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redbleedingrose · 6 months

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What do the batboys do for hobbies in your opinion

Hobbies for Bat Boys!

Rhysand

Okay so to be honest, I feel like Rhys is constantly stressed out being high lord and having to make all these heavy decisions, so his hobby would be something super relaxing and something you wouldn't expect.

First off, Rhysie is such a fashionista, just like his mother. He is absolutely going out with you to pick out all your outfits for the season. You are probably the best dressed female in Pyrthian and it is all because of him. He goes out of his way to custom design outfits for you, often playing a role in hand tailoring dresses that don't fit you perfectly so that it fits you like a sleeve. He knows different styles that look amazing on you, even when you don't think so. All the ladies of Valeris follow your fashion sense, not knowing that it is actually Rhys who is the trend setter for the night court.

Okay, this is kinda out there, but!!! I feel like Rhys would also just love flipping homes. He didn't realize this until after the attack on Valeris, but when he began to help with rebuilding the homes that were destroyed, he realized how much he enjoys the intricacies of designing a home, and surprisingly, he loves the handiwork of it too. Maybe it is the Illyrian in him that finds satisfaction in building something from the ground up. Once the homes of Valeris are rebuilt, he is really bored and can't figure out why until he decides to create a vacation home for just the two of you, and then he realizes what he has been missing out on. Now, he likes to build vacation homes for you and your future children and grandchildren from the ground up.

Cassian

For our daddy Cassian, I think he would pull a fast one on you and be really good at baking. You would think for a big, burly, hunk of a male he would be into wrestling or training as a hobby, but I think he sees it as more-so a job than a hobby. It comes to him when its nearing your birthday, and he is tearing the house apart to find the old recipe book his mother used to create birthday cakes for him when he was just a babe. Finally, he finds it with all these recipes that have tiny handwritten changes inked into the pages, and he realizes that his mum poured her love into her cooking and baking. So he tries to do that for you. Because he loves you more than he can possibly describe. So he bakes a five tiered black forrest cherry cake, with marachino cherries he hand picked from Summer Court (which he had to sneak into and out of with the help of a certain spymaster) and fudge imported from the Autumn Court. It turns out to be the best cake you and he have ever eaten, and thus begins his journey as a home baker. Cass becomes extremely good at making pies, cakes, and macrons. He never shows up to a family dinner without some form of dessert. At this point, even Elain can't complain because the sweets he brings are just too good.

Another hobby that I think Cass would have would be going to nursing homes or daycares where he can interact with the elderly and little babes. He always brings a dessert in tow that has the children literally climbing on top of him. He listens to the stories that the elderly have for him, taking note of all the lessons that he learns from them about love and life, sometimes sharing the stories with you in the deep of night like the little gossip he is. And he likes to play games with all the little babes, encouraging them to join him outside so they can play hide and seek in the woods behind the daycare. Sometimes you tag along because the babes love story time with you, complaining that Cass doesn't show the drawings for long enough like you do.

Azriel

The shadowsinger is indeed a singer.

He spends a lot of time in his private office with you lounging on the couch nearby reading, taking the time to develop different song lyrics and hymns for you. It is the one thing that he inherited from his father that he is willing to accept, is his musical creativity. He likes to collect different musical instruments and uses them to create different toons that he will only ever play for you. Sometimes he puts on one male shows just for you, playing the piano while softly singing you a song that he wrote with you in mind. He could spend hours trying to figure out the different keys and notes that he can achieve just to formulate something that might put into words how he feels about you.

I think Az is also the kind of male who is really interested in learning dead languages. He would find this ancient book in the libraries beneath the the House of Wind, and could spend days if you let him, trying to decode the meaning of the books. He likes the phenotics and analyzing different poetry and trying to make sense of what fae in the past felt and thought.

To expand on the last point, Azzie is def the history buff of the bat boys. He loves learning about the history wars and times of depression in the past, and how the world came together to make something better. You think that he thinks it brings him hope, and teaches him lessons that he can't get from anywhere else. He tries to apply them as spymaster of the night court.

Plus his reading glasses make him look incredibly sexy so you aren't complaining.

Masterlist

What do we think the hobbies are for the Vanserra bros?

#rose answers #acotar #acotar fanfic #acotar headcanons #rhysand x reader #rhysand acotar #rhysand hcs #cassian x reader #cassian acotar #cassian hcs #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel hcs #rose rambles

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wingedblooms · 1 month

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Secret, slumbering land

This meta is a continuation of theories (forbidden secrets, blooming dreams, bright as the dawn, and heart of the night court) about Elain’s connection to Wyrd and the land. This new thread focuses on the gentle healing land and lake that the sisters visit in their stories. Maasverse spoilers below, so please proceed with caution.

It seemed like a secret, slumbering land that time had forgotten. (acosf)

Both Feyre and Nesta visit a turquoise lake nestled in the mountains. Because their description is the same, this theory operates on the assumption that it is the same place. And since things come in threes in this series, Elain may visit this magical lake in her own story. When I reread the scenes with previous visits, I was struck by the language Sarah used to describe it—secret, slumbering, forgotten—and the clues those words might hold for Elain and Wyrd, the Stone Mother.

Secret

During the first visit to this lake, Azriel teaches Feyre to fly and shares their court philosophy on training, which is connected to a legend about Nephelle (more on that later). During this scene, Azriel is bathed in blinding sunlight and his shadows are gone. His appearance is stark and clear, readable.

In the blinding sun off the turquoise water, his shadows were gone, his face stark and clear. More human than I had ever seen him. “There’s no chance that I’ll be able to fly in the legions, is there?” I asked, kneeling beside him as he tended to my skinned palms with expert care and gentleness. The sun was brutal against his scars, hiding not one twisted, rippling splotch. (acowar)

@offtorivendell connected his appearance to the bonus chapter ages ago, and it is still one of my favorite metas. In that bonus chapter, we learn Azriel’s shadows are also prone to vanish around Elain.

Elain sucked in a soft breath that whispered over his skin. His shadows skittered back at the sound. They’d always been prone to vanish when she was around. The golden necklace seemed ordinary—its chain unremarkable, the amulet tiny enough that it could be dismissed as an everyday charm. It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the true depth of colors would become visible. A thing of secret, lovely beauty. (Azriel’s bonus)

He tells us he doesn't need to rely on his shadows to read her, so his deep trust and vulnerability might be the only explanation for his shadows' behavior, but they can also sense power and respond to it as power themselves. For example, if someone's power is related to music, they might sing or dance in response. What power, other than the revealing light of Truth, might cause them to vanish?

But even the silence weighed too heavily, and though the shadows kept him company, as they always had, as they always would, he found himself leaving the room. Entering the foyer. Soft steps padded from under the stair archway, and there she was. The Faelights gilded Elain’s unbound hair, making her glow like the sun at dawn. She halted, her breath catching in her throat. (Azriel’s bonus)

The Faelight reveals Elain's secret, lovely beauty: she glows like the sun at dawn. What do we know about dawn? In nature, dawn restores the light and awakens the earth. In the Maasverse, it is also associated with healing magic. And when we return to the lake in Nesta’s story, we learn it was once connected to healing. Healing light is bright and warm like the dawn; it has the power to pierce the darkness and outrace Death itself. It is pure life in its rawest form.

Sarah has repeatedly connected Elain to rebirth and renewal, especially in relation to Azriel: in his presence, she's the lovely fawn, vibrant spring behind her. Standing before Death. Even the headache tonic, a lighthearted remedy, serves as potential hint for this secret, lovely beauty:

Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed. I’d never heard such a sound, deep and joyous. Cassian and Rhys joined him, the former grabbing the bottle from Azriel’s hand and examining it. “Brilliant,” Cassian said. Elain smiled again, ducking her head. Azriel mastered himself enough to say, “Thank you.” I’d never seen his hazel eyes so bright, the hues of green amid the brown and gray like veins of emerald. “This will be invaluable.” (acofas)

Elain’s gift awakens life, veins of emerald, in the earthy brown and gray within his soul, just as she does in her own garden. It is no coincidence that Elain, who is most radiant in healing hues, glows like the sun at dawn in the dead of night. And Azriel is stark and clear before her just as he is about to finally allow himself a taste of pure life, of healing. In the wake of Elain’s healing presence, we even glimpse Azriel’s emotional scars through his internal dialogue. On healing journeys, lingering scars are faced and overcome rather than avoided. Some wounds require deep trust as the healer, patient as a gardener, walks the road with them on that journey.

Slumbering

On our second visit to the lake, we learn the surrounding land is inhabited by ordinary faeries who prefer solitude. This immediately made me think about Elain, content and beautiful in her simple gardening dress, and Feyre’s comment about her clinging to Azriel for some peace and quiet. It would be fitting for them to come here in their story, to find joy and love and healing here together. And if I were to hand select a place for Rosehall, where someone like Azriel's mother could find solitude and healing, this would be it.

He knew these mountains well enough from flying over them for centuries: shepherds lived here, usually ordinary faeries who preferred the solitude of the towering green and brownish-black stones to more populated areas. The peaks weren’t as brutal and sharp as those in Illyria, but there was a presence to them that he couldn’t quite explain. Mor had once told him that long ago, these lands had been used for healing. That people injured in body and spirit had ventured to these hills, the lake they were now two and a half days from reaching, to recover. Perhaps that was why he’d come. Some instinct had remembered the healing, felt this land’s slumbering heart, and decided to bring Nesta here.

She’d never seen such a view. It seemed like a secret, slumbering land that time had forgotten. […] The mountains watched her, the river sang to her, as if guiding her onward to that lake. (acosf)

The mountains here aren't brutal and sharp, but they still have a powerful presence. Like the third sister. The mountains watched Nesta like a protective seer, and the river sang to her, as if guiding her onward to that lake, like Elain’s scent. Her scent is a sparkling river, a promise of spring, that guided Nesta to her. And what did Nesta find when she reached the source of that scent? Elain’s sharp angles, once like the Illyrian mountains after she was Made, were now replaced with softness. She glowed with health and her smile was bright as the sun. She also smells of jasmine and honey, which are soothing scents and herbs that have healing properties.

Her sister’s delicate scent of jasmine and honey lingered in the red-stoned hall like a promise of spring, a sparkling river that she followed to the open doors of the chamber. Elain stood at the wall of windows, clad in a lilac gown whose close-fitting bodice showed how well her sister had filled out since those initial days in the Night Court. Gone were the sharp angles, replaced by softness and elegant curves. […] Her sister turned toward her, glowing with health. Elain’s smile was as bright as the setting sun beyond the windows. (acosf)

In the span of a few pages, we're also told twice that this land is slumbering. Since it was once used for healing, it would make sense for healing magic to be at the core of its slumbering heart. Remember, the rawest form of healing magic is pure life and we just learned that Wyrd, the Stone Mother, was once blossoming with pure life. Elain’s wyrdcrown seems to mirror Stone Mother's creative powers in the form of sleeping buds:

She had no mental shields, no barriers. The gates to her mind…Solid iron, covered in vines of flowers—or it would have been. The blossoms were all sealed, sleeping buds tucked into tangles of leaves and thorns. (acowar)

This imagery of Elain’s power has always reminded me of the darkness of creation and rest Yrene receives guidance from while she bathes in Silba’s Womb, which she calls the slumbering heart of the earth. In the tog series, Silba was the goddess of healing and gentle deaths and Elain shares many connections with the healers who honor her. So, it’s possible slumbering simply means the land reflects the restful and restorative healing power of those who once lived on and fed the magic of the land.

Slumbering or sleeping can also indicate dormant magic, which is something we’ve seen in both tog and cc. In tog, Dorian has raw magic and he can shape it into different things—phantom hands, shifting, healing, etc. His raw magic is sleeping in his heart before he explores it.

“You have power in you, Prince. More power than you realize.” She touched his chest, tracing a symbol there, too, and some of the court ladies gasped. But Nehemia’s eyes were locked on his. “It sleeps,” she whispered, tapping his heart. “In here. When the time comes, when it awakens, do not be afraid.” She removed her hand and gave him a sad smile. “When it is time, I will help you.” With that, she walked away, the courtiers parting, then swallowing up her wake. He stared after the princess, wondering what her last words had meant. And why, when she said them, something ancient and slumbering deep inside him had opened an eye. (com)

We recently learned the Asteri poisoned the waters in Midgard with a parasite to feed off of the magic of its citizens. This parasite warped their magic and it is described as dormant and tethered as a result:

The Asteri had infected the water we consumed with a parasite. They’d poisoned the lakes and streams and oceans. The parasites burrowed their way into our bodies, warping our magic. (hofas) - Somehow, a barrier had been removed. One that had ordered him to stand down, to obey … It was nothing but ashes now. Only dominance remained. Untethered. But filling the void of that barrier with a rising, raging force— (Ithan’s magic, hofas) - Tharion withdrew. Lidia shook with rage and power. Tharion could feel it shuddering around him, rising up like a behemoth from the deep. What had that antidote woken in her? What had been taken during the Drop? And what had lain dormant, all this time? His water seemed to quail at it—like it knew something he didn’t. (Lidia’s magic, hofas) - Warm, bright magic answered. Healing magic, rising to the surface as if it had been dormant in his blood. He had no idea how to use it, how to do anything other than will it with a simple Save him. […] He willed that lovely, bright power to keep healing Ketos, though. (Ruhn’s magic, hofas)

Similarly, the Asteri pooled and imbued their magic in Wyrd to warp her purely creative magic.

