeps outside his door incase he has nightmares, which he will. Brings food to him while he's in his study. I think Tamlin owns a piano (sue me) so she plays it to lighten the mood. Builds an orphanage for displaced children who lost their relatives. I think the turning point would be when she overhears him talking to Lucien about calanmai and he's refusing because he doesn't want to be with anyone else but her but he just doesn't know how to go about it after everything. He's just really scared to mess everything up and to end up alone again. Especially now that he knows he has someone specifically for him. Also she likes the aesthetic of the spring court, and the dresses :/

I could go on for days but this is already long. Sorry

Honestly this entire thing is just my oc's background.

I have no oc. It's just me.

But I might do a whole series on this. Just writing out my delusions. Thanks for this though because it's making me want to get back into writing :)

#also i see her as a black fae #but im also black so thats probably why #blinded by the fiddle🎻#acotar #tamlin #acomaf #acosf #pro tamlin #a court of thorns and roses #acowar #anti feyre #hes so bbg #want him so fucking bad #only in my dreams #*cries*

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apollosmusee · 2 months

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BUT I'M NOT THE MOON

ೃ⁀➷ dni over 30, under 13, basic dni

ೃ⁀➷ artists: gracie abrams, conan gray, olivia rodrigo, bella hadid, sabrina carpenter, adele, arctic monkeys, hozier, cigerettes after sex, renée rap, coldplay, girl in red, maisie peters, melanie martinez, dove cameron, alec benjamin, ashe, lizzy mcalpine

ೃ⁀➷ movies/shows: the queen's gambit, maxton hall, stranger things, legally blonde, shadow and bone, grave of the fireflies, five feet apart, anne with an e, divergent, the fault in our stars, the devil wears prada

ೃ⁀➷ books: throne of glass, tfota, agggtm, the inheritance games, the naturals, acotar, caraval, ouabh, one of us is lying, powerless trilogy, shadow and bone, six of crows, tweet cute, the hunger games, pjo, dark verse, ann liang anything, the song of achilles, they both die at the end, girl in pieces, addie larue, kotlc

ೃ⁀➷ powerless rp blog: @kingofilya

ೃ⁀➷ dms and asks are always open, so don't hesitate if you want to talk!!!!!

I'M NOT EVEN A STAR

#introduction #personal tags >#ads yaps ❀ ͙˚#ads reblogs ❀ ͙˚#mutuals ❀ ͙˚#ads' headphones ❀ ͙˚#tag games ❀ ͙˚

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fieldofdaisiies · 1 year

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𝑫𝒂𝒚 𝟑: 𝑺𝒆𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒕𝒔 | 𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒆

Eris spends some time with his lover in the shadows; NSFW content and also a little sad; for @erisweek2023🧡 this might be my favourite Azris I’ve ever written…

• ──────────────────── •

The moon's tender strays brush Eris' pale skin as he leans against the piano, his head resting against the polished wood. It is a moment full of love, full of longing, full of secrets and hiding. The future High Lord of the Autumn Court listens to his mate, tenderly playing melodies on the ivory keys.

It feels like Azriel pours his whole heart and soul into the music he is playing, scarred fingers caressing the keys with tender strokes.

As the music wipes out the silence of the room, Eris feels his heart swell with a mix of love and yearning.

He is aware that their love remains a hidden treasure — Azriel is his lover in the shadows, the only place where he can what he truly feels deep inside his heart. The only place where he can love unconditionally.

This right now is a treasured moment, but one that is so fleeting, it is almost only painful.

Eris inhales a deep breath, his eyes focused on his mate's face. Azriel is so breathtaking, Eris easily gets lost in his beauty. His long lashes draw shadows across his cheeks, mirroring the swirling shadows that slowly curl around the Autumn Court heir's legs and hands. They caress his skin, just like his lover does when they share a moment of intimacy.

Azriel’s shadows love Eris, seeking him out whenever he is near. They connect him to Azriel just like the bond does.

"Azriel," Eris breathes along the sound of the music. The shadowsinger turns his head a little, eyes trailing over his mate's face, but he continues to play.

The heir's fingers tremble as he reaches out to brush them through Azriel's hair, a gentle touch that conveys so many things and emotions without speaking a word.

