#when people say lucien is a fox | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

utterlyotterlyx · 1 month

Text

The Fox and The Fawn

High Lord Eris x Rhys!Sister!Reader x Azriel

Part Three

Summary - After Azriel and Nesta return from their mission you find them being as watchful as ever, and it turns out that celebrations weren’t always destined to be joyous.

Warnings - angst, fluff, flirting, slight suggestive tones

Part One Part Two

Sunlight curled around your forearm, tugging you and willing you to step outside and bask in her glory.

Ignoring her, you again focused on the matter that held your attention.

“Say it with me, Nyx,” your hands were delicately placed under his arms, holding him in place on your lap. Nyx looked at you with wide eyes and blushed chubby cheeks, dark hair weeping from sleep, his little wings flapping behind him and small digits reaching to furl into your hair, “Auntie y/n is the most powerful.”

Nyx babbled incoherently and you shrugged, cuddling him into your chest and inhaling that smell that made your heart clench with want. It was so fresh, a perfect amalgamation of Rhys and Feyre but also something utterly pure and unique to him, “Close enough, I suppose.”

A certain type of ferocity had consumed you the moment Nyx had been born, there was no one that could guard him better than you. Perhaps that was why Rhys rarely cared when you would pick up the child and whisk him away in on one of your adventures, that being you’d walk him around the city and take him for ice cream all whilst trying (and failing) to ensure that the first thing to fall from his lips would be your name.

Sunlight speckled through the stained glass panes of the library, it was sometime around noon, and you had swooped Nyx from his cot that morning before Feyre or Rhys could realise it. No one would dare to meddle with your time with your nephew.

Three days had passed since Azriel had left you with nothing but a whisper of a kiss on your brow, it had been three days of silence, three days of Rhys acting as your shadow and you letting him believe that you didn't notice his intense gaze settled upon you whenever you entered the room. The Circle had been suspicious, whispering in corners and sparing you the odd sidelong glance before resuming their hushed bickering, even Feyre, who you believed wouldn't be one of those people, was also taking part.

It seemed as though Lucien was your only friend, he actively sought you out, he had noticed your reluctance and need to hide yourself away so distracted your mind by asking about Eris, about what you spoke of. Of course Lucien knew you wouldn't divulge any details, but seeing your eyes sparkle and a soft smile form on your lips was enough to make him believe that you at least had one good thing occupying your mind these days.

A sonnet of brisk air alerted you to another presence slipping through the library doors, Nyx perked up in your arms, and you knew instantly from that and the scent of night-kissed air that Rhys was stood somewhere behind you. Your nerves stood on end as he rounded where you both sat, casting his shadow over your forms, "You stole him again," Rhys' voice was cold and distant, but he cocked his head to the side and grinned at his son, placing his finger in Nyx's hand and shaking it gently.

"Is it so terrible of me to want to spend some time with my nephew?" Rhys hummed and reached for the child, you went to shield him from your brother but relented when Rhys' gaze set alight in warning and gave in, relaxing your grip and feeling that pained void when the wriggling child was snatched from you.

Rhys settled Nyx into his chest, resting his chin atop the crown of his head and looked down on you with his usual wariness, "We have been invited to the Day Court this evening. Helion has requested your presence."

Narrowing your eyes at him, you surveyed his face for any signs of deception, "What's the occasion?" Rhys turned his back to you, sweeping Nyx from your sight, muttering something about a birthday.

It was too odd. First Azriel and Nesta being sent away, the entire family being odd and secretive, then being beckoned to the Day Court? Something wasn't right, and you certainly did not want to spend your evening watching Helion beg Azriel and Cassian for some kind of soul-enlightening orgy.

Once Rhys had stepped out of the room, you threw up your shield and floated toward the desk, once again ignoring the sun beckoning you outside and finding an odd scrap of parchment to scribe upon, scratching your message out and letting it devour itself into ash and float away.

I need your opinion on something.

A minute passed and you spied an autumn-scented piece of cream tinged paper wedged beneath an old leather bound book.

Is that all you need from me?

Smirking, you replied with a matching amount of seductiveness. That was how your conversations had been going, light and always full of mischief, but Eris was always poised to listen to your words, he was always ready to help you if you even thought of asking him for it.

For now.

Tell me what's on your mind, Fawn.

Hesitating, your quill hovered over the paper as you debated whether or not to tell him what the past three days had been like without Azriel and Nesta. The hushed words and glares, your loneliness and desire to lock yourself away. Was it divulging Night Court secrets or just your own?

I feel out of place here. I feel like I'm being punished for helping you. Rhys sent Azriel and Nesta away, and the rest of them are avoiding me more than usual. Cassian hasn't invited me to training, Mor hasn't come to my rooms to gossip, even Rhys took Nyx from my arms only a few minutes ago. It's like I'm poison that they need to dispel from their lives and I just want to lock myself away and disappear.

Watching the clock, you counted down the seconds until another note found its way to you.

I know Rhys sent them away because I found them poking around my boarders the evening before last. And, you're not poison, Little Fawn, locking yourself away only means that they win, and you're far too important to let the infantile actions of your family diminish everything that you are. Don't forget that. No one controls you but you, y/n, the world is yours if you would only ask for it.

Would you give me the world if I asked for it?

I would burn the world to ash if you asked me to. There is nothing that I would not give you.

Heart fluttering in your chest, you slumped back into the comfort of the antique armchair that you had told Cassian off more times than not for using it as a stool for his feet.

Will you be there tonight? At the Day Court?

I will.

Will you find me?

Always.

The shield around you pulsated with force and you furrowed your brow at the shimmering ripples that swam across its surface. Dull thumps echoed within your bubble, and a muffled voice called out to you. Glancing down at the note in your fingers, you turned it into black mist that curled around your fingers and danced upward to the sky and lowered the guard.

You could have cried with relief. Azriel stood before you, still clad in his second skin, blue siphons glowing like he had entered just entered Velaris and had immediately sought you out before reporting to Rhys. Azriel knew what was more important.

"You're back," you breathed as you walked into his awaiting arms, arms that wrapped around your waist and fingers that raked through your hair with a hint of desperation.

Your heart seized in your chest, needing to feel at home and at peace. But it didn't. A lump formed in your throat and a pit opened in your stomach and pooled with unease.

Azriel pulled away from you, his hazel eyes scoured your face but they held something awoken in them, like he saw you differently. His fingers floated over the surface of your skin, up the inky bargain that encased your upper arm which matched his own and across your collarbone, but he didn't touch you there as though as if he were worried that you would mar his hands further.

You took a step back, "What's wrong?"

He'd found something on his travels, something that was making him look at you differently, in a way he had never looked at you, with fear, with sadness.

Azriel's brows etched together, his eyes flowing up and down your form, noticing something off about you. Your scent. The scent of Autumn, of Eris, lingered on your fingertips, the same fingers that were wrapped around his neck moments ago. You hid your hands behind your back.

"Nothing. I just wanted to see you," even his voice was laced with his deception, his shoulders went rigid like a putrid smell had entered his nose, and he visibly shivered, "I should go and talk to Rhys. I'll find you later?"

Feigning innocence, you called, "Was the mission alright, at least? Where did you end up going?"

Azriel turned back to you, lingering in the doorway before your portrait, "It was fine," he forced a tight lipped smile, it was almost as if he had forgotten how observant you were, and how well you knew him. Still, you kept your eyes full of that doe eyed wonder that threw him off and lured him right into your talons. If he was going to lie to you, then there was no harm in aiding your own agenda, "Rhys sent us to keep an eye on some happenings in Spring. Tamlin has been expanding his armies."

A lie. A blatant attempt of deception. One that didn't stick.

Anger bubbled within you, Azriel had never lied to you, your bond was supposed to be too special for those kind of games. Instead of allowing it to bubble over, you inhaled deeply and kept your hands folded behind your back, "Well, I'm glad you're home. I missed you."

The Shadowsinger relaxed his features and almost looked as though he wanted to move to you, to gather you up in his arms and protect you from whatever was clearly heading your way. But he didn't, instead, he spoke to you softly, "I missed you too, y/n," and disappeared from your view.

A feeling of impending pain, perhaps not physical, lodged itself deep within your soul, almost strong enough to steal the air from your lungs. Clasping you hand around the ledge of the large oak desk, you hunched over and attempted to fill your lungs with oxygen, tears prickled at the corners of your eyes and for the first time in your life, your own sanctuary was suffocating you.

Nesta had greeted you with the same apprehension as Azriel had, although, at least she had made it clear that she didn't want to.

Even the walls were watching you, craning their gaze to follow your figure through the house. The only safe space was your room, so that's where you were, nestled between the cushions and watching the candlelight flicker against the cream coated walls whilst Nesta paced about the space, showing you countless dresses on their hangers since you were making no move to look yourself.

Your friend was dressed in head-to-toe black, a form fitting garment with a long slit up the right side and a neckline so plunging that it left little to the imagination. Her coronet was tightly woven, and two thick strands curled around her jaw to frame her sharp features. Blood red lips, arched brows, eyes full of anticipation.

"You have to choose one, y/n."

Ignoring her command, you turned your head to her and she knew what you wanted to know before you even asked, "Are you going to lie to me too?"

Nesta froze, allowing the hanger to fall at her side along with the silver garment attached to it, "What do you want to know?"

"I want to know why Azriel lied to me about where you both went, and I want to know why all of you are suddenly treating me like a stranger," Nesta exhaled shakily, and it was the first time that you had truly seen her stoic demeanour perish before your eyes; she glanced about the room with worry, like she too could sense the house pressing its ear up against your door, "It's safe to speak. Not even the house can hear us."

The elder Archeron sister perched on the edge of your bed, noting your hunched over figure as you hugged your knees close to your chest, it was clear that your exclusion by everyone was making you feel lesser than. Nesta rested her hand atop the comforter, almost reaching for you, but also not at all; Nesta struggled to find the words, to tell you some form of truth without shattering you, "If it ever comes to it, you know I will protect you, don't you?"

"I used to believe that."

Nesta shuffled up the bed and spoke in a hushed tone, "Rhys has been trying to understand you, where all of your power came from and why he only has a fraction of it. He asked us to go Under The Mountain, to see if Amarantha did something else to you other than take your wings. Males would stop at nothing to harness the power that you have."

Under The Mountain was a hazy memory, one that you'd rather not remember at all. You rolled your shoulders, feeling the marred flesh rippling at the action, "Is that what Rhys wants to do? To harness my power? Is that why I've been so hidden?"

Nesta didn't want to answer, but she couldn't keep it from you, unlike Azriel, Nesta remembered your observance, how nothing got past those fire ringed violet orbs, "I don't know what he wants to do with what he finds," she told you honestly, her stoic hatred for him returning to her features, "I didn't go to aid him, y/n. I went so that I could find whatever he wants to know and give it to you. Protect you."

At least one of them was on your side, and you supposed it would have always been Nesta, Azriel was too loyal to the Night Court, and despite your bargain, he would always protect Velaris first and worry about you later.

"Did you find anything?"

Nesta sighed, "Azriel didn't," but she certainly had, "Not now. Now, you wear the most incredible thing you can find and we go to the Day Court and wear the masks that we have to in order to survive another day."

The dress in her fingers, still on its cushioned pearlescent hanger, was a shade of blue-grey that you rarely wore. The bodice was like armour, perfectly fitted and boned, crystals were embedded into the curve of the breastplate and trickled down the deep seated opening that only met just above the bellybutton, exposing the taut muscle and cleavage beneath. From the point where the fabric met at the lower abdomen, the skirt curved upward over the hips and each ridge of fabric acted as a branch, curving upward and cascading down the back, pooling on the floor. The skirt was frosted, diamonds coated the branches of the skirt and curled around the hem which trailed along the floor, and a long central slit sliced upward, enough to expose the legs you knew most males would crumble for, but also little enough to keep your dignity in tact.

It was a spectacular thing that your mother had made. Perhaps the most.

Nesta helped you into the piece, slithering it up your form and humming in appreciation about how well it fit you. The sleeveless garment was certainly made for you, and she secured a diamond necklace around your neck and rested her hands on your shoulders.

Loose curls bounced with every step, Nesta had braided two thick sections and pinned them upward, pulling the skin of your face backward, and had even gone as far as to bless your face in neutral shimmering cosmetics.

The room fell silent when you stepped into the living area, Cassian's once bellowing laughter turned to molten nothingness, Mor's quips dissipated, Rhys' loving words to Feyre who was entangled in his arms were ash in his mouth, even Azriel couldn't speak as his own eyes poured over you.

Paying little mind to the stares of your family, you turned your attention to Lucien who was stood in the corner leaning against a wooden beam with his arms folded over his chest, smirking, "Shall we? I'd hate to waste an outfit like this on people who couldn't even begin to appreciate it the way it deserves to be."

Lucien bit back his laugh and took your arm after a gentle nod from Elain who knew, and despised, how you were being treated. Under his breath Lucien muttered, "You're playing with fire, y/n."

Leading him from the house and onto the lawn, you turned your gaze upward to him, appreciating his beauty and the tied back hair that Elain had no doubt tailored to him, "Perhaps. But I won't be the one who gets burned."

The Day Court Palace had always had the ability to take your breath away, the home alone was enough to convince you that relocating would be a good idea. Maybe it was the white marble pillars so brilliantly white and tall that they kissed the sky, or maybe it was the cloudless skies that washed you in orange bliss the moment you appeared at the foot of the steps.

Even the breeze was welcoming, dancing around your arms and shoulders before moving onward. A weight had shifted within you, and you realised that it was because the Day Court had no reason to watch you like Velaris did, that for the first time in months you were actually free of eyes constantly watching you.

You didn't look back to see if everyone had landed alright when you began to ascend the steps, completely breaking protocol and sauntering upward to where you could hear music and laughter bubbling. Two familiar presences fell in step with you, Nesta and Lucien, the former to your left and the latter to your right, and you all ignored the claws scraping down the walls of your minds commanding you to return to your positions.

Music swirled around you as you paced down the hallway, being mindful of the multiple pairs of feet scuffling behind you until a hand wrapped around your wrist and tugged you back with force. Rhys loomed over you, eyes ablaze and snarl conformed to his lips, nostrils flaring with each breath, "What do you think you're doing?"

Nesta fell to your side, ready to take down the High Lord by any means necessary, Cassian was glaring at her and moved closer to Rhys, "I think that you're the one who should be answering that question, brother."

The air around you both grew heavy, it pulsated with dark energy that emitted from you both, but yours drowned his own and pierced him with its talons, making him feel weak and weary, "Remove your hand before I make you," and he did, his hand dropped from your wrist, "What a good little High Lord you are, Rhys. Father would be so proud of you."

Unspoken words flew between you, ones that told him that you knew what he was doing, that he was seeking to control you and always had, just as your father did.

Azriel had, unsurprisingly, moved to Rhys' other side, his gaze low and body ready to cut you down, he was blocking Feyre from view but she peeked over his shoulder just as Mor did with Cassian.

Power pulsated around you like a heartbeat, black began to move from your fingertips and tinge your veins with their ink from your fury, and Rhys' faltered at the sight of it, his eyes blew wide open and he found your darkened eyes zoning in on him, the violet had turned almost black and that ring of fire was blazing, "You need to calm down, y/n."

"Don't you dare," Nesta growled, placing her hands on your shoulders and turning you away, whispering to you and soothing you whilst Lucien stood up to Rhys.

Lucien's gaze was cold, his mechanical eye whirred as he took in the scene before him, of the High Lord flanked by his soldiers, needing to protect him from his own flesh and blood, "Tell me, Rhys," he found Rhys' gaze again, that constantly disapproving thing that followed you everywhere, "Tell me how what you're doing to her, to your own sister, is any different than what Tamlin did to Feyre."

Silence.

Bone dry silence consumed them, and when Lucien turned to see where you and Nesta had gone to, he only saw the train of your dress slip around the corner of the door toward the sound of freedom.

The room had turned to you as soon as you had entered with Nesta by your side, and not in a wary on edge way, in one of awe and adoration. Eris lingered by the dais, dressed in dark grey pants and white shirt, grey waistcoat and matching jacket which adorned silver swirls.

All anger evaporated from you as soon as his russet eyes found you, they washed over you with concern, no doubt seeing the blackened fingertips and sadness in your own orbs that had returned to their usual hue. He looked beautiful, more so than you remembered, more beautiful than the version of him that settled within your dreams.

You moved to the dais and greeted Helion, you had gone to bow to him, as custom when visiting other courts, but he didn't let you, "You bow for no one, especially when you look like that," he had always taken every opportunity to flirt with you, and he always held a certain resentment for Rhys for refusing your hand to him.

"Thank you for inviting us, I hope you've had a wonderful birthday," you folded his hands in your own and felt his healing touch worm its way into every negative pocket in your body, feeling lighter, more grounded.

The doors opened again, and you turned to see Rhys stalk up the centre of the hall closely followed by the rest of his Inner Circle. As if sensing your discomfort, Eris took a step up and offered a hand to you, and you gladly took it, stepping down from the foot of the dais to allow Rhys to have his moment with his friend, and not once did Cassian or Azriel's eyes move from you.

Lucien reached his brother and whispered into his ear, "I need to talk to you. Now," Eris frowned and peered to you, noting your fluttering eyelids and the unease that radiated from you and nodded, moving to follow Lucien who sent you a reassuring smile before they exited the hall.

If it weren't for Nesta stood beside you, you surely would have crumbled. She stared down her own mate and friends, head dipped low and staring at them through her brows, anger seethed from her and you knew she was going over the consequences of ending Rhys' existence right there and then in her mind. Nesta was Lady Death and you were the Queen of Darkness.

For the next hour you stuck to the walls of the hall, muttering polite hellos as you did your best to keep a safe distance between you and Rhys.

The architecture was stunning, white marble walls and golden chandeliers, pale wood round tables stacked with sparkling wine flutes and food, long benches full of revellers enjoying the festivities. Artwork delicately hung from the walls, glittering in the crystal tinted glow of the chandeliers, sparkling in the light as the skies grew dark beyond the open arches.

Helion's bellowing laughter floated about the room, and you wondered how a life in Day could have turned out for you. Though, you didn't have long to think of it before a hand curled around your forearm and gently pulled you from the room. Eris was in front of you, gingerly holding your arm in his hand as he led you down a flurry of corridors, peering down each one quickly to ensure it was safe to go there.

The High Lord led you all the way out to a private balcony, where you could hear the waves crashing against the rocks and the breeze flutter around the corner. The torchlight danced in the wind, flickering softly as he turned to you. Breathing in, you felt peace, that autumn pine and orange, wilting leaves and warm autumn rain.

