#but REST ASSURED this is about eris and lucien!

[praetorqueenreyna]

Concession Strategy, Eris Week Day 1: Brotherhood/Family

Happy Eris Week everybody!! I worked on this fic for @erisweek2023 with the co-runners of the event, @secret-third-thing and @lucienforhighking. They'll be writing the second and third chapters of this fic to complete the story.

Read here on Ao3!!

Eris was tired. In a fit of paranoia, Beron had assigned him to review every missive and contract that had come through the Court in the past few months, claiming it was out of concern that someone in his cabinet was embezzling money from the treasury. To Eris, the excuse was weak. More likely that Beron wanted to watch his eldest son toil away on a menial task. He stubbornly sat at his desk for hours at a time, determined to finish his pointless assignment quickly so he could get back to his actual work.

A servant broke his concentration. She announced that the High Lord required his presence in the throne room immediately. With a sigh, Eris straightened his rumpled clothes and stood up, wincing at the sharp tingles that shot down his legs. He rubbed at his eyes as he made his way to the throne room, his feet taking him down the correct path on instinct. Beron was perched on his throne reading a letter. He looked annoyed, as usual.

“A delegation from Spring is on their way,” he announced without even glancing at his son.

“Hello Father, it’s good to see you too,” Eris drawled. A scathing glare from Beron informed him that his father was not in the mood for joviality. “Why?”

“They want to discuss the incident with the Laurellons.”

Eris bit back a groan. The Laurellon family had lived on the border between Autumn and Spring for as long as anyone could remember. Some centuries ago, a long-forgotten insult had divided the family into two feuding factions, one on either side of the border. Since then, they had ignored every communication from their respective High Lords. Both peace treaties and threats of violence had been returned with crude phrases scribbled all over the parchment. Beron and Tamlin had independently decided to ignore the bickering family. Avoiding them when crossing the border was easy, and they weren’t doing much harm to anyone other than each other.

That is, they hadn’t done much harm up until a week earlier. The Laurellons on the Autumn side had gotten hold of an ancient and dangerous fire spell. They had launched it across the border, where it had immediately set the forest ablaze. The fire had taken days to put out, and had scorched more than five acres of woodland on both sides of the border. Most of the damage had been in Spring, and so Beron hadn’t seen fit to respond in any way. It made Eris want to scream; that his father was so selfish and stupid and incapable of forming alliances with anybody. Of course Tamlin would have to send an envoy on his own accord; Beron would never lift a finger to help someone other than himself.

“When will they be here?” Eris asked just as a trumpet in the foyer announced their guests’ arrival. Apparently, Tamlin was hoping to catch Beron off guard. A smart move, frankly. Eris took his place standing just behind his father’s throne, hands clasped behind his back. He expected to see Andras, or one of the other uncouth soldiers that Tamlin sent to other courts to negotiate in his place. Instead, a familiar red-haired male strolled through the doors of the throne room.

Unexpected longing at seeing Lucien again punched him in the gut. The last time Eris had seen his youngest brother, he had been curled on the ground sobbing into the broken body of his lover. A part of Eris had wanted to comfort him. Another part felt a sick sense of satisfaction. Lucien had always been too soft, too sweet. It endeared him to Eris in a way that none of his other siblings had, but also filled him with rage. He needed to learn, to build that hard shell around himself, to become selfish and petty. It was what all the Vanserra children did. It was what Eris had done. Who was Lucien to defy his fate?

Eris had been sure that his lover’s gruesome death at the hands of their father would be a turning point for Lucien. He’d understand how the world worked, become like the rest of them. But he continued to refuse to play the Vanserra game. He had disappeared that very night, not even bothering to disarm the spells around the castle that would alert them to his absence. Three of his younger brothers had gone after him, intending to take him out. Only one had returned. He revealed that Lucien had gone to Spring, and that he was in Tamlin’s care now. The dark tendrils of anxiety that wove around what remained of his heart loosened ever so slightly. In Spring, a sensitive male like Lucien would be far safer than he would be at home.

The Lucien standing before him now was a far cry from the shattered fae that had left Autumn. He stood tall and proud, one hand casually perched on the sword at his waist. He had let his hair grow longer, and it cascaded across his shoulders and back in a crimson waterfall. He was clad head to toe in green, a symbol of his new allegiance. Eris recalled only just now that Lucien had recently been granted the title of emissary. The news had filtered in to him through his spies in the other courts. Beron had refused to acknowledge the existence of the son that had abandoned him.

A glance towards the throne revealed that Beron’s only reaction was to slightly lift his eyebrows. “Lucien,” he said evenly.

Lucien bowed, bending at the waist at the exact angle that indicated respect for a High Lord, but not deference as one of his subjects. So he had been learning. “High Lord Beron,” he greeted. “I am here on behalf of High Lord Tamlin to discuss how our courts might work together to restore the land damaged by the Laurellons and mitigate any future skirmishes.”

“Interesting that Tamlin didn’t think the situation important enough to come here in person, and chose to send you.” Beron’s lips curled into a grin, adding more insult to his condescension. It was extremely common for High Lords to send emissaries to negotiate for them. He wanted to degrade Lucien, as he had done for his entire life.

Lucien did not take the bait. “Tamlin is at the damaged border, working with the dryads to replenish magic to the trees that were destroyed. He regrets that he could not be here in person, but as his royal emissary he trusts me to handle such minor discussions for him.”

Something like pride swelled in Eris’s chest. Lucien kept his head up, maintaining eye contact with his father. Beron’s smirk had twisted into a grimace at the politely-worded disrespect. “Very well.”

Lucien began speaking, rattling off information about the extent of the damage on the Spring side and estimates of what had been burned on the Autumn side. He only occasionally referenced a small notebook for a particular number. He then began to outline a treaty that Tamlin had drawn up, but Beron cut him off with a lazy wave of his hand.

“You’ve given me a lot to think about. I will of course have to verify those numbers myself before our courts can discuss how to move forward. We will reconvene tomorrow evening. You may stay here during that time in our guest quarters. I trust you know the way.”

Lucien’s jaw tightened as he ground his teeth together. The delaying tactic was a favorite of Beron’s, to put his adversary off and force them to wait on him. Beron was trying to goad Lucien into lashing out.

“Tomorrow, then. Is that all, Lord Beron?”

“That is all.” With that, Beron dismissed his youngest child. He beckoned an advisor over and began talking to him in a low tone, as if nobody else were in the room. Lucien’s eyes flashed, and for a moment Eris was sure that he was going to shoot off one of those smart remarks that frequently got him in trouble. The rage passed, and Lucien simply turned on his heel and walked out.

That evening, Eris wandered across the castle’s grounds. He told himself that he was just enjoying the cool night air. So what if his stroll took him past the fountain that had always been Lucien’s favorite spot? His brother was there, sitting at the edge of the fountain, one knee propped up to support his chin resting on his hands. It was a position that Eris had found him in over and over, for centuries. Looking at him now, it was almost as if the past few months hadn’t happened. Like he had never left.

Lucien shifted slightly when Eris settled on the stone wall next to him. Just enough to keep them from touching. “You’ll have to do better tomorrow,” Eris said. “He’s testing you. Trying to undermine you. And if you fuck this up, you might as well quit, because he’ll never take you seriously as an emissary again.”

For a moment, Lucien was still. Finally he shifted, just enough that he could peer at Eris with one accusing eye. “What are you doing?”

Eris scoffed. “What do you think I’m doing? I’m helping you.”

In one fluid motion, Lucien leapt to his feet. He turned on Eris, snarling. “I don’t need your help. I never did. Why don’t you fuck off and leave me alone?” He stormed off inside, leaving Eris speechless for the first time in his life.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #fanfic #eris week #eris week 2023 #eris vanserra #lucien vanserra #beron vanserra #BROTHER SHENANIGANS #me inserting my secret tamcien agenda into the fic #but REST ASSURED this is about eris and lucien!

[separatist-apologist]

Something In The Orange

Summary: Someone is trying to murder Eris Vanserra's soon-to-be wife.

And no one can rule him out as a suspect

Note: Big thanks to @octobers-veryown for the mood board and the unknown anon for the song inspiration.

For @sjmromanceweek

Read On AO3 | Chapter 1: First Date

“Knock knock,” came a soft, sweet voice. Arina turned from her usual haunt in the window, surprised to see an actual, living woman standing in the doorframe. She wasn’t from Avalonia if her high, starched neckline and her chestnut colored hair hidden beneath a pearl studded net was any indication. Arina sat up a little straighter as the woman stepped nervously inside. “I hope you don’t mind. Lucien mentioned you might welcome some non-Vanserra company.”

“I would,” Arina replied without mentioning she’d have welcomed any company that wasn’t the sneering, smug face of Eris Vanserra. He came every evening to insult her while seeming genuinely surprised she didn’t like him, hovering in the doorway until he was satisfied he’d done his duty and vanished. 

“I’m Elain,” Elain told her, extending a delicate, gloved hand. Arina rose from her spot in order to shake it, delighting in the friendship etched over Elain’s face.

“Oh,” Arina said, because she’d heard the ladies at court gossiping about Elain. “I thought—”

“That I’d be pregnant?” Elain asked with a gleam in her eye. “Yes, I heard that rumor was going around. Lucien was caught kissing me and my father overreacted just a tad.”

“I’ll say,” Arina replied with a laugh.

“Don’t tell anyone, but it worked out for me. He never would have been allowed to ask me to marry him otherwise.”

“And that’s what you wanted?” Arina questioned.

Elain smiled, biting her bottom lip. “Yes, it is.”

“Well, someone should be happy to be married,” Arina declared, ignoring the look of curiosity Elain shot her. There would be time to confide everything given they were about to become sisters through marriage, but right then all Arina wanted was a reprieve from Eris.

That meant thinking about him and talking about him. Anything to escape him, even temporarily.

Unfortunately, it was all Elain wanted to talk about. For the first time since Arina had arrived, she allowed Elain to take her out of her bedroom. “When is the wedding?” Elain asked her, adding, “Lucien isn’t allowed to get married before Eris.”

Eris had such a big ego that Arina believed that was true.

“The end of the month,” she said with her usual glumness. 

Elain’s smile brightened. “Rest assured, princess, that nothing happens on time in the palace. If they told you a month, expect six at minimum.”

“You’d wait half a year?” Arina questioned, wondering if Elain knew that Lucien had once been meant for Arina before he was caught. Did it bother Elain? Would it bother Arina were the circumstances reversed? Maybe, if she loved the man and thought the other woman loved him. The problem was Arina’s apathy. Lucien and Eris were nearly interchangeable given how little she knew about them. Maybe she and Lucien would have gotten on better, or maybe they would have been antagonists right from the start, too.

Maybe there was something about her when it came to Vanserra men. Whatever the case, Arina decided it was better to say nothing to Elain rather than risk the budding friendship between them. She couldn’t take another week locked up in her room with the company of a man she suspected had tried to kill her. 

“I’d wait half my life,” Elain assured her cheerfully with a bounce in her step. “If you saw my home, you’d understand.”

“Where—”

“The North,” Elain interrupted, as though she’d been dying to say it. “It’s cold and dreary and even when it’s warm it's not. Here, at least, you have the benefit of all four seasons and proper warmth, you know?”

Arina could only nod her head. 

“Have you seen the gardens?” Elain continued, plowing forward Arina’s emotional defenses with a single minded determination that could have made a soldier weep. “They were the first place I visited when I was brought here. You can tell a lot about a kingdom based on their royal gardens.”

Arina hadn’t seen anything in the palace and it hadn’t occurred to her to ask. Every time she considered it, Eris would appear with that disdainful smile of his and Arina was angry all over again. He acted as if she had done something to cause this marriage—like it was her fault. Arina hadn’t been consulted. She’d been a baby when the details had first been arranged. It was tempting to try and tell him that but Eris wasn’t stupid.

He wanted someone easy to blame. 

And she refused to give him the satisfaction of trying just so he could break her down. If Eris wanted to be at odds then that’s what they’d be. Arina mulled it over as Elain dragged her out into warm sunshine toward a sprawling garden of greenery Arina just did not care about. A building in the distance caught her attention, though.

“Do you know what that is?”

“A kennel, I think,” Elain said, cheerful as ever. “Filled with hunting dogs so I’d stay away if I were you.”

Dogs? 

Arina followed Elain, steps slowing as she recalled the little stray that she’d spent the better part of six months feeding, trying to coax it into the palace. She’d almost managed before her father spotted her and forced her to watch as one of his guards killed the animal outright. It was one of many hard, brutal lessons her father inflicted on her. She needed to be harder, colder, less compassionate.

But Arina still thought about that dog, so skinny she could see his ribs poking through spotted fur, and the big, warm eyes that had trusted her. What a mistake that was for the animal. Arina carried the guilt around like a sack of stones tied to her back, wishing she could go back and save it somehow. Save it from her father or herself, whichever was easier.

Did the king treat his animals well? It was all she could think about as her and Elain took a tour around the garden. Arina recognized she wasn’t being a good friend to Elain, who was clearly trying. Elain’s passion laid in the flowers around them, pointing each one out to tell Arina the names and little plant facts she’d gathered over the years. 

“Do you know if there is a library in the palace?” Arina heard herself asking Elain as they began to double back through the maze of shrubs and trees all artfully planted around an immaculate lawn and careful, stone laid pathways.

“I’m sure there is. All palaces have one, right? Maybe Eris would know?”

Yeah, Arina bet he would. Perhaps Elain noticed her hesitation because she added, “I could ask Lucien? We could go together, if you like?”

Relief flooded through Arina. “I would like that.”

“I’ll get you a sun hat for the garden,” Elain continued undeterred by Arina’s lack of enthusiasm. “You read, I’ll plant.”

“Only if we can have a picnic while we do it,” Arina agreed, the scene stretching before her easily. Perhaps life wouldn’t be so bad with Elain around. Wherever Lucien was sent to once he was married could likely support her, too. They could be friends, living far from the palace having little adventures and general fun while Eris terrorized the capital.

Elain and Arina split ways once inside, leaving Arina to double back toward the kennels. No one paid her any attention, though a few guards watched with bemused expression until she got close enough she could smell the dogs in the air. Only then did someone in a fluttering, red cape and a white and gold uniform say, “Those dogs could kill you.”

“I won’t touch,” she promised, drawing her hands close to her chest. “The prince said I could be here.”

That was a lie and one that was likely to get her in trouble if Eris ever learned about it. But for the moment it also gained her access which was all Arina cared about. The inside smelled heavily of dog and some kind of minty cleaner, with rows of large, spacious cages that housed the animals. Arina didn’t know what she’d expected.

Something small and hungry like the dog from home. These creatures were big, tall enough that when one stood, blue eyes watching her with interest, the shoulders of the creature would have reached her hip. They weren’t starving with no ribs to be found, and glossy gray coats that were reminiscent of smoke. 

They looked fast. Smart, too. No one was inside to watch her—the guards had turned their backs and were chatting amongst themselves. Arina dared to step closer to the cage of the dog standing and looking at her, palm held out in what she hoped was a friendly gesture.

“Hi,” she whispered, watching the dog also creep closer, ears perked up high and tail wagging ever so slightly. That seemed like a good sign, she thought. The two of them came closer and closer, until Arina dared to press her palm to the bars of the cage and the dog sniffed cautiously, his curiosity overriding his instincts. Or, perhaps, they weren’t as mean as the guards made them out to be. After all, all the dogs were sitting at the edge of the crates, some with thumping tails and others with soft, low whines.

Arina was looking at the dog in the next crate when the one smelling her hand offered her palm a tentative lick. She smiled, exhaling as she did. The dog licked again, tail thudding behind him and Arina whispered, “Good boy.”

She went around to all twelve dogs, daring to stick her fingers between the bars to scratch their noses as she became bolder. No one tried to chew off her fingers and by the end of the day, Arina was in a better mood than she’d been in months. She was going to wash her hands, dress herself nicely, sit beside Eris and beg him to let her take them out for a walk. She’d do whatever Eris asked, no matter how absurd. 

Maybe things weren’t so bad, she reasoned. Her marriage was a political farce but there were other good things happening around her. Maybe she didn’t need love. Maybe having friends and a fulfilling life could be enough. Arina wasn’t one to give into pessimism if she could help it. The sun always returned, was still a force to be reckoned with and maybe she could be, too.

At least, she thought so right up until she felt something wrap brutally tight against her throat. Arina tried to pull, tried to struggle but whoever held her had an ironclad grip. Arina went down, lungs aching, thinking of the dogs in the kennel. 

ERIS:

Eris hadn’t intended to meet his youngest brother’s fiance before the wedding. In his mind he figured he’d have to attend the wedding and he could introduce himself there. Tucked away in his study, lounging in a chair, Eris found himself taken by surprise when Princess Elain stepped inside without knocking, her arms crossed over her stiff dress.

“We need to get you a more interesting wardrobe,” Eris said the moment the door clicked shut behind her. The clothing of the north wasn’t practical or fashionable and had always been his one annoyance about Elain’s older sister Nesta. They were beautiful women dressed like nuns. Elain was, perhaps, the most egregious of the three given how effortlessly beautiful she was. It seemed a shame to put her in those heavy coats and tightly boned corsets. 

“Oh?” Elain Archeron asked, her pretty, pink lips upturned with a smile. “Perhaps we could pick out a new wardrobe at the same time we work on your manners?”

“I deserved that,” Eris conceded, sitting up in his chair. “What can I do for you?”

“Where is the library?”

“Off-limits to you,” Eris replied with a small amount of curiosity. “Have Lucien give you the key.”

“It’s not for me. It’s for Arina.”

Eris loathed the way his body seemed to twitch with interest almost as much as he loathed himself for noticing. Elain didn’t notice and Eris refused to give in to the sensation even as his traitorous mouth said, “If she wants access, she’ll have to ask me.”

“She hates you.”

Eris stared at Elain. “I was told you were sweet.”

“I can be,” Elain replied, offering him a truly saccharine smile. “I don’t suppose you want to hear what I was told about you.”

No, Eris was certain he didn’t want to learn the court gossip that surrounded himself. Cruel bastard was likely the most common refrain—but Eris didn’t want to hear it, all the same. 

“Well, as compelling as an argument that was, I’m going to regretfully decline. If my beloved wants to visit the library, she can ask me.”

“And you’ll take her?”

Eris didn’t believe for one moment Arina could read. His father had lamented how woefully uneducated women just a little further west to them were—how a formal education was often eschewed in favor of creating a dutiful wife, of which Arina seemed also unskilled at. No, if Arina wanted in the library it meant she was up to something nefarious and Eris would be there.

Supervising. 

“Anywhere she likes,” Eris replied, flashing Elain his most convincing smile. Not that it worked on her, of course. Elain merely watched, brown eyes narrowed with suspicion. When had the palace become filled with women who hated him, he wondered? Once, Eris had walked these halls like a god. Now women stared him down with disdain in their eyes.

Well. Elain and Arina did. 