The Cauldron was of our world, our heritage. But upon arriving here, the Daglan captured it and used their powers to warp it. To turn it from what it had been into something deadlier. No longer just a tool of creation, but of destruction. And the horrors it produced…those, too, my parents would turn to their advantage. (hofas) - Those of us who ventured here found ways to amplify that power, thanks to the gifts of the land. We pooled our power, and imbued those gifts into the Cauldron so that it would work our will. We Made the Trove from it. And then bound the very essence of the Cauldron to the soul of this world.” (hofas)

Is it possible Elain’s sleeping buds, as a mirror of Wyrd’s original magic, represent what remains dormant, tethered?

“Or maybe it’s dormant, as the Cauldron is now asleep and safely hidden in Cretea with Drakon and Miryam. Her power could rise at any moment.” A chill skittered down Cassian’s spine. He trusted the Seraphim prince and the half-human woman to keep the Cauldron concealed, but there would be nothing they or anyone could do to control its power if awoken. (acosf)

In the scene above, Cassian and Rhysand are discussing Nesta’s powers. We learn that they aren’t dormant, which makes sense; they seem to represent the magic that the Asteri imbued into Wyrd to become a tool of death and destruction. That magic might be feeding off of Wyrd’s creative powers like a parasite and keep her half-awake, like the Fae in Midgard and, perhaps, the healing land:

It was all so still, yet watchful, somehow. As if she were surrounded by something ancient and half-awake. As if each peak had its own moods and preferences, like whether the clouds clung to or avoided them, or trees lined their sides or left them bare. Their shapes were so odd and long that they looked as if behemoths had once lain down beside the rivers, pulled a rumpled blanket over themselves, and fallen asleep forever. (acosf)

Ancient, half-awake, behemoth. These terms are also used to describe Wyrd. The word behemoth in particular is associated with a primordial chaos monster in mythology and may be yet another potential hint that Chaos is Hel’s name for Wyrd.

The Under-King lounged on a throne beneath a behemoth statue of a figure holding a black metal bowl between her upraised hands. […] “And she,” the Under-King went on, gesturing to that unusual depiction of Urd towering above him, “was not a goddess, but a force that governed worlds. A cauldron of life, brimming with the language of creation. Urd, they call her here—a bastardized version of her true name. Wyrd, we called her in that old world.” (hofas)

As they walked up those steps and entered a space that was a near-mirror to temples back home—indeed, its layout was identical to the last temple Hunt had stood in: Urd’s Temple. […] “The Temple of Chaos is a sacred place,” Apollion said sharply. “We shall never defile it with violence.” The words rumbled like thunder again. (hofas)

But the Cauldron. As if some great sleeping beast opened an eye. The Cauldron seemed to sense us watching. Sense us there. (acowar)

@silverlinedeyes, @offtorivendell, and I believe Wyrd saw Elain as a kindred spirit and gifted her the language of creation with the hope that she could be the key to her freedom, her healing in body and spirit. Those original creative powers could include a deep connection with the earth (earth magic), divine sense (seer abilities), fluid form and movement (travel and shifting), and healing, pure life and world-building power. Elain might already be testing the boundaries of that creative magic, learning to shape it into different things (explaining her mysterious appearances).

Elain may also need to bring her sisters together to help Wyrd. They represent the three faces of the Mother together and have been marked by her from the beginning of the series. When Feyre physically healed the Cauldron with the help of Rhysand, she cupped her hands and became the first face of the Mother. Nesta became the second face of the Mother when she healed Feyre and Nyx with the Trove. And the healing lake appears to hint at Elain's role, the third face of the Mother:

Nesta cleared the hill that Cassian had mounted ahead, and a sparkling, turquoise lake spread before them. It lay slightly sunken between two peaks, as if a pair of green hands had been cupped to hold the water within them. Gray stones lined its shore. (acosf)

This is our first earthen depiction of the Stone Mother. Someone with green fingers or a green thumb is skilled at gardening. Gardeners provide gentle order to pure, blossoming life with their green hands. And we already know, thanks to Rhys and Feyre, that Elain won’t hesitate to get her hands dirty—stained green, even—for a pretty result.

When Elain's creative magic rises in her story, will it flow like a sparkling river, unfurl like a bloom, to awaken the soul of the earth? Could it soothe Azriel’s icy rage and bring true spring and healing to Ramiel, softening its sharp angles when its heart, Wyrd, is finally restored? Only time will tell.

Forgotten

The land is also described as a place time had forgotten and, as I mentioned earlier, it's where Azriel shared the story of Nephelle—the one who had been passed over, who had been forgotten—while he tended to Feyre's wounds after a fall during flying practice.

Nephelle, who had been passed over, who had been forgotten…She outraced death itself. […] And yet her too-small wingspan, that deformed wing…they did not fail her. Not once. Not for one wing beat. (acowar)

Nephelle wanted to be a warrior, but was turned away due to her small wingspan. So, she made herself indispensable as a cartographer and excelled at finding the most geographically advantageous positions for their armies. And now that hofas has been released, we know earth magic can be used to locate the best geographical locations:

…those with earth magic were sent ahead to scout lands [...] Not only the best geographical locations, but magical ones, too. They could sense the ley lines—the channels of energy running throughout the land, throughout Midgard. They told the Asteri to build their cities where several of the lines met, at natural crossroads of power, and picked those places for the Fae to settle, too. But they selected Avallen just for the Fae. To be their personal, eternal stronghold.” (hofas)

Those with earth magic are deeply connected to the land and their creative power flows freely in places where the natural magic in the land is untethered. Is it possible Nephelle excelled at finding the best locations because she possessed earth magic? And could that come into play in the next story if Elain possesses earth magic as part of her creative powers?

Despite being perceived as weak, Nephelle outraced death itself with her small wingspan to save Miryam. Her miraculous rescue inspired the Night Court's philosophy toward training:

I raised a brow. Azriel shrugged. “We—Rhys, Cass, and I—will occasionally remind each other that what we think to be our greatest weakness can sometimes be our biggest strength. And that the most unlikely person can alter the course of history.” “The Nephelle Philosophy.” (acowar)

We saw this philosophy in action at the final battle with Hybern when Elain raced against death itself and appeared out of nowhere with Truth-Teller to protect her family. Like Nephelle, she was and still is passed over, forgotten.

Elain is pleasant to look at, her mother had once mused while Nesta sat beside her dressing table, a servant silently brushing her mother’s gold-brown hair, but she has no ambition. She does not dream beyond her garden and pretty clothes. (Nesta's memory of Mama Archeron, acosf)

"Go back to Feyre and your little garden." (Nesta to Elain, acosf)

Elain said, "Then I will find it. I might require some time to...reacquaint myself with my powers, but I could start today." "Absolutely not," Nesta spat, fingers curling at her sides. "Absolutely not." "Why?" Elain demanded. "Shall I tend to my little garden forever?" When Nesta flinched, Elain said, "You can't have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater." "Then go off on adventures," Nesta said. "Go drink and fuck strangers. But stay away from the Cauldron." (Elain and Nesta's exchange, acosf)

Elain in black was ridiculous. Yes, she was beautiful, but the color of her long-sleeved, modest gown leeched the brightness from her face. It wore her, rather than the other way around. And he knew the cruelty of the Hewn City troubled her. But she hadn’t hesitated to come. When Feyre had offered to let her remain home, Elain had squared her shoulders and declared that she was a part of this court—and would do whatever was needed. So Elain had let her golden-brown hair down tonight, and pinned it back with twin combs of pearl. He’d never once in the two years he’d known her found Elain to be plain, but wearing black, no matter how much she claimed to be part of this court…It sucked the life from her. (Cassian's observation, acosf)

These quotes hit differently with the release of hofas. @offtorivendell and @willowmeres seem to be on track with their theories that the warped magic of Hewn City affected Elain's creative magic. What if she reflects the magic of the land around her, and when that magic is warped or tethered, her physical appearance mirrors it? Is this another sign she will be able to use the language of creation to unearth Prythian’s secrets, forgotten by time? And maybe, like the legendary Nephelle, the things that Elain is viewed as weak for—her little garden, a symbol of her care for and connection to the land, and her appearance, a reflection of what was forgotten—actually become her family's biggest strength.

#hofas spoilers #elain archeron #maasverse theory #the language of creation #wyrd and her sacred land #the healing lake and land #secret slumbering forgotten #where Rosehall is tucked away #azriel shadowsinger #elriel #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #three faces of the mother #marked by wyrd #wyrd = cauldron mother fate #she is the stone mother #nephelle 🤝 elain #the nephelle philosophy #our greatest weakness can be our biggest strength

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sjmgirlie · 2 months

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“I see so much potential for Lucien and Elain”

Where?

There has not been a single scene in 2 novels and 1 novella since we found out they were mates that alludes to any potential at all?

They haven’t even had one conversation where Feyre isn’t there carrying it? He lives on the other side of Prythian? Can't stand to be around her? She wants to leave the room each time he's there? Specifically sits away from him? Like where is the potential other than some sort of imagery (which I'll get to)? It ain't there.

“I can’t imagine a single conversation happening between Elain and Azriel”

Really?

They had one the first day they met. Talking about flying.

Not to mention on Solstice they stayed up to talk to each other when everyone else went to bed.

How do we know they didn’t talk when they were in the garden together?

“Azriel just stifles Elain. She’s just a damsel in distress”

You sure?

He literally gave her the knife he had literally never let anyone touch in 500 years to protect herself? Cassian didn’t want Nesta finding the troves either? Are we trying to say that a man who wants to protect a women is suddenly.. unattractive? Like idk about you, but I would love for a bat boy to save me lol. Or tell me not to do something for my safety. But okay.

“It’s just lust”

Let’s not even go there because a male willing to participate in a blood duel and renouncing his own religion is not just trying to have sex

“Lucien is the son of Helion and Elain needs sun!”

Ya?

Well Lucien has never had sun imagery. It’s fire from his Autumn Court heritage and in Hybern he released himself with SPELLS. Feyre was actually the person to cast out a bright light to break the wards, and we find out later that it’s a gift from the Dawn court. Lucien tells us this. Lucien has fire magic and is a spell cleaver, not the sun. ELAIN is the sun. Day court does not equal sun for Lucien. Sorry.

“Elain will never accept Azriel’s profession”

Oh?

Pretty sure she’s already accepted everyone in the Night Court. They all have jobs that are borderline sus. And considering the countless instances where we see Elain is actually very observant, I’m sure she knows what he does, yet she still leans into his touch. Not to mention Mr. fashion police Cassian also tells us that Elain is not a loyal dog. That she saw everything Nesta did and understood. Doesn't seem like she's not accepting to me.

"Azriel just wants a mate!!"

Seriously?

If the male wants a mate why would he bother spending time with a female he knows has one? Why wouldn't he be sailing around Prythian looking for her? Because she sure as shit isn't in the Night Court. And let's be honest, I don't think he will even be getting a mate if it's not Elain through some sort of different bond. Because there is no one in canon right now that could be his mate, and we only have 2 more novels and 1 novella left. And his book is next. Apparently we can all agree on that, but can't accept Elain is also getting the next book, aka their book together. And no, Gwyn is not his mate, because it would have already snapped into place. We had an 800 page book where they were in the vicinity of each other through all the training monologues (so maybe more 400 pages) and it didn't happen? Rhys knew before they left under the mountain. Literally happened at the end of the book. Cassian knew the first day he met Nesta. Lucien knew the second Elain took her first breath lol... it's not happening.

"Elain should be with Lucien and they would be High Lord and Lady of Day Court!!"

Ew?

You want to kill off Helion??? I want the novella to be about him and the Lady of Autumn tbh (even though it's likely Mor). Like? No, I need some sort of scene with Helion in each remaining book. I need more of him, biblically and spiritually. Also, have we forgotten “You can not resent my decision to lead a small quiet life..” ??? Elain said this in ACOSF to Nesta, like, do you think this girl wants to be High Lady all of a sudden? No. She doesn't.

"Elain needs to give Lucien a chance!!"

Why?

I swear everyone who says this has never been in that "Oh, well he's just such a nice guy!! Give him a chance" type of situation. Like why should I? WHY SHOULD SHE? He literally was an accomplice in her human life being stripped away from her. Should they end up being friends? Yes. Together romantically? No. If she doesn't want to give him a chance, which she clearly doesn't, then she doesn't need to. Stop diminishing choice in character arcs. Her whole arc, with Azriel and Lucien, is centred around choice in the first place.

"Azriel's shadows danced for Gwyn, so they are endgame"

Huh?

Don't get me wrong, the shadows are a part of Azriel, but I don't think they literally determine his life for him. Actually, I know this 100%. His shadows are under his command. Also, they danced for her breath, not Gwyn. Which is weird. Not to mention his shadows alert him in times of trouble and to gain information. Is it not weird they didn't alert him that she was there? Like that's not being wing-shadowy, that's screaming something sus is going on. (And no, I'm not anti-gwyn or even saying she's evil. Is she a lightsinger? Probably. The evidence is there. Does it mean she's bad? No.)

"Azriel's shadows hide from Elain, so they can't be together"

Lol?

Again, are Azriel's shadows the ones that command him? Or does he command them? And his shadows have disappeared for half of the IC. They disappear when there is no threat. They disappear when he doesn't want them there. Pretty sure Azriel's whole character doesn't just revolve around shadows. Sure, they are a huge part of his identity so far, but do we truly think that he wants to be reduced to them? Doubt it. He's probably had a very hard time coming to terms with the fact people have always looked at him differently because of it. I wouldn't be surprised if him becoming a Shadowsinger (since they came to him later in life in the dungeon) was a result of unfathomable trauma. Azriel does not only equal shadows only. We just don't know him yet.

"The BC sunk Eriel"

Truly?