Sighing, you felt tears pool in your vision, turning it slightly blurry as you tried to drink him in, "Lucien told me what happened. Are you alright?"

That singular question broke a little piece of you, you couldn't remember the last time some asked if you were alright and were actually invested in the answer. The concern in his eyes and brows made a soft tug pull at your soul, "I'm suffocating."

Eris waited for you to continue, keeping a distance he thought you'd be comfortable with between you, though all you wanted was to know what his arms around you would feel like, what it would feel like to have his lips pressed to the bare skin of your shoulder.

"They've been lying to me, all of them. Nesta confirmed it. Rhys doesn't understand why he only has a fraction of my power, he sent them Under The Mountain to see if Amarantha did other things to me when she held me hostage in the beginning. I feel like a prisoner in my own home, they're all scared of me, even Azriel," your voice broke, never in a million years, in your existence, did you ever think you'd voice that Azriel was scared of you.

"None of them want to touch me or speak to me. I can't do it anymore. I thought Rhys just wanted to protect me, but now I know it was never about that, it was about keeping me hidden and away from everyone else, he made me a prisoner and I didn't even know it."

Wrapping your arms around yourself, your tears flowed freely down your cheeks and you made no move to wipe them away. Eris took a step closer to you, his shadow waltzing with your own, "Can I touch you?"

It took you a moment, a moment of his russet eyes on you and fingers fidgeting at his side until you nodded softly and he raised his hand. His fingertips lightly dusted up your arms and neck, they curled your hair around them and grazed along your jaw, and you felt electric under his touch that spready across every single part of you. His breath was warm over your face and you took a moment to appreciate him, his godly-crafted cheekbones and jaw, eyes that told a million stories, the golden freckled skin and his curved lips.

"I'm not afraid of you, Little Fawn. Nothing about you scares me," his finger curled under your chin and angled your head upward, "All you need to do is say the words. You are the author of your own story. Tell me what you want."

Rhys had let you believe that you had free will, he had allowed you to be outspoken and poised, he had let you believe that you were nothing more than a scare tactic, and you were too enthralled with your so-called family to realise what he had done. There was nothing free about your life, you weren't allowed to leave Velaris without supervision and even such occasions were rare, you weren't called upon in battle until there was no other choice, you were a pawn to him, one that he had masterfully toyed with.

"I want to go to the Autumn Court. With you. I want to denounce my place in the Night Court and leave Velaris," the words felt like poison in your mouth but your soul was thankful for it, and the storm in your soul had already began to break with golden sunlight.

Eris nodded and took a step toward you, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you into his chest, your hands were flat against his waistcoat that had once again matched your own attire perfectly, "Your wish is my command, Little Fawn," and then you both disappeared in a swirl of light, leaving nothing but the joint bliss of your scents behind and dancing away in the night-kissed breeze.

Author's Note

I hope you love this! x

Taglist

392 notes · View notes

shadowandlightt · 5 months

Text

Of Nightmares and Memories /two/ Azriel X Reader

Series Warnings: Kidnapping. Mistreatment. Cursing. Pining. Violence. Depression. Talks of suicide. Eventual smut

Part one Part Three

You dream of the blue of his siphons. The hazel of his eyes. You see him every night, whether you’d like to or not. He seems to invade everyone of your senses, always. Even from miles away. Even if he was dead. But you swore you’d know if he perished when Amerantha took over. You felt as if you would’ve felt his loss deep within your gut.

But there had been no word of Velaris, or the people inside it. Had your brother truly been able to hide it all of these years? He’d been stripped of so much of his power, but did he have enough to keep your beloved city safe?

“He wants you in the dining room for dinner.”

“And if I say no?” You question the red haired fox.

His eyes, one golden and mechanical, narrowed on you, “He’ll drag you down by your hair.”

“I’d like to see him try,” You bark out a laugh, knowing you could shred him in a moment if only you had use of your power.

The faebane they kept you full of made sure you were just a sliver of who you once were. Your skin was dull and lifeless, gone was the wondrous glow of immortality. Because you might as well have been mortal, plain and easy to kill. But you still had the self defense that your brothers taught you. You still had the ability to fight back. You were weak now, yes, but you could still just as easily use one of the butter knives on Tamlin.

“Please,” Lucien begged, “Don’t be difficult. It’s been a hard day.”

“He lost another, then?” I question, head cocking to the side.

“Don’t bring it up or he’s likely to skin you alive,” Lucien warned you.

“Again, I’d like to see him try.”

Lucien’s eyes seem tired as he looks at you. Your fight seemed to dissipate as you looked at him. You knew time was running out, far too fast. Soon enough Amarantha would take control over every Fae, no matter where they lived. Tamlin was the only one keeping her at bay, and his power was almost hers for the taking. Then what would become of you? When her goons came for Tamlin and ransacked the house, surely they’d find you and drag you before her. Then you’d just be a tool to further your brother’s pain.

“Ah, I can see it now,” He sighed, “You’ve realized your fate, if this doesn’t work.”

“He’ll never convince a human to love him,” You shake your head, “No matter how charming he can be.”

“For your sake, you best hope he does.”

You follow him from your room, or your cell, whatever seems to fit one day to the next. The manor house is quiet as you make your way through it, servants not sparing you a second glance. They all knew you were being held prisoner, yet they could do little to change it, without incurring the High Lord’s wrath.

For once in your life, you were helpless, and had been since that day in the clearing.

“It would’ve been so much easier for him,” You mutter, “Had he just let them kill me that day. Instead he had them spare me and now I stay a constant headache.”

“More like a constant thorn in his side,” Lucien smiled slightly.

The thought brought a sly smile to my face. You prepared your stone mask as you grew closer to the dining room. Lucien was the only one you allowed to see a sliver of who you were. You allowed him to see more of yourself than you should, because he saw someone who was a little more delicate, a little more capable of love and sadness. Not the stone exterior of the Night Court that we worked so hard to maintain.

“Play nice with him tonight,” Was Lucien’s last warning before we reached the golden doors.

You schooled your face into a bored mask, as if all of this was beneath you. For centuries you’d been playing this part. Without so much as a break from it. Only when you were sure you were alone in my rooms did you let the mask fall. Only then did you cry out for my family, for my home.

“Glad you decided to join us,” Tamlin’s voice carried from the end of the table.

Your eyes roll, “As if I had a choice.”

A snarl escapes from Tamlin, claws slowly growing. You smile sweetly at him for a moment, before throwing out what little power you had left to reach into his head. Just enough to let him know you were there, just enough to be a pest when you wanted. But it wasn’t without difficulty. Sweat beaded on your forehead as you strained against the confines of your power.

“Enough,” He yelled, slamming his hands down against the table.

You flinch back, seeing the beast start to emerge. For a moment you allowed yourself to feel the slight fear that crept in. You were weak now, unable to protect yourself as you used to. He’d taken your power, your freedom, and your strength away from you. Stripped it away as if it were nothing. He should have just killed you in the forest that day.

“Where is the little human?” You question, sniffing the air, “Her…stench is hard to miss.”

“She’s getting cleaned up,” Lucien spoke up, “Might be best if you eat before Alis is finished with her.”

I turn slowly to glare at him, before turning back to Tamlin, “Still keeping me as your dirty little secret then?”

“She doesn’t need to know about you.”

“You know, I hope you can charm this one,” You snarl, “Because time is running out. Soon enough we’ll all be-”

“Enough!” He roars, “I know how much time we have left. I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

“Oh, you still have the chance, but the second he finds out I’m still alive,” You can’t help but laugh as you shake your head, “Well… then you’ll really wish you allowed them to kill me.”

“If she finds out you're alive…” Lucien trailed off with a look from Tamlin.

I flop down into a chair and scoop up a glass of wine, “Well, this is going to be a fun couple of months, then, won’t it?”

“Behave,” Lucien snaps.

“I am behaving,” I reply sweetly.

“Eat, before I lock you up and forget about you.”

“Now now,” I sigh, “It’s been centuries, surely we can be a little more civil than that,”

“You’re too much like your brother,” Tamlin sighs, leaning back into his chair.

“You almost sound sad about that,” You note, “Regretting crossing him?”

“No.”

You hum and drink your wine before tucking into the food before you. Despite knowing there was faebane in it, you couldn’t stop eating. You hardly ate anymore. Just enough to keep you alive, but today you were starving.

“Slow down before you make yourself sick,” Lucien said slowly.

You growl at him before slowly down slightly. If only your brother could see you now. See what you’d become. If only Az and Cas could see you, what would they think? Or Mor or Amren. You weren’t sure what they would say if they could see you now. How different you’d become.

Time passed slowly. The weeks dragged on, as you were only allowed out of your room when Feyre, the human, wasn’t around. Tamlin was doing well with dancing around your existence. Firenight was quickly approaching, and you felt the excitement deep in your bones. If there was one night that you would beg to be released it was Calanmai.

“You know you can’t.”

“Please Lucien,” You all but beg, “He’ll be there, I know it.”

“Which is why you can’t leave the manor,” He explains.”

“I just want to see him for myself,” You whine, “I need to see him, just once before the fifty years is up. Just once.”

“He’ll know.”

“Tamlin will be too caught up in the rite to notice,” I remind him, “And you can manage a convincing glamor.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Just this once,” You say softly, “I wouldn’t ask if time wasn’t running out.”

“I know.”

“Just, please.”

“You stay next to me the whole time,” He explains, “Running off could get you killed.”

“I know.”

“Thirty minutes, that’s all you’ll get.”

“It’s more than I thought I’d get.”

Your heart hammered in your chest with the prospect of seeing your brother again after centuries of being apart from him. You knew you wouldn’t be able to tell him who you were, you wouldn’t be able to leave with him. Or speak with him. But you’d be able to lay eyes on him, and know that in whatever capacity, he was okay. He was alive, even if he was a slave to the bitch under the mountain. He’s still alive. And that’s all you could ask. Even if the rest of your family was dead, at least he lived on.

#acomaf #acotar #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #azriel x you #acotar fanfiction #azriel spymaster

383 notes · View notes

lovemyromance · 15 days

Text

Oh my god enough about Elain wanting sunshine 😩

Let's run through some facts (and if you don't believe these are facts, please open the books for the first time and read it for yourself):

Elain says she wants sunshine

Nesta takes her to the sunny garden

Lucien does not sit with Elain in the garden

Lucien has one uncomfortable conversation with Elain

He says she needs fresh air (not sunlight)

Lucien has ALWAYS been associated with fox and flame symbolism/motifs (NOT the sun, not "light" in general)

We do not know if the IC (including Nesta) tried to take Elain outside before Feyre arrived.

Feyre & Rhys believe Lucien is the love child of LoA & Helion

There are 3 SOLAR courts: Dawn, Day, and Night. They ALL have sunlight

Helion is the HL of the Day Court. He is the only one in this series that has sun imagery. Not his court, not Lucien.

The NC crest is 3 mountains, 3 stars. The NC crest is NOT a moon.

We do not know the Day Court crest, or if they have one. Who is to say it would even include the sun?

Azriel was not present in the scene where Elain said she needed sunshine

Azriel, unprompted, takes her to sit in the sunny garden. How did he know what she needed without hearing her voice it?

Azriel even after the war, still sits with her till the late hours of the night, going over Elain's gardening plans

Now, out of these facts, can someone tell me how this foreshadows Elucien? If we are using that logic of Elain wanting sunshine, then are y'all trynna say she wants Helion or something?

Because how is saying she wants sunshine in any way related to Lucien personally?

She said she wants the sun, not the son 🤪 (side note I'm really proud of this one I'm sorry I'm so unserious lmao)

ANYWAYS

An endgame pairing can be foreshadowed, but the clues have to be directly associated with the couple in question.

Ex: Feyre looking up at the night sky, painting the drawers

But foreshadowing of an endgame is not going to be some distant tie between Elain asking for sunlight once and her mate's father being associated with the sun.

Sometimes descriptive writing... is just descriptive writing.

When it comes to giant fantasy books like these with intense world building, a lot of things can get lost in translation. You need a lot more description because what the author is describing likely isn't something that exists in our world today so it's hard for people to picture and understand.

So then how do readers know what to focus on? How do they understand and process books like these?

I saw this a while back but when it comes to fantasy, the rule of thumb is if you are really looking for clues and foreshadowing vs just descriptive writing, look at what the author is repeating.

Repetition is key.

Repeated words, repeated phrases, repeated messages, repeated imagery - these are all ways you can tell something is important, especially in fantasy books.

So - in conclusion -

Elain saying she needs sunlight ONCE is not foreshadowing or code for "she yearns for Helion The day Court Lucien"

SJM constantly repeating how Elain will wed for love and beauty, Elain had hoped that love would trump even a mating bond, the constant questioning of the cauldron -

These are the things SJM is telling us to focus on. If it wasn't important, it wouldn't have been repeated so many times already.

Facts don't lie, people 🤩

#elriel #acotar #elain x azriel #elain archeron #azriel #pro elain #elain #antielucien #pro elriel

70 notes · View notes

acourtofthought · 8 months

Text

242 Reasons Why Lucien is the GOAT of the ACOTAR Series

“I’m Lucien. Courtier and emissary.” He gestured to me with a flourish. “Your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold.”

Lucien smirked. “Apologies, Feyre.”

I finally found Lucien astride a black gelding, grinning down at me with too-white teeth.

“I admire your balls, Feyre—I really do. Or maybe it’s stupidity

“A valiant effort,” Lucien said with a smirk.

Lucien snorted but didn’t say anything else

“I might die of surprise,” Lucien said behind me. “You made a joke, Feyre.”

A cork popped, followed by the sounds of Lucien chugging the bottle’s contents and chuckling with a muttered “Brushed.”

Lucien remained sitting on the blanket and lifted the bottle of wine in salute. He took a slug from it as he sprawled on his back and gazed at the green canopy.

He sighed, looking skyward before he studied me warily, that metal eye narrowing with unnerving focus.

I wondered—wondered if being emissary also meant being spymaster.

“I didn’t keep my mouth shut when I should have, and was punished for it.”

“Well, thank the Cauldron that you didn’t. Cleaning up that mess would have ruined the rest of my day.”

He winced. “Shit, Feyre—I’m not that old.”

Lucien huffed a laugh. “Not as good as Tam, but I know how to handle my weapons.”

“Would you like me to teach you how to wield a blade, or do you already know how, oh mighty mortal huntress?

Lucien sighed as he looked me over. “Do you ever stop being so serious and dull?”. “Do you ever stop being such a prick?” I snapped back. But Lucien grinned at me. “Much better.”

The face of Tamlin’s emissary—more court-trained and calculating than I’d seen him yet.

In lieu of a pretty breakfast table by the window, a worn worktable dominated the space, covered in various weapons.

It was there he sat, wearing only a white shirt and trousers, his red hair unbound and gleaming like liquid fire. Tamlin’s court-trained emissary, but a warrior in his own right.

“I had to go sort out some hotheads on the northern border—official emissary business,” he said, setting down the hunting knife he’d been cleaning, a long, vicious blade.

Lucien leaned back in his chair, smiling with feline delight.

Lucien never cared about it, never expected to be crowned High Lord, so he spent his youth doing everything a High Lord’s son probably shouldn’t: wandering the courts, making friends with the sons of other High Lords”—

he’d already made many friends across the courts and had always been good at talking to people.

Lucien told her to go back to the shit-hole she’d crawled out of. She took his eye as punishment.

The metal eye narrowed on me while the other remained wary, unimpressed. “Yes?”

The look he gave me was more contemplative than any he’d given me before. “I know far too many High Fae and lesser faeries who wouldn’t have seen it that way—or bothered.”

He reached for something at his side and tossed it to me. I had to fight to stay in the saddle as I fumbled for it—a jeweled hunting knife. / I’d never held one so finely crafted, so perfectly balanced.

“Burn in Hell,” Lucien replied for Tamlin.

“Idiot!” he yelled at me, then glanced behind him toward where the other faeries stared. “Useless human fool.” Without further word, he slung me over his shoulder as if I were a sack of potatoes.

I found that he was running—fast. Faster than anything should be able to move.

I could have sworn that Lucien was sleeping upright, fork in hand.

Lucien propped an arm on the table and covered his mouth with his hand, his russet eye bright.

“Faerie pig!” I yelled, and Lucien howled, almost tipping back in his chair.

“Well, I’m late for something incredibly important,” Lucien said, and before I could call him on his outright lie or beg him to stay, the fox-masked faerie vanished.

Lucien, claiming that he had miserable emissary business to attend to,

Lucien, mercifully, appeared like Lucien. I didn’t ask whether that was because Tamlin had informed him to put up a better glamour or because he didn’t bother trying to be something he wasn’t.

“I see,” I lied, not quite seeing at all. Lucien chuckled, sensing it

He used the dagger to clean his nails. “I’ve been busy. So have you, I take it.”

Lucien climbed the statue to remove the head.

“Cauldron boil me,” Lucien whistled as I came down the stairs. “She looks positively Fae.”

“Unfortunately for you and your neck,” Lucien countered, “tonight’s just a party.” “Do you lie awake at night to come up with all your witty replies for the following day?” Lucien winked at me.

“So there’s singing and dancing and excessive drinking,” Lucien chimed in, falling into step beside me. “And dallying,” he added with a wicked grin.

“Remember the last time you ignored my warning?” He poked me in the neck, and I batted his hand away.

“I also remember you telling me how witchberries were harmless, and the next thing I knew, I was half-delirious and falling all over myself,” I said, recalling the afternoon from a few weeks ago. I’d had hallucinations for hours afterward, and Lucien had laughed himself sick—enough so that Tamlin had chucked him into the reflection pool.

His auburn hair burned like hot metal, and his russet eye smoldered like a bottomless forge.

“Cauldron boil and fry me,” he muttered,

“Idiot,” he said when he looked at my face. “Drunken idiot.”

I wanted his broad hands running over my bare skin, wanted his teeth scraping against my neck, wanted his mouth all over me. “I’m trying to eat,” Lucien said

Lucien lead me to the window, where he pushed me against the velvet drapes. / The tang of magic shoved itself up my nostrils. Though his sword was pointed at the floor, Lucien’s grip tightened on it until his knuckles turned white. Magic—a glamour. To conceal me, to make me a part of Lucien—invisible, hidden by the faerie’s magic and scent.

Lucien pointed his sword at Rhysand. “Watch your filthy mouth.”

Lucien spat at Rhysand’s feet and shoved his sword between us.

“You draw blood from me, Lucien, and you’ll learn how quickly Amarantha’s whore can make the entire Autumn Court bleed. Especially its darling Lady.” The color leeched from Lucien’s face, but he held his ground.

Lucien stared him down for a moment, spat on the ground, and stormed up the stairs.