But how long before their bad attitude affected everyone else? 

“It was nice to meet you,” Elain assured him, her tone betraying that meeting him had been the exact opposite. Eris inclined his head, allowing Elain to leave as he reclined back in his chair, chin resting against his fingertips. So. Lucien’s former and current fiances had teamed up, had they? Formed a little alliance at court? 

That annoyed him. 

He could have gone to complain to Lucien, who was irritated that Eris was going to marry Arina even after Lucien himself had wrecked everything. Lucien had never considered the consequences of his actions and figured everything would work itself out because it always had.

For him. Not for anyone else, of course, but for him it always had and always would. Lucien got the woman he wanted but had to face down the reality that in doing so, Arina got Eris.

He considered going to his father and demanding Arina be kept away from Elain. Beron would see it done which was precisely what kept Eris in his chair. If his father thought secluding Arina away from court and isolating her from all potential friends was a good idea, that told Eris he was being unreasonably awful.

He didn’t want to align with his father on the personal. Rarely on the political.That didn’t mean Eris was going to stop what he was doing and rush to see Arina. He was in no mood for another showdown with a woman and instead returned to his work with renewed vigor. If there was one thing Eris always found motivating, it was avoidance. He didn’t want to talk to Arina and so work suddenly became fascinating.

His duties, once mundane, seemed to him almost special in comparison. And as Eris finished, well aware he needed to go see her, he had the realization that he wished he could grasp her by the shoulders and make her see that he had not wanted this either. That he had begged and negotiated and argued in circles trying to avoid the fate they’d now found themselves in. 

If he could have freed her, he would have. Without hesitation.

He couldn’t. Not without enraging his father and risking a lot of people’s lives. Beron would hurt Eris but he wouldn’t kill him, not after the years spent grooming him to one day become king. In his way, Beron seemed to like Eris better than anyone else in his family. Perhaps it was being the hoped for, first born son that softened Beron—if Beron’s treatment of Eris could ever have been called soft. 

He’d suggested just killing Arina’s father, absorbing the territory, and installing Arina at court. It had seemed like Beron might agree for a time before his advisors caught wind of the plan and promptly shut it down. There was nothing nobles hated more than seeing one of their own so easily deposed. It made them restless—hungry for blood. As far as Eris was concerned, this was their punishment for throwing their little tantrum.

Diplomacy had won the day, which meant none of their daughters would ever sit on a throne.

Arina had saved him from that, at least—he liked sleeping with the ladies at court but he didn’t want to be married to them. They lacked ambition, were merely puppets to their more powerful fathers who would attempt to weaponize their daughters against Eris and though Eris knew it wasn’t their fault, he resented them for it.

Was it so wrong to want someone to want him? Yes—and he knew better than to want it. Eris had pushed those notions away until they were so deeply buried he was convinced they didn’t exist anymore. Boys wanted love but men knew better. It was that thought that kept Eris from seeking out Arina until she didn’t come to dinner. Predictable behavior, he thought with some irritation—and rich, too, given she’d accused him of being a coward. Eris spent the better part of the evening preparing his speech to her in which he’d demand her silence as he informed her there was no escaping this marriage.

And to get used to it. They could figure the rest out later, though Eris wanted separate lives. He’d offer her up any of their numerous estates if she wanted to live somewhere else—after she gave him a son. Just one, he thought privately. The idea of having to sleep with an unwilling woman more than he was required to made his stomach turn. 

Every step brought him closer to the proverbial hang man’s noose. Hells, but he did not want to have this conversation with her. Eris had nearly convinced himself not to go into her room at all when he arrived. But Arina had called him a coward and Eris needed to prove to her—and maybe himself—that he was no coward. He could do hard things.

He could…walk in on Arina laying dead on the floor.

“Fuck,” he breathed, crossing the room quickly only to slam to the ground, his knees screaming in protest. “If you godsdamn die right now—”

There was a cord twisted around her throat, tight enough it had left a bruise against her otherwise unblemished throat, but not so tight Eris couldn’t slide his fingers through and relieve the pressure against her airway. With his other hand, Eris lifted her floppy, lifeless body into his lap so he could undo the knot behind her tangle of thick hair. 

She wasn’t dead. As he worked he saw the faint, frantic flutter of her throat pulsating against her skin. Close, maybe, but not dead and that was all that mattered. Arina began to take deeper breaths as color returned to the gold of her cheeks, chasing away the blue tinge of her lips.

Eris was certain he’d aged a decade in the frantic minutes it took to free her. Arina opened eyes filled with panic as she gripped his forearm, looking around wildly.

“Don’t speak,” he warned, pocketing the cord. “Just breathe.”

“You,” she rasped, the word an accusation. Did she truly believe he’d order her dead only to revive her? It would have been all too easy to slit her throat while she laid there and blame it on someone else. Eris shifted, spreading his legs a little wider as Arina pushed herself from his lap only to collapse between his thighs, palms flat on the marble floor. 

“What did you do to make someone so vengeful?” Eris asked, more curious than anything. That was twice now—surely it wasn’t a jilted courtier coming after her. There was something deeply personal about this second attack, though Eris couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Poisoning was detached, removed from the person being killed but strangling seemed intimate. Angry, even. 

Arina didn’t answer, turning those too-big eyes on him. “Is there a bruise?”

Eris clenched his jaw. “Yes.”

“I think I’d like to be alone,” Arina whispered, pushing herself off the floor like she’d practiced this before. Eris recognized what was happening—the way she set her jaw, swallowing the urge to cry so she could look at him with blank, dead eyes. No emotion, just a numb sort of detachment he’d perfected himself. For a moment he remained exactly where he was, his mind unable to process what was happening.

And then he stood. “You need a guard.”

“I want to be alone,” she repeated, her voice whisper soft. “Thank you for this.”

It wasn’t good enough. Eris hated her dismissal even more. “Tell me who did this.”

“I don’t know,” she said, refusing to look at him.

“I’ll—”

“Eris, she whispered, twisting her fingers nervously in front of her body. “Please.”

Growling in frustration, Eris stalked from the room unsure what he wanted to do. He heard the lock click behind him, shutting him out definitively. Fine. She didn’t want his help then he wouldn’t offer it.

But all night, all Eris could see when he closed his eyes was Arina lifeless on the floor in a heap, her face hidden beneath all that soft hair. His mind forced him to replay her wrapping those long fingers around her throat, feeling for the dark bruise already forming against her skin as the light winked out of her gaze.

It wasn’t the first time someone had hurt her that way.

But Eris swore it would be the last. 

#eris vanserra #do NOT get used to all these updates happening #i will be returning to my goblin cave just as soon as the week is over

[dreamersinthedaylightinspo]

Autumn Revolution: An ACOTAR Fic

Idk if this is part of anything but recently I was thinking a lot about the Autumn Court and Eris and Lucien and LoA especially - so I wrote this down. Takes place after a hypothetical scenario where the Night Court somehow accidentally reveals the Affair(tm) so Lucien is on the run and Beron is trying to decide how best to punish his wife for her infidelity - which prompts Eris to say, "Now or never." (Also featuring a handful of OCs because I literally can't NOT add new people to this world.)

Note: The Autumn Court boys are named, for the purposes of this fic Eris, Warrin, Roland, Rennard, Josse, Durante, and Lucien. Lucien and Eris are the only ones with Greek-origin names, showing that they have a closer connection to their mother. (Amara is the name I've chosen for Lady Autumn.) The others have French-origin names, showing their loyalty to Beron and the Autumn Court.

WARNING! This fic contains brief instances of strong/implied anti-LBGT sentiment and misogyny in language. Please use caution when reading.

They were all gathered up in the great council room. Wide, arching windows, inter-spaced with the banner sigils of Autumns’ High Houses. The table was long and severe, its dark wood shining under the light of torches and dripping wax candles, bereft of any decorations. Beron sat at the head, his sons flanking him on each side. Eris was seated at his right, as custom. He watched each of the lords fall in – every male head of family in the Forest House, and several from the Eyrie, and the Cliff House, and even the Foxhole. Within a few minutes, every significant political figure in Autumn was seated at the High Lord’s table.

            And then, the door was closed, and everyone was silent, waiting for the High Lord to speak.

            Eris wished he could feel surprised, taken aback, perhaps, at all the fanfare. But he’d known as soon as that idiot girl calling herself “High Lady” had opened her mouth –

            He bit his tongue, tasted blood, and swallowed it calmly.

            No good in getting angry now. Nothing to be done in remembering it. The past could not be undone. He thought of his mother, locked in the Forest House’s prison-towers, high above the rest. She’d be as carefully warded as the main gates, if not more so. For the past three days since Feyre Archeron’s careless pronouncement, Amara had been imprisoned. Even the servants could not confirm which of the towers hosted her, and the guards were summarily forbidden from speaking of it. Only Beron knew her exact location.

            Only he would decide her fate.

            Eris had accepted that he was a bad person long ago – but no one could ever deny that he loved his mother. Even Under the Mountain, he’d protected her. All of his brothers had, in fact.

            That solidarity was long gone now.

            Beron did not address the gathering. His voice rang like a death knell.

            “Have we located the bastard?”

            Eris could have laughed at that. He’d teased Lucien about being a bastard for so long – it was possible that Lucien wouldn’t even be hurt or offended by being called that. But Beron’s ambered eyes were cold, and he spoke with the expectation of response.

            Lord Corentin of the Eyrie stood, neatly pushing his chair back.

            “The northern border has seen no sign of him.”

            Lords Tanguy and Winoc also rose, their chins low in deference to the High Lord.

            “We have no indication that he has crossed back into Spring,” said Lord Tanguy, whose estate now hosted the graves of two of Eris’s own brothers. He was a fair, stout old creature with no spine, Eris thought, and seemed sensitive to the knowledge that he’d buried a High Lord’s children in his orchards. He was always especially keen to do Beron’s will as a result. “Rest assured, my lord, my scouts will not stop searching until the traitor is located.”

            If Lord Tanguy wanted to risk his own neck by trespassing into Tamlin’s territory, he was welcome to do it, Eris thought. This whole discussion was somewhat pointless – Lord Winoc was now espousing the virtues of seeking potential aid from the Winter Court, while Calixte and Kylian, both of the Cliff House, posed the ludicrous idea that Lucien could have somehow escaped by sea to the Continent – because if they had really wanted to find Lucien and bring him to heel, they would have asked Eris to lend his smokehounds.

            But they hadn’t. And, perhaps, they wouldn’t.

            As Eris had always suspected, Beron did not give a single solitary shit about Lucien.

            When the lords had returned to their seats, anxiously waiting their High Lord’s judgement, there was a beat of silence. Beron said nothing. His expression was somewhat pensive and dark. The silence dragged out; Eris found himself listening rather intently to wax dripping from one particularly green candlestick into the bronze dish below. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

            “Perhaps,” said Lord Onesime, “we should change the subject.”

            There was only one other subject.

            All of them kept looking right at Beron, waiting for his word. It would have been the height of disrespect to remark on the Lady of Autumn’s fate while in presence of her husband, who controlled her future.

            “I think not,” said Josse.

            Eris looked at his younger brother, eyebrows raised just so.

            Josse had their father’s unkind mouth, his sharp features, and none of the elegance that made Beron’s countenance at least bearable. He was a sneering, crass fool.

            “We need to bring Lucien in as soon as possible,” he said. “Too long has he scorned us, laughed in the face of our father, our House. What will the other Courts say of us if we can’t punish our own when he’s clearly transgressed?”

            Transgressed how? Eris almost asked. Just by being born?

Across the table, on Beron's left, Rennard and Warrin merely nodded along. Idiots, all of them, Eris thought.

            He found all of this sort of childish, in a way. Josse was an ignoramus too up his own ass to know to know the reason he was angry was because he was jealous of Lucien and always had been. It was the same with the other two. Mother had always liked Lucien best, and they all knew why. Eris, who had known from the start, didn’t even blame his mother for it. When your options were true love and a life of pleasure and peace in Rhodes, or Beron? She was a saint for even trying to stay here, to mother them, when it clearly made her suffer beyond their comprehension.

            In any case, by the time Josse was born, birth was a chore for the Lady of Autumn. She’d been begging Beron to go on a contraceptive for decades upon decades, and only after Lucien’s “miraculous” birth did he actually allow it.

            In fact, Eris strongly suspected that Beron had always known that Lucien was illegitimate. He was always harsher on Lucien than the rest of them – but simultaneously spared his youngest from some of his more intimate and painful tortures. Perhaps Beron had even been expecting this, and that was why he now hesitated.

            Helion was no slouch, no matter what his brothers believed, and Beron knew that as well as Eris did. The fact that Lucien had never gone down to the Forest House’s deepest pits, that he had never seen the rack – that might be the only diplomatic saving grace that Beron had, should Helion decide that he was angry and bring his army of spellcasters down on Autumn.

            Eris, however, was rather tired of diplomacy.

            “I don’t know why you care,” he said, leveling his gaze at Josse. “Your position in line isn’t any more secure now that we’ve determined for a fact that Lucien is out of the way.”

            They all looked at him. All of the lords – his father, and his brothers. The silence was deafening.

            Josse snarled back at him. “It’s not just about him. It’s about that whore.”

            Eris frowned. “Well, that’s awfully rude. That is still our mother you’re speaking of.”

            “Not anymore,” said Josse. He was pale and clammy; steam practically poured from his ears. “She’s no better than any harlot on the streets of Rhodes. She’s sullied the honor of our house – of our whole Court.”

            He looked back at his father, who still said nothing. His face was marble, his eyes sharp. Eris ran the numbers, looking for something he could say in response. The others nodded, murmuring their agreements. Mother’s odds of survival were not looking good. They hadn’t been good to start, given that this was Beron they were dealing with but – they had no idea if Helion still had feelings for Amara. If he would try to avenge her death in some way. That was the thing he needed to leverage.

            “So, we send her back to Helion,” he remarked, casual and dismissive. “Problem solved.”

            “This insult cannot be born,” said one of the lords, further down the table. Far enough away that he was out of range for Eris’s glare. “For the Lord of Day to claim both the usurper and one of our noble ladies?”

            Warrin risked a sneer directed at Eris. “Going soft?” he asked.

            “What? You want to risk war over a single female? That’s horribly stupid, even for you.”

            Rennard snorted. “To be honest, I had no idea that Helion even liked females. Though I hear his catamites are almost indistinguishable from females in Rhodes. Perhaps he simply made a mistake.”

            Nobody laughed with him. It was a bad, sick joke anyway. Helion’s sexual proclivities were among the host of reasons why he was disliked in Autumn. Not the fact that he could crush these petty, squabbling lordlings like a bug beneath his heels – to admit that fact would show weakness. So, they complained about who Helion shared his bed with.

            Again, Beron said nothing. His face gave away nothing. None of the things that Eris could use – damn it. Was it possible that this turn of events had somehow disrupted their father’s bank of responses? It had been like this with Amarantha. When that devil-woman came, and when she humiliated Beron by stealing his powers, when she had strung up a few of Autumn’s wealthiest, hanging them from the towers of the Forest House after she robbed them of their riches and salted their lands –

            Beron had done nothing. He had refused to rebel.

            He put his head down, and was quiet. Like this.

            Eris had a bad feeling. Just as he had then.

            “It does not matter,” said Beron. Their lord father’s voice sent all of them into silence. “Lucien is in the wind, to be sure. And if Helion claims him, then so be it. He was never my son to begin with. He was no threat to my throne, now or in the past. I don’t care. But the fact remains that this slight cannot go unpunished.”

            And then he rose.

            “I will do it,” said the Lord of Autumn, cold as frost. “She was my consort, and my responsibility. The honor lost was mine. And the vengeance paid will be mine.”

            Mother.

            “Josse,” said Beron, and he lifted his head, eyes shining with twisted eagerness. “Go down to the square and order them to begin constructing the pyre.”

            At once, his brother rose, and made to leave the room.

            Eris went numb. This was too soon. His eyes swept the table. The lords nodded, and his brothers – by the fucking Cauldron. Rennard lowered his chin, and Warrin stared straight ahead, stonily. None of them would protest. Josse would build her pyre, and Beron would light it, and all of them would listen to their mother’s screams as she died, and none of these people would mourn her when she was ashes. None of them would shed a single tear.

            Josse was nearly at the door.

            “Eris,” said Beron, the final knell. “Come with me.”

            Now?

            Now. It was clear. He couldn’t speak. Mother.

            Eris did not rise right away. The silence dragged on and on, a deafening drone to his ears. He looked out the windows, at the dark sky. In a few hours, his mother would be dead. No one was coming to save her – or any of them. She was the only decent person in this whole damnable Court, and she was doomed. Eris knew from one look on his father’s face that he would never convince Beron of anything.

            He had been looking for an excuse to kill his wife for years.

            There was only one thing left to do.

            “No.”

            Shock resounded where silence had reigned. Eris’s refusal dropped the curtain. All of the lords stared at him.

            “I am not asking what you want,” said Beron. “I am giving you an order.”

            “And I said no.”

            It felt good to say it. Damn, but did it ever feel good to refuse. Beron’s fury was expected but his surprise was a rare treat. A rush of fire flooded into Eris’s veins, a sweeping pleasure at how shocked they all were. Josse paused with his hand on the golden ornate handle, turning around in astonishment as his oldest brother rose from his chair, standing with his back straight, at his full height. The Prince of Autumn, ascendant.

            Finally.

            “Listen to me, son,” said Beron, growling now. “That creature–”

            “My mother,” Eris retorted, “should be given an award for putting up with you snakes for so long. Truly, I’m amazed by her fortitude. Be honest, Father, would you have ever noticed that Lucien was another male’s child if the Night Court hadn’t pointed it out to you? Because I, for one, figured it out about three seconds after Lucien was born. It was so obvious. Anyone with more than a grain of sand for brains would have seen it. Though I suppose, for you, you had stopped paying attention to somewhere after Roland. What’s one more of the brood, eh? You blind fucking fool.”

            Eris had never spoken so directly, so callously, to any of them. Not once in his whole life. He drank in their astonishment like a fine, sparking wine. Roland had been a worse bastard than Josse, too. He was not sorry at all that Tamlin had murdered him, except for the fact that he hadn’t gotten to do it himself. Rennard was the only one who had bothered to mourn for that brother. That was just the way things were in the Forest House.

            Beron was turning crimson. His thin lips curled back.

            “Listen here,” he said.

            “No,” replied Eris, before he got the chance to start. “Hm, no, I don’t think I will. I’ve been bored of this game for about two hundred years. Let’s quit while we’re ahead, shall we?”

            It was sort of funny, Eris thought, finally allowing a smile to bloom over his face. To his brothers, what Eris was doing was as good as suicide. There was no way in the world that Beron would allow him to live after speaking to him like this in a room full of his own lords. Even if Eris was his heir. This, of course, was why Beron had kept fucking his wife for all those years. To have insurance. A guarantee that his bloodline would survive, and the throne would remain in his family’s name.