You mean the bonus chapter where Azriel was about to get on his knees for a taste? The bonus chapter where Elain was giving him offer and permission? The bonus chapter where Rhys was the reason they DIDN'T actually kiss? The bonus chapter where Rhys became their obstacle and lifted the stakes not only on a personal level (with Elain thinking she was rejected, with Az and Rhys having a wedge between them) and politically (the potential downfall with god knows how many courts since Lucien is a drifter and the human lands)? Like we need the stakes!!!! This is what makes it worthwhile to read?? Forbidden romance? That should be enough intrigue. Plus anyone who genuinely thinks an author would write a male character willing to drop to his knees for a female (we've seen this with both Rhys and Cassian btw) only to have him move on in the next book is just idk. It's not possible. It would be so UNROMANTIC for them not to end up together. Like I would never forget Azriel wanted Elain's coochie so bad only to end up with someone else??? Ya, that's not romantic.

"Elain and Tamlin would be perfect mates"

Throws Up

So Elain is going to go to the only court where there is no gardening because the HL magic keeps everything in eternal bloom, only to shack up with her sister's ex who that same sister almost married and her mates ex best friend? Make it make sense. You're truly showing your hatred for stereotypical feminine qualities my friend. Tamlin needs some time to lick his wombs and maybe learn how to cook. He needs to stop isolating himself. And again, Elain is not his mate. Also, let's just add Elain is not ever leaving the Night Court. The series is about the Archeron sisters, and her sister is the literal High Lady of NC, not to mention her other sister is mated to the Illyrian General. Like be for real right now.

The End. 🌹🗡❤️🦇

#eriel #pro eriel #elain x azriel #elain #anti gwynriel #anti elucien #i thought it was obvious #it is sarah #just clearly not for everyone

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lovemyromance · 2 months

Text

Stop Kicking Elain out of the NC

She doesn't want to go. She doesn't want to leave her family. The cauldron turning her into high fae was unfortunate, but in typical Elain fashion (my favorite quality of hers) she made the best of a terrible situation and adapted to her new home, her new body, her new life. She has friends. She glows with health. She is mending the relationship with her sisters. The male she loves is there.

Why would she want to leave?

And if anyone brings up the fact that Cassian said she couldn't pull off a black dress - I swear to god I'll be convinced you've never read a book before. Cassian, the Miranda Priestley of Velaris, declaring Elain doesn't look good in black does not mean she is being rejected by the Night Court.

Do people not read? Did you not read how Nesta had to stand out to be Eris-bait, and if Elain, gorgeous, sweet, with beauty-that-could-bring-a-king-to-his-knees Elain was done up like the rest of them, the chances of Eris following after Nesta would have been slim? They had to make her look muted, to purposefully fade her into the background. That is ALL.

Now let's get into the even worse arguments for booting Elain out of the NC. Specifically,

She belongs in Spring (with Lucien)

She belongs in Day (with Lucien)

She belongs in Autumn (with Lucien)

Do you see what all those have in common (other than being surface level awful arguments)? They all center around Lucien. Who currently, Elain avoids like the plague. But I'm getting ahead of myself, lets go one by one, slow and steady:

Elain does NOT belong in spring

Why is this a thing, even? Because she likes flowers and Feyre said "oh elain would like it here?" That's it? Are we reducing people down to their hobbies now? Nesta likes books, should she also move to Day? Mor likes...wine I guess, should she move into a tavern? Amren likes puzzles, ship her to Dawn? Azriel likes Elain, let's put him in the Prison??

Or, oh wait, Tamlin should lose his court and Elain and Lucien will rule? How. Genuinely, how? Lucien is already an heir to Day Court & Autumn Court. How would the magic pick him of all people if Tamlin somehow dies/gives up his court? Wouldn't it pick someone...of Spring Court descent?

P.S Flowers also grow in the Night Court.

Make it make sense.

2. Elain does NOT belong in Day

First of all, right now, nobody knows about Lucien's parentage except for Feyre/Rhys and LoA (maybe). Helion doesn't know. Lucien himself does not know.

For Lucien to become high lord of Day, y'all realize Helion would have to die, right? Why would you ever kill off such an icon? And even if he just casually lives there while Helion still rules...a lot of things would have to happen for this to occur, like: Lucien's parentage is revealed, Helion accepts him as his heir, likely a blood duel between Beron/Helion over LoA, If Beron wins THEN Lucien becomes HL of Day, but if Helion wins then Eris becomes HL of Autumn...all of this would have to be covered in one book before they can even think about moving to Day and living happily ever after. You know, if Elain ever actually gives him the time of...day.

Don't even give me the "but Elain needs sunlight"!!

P.S. The NC also gets sunlight

Elain is not a plant. She does not undergo photosynthesis and need to go to the Day Court to physically be alive. Elain does not need light she IS the light. What's not clicking folks? Her name literally means LIGHT. Some variations say fawn/deer, but mainly she is light.

3. Elain does NOT belong in Autumn

This argument is more rare, but I don't understand it either. Why would she go live in Autumn as the reluctant mate to the 7th son of the awful Autumn HL? Autumn court cannot be this interesting to y'all, that you would be totally okay with not hearing from feyre/rhys/nesta/cassian/any of the IC, just to read a story about Elain avoiding Lucien in different climate/setting? Autumn exists in the NC too, you guys. She can ignore him when the leaves change color there, just as much.

And all of this, is only centered around Lucien. Because if you just asked this sweet flower child what she wanted, I can guarantee you, her answer would be to stay right where she is: home.

If she weren't mated to Lucien, would you still be sending her away to Spring/Day/Autumn?

This isn't even a ship thing at this point, like...Lucien doesn't currently have a home right now? Why are we tearing Elain away from her home to go live with a mate she does not want? If Elucien ever did get together, it would make so much more sense for Lucien to just move to the NC instead. Because Elain sure as hell is not going to live in her ex-fiance's manor, far away from her sisters, with a mate she didn't ask for and his rude bestie who literally made a r*pe joke about her (yeah, not understanding the Jurian & Lucien friendship here either).

Stop kicking my girlie out of the night court. She's staying where she belongs. If she leaves, it will be her choice. Not because her mate lives somewhere else. Not because she likes flowers. If she stays, it will be because that is her choice.

I thought it was obvious.

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

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impossiblescissorspeachpaper · 5 months

Text

The Heart of a Wanderer VII

Clifftop

Previous chapter can be read here

If you need a complete refresher or would like to jump into this story, the masterlist can be found here

4.4k words. Very light sexual themes.

Azriel had flown them back to the edge of Persepolis in silence before winnowing them the rest of the way home. His face had remained a stoic, stony thing. Hard hazel eyes scouting their path meticulously but always carefully remaining averted from her.

She thought she felt his gaze burning the side of her face a few times, sensed his chest constricting as if he were about to say something, but then he’d stop himself. If he was going to apologise for his outburst then she would accept, but she wasn’t going to beg for it. Nor make it easy for him. He’d acted like an ass, and she was sick of letting people get away with it. The entire way home was such a stark contrast to their flight in.

They had stayed only one night in Helion’s palace, needing the time to rehash her vision with the High Lord and then devise a plan to assist in anything they may need to avoid allowing Beron to be successful in the matter of the looming Spring Court invasion.

Helion, graciously, had agreed to provide aide, in whichever way he could. And she and Azriel had played their parts well. They had agreed the citizens of Spring couldn’t be left to defend for themselves against the might of the Autumn armies, and that their safety would be of utmost importance, along with stopping Beron from successfully taking over the fraught territory. Impeding Beron’s triumph in turn seemed imperative in protecting the humans who inhabited the land just below Springs’ borders, too.

After all matters of importance had been decided upon and planned for, Helion had invited them to drink and dine with him in his private parlour that night. Elain accepted graciously, but Azriel had politely declined, claiming he had reports to complete that had become pressing.

She tasted the lie in the air, knowing the Shadowsinger was avoiding her, as he had been since their argument in his room. She had been deflated that they had found themselves back in this awkward territory after seemingly coming so close to being friends again. But she decided not to wallow, not to let his broodiness seep into her own attitude. If she had just one night here, out from under the watchful eyes of all of those from the Night Court, then she would damn well enjoy it.

She had changed into a more comfortable but no less stunning dress for the evening. A flowing gown that still resembled the Day Court fashion, but less stuffy and embellished, the colour a deep jade. Its bodice still hugged her torso and the skirts billowed around her slender legs, but the added gold embellishments were stripped, leaving her more relaxed to eat and lounge with the High Lord’s company for the night.

There were perhaps two dozen High Fae gathered in Helion’s private parlour when she joined them that evening, the room dimly lit with flickering glass lanterns strewn across the marble floors. Males and females alike dressed in gowns and robes in a kaleidoscope of deep jewelled tones were lounging on puffy, cloud like cream-coloured cushions, or draped across low-lying, deep-seated settees.

Some attendees were already entangled in varying degrees of lust and desire, whilst others merely enjoyed the view and ambiance or discussion around them. Swathes of fine gold organza draped and folded from the low ceiling, giving one the sense that they were nestled within a giant ornate nest, the delicate fabric muffling the sounds of neighbouring conversations and impassioned touching alike.

Crystal decanters of ruby, sapphire and emerald held various wines and liquors. Females in billowing magenta pants and exposed bellies floated around the room offering trays of plump dates, rosewater and orange-blossom flavoured jellies, and a sweet flaky pastry treat called baklava. Brass platters of fresh figs, soft cheeses and olives were spread across the scattered tables around the room.

It was all so decadent and lush. And although Elain usually shied away from such scenes of debauchery, she found herself once again drawn into the thrall of the Day Court customs. Emboldened by the absence of anyone who reallyknew her.

Here she could be anyone, here she could enjoy something she would normally not care to want, if even just for just a little while. It wasn’t something she longed for often, not at all. But on the occasion, it felt like a refreshing change. Like she could slip on a different mask and play make believe for just one night.

She had spent that evening in Leto’s company, her sandals kicked off and strewn about on the floor before her and her legs tucked beneath her on a soft, cream loveseat. They had not spoken or seen each other since the last time she had been in Day, which had been months ago, and she had forgotten how easy he was to talk to. She had forgotten how charming his smile was, how his rich olive skin seemed to glow from within, how his pale green eyes peered so intently at her as she spoke. But despite all of this, of how truly lovely this male was, she found her thoughts wandering up to the room beside hers. The room that she knew was currently occupied with the brooding shadowsinger.

After his outburst, she figured Azriel must have been jealous of Leto. That he had sensed something between them and surmised some sort of scenario for himself. Never mind that all that had happened between them was a few kisses and heavy petting when she had last spent time here. Having indulged in a few glasses of Day Court wine had left Elain feeling lightheaded and a touch rambunctious.

Sure, they were very hot and heavy kisses that still made her blush when she remembered them; how she had brazenly straddled his lap, how his hands had grazed across her burning skin, how his tongue had traced wicked paths up her throat and along her collar bones. She had explained to Leto that she was just looking for some light-hearted fun, nothing serious. He had merely replied that she was a beautiful young female, and she was entitled to do as she pleased. That there was no judgement in the Day Court.

She wasn’t sure if he knew the status of her mateship. Not that it meant anything to her. But she didn’t bring it up and graciously, neither did he.

During that first visit, they had indulged in a night of laughing and drinking and passionate foreplay, Elain draped over Leto’s lap as he ravished her lips, chest and neck. She’d never done such a thing, her human sensibilities always holding her back- but she found the more time she spent with the fae, the less she cared about trivial things such as decorum and propriety. She was free to do as she pleased, and she’d be damned if she was going to let a couple of stubborn males dictate what or who she should be doing. She belonged to no one.

So, she had enjoyed herself this visit too, although she had refrained from partaking in anything physical with Leto this time. He didn’t push her and seemed genuinely happy to just enjoy her company, talking with her into the early hours of the morning. When people started dispersing; either retiring to their quarters alone, or to finish what had been started with one or several partners, they too turned in for the night.

Leto had walked her to her door and left her with a sweet kiss on the back of her hand, wishing her a restful sleep.

Entering her room that night, Elain hadn’t heard a single sound coming from the occupant next door. And yet a restful sleep was far from reach.

Elain sat on a plush leather couch in the main library of the river manor, a small fire crackling before her as the weather had finally started to turn colder. The looming clouds outside had been foreboding enough to have her forgo any of her gardening duties today, instead opting to hunt down any books about Seers, controlling one’s powers, and how to strengthen one’s mind to the onslaught of various magics.

The books she had collected were currently sat in a stack beside her on a small brass pedestal, a heavy tome open in her lap, but the words before her swayed in and out of focus. Her mind was unable to fixate on the topic before her, ironically. The broody Spymaster incessantly floating into her mind instead.

It had been almost a week since they had returned from Day, and beyond their initial meeting with Rhys upon their immediate return to Velaris, Elain had not heard a peep from Azriel. She wasn’t even sure if he had been staying at the river manor, let alone if he was anywhere in the entirety of the Night Court.

It seemed every time there had been some sort of conflict between them, they would choose to run away. Her to the far reaches of Prythian, Azriel to the Mother knows where. She hated it. And she was sick of having to tiptoe around males. It was bad enough when Lucien imposed his presence upon her during his seldom visits to Velaris, but the thought of needing to avoid Azriel too? She could no longer stand the thought.

Snapping the book shut with a loud thud, Elain stood, flinging the leather-bound pages behind her on the cushion she had previously sat in. A small groan of frustration left her lips as she paced, back and forth, her feet wearing a path across the plush rug along the face of the fireplace.