Their eyes lock, love and promises passing between them.

"Eris," Azriel whispers, leaning into his mate's touch. His heart fills with warmth.

"Will we ever be able to be like this outside?" Eris' voice trembles when he speaks, his chin quivering with a painful emotion filling his heart.

His question is a fragile thread hanging in the air, such a stark contrast to the strong bond that ties their souls together.

Hope but also sorrow fills the space between them, and Azriel lifts a hand of the keys, his scarred fingers curling around his mate's hand — the one that is still placed on his cheek. "We will. There will be a chance for our love," Azriel answers, his heart cracking open as his voice trembles.

He slowly stops playing, his other hand now placed on his thigh.

A single tear rolls out of his eye. Eris is quick to catch it, his thumb brushing it away.

The heir lets out a soft sigh, his heart heavy with the weight of the reality they are facing. He dreams of a world where their love can be celebrated openly, where they can be mates just like Feyre and Rhys, like Elain and Lucien, like Nesta and Cassian…

But for now, they have to share their love in these hidden moments. The flame between them nevertheless refusing to be extinguished, burning brightly and with power that will let them overcome any obstacle.

"I love you," Eris leans in, his other hand now on Azriel's face as well. He kisses him gently, but it is only quick.

His forehead rests against his mate's, they are breathing the same air. "And I love you," Azriel whispers, his eyes closing, lashes damp with tears.

The world around them fades into nothingness, when their lips meet once again. It is different to the one before, this one is passionate, long, filled with unsated hunger. A spark ignites between their souls, fire blazing through Eris's veins when Azriel's scarred hand finds its place on the back of his lover's head.

He fists the Autumn Court heir's silken strands, bringing him even closer, teeth clashing, faces pressing against each other.

Their mouths meld, every ounce of longing and desire poured into this connection. The taste of the other is intoxicating, neither of them can get enough.

A groan escapes Eris' mouth when Azriel softly bites down on his lip, parting his lips so his lover's tongue can sweep in, brush his gums, meet his tongue with every stroke.

Their kiss deepens, their lips almost dancing together to the melody Azriel earlier played. Time seems to lose its meaning as they lose themselves in the moment. Eris hand lowers, now braced on Azriel's thigh. "I need you," Eris breathes against his mate's lips, his eyes still closed, chest heaving with deep inhales.

"You have me," Azriel answers. "You will always have me."

The crackling of the fire in the fireplace beside the bed offers a soothing atmosphere, and creates a beautiful sound.

Eris has shown Azriel that he no longer has to be afraid of fire, that his mate will wield every flame for him, that nothing will ever hurt him again. The flickering flames cast a soft glow across the walls, creating an intimate embrace. The fire's soft warmth brushed over their skins in a soft caress amd makes their bodies feel warm and comforted.

They slowly get up, and without any conversation passing between them walk to the bed, hands never leaving the other, mouths never not touching.

"When I first saw you…" Eris lowers his mate to bed. Azriel moves back, his head resting on the pillows as his mate wedges between his thighs. They are both still naked from their earlier love making, which is quite fortunate in this very moment.

"Yes?" Azriel asks, the stimulation of Eris' hands slowly sliding up thighs already close to his undoing. A soft whimper parts his lips, his head tipping backwards. Chills break out on his skin, ignited by the fire in Eris' veins.

"I knew about the bond and I hated it. But now…now despite us having to hide, I couldn't feel any luckier to be your mate."

"I am lucky," Azriel answers, his scarred hands moving over his mate's. "I love you so damn much."

In the heat of the moment they share, everything can be forgotten.

Eris coats is hand and then his already hardening cock in the oil he has grabbed from the night stand. No conversation passes between them, they don't have to talk in this moment, they only have to love each other. And they do love each other, so much. He pushes in, sheathing himself and Azriel's back arches, knees bent, legs pulled up. His head lolls back, lips parting.

"I love you more," Eris groans. He leans down, slowly retreating before pushing back in. His hand slides down Azriel's arm until he can grab his mate's hand, their fingers intertwining. "More than anything in this world. More than my own life."