            Well, Eris, at least, was a Vanserra by blood.

            “This is no game,” said Beron. “Are you refusing to comply?”

            “Seems that way,” Eris replied, casually. “Will you kill me now, or later? Perhaps we should ask Josse to build two pyres.”

            He flashed a savage smile at his younger brother, whose fear immediately stank up the room.

            Pathetic coward.

            He wasn’t the only one. A bouquet of terror wafted over the lords. None of them were as strong as Eris, and he knew it. They knew it, too. The only one who could match him now was at the head of their table, with murder in his eyes.

            Beron stared at him, and Eris gazed calmly back.

            “Bastard,” he breathed.

            “Unfortunately for you, I’m no such thing. And I won’t allow you to lay a single finger on my mother – not again.”

            And Eris lit their table on fire.

            His fire was pure, and powerful. It did not simply linger over the table’s surface, allowing them all to leap back. Heat poured from every inch of his skin. Fire was more than just for show on the equinox. It was a form of light.

            The table exploded.

            At least one person screamed. Burning shards of wood pierced the walls, the ceiling, and shattered the windows; a wave of scalding blue flame torched the council room, setting the curtains ablaze. Moans and cries were heard as the initial explosion dimmed. A few of the lords were dead, lying in pools of blood from where they had been struck, pierced by debris.

            Warrin and Rennard were shouting, cursing, their clothing and hair singed.

            Josse was still pressed against the wall, apparently forgetting that he was the one closest to the door and in the best position to leave.

            Fine. It didn’t matter if they were dead or alive at the end of this. Good riddance to this whole cursed house and everyone in it. Eris casually brushed some ash and splinters from his coat. His control was perfect; the fire would not touch him unless he personally willed it, but he didn’t particularly care about things like simple debris.

            It was Beron that he needed to be concerned about.

            The High Lord of Autumn stood among a perfect circle of flames. The fire could not touch him. He was fire.

            There were no taunts, no questions. Beron was stunned and angry – calculating. Just for a few seconds of silent contemplation, while he assessed the situation and pondered how much damage he could do. Which of his sons would survive the duel, to be his heir. Because there was no question: Beron was going to kill him now. Eris would not go quietly or gently. He would tear this whole Court to pieces with his bare hands before he allowed anyone to usurp his throne.

            Eris faced his father, and breathed deeply.

            This was how it was always going to end.

            The cache of weapons was too far away. And winnowing in the Forest House was impossible, because the wards prevented it. So it would be a blood duel, then. Eris had always known it would come to this. Kill them all, or die trying.

            Beron turned to his remaining sons, who flinched.

            “Don’t just stand there!” he roared. “Kill him!”

            And Eris raised his hands, to defend himself.

            At that moment, there was a tremendous cacophony – the sound of so much glass, shattering, all at once.

            Air rushed in as something in the atmosphere corrected itself.

            Fresh, Autumn air.

            Beron howled and the flames screamed, climbing higher and higher in response to their lord.

            The wards around the Forest House had broken, for the first time in centuries. And it didn’t matter how, or why.

            Without hesitating, Eris winnowed.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////           

The wards were broken.

            Amara felt them shatter even within her prison cell. She rose from her bed, dazed for a moment. The Forest House had never been breached. Even Amarantha had come in with Beron’s permission. Even she had never attempted to undo this magic. There was an automatic tremor of fear when she realized the implications. Her children – her husband, who would rain fire down on the intruder, the likes of which only Hell had ever seen.

            But also, there was a wild, desperate hope.

            Helion. He’d come for her.

            Finally.  

            Amara looked up. The missing brick which qualified for her window showed only a black stripe of night sky. But the guards in the hallway looked at each other.

            “What’s happening?” she dared ask them.

            Both of them started. Of course, they had never heard her speak before. When she was in the Forest House, she only spoke with her immediate family, or her personal servants. They were both High Fae, both pale as the moon. They could have been brothers, or perhaps cousins. They exchanged a knowing look, a significant look.

            “Please,” she whispered. “The wards.”

            At last, the one on the left spoke gruffly. “We’re aware, lady.”

            The guard on the right snorted at his companion’s politeness. Amara didn’t even blink. It did not matter what they thought of her anymore. Beron would just as soon as kill her than allow anyone to know of her disgrace.

            But it wasn’t a disgrace. Amara had stopped feeling guilty long ago.

            And now, Helion was coming for her. Her heart beat slowly, steadily, each pulse filling her with certainty.

            “Please just relax,” said the left guard. “I am sure that Lord Beron will send for you soon.”

            Another scornful laugh from his companion. Amara pressed her hands against her chest, feeling the icy bite of Autumn air.

            Another few minutes passed. Amara sat down on the bed, and stared into the candlelight again. The candle had no scent, no oils or dyes to make it pretty and pleasant. It was the only light she was allowed in her imprisonment. She gazed into the fire, watching it dance, watching the light and shadows it cast as if they were a puppet show.

            When the scent of smoke reached her nose, she knew it was not from her candle.

            At once, Amara stood up.

            “Fire,” she said.

            Once again, the guards exchanged a glance. They were less certain now. Surely, they smelled it to. There was a fire, somewhere in the Forest House.

            “Lord Beron will call for us,” said the left guard, slowly. “If there is an emergency. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

            The guard on the right muttered, “Seems like it.”

            His companion swatted at him.

            “There could be danger,” Amara said, stepping forward with her hands outstretched. As if that could somehow convince them. “Please – can you contact Lord Beron? Or my children?”

            Eris was the one she needed. She did not know what was happening, but it was something that only her eldest would be able to resolve. She knew that, instinctively. Eris was the cleverest of them, and even this was an eventuality that he would have prepared for. The wards were breached, and fire had started. Now, she could hear shouts below them. She could hear the clang of metal, the roar of magic, of fire. An explosion echoed. It was distant, but climbing, along with the smoke. Surely, they would not ignore it. The guards merely looked at each other again.

            And then, as she watched, both of them dropped like flies. One after the other, in quick succession. Right went first, and the left barely had time to breathe before he, too, dropped to the floor in a clattering of silver armor. It was impossible to tell what had hit them. One minute, they were standing, lips parted as if they might speak, and the next, they were on the ground, and blood was pooling, seeping through the bars and into the tower cell. The candlelight flickered and Amara caught the gleam of two fine, glass needles, jammed into their necks.

            She gasped, and stepped back, pressing herself against the wall.

            In an instant, a shape emerged from the darkness. To Amara’s shock, it was a female shape. A younger, female version of Helion, clad in dark pants and a dark hood, which she dropped from her face as she stepped into the candlelight.

            “My lady, please don’t be alarmed. My name is Jocasta. Helion sent me.”

            By the Mother. She bit the inside of her cheek, and nodded.

            “What is happening out there?”

            “I’m not entirely sure,” said Jocasta, kneeling at the lock. “I broke through the wards in hopes of drawing your husband and sons away. But I’m not sure what started this fire. There’s commotion down in the square, as well. And it appears that something may be happening in the council chamber.”

            Amara nodded, pressing a hand to her heart. Eris. Perhaps he had sensed the change.

            “This will take some time.”

            Jocasta looked up at her, with Helion’s eyes.

            “Please, be patient, my lady. It is not nearly as complex as the wards, but…”

            “Do whatever you have to,” said Amara, and began to silently pray.

            The fire climbed. It was impossible now, to ignore the sounds of screaming. Of singing. Amara could not block out the sound. She heard, distantly, the sounds of singing. What in the name of all things holy was happening out there? Jocasta moved her fingers across the lock, picking apart the spell that held it before she undid the mechanism itself.

            With a crack, the spell finally broke. Jocasta reached into her deep pockets and pulled out a roll of leather, which she unfurled to reveal a set of tools.

            At once, she began to pick the lock.

            “Do you have anything here that you can bring?”

            “No,” said Amara, dazed. She tasted ashes. By the Cauldron. “Everything is in my rooms.”

            If Beron had not destroyed her things by now. It did not matter. The material things did not matter at all – but now, Amara had a different thought. Of course, Beron was going to have her executed for her so-called crime. The crime of loving someone, forsaking her shameful wedding vows. For bearing a child that was not his own. But Eris –

            Eris was not just Beron’s child. He was her firstborn. Her first baby. And she had loved him most of all, despite everything.

            The lock clicked, and Jocasta opened the door.

            “Are you sure?” she asked. “Is there anything?”

            “No,” Amara breathed. Oh, Mother above – I’m saved. Helion had sent a champion for her. But at the same time…

            “My children.”

            Jocasta’s expression hardened as she put away her tools.

            “My lady, I understand your concern. But the fire is spreading. You smell it, yes?”

            Of course, she did.

            “There is a chance that Beron will believe you are killed here,” said Jocasta, who was now yanking the needles out of her guards’ necks. “If the fire reaches this tower, then it’s already reached the rest of the Forest House.”

            “But I can’t,” said Amara, dazed. She could have laughed. She was so close to freedom, and yet, she was terrified to go. The terror leeched into her very bones, into her blood. She felt weak, paralyzed. This could only be a dream. There was no way.

            “My lady.” Jocasta pocketed her tools, and stood, stepping into the cell. “My lady, please stay calm. Do not panic.”

            It was a little late for that. Amara had numbed herself to terror long ago. Even when that horrible queen of Hybern had come, she felt no fear. Only in that moment – when she plucked out her baby’s eye, when she clawed his face.

            She put her head in her hands, breathing shallowly.

            Jocasta cursed quietly, and took another step into the cell, hands out. “My lady, I didn’t bring any medicine for you. I need you to breathe. Stay calm. Breathe.”

            There was a crack, and a flash, and Amara let out a helpless cry.

            Jocata immediately whipped around, a knife flashing from under her sleeve as she turned.

            But then –

            “Eris,” said her rescuer, icily.

            “Jocasta,” said her son, smiling faintly back. It was a dangerous look, Amara noticed with dawning apprehension. A look that he’d learned from his father.

            She whispered, “Eris?”

            He still wore his Court clothes. A smart green jacket, the sleeves embroidered with golden leaves. But his hair was mused, tangled, and his eyes were slightly wild as he beheld the two of them. Amara could see the gears turning in his brain, the clockwork moving faster than she could comprehend. And across his back – there was a sword, and a quiver of arrows. He had a bow in his hand. And there – a long, thin dagger strapped to his thigh, over the leg of his pants. Her baby was dressed for war.

            The realization prickled at the back of her neck.

            It was happening. It was happening now.

            “Seems I wasn’t needed here,” said her son, and Jocasta went completely still. Her surprise was obvious, but Amara felt only a relief that there wasn’t going to be a confrontation – that Jocasta, at least, could be reasoned with. She didn’t know Eris as his mother did. They had nothing to fear from him. “I can keep the fires from reaching this tower for a while. Where’s your ship?”

            “I don’t think I should tell you that,” said Jocasta.

            Eris smiled again. “Wise choice, as always.”

            Then the only sound was crackling fires, and the distant roar of combat. Jocasta regarded Eris carefully, and then faced Amara.

            “My lady, it’s time for us to go. We can’t stay here any longer.”

            So soon. Her heart was wild, but her thoughts were sluggish as reality crept in. I’m free.

            Now she would say goodbye to this place forever. Her home. Her prison.

            This was the end.

            She had five living children, but it was impossible to say if what would happen when dawn came. She thought of Warrin, who had fought so hard for Eris and Beron to recognize him, only to grow cold and bitter when they rejected him over and over. Josse, who she hadn’t been able to mother, lost in the fog of pain and darkness after his birth and perhaps that wasn’t her fault, but she had never stopped blaming herself for the way he'd turned out. She thought of Durante, of Roland, who were buried on the borders of the Spring Court by the sentries, because her own sons had tried to murder her youngest baby. Rennard had sobbed in her lap when the news came back; she hadn’t seen him cry since he was just six years old, when Beron had lost his temper, and kicked at him, and screamed that he was too old for tears. This house had known nothing but pain and suffering for so many decades. Even uniting against the High Queen’s poisonous rule couldn’t take the bad blood out of the carpets, couldn't bleach it off the walls.

            Amara stepped forward, brushing past Jocasta despite her protests. Eris said nothing as she approached him. He was very, very good at keeping still, and quiet – hiding. Oh, how he used to hide. In the nursery, she would find him buried under blankets, and she would pretend to search for him until he burst out, laughing. Precious memories of an innocence that was stolen from him far too soon.

            She put her hand against his cheek, feeling the hollowness there.

            Still, he said nothing. But there was life, and fire, in his eyes.

            The worst part of all this was that Amara felt, even now, that she had failed him. She’d failed all of her children, for somehow not having the strength to fight her husband. There was an ugly little voice in her head that scorned her, from the very first time Beron had raised a hand to her, to now. You should have done more. But she knew that Eris held no resentment for her. Her firstborn, her darling boy, who had come into this world by no fault of his own, and who had survived everything that would have destroyed a lesser male. The bond between them was unbreakable. And Amara knew what was going to happen next, and even if it hurt her to imagine, she knew that the memories she had, and the love that she felt for her son, would never disappear.

            So, she went up on her toes, and kissed her son on the cheek. The air was filling with smoke, and the acrid scent of blood, and the tang of metal, but she breathed in the scent of him, and it was the same as it had been on the day he was born, when she first pressed her nose into that shock of soft red hair. My baby. And Eris closed his eyes, and did not open them again until she drew away and stepped back.

            This was the end.

            “My lady,” said Jocasta, urgently, “we need to go, now.”

            “Yes,” said Eris, in a practiced, neutral voice that betrayed nothing. “And be careful with my mother, won’t you, Jocasta?”

            Jocasta snarled at him, but Eris was turning away, walking back into the rising fire.

            Goodbye, Amara whispered, in her heart. Goodbye, my baby.

            And she took Jocasta’s hand, and the Day Court female twisted, and spun them into darkness.

            When the world righted itself, they were outside the Forest House. Amara sucked in a breath as she caught a glimpse of the smoke rising against the star-speckled skies, as she heard the shouts of panic, the howling of wind in the trees as if the very Court’s foundations were shaking. Fire poured from the windows, leaping into the bare, stark trees beyond and lighting them with the full colors of Autumn. The wards which had protected this place for so long were shattered, appearing like shards of broken glass suspended in the air above their heads.

            Again, Jocasta winnowed.

            This time, when they emerged, Amara heard the soft crashing of waves.

            She didn’t open her eyes; when Jocasta released her, she simply sank down onto the damp wood of a ship’s deck, tasting nothing but salt. Tears were pouring down her face. Someone asked urgently if she was well, and Jocasta shouted.

            “Back! Everyone, back – give her space!”

            Voices reached her, but she was beyond hearing any of them. There was grief and anger in her, so many years of unspent feelings. She’d made herself numb, and now –

            “Cast off!” Jocasta ordered. “Cast off, now!”

            The ship lurched, and Amara knew, in her heart, that she was free – but all she could do was sob.

            Goodbye.

#acotar #acotar fic #beron vanserra #eris vanserra #lady of autumn #high lord eris #autumn court #helion spell cleaver #original female character #my fic writing

[fieldofdaisiies]

Ars Amatoria | ch. XXII

-all rights reserved-

Elucien AU word count: 2,7k words warnings: none

masterlist

"Lucien?" Elain's head lifts a little, as she blinks her swollen eyes open. 

She feels a little groggy and confused as consciousness slowly seeps back into her. She blinks her eyes and things become clearer around her. The room is dimly lit, and there is faint smell of herbs in the air. The throbbing ache in her head reminds her that something bad has happened before everything went black. She wants to clear the fog from her mind and tries to shift a little on the bed, but a sharp pain erupts in her head and her right shoulder. 

All this pain disappears into nothingness, though, when she feels the soft brush of lips against her forehead, her husband's scent embracing her like a warm coat in winter. "I am here, Elain," Lucien assures her in a soft and tender voice, his hand grabbing hers firmly. "Don't worry, you are safe. We are home." 

The hand that is not holding hers brushes over her head —always careful of the wound—, through her tangled hair, some strands sticking together due to the blood. 

Elain tips her back a bit, glancing up at her husband. But he is blurry, her whole vision is blurry. 

She can't quite make out his beautiful face and so she lifts her hand, tentatively as her movements are weak, and brushes her finger tips over his jaw, then his cheek. 

"You are alright," she whispers and a small, weak smile graces her face. "You are not injured." 

Her head is resting in her husband's lap she then realises and slowly her sense start to sharpen and she starts to remember bits and pieces of what happened, piecing them together until the fog in her head clears. And so does her vision. 

She takes in her husband's bruised face that is adorned with small cuts and a split lip. She feels small cracks appear in her heart at seeing her Lucien like this. She brushes the tip of her index finger over the split in his lip, her own mouth pouting as she does so. And then more memories trickle into her brain and she lowers her hand, sniffing lightly. "Eris…is he…is he?" "He is alright." Her brother-in-law's voice sounds from somewhere in the room, low but steady, and it brings a small smile upon Elain's face. A kernel of relief blooms inside of her — the two brothers are safe and well. Her family is. But what about the others…

"Did anyone get injured severely? Is anyone—?" Her voice breaks and she can't continue, tears bubbling up in her eyes when more memories return to her — the metallic rasps when the swords were drawn, the shocked screams of the churchgoers, the clinking of knifes and swords that collided, the wails of those who got injured and those who tried to flee, the blood, the destruction, the—

"Mother is well and Azriel should be alright. There is a chance he will never be able to use his left hand again as they crushed it, but other than that…he should be fine. Four people died at the hand of the conspirators, but they could be stopped before more harm was done."

Lucien watches how Eris' head is hanging low, his forearms braced on his elbows, as he stares at the ground. Pain and disappointment, and frustration radiates from every fibre of his body, and stretches out like a dark cloud. 

What happened here today, in Florence, and to the people of this city, was one of the worst tragedies  that could come over people. Not knowing if you can escape, if you will die, if you will lose your children at the hand of an assassin. 

Elain's throat feels dry, the back of her mouth aching a little and her eyes close for a moment as exhaustion washes over her. Or is it pain? Whatever it is, it makes her lids feel heavy and her whole being a little drowsy. "And what…what happened to—?" she whispers through barely parted lips, not being able to finish her sentence.

"Hybern?" Lucien asks, his voice cautious. He waits for an answer of his wife and it follows soon, with a barely-there dip of her chin. 

"He was hanged from the Palazzo della Signoria, just like his companions, his conspirators." 

The words taste like bile in Lucien's mouth and he finds it hard to speak them. But he knows that the pain Eris even more. Taking measures like this is never easy and Lucien knows that this decision will haunt his older brother forever. 

Eris cringes a little and slowly gets up from his chair. "I will…I will check on Azriel if that is alright?" he asks, not being able to listen to how Lucien now will explain everything to Elain. He can't hear it right now, can't have the happenings repeated. He needs a moment. A moment alone. A moment with Azriel, as Azriel is the only person that manages to fully calm him, to make him feel at ease.