Elain was fed up, aggravated of this cat and mouse game, the unpredictability of this situation between herself and Azriel. They couldn’t continue avoiding each other forever, and further to that she had the nagging suspicion that there was something he wasn’t being completely honest with her about. She was tired of the restless nights and simply of not knowing. Of not knowing where he was, when he would return, if he was safe, how he felt, how she felt. It was growing tiresome and once again she decided that she couldn’t wait.

She couldn’t wait until an appropriate time to corner him, to speak with him. She couldn’t wait for him to come strolling through the door in his worn leathers, his face weary. She wouldn’t.

And so, she once again closed her eyes. Delving further and further into that mysterious well of power that rumbled deep within, she allowed the pull of the void to lead her along the path to Azriel as she winnowed.

Before Elain had even opened her eyes, she felt the cold, harsh wind whipping against her skirts, tangling in her long hair. She hadn’t thought to don a cloak in her urgency to go, and truth be told, the bite of the icy air only bolstered her resolve.

Cracking her eyes open to reveal the scene she had winnowed to, she learnt why the wind was so arctic here, why it so ferociously whipped about her.

Standing near the edge of a rocky cliffside, she peered around her, spotting Azriel about twenty paces ahead. His back was turned to her, his mighty wings a strong dark force against the strong gale. He stood deathly still, the only movement was his raven hair that whipped wildly about his face, and a few lone shadows that swirled about his feet, caressed his neck.

Elain couldn’t help but stare, mesmerized by him, the mighty warrior on the edge of the jagged cliff. His strong thighs planting him securely to the ground beneath his feet, the two siphons upon those brutally scarred hands the only source of brightness in the otherwise moody scene before her.

A shadow coiled about his ear before disappearing, and Azriel turned, a look of mild surprise lining his face as he beheld Elain standing in the knee length grassy meadow at his back. Before he could turn around completely, Elain’s feet moved. She was grateful she hadn’t winnowed to directly on top of him this time, but she didn’t let the insecurity of that dredged up memory show as she closed the distance between them.

His deep voice floated over to her on the back of a strong gust of wind. “How did you find me?”

Once she was within a few paces of him, she halted, standing before him with her shoulders thrown back. Elain chose to ignore his question. She wasn’t sure how she had found him anyway. It was as if some part of her knew where she could find Azriel, where she could always find Azriel. But she wasn’t going to admit that. She’d never admit the pull she felt toward him, the bright, invisible thread that seemed to bind them.

“I winnowed,” she responded instead. A vague enough answer that perhaps alerted him to her hedging but provided enough information to the Spymaster that confirmed they remained alone. That no one had brought her here. That they could speak freely.

“Is everything ok?” he responded. She spied a few shadows darting away, no doubt off to gather information about any happenings he should be aware of, any danger.

“Everyone is fine. I just wanted to speak with you.”

His face gave nothing away, even as his eyes bore into hers unwaveringly, seemingly trying to read her expression in return. “What about?”

Elain scoffed at the question somewhat unkindly, his seemingly feigned naivety grating on her patience. “What about?You have been avoiding me since the day we arrived in Persepolis. Barely three words have been uttered. You cannot be that obtuse, Azriel.”

His eyebrows bunched together as a dimple appeared in the tan skin of his smooth cheek. She couldn’t tell if he was annoyed with her last remark or trying to hide his surprise.

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” he murmured adamantly, clasping his hands behind his back, a muscle in his neck twitching.

“Oh yes you have, you haven’t been home in over a week, nor present at a single meal,” she bit back, her muscles now tensed against the ice cold winds.

“I’ve been busy with the looming conflict in Spring. I…I’ve been coming home late and leaving before you rise.”

“So, you’ve been avoiding me.”

“As I said, I’ve been busy,” he bit out, not conceding to her inferences.

“Well, we’re here now, and I’ve had enough,” her temper was rising at his petulance.

“Enough of what?”

Enough of what? Elain heard her own heartbeat pounding wildly in her ears, her temper flaring with every passing word Azriel uttered. She exploded, her voice coming out louder than before, her arms splayed out wide. “Of running! Of you running, of me running. I’ve had enough!”

“I haven’t been running—"

“Oh, come off it, Azriel!” she shouted, cutting him off from telling more lies.

“What do you want me to say?” He too was growing exasperated now. Good. She’d had enough of his stoic composure. She’s gladly see him unravel if it meant he was honest.

“The truth! Tell me the truth! I know there is something you are not being honest about.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, the only sign that she had said something with some certainty behind it. Even still, he seemed reluctant to speak his mind.

“Is it really that bad? The thought of kissing me?” She had uttered the words so softly; she couldn’t swallow them before they had come tumbling out.

His face cracked, his shoulders softening slightly, his hands flinching at his sides as if they ached to reach for her. It was clear he hadn’t expected such candor from her, nor had she expected to let that admission free from her private thoughts.

His voice came out as a croak, his eyes peering down upon her beseechingly. “No. it’s not that. Elain…”

His words drifted off, fading into nothing, but his chest was rising and falling rapidly, the scars on his hands stretched over his clenched fists. His eyes darted across her face, his expression giving nothing away, and yet something charged went taught between them. That mysterious thread once again pulling.

“Azriel…”

She started the sentence but truly wasn’t mindful of how she’d finish it. But no sooner had his name slipped from between her lips he was stalking toward her. His long legs ate up the space between them in just a few paces and in the next moment he had reached out with those beautiful hands and buried them into her hair.

Before she could register his intentions, he had swooped down and captured her lips with his. Azriel kissed her so desperately, so passionately, that the air had been knocked from her lungs. He had utterly caught her by surprise and she couldn’t react, her body wilting in his arms. Melting hopelessly into his embrace.

Her arms hung limply at her sides as he pulled away slightly, his face still so close to hers, lips swollen from their kiss, his bright hazel eyes churning as they searched her face. In vain he searched for an answer, for a sign that what he had done was ok, that she too, had wanted this.

Before he could pull away, she had grabbed the front of his leathers, tugging him down toward her and this time Elain kissed him with back the same amount of gusto. The same amount of aching need leaching from every swipe of her tongue, every bite of her lips, every sweep of her hands dragging along his neck, asking a question she desperately longed to find the answer to.

He answered, leaving no query as to what his intentions were.

His kiss consumed her, like flames licking languidly at her very soul, slowly devouring her until there was nothing left. Elain threw herself into the kiss, allowing her hands to wander down his hard chest, around his shoulders, the nape of his neck. He groaned in response, a bestial thing born from his gut, his very essence singing in answer to hers.

Her slight hands inched beneath the collar of his leathers, and he shivered as the pads of her fingers caressed along his hot skin. She was burning and burning and burning in his arms. So many months of longing, so many moments of visceral need, so many feelings pulling at her from every direction.

And yet… she still did not know. She didn’t know what this all meant, why he had pulled away all those months ago, why he chose now to act on his feelings. Did he in fact feel anything for her? Or was this merely a physical need? Did he care for her at all? He had, once again, ran away from a problem.

Before the fire burning low in her belly could completely douse the dwindling clarity in her mind, she tore her lips away from his. As painful as it was to do so, they couldn’t leave this conversation lingering once more.

“Azriel… Az— wait,” she gasped as he latched his lips onto the side of her neck, his tongue laving at the skin there, pulling and swirling across the length of her throat as if he couldn’t stop himself from tasting her. A groan escaped his throat as he continued sucking at her and she couldn’t help the flutter of her eyes at the deep sound, the vibrations against her neck shooting straight through her centre.

“Azriel,” she moaned at a particularly delicious swipe of his tongue against her burning skin, “stop—” she mewled weakly.

No sooner had that final word fallen from her mouth, Azriel had flung himself off her. Snatching his hands away from her body and dragging them roughly through his hair he panted, remorse etched painfully on his face.

“Elain, I— I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me,” he spluttered as he continued to back away from her as if she had bitten venom into his veins. Self-hatred lined his face, truly believing he had done something wrong, something she did not wish.

“Azriel, no- that’s not what I meant. Its ok, I wanted this. Just, stop retreating. Stop running away. I only mean— if you cannot speak openly with me, then you have no right to my body, either.”

He turned pleading eyes toward her, his face stricken, still believing he had done something wicked, had forced himself on her. Seducing her into something that she didn’t wish.

She knew no words would be able to lift him out of the spiral he was currently plunging into so instead she showed him. Showed him that she trusted him, that she longed for his touch, that she wished for it day and night. But before she could completely succumb to those desires, she needed an explanation. She needed an understanding of where they stood, what she meant to him, why he had left her so abruptly that Solstice.

Stalking up to him and grasping his hands in hers, she looked up into his face, hoping to portray nothing but sincerity, trust, comfort in his near presence.

“Azriel, please. Just tell me. Tell me what it is. What it all means. Why you’re jealous of Leto, why you avoided me for all those months, why you called me a mistake…”

A chocking sound escaped his throat. He looked stricken, his shoulders sagging with the weight of a secret she knew not. His eyes had closed but as he opened them his hazel irises burned brighter than she had ever seen them, appearing almost golden in the light of the setting sun.

“You are not a mistake Elain. You have no idea how abhorrently those words haunt me. How my actions haunt me, just. Please. Please try to understand.”

“Understand what? Azriel, stop evading speaking your truth! Please, just say… something.”

“I can’t—” a rasping sound clawed its way to his lips, as if the words were chocking him.

“Elain, I’m sorry. You deserve better.”

Pulling his hands from hers he inched backwards once more, edging closer and closer to that cliff.

“Azriel! Stop running!” she cried, her mouth twisting in pain despite her attempts at willing it not to.

His hazel eyes guttered at the sight; the same devastation she felt reflected on his handsome face.

As if his legs moved on their own accord, he stalked back to her, reaching for her like a man finding nirvana. He cupped her cheeks in his hands, tilting her face up to his, her doe eyes wide as she peered back at him. He held her tenderly as if he had possession of the most precious thing in the world in the palm of his hands. His thumb traced her jaw and he looked down upon her as if he wished for nothing more than to simply exist in her embrace. “I’m not running, Elain. But please, let me…let me fix something first. I’ll see you at home. I promise.”

With those words, he pressed his lips to her forehead for one long, pointed moment before he retreated again and stepped off the edge of the cliff. Elain gasped, forgetting herself before his wings shot out from behind him, catching a current and carrying him away.

Elain lifted her fingers to her lips, feeling they were indeed swollen from his passionate kisses. That this all just wasn’t a dream, a vision cruelly planted in her mind to torment her further.

She stood on that blustery cliff edge watching him fly away until he was but a dark speck upon the horizon in the far distance, high above the lights of Velaris, just winking to life as the sun set upon the city she called home.

Hours later Elain was being woken up by an urgent hand shaking her shoulder. She hadn’t realised she had fallen asleep, spending hours tossing and turning in her bed back at the manor. She had awaited Azriel’s return, straining her ears to hear any movement from his room down the hall, but such a thing never occurred. Her younger sisters’ tattooed fingers dug into her shoulder as her eyes adjusted to the first rays of morning light.

“Elain. Elain. Wake up. Beron has made his move. His armies march south.”

Elain bolted up in bed, the words clanging in her brain like a clapper pounding against the inside of its bell.

Elain scrambled within her bed sheets, fighting to free herself from the tangle of quilts and furs.

“I’ll get dressed immediately; I just need a minute,” she babbled, her voice thick from sleep.

“No Elain, wait. I need you to stay with Nyx, protect him,” Feyre instructed, the voice of the High Lady making its request. “Rhys and Az have already gone ahead. Cassian is gathering the Illyrian troops. Nesta and I are leaving shortly to meet them, and Mor is on her way too. Amren will stay behind with you to protect the city.”

Elain wanted to argue, wanted to insist she go with them. Help them in any way she could. But she knew why her sister asked her of this. She wasn’t a warrior. Was not trained in combat. Although no one could settle and care for Nyx outside of his parents like she could, something still twinged in her heart about being separated from them all during this time. But she knew this is where she was most useful.

Elain nodded her head just once, her sister seeming to sag in relief that Elain hadn’t put up more of a fight.

“Thank you,” Feyre breathed, “Send word with the twins if something comes up.”

“We’ll be fine, I promise,” Elain vowed. Feyre saw it for what it was; that Elain would protect Nyx with her life. Today and always.

Feyre squeezed her shoulder before turning away, her long braid swinging down her back against the leathers she had already donned. Time and time again her family had gone into battle, had been flung into conflict and danger and terrors beyond her wildest dreams. Elain couldn’t help but wonder when their luck would finally run out.

“Feyre?” Elain called from her bed, the urgency evident in her voice.

Feyre turned; her blue grey eyes bright with concern. “Yes?”

“Please make sure you come home. All of you.”

Feyre nodded solemnly before she turned back, and Elain could do nothing but watch her sister retreating from her room for what she desperately hoped wasn’t the last time.

*******

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@fancysludgeshoelamp

@elriellover

@serendipity-by-chance

@britishwings

@ilikebigb00ksandicannotlie

@lunaduskxo

@acourtofquietdreamers

@downingg2001

#elriel #t writes #elriel fanfic #the heart of a wanderer #elain archeron #azriel #acotar #elain x azriel #elriel fic #azriel shadowsinger #acotar fanfiction #my writing #sorry if this is fraught with errors #I couldn’t look at it any longer and just had to hit publish

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daliasmay · 2 months

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The most ridiculous arguments I've ever seen from E/riels is not about "the smell of bread and roses", no, but about the sunshine she needs in her life, black dress and about that godforsaken city. It takes a megamind to use such arguments.

"Velaris has sunshine", "There's sun in the NC too", "The NC is a sun court we remind you", "Some flowers can bloom in the dark"

Even if the NC has a sun, it it still a night fucking court. n-i-g-h-t. This word means something, isn't it? Spring also has nights and it wasn't a right place for Feyre anyway. And you'd think Elain and Elucien's words about sunshine are just about only the damn flowers and the sun in the sky that rises in the morning and goes down in the evening. Please!