Their lips meet in a searing, passionate kiss, no space between their bodies as they make love. Their souls have been yearning for so long, and finally they are connected again.

The bed groans under their ministration, the sounds mingling with their shared moans and ragged breathing, and alongside the many love declarations.

Later, when both are fully sated, their limbs feeling a little numb and their chest still lifting and falling with deep breaths, they hold each other tightly, caressing the other softly as they declare their love for one another once again.

~~~~~~ erisweek tag list: @brekkershadowsinger @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @liftyourhipsformelovex @elsie-bells @the-sweet-psycho azris tag list: @azrielsbabyg @lady-riel @moonlightazriel @brekkershadowsinger @ladyelain @a-frog-with-a-laptop @ofduskanddreams

#azris #azriel x eris #eris vanserra #eris acotar #acotar #acosf #azriel #erisweek2023

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the-shadowsingers-whore · 2 years

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sjm told us that lucien wasn't beron's son in book one and we didn't even notice?!

"someone appeared beside lucien--a tall, handsome brown-haired man with a face similar to his own. lucien didn't look at his father, though he stiffened as the high lord of the autumn court approached tamlin" (acotar p. 406).

the way she differentiates 'father' from 'high lord of the autumn court' was entirely lost on me in my initial read. like she straight up told us helion was his dad (before we even knew who helion was).

only sjm could do shit like this.

#acotar #acotar theories #lucien #helion #mine #the-shadowsingers-whore #q: playing piano with az

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shadowqueenjude · 9 months

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Uncle Eris and Auntie Gwyn

@feyreswingspan this one is for you, sweetie! Feyre sighed in frustration. No matter what she did, her damn baby wouldn't go to sleep. She had fed him, burped him, and cleaned him up, and Nyx was still wailing, refusing to fall asleep. Ugh, Feyre was such a bad mother. What the hell was she supposed to do? A knock on the door and Rhysand entered the room. His face was tight. What is it, Rhys? Feyre asked through his mind. Rhysand shook his head ever so slightly, replying back: Eris is here. Feyre followed Rhysand out of the room, and sure enough, Eris was waiting on the doorstep of their palace. His pale cheeks were slightly pink from the cold, but otherwise, he was immaculate as usual, not a hair out of place. He quirked a smile as Feyre came around the corner with Nyx in her arms. "Mind if I come in?" He asked with a slightly mocking tone in his voice. Eris knew the Night Court relied heavily on his intel. His and Lucien's, of course. Rhys's jaw tightened, but Feyre smiled welcomingly. "Of course, Eris. You're our ally." Without a word, Eris swept in as gracefully as a leopard. Within a few minutes, he'd taken up a post on one of the large couches, legs up and arms behind his head, like he owned the place. "Trouble with the babe?" Eris asked, nodding at Nyx, who still refused to sleep, grabbing at her jacket and making glug glug noises. "Just a little bit," Feyre admitted. "I've done everything, but he won't fall asleep." "Might I suggest music?" Eris said. "I always found that calmed Lucien down whenever he couldn't sleep." Feyre tried not to react to the small piece of information Eris had just revealed. The way he'd spoken, it was almost like he was Lucien's father. Perhaps, in a way, he was more Lucien's father than Beron. Lucien himself had said that he wasn't particularly needed or wanted by Beron. So, that naturally had left things up to his mother and, of course, Eris. Feyre wondered how much he also looked after his other siblings. Maybe Eris and her were more similar than she had initially thought. "There's Nesta's little musical ball," Feyre said, "but she usually keeps that in her room." Eris snorted. "Do none of you know how to play music?" Shakes of the heads. "Pathetic," Eris said, and Rhysand snarled at him. Eris ignored it, walking further into the house. "Do you at least have a piano in this godforsaken house?" "Yes- my mother's old piano room, three rooms down. But-" Eris ignored him again, heading in the direction Rhysand had pointed out. Intrigued, Feyre followed him. Rhysand came too after a beat of hesitation, grumbling about Vanserras under his breath The male settled into the piano bench like he'd done it a thousand times, placed his long elegant fingers on the piano, and began to play. The male had incredible talent, Feyre had to admit. The way his