"It is fine," Lucien answers his brother, and tips his head. "Take your time." 

Eris walks up to him and clasps his shoulder, no more conversation passing between them. But no more words are needed, everything is said through their eyes. Thank you. Thank you for being my brother. Thank you for being by my side. Thank you for supporting me. I am always here for you. 

Lucien waits until the door falls shut and Eris is gone. "They have all been taken care off. No need to worry anymore." 

"Everyone?" Elain asks with a trembling voice, everything coiling inside of her. She blinks her eyes rapidly and Lucien nods his head, his eyes closing. "Yes."

"But Briar?" Elain asks, her voice almost like a shriek, as she jerks up and cringes at the sudden pain. Lucien brushes his hand over head again, slowly and soothingly and opens his eyes. "Exile, my love. Don't worry, she did not have to pay with her life."

"She probably did not know!" Elain supports Briar and deep inside his heart Lucien thinks so as well, but they couldn't risk it and exile is still so much better than death. 

They can start a new life, and neither Tamlin nor Briar is alone, they still have each other and they will manage to survive and maybe one day live a good life again. 

Elain becomes Lucien's anchor in the aftermath of the tragic day, and being with her is all he needs in this moment. 

He knows that Eris is feeling exactly the same, he after all is his brother, and so it only makes sense that he went out to see Azriel, to check on him. Lucien's feels exhausted, so do his bones and his whole body. Today has been a lot, a lot they have not been prepared for. They could have been prepared for it, but none of them expected that the Hybern family would act so quickly. 

Elain and Lucien hold hands, finding comfort in their familiar touch. Each little squeeze, each brush of Lucien's other hand over her head, speaks volumes, conveying the words the can't speak at the moment. 

Both are too tired, too worn, to talk. But they don't need to speak to communicate.

 I am here for you. I got you. You are safe. It is all there in their touches. And it is not only their touches, Lucien and Elain keep eye-contact, despite the heaviness of their lids and the exhaustion that settles over them. The room and world around them disappears into nothingness, in this moment it is just the two of them, just Elain and Lucien. 

"I was so worried," Lucien breathes. "When I saw you lying there. I thought the worst. And I thought—" His throat bobs as he swallows thickly. "I thought that if you don't make it out alive, I don't want to live on." 

Elain's lips part and she lowers both her hands to the mattress, pushing herself up despite the pain in her shoulder and head. Lucien wants to stop her, but she does not let him, until she sits in front of him, so she can face him, her legs crossed beneath her. 

"Lucien," she breathes, his eyes locked with his. "Don't say something like this." "You are my life, Elain Vanserra. Believe it or not, but a life without you is not worth living. I don't want to be alive if I no longer have you in it. You have my soul to keep, my heart is all yours as well, and you blessed me with the best gift that I have ever known." 

Tears tumble down Lucien's cheeks, his chest heaving and his shoulders shaking with silent sobs as he lays his heart bare for Elain. "You gave me purpose. You gave my life purpose. Before you…I only lived day by day. Now I am living for a future with you. For a family with you. To see you smile, to make you happy. And you make me happy, with simple being in my life. I love you, Elain, more than words can describe." 

He sniffs and Elain's whole body is trembling, she is shaking as she is crying due to his words. "With you my journey came to an end and I was no longer lost. I am in the here and now with you." He grins through his tears as he pulls his wife to him, his arms curling around her. Elain also lifts her arms and despite the pain in her shoulder, wraps them around Lucien's shoulders as she slides onto his lap. 

She lets out a loud exhale, her breath trembling with her sobs. She buries her face into Lucien's shoulder, her chest rising and falling with her cries. The tears flow freely, rolling down her cheeks as she lets all her emotions break free. She is wetting Lucien's shirt, but she can't stop the tears, not after what he said. 

Lucien holds her close, his embrace bringing her solace and showing her his unconditional love. She knows, deep in her heart, that he is the best thing that has ever happened to her. 

Her husband. Her other half. Her Lucien.

Her words are choked when she finally finds her voice. "I love you so much. To the moon and back and even further. And you are were so wrong, Lucien." She turns a little and kisses the side of his neck. 

"You are so damn good with words. So much better than I am." Elain giggles lightly through her tears and feels how Lucien's chest rumbles against hers, as he grabs her tighter and pulls her even closer. 

"I will never forgive myself for leaving you in our wedding night—" His voice quivers, trailing off as he struggles to find the strength to continue.

But Elain cuts him off, his self-blame not necessary. She knows he is remorseful about it, but she has long forgiven him, knowing his reasons for it. "It is forgotten, Lucien. And I forgave you long ago." 

Her words heal some part of his soul, reminding him of her good and kind heart and her forgiveness.  

He feels her lips press against the side of his neck, her touch tender and caring. He feels the wetness of her tears on his skin and holds her as tightly as possible. 

✢ ✢ ✢

"Thought after the tragedy yesterday, you could need a little light in your life," Jurian says as he sheepishly smiles at Elain and Lucien, both of them still in bed, Elain still recovering from her attack, her wounds slowly healing after Madja put some medication on them. 

Elain waits patiently, having an inkling of what the rectangle hidden beneath the large sheet could be. 

"Instead of finishing Mars and Venus, I allowed myself to continue with the drawing of just you." Elain's eyes widen, her lips parting a little. Lucien leans forward, his interest piqued at what Jurian is aiming at. "Ready?" Jurian asks, grinning from one ear to the other as both him and Vassa take one corner of the sheet into their hands. 

"Always." Lucien raises his brows, eyes aglow as anticipation fills every fibre of his body. It is a spark of light inside of him during the rather gloomy time. 

Jurian counts down and then they lift the sheet, revealing a stunning picture of Elain beneath it. "I call this the Birth of Venus. And I know…I said I will only finish it later, but using the sketches I had, I could do it earlier." 

If it is possible, Jurian's grin intensifies even more, and so does Vassa's. She looks at her lover in pure admiration, pride lacing her features at the masterpiece he created. 

"Jurian, you truly are the only one that can capture my wife's beauty." 

Almost like driven by some external force, Lucien gets up from the bed and walks up to the painting, his eyes wide open, just like his mouth, as he traces his index finger over the painting. "So stunning." "Just like your wife is in real life." Vassa grins from one ear to the other as she winks at Elain. 

The middle Archeron sister is blushing furiously and giggles from where she is still seated on the bed. 