"They dressed her badly so that Eris would ignore her, lol", "They dressed her like that on purpose because they didn't want Elaine's beauty to overshadow Nesta's"

What the fuck?

Eris is completely indifferent to Elain as a woman. It isn't difficult to understand. And he is Lucien's brother, just fun to remember, who saved his life, looked at him with sadness in ACOWAR and visited him in ACOSF. Eris was interested only in Nesta. He is also a fashionable male and he looked at Elain with ✨assessing gaze✨. I suppose he's also noticed how much the black colour doesn't suit her (She used the perfect complement to her black dress - pearls - but even that couldn't save her from the colour that sucked the life out of her), not to mention the fact that he probably knows that she's his brother's mate. So delulu and simple demonstrating a zero reading skills if they understand the text like that. Basta!

It is also equally unfair to both sisters to say that. Nesta is a queen without her sisters, she is amazing woman by her own without any "help". She doesn't need any favours.

Elain is amazing woman, no need to dress her badly on purpose to make someone shine.

Sisters are amazing by their own. They all have their own powers and characters. I feel so sorry for those who don't understand it and use such stupid arguments to explain their ship.

"She is ok in Velaris, Velaris is her home, no need to worry about the Hewn City", "Her home in Velaris and in the NC. She doesn't want to leave the place where her family and nephew lives!!! She has a work - tending to Feyre's gardens and helping people in Velaris with theirs. She is happy!", "The Hewn City is not Elaine's place, that's why she was ridiculous there, Cassian meant that", "She can live in Velaris, she was healthy there!", "You want to take her away from the family that she loves and that loves her. You are a misogynist and Elain hater!", "Cassian is an unreliable narrator, he understand nothing in fashion. We can't believe him!"

PLEASE!

Night Court is her home, but not the Hewn City and Illyrians lands. Night Court is her home, but only in the borders of that retched city. How can they claim that the Night Court is her home, and at the same time erase most of the Court, including its official capital and royal residence?

Velaris is a huge hole that has been closed for thousands of years, and The Night Court is not Velaris, ThE CoUrT oF DrEaMs, how SJM called them, who loves to segregate their own citizens and think about 90% of the Court as scum and lowlifes, and do nothing to make their lives better.

If the Night Court is her home, don't sort its parts.

Cassian is an unreliable narrator, but Feyre with her fantasies and "What if the Cauldron was wrong?" is a very-very reliable narrator, yes-yes. Selective reading will strike you one day and it will be very hurt.

And here we are, with Elain and flowers, when she said the opposite to Nesta in ACOSF. Being Feyre's gardener and personal family baker aren't about her personal growth. Like being Azriel's personal houseplant.

The black dress was a metaphor. It is so cute how they can see things that are not there, but miss the log in their own eyes. (the rose necklace and the whole Azriel's bonus chapter, I can't).

I really don't know how they came up with that.

#anti e/riel #pro elucien #elucien #dasha: acotar thoughts #pro nesta archeron #lucien vanserra #eris vanserra #anti inner circle #anti ic

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acourtofthought · 7 months

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SJM didn't even realize she was setting up Elucien to be the Regency couple of the year when she wrote ACOTAR

"A rake is a particular type of romance hero—a loveable scoundrel whose goal in life is to enjoy being single"

“Ah.” Lucien chuckled. “Well, Tam’s not the only one who gets to perform the rite tonight. Once he makes his choice, we’re free to mingle. Though it’s not the Great Rite, our own dalliances tonight will help the land, too.”

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

“I’ll have you know that while you two were dancing with the spirits, I was stuck on border patrol.” Tamlin gave a pointed cough, and Lucien added, “With some company.”

"Many a Regency heroine has gone to London to have a ‘season’ in the hope of finding a husband.

“We can’t afford a dowry,” I continued, and though my tone was firm, my voice quieted. “For either of you."

But we had nothing—absolutely nothing—to entice any suitor to take my sisters off my hands.

“Isn’t that right in the middle of the season?” The socialite season, which had ended a few weeks ago, apparently, full of parties and balls and luncheons and gossip, gossip, gossip. Elain had told me all about it at dinner the night before" / “And I’m surprised you don’t have a line of suitors out the door, begging for your hand.”

The ball my father was throwing in my honor was in two days, and the house was already a flurry of activity. Such money being thrown away on things we’d never dreamed of having again, even for a moment. I would have begged him not to host it, but Elain had taken charge of planning and finding me a last-minute dress,

Elain, who flitted about the room, personally greeting each guest and dancing with all their important sons.

"Known as the “Ton,” they were comprised of a few hundred wealthy families whose strict codes of conduct, fashion, and social customs dictated who and what was socially acceptable"

—a faint gleam in Tamlin’s eyes at that—“and being with females who were a far cry from the nobility of the Autumn Court.

“Lucien fell in love with a faerie whom his father considered to be grossly inappropriate for someone of his bloodline.

Though the tunic isn’t as pretty as a dress.”

Though she was bundled in a threadbare blanket, her gold-brown hair—the hair all three of us had—was coiled perfectly about her head. Eight years of poverty hadn’t stripped from her the desire to look lovely.

But once she did, she let that snowball roll down the hill.

"The idea that rakes are redeemable is their most attractive quality."

“You know it’s … hard for him, where females are involved,” I said neutrally. “He has been with many females since the death of his lover.” “Perhaps it’s different with you—perhaps it’d mean something he’s not ready for.” I shrugged, searching for the right words. “Perhaps he stays away because of it.” She considered, and I prayed she bought my half lie.

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.

I asked Lucien to escort me, and he’d been more than happy to do so, given that his own status as a mated male made him uninterested in any sort of female company these days.

“I’m a mated male now.”

"Clothing and shoes served as necessary survival tools in the 18th century as well as powerful ways to communicate status, ideas, and a person's role in society. Fashion was a very important way that people expressed their ideas and economic status during the 18th century."

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.

Elain … She’d taken one look at us in the swaying grasses outside that wagon, the legs and assets on display, and turned crimson

"I'll be right back," she murmured and hurried down the hall before I could explain that no one care if she showed up to dinner covered in flour.

Elain had let her golden-brown hair down tonight, and pinned it back with twin combs of pearl.

Gone was the ill-suited black dress from the ball, replaced by a gown of amethyst velvet, her hair half-up and curling down to her waist.

It wasn’t a formal dinner by any means—though 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.

"By the 17th Century (and beyond), ribbon usage was vast. It showed purpose in extravagant garments, hair accessorizing, and ornamenting furniture and linens. With the demand for the material rising, Coventry, England and Lyons, France became capitals for ribbon production and design."

Even during their squabbles in the cottage, fighting over who got clothes or boots or ribbons, it had never been like this.

"Regency's formal décor has recently made headlines and piqued interior designers' interest thanks to the series "Bridgerton." / The Regency period was one of elegance and opulence, luxuriousness and grandeur" / “The Regency is loud, glamorous, colorful, and much less stuffy "

Elain cut her a look. “This house has needed a woman’s touch for years.”

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.

"Neither a lady nor a gentleman discussed private business in the presence of servants."

Possibly a factor in why we don't see Elain and Lucien interact when EVERYONE AROUND THEM US EAVESDROPPING! 😂

"A well-bred person maintained an elegance of manners and deportment."

Elain flinched again, her face coloring. Nesta snorted. “You’re living amongst beings who have none of our human primness, you know.”

Elain had blushed muttering about the impropriety of such things

He wasn’t sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, “No, lady. I cannot.”

“I’m going to assume that one of those cups belongs to your sister.” “Do you mind if I help myself to the other?”

“There’s a plate of biscuits. Would you like one?”

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.

“I’m sorry—if that unsettled you.”

"A lady did not engage in any activity that might give rise to gossip."

No wonder nobody knows what the hell Elain does or thinks 😂

"It was unacceptable to owe money to a stranger."

"I can't stand to be in this court and have your mate pay for the very clothes on my back"

"A well-bred person walked upright, stood and moved with grace and ease."

“I’ll do it,” Elain said, taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders. She didn’t wait for either of us before she strode out, graceful as a doe.

He’d always had a casual grace about him,

"A well-bred person was never awkward in either manner or behaviour and could respond to any social situation with calm assurance."

“Nesta, please,” Elain murmured.

She put a hand on Nesta’s knee, the purple of my sister’s gown nearly swallowing up the ivory hand. “Feyre gave and gave—for years. Let us now help her. Help … others.”

Elain crossed her arms and said calmly, sadly, “Feyre warned me this might happen.”

“I still wanted to come,” Elain went on with that focused calm, the quiet steel building in her voice. “I wanted to see you, to explain.”

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.

Lucien threw him a withering look. “I’m not your enemy, you know. You can drop the aggressive brute act.” Cassian gave him a grin that didn’t meet his eyes. “Who says it’s an act?” Lucien let out a long sigh. “Very well, then.”

#elucien #pro elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #elain x lucien #lucien and elain #elain and lucien #pro elain archeron #elucien supremacy #acotar mates

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writingsbychlo · 1 year

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UNDER THE MISTLETOE (prologue)

summary; a surprise gift from your allies in the Winter Court brings a brand new opportunity for you and the shadowsinger. word count; 2106 notes; this is the beginning of not only a new series, but my first az series! I'm writing as I go, it's not all done, so stick with me on this one, okay? happy holidays, this series is my gift to you all x

Swilling around the last of the wine in your glass, you watched the sweet liquid glitter under the low faelights of Rhys’ sinning room, chuckling on cue at another retelling of one of Cassian’s favourite stories. Alright, you’d heard this story every solstice for almost three decades, but it was practically tradition now. Listening to the general recount ‘that one time Mor fell in the Sidra with all her gift-bags and had to repurchase everything’ somehow never seemed to get old, he had a way of telling stories that made them brand new every time.

However, the recent addition of Feyre to all of these new stories made it that much more touching, watching her face light up as she discovered everything about the group with a fresh perspective. “Wait, doesn’t the Sidra freeze over in, like, October? Did you fall clean through the ice? How did you survive?”

The High Lady was all but gaping at your blonde friend, who only smirked, while Amren scoffed lightly. “Oh, no, Mor here likes to do all her shopping in advance. She’s late to practically every event, but she’s always prepared for them.”

“It’s called being fashionably late, Amren, not that you’d know anything about fashion. You exclusively wear monotone drab!” Mor snipped back, and when Amren’s eyes narrowed at her, ‘challenge accepted’ silently exchanged, you leaned back to get more comfortable in your seat.

“You exclusively wear red. Do not preach to me about fashion choices, girl, when half of your wardrobe consists of what can only be described as scraps of fabric.” Her words were harsh, and yet somehow, there was an underlying warmth to them, to soften the blow, and Mor held her gaze for a second, before both broke out into grins.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Feyre sighed, shifting her son from his high chair and onto her lap as he gurgled and sucked on the tips of his own fingers. “I can never work out what to get for anyone, no matter how hard I try, I always end up last-minute panic-buying!” She sighed at herself, and you twisted to face her.

“That’s not a you thing, that's a mate thing. Just another thing you and Rhys have in common.” The lord scoffed, turning to stare at you past Cassian as he and Nesta kicked at one another under the table in the world’s most aggressive game of footsie.

“What are you trying to say, exactly?” Violet eyes narrowed on you, and you only shrugged, Under that mock-glare, shadows curled protectively over your shoulders loosely, from the shadowsinger sitting on your other side.

“All I’m saying, Rhys, is that in every other aspect of your life you’re incredibly prepared. Yet I have watched you turn up on my doorstep for decades in a row, in a total mess because you realised that you had no gifts at all the day before Solstice.” You shrugged, and he only huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and slouching back in his seat like a petulant child.

“Oh, yeah? Well, perhaps I should have held out on delivering this one.” You didn’t even get a moment to be confused, before he was waving a hand and from the tendrils of smoky darkness, a box fell into your lap, rattling the cutlery as it caught the tablecloth with its entrance.

“What’s this, an early solstice present? You should have waited for tomorrow night.” You beamed, and all attention around the table seemed to shift to you. Lucien and Elain pulled away from their happy chatter on mumbled breaths, Nesta and Cass seemed to call a truce on their foot war, and Feyre stopped her baby-talk. Even Nyx’s babble ceased momentarily, eyes wide and chubby fingers grabbing at the glittering remnants of his father’s magic on the air. Azriel leaned over, the earthy scent of cedar and mist washing over you in layers as he examined the box.

Turning to look at him, you got a split-second of an uninterrupted view, close enough to pick out the tiny marks along his skin, the shadow of stubble that was freshly shaved along his skin, the healed-over holes in his ear from his younger phase of having rings decorating it. Then, he turned, bright hazel eyes flicking between yours, a frown sitting on his lips. “It’s got a Winter Court seal.”

“It arrived this morning.” Rhys broke the tension, Azriel leaning back into his seat and out of your space, and as you smoothed your fingers over the pretty box, you watched shadows dart around the seams, trying to break in. You swatted at Azriel’s leg, smirking at the breath he rushed out.

“Stop prying, let me open it before you know what it is.”

“Stop making us all wait, darling, we’re practically dying of anticipation.” He finished off his drink, and Mor only hummed in agreement. “It seems you made an even better impression over there than you let on. We should send you to make more alliances. Now open that box up, that’s an order.”

“The key is to see it as making friends, not alliances, my lord.” He didn’t bother to give an answer, and you tugged on the tightly knotted bows holding it all closed. The second you free the lid from the box and set it down, a single shadow leapt inside, sweeping through the tissue paper and investigating whatever lay underneath, before reporting back to its master. He seemed satisfied with the findings.