“Well, at least we don’t have to lie to you anymore. Let’s clean you up a bit.”

“Fixed—as pert and pretty as before.” He smirked at me.

“Her name, Emissary?” Amarantha asked of Lucien. But Lucien only glanced at Tamlin before closing his eyes and squaring his shoulders.

“I thought you would have learned your lesson, Lucien. Though this time your silence will damn you as much as your tongue.” Lucien kept his eyes shut. Ready—he was ready for Rhysand to wipe out everything he was, to turn his mind, his self, into dust.

Then, shattering the silence like a shooting star, a voice—Lucien’s—bellowed across the chamber. “TO YOUR LEFT!”

She listened, of course—but only after she made Tamlin bestow Lucien’s punishment. Twenty lashes.”

He unclasped his cloak and set it around my shoulders.

“It’s why I couldn’t come sooner,” he said, his throat bobbing. “She used her—used our powers to keep my back from healing. I haven’t been able to move until today.”

The brutally scarred face beneath was still handsome—his features sharp and elegant.

“Tam!” Lucien cried over the chaos. A sword hurtled through the air, a shooting star of steel.

Lucien hunted down five naga yesterday.”

Lucien had gifted both to me—the dagger during the months before Amarantha, the belt in the weeks after her downfall, when I’d carried the dagger, along with many others, everywhere I went. You might as well look good if you’re going to arm yourself to the teeth, he’d said.

Last week, I’d finally asked him if she’d set her sights on him, and Lucien had merely given me a look, snarling softly, before stalking off

the right hand of a High Lord and another High Lord’s son.

“I didn’t lie,” Lucien said tightly. “I technically did fall off my horse.” He patted his mount’s flank. “After one of them tackled me off her.”

I am the first one the others look to—I set the example.

“I was forced to watch as my father butchered the female I loved. My brothers forced me to watch.”

“Please,” Lucien said, bowing his head gracefully. “The effort to rebuild is our burden to share. It would be our honor.”

He assured me that he hated the gatherings as much as I did, and that Lucien was the only one who really enjoyed himself,

Lucien intervened calmly, “I already have my sources looking into it.”

Lucien sighed a bit and said to Tamlin, “If we perhaps trained her in secret—”

Lucien muttered something that sounded like a plea to the Cauldron.

Lucien took a deep breath that sounded a lot like: “Here we go.”

Lucien cleared his throat. “She meant no harm, Tam.”/ Lucien held his gaze. “Worse things have happened, worse things can happen. Just relax.”

Thoughts slammed into me, images and memories, a pattern of thinking and feeling that was old, and clever, and sad, so endlessly sad and guilt-ridden, hopeless—

“How long have the claws been appearing?” he said softly. "There's only so much I can do,” he said hoarsely. “But I’ll ask him tonight. About the training. The powers will manifest whether we train you or not, no matter who is around. I’ll ask him tonight,” he repeated.

They will hunt her, and kill her, Ianthe had hissed at Lucien. Lucien had growled back, They’ll do it anyway, so what’s the difference?

We are not assassins, Lucien had cut in. Rhys is what he is, but who would take his place—. Lucien had gone on, his tone pleading, Tamlin. Tam. Just let her train, let her master this—if the other High Lords do come for her, let her stand a chance...

His red hair was tied back, and there wasn’t a hint of finery on him: just armored leather, swords, knives

Lucien, beside Tamlin, again put a hand on his sword. “Stop this.”

“That is enough.” Lucien surged for Elain, for the Cauldron.

Lucien snarled at the king over the bite of the magic at his throat, “Don’t just leave her on the damned floor—” There was a flare of light, and a scrape, and then Lucien was stalking toward Elain, freed of his restraints.

As Lucien took off his jacket, kneeling before Elain.

“She is no such thing,” she said, and shoved him again. Lucien didn’t move an inch.

Perhaps you’ll get a handsome Fae lord as your mate, too.”

Lucien’s answering growl was nothing short of feral.

Lucien spun toward me, and that metal eye whirred and narrowed. Centuries of cultivated reason clicked into place.

But Lucien was watching me warily. Too warily.

His gaze on me. Face hard. As if he’d seen through every lie. As if he knew of the second tattoo beneath my glove, and the glamour I now kept on it. As if he knew that they had let a fox into a chicken coop—and he could do nothing. Not unless he never wanted to see his mate—Elain—again.

It was Lucien who answered, studying my painting as if it held the proof I knew he was searching for.

Lucien remained leaning against the door across from mine. His room. I didn’t doubt he’d ensured I now stayed across from him. Didn’t doubt that the metal eye he possessed was always turned toward my own chambers, even while he slept.

“She’s going to spin a story that you’ll want to hear,” Lucien warned. / Lucien halted me with a hand around my elbow. “You’re smarter than that.” I studied the broad, tan hand wrapped around my elbow.

Lucien breathed, “Where is he keeping her?” / “Tell me anyway. List all of them.”. “You’ll die the moment you set foot in his territory.” “I survived well enough when I found you.”

Lucien only nodded. But I felt his gaze on my back, fixed right on my spine, as I headed downstairs

Lucien answered, “If you expect our gratitude, you’ll be waiting a while, Ianthe.”

Lucien seemed to be trying very, very hard not to roll his eyes.

I could practically feel the snide remark simmering in Lucien.

“My emissary knows the wall as well as any sentry.”

“I have an old friend at the Dawn Court. She’s skilled at tinkering—blending magic and machinery. Tamlin got her to craft it for me at great risk.”

I was fairly certain that only centuries of training kept Lucien from leaping over the table to rip out Jurian’s throat.

“The gap in the wall is right up here,” Lucien was saying, sounding about as thrilled as me to be in such company.

Brannagh studied how closely I stood to Lucien; how he shifted slightly to shield me, too.

Lucien sat against a nearby tree, folding one booted ankle over another. “Whatever you’re planning, it’ll land us knee-deep in shit.”

“I would have been a part of the human-Fae alliance.”

“I did it for you, too, you know.” Cold, hard words. “I went with him to get you back.”

But the only trace of you was that ring, melted between the stones of the parlor. I got rid of it a moment before Tam arrived home to see it.”

“This situation is terrible,” I said, and it was the truth. A low snort.

And despite Jurian, despite the sneering royals, a corner of Lucien’s mouth tugged upward.

I gave Lucien a subtle, pleading look, and he barely hid his smirk as he sauntered over to me. Our dispersing party watched as he braced my waist in his broad hands and easily hefted me off the horse.

Ever the courtier, he bowed back.

He flat-out refused to participate. I replaced him in the Rite, but …” I went in his stead, and I did my duty to the court.

I could feel Ianthe scrambling to regain control, to find some way to spin it. Perhaps Lucien could, too. For he took my hand, and then knelt upon one knee in the grass, pressing my fingers to his brow.

I kept close to Lucien, who was inclined to indulge me.

Lucien answered on the second knock. “I heard you—what’s wrong.” He scanned me, russet eye wide as he noted my disheveled hair, my sweaty nightgown. / I swallowed, a silent question on my face, and he nodded, retreating into the room to let me inside. Bare from the waist up, he’d managed to haul on a pair of pants before opening the door, and hastily buttoned them as I strode past.

“What did you dream of tonight?” he asked quietly./ Lucien rose, stalking to me. / Lucien paused half a foot from me. He didn’t so much as object as I threw my arms around his neck, burying my face against his warm, bare chest. / Lucien loosed a heavy sigh and slid an arm around my waist, the other threading through my hair to cradle my head. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.” He held me, stroking soothing lines down my back

His red hair gleamed in the faint firelight.

His silence was heavy—sad. I hated the lie, hated it for how filthy it felt to wield it. “I’m sorry,” he said

It’s why we avoid bargains unless it’s necessary: even the scholars at the Day Court don’t know how it works. Believe me, I’ve asked.” “For me—you asked them for me.”. “Yes. I went last winter to inquire about breaking your bargain with Rhys.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” “I—we didn’t want to give you false hope. And we didn’t dare let Rhysand get wind of what we were doing, in case he found a way to interfere. To stop it.”

“You didn’t stop him.” “I tried. I begged him for mercy. He didn’t listen. He couldn’t listen.”

“Even if they’re now our allies,” I mumbled, “I still hate them.” A snort. “Me too.”

“Autumn Court males have fire in their blood—and they fuck like it, too.”

Then at us, their eyes widening further as they noted Lucien’s cruel beauty.

Lucien stared him down. “We accept no tribute from the human lands. Least of all children.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied, well aware that Lucien carefully watched from the shade of a nearby oak.

Lucien had gone to the stream to get more water

Lucien woke me the next morning with a hand over my mouth, warning gleaming in his russet eye. I smelled it a moment later: the coppery tang of blood. / Lucien slid from the tent, limbs loose and ready to shift into a defensive position. He’d been trained, he once told me—at the Autumn Court and at this one. Like Rhys, he usually opted for words to win his battles, but I’d seen him and Tamlin in the practice ring. He knew how to handle a weapon. How to kill, if need be.

Lucien laid his own cloak across the remains of the two young women.

“They are our allies,” he growled at me, at Lucien, both of us seated in armchairs flanking the mantel. / “And you should have left it alone for me to deal with.” Tamlin heaved a jagged breath. “Not retaliated like children.” He threw a glare in Lucien’s direction. “I expected better from you.” / “You sent the Bogge after them!” Tamlin roared. /Lucien had tracked it down—and we’d lured it, carefully, over hours, back to that camp. Right to where Dagdan and Brannagh had been gloating over their kill. / Lucien cleared his throat. Stood as well. “Tam—those humans were barely more than children. Feyre gave the royals an order to stand down. They ignored it. If we let Hybern walk all over us, we stand to lose more than their alliance. The Bogge reminded them that we aren’t without our claws, too.”

He exploded. Furniture splintered and went flying, windows cracked and shattered. / My knees slammed into the carpeted floor, and Tamlin was instantly in front of me, hands shaking— The doors burst open. “What have you done,” Lucien breathed, and Tamlin’s face was the picture of devastation as Lucien shoved him aside. He let Lucien shove him aside and help me stand. / “Let’s get you cleaned up,” Lucien said, an arm around my shoulders as he eased me from the room.

the broad panes of his chest, his stomach.

But Lucien was there. Her focus wholly on me, on taking from me the beauty I’d burned from her, Brannagh did not see him winnow until it was too late. Until Lucien’s sword refracted the light of the sun leaking through the canopy. And then met flesh and bone.

“I’m going with you,” he said again, face splattered with blood as bright as his hair. “I’m getting my mate back.”

“I know a place,” Lucien said, walking toward the cave that would take us to his home.

I let Lucien lead the way,

“It doesn’t lead anywhere. It curves away in the back—it’ll keep us out of sight.” I let him go inside first nonetheless.

Flint struck, and I found myself gazing at a makeshift camp of sorts. The candle Lucien had ignited sat on a natural stone ledge, and on the floor nearby lay three bedrolls and old blankets, crusted with leaves and cobwebs. A little fire pit lay in the sloped center of the space, the ceiling above it charred. No one had been here in months. Years. “I used to stay here while hunting. Before—I left,” he said,

“It’s too risky to eat,” I admitted, evading his question. Lucien was having none of it. “I knew. I knew you were lying the moment you unleashed that light in Hybern. My friend at the Dawn Court has the same power—her light is identical. And it does not do whatever horseshit you lied about it doing.”

His eye seemed to simmer. As if being in his own lands set that molten ore inside him rising to the surface, even with the damper on his power. “Glad to see the mask is off, at least.”

“You have the gall to question my priorities regarding Elain—yet what was your motive where I was concerned? Did you plan to spare me from your path of destruction because of any genuine friendship, or simply for fear of what it might do to her?”

His woods, by blood and law. He was a son of this forest, and here … He looked crafted from it. For it. Even that gold eye.

he waded into the stream, boots off and pants rolled to his knees, and caught one with his bare hands. He’d tied his hair up, a few strands of it falling into his face as he swooped down again and threw a second trout onto the sandy bank where I’d been trying to find a substitute for fishing twine. / Lucien picked them up by their tails, as if he’d done it a thousand times. He might very well have, right here in this stream. “I’ll clean them while you start the fire.” I

“As the youngest of seven sons, I wasn’t particularly needed or wanted. Perhaps it was a good thing. I was able to study for longer than my father allowed my brothers before shoving them out the door to rule over some territory within our lands, and I could train for as long as I liked, since no one believed I’d be dumb enough to kill my way up the long list of heirs. And when I grew bored with studying and fighting … I learned what I could of the land from its people. Learned about the people, too.” He eased to his feet with a groan, his unbound hair glimmering as the midday sun overhead set the blood and wine hues aglow. “I’d say that sounds more High-Lord-like than the life of an idle, unwanted son.” A long, steely look. “Did you think it was mere hatred that prompted my brothers to do their best to break and kill me?”

of all the sounds that Lucien so carefully sorted through while he kept watch.

he removed his cloak and added it over my blanket.

“Father,” the one now holding a knife to my throat said to Lucien, “is rather put out that you didn’t stop by to say hello.” “We’re on an errand and can’t be delayed,” Lucien answered smoothly, mastering himself.

he saw the sweat beading on my temple, my upper lip, as my blood heated. A slight bob of his chin was his only sign of understanding.

“Run,” I gasped out, but Lucien was already at my side, a steadying hand under my arm as I burned that flame hotter and hotter. It wouldn’t keep them contained for long, and I could indeed feel someone’s power rising to challenge mine. But there was another force to wield. Lucien understood the same moment I did. Sweat simmered on Lucien’s brow as a pulse of flame-licked power slammed into the stones just above us. Dust and debris rained down. I threw any trickle of magic into Lucien’s next blow. His next. / Lucien and I brought down the cave ceiling.

I’d been wearing my cloak, but … he’d indeed given me his. He shivered against the cold as we dragged and clawed our way up the mountain slope, and did not dare stop.

“Tell me about her—about Elain,” Lucien said quietly.

“And then I’ll ask your mate how he survived it—knowing you were engaged to someone else. Sharing another male’s bed.”

“You left us.” Us. Not Tamlin. Us. The words echoed into the dark,

"You fit into the Spring Court as little as I did, Lucien. You enjoyed its pleasures and diversions. But don’t pretend you weren’t made for something more than that.”

“Run,” Lucien breathed. / “Faster,” Lucien ordered. “Don’t look!” he barked as I began to turn my head to see if they’d followed. He lashed out a hand to grip my elbow, steadying me before I could even register that I’d stumbled. / “Zag,” Lucien panted. “We need to—” He shoved me aside, and I staggered, arms wheeling. Just as an arrow ricocheted off the ice where I’d been standing. “Faster,” Lucien snapped, and I didn’t hesitate.

Behind him, cut off by his brothers, Lucien had drawn his own knife and now sized up the other two.

I think Lucien shouted my name.

“Which one?” I asked carefully. Mor swept her attention over Lucien once more. I almost pitied Lucien for the weight in her gaze, the utter judgment. The stare of the Morrigan—whose gift was pure truth. Whatever she beheld in Lucien was enough for her to say, “The town house. You have someone waiting there for you.”

Lucien survey our surroundings.

But their watchful silence was indication enough: let him decide his own fate. At last, Lucien looked at me. At us. He said, “There are children laughing in the streets.” I blinked. He said it with such … quiet surprise. As if he hadn’t heard the sound in a long, long time.

“I see you brought home a new pet,” she said, nose crinkling with distaste. / Before I could introduce him, Lucien bowed at the waist. Deeply / Amren smiled slightly. “Already trained, I see.”

Lucien, to his credit, didn’t back away a step. From Rhys, or me, or the Illyrians. The Clever Fox Stares Down Winged Death. The painting flashed into my mind.

Lucien only shifted on his feet. Wary. Considering. I counted the heartbeats, debating how much I’d interfere if he said something truly stupid, when he at last murmured, “There is a longer story to be told, it seems.” Smart answer.

Lucien weighed my offer—and the three males monitoring his every blink and breath. He only nodded. Another wise decision.

“And you love him. And he—he truly does love you.” Lucien dragged a hand through his red hair. “And all these people I have spent my centuries hating, even fearing … They are your family.”

And yet there she was, acting more like a cranky old aunt than anything.”

But Lucien was standing in the doorway. And from the devastation on his face, I knew he’d heard every word. Seen and heard and felt the hollowness and despair radiating from her.

“I would never hurt her.” A bleak sort of honesty in his words.

We were almost to the door, Cassian already in the hall, when Lucien said to me, “Thank you.” I didn’t dare ask him for what.

"set up the handsome one as High Lord of Autumn"

“What did you do with yourself this afternoon?” “Slept,” he said. “Washed. Sat on my ass.”

His face was indeed controlled, but—a hint of surprise twinkled there. Wariness, too, but … surprise.

Lucien, standing near the windows and watching the sun set over Velaris, was wearing a fine green jacket embroidered with gold, his cream-colored pants showing off muscled thighs, and his knee-high black boots polished enough that the chandeliers of faelight reflected off them. He’d always had a casual grace about him, but here, tonight, with his hair tied back and jacket buttoned to his neck, he truly looked the part of a High Lord’s son. Handsome, powerful, a bit rakish—but well-mannered and elegant.

Lucien considered. “Can I offer my unsolicited advice?” / Lucien studied my mate, then me. “I assume Feyre is going.” / “Are you planning to hide her powers?” / Lucien studied me again, and it was an effort not to squirm. “My father would likely join with Hybern if he thought he stood a chance of getting his power back that way—by killing you.” / Lucien jerked his chin to Azriel. “That’s the information you need to gather. What my father knows—if my brothers realized what she was doing. You need to start from there, and build your plan for this meeting accordingly.”

Rhys swirled his wine once, set it down, and said to Lucien, “You and Azriel should talk. Tomorrow.” Lucien glanced toward the shadowsinger—who only nodded at him. “I’m at your disposal.”

He added to Lucien, who did not balk from those writhing shadows, “After lunch, we’ll meet.

“You trust Lucien.” Rhys angled his head at the not-quite question. “I trust in the fact that we currently have possession of the one thing he wants above all else. And as long as that remains, he’ll try to stay on our good side. But if that changes … His talent was wasted in the Spring Court. There was a reason he had that fox mask, you know.”

“He’s not a bad person—he’s not evil.” “He certainly isn’t.”

Too thin. She must not be eating at all. How can she even stand? The thoughts flowed through his head, one after another. His heart was a raging, thunderous beat, and he didn’t dare move from his position a mere five feet away. She hadn’t yet turned toward him, but the ravages of her fasting were evident enough. Touch her, smell her, taste her— The instincts were a running river. He fisted his hands at his sides.