"That, Vassa, is very true. I am just the luckiest man alive." Beaming, Lucien turns to his wife, his eyes sparkling with love and admiration as he whispers a silent "I love you."

~~~~~~~~~~ taglist AA: @octobers-veryown @velidewrites @areyoudreaminof @acourtofthought @liftyourhipsformelovex @hallway5 @stickyelectrons @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @bibliophiliaxvignette @thelovelymadone @sunshinebingo @arabellatheauthor @autumndreaming7 @nestas-workwife @rarephloxes  @tuzna-pesma-snova general el. taglist: @rippahwrites @shadowhunter2003 @my-inner-crisis @ladyelain @acourtofthought @itwasalwaysaboutthetea @multifictional  @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @sunshinebingo @gracie-rosee @a-frog-with-a-laptop

#elain x lucien #elucien #elucien au #acotar #acotar au #acosf

[aldbooks]

14 Elucien (Lucien finds out about Elain)

Angsty Prompts

Modern AU, let’s go. This one has a happy ending

---

“Hey, Fey,” Lucien answered his phone distractedly as he stared at the spreadsheet before him. “What’s up, I’m at work.”

“Lucien...”

At the tone of her voice, Lucien paused, his coffee mug lifted halfway to his mouth. A sense of foreboding crept up on him but he forcefully shoved it aside. There could be any number of reasons for that tone, he tried to tell himself. He was a liar.

"What is it Feyre?" he asked, trying to remain calm.

"I-" He heard his friend take a deep, shaking breath on the other end of the line. The knot of dread in his stomach tightened. "There's been an accident," she whispered.

The world stopped.

No.

No, he would not hear it. This was not happening.

Lucien was completely frozen in his seat, he wasn't even sure he was breathing. Hell, he wasn't even sure he could. His lungs seemed just as frozen as the rest of him, refusing to expand even to meet their own demand for oxygen.

"Elain's in the hospital," Feyre continued.

His grip on the mug in his hand slackened. He managed to catch it before it tumbled completely, but it still tipped enough to splash hot liquid in his lap. He barely noticed as he set it aside and hurriedly began shutting down his computer and gathering his things.

"Where is she?" he demanded. She told him. "I'm on my way."

He hung up, slinging his bag over his shoulder and marching out of his office and down the hall to the large corner office with the shiny name plate beside proudly announcing it as the residence of the company's CEO. Through the glass, he could see the man at the desk was alone, and not on the phone so he barged in without knocking.

Beron looked up at him, scowling from behind his computer screen. "What the hell do you think you're-"

"I'm leaving for the day," Lucien announced, not caring one wit he'd just interrupted the man who signed his paychecks. All he could think about at the moment was getting to the hospital. "My sister-in-law just called, my wife's been in an accident, she's been taken to the hospital."

The man's expression did not change. "Well I hardly see how that matters. It's not as though you can do anything for her." He looked back at his computer screen in a clear dismissal. "You'll finish out the rest of the day, or you'll pack your things."

Lucien's blood boiled. His boss had always been a prick, and Lucien had always just put up with it, usually taking his insults and in stride, but today, he didn't give a damn anymore. "Fuck you, Beron."

This got the man's attention. His head snapped up again looking vaguely startled and utterly affronted. Very quickly that expression turned to rage, his eyes darkening menacingly and color rising to his cheeks. Again, Lucien spoke over him.

"Fire me if you want, I don't give a damn anymore. You've always been a miserable asshole to work for. My wife needs me and I'm going. No job is worth that."

With that, he turned and stormed out of the office, ignoring the man's outraged shouts that followed him out the door.

All along the hallway, curious faces poked out of cubicles and office doors, wondering what the racket was about. When Eris, his prick of a boss's son, and half brother saw him with his bag in hand he grinned until he noticed Lucien's expression.

Eris stepped out his office into the hall, blocking Lucien's path. "What happened?"

"Feyre called. Elain's in hospital."

Eris' eyes widened slightly. "Shit. Hang on, I'm coming with you. I'll drive."

"I don't need a chauffeur," Lucien growled. "I need to get to my wife as soon as possible."

"And you will," Eris assured him, reemerging moment later, keys in hand. He quickly locked his door then placed a hand on Lucien's back and steered him down the hall. "But you shouldn't be driving right now-" he held up a hand when Lucien started to argue. "You're angry and worried and if you try to drive without a clear head you'll wind up doing something stupid. You'll be no use to her if you wind up in hospital beside her after your own accident."

Lucien sighed, knowing there was little use in arguing. He allowed himself to be led to his brother's flashy sports car parked in one of the labeled spots near the doors reserved for company officers and slunk into the low bucket seat.

The entire ride to the hospital, he stared out the window, darkness threatening the edges of his mind as he considered all the terrible possibilities of what might have happened to Elain and what state he might find her in when he arrived. He then appreciated his brother's wisdom in not allowing him to drive himself.

Eris tried to distract him after few minutes, asking what had happened in his father's office. "I heard him shouting all the way down the hall."

Father and son held corner offices on opposite sides of the building for good reason.

"I told him I was leaving and he tried to tell me he saw no reason for me to as there was 'nothing I could do for her anyway'."

Eris practically snarled. "Bastard. He was already awful when he was still married to mom but he's been practically unbearable since the divorce. And it's been almost thirty years."

"I'm surprised he hired me at all," Lucien said, looking back out the window. "He's clearly never liked me, and I suppose now he finally has reason to be rid of me. Not that I needed the job."

His own father was a very wealthy man in his own right and had generously provided Lucien with a very sizable trust. Neither he nor his mother had been thrilled when he'd gone to work for Vanserra Inc, but they were one of the premiere financial companies in the country and he was not the sort to live an idle, privileged life. He liked the work.

Eris winced, his expression slightly guilty. Lucien noticed, catching it from the corner of his eyes. He turned back to his brother and narrowed his eyes. "What?"

Eris scratched the back of his neck. "Technically, he didn't hire you. I did."

Lucien huffed laugh. He shouldn't have been surprised. While the rest of Beron's children utterly despised Lucien for 'taking their mother away' as though it were his fault she'd had and affair and then left Beron for his father, Eris had always tried to foster a relationship with him. It had been rocky at first, but over the years, they'd grown- if not close, then at least fond of each other.

"You didn't need to do that."

"I know." Eris shrugged. "Don't let it go to your head. I'm the Vice President, I don't make hiring decisions based on sentimentality or narcissism. My brothers do not work for me for a reason. You were the best candidate we interviewed. I wasn't going to let the talent go to waste. I tried to keep you and Beron out of each other's paths as much as possible but he's a micro managing bastard. I won't blame you if you if you want to go but... I'd like you to stay."

"I'll think about it," Lucien muttered, turning back to the window as they arrived at the hospital. Eris found a spot near the front of the emergency entrance and whipped into it, earning several disgruntled honks and shouts from other visitors who'd been moving through the lot and Lucien was out of his seat before the engine had stopped rumbling.

He practically sprinted to the doors, Eris strolling sedately behind him, and went straight to the front desk where a harried nurse sat, checking patients in.

"I'm looking for my wife, Elain Day-"

"Lucien!" He turned at the sound of Feyre's voice. She barreled into him, her husband, Rhysand following behind her. He watched his wife worriedly, but kept his distance from Eris who now stood behind them.

Lucien wrapped his friend up in a tight hug, catching sight of her other sister, Nesta and her husband, pacing the waiting room behind them.

He pulled back, holding Feyre by the shoulders.

"Thank goodness you're here," Feyre said tearily, wiping at her face.

"What happened?"

"She was on her way home from the school when she was t-boned by a truck who ran a red-light," Rhysand answered.

Lucien swore violently and Eris laid a hand on his shoulder before he could get too worked up. "Where is she now?"

"Surgery," Rhysand answered again as his wife returned to his side, curling her arms around his waist. "We don't know much else."

"Come," Feyre reached out, taking his hand and he once again allowed himself to be led to the waiting area.

---

The wait seemed to last an eternity.

By the time someone came out to tell them Elain was out of surgery and would be moved to a room once she was out of recovery, it was dark outside the windows. Not that that meant much. They were deep into Autumn now and the days had been growing shorter for weeks.

It was another agonizing hour before they were allowed to see her. Eris held Lucien back while they allowed her sisters to go in first. Lucien paced anxiously in the hall while Eris, the bastard, leaned against the wall, watching him, looking unconcerned.

"She's fine," his brother assured him. "The doctor said she'll make a full recovery."

Lucien blew a heavy breath through his lips. He hadn't heard much else the doctor had said beyond those words, relief practically making him faint dead away, though he'd thought he'd caught the words broken ribs, shattered collarbone, punctured lung, and concussion. She would make a full recovery, yes, but it would be painful.

He heard the muttered curses of the nurses who swerved around him as they moved between rooms, checking on patients. He was in the way, he knew, but there was too much nervous energy fizzing through his body to remain still.

Finally, Feyre, Nesta, and their husbands left the room. Nesta walked stoically as ever beside her massive brute of husband, and Rhys cradled Feyre tenderly against his side as she wiped tears from her eyes and gave him a shaky smile.

"She's awake," she said. Lucien didn't wait to hear more as he pushed past her into the room.

For a moment, he froze in the doorway, staring at his wife. She looked so small and frail in that bed covered in blankets and attached to all sorts of tubes and wires.

Her beautiful face was marred by ugly, dark bruises around her eyes and nose where she'd probably smashed her face against the air bag, and a large gash had been stitched up across her forehead, another on her cheek along with several smaller cuts. Gods. The window must have shattered.

He swallowed hard and forced his feet to move, falling into the chair by her side as she blinked her eyes open to smile tiredly at him. When he finally saw those familiar chocolate eyes, he was so dizzy with relief, he thought he'd be sick.

He reached one hand out to tuck her hair behind her ear while the other took her hand and brought it to his lips. "Hello darling."

Her smile widened. "My sunshine," she sighed. Lucien felt tears spring to his eyes and pressed his lips more firmly against her fingers.

"It's good to see you, love," he said. "You had me worried."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't ever do that again."

A laugh wheezed out of her and she raised her other hand to her forehead, saluting him. Several wires moved with her. "Yes, sir."

"Smartass," he grumbled affectionately.

"You love me."

"I do," he grinned, stroking her cheek. "Gods help me."

She swatted him and he laughed, leaning forward to kiss her carefully, mindful of her probably broken nose.

The door opened behind him and Eris slipped into the room, stopping at the foot of the bed, hands tucked in his pockets. Amber eyes slid over her assessingly and then he said, "You look terrible."

Elain barked a laugh. "Fuck you, Eris."

A smirk touched his brother's lips. "Good to see you're still with us, kid," he winked and turned to Lucien. "I'm heading back to the office, I'll have someone bring your car."

Lucien didn't leave his wife's side but turned to his brother. "Thank you," he said quietly. He didn't need to say what for. For looking after him, for keeping him from losing his mind while he waited, for always being there, even when he didn't ask.

Eris held his gaze for a moment then nodded and left.

Lucien turned back to Elain, bending his head close to hers as he continued stroking her hair and murmuring sweet nothings while she clutched his hand and smiled at him.

A few minutes later a nurse came in to check her vitals and ask if she was in any pain. A doctor followed not long after, carrying her chart and glancing over it before smiling at them.

"Good news," she said. "Your wife and baby are both doing just fine."

Lucien froze, feeling the color draining from his face. Beside him, he heard Elain suck in a sharp breath and then groan in pain. The doctor's eyes widened. "Oh! I'm so sorry! I thought you knew!"

Lucien whipped his head back around to stare at his wife who smiled sheepishly. "It was supposed to be a surprise. I was actually headed to the store to get you card."

Lucien stared at her for a moment, blinking hard, then burst out laughing. Loud, joyous, laughter as he peppered her hand with kisses. "You beautiful, vexing minx."

Elain grinned. "You're happy then?"

"Of course I'm happy," he gave her an incredulous look. "We're having a baby. Mom's going to burst when she hears." He turned to the doctor who was watching them with a faint smile. "How far along is she?"

"I'd guess about 8 weeks?" she glanced questioningly at Elain who nodded. "Still fairly early, so we'll be monitoring her condition throughout her recovery but, as of now, all looks well."

Husband and wife grinned giddily at each other and the doctor quickly excused herself. Lucien's hand slid over the blankets to lay over her still flat belly, staring wondrously at her.

"I'm going to be a father," he said hoarsely, tears rising to his eyes again.

Elain just smiled, a faintly dreamy look on her face. She tried to tug him into the bed with her but it was far too small and he did not want to aggravate her injuries. "You just had surgery!" he protested even as she pouted. He remained by her side for the rest of the night until she fell asleep, holding her hand and talking quietly. His other hand, never left her belly.

#anon ask #ask box #elucien #elain x lucien

[nikethestatue]

Its so frusturating when people said “Elain need to give Lucien a chance because he’s nice and cares about her”. Okay I get it that he’s nice and never outward do anything harmful around Elain but really??? Elain need to give him a chance coz he’s NICE?????? Thats it. I fully support that statement if Lucien show interest in her more than just as his mate. But so far theres NO spark between them. They do not show any attraction between each other and Lucien obviously has no interest in mending their realtionship. They both just stuck in this one place.

“I am not always in this city to see my mate.” The last two words dripped with discomfort.”

“How Lucien withstood it, I didn’t know. Not that he’d shown any interest in bridging that gap between them.”

Nessian has that reluctant mate trope yet we still saw Nesta find Cass attractive sexually. Like i dunno man if elucien did happen it will be bcoz they tried to make it work (hence “Elain need to give Lucien a chance” statement). Its like elucien happen because of a “chance” rather than natural affection and chemistry. And know why they even call it a chance?? Its because of the mating bond. If theres no bond in the first place rest assure people will consider Elain and lucien a crackship. Mating bond = need to give a chance. This really gives me Celestina/Ephraim vibe

Yes, it gives me such Ephraim and Celestina vibes. I think it's a prelude to what it looks like when 2 people are forced together by external forces, but have nothing in common with each other.

I think it's a Mor/Eris situation, and Elain/Lucien situation.

And we know that Feyre tried the whole 'but he is a nice guy' routine with Elain--which is interesting, because I appreciate SJM bringing that in and showing how women are so often pressured to give in, because someone is a 'nice guy'. They are pressured by family, friends, society. The whole 'why are you being such a bitch, he is a nice guy!" or "here is a nice guy and you won't even give him a chance!'

Because the onus is always on a woman to accept a man's interest and accommodate him.

Lucien could be the nicest guy in the world--he isn't, but let's assume he is decent and not malicious, and would treat Elain well--but she is under no obligation to even look his way. As, by the way, she is under no obligation to 'deal with the bond'. If she doesn't know how to, doesn't want to, isn't interested in dealing with it, it's not her obligation or prerogative to deal with it. If Lucien wants to 'deal' with it, well, he can sit down with her and discuss it. He is at least 400 years old, and a born Fae. She is 24, and has been a Fae for 2 years.

As you would probably not expect a 2 year old to deal with the bond, how is it different from Elain? It's a totally foreign concept to her.

Nesta refused to deal with it until a screaming match on the banks of the Sidra and following an intense sexual relationship and infinitely stronger feelings with Cassian. Elain has zero feelings and no relationship with Lucien, yet she is OBLIGATED to deal with it??

#anti eluc*en #elain archeron #pro elain archeron

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Monstrous Secrets Chapter 8

Eris Vanserra x reader

Word Count: 1720

Summary: You and a couple of the guys have a heart-to-heart

You were home, or rather, you were in the physical place where you lived. It was difficult to call Velaris ‘home’ when your home was really a person, your mate. It was even harder to call this place home since Azriel started looking at you like he wanted to spit on you at any given moment. You’d expected to be treated that way once everything came to light, but that didn’t mean that you didn’t loathe it with every fiber of your being.

It was in a fit of this general discontent that you found yourself sitting on the ground of the balcony outside the House of Wind’s library. A bottle of wine, half empty already based on the weight of it, dangled from your fingertips as you stared blankly into the fire and longed for the male that could make such flames dance like sprites. Eris’s notes from your time apart rested on the ground before you, some resting against or on your leg because you’d simply dropped them after reading.

“Cass told me I’d find you here,” Rhys said as his feet entered your field of view. “Though I’ll admit I thought he was exaggerating how much you’d been drinking.”

Your eyes darted over to the other two, empty bottles you’d abandoned back when you’d been sitting in a chair. “Yes, well, you know how my tolerance is.”

“Considering how many men you’ve drunk under the table? Yes, I’m fully aware.” Now, he brought himself low enough that he could meet your eye on your own level. The most powerful High Lord, kneeling beside his low fae cousin on the ground.

You snorted at the sheer ridiculousness. “Whatcha doing here, Rhys? I figured you’d be off with Feyre.”

“She had things to discuss with Amren or else she’d be here talking to you with me.”

You took another drink. “Well in that case, lay it on me.” Your arms spread wide dramatically, one hand holding the bottle, the other a letter; your wings flared slightly behind you in an effort to keep you balanced. “Ask me anything you want! I assume it’s about that gorgeous mate of mine.”

He rolled his eyes and took the bottle from you. “I won’t insult you bya skiing what Azriel wants me to.” Rhysand took a long drink.

“Oooooh, let me guess!” You did your best to make your face as stoic as the shadowsinger’s. “Have I been selling secrets to the Autumn Court?”

“Close,” he snickered. “Has she been giving away secrets to the Autumn Court?”

You scoffed. “As if I’d give them away for free!” 

“Sweetheart, you’d never spill them either way.” His eyes were somber, caring. “You would never betray us like that, so I have no need to ask.”

“Then what do you need to ask?”

“First, I want to ask about your bargain.”

“You makin’ sure I didn’t give away anything important?”

“I want to know that it was your choice to make whatever deal it was.”

Your brain stalled out in light of his genuine concern after so many days of people being wary of you, and your buzz fizzled a little because of it. “It was a deal of protection,” you explained seriously. “He’ll watch my back as long as I watch his sort of thing.” You stole back the bottle to take another drink. “And what a fucking job I did.”

“You couldn’t have done anything against her,” he assured you, “and if you had tried, more likely than not, you’d both be dead right now.”

“Whatever, Rhys,” you scoffed. “What else?”

“You are not less than him because you’re Illyrian.” You’d known the topic was coming, but you didn’t expect him to be quite so blunt. “And if he treats you like you are, I’ll kill him myself.”

“Then you can stop worrying, because he doesn’t. Hasn’t even said anything to imply it--get that look off your face right now. Anything he said to you was an act because we were backed into a nightmare of a corner, and you know it. Anyway, he hasn't made any jabs implying it--accidentally or otherwise--since we first got together.”

“Put a stop to that, did you?” He was smirking as he swiped the bottle back to drink once again. 

“Of course.” You hesitated. “But he and I are both aware of what others will think; just look at your parents. That’s why, or at least part of why, we kept quiet about the whole thing.”

Rhysand was nodding as if pleased.

“That all you’ve got, cousin?”

A little snort escaped his nose. “As far as being concerned goes, we’ll say yes for now.”

“And as far as everything else?”

“Since you’ve so cruelly left your poor cousin in the dark about your relationship for--how long was it again?”

“‘Bout five hundred years--”

“Five hundred years! Because you've left me in the dark for so long, I want to know everything about the two of you.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.” He waved a hand a little. “That you’re willing to share, of course.”

“Rhys . . . I don’t  . . .” You weren’t used to this. You’d never had to share anything about your relationship before. You weren’t good at talking about yourself. “I don’t know where to start.”

A low hum rumbled through the air along with the telling thuds of someone else’s boots.

“Why don’t you start with that letter you’re holding?” Cassian abruptly dropped down next to you, so close he was lightly pressed against your side. It was such a casual closeness that the pair of you had had for centuries, and you didn't realize how much you loved it until it was missing. Its presence now brought tears to your eyes, but none fell.

Blinking them back, you stammered, “Um. It’s how we talked . . . when we couldn’t see each other.” A self-deprecating chuckle ripped its way up from your throat. “Apparently he’d been sending them since just after Amarantha, and I never knew since I don’t live down there anymore. I’m only just now getting around to reading them.” Carelessly, you handed it over to Cassian. “You can read it if you want; I was going through them all, but I can’t exactly see straight enough to read anymore.”

He eyed you warily before opening it gently. Clearing his throat before he read,

“I hope you are doing well, and I hope moreso that you have not finally come to your senses and decided to leave me. I’ve been trying to keep my emotions from bothering you in case you have, but Father has proven to be harsher than ever before in light of everything that has happened over the last half-century. It’s all I can do to keep him from deciding to hunt down Lucien.

Cauldron, I don’t even know if you’re receiving these messages or if you even care and yet here I am droning on about my own problems. I’ll leave this here, then.

I miss you, and I love you always,

Eris”

Both men were silent for a breath.

“Who would have thought that Eris Vanserra of all people would be so rambling in a letter?” Cassian eventually teased--only slightly awkwardly--to break the quiet.

“He stopped trying to be eloquent in our notes about five years in.” Your buzz was definitely on the way out now, and you found yourself listlessly leaning against Cassian. Neither male commented about the more romantic sentiments in the letter. You wondered why that was. For your privacy or their own comfort so they didn’t have to think about the fact that Eris did in fact have feelings.

“What’s the first thing you think of when you think about him?” Rhysand prompted quietly, obviously wanting to know more about the relationship despite the awkward aura that’d descended upon the little group.

It may have been because you were actively looking at a fire, but you didn’t really have to think about the words that came tumbling out of your mouth. “Did you know that he can make shapes out of flames? He used to make little dogs and foxes to play with Lucien when Beron would upset him.”

“I thought he hated that kid,” Cassian mused.

“He had to keep his distance to keep Beron’s attention away from him; he swore to his mother that he’d protect him.”

“What else comes to mind?”

You swallowed thickly. “He interrogated me about how to care for my wings when I showed up injured once.”

Rhys’s violet eyes flashed. “Injured?”