Pushing the coloured tissue out of the way, the first thing revealed to you was an embossed envelope. Lifting it up, you flipped it, finding the pale blue wax seal on the back. Cassian gave up on patience, swiping the box from your lap as you thumbed under the wax stamp to pop it open. Rifling through the package and leaving a heap of torn gift wrap in his wake, Cassian cheered as he pulled out a box of chocolates. “Mine! I called it!”

“You can’t just call it on someone else’s gift!” Mor argued, grabbing for the box as she leaned across the table, and Cassian only smirked.

“Don’t be jealous just because you didn’t get there first.”

“Now, now, share children,” Rhys muttered, and Nyx picked up one of the ribbons from the table, squealing happily s he waved it around in the air, watching the tail end move. “There’s enough chocolate there to go around.”

“Look at this pretty scarf!” Mor cheered, pulling a hand-knit scarf from the box. It was white, black threads woven through every so often with shimmering glitter barely visible, and tassels adorning the ends.

Pulling the letter out from within, your eyes scanned over the page, and you could practically feel stoic curiosity pouring out of the man next to you. His impatience was almost stifling. Twisting in your seat and leaning over to him so he could read the letter at the same time as you. That same dissatisfaction turned to placated joy, and the moment you finished reading, his fingers brushed yours as he took the letter from your hands. As soon as he finished reading, it was disappearing from his grip altogether, reappearing in Rhysand’s hands so he could read it too.

“I've been sent a traditional gift for their version of Solstice celebrations.” The scarf was still being passed around, Elain currently awing over the stitch-work as her mate watched her fawn, and you puffed up with some contented pride at the gift you’d been given.

“It seems you’ve also been invited to join them for these so-called ‘Christmas’ celebrations.” All eyes once again turned to you, and silence fell across the table again, save for the crinkling of foil when Cassian unwrapped another truffle to pop into his mouth. You could only shrug in response, words escaping you. When you didn’t reply, didn’t offer the enthusiasm he’d clearly been expecting if the furrow in his brow was anything to judge by, he continued; “I think you should go.”

“You do?”

“I do.” Folding the letter back up carefully and placing it down on the table, he folded his hands together on the surface, and you felt like you were being scrutinised as he took you in. His gaze then moved, only briefly, to Azriel behind you. “It’s a great opportunity, for many reasons. You’d not only be able to reaffirm the Night Court’s alliance with Winter, but you’d also be taking some much-needed time off. You work hard, don’t think I don’t appreciate it, but every time you take ‘time off’, you always end up working in some capacity. Clearly, the only way to get you to truly get some rest is to remove you from work entirely.”

That made him smirk, and you couldn't disagree. It wasn’t that you were work-obsessed, or that you didn’t have hobbies and guilty pleasures, but it was simply that the work never stopped. When you watched it all pile up for your return, the appeal of taking time off was utterly diminished, until everything seemed easier to just keep going.

“You should take Azriel with you.”

“What?” It was the exact thought going through your head, but it wasn’t your voice that spoke it. No, it was a much deeper voice, rough and heavy, so soothing it was like a weighted blanket wrapped around you with every word he spoke. “Why?”

Rhys didn’t deign to respond immediately. No, instead, he smirked at the way he left you hanging, refilling his wine glass with what was left of the fifth bottle of the night, and he took a long and slow gulp before putting it down. Licking his lips, you felt like you were seconds away from groaning out loud when he finally took a breath, “It’s a chance for Az to get out of the court for some desperately needed R&R too.”

“That’s it?” Azriel asked, and for the first time tonight, you didn’t agree with him. Twisting in your seat to stare at him, his arm bracketed you, sitting on the back of your hair, the other on the table to your side, and his attention moved swiftly from his brother to you.

“What do you mean ‘that’s it’? You say that like you don’t deserve a break.”

“It’s not that, it’s just that it doesn’t seem like a good enough reason to send me away.” He shrugged, and you frown at him, watching the edges of his lips flicker up in evident amusement. “You’re staring at me like I kicked a puppy.”

Your eyes rolled. “I’m just.. you deserve a break too, Azriel. You don’t need any reason to take a break, never mind a good one.”

“So, it’s settled then. Azriel and (y/n) are going to the Winter Court for ‘Christmas’.” Rhys confirmed, a finality to his tone that suggested no arguing, and Azriel gaped at his brother. Some silent conversation seemed to be taking place between their gazes, and for a second, you wondered if it really was, but Rhys’ eyes didn’t go as vacant as they did when he was within someone else’s mind, and Azriel seemed entirely present too. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, brother. Think of it as work, if you must. You’re going to Winter as a guest, you’ll be granted a lot more access and many more privileges, and you can focus on nothing but understanding Winter Court more. We don’t know much about them, their culture, or their beliefs. It could be useful one day. Go and observe.”

Az seemed to want to argue, to object, and he moved his sights down from Rhysand to you. There must have been something on your face, your cheeks felt like they were stretching to form a smile, and the harsh mask he almost always wore softened just a touch as he looked at you. With a deep breath, Azriel simply muttered, “Okay.”

“Okay?” You echoed, cheeks pulling more, and you knew you were grinning now, especially when he gave a breathy laugh and dipped his head in a nod.

“Okay. We go to Winter Court.”

“Excellent! Rhys cheered, straightening at the table, and his son repeated the vague sound of the word in a baby-babble equivalent of his father’s enthusiasm. “I’ll make all the arrangements myself, you can leave right after Solstice.” With one more look at Azriel, you turned back to him, stealing two chocolates from the box Cassian was working his way through quickly, and passing one to your best friend behind you. “Now, how about we have some dessert?”

#azriel x reader #azriel/reader #azriel x you #azriel/you #azriel shadowsinger #acotar/you #acotar x you #acotar/reader #acotar x reader #acotar #a court of thorns and roses

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fieldofdaisiies · 1 month

Text

azriel x eris | 3,6k words | warnings: none | masterlist

The past few days have flown by faster than expected, leaving Azriel feeling on edge, as if he's sitting on needles – or more accurately , standing on them.

It's only been a week since he last saw Eris, and his family still has no idea about their clandestine meeting. And they will never find out about it. There's a lingering fear that Eris might say something to reveal their secret meeting in the Autumn Court, and everything will blow up and his family will find out.

Eris on the other hand can also never find out Azriel didn't go there under Rhysand's order but entirely of his own volition. What would it look like? And what explanation would Azriel have for it?

Now, he is standing in the throne room of the Hewn City alongside his brothers, anticipating Eris' arrival. Though he wished to remain in the Court of Dreams, he had to come here.

It almost felt like something was pulling him to come here. When he stood in front of the large mirror in the corner of his bedroom, checking his appearance once more before leaving, there was this tug on his ribcage, urging him to move, to come here. It had been a prickling sensation within him, almost like something tickled his soul.

However, the discussion with Rhys about whether Elain would accompany them or not dampened that sensation.

“Shouldn’t Elain stay with Nyx?”

Rhys turned to him, frowning. “Elain wants to join us, Madja stays with Nyx.” End of discussion. “I will fly with Elain, you will carry my mate.”

Was Rhys truly still worried he would make a move on Elain?

Bastard, Azriel thought.

Azriel’s stands tall, shoulders squared and suddenly the tug is back, akin to his heart that all of a sudden beats a little faster within his chest. He can’t make out the source of this reaction, but he guesses it might have to do with Eris' imminent arrival.

Nervousness is a feeling Azriel is not really used to, or at least hasn’t felt in the past years. Now he does feel it and it adds to his confusion about the whole situation with the prince of the Autumn Court.

Trying to calm his senses, Azriel looses a long breath. His eyes trail over the polished ebony walls. He is not paying attention to the conversation Keir and Rhysand are having, a haze forming in his mind which makes forming coherent thoughts kind of difficult.

Through his lashes he looks at the onyx ceiling, the beasts that are carved into it always somehow reminding him of the beast his father is. The beast his stepmother is. The beast that Beron is.

It’s similar to the beasts on thrones atop the dais are fashioned out of, the thrones that Rhys and Feyre occupy.

Azriel lowers his gaze and rolls back his shoulder, feeling a little ache in his neck from yet another sleepless night. When he looks to his side, hoping to ease some of the tension in his neck and shoulders, he realises that he is not the only person that feels nervous, or uncomfortable.

Elain’s discomfort is tangible even in the air, her brows are furrowed, her slim shoulders slightly slouched. He wonders if it has to do with being here and the eerie, gloomy atmosphere of the Hewn City that seems to dim her sunshine. Or has it to do with…Lucien being away?

The Vanserra male hasn’t been here for a while, Azriel thinks. Last time he saw them talking for probably the first time, but this was weeks ago. Since then…he hasn’t come back. Azriel has no idea if he will return. Maybe this year he won’t come here for Solstice.

Azriel lowers his chin, inhaling deeply, the same moment the large, black doors open, creaking as they slowly reveal the male behind them.

For Azriel it feels like time stands still. He can’t breath when his eyes land on Eris strolling in through the large ebony doors, his feet within his luxurious boots casually gliding over polished floor. The Autumn Court heir holds his chin high, everything in his demeanour arrogant, proud, cunning. The perfect portrayal of the Autumn Court prince.

Eris truly is a prince in his own right, he doesn’t need Beron for anything – not for power, not for strength, not for knowledge, not for glory. However, another thought sparks in Azriel’s mind; Eris is not only prince, he is the future High Lord of Autumn. There is nothing but power and strength within his stroll, within his appearance. He walks gracefully, elegantly, and Azriel can’t look away.

His Adam’s apple bobs when awareness dawns on him. Eris is wearing a cobalt jacket, not the same as last year, no, a different one. An embroidery of diamonds of the same colour now adorns either breast of the jacket.

But Azriel can only focus on one thing — Eris is truly wearing a cobalt jacket, one of the same colour as Azriel’s siphons.

The Autumn Court air is breathtaking. Azriel feels his chest warm, a little kernel of an indescribable emotion now exploding and letting heat seep into every cell of his body. Azriel doesn’t like the feeling but at the same time he does. But he can’t feel this way, not for Eris.

Not for a male who is his declared nemesis and he will soon wed a new Lady of the Autumn Court. There is no place for Azriel. He will never be the person on Eris‘ side. Can never be. He will never be the most important person in Eris’ life. And he will never be worthy of the title as consort of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.

So, Azriel can never allow these feelings to take root in his chest. He needs to get rid of them, free himself from his desire, from his covert desire, for the Autumn Court prince.

Eris is most definitely doing much better at ignoring whatever he feels for Azriel. It is as if the anger and pain from their meeting a week ago still sits deep because Eris doesn’t even deign Azriel a look. He formally greets Rhysand and Feyre, and then bows at Cass, Nesta and Elain, and of course Keir. They exchange a few words but none of necessity and Eris only seems half-focused.

“We shall discuss things at a later point,” Rhys says, only for Eris and his inner circle to hear, out of the earshot of Keir.

Eris tips his chin in silent agreement, hands casually folded behind his back as he stands strong and tall, a look of arrogance on his face.

However, his eyes betray him – they are swirling pits of worry, regret, or pain, endless but also empty. Yet, his gaze searches, moving through the crowds of people gathered in the throne room. He looks around, trying not to make it too obvious that he is looking for something. For someone.

And is Elain who can read him, can read his expression and can see the concern within it. She finally says, her voice steady, but a touch sad, “He isn’t here. Lu—your brother, he isn’t here.”

Eris blinks, once, twice and then he folds his arm in front of his body and bows. “Lady Elain, it is my pleasure to finally properly meet you. I should have introduced myself more properly before. Eris Vanserra, heir to the Autumn Court.”

Her body remains as stiff as a poker, gaze remained fixed on the Autumn Court heir. Her chest heaves visibly and then with a small smile on her lips, she bows her head. “It is my pleasure, Lord Eris.”

Their eyes meet and now also a soft, and kind smile blooms on Eris‘ face – something hardly anyone has ever seen on him. Slowly, he extends a hand, “Would you like to dance with me, my lady.”

Azriel is furious, nearly bursting out of his own skin; that is not how it was planned. Not at all. Eris was supposed to dance with Nesta and most definitely not Elain.

Azriel wants to step in, end this before it starts, but he remains where he is, shoulder leaning against a black marble pillar that grounds him. His eyes are trained on Eris and in the prince’s expression, he spots a kind of polite patience he has never seen there before. But there is also interest, and a hint of intrigue, etched upon his handsome face.

Eris wants to get to know his brother’s mate, Azriel gathers, that is the reason why he wants to dance with her. He doesn’t do it because of her beauty, nor because he is interested in her (at least no in the way Azriel thought at first). Eris is interested in her, but for a wholly different reason than Azriel thought.

And yet, he can’t shake the feeling of utter envy. But he isn’t jealous of Eris now about to dance with Elain, rather of Elain dancing—

That is bullshit. His fingers curl towards his palms, knuckles turning white, marred skin stretching until it hurts.

“I think…” Elain’s voice is hushed as she speaks and takes a delicate step forward. It feels like the whole throne room holds its breath – will she decline, like she has declined all of Lucien‘s advances, or will she do it for the sake of the alliance between Night and Day?

Or because she wants to meet her mate‘s family, despite not having accepted the bond with Lucien yet.

“I would like to dance with you, Lord Eris.” Her small hand easily slides into Eris‘ extended one and he curtsies, before guiding her onto the dance floor.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Carefully, the Autumn Court heir leads Elain into the middle of the dancefloor and it feels like the whole room holds its breath; Azriel definitely does.

“May I?” Eris asks in a polite voice, his hand hovering near Elain’s waist.