Azriel seemed like a decent enough male

He tried to sound casual—comfortable. Even as his heart raced and raced, so swift he thought he might vomit on the very expensive, very old carpet. From Sangravah, if the patterns and rich dyes were any indication. Rhysand was many things, but he certainly had good taste. This entire place had been decorated with thought and elegance, with a penchant for comfort over stuffiness.

An ache like a blow to the chest went through him, but he crossed the rug. Forced his hands to be steady while he poured himself a cup of tea and sat in the chair opposite Nesta’s vacated one. “There’s a plate of biscuits. Would you like one?”

he couldn’t breathe as she faced him fully. She was the most beautiful female he’d ever seen.

Her eyes were the brown of a fawn’s coat.

“I am Lucien. Seventh son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.” And a whole lot of nothing. He’d told the shadowsinger all he knew—of his surviving brothers, of his father. His mother … he’d kept some details, irrelevant and utterly personal, to himself. Everything else—his father’s closest allies, the most conniving courtiers and lords … He’d handed it over. Granted, it was dated by a few centuries, but in his time as emissary, from the information he’d gathered, not much had changed. They’d all acted the same Under the Mountain, anyway. And after what had happened with his brothers a few days ago … There was no tinge of guilt when he told Azriel what he knew. None of what he felt when he looked toward the south—toward both of the courts he’d called home.

He fought against the bristling rage, the irrational urge to find the male who’d claimed her and shred him apart. The words were a rasp as he instead said, “I know. I’m sorry.”

He paused right between them and said to me, to Nesta, “She needs fresh air.” / “We’ll judge what she needs.” I could have sworn his ruby hair gleamed like molten metal as his temper rose. But it faded, his russet eye fixing on me. “Take her to the sea. Take her to some garden. But get her out of this house for an hour or two.” Then he walked away.

“Mother above,” Lucien said, dragging a hand through his hair.

Lucien had offered to make himself useful while we were gone by reading through some of the texts now piled on the tables throughout the sitting room.

But I will say that Lucien is loyal—fiercely so.”

It wasn’t just about what he thought—it was the … feeling. I sensed no ill will, no conniving. Only concern for her. And … sorrow. Longing

Cassian had come off the roof at some point to join Lucien in the sitting room, the books from the wall spread on the low-lying table between them

It felt like days ago. I rested my head against the embroidered back of the chair and watched Lucien take a seat on the rolled arm of the nearest couch. “Long day?” I grunted my response.

He weighed my tone, and crossed his arms. “Let me do something. About Elain. I heard—from my room. Everything that happened just now. It wouldn’t hurt to have a healer look her over. Externally and internally.” I was tired enough that I could barely summon the breath to ask, “Do you think the Cauldron made her insane?” “I think she went through something terrible,” Lucien countered carefully. “And it wouldn’t hurt to have your best healer do a thorough examination.”

“Please tell me,” Lucien said when I crossed the threshold into the foyer. “What the healer says. And if—if you need me for anything.”

Madja didn’t deign to answer Nesta until we were at the bottom of the steps. Lucien was already waiting in the sitting room, Mor still lingering in the dining room. Both of them rose to their feet.

Lucien muttered something about not needing to be monitored, and we all looked at him with raised brows. He just lifted his hands, claimed he wanted to freshen up, and headed down the hall.

The sound seemed to startle Elain, who swiftly set down her teacup. She rose to her feet, and Lucien shot to his. “I’m sorry,” he blurted. “What—what was that?” “It—it was a tug. On the bond.” / Then Nesta was standing in the threshold. “What did you do.” The words were as sharp as a blade. Lucien looked to her, then over to me. A muscle feathered in his jaw. “Nothing,” he said, and again faced his mate. “I’m sorry—if that unsettled you.” Elain sidled toward Nesta, who seemed to be at a near-simmer. “It felt … strange,” Elain breathed. “Like you pulled on a thread tied to a rib.” Lucien exposed his palms to her. “I’m sorry.”

“And I got to Elain’s end of it when she ran off.” “Did you sense anything?” “No—I didn’t have time. I felt her, but …” A blush stained his cheek.

Lucien’s attention slid behind me, to the various letters on different styles and makes of paper. That golden eye narrowed. As Tamlin’s emissary, he no doubt recognized them. “Let me guess: they said yes, but picking the location is now going to be the headache.” Mor frowned. “Any suggestions?” Lucien tied back his hair with a strap of brown leather. “Do you have a map?”

Lucien had indeed given us an initial location, and several more when those were struck down. But that was to be expected, Lucien had said, as if he’d arranged such things countless times. Rhys had only nodded in agreement—and approval.

Especially since Lucien had left before breakfast for a library across the city to look up anything in regard to fixing the wall, a task I’d been more than willing to hand over. I might have felt guilty for never giving him a proper tour of Velaris, but … he seemed eager. More than eager—he seemed to be itching to head into the city on his own.

Lucien, stationed by the front window, turned from watching the street. Monitoring it. A sword and dagger hung from his belt. No humor, no warmth graced his face—only fierce, grim determination.

“I’ll go.” Lucien was staring at Elain as he spoke. We all looked at him. Lucien shifted his focus to Rhys, to me. “I’ll go,” he repeated, rising to his feet. “To find this sixth queen.” / “What makes you think you could find her?” Rhys asked. Not rudely, but—from a commander’s perspective. Sizing up the skills Lucien offered against the risks, the potential benefits. “This eye …” Lucien gestured to the metal contraption. “It can see things that others … can’t. Spells, glamours … Perhaps it can help me find her. And break her curse.” He glanced at Elain, who was again studying her lap. “I’m not needed here. I’ll fight if you need me to, but …” He offered me a grim smile. “I do not belong in the Autumn Court. And I’m willing to bet I’m no longer welcome at h—the Spring Court.” Home, he had almost said. “But I cannot sit here and do nothing. Those queens with their armies—there is a threat in that regard, too. So use me. Send me. I will find Vassa, see if she can … bring help.” / “You will be going into the human territory,” Rhys warned. “I can’t spare a force to guard you—” “I don’t need one. I travel faster on my own.” His chin lifted. “I will find her. And if there’s an army to bring back, or at least some way for her own story to sway the human forces … I’ll find a way to do that, too.” My friends glanced to each other. Mor said, “It will be—very dangerous.” A half smile curved Lucien’s mouth. “Good. It’d be boring otherwise.”

Lucien had indeed been studying all those maps lately. Perhaps at the quiet behest of whatever force had guided us all. My mate added, “Thank you.” Lucien shrugged. And it was that gesture alone that made me say at last, “Are you sure?” He only glanced at Elain, whose face was again a calm void while she traced a finger over the embroidery on the couch cushions. “Yes. Let me help in whatever way I can.”

I asked Lucien, “When do you want to leave?” “Tomorrow.” I hadn’t heard him sound so assertive in … a long time. “I’ll prepare for the rest of today, and leave after breakfast tomorrow morning.” He added to Rhys, “If that works for you.”

Cassian had given him free rein yesterday afternoon to loot his personal cache of weapons, though my friend had been economical about which ones he’d selected. The blade, plus a short sword, plus an assortment of daggers. A quiver of arrows and an unstrung bow were tied to his pack.

“You know precisely where you want Rhys to take you?” I asked at last. Lucien nodded, glancing to where my mate now waited by the front door. He’d bring Lucien to the edge of the human continent—to wherever Lucien had decided would be the best landing spot. No farther, Azriel had insisted. His reports indicated it was too watched, too dangerous. Even for one of our own. Even for the most powerful High Lord in history.

“It was time,” Lucien said quietly, giving me a squeeze. “For me to do something.”

Rhys extended a hand to Lucien. Lucien studied it—then my mate’s face. I could nearly see all the hateful words they’d spoken. Dangling between them, between that outstretched hand and Lucien’s own. But Lucien took Rhys’s hand. That silent offer of not only transportation.

Their gazes locked and held. / Lucien inclined his head in a bow, the movement hiding the gleam in his eye—the longing and sadness.

“I—heard the rumors and assumed Lucien Vanserra would be residing there after … what happened.” She still didn’t look at Tamlin, who remained silent and brooding. “I managed to contact him a few days ago—asked him to send samples. He did—and did not tell you,” she added quickly to Rhysand, “because he did not want to raise your hopes. Not until I’d found a solution.” No wonder he’d been so eager to head alone into Velaris that day he’d gone to help us research. I shot a look at Rhys. Seems like Lucien can still play the fox. Rhys didn’t look at me, though his lips twitched as he replied, Indeed.

The Lady of Autumn’s favorite son—not only from Lucien’s goodness. But because he was the child she’d dreamed of having … with the male she undoubtedly loved.

His power is flame, though. They’ve mused Beron’s title could go to him. His mother’s family is strong—that was why Beron wanted a bride from their line. The gift could be hers.

Other than the fact that Lucien might be Helion’s sole heir.

“Lucien,” I breathed. “Who?” Drakon’s brows narrowed. “Oh, the male with the eye. No. He met up with them later on—told them where to go. To come now, actually. So pushy, you Prythian males.

Lucien, haggard and bloody, panting for breath. As if he’d run from the shore. His gaze settled on Elain, and he sagged a little.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, coming toward us. Spying the blood speckling Elain’s hands.

“Well, I never want to fight in another battle as long as I live, but … yes, I’m in one piece.” A faint smile bloomed on Elain’s lips. But Lucien noticed that scorched patch of grass behind us and said, “I heard—what happened. I’m sorry for your loss. All of you.”

“I’ve got one hell of a story to tell you,” he said, squeezing me tightly. “And don’t be surprised if Vassa corners you as soon as the ships are sorted. And the sun sets.” “Is she really—” “Yes. But your father, ever the negotiator …” / “The human queens are still out there,” I said. Maybe I’d hunt them down. “Not for long—not if Vassa has anything to do with it.” “You sound like an acolyte.” Lucien blushed, glancing at Elain. “She’s got a foul temper and a fouler mouth.” He cut me a wry look. “You’ll get along just fine.” I nudged him in the ribs. But Lucien again looked at that singed grass, and his blood-splattered face turned solemn. “He was a good man,” he said. “He loved you all very much.”

Elain fell into step beside me, peering at Lucien. He noticed it. “I heard you made the killing blow,” he said.

I said to him, “So where now? Off with Vassa?” I wondered if he’d heard of Tamlin’s role—the help he’d given us. A look at my friend showed me he had. Someone, perhaps my mate, had informed him. Lucien shrugged. “First—here. To help. Then …” Another glance at Elain. “Who knows?” I nudged Elain, who blinked at me, then blurted, “You could come to Velaris.” He saw all of it, but nodded graciously. “It would be my pleasure.”

Tamlin just shook his head, loathing simmering in his green eyes, and walked past. Not a word. I looked at Lucien in time to see the guilt, the devastation, flicker in that russet eye.

But Lucien remained standing with us as Tamlin found his place in the sitting room to our right. Did not glance at his friend even once. Lucien wasn’t foolish enough to beg for forgiveness.

I didn’t dare look through the ruined doorway to where Lucien now stood in the sitting room, close to Elain’s side

Lucien had remained behind to help with any of the human wounded still needing Fae healing

Another tidbit that Lucien had told us.

Send Lucien then. As our human emissary.

"Where's our dear friend Lucien?" "Off hunting for dinner."

"You brought presents". "It's Solstice tradition here, but isn't it?"

An uncontrollable instinct - for a male to eliminate any threat. But he remained sitting. Even as his fingers dug into the arms of his chair

Somehow in living with Jurian and Vassa in the manor, he'd run into Elain's former betrothed. And managed to leave the human lord breathing.

The corded muscle of his forearm shifted beneath the fine silk of his sapphire jacket.

"He is a good male", I repeated.

He raised his fist to the door, but the wooden slab pulled away before he could touch it. Lucien’s scarred, handsome face appeared, his golden eye whirring. “I thought I sensed someone else arriving.”

The male had grown up alongside Eris. Had dealt with Eris’s and Beron’s cruelty. Had his lover slaughtered by his own father. But Lucien had learned to keep his cool.

He had to give Lucien credit: the male was somehow able to move between his three roles—an emissary for the Night Court, ally to Jurian and Vassa, and liaison to Tamlin—and still dress immaculately.

“Easy,” Lucien said. Cassian snarled. “Easy,” Lucien repeated, and flame sizzled in his russet eye. The flame, the surprising dominance within it, hit Cassian like a stone to the head, knocking him from his need to kill and kill and kill whatever might threaten—

“No. But we need to summon Lucien,” Azriel said, just a shade tightly, as if he didn’t like it one bit. “We need to tell him the news, and permanently station him at the Spring Court to contain any damage and to be our eyes and ears.”

Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing.

275 notes · View notes

ecoamerica · 2 months

Text

youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

17K notes · View notes

ellievickstar · 7 months

Text

Changes, no changes?

A/N: Just some short drabbles featuring Azriel, Rhysand, Cassian, Eris and Lucien. I got my hair permed today so i thought it would be funny to get the boys reaction. If enough people ask I can write a version where curly haired girls get their hair straightened!

Azriel:

"My love do you notice anything different about me?" You asked shyly as you came towards Azriel. You, Nesta, Feyre and Mor had gone out today and they had the bright idea to get your hair curled. Your hair felt lighter and it bounced when you walked. There was nothing wrong with your straight hair, of course, but you had just wanted to try something new.

Azriel's eyes raked over you face, your hair and smirked. He had noticed the second you walked in that you were grinning, and he immediately noticed the new curls in your hair that had never been there before. "Is it your hair, princess?" He murmured quietly as you nodded, beaming.

Cute. You were so goddamn cute with that smile on your face and that glow and energy that you exuded. Azriel smiled as he pulled you closer to him by the waist, burying his face into the top of your head.

"I love it, I love you, and anything that makes you happy makes me happy."

Rhysand:

He watched you as you laughed from beside him at the dinner table with his family. With Mor and Amren. He watched you as you ran your fingers through your new hair, giggling at the compliments the females were giving you.

Love and adoration was the only way he could describe the feelings bubbling up inside him.

Love and adoration, the same you had for his family, his brothers, his cousin, his court. Love and adoration you showed him, returned in equal amounts at every turn.

And as he went to grab your hand, as your eyes lifted to meet his, he spoked, "You are mine, with every star to bear witness, you are mine."

Cassian:

Now this BITCH.

"What do you mean something changed about you? I don't notice anything." Cassian deadpanned as he looked you up and down, confusion written all over his face.

You huffed in frustration for the hundred time. You brought your hand up again to brush through your new hair and the curls that it adorned. How did he not notice by now?

At first you thought that he just needed a little prompting, but it had been seven minutes and he still didn't get it. You were a little upset to say the least, but as you turned away from him, the word 'nevermind' coming out in a soft mumble under your breathe, you felt hiss arms around you as he spoke softly.

"I'm kidding, i notice everything and anything about you that I can, I see you, and all I can look at is you."

Eris:

As you softly knocked on his office door, you entered as he looked up from his paperwork. Ever since his father finally died from mysterious circumstances, he had been swamped with work and meetings and consultations. Today you had wanted to surprise him.

"Good evening, little fox," He smiled as he gestured you to come towards him, pulling you closer as he wrapped his arms around you and buried his face in your neck.

"Do you notice something changed?" You asked softly, and as he pulled back and glanced at you, he smiled softly as he went back to nuzzling your neck.

"There's nothing new to notice when every time I look at you, it's like looking at you for the first time and falling for you all over again."

Lucien:

"Lucien, sweetheart, is there anything you need while I go to the market today?" You asked, peering your head into the study that Lucien was writing reports for Rhysand.

"No I..." His words died in his throat as he looked up at you. Your hair...it was curled. His lips curled into a smile as he stood and walked towards you, quickly closing the distance between the two of you. "Stay in with me today," You smiled, "I need to go out to get food Luce," He rolled his eyes, huffing as he pulled you into his chest.

"You are beautiful and mesmerising, and every time you surprise me I fall in love with you just a little more."

~*~*~*~*~

A/N: I wrote this all in one sitting, sue me if it isn't correct. Love you guys so much sorry for taking such a long break but I'm back now I promise <3

taglist: @positivewitch

if you would like to be tagged for any future post, please specify in replies if it is for certain characters or series. Thank you.

176 notes · View notes

works-of-heart · 21 hours

Text

A little chat about my art

-wip of a fox Lucien Vanserra (I plan to do a fawn elain too)

Over the course of a week or so, I have been getting harassed by anons who accused me of using AI in my work, and not being a legitimate artist. Most have been very, VERY accusatory and nasty and I was tempted to make an angry post about it then, but instead I just ignored them, deleted their comments and went on with life.

Yesterday morning I woke up to the ask about AI, and while I was fed up with all these sudden asks, the person who asked me was at least kind.

I don't know where the accusations started, I thought it might have been antis, but if I'm real about it, I don't think too many are looking at my stuff, say for the few strays I had in the past. Only one negative, and one quite positive.

I do not know if people understand what kind of accusations like that makes of an artist, but it IS hurtful! If people start spreading lies, people will believe them and with enough people believing them, it starts to look like it's true.

I have NEVER used AI in ANY of my works. EVER.

All of my work has all been done digitally on my tablets, using CSP. I have been drawing digitally for over 20 years. It is fine if you do not like my work, it's totally ok if you think my anime style is ugly or childish, it's alright if you think I'm not a great artist. All of that is fine, I respect everyone's opinion.

What is NOT ok, is saying that I am stealing art. That I am a fake who uses AI and I'm stealing from legitimate artists who put work into it. I've worked for my art all my life, since I was a child, with the only aspiration to share the wonders of my mind with the world. These accusations, these hurtful things cut very deep.

I've been a fan of Acotar since 2020, and in love with Elucien ever since then. When I looked online, I found that most Elucien/Lucien art was buried under mountains of Elriel. There are some amazing artists for Elriel, truly beautiful, but they were eclipsing any that I saw for my ship. The ones I found of Elucien were beautiful! Stunning diamonds that would often get lost under the mountains of fan art for the other ships.

So when I made a blog that would be more focused on my love of Acotar and Elucien, I made a vow to fill the space with Elucien art!

That is all I ever wanted to do. Was to be in a space I can geek out with others who love the ship as much as I do, to make pieces that make everyone feel. I spent hours working on my elucien comics, just because I wanted to share these with you all, to give the feels. I am a comic creator myself, I've been working as one for almost 10 years now, it is my job. So pushing these out are works of love.