“Took a bad crash through some trees on the way to see him; I think I was dodging some scouts. Either way, he hounded me about it until I taught him all I could.”

“Seriously?” Cassian again.

“Yeah.” You could feel the dopey smile spread across your face, but you didn’t want to stop it. “Cleaning, first-aid, the whole deal. And the best part? He never has cold hands.”

“Unlike you, huh?” Rhys teased. “Nothing but cold hands.”

“Truer words never spoken,” and unexpected but familiar voice said from behind you.

As soon as you laid eyes on him, you were stumbling to your feet.

There was a warmth in his eyes that had nothing to do with flames when he caught you and pulled you close.

Immediately, you buried your face in his neck. “How?” you whispered into the pale skin there.

Eris’s hand moved to rest atop your wing where it was tucked against your back, sending a delightful shiver down your spine. “That would be a question for your High Lady.”

You glanced over your shoulder and saw that, sure enough, Feyre was now holding hands with the now-standing Rhys. “I thought you were with Amren?”

“I lied,” Rhys shrugged. “Eris was down there plotting with Keir, so I asked her to go grab him for you since you’ve been feeling down.”

When tears started welling up in your eyes, you blamed the alcohol. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, little cousin. Now, I think it’s time for us to turn in.” His eyes shifted to look at your mate; surprisingly his gaze wasn’t near as icy as you would have expected. “Take care of her.”

“Until my dying breath.”

“Never a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ with you people,” Cassian scoffed, “is there?”

You smirked on behalf of your husband. “Never.”

#eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra imagine #eris imagine #eris x reader #acotar imagine #a court of thorns and roses imagine #reader insert

[tealnymph-writes]

Midnight Apple Pie

Elain begins to see Lucien in a different light when they share a midnight snack.

If you would like to be tagged in updates, please let me know!

Read on AO3

Elain x Lucien

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 773

Masterlist

Elain tiptoed toward the kitchen, trying to be as quiet as possible despite almost everyone in the house still being up. But Lucien might be asleep, and she would hate to wake him. After all, if the loud moans and other sounds coming from the side of the house with Vassa and Jurian were any indication, Lucien probably wasn't sleeping that well. He could use any sleep he could manage; she wouldn't be the one to ruin his rest.

She reached the entry to the kitchen, but just as she was about to push the door open, she heard a clatter from the other side. She rushed in, unsure what she would do if it was an intruder but worried all the same. When she took in the sight in front of her, she froze.

Lucien was standing at the island in the middle of the room, a large slice of apple pie in front of him, the fork he had been using on the floor next to him, a guilty expression on his face as he met her gaze.

She smiled timidly, pulling the robe she had thrown over her nightgown tighter as heat flooded her body. He let out a shocked laugh, the sound vibrating through her bones as she stared at his very bare torso, his rippling muscles distracting her in spite of herself. She always seemed to get flustered around him.

"Sorry, I didn't know you were in here," she mumbled, shuffling awkwardly by the door. He quickly recovered himself, picking up his dropped fork and throwing it in the sink before grabbing the rest of the pie from the ice cooler.

"It's okay, there's plenty for both of us," he held up the pie with a nervous grin. She giggled, slowly walking to the table rather than the island. He instantly followed, carrying the pie, a fresh set of plates and forks and his unfinished slice with him.

He served her a slice, then dug back into his own piece. "Trouble sleeping?" He asked as she dug into the pie.

She nodded, sighing happily when the flavorful dessert hit her taste buds. "Yes, but it's fine," she assured him, already diving in for a second bite. "This is amazing! Who made this?"

He chuckled, slowly chewing his own bite. She was already half finished with her slice and he had barely taken a few bites.

"My mother made it," he explained, watching her devour her slice, sounds of delight escaping her with every bite. "Eris brought it today when he stopped by."

"Mmmm, I need the recipe," she gushed, shocked at herself when she realized she had finished and he still had half a slice. "It's really good. Your mother must be an excellent baker."

"She is," he agreed with a smile. He slowly ate his pie while she sat quietly, not wanting to leave despite having finished her midnight snack. She felt oddly comfortable here, enjoying Lucien's presence. The more time she spent with him, the more she liked him. He was fascinating, and he never treated her like a child. And it didn't hurt that he was one of the most handsome males she had ever seen.

"If you'd like, I can tell Eris to bring my mother for a visit next time he comes," Lucien finally said, breaking her out of the sudden fascination she had with the interesting cords of muscles on his shoulders.

"Oh, umm, that would be nice," she smiled, blushing furiously. "I'd like that. I'd like to meet your mother."

A smile teased his lips as he took another bite of pie. "I'll write to Eris in the morning."

She grinned, unable to stop herself from giving him her best smile. He was so thoughtful; it never failed to make her burst with happiness, even when she wasn't sure she wanted to.

His head dipped, his fork extending toward the last bite of his pie. Before she could stop herself, words slipped from her mouth.

"Are you sure you want the last bite of that?" She blurted, her face growing warmer as his eyes shot to her. She feared she had crossed a line, but he suddenly burst into laughter, grabbing the pie pan and serving her another slice of pie while he watched her in amusement.

"Here, I don't think either of us are getting much sleep tonight," he teased, a scream of pleasure from above emphasizing his point. She laughed, grabbing her fork and digging in as he served himself a second slice, the two of them falling into an easy conversation as the night faded slowly into dawn.

#elucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elain x lucien #elain #lucien #acosf #acotar fic #acotar fanfic #sjm fanfic #elucien fic #elucien fanfic #my fic #mine

[vanserraseris]

END OF PART XI - Ok, so Eris finds out about Jesminda and confronts Lucien about it. He says some pretty not nice things to his younger brother (he gets pretty mean), things couldn’t stay great between them forever. Thanks for reading!!!

oooooh boy we’re getting into it now

Prince of Ashes. Part XI.

masterlist.

Eris stumbled when someone slammed a large hand onto his shoulder, reaching for the knife at his side as he whirled on whoever it was. 

“Easy, brother,” rumbled Owain, his red hair a mess and his brown eyes on the snake-head knife hilt in Eris’s hand. Eris had to admit that he’d gotten very used to no one approaching him, let alone having someone lay a hand on him, especially if he wasn't expecting it.

Eris also figured it wouldn’t be good for anyone if he accidentally killed a new servant, and that perhaps his first instinct shouldn’t be to reach for his weapon. Eris returned the dagger to its place on the sheath at his side. “I didn't know it was you.” Owain looked troubled as he opened his mouth to speak, closing it and opening it once more as his eyes looked at anything but his oldest brother.

This sort of behaviour from Owain was unexpected, and Eris’s first thought was that something had happened to their mother. “What’s happened,” Eris demanded. The dominance in his tone suggesting it was best to just spit it out.

“Lucien,” was Owain’s response.

That one word had Eris freezing. “What’s happened,” he repeated, voice low.

“I would have just said — I would have spoken to him, but… He doesn’t,” Owain ran a hand through his hair, “He might listen to you.” Owain was usually stoic, composed. Eris was panicking slightly to see that he looked worried.

“Owain,” Eris snapped, “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, yes, alright, sorry,” Owain lifted his chin just slightly, he was taller than Eris by a lot, but he was looking Eris straight in the eyes. “I saw Lucien in Calchas with a female.”

Eris paused, blinking once before he grinned. “I don’t really see the problem.”

Owain licked his lips, “Right, no, it wouldn’t be, not normally.” 

Eris’s grin shifted, turned more into a bare of teeth, “Then why are you bothering me with this.” Eris had countless things to do, a territory to run, prisoners to deal with. He didn’t have time for whatever this was.

“The female is a lesser faerie, Eris,” there was a hint of desperation in his usually calm tone. “And he’s with her … constantly. You know how father feels about this sort of thing. If it was one time, I wouldn’t have bothered coming to you,” he awkwardly waved one of his large hands, “If someone loyal to father had seen him…” Owain trailed off. Owain hadn’t needed to finish his sentence, Eris knew very well what Beron would do if his youngest son was with a lesser faerie.

Cato’s warning from nearly two decades ago rang clear in his head — Beron wanted to make Lucien’s life as miserable as possible. Eris moved closer to Owain, his hand gripping his younger brother’s thick arm, “What do you know?”

Owain shook his head, “Not much.”

“Tell me everything.” Eris would rather know what little Owain had discovered than nothing at all. 

“She’s a farm girl, works in the orchards with her family, can’t be older than three decades.”

Owain sounded like he was giving Eris a report, “Priam and Maddox have seen them as well, usually out in the fields, by the rivers, they don’t go to the city often, but knowing this court, they go enough that commoners have noticed.”

“What are the rumours?”

“Amongst the High Fae? Just gossip. No different than what they say about the rest of us.” There were always rumours surrounding the Vanserras. “I’m just,” Owain’s cheeks turned red as he mumbled, “Worried, I suppose.”

Eris scanned Owain’s face for any signs of deception. He seemed sincere, but Eris wasn’t entirely shocked, Owain wasn’t horrible. “I’ll talk to him,” Eris assured his younger brother, “But this stays between us.”

Owain nodded once, embers in his brown eyes, “Of course.” Eris gave Owain what he hoped was a reassuring pat on the shoulder, but Owain’s hand snapped up, grabbing Eris by the wrist.

“You can… You can trust me, Eris,” he said, voice low, auburn brows furrowed. “I don’t want Lucien dead anymore than you do.” Eris didn’t get a chance to respond as Owain let go of him, winnowing away with a loud crack, leaving Eris alone in the otherwise empty hallway. Eris would think on this later, about possibly trusting Owain. Owain had always been closer to Cato, closer to Maddox, but he knew they’d all be stronger together if they could all stop fighting amongst themselves.

With a shake of his head, throwing his shoulders back, Eris walked down the hall, making his way to Lucien’s room. Eris couldn’t understand where in the hells he went wrong. He’d spent decades telling Lucien not to make any attachments, not to do anything that would draw any unwanted attention, not to do anything that would anger their father. Not their father. Eris was certain if Lucien knew the truth he wouldn’t refer to Beron as such.

Eris growled just thinking about the vow he’d made to his mother nearly thirty years ago. He bounded up a flight of stairs, flames flaring in the sconces on the walls. He’d been in such a rush that he almost ran past Lucien’s bedroom door, backtracking with an annoyed snarl. He still hadn’t decided what exactly he was going to tell his youngest brother, but he lifted his fist, banging a little too loudly on the dark wood. Once Eris heard the muffled “come in,” he shoved open the door.

Lucien was lounging on his bed, shoes off, the laces of his shirt loose. He was holding a book, one that Eris had read before. “Fallon’s Fables” was painted in an elegant, gold script on the cover. It was more of a story book than an actual tome for educating oneself. It had been Eris’s favourite when he’d been young, he’d gifted his to Rufus decades ago and he wondered whether the book Lucien had in his hands was the same one.

Lucien grinned up at him, his eyes bright. “I thought you were Rufus.”

Eris slammed the door shut, locking it, “I need to talk to you.”

“Hello to you as well,” Lucien’s grin faltered just slightly, and Eris briefly thought that he should have greeted his youngest brother, but he’d already started speaking.

“Lucien, tell me right now it’s not true.” Eris was trying to keep calm, he was trying not to yell, he was trying not to get angry. He would give Lucien a chance to explain himself.

Lucien closed his book, laughed a little nervously. “Tell you what?” He questioned.

Eris’s nostrils flared. The unmistakable scent of his little brother was obvious. But among the familiar citrus, weaving in and out of that scent, was apple blossoms. Eris groaned, “Lucien, what the fuck are you thinking?”

“You’re starting to worry me a bit, you know?”

Eris could have set the room on fire. “You don’t worry about me,” Eris shook his head, “Stick to worrying about yourself.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Lucien was wary now, but his eyes were still bright. “Is this one of your riddles?”

“Yes,” Eris stepped closer to the bed, a mocking smile on his face. “I’m an idiot who chooses to ignore my older brother’s good advice.”

“Easy,” Lucien smiled, just like he’d done when he was younger and he’d found the answer to any of Eris’s riddles, “Rufus Vanserra.”

“Rufus isn't the one parading around Calchas with a lesser faerie,” Eris crooned.

Lucien’s face dropped, his smile gone, Eris could practically see Lucien trying to come up with some lie. He noticed when Lucien decided to just tell the truth, arms crossed defensively in front of his chest, jaw set. “So?”

“So?” Eris wanted to laugh, “That’s all you have to say?” Eris was going to light the whole room on fire if he didn’t get a handle on his anger.

Lucien looked up at Eris, flames in his eyes, “I don’t know why it matters, most of what I do doesn’t matter.”

“Well, it does,” Eris spat. He had to remind himself to take deep, calming breaths. “Find another female to fuck.” Eris found he was absolutely horrendous at this. Even Eris thought that was crue, too cruel. He should have gone straight to their mother and asked her to deal with whatever the hells this was.

Lucien’s face unexpectedly softened, “I love her, Eris.”

Eris threw his hands in the air in defeat, “You’re not supposed to love things in this cauldron-forsaken court,” Eris was getting angrier by the second. “This court is cruel and brutal, there is no place for love in it.” It was a lesson all of them had learned, a lesson that Beron had taught them, a rule each of them tried to follow. In Autumn, a rule like that kept you alive. 

“You sound just like father.”

Eris flinched, just slightly, Lucien probably hadn’t even noticed. Eris would have rather Lucien stabbed him then tell him something like that. But he would stand his ground, “End it.”

“I’m not going to,” Lucien lifted his chin, his jaw set. Had Lucien always been this stubborn?

“And I’m not going to say it again,” Eris growled, “End it.”

“What about you, then?” Lucien snarled, eyes flaring. “You and all your lovers? Everyone knows you’ve had countless.”

Eris felt his rage mounting as he waved a hand dismissively, trying to act as unbothered as possible. “They meant nothing.”

Eris felt the tips of his ears heat as Lucien asked, “What about Micah?”

“I didn’t tell you that so you could throw it in my face.” Eris snarled back, his voice low. Eris was regretting having trusted Lucien and Rufus with it now, even if they both hadn’t seemed to care when he’d mentioned that Micah had been his lover.

“I’m not throwing it in your face,” Lucien shook his head, he looked hurt that Eris would consider it. “I just don’t think you have any right to sit there and lecture me about forbidden love.”

“I didn’t love him.”

Lucien didn’t look like he believed him for a moment. “Honestly?” 

Eris ran his tongue over his teeth, ran his fingers through his hair, “Honestly.”

“Cauldron, that’s bullshit and you know it,” Lucien raised his brows.

“Cauldron fucking boil me, Lucien, I was young and reckless once, too,” Eris started, probably as close to an admission of the love he’d had for Micah as anyone would get, “But I know better now.” Eris’s relationships never lasted, either because of him or because he ended them before they got too serious, before he got too invested. Micah had been one of his only exceptions, and even that had ended. Eris shook his head, “End it and court a female father will approve of.”

“Yes, because all you do is court lovely females father would approve of?” Eris knew he was being a ridiculous hypocrite, but this was different. Eris was the heir, and his father didn’t pay much attention to anyone he took to bed, and Eris had had a whole lot of practice making sure his father only knew about the females he’d wanted Beron to know about. No matter how often Eris messed up, Eris figured his father probably wasn’t going to kill him - he couldn’t afford to, not anymore.

Eris was a damn good courtier and a fantatsic fucking commander, his father would have to be an imbecile to kill him off. But Lucien wasn’t important, not to Beron. He was young and worthless. Lucien was the runt of the litter. “This isn’t about me,” Eris snapped, finally having reached the end of his rope. “This is about you.”

Lucien jumped to his feet, throwing the book from his hands onto his bed, “You don’t get to do that,” he shouted.

Eris growled, opening his mouth to speak, but Lucien wasn’t finished. “You’ve been gone for over a year, you don’t get to come back when it suits you and tell me how to live my life!” Eris stiffened, watching as Lucien waved a hand in his direction. Embers fell to the floor from Lucien’s fingers. “Don’t act like you care, Eris, when it’s obviously not the case.”

It was true that Eris hadn’t been to The Forest House in quite some time, but he hadn’t thought Lucien would be so angry at him for it, that Lucien would accuse him of not caring. Eris wanted to stomp his foot like some spoiled child, say Lucien was being unfair, that he was acting like a youngling. “Just think of the mess I’ll have to clean up when this goes wrong,” Eris snarled. “Think for one moment and you’ll see nothing good can come of this ridiculous dalliance.”

Eris knew he’d been too harsh when Lucien’s face hardened.“Get out,” Lucien spat, a strange golden glow to his eyes.

Eris scowled. “Fine then, don’t fucking listen,” he moved to the door. “See if I’ll fucking help if you get caught.”

“I don’t need your fucking help,” Lucien sneered. “I’ve lived my whole life without your help.” Eris had his hand on the doorknob, frozen on the spot, as he gasped out a choked laugh.

Turning to face Lucien, brows raised, lip curled, Eris cocked his head to the side — the words he spoke quiet. “Have you?”

Lucien’s expression changed, almost imperceptibly, almost like he regretted having said that, but he stood his ground. “Get out, Eris.”

Eris should have stayed, should have apologized, but he had never been very good at admitting when he’d been wrong. With one last shake of his head, Eris threw open the door, slamming it shut behind him.

Eris heard something shatter in Lucien’s room, he heard Lucien’s muffled shout, but he kept walking. Eris knew there were flames in his eyes, flames trailing behind him as he walked towards his study with fast steps. He could practically hear his mother’s voice from when he’d been young, urging him to tame his magic. The flames should not control you, she’d tell him, you must be the one to control them.

Eris had struggled with his magic as a child, tutors thought him too dangerous to teach, and his mother had taught him to control it when even Beron hadn’t been able to. Eris was having trouble keeping his magic controlled now, though. The temperature around him raised, the air holding some of that choking feel that his father’s magic so often had. Eris really was becoming just like Beron.

Eris slammed the door to his study open with his shoulder. The fireplace flared to life as he entered, flames wild. Eris needed to be careful, or he’d set all his books on fire. Eris took a deep breath, “I’m in control,” he muttered. “I’m in control.” He clenched his fists, the flames disappearing, “I’m in control.” Eris took another deep breath, picturing dying embers in his mind. He was going to speak to his mother, she would be able to help him.

Lucien had always listened to him and Eris didn’t know what he was going to do now that he hadn’t. Perhaps Eris would damn the consequences and drain his father’s stash of good cognac. Perhaps Eris would go to the streets of Calchas in search of some company. Or, Perhaps Eris would simply stay at the Forest House and pray this did not end badly.

#eris vanserra #fanfic #autumn court #beron vanserra #lucien vanserra #jesminda #lucien x jesminda #the lady of the autumn court #helion x lady of autumn #helion x lady vanserra #helion #fanfiction #vanserra brothers #acotar #sjm #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #a court of thorns and roses #sarah j maas #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #a court of silver flames #queer eris #bisexual eris #bi eris

[thespianbooks]

A Court of Nightmares and Starlight //Chapter 20//

Masterlist

tags: @thron3ofbooks, @df3ndyr, @courtofjurdan, @art-e-mis, @herondamnn, @the-third-me, @im-still-trying-here, @emikadreams, @paytin77, @mis-lil-red, @sleeping-and-books, @lucieisabooknerd, @amandaraey-sunshine, @easy-p-lemon, @azymondias05, @dagypsygirl, @makeshift-utopia) *bold tags don’t work ;-;

Posting a little earlier because last week I posted a little later than I meant to 😅

XXX

"Eris is High Lord of the Autumn Court?" Mor asked carefully, her warm eyes widened in subtle horror.

In the weeks that followed the news of the civil unrest taking place in Autumn, all the courts of Prythian had been on a collective edge. As our spymaster indicated in his reports, Eris indeed sent letters to every court—asking for aid in the fight against his father, and almost every one had begrudgingly sent a small contingency of their armies; Kallias being the only one to outright refuse. After bearing witness firsthand to Beron's insolence at the summit, they all were hesitant to trust that Eris would be any better—especially Kallias, whose heavily pregnant mate had been targeted by the older male. They were surprised, however, to see the legion of Illyrians that Cassian sent; realizing later that we were retaliating directly against Beron for not only his assault against me at the summit, but for his attack on Velaris as well. They also knew of the tenuous alliance Rhys and I had with Eris for his help during the war, and one-by-one they offered their support for the male in a fortnight.

Azriel nodded in response to Mor, taking a subtle step closer as she loosed a shaky breath. After meeting with his brothers, Rhys had called for the rest of us to gather in the library in order to disclose the information they received earlier this morning—that Eris had beaten his father and was crowned as the new High Lord of Autumn, while his despicable father rotted in their prison, for now.

"What now?" I asked as Mor remained speechless, her eyes still darting from side to side as she processed the news.

The last decade of peace hadn't lessened the hatred she bore towards the Autumn male, and I understood how it must've felt to learn that the male who caused her unbearable pain—had left her for dead, was now elevated to a high position of power.

"Now that bastard keeps a leash on Keir, until we and the other courts can pull back our forces and recuperate before tackling our next issue." Rhysand answered, keeping a watchful eye on his cousin.

"How long will that take?" Amren asked from her seat next to Mor, subtly moving closer and offering the blonde her glass of wine.

"Two or three weeks, give or take." Cassian responded as Mor took that glass and gulped down the remainder of its contents.

"How exactly will he do that?" Elain asked timidly, she hadn't been very involved in the meetings where we developed our plan of action—the war with Hybern still too fresh in her memory for her to actively participate as she had back then. She was finally in a good place, nearly recovered mentally, and talks of going to war again only gave her painful reminders of what she had lost then.

I placed a hand over hers gently. "Rhys has been writing back and forth with Eris over the last two weeks. Once he started gaining an advantage over his father, Eris received a letter from Keir offering to create an alliance," I explained.

"You mean renew an alliance," Mor said bitterly as she stood and crossed over to the set of windows, hands on her hips.

I frowned, sharing a look with Rhysand. "But Eris is our ally in this coup. I have already instructed him to keep Keir sidetracked with false promises of a treaty while we work together with the other courts and replenish our armies," he reassured.

"You really think we can trust him?" Mor asked, turning back to face us. "He's been biding his time until he could win his father's throne, using us as leverage, how do we know he'll keep his word now that he has it?"

"He is ruthless, cousin, there's no doubt about that. He also knows that he would be at a severe disadvantage if he paired with Keir in the coup. His court just underwent a civil war, it is in shambles and he now has to navigate how to deal with his father's supporters and piece his court back together. Partnering with Keir would be disastrous and result in his court falling apart completely," Rhys explained calmly.

"If for some batshit crazy reason he does decide to side with Keir, we outnumber them now." Cassian added. "With the other courts on our side, they can't win."