fingers flew flawlessly across the piano was entrancing. After a few minutes he paused for a moment. Feyre realized why as she sensed three presences near the door. "Sorry, I thought I heard music," a red-haired female said breathlessly. Gwyneth Berdara. Nesta's friend. Feyre smiled at her. "You did. Eris was just playing for the baby." "Do you mind if I sing with you?" Gwyn asked Eris. He smiled politely. "By all means." Eris resumed again, and Gwyn's melodious voice joined in. His impeccable piano skills combined with her beautiful singing moved Feyre to tears. She turned around and found that her eldest sister was also crying. "That ought to do the trick," Eris said as they finished a few minutes later. Eris and Gwyn walked over to Feyre as she peered down at the little baby. "There, he's asleep," Eris said, booping his nose. Gwyn stared at the baby with delight. "Can I hold him?" she asked softly. "Of course," Feyre said. She carefully transferred Nyx to Gwyn's arms, and she stared in awe at Nyx's small little face." "He's so cute," she whispered, and Feyre beamed.

"He is, isn't he?"

#gwyneth berdara #pro gwyneth berdara #eris vanserra #pro eris vanserra #feyre archeron #rhysand #nyx archeron

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areyoudreaminof · 1 year

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Hover Corte

@elucienweekofficial Day 4: Courtiers

On her own self-imposed exile, Elain finds herself in the human lands to offer help to the Band of Exiles and try to make some progress with her estranged mate. Lucien, meanwhile, can’t quite find his footing with Elain. With the clock ticking, can they finally come to an understanding?

Tags: Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, The Waltz Fic, 8.3k words

Read on Ao3

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Elain

“Let’s try it one more time, I’ll count us off. Ready?” Elain asked as Jurian straightened himself and exhaled.

“Ready.”

“One, two, three, and- “ Elain began to hum the simple tune as she stepped to the side. She could feel Jurian’s heavy hand begin to clam up at her waist, “Now back, and left, good make a box.” She directed as Jurian carefully led her through the steps. It was a painfully slow pace, but Elain was proud of the progress Jurian had been making. “Wonderful, now let’s finish with a twirl?” Elain asked as she began to back up, Jurian flourished her hands as Elain began to rotate her feet.

“Stir the pot now! Keep your shoulders back!” At the last moment, Jurian’s clammy fingers lost their grip as Elain spun clumsily around.

“Sorry.” he mumbled as he wiped his hands along his tunic.

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” Elain laughed, “All the ladies will be wearing gloves and it will be so hot in the ballroom, you’ll be more worried about your armpits than your hands. I think that’s enough for today though,” she said pointed to the piano, “I’ll have you run through it with Vassa a few times tonight while I play along. But I think you’ve gotten the hang of it.”

“I’d better have. I won’t be doing this again.” Jurian said as he slunk down onto the sofa.

“You probably won’t, but it is a good skill to have,” Elain countered, “and you’ve been doing so well. Just one night, one ball, then you should be back to normal.”

Jurian nodded, tipping his head back, “I never thought those fancy dances would wear someone out so much. The thinking you must do, it’s ridiculous.” He blew a stray lock of hair back, while Elain sat down next to him.

Her new friends had found themselves in a more precarious situation since Elain arrived. Something was brewing, and the human lands would soon become collateral. In a final act of desperation, Jurian and Vassa were to formally present themselves to society and ask for financial backing and political loyalty, at a very frivolous and unnecessary ball that would be taking place the next night. As Fae, Lucien was not welcome, and Elain less so; Graysen made sure to tell everyone in her former circle what she was now. Even if she had wanted to go, she knew she’d be killed on the spot. So, she had taken it upon herself to coach Jurian on the intricacies of society, including the waltz.

“I suppose you don’t have any requests for dinner tonight. I’m running out of ideas,” Elain huffed as she swapped her heeled dancing shoes for her worn down slippers.

“Chicken and potatoes?”

“No, we had two nights ago.”

“What about some apple pie then?"

"Your teeth will rot out of your head if you keep on with the sweets. Besides, I don't have enough apples for that right now.” Elain said, slouched down against the back of the sofa.