“You may.” She smiles up at him, tipping back her chin. Eris’ gaze meets hers and he has to admit that his brother’s mate is quite a delicate female, soft and lovely, her eyes pure and kind. She is what Lucien deserves, his little brother’s counterpart.

Eris gently rests his warm palm on her waist, his other hand taking hers into his. He always makes sure he treats her gently, not wanting to overstep a line. He can sense her nervousness, it has a very strong scent, and he doesn’t want to make her even more uncomfortable.

She has not fully adapted to the fae life and that is visible very easily, but she is on a good way, Eris thinks.

“Were you surprised when I asked you to dance?” Eris looks down at her, Elain is quite short in front of him. His body is towering over hers, but he can feel that he isn’t the reason for her nervousness, rather the situation of them dancing in front of so many people, of the attention being on them. On her.

“No.” Elain tilts her chin upward, her fawn eyes meeting his amber ones. “You probably have questions. Questions I don’t think I have an answer to.”

Eris seems surprised over this answer. Is he so easy to read or is she just…what is her hidden power?

“What makes you think I have questions?”

A smile graces her lips and she nearly steps onto Eris toes, but he guides her, leads her and avoids it. “You have a curious look on your face, and if you didn’t have questions you could have also asked my sisters to dance.”

“Your sister is mated now,” Eris answers, as they glide over the floor, music and chatter surrounding them. The music of the small orchestra pulses through the air, guiding their every step as they twirl and move over the polished ground.

“So am I.” Her voice betrays her, but Eris has already known anyway.

“You haven’t accepted the bond yet.” Not a question. And observation. Eris would be able to scent the bond, scent his brother. It is completely obvious they haven’t accepted the bond yet.

“No.” Elain averts her gaze as if she is no longer able to look him in the eyes.

“Lucien is a good male.”

“I know,” Elain breathes. “But he is fae and way too good for me. I will never be worthy of him.”

That answer doesn’t surprise Eris, it rather shocks him. How could she ever say something like that. “Lady El—”

“Can we please focus on dancing, Lord Eris.” Her fingertips dig into his shoulder, and there is enough pain in her voice that Eris decides to stay calm. He won’t push her. He has no right to do so. No one has.

And going into detail about it all would be too much for this dance that will end soon anyway – Lucien and Elain should do it at their pace, and Eris has no doubt that one day they will find their way to each other.

The dance continues in silence. Elain‘s feet move rather effortlessly across the floor, every step, turn, and twirl elegant, not as skilled as Nesta, but still graceful thanks to Eris leading them.

When Eris twirls her, her dress flares around her like a dark blue halo. She is a whirlwind of energy, her feet barely touching the floor, her body bending and moving with the music, hands tightly holding onto Eris, who spins her, lifts her and smiles when his eyes meet hers.

“I know we finished this conversation, but I need you to know something.” Eris spins her and then catches her in her arms again. “Don’t allow these thoughts to take root within your mind. You are worthy of my brother, and whoever makes you feel like you don’t, is wrong.”

His gaze lifts, and his eyes, like glowing embers, meet those of hazel, shining like moonlight falling upon a forest. Azriel is looking directly at him, has been watching them –him– the whole time and a smug look appears on the Autumn Court heir‘s face.

He twirls the Elain again, spinning her so often that her feet almost leave the ground, yet her small frame is always safe in his strong hold. She is Lucien’s mate and hence also his to protect, his to keep safe.

“One more thing.” The music is calming, the piece almost coming to an end. Elain gives him a curious look, waiting for him to continue.

“You are my brother‘s mate – no matter if you’ve accepted the bond or not. It makes you my family as well. That is why I wanted to dance with you. I wanted to get to know you, Elain.”

Eris dips his chin. “And no matter what will happen between you and Lucien, you will always have my protection.”

If he weren’t leading them, Elain would have probably stopped moving. Her lips part slightly and her eyes widen. “Thank you.”

The music ends, Eris wants to step back but Elain squeezes his hand, keeping him close. “If it makes me your family, you are also my family.” A long pause follows.

The words seem difficult to find, voicing them even harder, but Elain inhales deeply and finally continues. “Which means if you ever need a place to…stay, to escape to, you will find shelter with me.”

He hasn’t expected that. Out of everything she could have said, he has not expected that and it warms an odd part of his chest that he has thought to be long dead, rotten and wrenched. Tears burn behind his eyes and he starts to blink rapidly. Eris squeezes her hand in return, not able to answer, too baffled by her kind offering. And his throat is too dry.

Elain steps away from him. “It was my pleasure meeting you, Lord Eris.” A small smile is on her lips. Then she turns and walks back toward her sister.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Eris halts right next to Azriel. So close their shoulders brush, and slowly Eris‘ scent seeps into Azriel’s nostrils until it is the only thing the shadowsinger can focus on.

The Autumn Court prince smells like a whisper of smoke, accompanied by the scent of freshly cut wood with musky hues and a subtle hint of earth after rain.

Eris doesn’t quite know why he walked to Azriel, and not back to Keir or the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. But it was almost like something pulled him into this direction, a little tug on his body and he followed, letting himself be guided by it.

Eris' eyes follow Elain as she weaves her way through the crowds of people to her sister and the Illyrian brute who have also just returned from their dance.

“She is beautiful," Eris says, voice nothing more than a whisper of admiration. “A ray of sunshine even within this place of utter darkness.”

He inhales deeply, Azriel’s scent now all he can smell.

"But blue isn’t her colour.”

Azriel has to admit that as well — neither blue nor black are her colours even though he had hoped so not more than a year ago.

"Green is,” Eris continues. “Just like it is Lucien‘s colour." A faint smile graces his handsome face.

Azriel swallows and clears his throat. He doesn’t want to talk about Lucien, nor Elain. “We are not here to talk about Lucien again.”

"No. No, we are not.” Eris rubs his hand over his jaw. “I’m here to apologise.” Eris keeps his voice low so only Azriel can hear him. “For what I said about your father. I had no intention to hurt you, nor to get involved in your personal affairs.”

Eris’s gaze stays trained on the bustling crowd of dancing people, his broad chest heaving with deep inhales while he drinks in Azriel’s scent.

Night-chilled mist and cedar – beguiling.

Yet, Eris doesn’t let it show what the shadowsinger’s scent does to him, how taut his skin grows solely from smelling Azriel.

“Your jaw?” Azriel gives Eris a sidelong look. There is still a faint hint of a bruise on the side of his face, but it has faded mostly. Thank the Cauldron.

“Almost healed.” Eris inhales deeply, closes his eyes and turns to Azriel who slowly parts his lips, his brows creased.

“I‘m still sorry for it.”

“I deserved it.” There is a cold in Eris’ voice, that makes Azriel shudder and his stomach coils. He knows that this is what Eris has probably always been telling himself when Beron punishes him. Tortures him.

It makes Azriel want to reach out, take his hand into his own and just hold him. But that wouldn’t work for several reasons – they are in public first and foremost all. And they are enemies, and lastly there is the issue of his hands. Wouldn’t the Autumn Court heir with his polished and immaculate appearance feel disgusted about him? Would he not be grossed out from Azriel touching him?

“No,” Azriel says, his heart heavy with emotion. “No you didn’t. You deserve a lot, but not that.”

A small smirk tugs on Eris’ mouth, but it fades as quickly as it appeared. “Rhysand offered me to stay for the night.”

A subtle gasp escapes Azriel’s lips, and a flicker of shock passes over his face.

Eris will stay here. In the Night Court. In the Moonstone Palace. Like back then. When they…kissed.

The shadowsinger feels how his hands turn clammy, cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck.

He has thought his unexplainable feelings and the confusion would vanish when he just stays away from the heir for long enough. And Eris staying here, being so close to him once again, will most definitely not help in fighting against the turmoil raging within him.

And it is almost like Rhys has read his mind (which is impossible, Azriel’s mental defences are always up) because his brother scraps a talon against the shield in his mind, asking for entrance.

Azriel lets him in.

“You will escort Eris to the Moonstone Palace. Keep an eye on him.”

Azriel whips his head into the direction of the High Lord, Rhys’ hand intertwined with Feyre’s while he’s sitting in a sprawl atop his throne. Before Azriel can protest, the High Lord starts talking again.

“Ally or not, I don’t feel good about letting him stay there all alone.” Rhysand looks directly into Azriel’s eyes, even across the distance. “I can trust you with fulfilling this job, Az, can’t I?”

“Pulling rank?” A snarl follows Azriel’s question.

A cold chuckle returns from Rhys, his expression smug, arrogant. “If needed, yes.”

Azriel turns away, glaring out at the dancing people. “I’m taking you there.”

Dumbfounded, Eris turns to the male next to him, his auburn brows curled. “You do what?”

“Rhysand offered you to stay here – I‘m taking you there. The Moonstone palace,” Azriel snaps, anger boiling inside of him, mingling with the overwhelming sensation of Eris being so close to him.

Eris only gives him a long look, not saying anything, but Azriel can tell exactly what he is thinking about. Because he is thinking about the same.

Will this evening end with another kiss? Or more?

tag list for ACOCD @hnyclover @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @a-frog-with-a-laptop @queercontrarian @fandomsmultiverse @acourtofbatboydreams @chunkypossum @baileybird71 @beckkthewreck @hells-sluttiest-new-arrival@owllover123 @acotarobsessed @goldenmagnolias @v3lv3tf0x @talibunny30 @allyhill @popjunkie42 @skyesayshi @going-through-shit

general Azris tag list: @azrielsbabyg @lady-riel @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @ladyelain @banasheefan56 @a-frog-with-a-laptop@ofduskanddreams

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

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 1 year

Text

chapter vi – gust & flame

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Eris Vanserra has been a prisoner in his own home since the day he was born. He has done what he had to in order to survive and protect the few he loves. And he is playing the long game. Waiting, waiting, and waiting for the right time to make his move, to usurp his wicked father and become High Lord of Autumn Court. But things become even more complicated when a human girl drops into his life. Perhaps Eris can wait no longer to take his throne.

Word Count: 3,500+

Warnings: spoilers for entire ACOTAR series

masterlist

Eris did as he promised to the High Lady and Lord of Night Court: he found their best booze and chugged two glasses before pouring a third and forcing himself to nurse is.

There was a fire already crackling when he entered. Night Court had a subtle chill not so different than Autumn Court. Though Eris wish he had a sanctuary similar to Feyre and Rhysand that could give him such comforts.

What the Cauldron are you doing here? Eris asked himself.

He should be back in Autumn Court by now. This was not part of the plan. He was meant to check on Y/N, instill fear into the hearts of Rhysand and his court, and never to appear again.

But now he planned on having dinner with his mate? His mate who had no idea that they were mates.

Someone finally walked into the drawing room.

Eris recognized her as the middle Archeron sister. His youngest brother’s mate.

Her eyes grew wide at his presence.

But then she blinked and seemed to relax quite a bit. “Oh, I thought you were your brother.”

Eris smoothly took another sip of his drink before he said, “I take that as a great offense. I am far more handsome than him.”

Elain managed to force a small smile. But Eris saw how much effort it took her, more than anything.

“I-I did not realize you were dining with us,” she muttered awkwardly.

Clearly his presence made her uncomfortable, whether he was Lucien or not.

“I was forced,” Eris answered bluntly.

A toddler came crawling after Elain, cooing and trying to climb up his aunt’s legs.

Elain smiled – genuine, this time – and leaned down to pick up Nyx.

“So this is the little prince…” Eris finally spoke, observing the toddler.

“He’s certainly treated like one by all his aunts and uncles,” Feyre joked, finally entering the drawing room with Rhysand right behind her.

She immediately went for her son, who beamed at the sight of his mother.

Eris had never thought much about children. Being the eldest of seven meant he was often asked to take care of his brothers growing up. The last time he held a baby was when Lucien had been one.

He figured he’d have children when a marriage was forced upon him by his father for political reasons.

But with Y/N…Eris doesn’t know if he could go through with such a union now. Even though there was voice in his mind screaming that it would put a much needed chasm between the two of them if he did. Distance from him is what Y/N needed most of all. And an arranged marriage with some courtier or another would do just that.

There was a ruckus coming from the front entrance.

Illyrians, Eris thought. So loud and obnoxious.

The rest of Rhys’ inner circle came waltzing into the drawing room: Cassian with his mate Nesta, then Amren, Azriel, Mor. But it was Y/N who walked in last.

And the sight before Eris made him lose his breath.

Y/N wore a dress of Night Court fashion: a grayish plum color that curved into the shape of her body so naturally. While there was hardly any skin showing, it made Eris’ heart race just a little bit faster.

Her face was painted with rather dramatic makeup. Though it suited her and she looked beautiful, Eris somehow knew that Y/N must not involve herself in such glamour in her daily life.

It also completely hid the bruises that Eris had spotted earlier.

“Y/N, you are allowed to tell Mor no,” Feyre giggled at the sight Y/N all dressed up.

Y/N shrugged politely and ducked her head as she said, “It seems to bring her so much joy. I don’t have it in me to stop her.”

But Mor wasn’t paying attention to the conversation. Because as soon as her eyes had been locked on Eris, she gave him a glare that Eris felt should’ve killed him.

“What is he doing here?” Mor snapped.

Eris had been too busy getting lost in Y/N to even notice that he was someone’s prey.

Rhysand stepped forward. “He is our guest tonight, Mor.”

Y/N watched everyone’s reaction’s to Eris’ presence carefully, and she was smart enough to put together that Eris was no friend to the inner circle.

Then she looked at Rhysand, staring intensely at More, who still glared at Eris. She knew the High Lord must be speaking to her through their minds.