This was my mother's day picture. I had 3 separate folders for Elain, Lucien, and their daughter. I worked very, very hard on this picture to get it out by the day, in celebration for mother's day. My work is always a bit rough in the beginning stages, but I promise, I put all the work into it. I've studied from other artists I admire, to put it into my own style, something unique to me. A style that I've drawn since HS and was constantly mocked for, because it's too 'anime' too 'asian' and not western enough. Still, that doesn't matter as long as people enjoy it, and I love what I do.

An elucien wip of a picture that I never finished.

A picture of a Non-Acotar work I did

Some of my work never sees the light of day... because I'm so self conscious about my work, about my art in general. I never think it's good enough, and I struggle with trying to finish them because I want to only put out what I think is worthy of being shown. Sharing my art is so incredibly nerve-wracking for me, the fear of judgment, of never feeling it's good enough. I put my all into my work, my whole heart and soul into them, and though I know I need more practice, but I am trying.

Suffice to say, I've never used any form of AI in my art, I've never stolen anyone's work and claimed it as my own. I have referenced poses every now and then, and painting styles that I've studied, but never have I EVER cheated through any of these pictures.

Had someone had a real concern, coming to me and asking politely would be fine. Thank you to the anon yesterday who was truly kind and showing concern, but I don't know where this started from. If you are concerned a work may be illegitimate, you can always DM the artists and ask them kindly, I am sure they will no doubt be willing to prove their work if only to confirm they're real. Witch hunts where you just deem someone of using AI and spreading rumors and lies does MORE harm to the art community than you think. Artists are already hesitant about uploading their work for fear it will be stolen or used, but claiming they use AI with NO PROOF, and spreading misinformation is not only doing damage and making sure they'll never want to post again, but it impacts the community as a whole.

That being said, I am still going to draw and paint and post my artwork. I have no intention of backing down. I just hope as a community we can do better and be kinder to people who are spending their free time making things and sharing with us all. It's incredibly vulnerable to put yourself out there, and just remember, we are people behind these screens.

#elucien #acotar #lucien vanserra #elucien fanart #fanart #acotar art #illustration #artwork #my work #anti ai

64 notes · View notes

blacknedsoul-blog · 5 months

Text

Annabel Lee Whitlock: The Hypocrite, the Vampire and the Femme Fatale. A review of archetypes

Good news: I'm on vacation. Bad news: I'm on vacation.

And that means rest. A positive externality. But on the other hand, it also means that my brain, which is constantly thirsting for stimulation, has lost eight hours of activity a day that it has to fill with something. You know what happens to orange tabbies who suddenly become quiet and behave as if possessed by all the demons of Ars Goetia? Well, sort of.

So my brain in need of stimulation decided to dust off my college notes and talk about archetypes, because it's a thorough enough job to keep me away from climbing walls or checking random stuff on the Internet for 10 hours a day.

What is an archetype?

Just to make sure we're all on the same page, an archetype (a "type character") is a writing model that describes a role and has certain characteristics.

The term was coined by Honoré de Balzac, a French writer obsessed with what he called "micro-history. His life's work, "La Comédie humaine", is a massive collection of more than 80 novels, which, when read, will give you more information about that historical period than any theoretical book on the subject.

You may not know this sir or the protagonist of "Illusions perdues", but you do know the archetype that Lucien Rumempré represents: a young from the provinces, full of dreams, who moves to the city only to discover that the lights are there to dazzle and distract from the misery.

But at the same time, the characters that come to mind are likely to be very different from the good Lucien. This is because the archetype is a different construct from the cliché.

If I had to explain the difference, I would say that the cliché is a recipe, while the archetype is a mold.

If you follow a recipe, you will always get results that are very similar, even if you make small variations in the recipe. But if you have a star cookie cutter, the contents of the cookies can be quite different: no one would dare say that a chocolate chip cookie tastes the same as an oatmeal cookie or a gingerbread cookie. Even if all three are cut in the shape of a star.

So I'm going to do a little review of the archetypes that Annabel notices. The differences, the similarities, and let's see what comes out.

The Hypocrite

Not "hypocrite" in the sense of a personality, but in the sense of a way of behaving in the world: The Hypocrite is a character whose way of relating to the world is a pantomime, whose role is to build themselves up to fit into a system (which, by the way, they despise). If they don't have what you want, they will at least pretend enough to make you think they do. Usually for personal gain.

The founder of this archetype is Julien Sorel, the protagonist of "Le Rogue et Le Noir", the most famous work of Stendhal, one of the most prominent writers of the literary realism founded by Balzac.

Julien is this poor boy, but smart enough to memorize the Bible, which makes him seem educated enough to get him a job as a tutor in a rich house, and eventually a priest's cassock.

A more modern example is Nick Wilde from Zootopia. This fox has decided that if he alone can be a con man, he will be one, though he desperately wants someone to see him as an individual beyond that. He hates the system that condemns him, but he wants to be a part of it and will play by the rules he is given in order to profit.

Annabel, like Julien and Nick, has built her entire identity around being what is expected of her, in her case a perfect Victorian high society lady. Something that has given her a tremendous amount of knowledge about how people move in such circles. And from her point of view, people are the same everywhere (Miss Marple would be proud of her).

And in this oppressive context that fosters an environment where people kill each other, she knows what currency to give in return for loyalty: people will look for a leader, someone competent, someone who knows what they're doing.

Annabel has no idea what's going on, what awaits them outside the Nevermore gate, or even if there's a way to escape. But she can pretend to know. The quietest person in the room wins, and she's the one who takes the prizes to achieve her goal. The performance is justified as a means to an end.

Another thing that characterizes stories with a Hypocrite as a relevant character is the exploration of the consequences of this lifestyle: identity is consumed by the role, the line between actor and character is lost, and the Hypocrite is often faced with the reality that they have put so much of themselves into the character they are playing that once it is exposed, there is nothing underneath, or at least nothing worth saving.

In Annabel's case, this is expressed in her utter horror at not being trusted by Lenore. She puts her hypocrisy at the disposal of her lover and comforts herself with the reward of her affection, but Lenore's love for her is the only thread that binds her own identity: that Lenore does not trust her means that the role has completely consumed her, the complete confirmation that she, as an individual, is no longer a disturbed poseur.

Related to this point, we have the final transversal line in the conflicts that Hypocrites tend to have: loneliness. When all their relationships are based on a carefully rehearsed performance, the Hypocrite knows that they are alone in the world, that no one really knows them, and they are usually so deep in the role by this point that they don't want to (or can't) leave it. The longing for honest relationships overlaps with their self-destructive tendencies.

As much as Annabel insists that it's her and Lenore against the world, that her life is meaningless without Lenore, and that she is enough, these phrases indicate that Annabel is painfully aware of how she is perceived by others, and though she tells herself that Lenore's love is all she needs, it seems more like a mantra to keep her sane than a reality.

As you may have noticed, the main difference from the usual Hypocrite is that Annabel has Lenore. A bit like Nick has Judy. But Nevermore is a story that takes the psychology of its characters much more seriously, so while Nick just needs someone to reach out to in order to form honest relationships, Annabel passes because she has no fucking idea how to form an honest, healthy bond.

That Annabel is extraordinarily self-destructive, emotionally dependent, and so afraid to step outside the box she knows so well are, in this light, natural consequences of the Hypocrite lifestyle.

The Vampire

Here we must make a leap to another movement: during the Romantic period, the Gothic novel was at its best, and it was Edgar Allan Poe who squeezed out the last drops of what this genre had to offer.

Now, looking at the bibliography, Annabel does not have much in common with the gothic heroine (that is something Lenore takes care of), neither on an aesthetic level nor on a value level. To find her in the works that inspire her, one must look in a slightly different direction: the female vampires of gothic fiction.

Aurelia ("Vampirismus" by E.T.A. Hoffmann), Carmilla ("Carmilla" by Sheridan Le Fanu), Clarimonde ("The death woman in love" by Théophile Gautier), the vampire in the poem "The Metamorphosis of the Vampire" by Baudelaire, the three vampire women, and Lucy ("Dracula" by Bram Stoker).

All these characters have something more in common than their fangs: they are beautiful women capable of making anyone who sees them fall completely into their arms, as opposed to their role of making the one they have chosen as their prey "fall".

The Gothic vampire is practically a succubus, but much less sexualized than one might think. Although many of these works, with the exception of the poem by the good Baudelaire (an author who should be fed separately on these matters), spare no pages in describing how beautiful they are, neither do they overly sexualize them, nor are they particularly flirtatious: even Clarimonde is dedicated to simply being there and letting her presence alone do the work.

This is something Annabel shares with the gothic vampire: though physically gorgeous, the framing in the comic doesn't tend to focus on her as an object of sexual desire, her beauty is highlighted, but in a way that is more akin to an ethereal or unattainable entity.

This is due to a mixture of two things: the Gothic novel is steeped in Catholic puritanism, and even if it is to present a villain who uses her attractiveness as a weapon, the erotic component is subtly exposed, and the vampire's angelic beauty offers a contrast to her status as an antagonist: beautiful on the outside, insidious on the inside.

This is another thing Annabel has in common with the gothic vampire: she is aware that her appearance gives her a haughty, elegant, and dignified air, identifiable enough to earn nicknames like "Queen" or "Queenie," and she knows how to capitalize on it. This contrasts with the darker parts of her personality.

Another thing that terrifies romantics about vampires is that these fangirl succubi possess a quality that makes us 21st-century readers raise an eyebrow because it's supposed to make us uncomfortable: a deep, honest, and sincere willingness to be affectionate.

In context, this makes sense: the vampire is a representation of sin, temptation, and lust. So their affection is something that leads the object of it away from the path of morality (this is the 19th century, this is really important).

I understand that because of the vampire's role in all of this, she is a devoted lover. Incredibly devoted, in fact: Clarimonde is Romuald's sugar mommy (no, I'm not kidding, I'm not exaggerating either), and Carmilla never stops showering Laura with affection and attention, satisfying this girl's craving for companionship after living in isolation.

Annabel does something similar: there is a genuine interest on her part to reach out and connect with Lenore, and in scenes like this, she goes out of her way to show her that she is an amazing person in her own right, rather than being her brother's shadow.

All kidding aside, I think of the archetypes I could find to analyze Annabel, this is the one that fits her best, even though she is not, well, literally a vampire. She seems to have several things in common with Carmilla in particular.

The Femme Fatale

We all have a more or less clear idea of what a femme fatale is: this extremely attractive, sexually active, badass woman who is there to make the male character's life miserable and has a 50% chance of smoking fine cigarettes with a cigarette holder. This is…partially true, but also highly inaccurate.

Although these characters can be traced back much further in mythology, this archetype gets its name and very specific form from Raymond Chandler, the founder of the noir novel. I'm not going to go into too much detail on this topic, as entire books could be written about it, so let's just focus on what's important.

The thing to understand about the context to understand the Femme Fatale is that we are in the 30-40's and although she has many more rights than 19th century women, the decadence shown in these works emphasizes that she is in a macho context where every single rule of the game is stacked against her. This is something that Femme Fatale is acutely aware of: no matter how well she plays the game, she will always lose.

This is something that Annabel shares with this archetype: she is very aware of the rules of the game, she knows backwards and forwards how the world works, so she is also aware that they are too heavily stacked against her to ever win. All she can do is resign herself, play the role as best she can, and find small distractions to cling to like a burning nail so as not to lose her head altogether.

Therefore, the Femme Fatale's approach to life is this: if the rules are stacked against her, that means she has the right to do whatever it takes to survive. These tactics usually include manipulation, deception, exploitation, and, of course, making the most of her sexual attractiveness because, unlike the vampire, she knows how to flirt and use sex as a weapon. What needs to be kept in mind here is that for this character archetype, the use of these wiles comes not because she is factory evil, but as a coping mechanism within a system she cannot win against. If this ultimately makes her a villain, it's more about her role within the story in which it plays out than anything about the archetype itself.

Here's an interesting difference between the Annabel we see in Lenore's memories and the one we see in the present day of the comic: Annabel used to be willing to play by the rules, but the thing she learned from Lenore is that cheating is more than possible. As a result, her attitude has become much closer to that of a Femme Fatale, using her extensive knowledge of the rules to her advantage, going with the flow for personal gain. Her methods are much closer to those of the Hypocrite (especially since we haven't seen Annabel use her body or affection as currency yet), but there are definitely similarities.

Another thing about the Femme Fatale (when she is NOT a villain) is that, like the Vampire, she operates within a duality: an exterior built to be sexy in a somewhat intimidating way (which is why the aesthetics of many of these characters can be interpreted within BDSM culture), but with some goodness in her heart. A really clear example of this is Vivian Sternwood from The Big Sleep (the first novel on the subject published by Raymond Chandler): her own father describes her as "rude, demanding, clever, and quite ruthless," and Marlow, our detective, will have a long series of uncomfortable encounters with her. But by the end of the novel, when he is faced with the same choice Vivian must have made in the past, he cannot help but realize that despite everything, this woman would rather keep painful secrets than harm her family, whom she loves dearly.

So if you're wondering why the framing of scenes like this looks familiar, that's why.

Add to that the three layers of how her aesthetic works: an angelic appearance for when she needs to play dumb, her gaslighting, gatekeeping, girlboss bullshit face for when she needs to demonstrate authority, and framing where it should make you directly uncomfortable.

Looks are one of the strengths of Femmel Fatale's performance. And it's one of the strengths of Annabel's performance.

Conclusions

One interesting thing about looking at Annabel in this light is to realize two things: first, that many of the archetypes her character seems to take notes from are often in the role of antagonists or, for that matter, villains.

The other is that these archetypes are quite well ordered and connected: the gothic vampire is the inspiration for the Femme Fatale of Noir (her beta version, if you can call it that), and the Hypocrite shares a historical writing period with many female vampires. From her conception, Annabel is constructed in a fairly orderly fashion, and believe me, that's a huge contrast to what's going to happen with Lenore (which I'll get to soon, but I need to brush up on my picaresque novel notes).

The last thing I want to point out in this review is this: unless you're a Nick Wilde-style Hypocrite, Hypocrites and Vampires in general tend to have utter destruction in store for them. The Noir, for its part, puts us in a situation where the Femme Fatale, even if she wants to change, is generally too deep in this tangle to get out.

So what I find interesting about Annabel in this regard is:

This is actually THE scene that shows us Annabel timidly stepping out of the scheme of things. She doesn't seem to want to change, in fact I'd bet she's terrified to change, but even though she's repeating her father's toxic pattern here, she's also breaking it without realizing it.

It's too early to tell if we'll see Annabel have some sort of redemption towards less harmful behavior, or if we'll end up seeing her become a villain altogether. But I'm really curious to see where this story goes with all of these elements.

#nevermore webtoon #annabel lee nevermore #annabel lee whitlock #So this is about 3000 words long #I want to die #Spoiler with Lenore we'll talk about rogues knights and womens with tuberculosis #femme fatale #hypocrite #vampire

118 notes · View notes

danikamariewrites · 6 months

Text

Trapped

Lucien x reader

A/n: part 2 to Fox Hunter! I was so happy so many people liked this fic and I hope you like part 2. I love Elain so breaking her heart killed me but it had to happen sadly.

Warnings: dark!reader, manipulation, angst

Three months. It took three months for my brother to mess things up. It’s my own fault, really. I did not take into account the amount of time he had spent with Gwyn. When the bond snapped for them Azriel left Elain. It’s been weeks now. Azriel and Gwyn have been in the cabin in the mountains since. Elain wont even come out of her room.

Today Feyre had had enough. A loud knock sounded on the front door, I open it to find a disheveled Feyre. She has bags under her eyes, her hair pulled up in a ponytail to hide the knots forming in her sandy locks. Her shoulders are slumped in defeat as she shuffles inside. I felt bad for her. She shouldn’t have to be dealing with Elain’s mess of a life, she had already done so much for her sisters.

I hold my arms out to pull her into a comforting hug. Feyre slumps against me as a sob shakes her body. “I can’t take it y/n. I know she’s hurting but this is irrational.” I rub her back slowly, my eyes fluttering shut as I prepare myself for what Feyre is about to ask me. “Elain won’t speak to me or Nesta anymore. Nesta tried today but she asked for you. Will you please talk to her?”

Resting my hands on her shoulders I pull away from Feyre. “Yes, anything to help Elain. She’s my friend and I hate seeing her in pain like this.”

When I arrive at the River House later that day I spot Lucien and Cassian speaking in hushed tones by the staircase. As I pass them I send Lucien a wink and a small smile that he returns. Making my way up the stairs I can smell the salt of Elain’s tears. Taking a deep breath I mentally prepare myself to step into the role of friend.

I knock on the door and enter without her permission. “Elain,” my voice comes out sweet and caring. I just want the girl to stop crying. She sniffled and stood from her bed. Elain pulled herself up to her full height, holding her chin up high. A scowl graces her lips as she stares daggers at me. “Elain?” I ask tentatively.

“I asked for Lucien. I wanted to take it all back but then Nesta told me he was with you. Your scents were mixed.” Elain was trembling at this point. “You did this. You wanted Lucien and you made me break the bond with him!” She was screaming at this point. I knew my look of shock was genuine by Elain’s dark laugh. “Oh. My. Gods. I knew it! You did this to me on purpose!”

“I told you to follow your heart! Never once did I tell you to break the bond.” Elain started screaming bloody murder. She started pacing like a mad woman, gripping at the roots of her hair. Thundering footsteps rush up the stairs. Before I could say anything to claim my innocence Rhys, Feyre, Cassian, and Nesta burst through the door. “What’s going on?” Rhys yells.

Elain stops her pacing pointing a threatening finger at me. “Y/n did this to me! She took Lucien from me! Made me break the bond!” I turn to my family with a worried gaze. “I didn’t…I told her to do what was right I never meant for this.” Nesta rushed past me into Elain’s bathroom. Elain continues rambling until Nesta comes back with a small vile. Uncorking it, she forces the liquid down Elain’s throat.

The girl went limp in her sister’s arms. Slurring her words until her eyes flutter shut and she’s completely unconscious. Cassian takes Elain from Nesta to lay her on the bed. Rhys takes my hands, giving me a sympathetic smile. “I didn’t know this would happen,” I whisper out. Again, forcing tears to line my eyes. “Elain is my friend I’d never do this.”

“I know sister. Mating bonds are fragile things. The breaking of it with Lucien and Azriel leaving with Gwyn must be taking its toll on her emotionally.” Rhys said somberly. “I think it’s best we stay away for a while.” Rhys agreed and granted Lucien and I a leave of absence.

I rush back downstairs, a new spring in my step at the thought of spending time alone with Lucien away from the Night Court. As I stepped into the sitting room Lucien stood from the couch. “How is she?” Concern etched on his beautiful face. I hold his face in my hands slowly rubbing circles with my thumbs on his cheeks. I give my love a sympathetic frown. “Not well. I think everything is finally taking its toll on her, poor thing. It hurts to see her like this.” Lucien pulls me into a warm embrace. I rest my head against his strong chest, his steady heartbeat soothing my anxiety about this whole situation.