Mor still looked unconvinced as she turned back to the window without another word. I saw Azriel watching her, a flicker of yearning in those hazel eyes, but he looked away as Elain spoke up again.

"Is there any news of Vassa…?" She asked quietly.

"She was recovered and returned to her home in the Mortal Lands, by Lucien." He answered her just as softly.

A pall of silence fell over us—Mor's rage continued to simmer as she stared out the window; while my sister and the shadowsinger exchanged a prolonged look before she finally looked down at her lap. Whether or not she acknowledged the fact that it was her mate that rescued the mortal queen, or whether or not she cared, I could only guess.

Rhys cleared his throat. "In the meantime, we keep waiting while Eris keeps Keir distracted. During that time, the other courts will be steadily sending their forces until those who fought in Autumn are recovered and can accompany the rest. If all goes according to plan, we have approximately two weeks until we're hosting the other courts and High Lords," he continued.

"Where are we going to host five High Lords, their entourages, and armies? We can't use the palace above the Court of Nightmares, Keir will know." I asked, bewildered.

"We'll host them here, in Velaris," Rhys answered with a rouge smirk.

"And their armies will camp out in the Northern Forests of the Illyrian Steppes," Cassian finished, crossing his arms over his broad chest with a crooked grin of his own. "We'll give them a little taste of what it's like in those mountains."

"What if Kallon gets reports of those gathered armies? He'll alert Keir," I challenged.

Rhys placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. "They'll be stationed outside of Windhaven camp. Kallon is too busy rallying his rebels to bother checking in on his rival camp. We'll be setting up wards to shield them once they've become large enough; the other High Lords and I will take turns keeping them up."

I squeezed his hand back, leaning back against the cushion of my chair and running a free hand over my belly. Madja continued to assure Rhys and I that our son was growing at the expected rate and remained perfectly healthy. My recovery continued to improve, and the healer had alleviated some of the conditions for my confinement. I was now allowed out of bed for short walks around the estate; I could also paint and tend to some of my duties as High Lady, like writing letters and sorting through reports, but needed to maintain a light and easy schedule—nothing involving anything too strenuous. Since I was on the cusp of entering the last stage of pregnancy, only a few short months away from giving birth, she advised that I remain in the estate until my time came—when my period of nesting began, and Rhys would whisk me away to the Cabin in preparation for the birth of our son.

"Will there be fighting?" Nesta asked.

She stood beside Cassian; hands neatly folded in front of her as she turned a raised chin to the male. Though I couldn't see it, I knew the memories that flashed behind her fierce grey-blue eyes—of Cassian on the battlefield during the war; of the injuries he sustained.

"It's doubtful," Rhys replied for the commander. "We outnumber his Darkbringers and rogue Illyrians six-to-one. Once he and Kallon get word of the troops gathered in the Steppes, they'll come to meet us with their own. If they're smart, they'll realize sooner rather than later how ill-fated their cause has become and surrender."

Mor scoffed from her place at the window. "Like hell they will. You know that bastard won't go down without a fight."

"Then there will be a slaughter. Either way, they lose." Rhys said easily. "They'll be reminded of why previous coup attempts have been thwarted, and the Illyrians will be put in their place once again. As for Keir," he shared a meaningful look with his cousin as citrine and amethyst clashed. I pictured the paints I would use, emphasizing just the shape and fierceness of that shared look.

"So...we have nothing to worry about?" Elain asked hesitantly.

I took her hand again, "We're safe Elain. With our allies and this plan, the coup will fail. This confrontation is nothing like how it was with Hybern."

She nodded, her tense shoulders easing a bit. Amren crossed one leg over the other as a crooked grin lined her lips. "At least this time I won't be needing to sacrifice my life for you lot."

"We could always add you to the front lines. They don't know you don't have any powers; we could just use you to intimidate them to death," Cassian quipped.

"She's far too small for that," Azriel added.

Cassian roared in laughter as Amren glared at the spymaster. I half-heartedly laughed, noting the edge that lingered between my mate and his cousin; until Mor turned away and walked out of the library.

Is she okay? I asked through the bond.

As okay as she can be. She hates that Eris is High Lord, but I just informed her that I will be turning her wretched father over to her after this coup is over

Did that help?

Not as much as I would have hoped

Let me go talk to her. It's been a while since we've talked alone, maybe I can help her sort through her feelings.

Rhys only nodded in response before crossing over to stand in front of me and helped ease me to my feet. Despite my remarkable recovery, my growing belly still made my movements slower and slower. I was also beginning to notice that my balance was growing increasingly skewed but blamed it on the bed rest for now. The others hardly noticed as he escorted me to the door; their continued conversations and my departure a subtle indication that our meeting was over.

"How are you feeling?" Rhys asked once we were in the hallway, wrapping an arm around my waist as we walked.

"I'm fine. It's been nice to walk around again, even if I'm stuck indoors for now," I said.

A small frown came to his face and I quickly realized how my words sounded. The last time I had been confined inside an estate…

"It's not the same," I quickly amended. "I'm doing it for our little Bash," I said while rubbing my stomach for emphasis. "For both of our health. You're not locking me away and forbidding me from entering the city."

He took my hand in his free one, bringing it to his lips. "Never," he said. "Maybe in another couple of weeks Madga will deem it safe for us to resume our walks out along the Sidra. We'll get to enjoy the weather while it's still warm."

I smiled. "After this coup is over, and those responsible are taken care of, we'll get to enjoy it. We'll get to enjoy this," I said as I looked down at my middle.

Rhys's eyes softened as his gaze moved to my stomach, and I felt our son stretch in my belly. We stopped short of Mor's room and he pressed a kiss to my brow, his hands holding either side of my swollen abdomen. "Yes, we will."

I breathed in his scent and sighed lightly before pulling him in for a quick kiss. "You go take care of business. I'll talk to Mor and spend the day with her."

He nodded before taking a step back, "I'll be in my office if you need me."

"I'll be fine," I reminded him.

He smirked and kissed my belly goodbye before winnowing away. I took in another inhale before I stepped around the corner and approached Mor's door. Before I could knock, however, the door swung open with the blonde on the other side of it. She ushered me inside wordlessly and I followed suit, walking into her suite.

"You didn't need to come check on me," she said as she closed the door behind me.

"I figured you needed someone to talk to after hearing the news," I said as I worked to lower myself on the plush settee in the center of her room.

She sighed and plopped herself onto the seat beside me, helping me down and stared at her feet. "I knew it was bound to happen someday, especially after the deal Rhys made with him, but…" she trailed off.

"But it's different actually seeing it become a reality," I affirmed and touched her shoulder gently.

"I know, and you're completely entitled to your feelings. After everything that's happened, on top of this coup orchestrated by Keir," I shook my head and squeezed her shoulder. "I'm sorry Mor."

She continued to stare at the ground until her dark-honeyed eyes finally met mine. "I'm well over five-hundred centuries old, and yet any knowledge of the two of them working together—even under a guise for our sake just…" she shook her head, truly unable to voice the rage boiling underneath her skin, her elegant fingers curling into fists.

I touched one of those fists, levelling my gaze with hers. "Mor, I promise you, if Eris so much as looks at us the wrong way, we'll take care of him. The last thing we do is trust him, and I know Rhys wouldn't hesitate to rip him to shreds if he tries anything like his father did." I promised.

The corner of her mouth twitched upward slightly, and she sighed. "I know the alliance is necessary. I'm just not happy about it," she lamented.

"Neither am I," I assured, and she dipped her head in approval before uncurling her hands and bringing one to touch my stomach gently.

"How is he?" she asked.

Ever since revealing to my sisters that I was expecting a boy, the news hadn't remained a secret for long. Elain had been so delighted and shared the news with Mor and Amren during dinner that same night; Cassian then boasting that he had known for some time, which launched into a debate with the entire inner circle. I then sheepishly promised Rhysand that I wouldn't reveal our son's name until after his birth.

"He's good, moving a lot right now," I answered and smiled at feeling a kick. "Feel that?"

Mor's widened grin was answer enough as she continued to stroke my belly, encouraging my son to kick more and laughed as he responded to her movements and words.

"How does it feel for you?" She asked.

I shrugged. "It's hard to describe, the more he grows the different it feels. Viviane once told me that once I reach the end stages, I'll start to feel feet, fists, and elbows in there."

Mor cringed. "Does it hurt at all?"

I shook my head. "I think he's still too small. His movements are noticeable but not painful."

She nodded and studied my belly for a silent minute, caressing it lightly. "I can't wait for all of this to be over so we can turn all the attention on you, little one. Auntie Mor already has so many presents for you," she cooed.

I blinked, "Presents?"

She grinned mischievously, "Wanna see?"

I nodded with a laugh, but as she got up and crossed over to her enormous closet, a knock came at her door. Raising a brow, she walked over and opened it; a sentry waiting outside of it before she allowed him in.

"Pardon me, milady, but Lucien Vanserra is here to see you," the sentry informed me, albeit a bit hesitant.

I balked at him. "Here on the grounds?" I asked to confirm.

Lucien was about the only male welcomed in and out of Velaris; due to his connection with Elain, and his desire to be closer from time-to-time after the war, he had his own apartment in the city. However, since constructing the estate, he only visited on a few occasions.

The sentry nodded, "Yes. He arrived moments ago, insisting on an audience with you. Lord Rhysand greeted him, but he still maintains in meeting with you alone."

I paused to think. Knowing my mate, he was leaving the decision to me. "Is he alright?" I asked cautiously. "He isn't hurt, is he?"

The sentry shook his head. "He seems well, but unyielding."

"Maybe it has something to do with his swine of a brother," Mor offered. "I'll go with you. If he's angry, the last thing we want is for him to lash out at you in your condition."

"Lucien wouldn't hurt me Mor. If anything, he's probably hurting too. I have a feeling something else has happened," I said before motioning her to help me stand.

I grunted a bit with effort as she helped me get to my feet, a little wearier than I had previously been. Mor frowned, "We can send for him after dinner, once you've gotten some food and rest."

"I'll meet him in the sitting room attached to my suite. I can rest there and talk with him, and I know you all won't be far," I insisted and linked my arm with hers.

"Tell Lucien I will meet him in my sitting room in five minutes," I said to the sentry, who bowed in response and left the room.

"Are you sure about this Feyre? If he upsets you and puts too much strain on you and the baby…" Mor began.

"It's all right Mor," I assured her as she escorted me out of her room. "I think it's Lucien's turn to vent to a friend about the new High Lord of Autumn."

Mor cringed, recalling the cruel revelation Eris had unleashed on his youngest brother at the summit months ago. Still, as she led me back to the sitting room adjoined to my suite, she waited with me for Lucien's arrival. Moments later, my disheveled friend strode in, his russet eye wide while the mechanical one whirring as he took us in. He didn't so much as look at Mor as he cautiously approached me.

"Did you know?" He asked me by way of greeting. "About Helion and my mother? About-" he began but cut himself off as he finally realized Mor was standing beside the chaise lounge I perched on.

I turned a look at her and she understood my request. "I'll be down the hall," she said before leaving us alone.

"Did you know about their affair? That Helion is my-" he cut himself off again, unable to say the words as he paced the room.

I only offered a small nod, watching him empathetically. "Yes," I said softly.

"When?" He asked, still pacing back and forth across the carpet. "When did you figure it out? Or who told you? Was it my father? I mean, was it-"

"I figured it out after I first met Helion; before the war with Hybern started and we all gathered for the first time at Thesan's palace. He told me the story of what happened to your mother, her sisters, and how he rescued her during the first war." I answered, interrupting his rambling questions.

He stopped pacing and faced me. "Did Rhysand know?"

I shook my head. "Not until I figured it out myself. I made the connection; Rhys didn't realize it until I did."

His arms grew slack at his sides. "So, it's not some well-known secret that all of Prythian knows about and just hid from me?"

"No Lucien, it-" I began but then he interrupted.

"So why didn't you tell me, Feyre?" He asked, both of his eyes wide and bewildered. "You've known all this time and you didn't think to tell me? I thought we were friends!"

I frowned as he snapped at me, my hormones surging and causing tears to well in my eyes. It must have been evident, because he sighed and took a mild step towards me before turning away and running both hands through his bright auburn hair with an exasperated sigh. I quickly put my emotions in check, not wanting my irrational mood swing to interrupt Lucien's moment.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"No, Lucien, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. Honestly, I didn't think it was my place, and after what happened at the summit, I thought it was the last thing you wanted to hear." I explained.

He sighed heavily and crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the ground. "My father...I mean, Beron, told me. When he attacked the Mortal Lands and took Vassa. He...claimed I was 'no son of his' and said I was nothing more than a Day Court bastard. I was shocked, and then he started the attack. I tried to fight him off, to protect Vassa, but then…" his voice faded as his eye turned hazy, the other whirring out of focus as he recalled whatever details that occurred that day.

I slowly offered my hand, still seated, and it took a minute before he registered my movement and took it. I motioned for him to sit beside me and he did, his shoulders slumped over slightly as an invisible weight pressed on them.

"When Eris was crowned, my fa...Beron, imprisoned; my mother summoned me back to the palace. She broke down and explained everything, told me of her relationship with Helion and that he was my biological father. She never told him," he went on, voice barely above a whisper.

"She loved him, Feyre, and her husband kept her there. Imprisoned to serve as Lady of the Autumn Court, even while she carried another male's child," he pressed a palm onto his good eye, massaging the stress from it.

I placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, squeezing it softly. "How is she?"

He sighed. "Relieved. Eris is granting her a separation from Beron before he...finds a way to deal with him, but when she told me about Helion, she seemed...broken." He met my gaze again,

"You were almost her. All those years ago with Tamlin, when I didn't do anything to stop it. I almost let what happened to my mother happen to you," he said, a subtle horror laced in his voice.

"What happened to your mother wasn't your fault, Lucien." I said, moving my hand from his shoulder to his hand.

"I knew. A part of me knew she wasn't happy with my father," he cringed. "Beron. Yet I didn't try to take her away. I didn't do anything, and neither did Helion."

I sighed and moved a little closer to him. "Lucien, there was nothing you could have done. Beron had complete control over her. Even if you could, she probably wouldn't have left for fear of him and what he might do."

"But that's the point, I could have," he jumped back to his feet, pacing again. "I could have done something for her, for you, and I didn't. I couldn't protect her, or you, and I couldn't protect Vassa! I couldn't even protect your sister, my mate, from what Hybern did to her and Nesta. What kind of male am I that I can't protect the ones I care for, the ones I love?"

I frowned, "Lucien-"

"No, I...he took Vassa, Feyre. He managed to find that sorcerer that controls her and forced her into her firebird form. The way she screamed; it was...I couldn't bear it. Then learning what he did to my mother, and remembering what happened to you...to Elain, to even Jesminda, and how I allowed it all to happen. I...what…" he looked around frantically, his chest heaving a bit as he paced.

I did my best to rise as quickly and cautiously as I could before I approached him and threw my arms around him in an embrace. His arms were pinned at his sides as I held him, his body going rigid at first—until slowly he relaxed, his arms going limp before slowly wrapping his arms around me in return. Despite the complicated past with Tamlin, the one instance where he did have a say, he was my friend and had more than made up for it since. Beron had given him a life of turbulence; him and his brothers making Lucien's life hell until he found reprieve in the Spring Court. Then, once his closest friend had begun turning into a tyrant reminiscent of his father, those feelings of being trapped returned—unable to help me to the extent he wanted. After escaping that, after the war, he once again found solace with his human friends...until Beron's latest attack.

Lucien had felt so out of control in his own life, and every time little moments of freedom were offered—whether by finding a home in the Spring Court, then being welcomed to Velaris and the Mortal Realm, it seemed to crumble before him. Now with this latest truth revealed to him, it was no wonder that he was beginning to crumble next.

I wouldn't let that happen.

"Your mother is safe. I am safe. Elain is safe, and Vassa is safe," I said. "We are all safe now Lucien. Yes, we each endured some version of hell, but we survived. Just like you are doing now," I pulled back at arm's length to meet his gaze.

"You saved Vassa. As for me and Elain, who knows what would have happened if you hadn't done your part during the war; if you hadn't guided the Mortals, and Drakon and Miyram's army down the right path. As for your mother, you did what you could. Unfortunately, there was nothing you could do while she remained subservient under Beron, but now she is free of him. There is so much to look forward to Lucien," I took his hands again, squeezing them. "There will be good days and bad—don't let the hard days win."

Lucien blinked at me; his russet eye growing soft while the golden one whirred quietly. He continued to stare at me before he embraced me again, pulling me in a little too tightly and I cringed at the pressure on my stomach. He gasped and stepped back.

"Are you okay?" he asked

I nodded with a weary laugh, holding my stomach. "I'm fine, you just squished him a little."

He looked at my stomach, as if he just noticed it and helped me back to my seat carefully. "I almost forgot how far along you were. I haven't seen you since the summit."

"It's weird huh?" I motioned to my enlarged belly. "Sometimes I'm still a little surprised when I see myself in the mirror."

"Is he okay? I heard what you did...after what happened in Velaris," he asked with a frown.

"We're okay. We had a little scare, but my healer took care of us right away. I was on bedrest for a while, and technically still recovering, but I'm better now." I answered, resting my arms over my stomach.

He shook his head. "Rhysand must've lost his mind. I nearly did when Vassa was taken, and she isn't," he stopped himself with another shake of his head—as if trying to erase the memory of what happened to the mortal Queen.

I raised my brow at the tone in his voice, his worry for the fierce mortal woman. I paused as he loosed a long breath, finally cooled from his panic. "Do you want me to call Elain? I know she was worried about Vassa too, maybe you can assure her that she's alright?"

Lucien shook his head. "No, it's alright, I should get back to Vassa," he said, but paused when he met my questioning stare. "And Jurian; the mortal lands."

I laughed. "But…" he started. "Will you tell her I was here?"

"Yes. I'll let her know you're taking care of Vassa."

He dipped his head in a subtle nod and sighed again. "Thank you Feyre," he said softly.

"Anytime Lucien, just remember what I said okay?"

He offered a stiff smile before leaning down to give me a parting hug before escorting himself out. Rhys appeared in the doorway a second later.

"Well," he started. "That was intense."

I sighed, slumping back against the lounge and running my hands over my stomach. "He was upset. Beron told him about Helion and his mother."

Rhys released his own deep exhale and crossed over to the lounge, scooping me up easily and I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, resting my head against his shoulder. He walked us into our adjoining bedroom, laying me across the bed carefully and spreading out beside me. I rubbed my stomach lightly, watching it before Rhys placed a hand at the apex of my belly.

"He'll recover. It'll take time, but he will come to terms with the news," he said quietly as he ran his hand over the expanse of my stomach.

"Do you think Helion knows?" I asked.

"He probably suspects after the comment Eris made at the summit," he responded, voice still low. "Though I'm not sure what he'll do about it."

"What would you have done, if it were us? If I had actually married Tamlin, and in my time spent here to fulfill the bargain, you and I fell in love regardless? If we had conceived our son and I was stuck in the Spring Court, forced to name him Tamlin's…" I flinched at just the mere thought of it, of how easily it could have been me.

Rhys took my chin gently, tilting my head back to meet his violet eyes, sparkling intensely. "I would have torn the world apart for you, Feyre," he reminded me.

I smiled half-heartedly before he pulled me closer. "We don't know exactly how hard Helion tried to get her back, perhaps now they'll get the end they deserved," he said.

"Maybe," I mused, playing with the collar of his black tunic. "Did Eris...say anything about what he plans to do with Beron?"

"He's keeping him imprisoned until further notice. Said he might turn him over to us once we have Keir and Kallon in our custody," he said as his fingertips traced my side lightly.

I shivered at his touch, a part of me resenting Madja for deeming any sexual activity still too strenuous during my recovery. I hummed in response, "He'd actually let us execute his father?"

Rhys shrugged. "Beron will die regardless, along with Keir and Kallon."

"Mmm, what a fitting end for the three of them." I murmured, my eyes beginning to feel heavy as my mate's warmth continued to envelop me.

He noticed the fatigue in my voice and pressed a kiss to my brow. "All this talk of war and its lasting effects is wearing you down my love," he teased.

I rolled my eyes, closing them as I laid my head on his shoulder. "It wouldn't be if I weren't so busy growing a powerful high fae," I muttered.

I felt his dark chuckle rattle in his chest. "Sleep Feyre," he whispered as a hand ran down my back gently.

Sebastian must've wanted the same, because despite his constant movements and kicks just a while earlier, he was now calm—perhaps slipping into his own nap. I felt myself fading, too tired to respond with a witty remark and only stirred slightly when I felt Rhys move from my side and press another kiss to my brow.

I dreamt of Sebastian running through a pile of bright red and orange leaves, laughing and giggling as they crunched under his feet, Lucien standing at a distance with a content smile on his face—Vassa at his side.

#Feysand #feysand babies #feyre x rhysand #feyre archeron #feyre cursebreaker #high lady Feyre #high lord rhysand #court of dreams #high lord helion #eris vanserra #lucien vanserra #autumn court #night court #high lords of prythian #elain archeron #nesta archeron #cassian #azriel #morrigan #amren acotar #acotar fanfiction #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acofs #aconas

[ncssian]

family therapy

summary: cassian is sick of watching nesta and lucien fight all the time, and decides they need professional help. (oneshot)

a/n: this takes place in the same crescent city universe (not a crossover just an au) as this oneshot. you don't need to read that one to understand this one, but they exist in the same world/timeline.

"And how does that make you feel, Lucien?"

"It makes me feel like I dislocated a shoulder, because I did," the fae male grumbled.

Nesta scoffed without looking at him. "You're such a pussy."