She stared at the soft blue of her linen dress clashing with the loud pink of the velvet couch. It was really such a hideous combination; she thought as she drew lines on the velvet. Turning her head, she tapped Jurian on the shoulder.

“You’ve worked hard on the dancing, I’m really proud of you.” She said earnestly. They had been practicing the waltz for nearly a week and had poured over countless lists of names of nobility and wealthy in the human lands. Jurian hadn’t been joking about the ridiculous amount of thinking that had to be done.

Jurian smiled back at her, flinging his arm around her shoulders, “It helps I have such a good instructor. Much better than the red heads, I think.” Elain snorted, “We brunettes have to stick together.” He teased.

“My hair is actually dark blonde, just how long was your eye a ring again? Are you sure it’s not blind?” she shot back as they both erupted into laughter.

Elain felt some relief wash over her. Despite the rocky start, she found herself laughing more frequently these days. Jurian had become her daytime friend and companion, since Vassa took to the skies and Lucien was off doing whatever he did in the Spring Court. Sometimes she went days without seeing Lucien and she wasn’t sure if relief was how she felt about it anymore.

Elain couldn’t have come to the manor at a more awkward time. Frustrated and lonely at the Night Court, she left the River House three months ago without saying goodbye, just a vague note on the dining room table. Her sisters had moved on without her, adjusting to their fae lives with a confidence she never could master. Then, that brief flirtation with Azriel was squashed as quickly as it began, if there was truly anything at all. Now, when she thought of him, any lingering affection had been replaced with souring pity and annoyance. Elain had nothing to lose by leaving, she figured. She assumed she’d be turned away at the door since Lucien could barely tolerate her, if his awkward and slimy guilt and discomfort slinking down towards her through the bond at solstice had been any indication, but there was no avoiding it anymore. In the middle of the night, she had shown up at the door of the manor house with a handwritten book of visions she’d been having the past year about the lake and Koschei. Three pairs of surprised eyes stared back at her as she held out her notebook to them and by some miracle, let her in.

The first two weeks were torture, as Elain and Lucien seemed to go out of their way to avoid each other, but Elain quickly found a friend in Vassa, who Elain could honestly say was a person she did not realize how badly she needed in her life. She reminded Elain of her sisters in a way, yet she eased into a sort of closeness with Vassa that she didn’t quite have with her Nesta or Feyre. Perhaps because Vassa didn’t expect anything from her, except honesty. Jurian had become an unexpected ally, a far cry from the cold and calculating man who watched her be tossed aside like a broken toy. He was a sweet man underneath that gruff exterior.

Despite her newfound friends, Elain found herself at a crossroads. She had not come down to the manor just because of her visions about Koschei. She came down for him. The visions of her estranged mate were getting clearer with the passing days. The whispers she heard and the dreams she had been having in the Night Court were becoming more solid, more tangible things. She could almost feel his touch, his kiss. She felt nearly every emotion of his down the bond. Elain had seen their future in bits and pieces, and she wanted it. It had terrified her at first, she wasn’t ready. But she had finally admitted to herself the thing she had spent nearly a year denying; she was already halfway in love with Lucien.

She just had no idea what to do about it.

Slapping Jurian’s knee, Elain launched herself off the sofa, “Come on twinkle toes, help me scrounge up some food before our redheads get back.”

Lucien

Lucien watched the horizon as the sun sank behind the hill line. A halo of soft gold and pink stretched its long tendrils across the sky towards the east.

The colors reminded him of her.

The same beautiful female that sat in the house behind him, a whisper of a gold thread tying them together. If he followed it, he knew she'd be in the kitchen, looking at the same sunset at the window on the opposite side of the house. Lucien could picture her soft, small hands cradling her face, resting on her elbows while she watched pink and gold melt into violet and indigo. He could almost see the longing look on her face, he only wished he knew what it was she longed for. It certainly wasn’t him.