At least none of them believe Elain. Why would my brothers question me after five hundred years of love and loyalty. And they truly believe the poor girl is psychotic. Helping me evade doubt.

“Rhysand is letting us take a leave of absence. We could use a break for a while.” I lean away from Luc to gage his reaction. He flashes me that dazzling smile that makes my knees go weak. “I’d love that.” I pull him down to meet my lips in a sweet kiss. Breaking apart he rests his forehead against mine. “How about we go to Day for a while? My father asked me to visit, now is the perfect time.”

I smile at the thought of us in Day Court fashion. Walking around the palace, visiting the many libraries, and relaxing by the beaches. Peace. We’d have peace in Day, a chance to get lost in each other. “That sounds perfect.”

Lucien gives me one last kiss before heading to his office to write to Helion. I returned to the Town House to pack our bags as I daydream about a life for us in Day.

tagging: @thelov3lybookworm

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar reader fic #acotar reader imagine #acotar imagine #lucien vandaddy #lucien x you #lucien x reader #lucien acotar #lucien vanserra #lucien vanserra x reader #lucien vanserra x you #Lucien vanserra acotar #lucien fic #Lucien fanfic

85 notes · View notes

meeksyyy · 13 days

Text

The Fawn and the Fox Parallels

Art by: Jesx.art

Parallels between the fawn & the fox and Elain & Lucien

I wanted to post about the parallels between Elain & Lucien and the fawn & fox imagery surrounding them in the books. If you rather listen to a summary, here is the Tiktok video I posted on this topic.

I don't see this talked about much, but I think the parallels are very fun and cute. Elain & Lucien are both alluded to as the fawn & the fox throughout the books. Their characters are also heavily influenced by stereotypes written in literature for the fawn & the fox.

The fawn & the fox have been used across literature for ages to convey specific types of characters. SJM applies those stereotypical traits to Elain & Lucien. They are two animals with very specific preconceived notions of them. The fawn & the fox are not your natural predators. They are animals that are often overlooked and people have assumptions about them just as they do with Elain & Lucien. For the purposes of this post, I am focusing on how those preconceived notions are perpetuated by the IC, how Elain & Lucien struggle with them, and the parallels between the two of them.

The Fox:

Our fox boy, Lucien. He is a ginger so it's basically a literary requirement that he be alluded to as a fox.

What are the preconceived notions of a fox: They are assumed to be clever, sly, sneaky, untrustworthy, etc. They are often overlooked because they are not the biggest predator in a room, but by using their wits, they can usually accomplish their desires by outsmarting those around them.

How do they relate to Lucien: Lucien is the 7th son so he has always slid under the radar. As the 7th son, his family didn't pay him much attention so he was able to devote his time to building his various skill sets. He was emissary for the SC and is now emissary for the NC. An emissary is by definition a type of spy. At one point, Feyre questions if Lucien is a spymaster in his own way. Lucien is clever and charming. He has forged relationships across the continent. He can use his charming and clever image to gain trust but also act as an undercover observer.

The IC: Despite Lucien working as their emissary and showcasing his trustworthiness, the IC projects distrust on Lucien. They question where his allegiances lie and if he has ulterior motives. We see this mostly from Rhysand, but also see it with Cassian and Azriel. Part of this stems from Lucien's prior allegiances to the SC, but once again, Lucien has shown himself to be trustworthy since leaving the SC with Feyre. When Lucien decides to live with the BoE, there is a new wave of doubt and questioning if his allegiances lie closer to Vassa. So despite Lucien showing up for the NC, they still perpetuate these fox stereotypes on him of being sly, sneaky, untrustworthy, etc.

The Fawn:

Onto Elain, the fawn.

What are the preconceived notions of a fawn: The fawn is assumed to be weak, delicate, scared, naive, and the easiest prey there is (sorry to the fawns reading this). They also are constantly underestimated and overlooked due to these stereotypes.

How do they relate to Elain: Elain from the first book has been coddled and protected by everyone. Nesta and Feyre admit to showcasing a special level of protectiveness over Elain that they did not extend to one another. Elain's soft, gentle, and sweet nature has been viewed as something that needs to be shielded. There is an assumption that she is not capable of protecting herself and needs others to protect her.

The IC: Throughout the series, we have multiple instances of Feyre referring to Elain as a fawn or with fawn imagery. Then we see Rhysand, Cassian, Nesta, Feyre, and Azriel all viewing her as something that needs to be protected. Something that needs to be hidden and shielded from predators. They view her softness as a weakness. For example, Azriel says there is a darkness in the trove which Elain should not be exposed to. They have these preconceived notions of what Elain can and can't handle and they feel it is their duty to shield her from it.

Parallels between Elain & Lucien:

We see both Elain & Lucien struggling with the projections of stereotypes of the fawn & the fox from the IC despite them having proved themselves multiple times. Lucien has shown to be loyal and has built an allegiance with the NC. He has shown up consistently since being their emissary. Elain, despite her soft nature, has shown to be resilient. Our girl stabbed the King of Hybern! She bounced back from the trauma of the cauldron. They are both overlooked and pushed to the side by the IC.

Across literature, the fawn & the fox have been depicted as two animals that fall under the radar and are consistently underestimated. As a result of this underestimation and oversight, they can turn things around and surprise everyone. They don't need to be the lion or the wolf in the room. They don't need to act on things through sheer dominance and violent conflict like those animals would. Instead, they use the preconceived notions against them to their advantage to be the animals/characters that nobody saw coming.

With Elain & Lucien being mates whose characters have been built on the foundation of nature motifs, their being the fawn & the fox personified only adds to the compatibility between the two of them. They are underdogs who are glossed over even by those closest to them and I am excited to see them prove everyone wrong.

Fun fact: Elain's eyes are described as the brown of a fawn's coat. She is the only sister to have her father's brown eyes. She was his favorite daughter and it is no small thing that Lucien spent time with her father before his death. I think this will be a major bonding point for the two of them. Lucien has also been described to be wearing fawn brown :)

#elucien supremacy #lucien x elain #pro lucien #elain x lucien #pro elucien #elucien #pro lucien vanserra #pro elain #lucien vanserra #lucien and elain #anti e/riel #antie/riel

35 notes · View notes

we-were-beautiful · 1 year

Text

Girl Dad! Eris headcannons

So I was scrolling through the tags some of yall put on the reblogs for Girl Dad! Cassian and I saw one for Girl Dad! Eris, and I couldn’t help myself. Now this is not an exhaustive list but there are some aspects that I want to explore for down the road in my The Fox and The Hounds series so Imma keep those to myself

Now Before I go into my thoughts and feels on the subject; 10/10 you all should go check out @redbleedingrose they have a phenomenal Girl Dad! Eris series going on, and are over all just an excellent writer in general. but alas I am terrible at making new friends so I have not reached out to message them about how much I love their works

Oh Yeah Eris is the girl dad to end all girl dads. Like all said and done he and his mate have around 9 girls.

I don’t think Eris ever wanted a son just given his upbringing with his brothers. I feel like with every girl his mate Eris always breaths a small sigh of relief when the healers announce that it is a girl.

These girls are also beloved by the people of the Autumn Court. Where Eris and his brothers had a reputation for cruelty under Beron’s rule, these girls have been raised to be kind and polite. With the older ones the Fae of the court were a little wary but by the time the last few came around they are seen as precious gems of the court.

This is not to say that they are weak. They are kind but they also have the fire of the Autumn court running through their veins and are fiercely protective of their family. They have been trained both by Eris and his surviving younger brothers.

Now Eris and his mate don’t have any children until after the events under the mountain. If Eris had it his way they wouldn’t have had any children until his father had been dealt with. But life finds a way and The mated pair welcomes their first babe within a year after they return to the Autumn court.

The second babe is a catalyst for kickstarting Beron’s demise. One his mate told him she was expecting the second babe Eris starts with his plans and before their second baby girl makes her grand entrance to the world Eris is the new high lord.

I think that once Beron is gone that the remaining Vanserra brothers stop trying to actively kill one another now that the main antagonizer isn’t pitting them against one another. There is a lot of healing to be done between the remaining 5 Vanserra boys, but their nieces bring them all together. The girls try to not have favorites but the youngest has openly declared that Lucien is her favorite.

The smoke hounds are very protective of the babes it is not unusual to see two or three of them watching the babes at any given time. Anyone that is not familiar to them or the nanny is not allowed near their Masters. Typically new staff members are warned about this but every now and then some young stupid sentry gets what the hounds deem to be too close to the babes and they end up on the business end of hounds that have been used to hunt people in the past.

There is an incident shortly after the birth of their first daughter. Someone thought it would be a smart idea to kidnap the newborn of the Heir of Autumn. (I plan on going into this further in my Fox and the Hounds series so I’m not going to go too much farther into this) It did not end well for the kidnapper, Eris has a reputation of being sadistic like Beron and not all of it is rumor.

Eris is not the disciplinarian in the household, and it's not that he is a pushover that lets his children walk all over him. No, he has a fear that he is going to turn into Beron who was very abusive to Eris and his brothers growing up.

Eris does have anxiety over this to the point that he doesn’t trust himself to discipline any children that he and his mate have. As parents they are strict but not suffocatingly so, they have reasonable standards set for their girls who are generally known as the most well behaved bunch of the second generation.

It is not uncommon to see Eris cradling one of his babes during a meeting once he becomes Highlord. He has also been known to completely stop meeting if one of his girls comes into the room. This male will stop whatever he is doing when one of his little ladies wants his attention. He wants them to know that they are more important to him than work so that they don’t grow up thinking that their father doesn't care about them.

Now the girls do grow up rather tomboyish, yes they like the silk and jewels of court like most girls do but they also enjoy running through the woods, joining Eris on hunts with the hounds. Playing knights in the forest, building fortresses and houses out of branches and leaves, these girls live for the outdoors. Sometimes it seems like the girls spend more time running around in the woods rather than in the forest house. Eris enjoys showing them the things he would have loved to do with his brothers when they were young but was unable to thanks Beron’s a+ parenting methods.

The family does have a cabin tucked away deep in the forest of the Autumn court. While it is a little tight with the amount of people and dogs when everyone is there, it is where some of Eris' fondest memories have been made. It is the families private getaway from the court and they spend as much time as possible there.

On the topic of hounds all of the girls love their parents many hounds; each bonding to one or two hounds as they grow. Eris does give his babes a puppy once they reach an age where they can be responsible to take care of it. All said and done the Vanserra household has just shy of 30 dogs.

All in all Eris is such a good dad to all his children and along this journey of parenting there is a lot of healing within both the Autumn court and the Vanserra family

#eris vanserra x reader #eris x reader #eris vanserra #high lord eris #autumn court #Eris is an amazing dad #acotar #acotar x reader #acomaf #acowar #acosf #jess talks

214 notes · View notes

saphirered · 4 months

Note

Good morning/afternoon Saph, may I request Harvest Dance with Lucien? Fluff please!

This one's been a while in the making. A little lovesick Lucien coming right up. Hope you enjoy!

He’d sneak away sometimes. Like a fox in the night crawling through the underbrush he would blend and weave between the trees, footsteps covered by the rustling leaves blown from their branches in a rain of vibrance, covering his tracks. Despite the graces Lucien found among the beauty of spring it is evergreen and he longs for the shades of fire, the chill when night settles, the warmth of mulled wine and honey-glazed treats, but most of all the people. Cauldron he didn’t know how much he missed the merriment. Maybe that’s not the only thing he missed. Maybe his desire and reasons for sneaking into the court he once called home were not entirely generic. Perhaps they were targeted to a particular individual. Who is he to say? Who is he to deny the firelight in the distance beckoning him closer? Who is he to deny the calling of the music? He lets it fill his senses.

Bonfires lay scattered throughout the clearing. No paths converge nor lead to this chip of existence so out of place in this court yet so true to Autumn it makes the fire in his heart beat and burn a little brighter. The people sing as the assembled band plays their mismatched instruments. They dance around the fires, spinning and spinning between partners or simply on their own. There is laughter and unbridled joy but most of all there’s truth. No hiding behind masks. No armour forged from customs and etiquette. There’s only the life your heart feels, the music that makes your feet move and the infectious happiness that laces the air of the clearing keeping at bay the tragedies and savagery beyond. You’re here somewhere. You always are. May you grace him with your presence, your love, your radiance. You do indeed.

Before he knows it arms wrap around him and pull him close. The initial shock fades when he hears those joyous giggles he’s etched into his mind to keep forever. He’s quick to wrap his arms around your waist, lift you and spin you around if only to see you smile so beautifully. Your lips meet his in a honey-laced kiss. You pull away all too soon and he sets you down, though Lucien is reluctant to let you out of his embrace.

“You came.” You state excitedly, tracing your fingers over his cheekbone lovingly.

“I made you a promise when we last met.” He leans into your touch, his lips softly grazing the inside of your wrist, pretending not to be satisfied by the goosebumps that spread across your skin, and the flush to your cheeks. Your brow furrows, a spark of concern taints your radiant energy.

“Is-is it safe for you to be here?” You tried not to ask, tried not to bring up the elephant in the room but you failed. When you lower your head thinking you might have ruined this moment it’s Lucien’s warm touch that lifts your chin and makes you meet assurance in his eyes.

“As safe as it is for you to be here.” That somewhat puts you at ease though the faint flicker is still there. Lucien will make it his sole task to make you forget.

He takes a step back, offers you his hand in a bow; a rather formal invitation to dance. You do not put your hand in his so daintily. You do not curtsey in return. No you take his hand and pull. Were he of less grace he might have fallen flat on his face and made a fool of himself, though he is sure you would have had a good laugh and it’d have been worth it especially if you’d fuss over him after he ate dirt. Still he keeps some of his dignity by but stumbling once and allowing himself to be pulled along. You lead him to the biggest bonfire, the radial heat too much to bear. The beads of sweat collecting at his brow do not go unnoticed when you turn to him, work your way through those fancy buttons and clasps with nimble ease and push his jacket and vest off of his shoulders, discarding it somewhere with some other clothes he assumes must be the garments you wore until you deemed them too constricting or simply useless. He bites back the comment forming on his tongue about how quick you are to undress him.

“We’ll see where the night takes us.” You jest hooking a finger into the neckline of his shirt, an incentive to get closer. Lucien obliges. You lean in close, a hair’s breath away from him and look at him through your lashes. He holds his breath in anticipation of your next move.

“Now let me show you how the commoners do it in the Autumn forests.” Quick as you are you step away and not even the heat of the fire can replace the spark you light within him. Never once do you break eye contact until you join the circle dancing around the bonfire. He’s quick to step in before someone can take your arm.

These are not the waltzes of courts. This is ballfolk, commoner’s dance. The steps are beyond him despite your efforts to explain. He might have been paying more attention to the way you move than your actual teachings. Can you blame him? He falls in line pairing up with you. You raise your arm bent at the elbow. A quick look tells him to mimic and he does missing but half a beat but Lucien would not have survived by the graces of fate were he not cunning and quick. Your arms meet at the wrist and you use it to stir him in the right direction. Back and forth, twist and turn, figure eights, best you don’t pay attention to his footwork lest you looking for a good laugh. The music continues. Laughter fills the air. It might as well have been just the two of you in this clearing because everything else ceases to matter when you’re with him.

You manage to pull Lucien into a dance that goes back and forth. It’s much slower than the others, much closer to a regular palace waltz when no one has reason to show off. To his disappointment half of the dance is spent barely within arm’s reach of you but you make up for it with every passing move by pressing your lips to his. You are gone far too soon. Tease. You know it given the gleam in your eye but finally the last note plays and you’re close. Finally you’re captured in his arms once more and you are not one to deny his affections. In fact you welcome him with open arms, or rather tangle your fingers into his hair and pull him close for a long-awaited passionate kiss. You lean your body against him to push him away from the dancing crowd as to not get in the way. He’s far too distracted to be aware of his surroundings and instead fully submerges in your comfort, your touch and your enchanting lips.

But then you pull away all of the sudden. Lucien is about to protest but then he notices too. The music has stopped, the voices and laughter fall quiet. The crackling of fire takes over. The crackling of fire and horses in the distance, people in the distance. The celebration comes to an end. The fire grows dark in the flick of some wrists now not but smouldering embers. You reach to grab something and take Lucien’s hand in yours once more. Time to run. You don’t have to say it. Soon trees pass by, weaving through, jumping over fallen branches and springs. You know these lands well but after running for what seems like an eternity, trying to throw off the tracks of whoever came to disturb the celebration, you’re out of breath and so is he. You cast a look over your shoulder and miss a breath, run coming to a slow. Lucien follows suit. You look in the other direction to see some of your friends, your neighbours, your family running in the darkness.

“You feel like taking a little risk?” You ask out of breath stepping back towards a tree leaning against the bark. You look so alluring, so tempting beckoning him to with a single finger. You drop the garments you’d grabbed but he cares little. Each step he takes is another heartbeat.

“Quite the theatrics.” Again your fingers snake into his hair putting slight tension on his roots. In retort he grabs you by your thighs and lifts you until you’re perfectly pinned between him and the tree, legs wrapped around his waist.

“Says you.” You breathe leaning close but now it’s his turn to always remain a hair’s breath from you. Tiny victories and petty payback but when you whine he almost gives in.

“Says I.” He barely has the time to get the words out when horse hooves and whinnies close in and you close the distance. Your tongue dances along his lips until he meets you. Pulling his hair you angle his head to deepen the kiss even further. When the unwelcome guests are close enough you are sure to let out a lewd moan. They slow down. Lucien makes to pull apart but you urge him to stay. You can feel that smile against your lips, feel the speeding of his heartbeat. And then finally the clearing of a throat has you pull away. Gently you guide his head down to your neck and Lucien decides to even the score yet again, or maybe you’ll retort more severe when he trails kisses down your neck, letting his tongue smooth over where he sucks just a little too much. Never painfully of course but enough to leave a mark or several in the morning. Perhaps you’ll gift him some of his own in return.

“State your business.” The guard awkwardly tries to impose. Lucien feels your repressed laughter and meets it with a soft warning bite.

“I’m sorry sir- I-uh-we are a little preoccupied in case you couldn’t tell.” Whatever the guard is trying to say falls silent. Exactly as planned. You notice him shift from foot to foot unsure what to do or how to handle this situation.

“Very well then.” He clears his throat again. “I recommend you get out of here now.” With that Lucien gently lowers you to the forest floor until he’s sure you’re on stable feet. You address the guard over his shoulder, Lucien refusing to raise his gaze or turn, for his safety and yours.