“I’m famished!” Cassian groaned. “Let us eat already.”

And the tension was broken – for now.

Rhysand and Feyre guided them to a formal dining room with a long table. However, at the head on one side were two chairs. So the High Lord and Lady could sit next to each other instead of being separated by a massive table.

Feyre kept Nyx in her lap, seeing no issue with feeding him while she also fed herself and entertained their friends and guest.

Nesta sat on Feyre's left side, Cassian sat next to her, and then Y/N squeezed in between Cassian and Mor. Eris could tell it was purposeful. As if Mor and Cassian were protecting the human girl by sitting on either side of him.

Eris managed to grab the seat on the other side of the table that was directly across from Y/N. If he was going through with this terrible dinner, he was at least going to get a good view of his mate.

Amren sat on his other side, at the corner of the table. Whether it was to keep an eye on him or because she didn’t care to sit beside him at all, he didn’t know. Azriel sat to Eris’ left and then Elaine was between the Shadowsinger and Rhysand.

Feyre noticed the unusual quietness.

Their dinners tended to be chaotic, but full of love and camaraderie.

The tension of Eris’ presence was impossible to ignore.

“Wine,” Feyre blurted out. And everyone’s glasses filled with it.

The High Lady didn’t hesitate to toss the entire glass back. And her mate watched in amusement.

“Y/N,” Feyre called to her politely. “Have you been properly introduced to our guest?”

“No,” Y/N answered bluntly. “But I know who he is.” Then she muttered under her breath as if she were talking to herself.

Eris watched her closely, yet still somewhat discreetly.

She then eyed him right back, as if silently telling him, ‘And I can see enough to know I shouldn’t like you…or trust you.’

“Let us toast,” Rhysand stood.

Feyre joined him, Nyx balancing on her hip and her other arm holding out her wine.

“To Y/N,” Rhys started. “Who risked her life to protect and save my son.”

Cassian pounded his fist on the table, “Hear! Hear!”

Mor bumped Y/N’s shoulder playfully, yet proudly.

Eris looked around to see that everyone was beaming at Y/N, who shrunk at the attention, but still slightly lifted her glass off the table.

“We can never repay such a debt,” Rhys added ever so seriously.

“But he will surely try,” Feyre added with a smile, lightening the mood a bit.

“I could smell the flower shop you put in her room from down the hall,” Nesta commented, pretending to act as if it had been an inconvenience.

Y/N smiled at Nesta, almost gratefully.

As soon as the toast was over, food appeared on their plates with a snap of Rhysand’s fingers.

Eris noticed that Y/N was looking around, observing everyone. It was as if she needed to make sure she was matching the groups etiquette, how formal or informal they ate and talked. He had already assumed Y/N had not been from a wealthy mortal family. But her watchfulness only proved it.

“We haven’t poisoned your food,” Cassian teased Eris when he noticed the male hadn’t started eating.

“Maybe we should have,” Mor snips before taking a bite and added a glare to Eris.

“I neither begged nor requested this invitation. Your qualm is not with me,” Eris cooly answered.

“Did you have fun in the stables today, Y/N?” Rhys asked, taking on the role to defuse any sort of tension aimed at Eris.

Y/N nodded shyly. “I didn’t expect you to have horses…since all of you use…different forms of travel.”

“Do you like horses?”

Eris shocked himself, not even realizing the question had come from him until he saw Y/N’s eyes widen in surprise.

Everyone else had paused for a moment to process his boldness as well.

Y/N lowered her gaze to her plate as she nodded and then muttered lowly, “I don’t believe there’s any animal that I don’t love…”

An image of Y/N meeting Eris’ smoke hounds flashed into his mind.

But Mor wasn’t finished yet. “Have you killed that demon of a father yet, Eris?”

Eris didn’t look up from his plate, but his grip on his silverware tightened so hard that he was convinced he was about to break it in half with just his thumb.

So much scheming and secrecy lingered around Eris’ plans to rule Autumn Court, that to have someone so blatantly speak ill of his father and expose his plans was infuriating.

He glanced to his left to see that Azriel gripped a knife in his hand and his shadows were humming with anticipation. The Shadowsinger was fulling expecting Eris to fling himself across the table and try to strangle Morrigan.

“Mor…” Feyre warned, but she mostly sounded disappointed.

“You wish to kill your father?” Y/N asked ever so quietly, eyes narrowed with suspicion and distrust.

Eris knew what Mor was doing: ruining his image befor he ever got to even have a conversation with Y/N.

In a way, he respected her strategy for trying to protect Y/N.

But Eris couldn’t ignore Y/N when she spoke so directly to him.

“My father is unfit to rule,” was all he told her.

But the answer made Y/N’s face scrunch even further in thought.

Mor continued with, “What’s stopping you?”

Eris ground his teeth before snapping, “I can only assume it is the same thing that’s stopping you from killing your own father, Morrigan.”

Mor shot to her feet, fist clenched at her side. “I’ve lost my appetite suddenly.”

A soft wind brushed through the room.

“It was not him that tortured you,” Y/N mumbled, eyes staring off into the distance.

But it was enough to stop Mor in her tracks.

“He brought you to the border and sent word that you needed saving,” Y/N added darkly.

Then she blinked, as if bringing herself out of a daze.

Mor took a deep breath as she stared at the back of Y/N’s head. But then still continued her exit, slamming the door of the dining room behind her.

Eris’ gaze shot to the High Lord and Lady. “What tales have you been telling her?”

“Y/N has a knack for knowing things that have never been told to her,” Rhysand tried to speak for her, making it seem nonchalant with a wave of his hand.

Feyre managed to shift the conversation to lighter topics. And the Inner Circle was set on helping her as much as they could.

Azriel seemed to be the most annoyed with Eris' attendance. But his stoic silence was the only outward rebellion to their guest.

Cassian joked with both Feyre and Y/N. Nesta pretended to be annoyed, but would give her mate looks of love when she thought no one was watching.

Y/N seemed to lighten as the conversation continued. She wouldn’t add anything, but answered pleasantly when anyone spoke to her.

But every so often, her eyes would subtly move to Eris as if he were a puzzle she were trying to figure out.

Eris mostly ignored the conversations around them. But he held onto every single word Y/N spoke and intended to memorize them within his heart.

When they were all finished eating, Feyre said something about going back into the drawing room for drinks and possibly dessert.

But Eris noticed a door leading into their back garden that eventually led to a river.

Without saying anything, Eris walked out of the home. The fresh air did him wonders. Even with so many other people and a steaming supper, Y/N’s scent had infiltrated his senses.

And his body was screaming at him to just speak to her, to get her alone.

The cold air woke him from his trance.

He leaned his head back and looked up at the sky.

It must be the magic of the Night Court that made the stars and moon seem even more beautiful here. Though Eris wondered when the last time he even looked at the sky in Autumn.

“Are you trying to flee?” A deep voice said behind him.

Eris slightly turned to face the Illyrian General.

It sometimes seemed like Cassian hated him the least. But perhaps Eris was confusing his smugness of winning Nesta as a lack of hatred towards him.

“Never. Though I should be leaving soon,” Eris clipped back.

Cassian still lingered though.

And Eris shifted his weight. His eyes were distant, as if he seemed to be mulling something over in his head.

“Do you wish to ask me something?” Cassian asked.

But he surprised Eris by appearing rather serious, no teasing in his tone.

Eris cleared his throat. “Before your mate was turned fae, did you know?”

Cassian nodded his head slowly. “I had an…inkling.”

Eris only gave a slight nod.

“It is stronger for you?” Cassian asked in return.

Eris didn’t want to share something so intimate with anyone, let alone someone he still considered an enemy. But this Illyrian was the only one who seemed to relate to the turmoil he was going through. To know your mate is mortal... it was a terrifying realization.

“As soon as she–“ Eris cleared his throat. “As soon as she looked me in the eye, the bond snapped into place.”

“Perhaps it’s because she needed saving,” Cassian pondered. “The Cauldron has strange ways of connecting us.”

Then the Illyrian turned and looked at the window of the drawing room. Y/N was on her knees, controlling little gusts that lifted Nyx a foot off the ground with his baby wings. Nesta smiled as Nyx fell into fit of giggles when he slowly lowered to the ground.

Eris inhaled sharply. “She’s…”

“A witch, yes.” Cassian finished for him.

Eris seemed to process this. The eerie knowledge she had on everyone, the dazed look she sometimes got, the muttering to herself, the reason she was able to protect the heir of Night Court against an infantry of fae.

Eris had spent so little time with her, yet somehow he'd sensed from the moment he met Y/N that there was something more to her.

“That is how she saved the boy,” he breathed.

Cassian nodded. “Rhys didn’t tell you?”

Eris’ expression darkened. “No, he failed to share that particular detail.”

“Y/n says people have always just believe she is crazy,” Cassian commented darkly.

Was that a protective tone in the Illyrian's voice?

“The wind,” Eris commented. “It tells her things.”

Cassian nodded again. “For the most part, she keeps it to herself. Y/N’s more than aware that many only know witches as evil beings, drinking the blood of innocents and thirsting for more power than they should ever possess.”

But both males knew there was nothing evil about Y/N.

Eris still watched Y/N through the windows. She now held little Nyx in her lap while softly talking to both Nesta and Elain. Perhaps she liked talking to the them because she could sense that they were once mortal like her.

As if feeling someone watching her, Y/N’s eyes moved to meet Eris’ through the window. They locked gazes only for a second or two. But to him, it felt like an hour.

“I should be going,” Eris declared, forcing himself to break eye contact and fully turn to face Cassian.

Then he was marching back into the house, but made sure not to look at Y/N – or anyone else in the room, for that matter. He didn’t pause in the room, not wanting to ruin the joy and comfort that had built in his absence.

On his way to the front door, Eris lowered his mental shields for the first time in the presence of Rhysand and Feyre.

Thank you for your hospitality, but I must return to Autumn Court, Eris mentally messaged the High Lord and Lady.

You are welcome to visit her whenever you wish, Feyre answered.

But Eris ignored her comment, and put his shield back up before they could say anything more on the matter of Y/N.

“Please, wait.” A gentle voice begged, just as Eris reached the front door and had already opened it halfway.

A chill went up his spine. He took a shallow breath, breathing in her scent now that it was not mixed with anything else.

Eris slowly turned to find Y/N watching him hesitantly.

This was only the second time they had ever been alone.

His back straightened and his face went even colder, even more cryptic.

“S-Sorry,” Y/N stuttered out. “I…I just wanted to know…”

She was interrupted by a wind that rushed from outside, brushing through Eris and Y/N.

It suddenly slammed the door shut that Eris had held half open.

“Shhh!” Y/N muttered, clearly not speaking to him.

Eris could easily see how mortals would call her crazy and think nothing more of it. But faes who have lived for hundreds of years could easily see that there was something more to the young woman.

He tilted his head slightly. “Dare I ask what your little friend tells you now?”

His voice almost sounded bored and disinterested. But his heart raced faster, fearing that perhaps the wind knew what Y/N was to him.

Y/N’s eyes widened at his clear awareness of her gift. “T-They just say you should stay. But…but they won’t tell me why.”

“I must be going,” Eris told her harshly. “Was there something you needed?”

She nodded, but seemed less confident now with his performative coldness and annoyance.

“Why…umm…why did you save me?” She sighed.

Eris’ jaw clenched and he crossed his arms. “You would have died in that forest.”

Y/N blinked at his blunt response.

“And you could have just left me there,” she challenged.

Eris looked around at the house they stood in. The home of the High Lord and Lady of a court that was not his own.

“Do you have family? People in the mortal lands?” He asked, making sure to keep out any sympathy or affection in his voice. “You do not have to stay here.”

But Y/N shook her head. “My cov–” She stopped herself. “My family is dead. I’ve been on my own for years.”

“Your coven,” Eris said slowly, proving that he caught her mistake.

She glared at him. “We are not what you think.”

He ignored her reply. “What happened to them?”

“They were killed by the nearby village.”

“By humans?” Eris persisted.

“We could never settle in one place for long. People always assumed we brought some sort of evil with us. But all we ever wanted was to be left alone.” She shook her head as her eyes glazed over with the memory. “There was a plague going through the mortal realm. We had the pow–“ She stopped herself again, and cleared her throat. “We had the means to cure those suffering. But the village…they thought we had brought the illness.” Y/N’s voice shook as she continued, “The night we were brewing the medicine to save them was the night they chose to come and slaughter us.”

Eris felt his heart drop at his mate’s story.

A silent tension filled the room.

“I-I don’t know why I just told you all that,” Y/N mumbled, clearly annoyed with herself for oversharing with a stranger.

“Yet, you survived,” Eris pointed out, managing to still sound unmoved by her story.

Y/N’s eyes stared at the floor as she whispered, “I shouldn’t have.”

All of Eris was screaming at him to go to his mate, to comfort her, to pull her into his arms. He wished to tell her that nothing like that would ever happen to her again, that he would keep her safe.

But he couldn’t even keep her safe from his father, from his court.

So, instead of doing or saying the things his heart begged for, he cleared his throat roughly and said, “I must being going.”

And he walked down the path, only able to winnow when he finally left the protection wards of the River House.

He didn’t turn back to give her a final look.

Eris heard Y/N’s story... and gave her nothing.

–––––

Let me know if you liked this! I love hearing from readers 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

Still think only like 5 people are reading this silly fic. lol

Feel free to send me questions in an ask. Those always making me happy.

chapter vii

#eris vanserra #gust & flame #eris acotar #eris x reader #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra fic #eris vanserra reader insert #night court #autumn court #acotar #a court of thorns & roses #inner circle #cassian acotar #feyre archeron #nyx acotar #rhysand

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