Lucien could not say why he spent his days out of the manor now that Elain was here. He thought he wanted nothing more than a chance, her time perhaps. Yet, Elain was guarded as ever towards him and he could not shake the discomfort and guilt that lingered in his bones. Elain eased around Jurian and Vassa, opening herself in a way that he never saw at the Night Court, what little he did see anyway. But around him, her smiles were awkward, and her sentences sputtered. He could feel hard nerves down the bond when they had to speak if he felt anything at all. Lucien had perhaps accepted the inevitable: Elain was only here to help Vassa, and once she was done, she would return to the Night Court. Swallowing his disappointment, he turned to the north, watching the flame in the sky get closer.

The firebird landed before him, dipping her long wings beneath her as she swept up into her human form. Vassa looked back at him with a wide grin, taking his arm.

“Welcome back!” she chirped, her lilting accent raising an octave, “The beast still bellowing around, or were you able to get rid of his ticks?”

Lucien barked out a laugh, his near daily nanny duties in Spring occupied most of his time. Tamlin wasn’t destroying anything anymore, but he wasn’t doing much else. Lucien dutifully reported to Rhysand, who mercifully stopped sending the Shadowsinger to collect his reports. Rhysand inquired after Elain a few times but hadn’t asked Lucien to bring her home. He wondered why, he knew Feyre and Nesta were livid about her departure. “Take care of her.” Rhys had told him sternly, making Lucien wonder just how much Rhysand really knew about the situation.

“Tamlin is fine. Sleeping most of the time, but no one has been poking around the borders. It’s too quiet.” Lucien mused as they headed back towards the manor.

Vassa stopped in her tracks, “You think something is coming.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, and soon.” He admitted. Elain coming down to the manor with a volume of her visions scrawled in her elegant writing shocked them all, though they knew time was running out. Koschei was coming back for Vassa, and Beron would be ready for a coup. As they approached the large wooden door, Lucien could smell onions cooking. Vassa moaned with hunger and skipped to open the door. Lucien took a breath and stepped into the kitchen.

Jurian was at the stove, stirring onions and mushrooms, while Elain pulled a loaf of bread out of the oven. Her curls escaped her kerchief, kissing the back of her neck and her cheeks were flushed over a small smile. Lucien’s heart clenched at the sight. An offering of food was an acceptance of the bond, but Elain did not cook it alone, and she had no intention of acceptance. He found his appetite disappear as he watched Elain hug Vassa. He crossed the kitchen to Jurian, who hadn’t taken his eyes off the simmering pan.

“Don’t overdo it. No one wants limp, slimy vegetables.”

Jurian rolled his eyes, “It’s called ‘caramelization’ princess, if you’d cook every now and then you’d know.”

“I only know how to eat. My soldiers do all my cooking, General.” Lucien replied as he swiped an onion from the pan and slurped it down.

“Does that make me a lieutenant, then?” Elain said softly as Lucien froze, turning towards her as she smiled at him.

“If Jurian is the General of the kitchen, am I the lieutenant?” she asked again, Lucien swore he saw a glint of mischief in her eyes.

“No, you’re not…I didn’t mean any offense, my lady.” He stuttered pathetically.

“Oh, I’m sorry. That was a terrible joke.” She said as red began to creep up her neck.

“Elain, you’re the general of the kitchen. I’m more of the lieutenant around here.” Jurian said mercifully. Elain nodded as she took the bread out of the room. Vassa followed, but not before she scoffed at Lucien, still staring dumbly at the swinging door.

“She was flirting with you, dumbass.” Jurian hissed, as he thwacked Lucien upside the head with an apron.

Read the rest on Ao3

Taglist: @andrigyn @octobers-veryown @ablogofbipanic @ofduskanddreams @wilde-knight @vulpes-fennec @foundress0fnothing @spell-cleavers @the-lonelybarricade @asnowfern @thelovelymadone @velidewrites @separatist-apologist @bellatrixship @cursebrkr @acourtdelaluna @millameazza @mossytrashcan @bennylavasbuns @werewolffprince @stickyelectrons @shisingh @popjunkie42-blog @amandapearls @damedechance @panicatthenightcourt @ineffable-resplendence @krem-does-stuff @kingofsummer93 @lithialetheia @lucienarcheron @wittyrejoinder @bagelfyre @iambutmortal @fieldofdaisiies @houseofhurricane @melting-houses-of-gold @carmasi @iftheshoef1tz

#elucien #elucienweek2023 #day 4 courtiers #THEE WALTZ FIC BABY #it's not what you think #it's also my first long fic

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