“Of course, sir. That’s very generous of you. We’ll be on our way now. Good night.” With that you reach down to pick up the garments you dropped. The guard does not feel like sticking around and rides off. Once you’re sure no one is in earshot you laugh, truly laugh. You lean your head against his shoulder.

“That went better than expected.” Lucien sighs in relief as you hand him his vest. He realises you grabbed his coat and vest when you could. Best not to have those laying around in Autumn when he’s technically still banished. He notices you didn’t manage to grab any of your own garments so when you hand him the jacket he instead drapes it over your shoulders.

“We should probably get out of here. The guards are none too happy about our little celebrations.” You lace your fingers with his and begin walking. He follows along allowing himself once more to be guided by you. You take to humming a melody, dancing to the beat of your own song as you walk, spinning and twirling along the way until the torches of the village come into view. A wave of sadness washes over Lucien. He doesn’t know when he’ll next see you. He’ll be back in Spring and you’ll be stuck here. To be separated yet again… Why does it have to be so soon? But then you turn to him, back to the village.

“Stay the night?” You ask. It catches him off guard. Your previous escapades have been until sunrise when the celebrations would end and the people would return to the village but here you are inviting him, truly inviting him into your life. Though he once thought he might have many doubts he finds clarity in his mind.

“Yes. Of course.” Lucien blurts before his mind can reason why this is a bad idea. “Some might think twice before inviting me into their home.” He jokes.

“Oh yes. You and your promiscuous reputation. Whatever will this innocent fae do or think? I might be tainted by your wicked ways. A good and honest Autumn citizen no more-” You drag on but it’s Lucien’s turn to pull you in. By your clasped hands you are pulled flush against him, unprepared. He catches you and you manage to find comforts in his body catching your stumble.

“Graceful as ever.” He jabs and your mouth falls agape at the insult.

“I have held my tongue all night about your lacking dancing skills and this is how you repay me?”

“My apologies, my honourable liege. I believe it was I who held your tongue.” You groan and let yourself fall against him once more. A muffled ‘you are the worst’ has him snicker and place a kiss atop your head as he wraps his arms around you to comfort you. He’s the reason for your pain right now after all. You’ll live.

#acotar x reader #lucien vanserra x reader #lucien x reader #acotar lucien #lucien vanserra #lucien acotar #acotar #acotar fanfiction #a court of thorns and roses

40 notes · View notes

utterlyotterlyx · 20 days

Text

The Fox and The Fawn

High Lord Eris x Rhys!Sister!Reader x Azriel

Part Seven

Summary - Your feelings for Eris are confronted and you make a choice that is sure to break you.

Warnings - angst, fluff, depression, betrayal, sadness, more angst

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six

Velaris hadn't been the same since you had left.

The entire population was scrutinizing the Inner Circle and the beast they called their High Lord who was doing his best to convince his people that you weren't well and had chosen to heal in the company of the realms best healers in Dawn.

No one believed it.

Rhys was pacing about the study, walking the length of it before turning on his heels and following the wall back to the other side whilst Cassian and Azriel stood before him, clammy palms and pale faces as the throbbing power of Rhys threatened to consume them.

It had been a back and forth conflict that had lasted for days, the words thrown had become so intense that Feyre had deigned to move herself and Nyx to the House of Wind. The main consensus was that a war with Autumn would be devastating to all involved, but Rhys had lost his mind for long enough to be void of the capability to see any reason.

All he wanted was his sister back in his court, safe and warm and protected, where her power wouldn't threaten anyone into daring to know more.

"She'll come back," Azriel's voice cut through the haze, his voice was sure but quaking, and Rhys halted his movements, approaching the desk and taking a seat.

Their High Lord was a shell of himself, a wild glare had consumed his dark eyes, none of them could remember the last time he had smiled or joked, all he did was speak of you, of how to get you back.

"Did your shadows tell you something?"

Azriel shuffled in his seat, dreading what he had to say, for his brother didn't know the exact details of what occurred with you at the boarder of Winter and Autumn, "No," he cleared his throat, "You threatened Elain, Lucien, and Eris," he gulped, "And Nesta."

Cassian hadn't been doing well without her, he hardly slept or ate, and he flinched with pain more often than not due to the bond being so weak and brittle, close to extinction. Their shared brother snapped his head in their direction, his gaze wide as it moved between Rhys and Azriel, both of which kept some vital information from him.

The Shadowsinger continued, "You know that y/n would never put anyone in harms way, she would never risk the lives of the people she loves most," he wasn't sure if he was included in that list anymore, "She just wants to be free. I beg you to think of a different way to establish peace."

Rhys rolled his eyes, bored of the same words, "You saw what she can do now," he leaned forward in the chair and the stars panicked in response, blinking quickly, some even vanished from the sky entirely.

Neither of them could escape the image of those licks of blame flame curling up your fingers and forearm, they couldn't escape the coldness in your glare, and Azriel in particular couldn't escape the flash of pain that shot through your face when he had taken a step back from you.

"Even then, does it mean that we need to go to war? We've barely recovered from Hybern and Koschei as it is, our armies will perish-"

"You can both leave," Rhys drawled, uninterested, bored even, as he picked a threat from his suit jacket and let it float to the floor, "Start preparing our armies, Cass." A stiff nod from Cassian acted as his reply, he rose from his seat, eyes still wide and white knuckles gleaming in the moonlight.

Come home, or I will make sure that you are left with nothing.

Nothing.

The faint scent of cinnamon kissed the air, meaning that Eris was home, and the more intense it grew the more it became clear that he was searching for you as he always did when he returned to the manor. All he had to do was follow the aroma of you, the one scent that he would bottle up if he could just so your scent could drown his clothes and senses.

“Hello Fawn,” he called to you, his voice purred with adoration, and your spine tingled at the sensation of it. As quickly as he spoke the words, Eris frowned, noting the blank stare you held at whatever held your attention beyond the window.

Night had fallen upon Autumn, the sky held the last few flickers of light as dark purple licked the sky and faded to black.

The exhaustion was clear on your face as he fell to your side, his arm brushing against your own as though he was reminding you of where you were. Not Night. Autumn.

Eris had believed that he was making some headway with you, but after Rhys, it felt like you had constructed a dam of steel around your mind. Cold and unimpeachable. It was warranted, but dangerous, and Eris noticed you retreating into yourself more every passing moment.

“What’s wrong?”

Turning to face him, you etched his face to memory, whisky amber eyes full of worry, tight lips, messy red hair that fell past his ears; he had left in a rush that morning, negating to properly style his hair which meant that it was messy but too alluring to pay attention to. He was dressed in ivory briefs and a white shirt, a red waistcoat and jacket both adorned with vines of gold.

A High Lord if you ever did see one.

All you wanted to do was reach out and push a strand behind his ear, to graze his cheekbone with your fingers. But you couldn’t. If there was any chance of Rhys finding out of how much Eris meant to you then he would surely ensure the most brutal punishment possible.

A serene but forced smile consumed your lips, lips that were chapped and broken from the bouts of anxiety that crashed down on you, “Nothing,” you told him, eyes flickering. Shaking your head, you explained, “Nesta was a bit brutal with training today but it’s fine.”

That’s right. Eris had been too busy that day to train with you, you had both been enjoying your sessions grappling with the carranam powers you had discovered, but Eris hadn’t had the time, which meant that Nesta was keeping her eye on you.

The stare didn’t relent but you didn’t shrink under it, you’d never shrink yourself for anyone ever again, so you turned back to peer out of the cloudy glass, “How can I make it better?”

Tension fizzled, Eris took your hands in his, stroking his thumb over the soft surface and resting on your pulse, “Train with me tomorrow.”

Eris smirked, “Done.”

Faint cricket song creaked through the open window, the low beating glow of the fireflies allowed you to see the pond rippling beyond the glass panes that were doing their best to keep the cold from seeping into your bones. Moments had flickered where you seemed unsure, moments where your mind was reeling, trying to figure out what was the next best step not only for you, but your people.

For Eris.

Oddly enough, it had been Elain who would come to your room at night, or Lucien; Nesta knew when to leave you alone and Eris didn't like imposing on your space, but Elain and Lucien, together or separate, seemed to know what you needed more than yourself.

Elain would bring an assortment of baked goods, she'd perch them on the edge of the bed and climb atop the comforter to wedge herself beside you; she wouldn't talk, she would simply listen and occasionally chirp soft advise whilst those pastries loosened your lips. Lucien however was much more straightforward, he would burst into your room no matter the time, he knew you'd be awake regardless, he'd say that he could feel your thoughts pulsing about the manor, uneasy and painful, and he would come to you to make you smile.

Much like how Cassian used to.

The soft patter of rain sounded beyond the threshold, the scent of it made you close your eyes and smile, inhaling the newly damp earth of Autumn, "Talk to me," Eris' fingers reached for you, curling a strand of your hair around them and pushing it behind your pointed ear; his fingers continued to travel, hooking beneath your chin and gently tugging your gaze to his, "You haven't been yourself."

Eris towered over you, his breath crept along your cheeks as thunder cracked in the distance, a flash of lightening snapped across the sky, "How can I be?"

It wasn't supposed to be painful, pushing people away, but it was tearing your soul apart. In some way, you'd much rather be alone for the rest of your long life than risk anything ever happening to anyone you loved. Rhys was determined to take you, Eris was determined to not allow it, and you were determined to save them from ruin.

Sighing, you unwound the blockade around your heart, feeling it strain and groan as you gave it space to breathe, "I don't know what I'm supposed to do," Eris watched your eyes glaze over, he watched that ring of fire dim, he watched as your bottom lip wobbled as you spoke, "I'm tired, Eris."

The High Lord figured as much, the bags that clung to your undereye grew larger each day, he had asked you multiple times if you wanted to talk, but you had denied it, you had been too focused in removing yourself physically so that if you really did then it wouldn't hurt as much.

I'm tired, Eris.

Those three words told him everything he needed to know. You were tired of life, you were tired of the betrayal and the lies, you were tired of the small voices in your mind telling you that you weren't worthy of anything good because how could any good being be used by the people who was meant to love and protect them?

Cracking walls allowed the storm to seep in, and Eris had been expecting it for awhile, he had monitored your anxious actions and sleuthing, he knew that the walls were due to collapse.

"Oh gods," your hand pressed on your stomach, leaving his own palm suddenly cold, you were trying to alleviate the pain dwelling inside of you like a demon, "How could they do this?"

The mere image of your face crumpling had Eris wrapping you into his arms as the last few weeks tore through the abyss toward you, clawing at the confinements you had locked them in. Sobs bubbled through your lips and Eris felt your tears soak through the cotton of his shirt, and all he could do was allow you to go through the motions. It was better to be held in your darkest hour than battle it alone. If all Eris could offer you was his shoulder and gentle caresses, then he would spend the rest of his life making sure he was there to lend them to you.

You had spent the last couple of days playing the memories of your life in your mind, ignoring the blank spots hidden within them, you were trying to figure out what exactly had been a lie, or what you could have done to deserve a life of chains and steel.

"My entire life is tainted now, I don't know what was real anymore. The bargain with Azriel, the shopping trips with Mor, researching with Amren and training with Cassian, painting with Feyre," you paused, "Even Rhys, when did he decide that I was better off locked away? When did he decide that it was best to spread stories of the monster of Velaris rather than the stories of his sister?"

The fond memories of dancing in Rita's until sunrise with Mor and Cassian had turned to ash alongside the moments you had spent with every member of your false family.

Eris ran his fingers through your hair, his fingertips grazing across your scalp, he knew you loved the feeling, and his chest rumbled as he spoke, "Do not fear the storm, y/n," his lips lingered just by your ear and you could faintly feel the parting as he spoke against the shell, "You are learning how to sail your ship. You will get through this, we'll get through it all, together," he pulled away from you but still held you in his arms, the flash of lightening slicing across his face, moulding with the light of the dancing flames dotted about the space in the form of tealights and lanterns hanging from the ceiling, "Just for now. Find a corner of your soul that feels good. And rest there."

Feeling seen and heard felt so foreign to you, but in Autumn, with Eris, you felt alive. Autumn had wrapped her doting arms around you and used her embrace to will you back to life, she willed you to find joy and passion, and perhaps even love.

Perhaps the Mother had sent Autumn to you to lead you to a life that would be worth all of the pain and loneliness. Peering up at Eris, you admired his beauty, the sharp but rugged look, the amber whisky eyes that reminded you of molten bronze, his stupidly perfect hair that Nesta told you constantly was something from novels, "Thank you, for making me feel alive."

Eris sucked in a breath and the candles burned brighter, their light covering the ceiling, "Thank you for making me believe that I'm worthy of being happy."

Extending your fingers over his chest, right above his heart, you frowned and asked, "You aren't happy?"

"I wasn't, but then you came, and now I am."

The smile on your face was radiant, soft and gentle, full of understanding, "We only have one life in this world, Eris. That's reason enough to stop holding back," silent permission sang to him and he rested his hands on the curve of your hips.

The demon within you didn't scare him, what Nesta had told him didn't scare him, nothing about you brought him any form of discomfort or doubt.

"I didn't stop thinking about you after I saw you Under The Mountain, you were humming a song that felt so familiar, your voice was so weak but so enchanting," he recounted, "I remember the light finding you like it always has, I remember the vacant look in your eye and the scuffle of your bare and bloody feet on the ground," Eris cupped your face in his hands, and your fingers drifted around his wrists, "That image haunts me, but that song, that beautifully awful thing has been the only thing to bring me any sort of peace since that place." Since Amarantha and Under The Mountain, "I saw you like I do now, wounded and hurting in so many ways, and I swore to myself that if I ever had the chance, that I would make sure it never happened again."

"The war against Hybern was won because of you, I saw you on that battlefield wielding that sword like it was an extension of yourself, you had rose from the ashes of Amarantha herself and tilted the scales in our favour," a gentle amused huff passed through your lips, "Then you aided me, you risked everything for my vision because you believed in it, because you believe in a better world for everyone, not just your own people. And then you came to me for help, because somewhere deep inside of you, you knew you'd be safe here, with me. And that night, on that balcony of the Day Court, for the first time, I saw you and I didn't just want to have you, but I wanted to deserve you. I asked the Mother for you, despite feeling undeserving, feeling disrespectful for ever thinking of it. Instead, I prayed to her to make me worthy of you."

Eris' molten bronze gaze was trying to tell you something, but you couldn't quite figure it out, not when he was looking at your lips like that, not when every fibre of your being was needing to mould itself inside of him.

"Do you know what the song is?"

Shaking his head, Eris muttered a small 'no', so you told him, "It's the song of your ancestors, the Symphony of Ash. I knew that it must have been awful to see me like that and you always used to say that you liked my voice, and I just thought that you could use a lullaby."

All air rushed from his lungs. You knew that he was watching you that night, and that song, that beautifully horrid thing, was for him. So that even if his nightmares kept him awake, you voice would lull him back to slumber, a song from his court that you had learned.

Even in the moments when you were worlds apart, strangers almost, you had still cared enough to spare him a thought of comfort in the days that weren't so bright for him either despite your own torture.

"That was for me?"

A delicate hum sounded from your throat, "Take it as a gift from one former betrothed to another."

"Former betrothed?"

Frowning, you pulled back slightly, but that frown soon turned to wonder, "You don't remember?" The blank look in his eye confirmed it, "We were supposed to get married before, well, I was locked away and you were directed to Mor. It was meant to be me and you."

"I remember our parents talking of it when we were children, but I didn't realise that it was ever real."

"It was very real."

Eris felt his soul burn, he felt your fingers curl around it, he felt your darkness kiss his fire, and he shuddered at the singing of his essence, "Me and you?"

"Us."

"Can I kiss you?"

You shouldn't. You couldn't. It would make what you had to do even harder. But it was Eris, it was his eyes and lips, his softness and adoration, it was the small boy you had grown up looking out for always without him even knowing it.

Swallowing hard, you moved closer to him, feeling electric as his fingers curled around the curve of your jaw, "Yes."

Eris lowered his lips to yours an he hovered there for a moment, preparing himself for the moment he had always desired, with the woman he couldn't get out of his mind. His lips were soft against yours, it was like kissing the sun, it was soul-consuming and scorching; his lips moved with yours as his hands ran down your spine to rest on the small of your back, pressing you further into him and slipping his tongue into your mouth when you broke for a moment to breathe.

It was a feeling you wanted to bask in forever, you felt light curl around you, you felt his warmth wrap you up in its embrace, you felt his lips on yours and his nose brushing against the tip of your own.

Fisting your fingers through his hair, you used his shoulders for leverage as he placed you on the countertop, your hands delved into his jacket and ran down his chest, and his gripped the skin of your thighs. Reluctantly, Eris paused before it went any further, exhaling deeply whilst resting his forehead against your own, "As much as I want to make you mine," his eyes delved into your own, "Our first time together deserves to be magical, and alone."

"Too right."

Freezing in position, you turned your head to find Lucien stood in the doorway, shirtless with his hand covering his eyes, peeking at you through his fingers. Eris threw his head back and groaned, cradling your head to his chest to hide your clear embarrassment from Lucien finding you both in a compromising position.

"I'm not judging," Lucien teased, "I just didn't expect to come in here to see you two with your tongues down each other's throats."

"Stop talking," you squeaked, cringing at his booming laugh, you blocked out the words from Eris, and instead waited until he scooped you into his arms, continuing to hide you from Lucien as he carried you upstairs and nestled into the bed with you.

Eris was bare bar his undergarments, his scarred chest shone in the firelight and you found yourself tracing the swirls idly whilst he pressed kisses into your hairline, allowing his thumb to stroke against your cheek.

"Tomorrow we'll figure out how to put a stop to this," he sounded so sure, but you knew he was scared, he held you a touch tighter as he spoke, "And then we'll live the life that we want to live."

His optimism was wounding.

Rhys was never going to stop, you knew him well enough to know that once he wanted something he would never halt his efforts to claim it.

After hours of serene chatter, you kissed Eris and told him to rest. As the firelight flickered to lifeless ash, when you knew that Eris was sound asleep and dreaming of you, you slipped from the bed.

Elain stood before the oven with a faint smile on her lips, excited to prod you with questions after what Lucien had so luckily found the night before.

Simmering sun poured through the windows, the storm had broke and the sun shone overhead, cascading her heavenly glow across the grass, caressing her animals as her light spread over Autumn. Birdsong chirped through the slightly ajar window, but Elain's smile had drifted, and her eyes had turned a milky white.

Night. Stars. Snow-capped mountains. A grey dress fit for a princess floating along the Sidra.

Gasping, Elain inhaled, she engulfed the air in her lungs, trying to locate you within it. But there was nothing there.

The shatter of the glass bowl in her hands was enough to cause both Nesta and Lucien to rush into the room, poised to attack, but faltering when they saw the wild look in Elain's eye, "Have you seen y/n? I had a vision."

"What vision, Elain?" Nesta approached Elain tentatively, her palms outstretched to connect with her sisters arms.

Elain gripped onto Nesta, "Of snow-capped mountains and a sky full of stars, of the dress she wore to Helion's party the day she denounced the Night Court drifting along the Sidra. I heard her crying."

Nesta snapped her gaze to Lucien, gasping when she saw Eris stood behind him, his gaze low and pulsating with fire as his chest rose and fell so fast that Nesta thought his heart would stop beating entirely. The room became hot, too hot, swelteringly so, and Eris brushed against Lucien as he approached the two Archeron sisters.

Placing his palms on the countertop, the same one where only hours before he was holding you and meeting your confessions with his own, Eris growled, low, and possessive, "Where is my mate?"

Author's Note

I am burning rn.

Taglist

@mybestfriendmademe @jesskidding3 @rosewood-cafe @fandomarchiveilyd @brujitafantomatico @crazylokonugget @mai-adaptive-dreams @magicstrengthandcourage @acourtofmoonlightandstars @ysmttty @lilah-asteria @circe143 @xyzmeh @paleidiot @namelesssav @amberlynn98 @acourtofbatboydreams @azrielsmate3 @ivy-34 @mp-littlebit @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @ifonlyiwerefiction @pirana10 @donttellthecats @padbaeamidla @oucereeng @andreperez11 @demonicbusiness @megscabinetofcurios @superspideyparker

287 notes · View notes

loveyazy · 1 month

Note

Hi! So I haven't read acotar (well a little bit but it didn't hook me) but I've been reading your posts about the upcoming book and I'm so curious, I don't know these characters but the second hand gossip is fun and I'm rooting for them lol when does the book come out? when will it be announced who the protagonists are?

JSHDKAKJSD I had written so much on my phone but then I closed all the apps and I lost it so hopefully I can remember most of it still.

The thing is it's OBVIOUS it's going to be Elain. She has even said in this interview x at 25:00. I don't know why people genuinely think GWYN is going to be the next book 🫠. Her purpose was to help Nesta. Outside of that, there is not much left to tell of her story. It's done. TBH, I completely forgot she even existed after I finished reading ACOSF. Like I kept seeing posts about her on my insta discover, and I was like who tf is Gwyn? 💀

Also just... ELAIN IS THE THIRD ARCHERON SISTER. How can it NOT be about her when Feyre had the first three and then Nesta had the fourth? Like it's so painfully obvious. Anyone who thinks otherwise is just delusional.

Even if it's not Elain and it happens to be Mor, it's NOT going to be Gwyn before Elain LMFAO.

But this is why I think it's going to be Elriel and not Elucien.

Firstly, Koschei the Deathless. The story follows Ivan marries his THREE SISTERS to THREE WIZARDS.

Ivan saw his three sisters wed to the first suitors who came across them—wizards in the form of birds.

Hmmm THREE SISTERS. BIRDS >>>> BATS. 👀

Eventually Ivan goes on to defeat Koschei with the help of his sisters and their husbands.

And then we have another Koschei retelling. The FOX and the FIREBIRD. Listen Sarah was not subtle with the names. Vasalisa >> Vassa. Lucien had a fox mask in ACOTAR, making him the obvious fox. You can read more on it here but I'm going to do a quick summary.

A king has a garden that produces one gold apple a day, but it was stolen every night. He promised half his kingdom to whichever son could catch the thief. He has three sons, and they all tried to catch it. The third son saw the firebird and shot at it, and hit the bird in the wing, but it escaped and left behind a golden feather. The king wants the fire bird and promises whoever brings the fire bird alive would get half the kingdom and be the heir. So they all go out to find the Fire Bird, and they all encounter a Red Fox.

The fox approaches each prince, and asks for something to eat, but the first two shoot at it. The third prince shares his food. So the Red Fox takes him to the palace where the fire bird is and tells him how to grab the fire bird by putting it in the wooden cage, not the golden. Well, the prince says how can a lovely bird be in a wooden cage and proceeds to put it back in the golden, but then basically sounds an alarm and he gets arrested. The King tells him to bring him back a golden man.

The fox says he'll help the prince, but of course the prince is a dumbass and goes I'm gonna choose the pretty one instead of the one the fox told me to choose and he gets arrested and this king says bring back Princess Goldilocks from the Golden Palace in the Black Sea.

Anyways it goes on and the third brother is betrayed by his other two, and the fox brings him back to life. In the end he gets the kingdom, the firebird, Goldilocks, etc. The fox is very instrumental in this story.

SPOILERS AHEAD IF YOU HAVEN'T READ ALL OF ACOTAR

We have hints that Lucien and Vassa are very close. They talk to each other. Plus they live together along with Jurian.

Plus if it was going to be Elucien there would be hints that Elain even had romantic feelings for him. Even a little attraction. She doesn't. She literally stares at a boiling tea kettle until he leaves because she doesn't want to spend any time with him.

She wants nothing to do with him. And yes sure she says she doesn't want a male, but remember that she is still dealing with the traumatic events of being forced into the cauldron and being changed.

This though, happens a year later with Azriel...

Imagine seeing this in the most recent book, and thinking they're like siblings. Sounds like the antis have some sort of incesty weird freaky ass sibling relationships. 😬

This also happens in the book, which I believe is during the same time? But Az's was a bonus chapter and this was available to everyone.

Elain is not herself around Lucien. I don't understand how anyone can see their relationship and think that's going to be endgame. This was the most recent book.

Even before ACOSF, Nesta and Cassian had this in the previous book that alluded to their romance.

But there is absolutely nothing to allude to any sort of Elucien romance. Elain wants NOTHING to do with Lucien. And honestly, I don't blame her. Who would? He was a part of the most traumatic thing that ever happened to her.

I'll never understand Elucien shippers. If you like Lucien, why would you ship him with someone who wants nothing to do with him? If you like Elain why would you ship her with someone she wants nothing to do with?

I'm 10000000% convinced the Elucien shippers are just Gwynriels who ship them so they can have their ship justified, but most of their evidence is just their headcanons, and them not being able to read between the lines and interpreting things very wrong.

#pro elriel #anti gwynriel #anti elucien #elriel #pro elain archeron #pro azriel #i tagged these as antis so if you come for me I'm going to ask why the fuck you're here?

26 notes · View notes

lanitalay · 2 months

Text

Among Flames and Starlight Chapter 10

a/n: here it is!!! thank you for being patient! this is another fun one. Hold it tight because chapter 11 will be Angsty.

Warnings: none

Word count: 2.5k

Other Chapters

After days, the rain eventually cleared up. The ground was safe for riding and Irene spent most of her time in the studio. In only a few short days the recital would take place. She convinced Lucien to build a small stage for the barn. Eris helped too. She wasn’t used to his presence so she became hyper aware of everything he did. Whenever he was around, Lucien told Jesminda it was better if she stayed away.

Irene questioned his decision and during one of their rides he explained “it’s not that I don’t trust Eris. I actually trust him the most out of all of my brothers. But Jesminda is a villager and if Beron found out-”

“Would Eris tell him?”

“He wouldn’t say anything, but Beron has ways of making us talk. So the less he knows the better.”

“Did I do wrong in telling him about the studio?”

“That's different, you are not a villager.”

“But my students are and so are their parents.”

They rode in silence for a few minutes until Lucien figured out what to say next. “Eris knows how to deal with Beron, he wouldn’t do anything that put so many fae at risk.”

“But Beron forced him to marry me, he must not be that good at dealing with him.”

They didn’t speak the rest of the ride.

Eris dreaded these meetings. Once, every thirty days, he would have to enter his father’s study and give reports. Usually, Beron asked about the tributes collected from the villages, any news from the emissaries he kept in contact with, Lucien and Mora. Recently, he began asking about Irene and her whereabouts. “Where does she ride off to? When can I expect an heir? Is she causing trouble?” None, he knew that none of those questions were to be taken at face value. He was rubbing salt in the wound. Reminding him what happened the last time he crossed his High Lord. Eris kept his answers ambiguous. “Around the house grounds. When the Mother and the Gods choose to bless us. No.”

He would never, in a million years, think to tell him how a tentative... something bloomed between them. How, he didn’t know exactly when, he stopped avoiding her. How she was doing more for the court than any of them had done in decades. Because Irene was not meant as a companion or an asset. Her sole purpose in Autumn was to remind Eris who was in charge.

The lordling did not want to think of what would happen if Beron felt she no longer served that purpose.

After giving the regular answers and finishing the reports, Eris decided he would stay away from her for a while. No willing to tempt the fates.

He went about his usual business. Collecting tributes, dealing with confidential correspondence and keeping Lucien out of Beron’s grasp. When he had a respite, he would seclude himself in the cottage he set aside for the hounds, not wanting to risk the library. But reading was difficult with the dogs running around and interrupting any level of concentration Eris might have achieved.

He didn’t like this. All his life had been spent in burdened solitude and he ached for… he did not know what exactly he ached for. Only that his heart felt hollow.

“I know he’s your husband but I’m glad he backed off, I missed these little critters way too much.” Jesminda laughed as she watched the youngest dancers rehearse in woodland creature costumes. There were two squirrels, three rabbits, four foxes and one moose who led the dance.

Irene’s first instinct was to correct her friend. She wanted to say “he’s not really my husband Jes, he’s just the male I was forced to marry.” But they were not alone and anything she said would be repeated by her students, and their families, so she offered a diplomatic answer. “He helped with the stage and the floors and windows. Did you notice? No more splinters.”

“The floors are nice, and the stage turned out great. Shame we can’t tell more people about the recital.”

“It is.” When the rehearsal was over Irene and Jesminda began decorating the stage. They were putting up a curtain that Mora made with a fine red velvet fabric and embroidered with gold thread. “It looks like flames if the light catches it just right,” the lady explained to Irene when she first saw it. It was a beautiful work clearly made by hands who had perfected the craft for centuries. Irene thought it looked out of place in the shabby barn.

Then the females began creating the rudimentary set design. They cut branches from nearby trees and created a make-shift forest inside the studio. It would be a pain to clean up later.

The night before the recital, Irene passed out in the studio. She told Lucien to take Jesminda to her house while she finished some last minute details. The curtains needed to be pleated just right, the costumes had to be labeled, the floor had to be swept and mopped, the chairs needed to be set up, the piano needed to be moved and the list seemed to go on forever. Lucien and Jesminda helped her until the sun went down and they were hungry and cranky.

“You two go eat, I’ll stay and finish up.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes! You’ve been complaining non-stop and I need to focus.”

The couple winnowed away and Lucien told Irene he would be back for her.

Irene had no desire in riding in the dark and she figured she would be back in the studio as soon as the sun came up so when it was well past midnight and Lucien did not show up, she took her cloak and threw it on some hay left behind in one of the storage compartments and willed herself to rest for a while.

“Irene?”

The witchling shot awake at the sound of the familiar voice. Her heart thundered in her chest and she clutched her throat as a sharp gasp escaped her.

“Holy gods!” Eris stood by her feet, eyebrows lifted in slight worry.

“It's only me.”

“You scared the daylights out of me.”

“Let 's go.”

“What?”

“I’m taking you back to the house.”

Irene began to stand up and put on her cloak. “Where’s Lucien?”

“He’s at the house.”

“He forgot me, didn’t he?”

“Yes.” Irene groans and holds out a hand so Eris can winnow them away. But he walks away, towards the stage. “It came together nicely.”

She follows him “it really did, the kids are very excited. Are you coming?” She regretted the question the second it slipped out. He shouldn’t come. Not with Jesminda also being there.

Thankfully, he shook his head “I have to go to the Spring Court.”

She stiffened, “why?”

“Now that Tamlin is High Lord it’s important to establish if he’ll be a… nuisance.”

“I see.” They stood like that for a moment, staring at the stage. Eris thought of all he wanted to do for his court. He thought of how the last centuries of his life had been spent in a never ending pursuit of survival. Doing everything he could to keep his mother and brothers safe, to keep himself together so the house doesn’t succumb to Beron’s fist.

“Irene?”

“Hm?”

“I’d like to build a better court.”

“Oh, well alrigh-”

“I want to do it with you.”

“What?’

He turned to face her. Irene noticed his shoulders were tense. His hands were tightly clasped at his back. “I have been thinking about our predicament and have come to the conclusion that we want similar things.”

“And what do you think I want?”

“Independence, safety, to belong. We can work together.”

“In what way?”

“You’ll be the visionary and I’ll take over the logistics.”

“Because I can’t figure out logistics?”

He rolled his eyes. “Because I would have never thought to turn an abandoned barn into a studio, because you come from a place that has life and culture and community.”

“Where does that leave Beron?”

He doesn’t answer.

“And your brothers?”

Nothing.

“Eris, this is- if anyone hears us we’re dead, you know that.”

He closes the distance between them, so close that if Irene were to take a deep breath her chest would graze his. “No one else is here.”

“Is that supposed to be reassuring?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” Her words are knives and her stillness a slashing. He knew what she meant. He was still the monster in her story. The horrendous captor. And he understood why. He, more than anyone else, knew what she was feeling and thinking because he had thought and felt the same until recently. Yet, there was hurt coursing through his veins. He couldn’t help himself. The day had been long and arduous. Filled with meetings that dredged on and on. Beron was acting up again, how he got when things were quiet and he could see an opening to move pawns in his favor. Lucien was gone most days and Mora was worried. Eris was worried too. The world was collapsing his lungs and Irene, unwittingly, sat atop it.

So Eris, stoic Eris crumbled in front of the flame embroidered curtains. “Is being married to me really that bad?”

Irene was confused by the change in his energy. One second he was fine, if a bit tired and the next he had sunken. Eyes glistening with an ache she was familiar with. “What? Eris-”

“I know we got off on the wrong foot but I’ve given you space and I never question how you spend your time-”

“Where is all of this coming from?”

It was like he caught himself slipping. He straightened away from her and regained his composure. “Just consider what I said.” Then he stretched a hand and waited for her to grab it so he could winnow and call an end to the day. But Irene crossed her arms instead.

“Did something happen that I should know about?”

He sagged, the day dragged on.

“No, everything is fine. Let 's go.”

“Then why are you acting so strange? You’ve been weird for weeks.”

“I’ve only been nice to you-”

“Exactly!”

“Irene.”

“Just tell me.”

“I don’t want to fight.”

“Tell me.”

“No, you’re right. Working together would imply too much risk. Best we keep our distance.”

Something clicked for Irene. “I- you haven’t been bad. I didn’t mean to insinuate that.”

“Just forget it and let's go, please.” Something strained in her heart. He was being vulnerable.

“I think this court could become great, in the right hands.” Eris didn’t respond. “I don’t know what you are planning and I think it's best if you spare me the details but I’ll help you make Autumn better.”

“Do you really believe it could get better?” Now it was Irene that stepped forward, a gentle hand landed on his bicep then an encouraging squeeze.

“With all my heart.” That was his undoing, the unraveling of his paper thin mask. Irene grunted when Eris engulfed her in a crushing hug. He was everywhere. Pressing against her chest, filling up her nostrils, clouding her sight, breathing raggedly. Eris knew what this moment meant.

In his arms he held the future, bright and beautiful.

“Alright kids let's get into positions!” The curtain was down, the dancers were dressed and the barn was packed with excited parents. Little creatures hopped into their places and got into their starting poses. Jesminda was trying her best to help the moose with his too heavy antlers. Irene saw what was happening and rushed to see what she could do. It was mere seconds before the show was due to begin so she ripped off some of the points to reduce the weight and sent the dancer to his place.

Jesminda and Irene stayed backstage, off to the side so no one could see them and watched the show begin.

In addition to the usual piano, there was a violinist and a singer for some of the songs. The barn was dark, faelights only illuminating the stage. The kids ran through their choreography with minor slip ups. An occasional missed turn and a slight trip were the only imperfections Irene could detect. The audience was in fits of laughter and oo’s and aah’s as the recital went on. By the end, Irene stepped out, took a bow thanking the crowd and the performers for making the night unforgettable.

Eris was pacing in his rooms. He had been walking from one end of the space to the other for hours. Irene agreed to work with him. That meant that Beron had to be dealt with swiftly. He spent the last day thinking of possible solutions but each of them involved the support of another court, a third party who could justifiably eliminate Beron and clear the path for Eris and Irene. Maybe Tamlin could-

A soft, shy knock on his door beckoned him. When he swung it open Irene was there, beaming. “Can I come in?”

Eris stepped aside. He felt on edge, she had never seen his room. She practically skipped inside. Her energy was contagious but it did not mix well with the stress and anxiety he had been feeling just seconds before. She was bouncing, her eyes were smaller than usual, the smile she wore caused them to crinkle at the edges. Eris wanted to throw up.

“The recital was a total success! It would have never turned out so amazing if it weren’t for the stage and the curtains and the new floors. So I just came by to thank you.”

“I’m glad it went well.”

“I’ve- I’ve never done something like this before. You know? Back in Velaris I was relegated to random tasks and just helped out wherever I could but this little school… I think it can really be something, Eris.”

“So do I.”

She frowned. “What 's wrong?”

“Nothing you should know about.” Realization ghosted her features. “Understood.”

“Is there anything else?”

“Yes,” she said and reached into the satchel she carried and pulled out a small box wrapped in red fabric. “One of the mothers baked cakes for everyone in the crew as a thank you. She was there when you helped with the waltz and the stage. The short lady with dark brown hair? Anyways, she baked one for you and asked me to deliver it so here you go.”

“Oh, thank her for me.” He said as he accepted the gift. “Will do.” She looked at him expectantly.

“What?”

“Are you not going to open it?”

“Not right now.”

“Oh come on! The night calls for a celebration, I brought mine, look” she pulled out another identical box “and Lucien ditched me and Mora’s asleep. You’re the only friend I have that’s awake.”

Eris coughed, choking on air. Friend.

“You- We’re friends?”

“Well, yes. I wouldn’t call us acquaintances at this point.” She laughed as she spotted a table and sat down with her cake.

It was the strangest thing. For the life of him, Eris could not remember the last time someone claimed him as a friend. He wasn’t entirely sure he ever had one. Maybe his brothers were his friends at one point, but not anymore.

He followed her and opened his own box. Before they began eating, Irene raised the first bite on her fork and toasted “to brighter days.”

taglist: @sidthedollface2 @acourtofbatboydreams

23 notes · View notes