"Can't be worse than being an insufferable bitch."

From his spot in the corner of the room, Cassian's jaw ticked at the insult, but he kept his mouth shut. The therapist, Helen, gave Nesta and Lucien a firm look. "What did we agree to about communication in my office?"

A few moments of silence, then Lucien muttered, "Sorry." Nesta echoed him.

"Don't say it to me," Helen said in her smooth tone. "Say it to each other."

"I'm good," Nesta said.

"Nesta." The low warning came out of Cassian's mouth before he could help it. Helen turned to look at him for the first time all session. "And who are you again?" she asked, confused.

Cassian flustered, wanting to be left out of this as much as possible. "I'm her ride," he said honestly. His massive dove-gray wings explained the rest.

Lucien snorted. "Is that what you're calling it now?"

"Okay, I've had about enough of you—" Nesta grabbed for a couch pillow to smack Lucien with.

It was plucked out of her hand before it could make contact with Lucien's scarred face. Nesta whirled on Cassian, glaring. "You promised you'd stay out of this," she hissed.

"I'm paying for this session," he said simply, the calm to her raging fire.

Helen was eyeing all three of them like she didn't get paid enough for this, but she pursed her lips and waited until everybody had settled before speaking again.

"Now," she said tersely, "why don't we start at the beginning?"

***

It was Elain's birthday party, and this year she'd wanted a rager. Lucien, ever the dedicated male, had set up a fine enough party using his dad's money and extensive list of rich friends.

Nesta wrinkled her nose at a pair of grinding werewolves as she walked through the crowded living room, wondering where her sister was in the midst of all this. Cassian's presence was a warm force at her back, keeping her from getting smothered by random Vanir on all sides. She self-consciously tucked the skirt of her minidress down, wishing she hadn't worn white when so many...liquids were sloshing around.

In the dim pink light of the room, she caught a flash of gold and red near the cake table. Her eyes narrowed, locked onto its target, and she sped up her walk until she was face to face with Lucien Vanserra.

"Nice whorefest you've set up, kid."

Lucien turned to her with a fake smile, ready to fight instantly. "Nesta," he greeted sweetly. "Still beating that joke to death, I see."

Years ago, when Nesta had been drunk and feeling particularly vengeful, she'd found herself taking Lucien's father, Helion, to bed. Even now, she liked to remind Lucien of it every now and then by making stepmom jokes at him. And she wasn't about to stop.

"It's not a joke." Nesta didn't bother with the fake smiles. "It's part of my very real multistep plan to marry your dad, make Cassian my lover on the side, become your stepmother, and ruin your life by inches."

"I think you overestimate your ability to ruin my life any more than you already have." Lucien poured something bloodred into a plastic cup. Was he drinking wine at a rager? Gods, she hated him.

"Where is Elain?" she snapped.

"With her friends. You know, because she actually has them."

Nesta sneered. "When are you planning on breaking up with her so she can lead a better life?"

Lucien raised his cup in announcement. "Around the same time you plan on quitting being such a bitch." And then, he tipped over his cup. Wine poured all over the front of her dress, dribbling into her cleavage and soaking her bra. He looked Nesta in the eye. "So, never."

Nesta didn't blink. She didn't know where Cassian had gone off to, and she didn't care. Without looking away from Lucien, she plunged her hand into the three-tier cake on the table— Elain's birthday cake. "This," she smeared the chunk of cake across Lucien's face, "is why your family doesn't love you." She shook clumps of frosting off her hand.

If Lucien was hurt by her words, he hid it well with a smirk. "That's not what your sister was saying last night—"

At that moment, Nesta headbutted him— she rammed into his torso and took him all the way into the wall, then the floor.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" he spluttered beneath her, trying to fend off her tiny hands as they slapped at his chest.

"Fuck you!" Nesta screamed at him.

If people hadn't been watching before, they definitely were now. Out of the corner of her eye. Nesta could see Cassian appear at the edge of the crowd, spot Nesta beating the shit out of Lucien, and then immediately turn around to mind his own business.

Good. He knew better than to interfere when it came to Lucien.

Lucien, being taller and stronger, managed to shove Nesta off his body and into the cake table, but before he could pounce and elevate the fight even further, he was hauled backwards by a pair of small hands.

"What the hell is going on here?" dainty Elain Archeron roared.

***

"And where is Elain in all of this?" Helen asked.

"She stayed home, lest this get any more incestuous than it already is." Lucien crossed his bare arms over his chest.

Cassian snorted at the word "lest", because really, who used that in their everyday vocabulary if they weren't Nesta?

Lucien narrowed his eyes at him, one russet and one gold. "What's so funny, angel?"

Cassian had to reign in his smile. "You talk like Nesta," he said. "And sometimes Nesta talks like you."

"That's stupid," Lucien said at the same time Nesta said, "Don't be stupid, Cassian."

The pair glared at each other, only to instantly look away.

"Well." Helen inhaled a deep breath and looked at her notes. "There are a few things I'd like to touch on during this session, especially after what I've heard about this birthday party." She glanced up at Nesta and Lucien. "You two used to be fairly good friends. Can you pinpoint when the animosity began?"

"Well," Lucien pretended to think, "it might have something to do with the time she fucked my dad."

Nesta scoffed. "Like you sleeping with my sister is any better."

"Which happened first?" Helen asked.

Nesta was silent, which was answer enough. Cassian would have rather been anywhere else than discussing Nesta's past sex life, but he knew she needed this.

"Nesta, what was your reasoning behind this?"

Cassian knew this answer, but he didn't know if Nesta would admit it.

Her blue-gray eyes burned with indignant rage. "Do I need a reason? I liked him, I was of age, so I slept with him."

Lucien shook his head. "I'm surprised you stopped at my father. You could've gone through all my brothers, too. Remember that crush you had on Eris?"

Nesta gasped, looking at Lucien with horror and— embarrassment. Cassian narrowed his eyes, torn between being offended on his girlfriend's behalf and being intrigued by this new piece of information.

"You promised you would never tell anybody," she said, her voice uncharacteristically high. Lucien squinted at her. "Are you crying?"

"No!" Nesta blinked furiously.

"There's nothing wrong with crying," Helen assured her. "But Nesta, I have a feeling you're not being entirely honest with us, and we can't get anywhere without honesty."

Nesta glared with red eyes at the wall, and Cassian met Lucien's gaze and held up his hand in a wait gesture.

Once Nesta was decidedly calm, she let out a breath and grumbled, "He was my first friend."

Lucien glanced at her, surprised, but didn't say anything.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "When we moved to Crescent City, he was my only friend, and I thought we liked each other. I thought we understood each other, but then he— " she swung her glare around to Lucien, "was just using me to get to my sister."

"That's not—"

"This is Nesta's turn to speak, Lucien," Helen cut him off.

Nesta was talking to Lucien now. "The showing up at my house late with beer, hanging around with me all the time while your friends were out having a life— it was all so you could get closer to Elain, because she trusted anybody I liked and you knew it."

Lucien's mouth tightened. "That's why you slept with my dad? Because I took Elain out on a date and you wanted revenge?"

"You forgot about me as soon as you had her. We were drifting apart long before I did anything with Helion, trust me."

Lucien was quiet for a long time. "It's true that I liked Elain from the day you all moved in down the street," he finally said. "But she was never my friend the way you were. And just because I liked spending time with her doesn't mean I didn't like spending time with you. It's comparing apples and oranges; I loved you both."

Nesta blinked. "But you don't anymore?"

Lucien didn't answer, and eventually Helen cleared her throat. "I'm really proud of the progress we just made, but I'm afraid our time is up."

Cassian sat up at that. "You can't cut them off here, they just had a—" he waved his hand, "breakthrough or something."

"And it was very powerful," Helen nodded. "Which is why I suggest going home and reflecting on what we learned today until our next session."

It was Nesta and Lucien's turns to sit up. "There's another session?" she demanded.

"As many as it takes until you two are at a healthy place with each other again." Helen smiled in a polite way that surely made Nesta feral, Cassian knew. He had a suspicion that his pockets wouldn't see the end of this.

Lucien was already getting to his feet and stretching. "Yeah, maybe we should just hug and make up now and call it a day."

At the look of blatant disgust on Nesta's face, he rolled his eyes. "Or maybe not, damn."

Helen got up and smiled that fake smile again. "See you next week." She turned to Cassian. "Should I email you the invoice now or later?"

***

Despite the day's revelations, Nesta and Lucien didn't last a minute once they left the therapist's office. Or rather it was because of the recent revelations, that they felt the need to return to normal.

"You look like such a douchebag in those shirts," Nesta snapped.

"It's just a shirt!"

"WHERE ARE THE SLEEVES?"

"Like I'm going to take fashion advice from someone who's boyfriend only wears black like it's wartime!"

Cassian didn't think that was fair. His shirt was dark gray today.

Nesta and Lucien's voices blended into one jumbled shouting match as they furiously walked out of the building.

"You know what, don't even bother calling me for our weekly recaps this time."

"I wasn't planning on it."

"I'm blocking your number right now." Nesta was digging her phone out of her bag.

"Good," Lucien seethed. "Text me when you get home safe before you do it!"

"Fine!"

"Good!"

They spun on their heels at the same time, Lucien storming away in one direction while Nesta did her furious little speedwalk towards Cassian in the other.

At the end of the street, Cassian gathered Nesta in his arms as he prepared to fly them home. "Why can't you just tell him you care for him like you do with your sisters?"

Nesta braced her hands on Cassian's biceps and glared. "Because he's not like my sisters. He's a male."

Cassian's lips quirked up in amusement. "So like a brother?"

Nesta grumbled something unintelligible, but she didn't deny it. Cassian had a feeling she wouldn't be blocking Lucien's number anytime soon. Still, he was proud of the progress she had made today.

Dropping a kiss onto her hair, he spread his wings wide and shot them into the sky.

***

a/n: i said bryce and ruhn but make it nesta and lucien. also the fight scene was better with shiv and roman from succession 😭 hope you guys liked it.

if i was supposed to tag you but didn't or if i wasn't supposed to and i did, it's probably because i have you on the wrong tag list! just shoot me a message so we can fix that.

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @clolikescloquetas

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #lucien vanserra #ncssianwrites #nessian au #nessian fic

[my-fan-side]

Unconventional (Chapter 2)

A/N: Thank you everyone who have liked and reblogged and made a comment on the first chapter. I hope you’ll enjoy the rest of the story. 

In case you missed it: 

Chapter 1

-----

Chapter 2

The flight on their way home was quiet. Cassian’s arms are tense around his mate, and his jaw was hard and gritting. He wants to say something but is still trying to find the right words to say to her. He knows that one wrong word can lead up to them fighting, and he doesn’t want that. He also knows that Nesta is aware of his predicament, and he’s thankful that she’s not pushing him to talk…yet.

They got home, prepared for bed, and was already laying on it, about to go to sleep when Nesta finally decided to break the silence.

“Alright, spit it out.” She flips to the other side of the bed, now she’s facing Cassian. Her mate however was lying on his back, arms crossed in his chest as he kept on staring at the ceiling.

Cassian sighs, they were both stubborn to initiate this conversation. But they had a rule not to let the night pass without discussing whatever was bothering them. And to be honest, a few more seconds and he would have been the one to begin the talk.

“It’s just…” Cassian can’t seem to put his thoughts into words, he just furrowed his brows and growls when he realized he can’t finish his sentence. Nesta can’t help but smirk though, sometimes he’s just so adorable when he’s being territorial. She lifts her upper body from the bed, leans on one of her elbows and look down on her mate’s face. Using her index and middle finger, she traced the wrinkled lines that form on Cassian’s brow, and he eases his glare towards the ceiling, then turn his eyes to meet Nesta’s.

Cassian tilted his head towards his mate and asked quietly. “Why?”

“Why what?” Nesta answered, now resting her cheek on his stomach.

Cassian, tucked her mate’s hair on her pointed ears before he answered. “Why are you friends with him? Why is he giving you a dress? Why didn’t I know about how close you are?” he said, his hazel eyes not leaving Nesta’s blue greys.

Nesta took her time thinking how to answer Cassian without hurting him further. Because he was hurt, more than angry, and she feels it too from her side of the bond. “Eris. I can’t give you an exact answer on how we became friends, it just happened as we work together whenever I was in their court. As to why we are friends? I guess he never gave me reason not to be friends with him.” She shrugged. “I know that you and the rest of the circle have some deep history with him Cass. Something I probably will never understand because I wasn’t there. But believe me, if I had ever sensed something was off or felt any bad intention reeking off of him, I wouldn’t let myself spend even just a minute with him. You know that. You know me.” She’s now tracing the tattoos swirling on his chest as she speaks. “Again, he just didn’t give me any reason not to give him at least a chance to know him. And it wouldn’t be fair to him if I solely based how I would treat him on what you told me about him. If there’s anyone who would know about giving someone a chance…”

“Stop. It’s not the same. You’re not the same.” Cassian cut her off.

“I’m not saying we are. But you did get what I meant, right?” Cass sighed at this and gave her a slight nod.

Nesta kissed him on the cheek before continuing on giving him answers. “Why did he give me a dress? I don’t know, maybe he just wants to? Friends give each other gifts, right? Will I wear it? I wouldn’t if you don’t want me to, Cass.” She assured her mate on this.

“Now, why you didn’t know we are close enough to tease each other & giving gifts? Well, we never really talked about how I spend my days in the Autumn court in details, because we both know it’s mostly about work. And those were discussed on a formal meeting. My conversation with him outside work were sometimes small talks or are far in between. It’s just who he is.” Nesta explained it casually to Cassian.

Cass rolled his eyes on this. “I get that, it’s just… you should’ve told me there was something going on?”

“There wasn’t anything going on.” She paused making sure Cassian is listening to her. “I talk with him about work, sometimes not work-related topics when it arises. That’s it. We, you and I, we just don’t talk about every little discussion I have with everyone in Autumn. Like when Eris told me about the book he last read, or her mom shows me her favorite flower, not even when Elain accidentally broke a 200 year old vase.” She snorts as she remembers that.  “I didn’t tell you those things because I don’t think you would be interested to know them. It’s just not the kind of things we talk about.”

“Yes, we are friends, I honestly don’t see anything wrong with that. And it’s not something you should worry about. It’s not and probably won’t be as profound as what you have with Az, Mor, Rhys and Amren.” She finished her explanation to her mate.

“Well, I sure as hell hope not. I have been through hell and back with our circle, and I’m not going to let you go through anything of that sorts for that guy!” He wrapped his arms around Nesta and pull her closer to him, then kissed her forehead.

That was the end of that discussion for now. He understands what his mate is saying. He believes her and he knows all her explanation and reasonings are right. Doesn’t mean he likes it though. He just pushed that feeling back and away. Oh, he trusts his mate alright, he doesn’t trust Eris though. And if that bastard hurts her in any way? High Lord or not, he will make him pay.

-----    

The next day, Elain and Nesta accompanied Feyre to Astrid’s Boutique so she could have her measurement taken, and decide on the type of design she’ll have custom made that she’ll wear on the Coronation Ball.   While browsing thru the fabric, she took a glance at her older sister, and bit her lip. She wants to ask her something but she doesn’t know how to ask it without making it look like she’s being nosy.

Nesta however notices her youngest sister’s dilemma, she sighed and shift all her attention to her. “Go ahead, tell me. I don’t have to have the power to read mind to know you have something you want to ask.”

“Well, I was just curious…” Feyre stalled a little bit, still not sure how to ask her question. “…will you wear what Eris gave you?” The question made Elain look at them, wondering what Nesta plans to do as well.

“I wouldn’t wear it if it would make Cassian uncomfortable. No matter how expensive or stunning it will look on me. It wouldn’t be worth it.” Nesta answered with conviction. It’s true, she doesn’t care what she has to wear, if it’s something that will bother her mate, then it’s something she would rather not wear. She turns her attention back to the fabrics she was holding, and sighed. “To be honest, I don’t really get why Eris had to give me that dress. I mean we have become friends, yes! But we never really get to that point of exchanging expensive gifts. We may have given each other books that we think the other would like, true.” Feyre raised her brow at this, she thought that exchanging-book-recommendations is something her older sister don’t usually do, and she just do it with someone whom she’ll have time to discuss that book with after. So that means, Eris and her older sister really is getting along. “Believe me, the note is something I would expect from him. But that gift surprises me as much as it surprises you.” She was looking really confused as she pointed it out to her sisters. And Feyre felt her honesty and confusion radiating from her sister, she believes her.

“Uhmm…Well.” Elain speaks quietly which made both of her sister look at her expectantly. She felt conscious but she continued speaking nonetheless. These are just her sisters anyway. “Nesta, do you remember the last day of your Emissary assignment in Autumn about months back? The one where we had lunch out with Lady Isabella, Eris and Lucien’s mom?”

Nesta nods at this, remembering that day. She remembers planning of leaving the court early that day, and not make so much out of her last working day there. But the Lady will have none of it. She has come to get close to Elain and Nesta. She said they both remind her of her lost sisters. So, she took them all to one of her favorite restaurants in Autumn before she leaves.

“Remember after our lunch, we went to one of the boutiques to check on the dress she had custom made. You were actually looking at that specific dress in there. You were so focused admiring the bead works and the design. Lady Isabella asked you if you wanted to try it on?” Elain tells the story, trying to see if her sister can recall the dress.

Nesta tilted her head, “Oh….oh, was that “that” dress? I haven’t taken it out of the box yet so I didn’t really remember.”

“Yup, that was it! The color looks good on you, and you weren’t even wearing it yet. You we’re just holding it. She offers to buy it for you as a departing gift, but..” Elain trailed off, but Nesta finishes her story.

“But I gracefully refused. Said I don’t have any occasion to wear it, and its too luxurious to wear on Emissary works.” She remembers it now. That dress was absolutely divine. She did imagine herself wearing it on some special occasion with her mate. The crimson hue reminds her of Cassian’s siphon, and the intricate design reminds her of the swirling tribal inked tattooed on her mate’s chest and shoulder. She was actually thinking of buying it, but when the Lady of Autumn offered to do so for her, she became reluctant. She doesn’t want someone to buy it for her, she’s not used to that. At the same time, she doesn’t want to buy it for herself, when the Lady already offers. She didn’t want to offend her or anything. So, she just let it go.

Feyre meanwhile was looking in between her sisters while they were sharing that story. She was glad that they are all getting along really well now. They have gone through a lot together and separately. But on moments like this she wished she was there too. So, she just sighed, but it was audible and both her sisters looked at her. They both gave her comforting smile; Elain squeezed her hands then turn to Nesta.

“So anyway, I really think that giving you that dress is not really all thanks to Eris. His mom probably has a lot to do about it as well. So, I wouldn’t really think much of it.” Elain gave them both a wink.

That finished of that conversation. They become engross on choosing fabrics and designs again. In fact, Nesta decided to have her measurement taken for herself to wear to that coming weekend, as well.

After that, they went to Nesta and Cassian’s place to have some homemade tea. It was always much more relaxing talking and spending time together when they are in one of their places instead of outside. They were enjoying the tea when Feyre noticed the gift box from Eris at the corner of their living area.

“Will you at least try it?” Feyre nods towards the box and asked her sister with puppy dog eyes. Elain agreed on her youngest sister, and was clapping her hands with excitement. “Please….” She joins the pleading look with wide grin towards the oldest Archeron.

Nesta was caught of guard at this, she was about to sip on her cup when she saw both her sisters looks. They were both excited, you would think she’ll give both of them some surprise presents. She rolled her eyes, put down her cup gently, stood up from her seat and pick up the box. She went straight upstairs to their bedroom to change without even looking back at her sisters. She wasn’t even at the top of the stairs yet when she heard both of her sisters giggling and squealing. She can’t help but smile at this. And truth be told, she’s actually pretty excited to try the dress on as well.

Tag: @sjm-things @moonbeammadness @maastrash @typicalmidnightsoul @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook 

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #nessianfanfiction #eris and nesta friendship fic #myfansidefanfic

[separatist-apologist]

I can see Eris telling embarrassing stories about Lucien to Elain and Lucien just has to sit there and take it. Do a one shot of that!

YES this is what I'm talking about.

Lucien had meant to be back sooner, honestly. Velaris was starting to grow on him, despite the brutally cold winter that seemed unending. He supposed the winter was made tolerable by the fact that his mate, sweet, kind Elain, was practically living in his apartment in the city. He hadn’t formally asked her to stay forever—though it was very much implied—and she hadn’t mentioned going back home since they’d spent the night together two months earlier. She just…quietly continued to bring things over and fold them neatly in his drawers, and Lucien acted like everything was very normal and he was not waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He would have been home before the sun set had it not been for another of Jurian and Vassa’s squabbles. He’d been roped in the middle, unable to escape despite the fact that he was very aware their fights were just foreplay, foreplay he very much did not want to be part of.

He was eager to see Elain, to see if she’d added another plant to the window or if she’d rearranged another room in his apartment to her liking or just to feel her arms around his neck, her breathless words welcoming him home with her bright, shining eyes. He slid his key into the front door, practically squirming in the cold as wind whipped his hair around his face. He heard soft voices laughing in the living room, silenced when the door closed behind him.

“Lucien?” Elain called, the sound of her footsteps echoing down the hall. She appeared, her eyes bright, cheeks stained red with laughter.

“Sorry I’m late,” he told her, hanging his cloak on a hook by the door before he pulled her against him. “Do we have company or can we go upstairs…and talk?”

She flushed at the innuendo, her fingers toying with his hair. “We do. I hope you don’t mind but—”

“Baby Lucien,” Eris crooned from the hall, arms crossed over his chest. “I stopped by to bring my sister a gift and she was so kind to offer me dinner.”

“Eris has been telling me stories about your childhood,” Elain added breathlessly, clearly somehow charmed by the eldest Vanserra. Lucien held Elain to his chest, looking over her head with narrowed eyes at the mock innocence on his brother’s face.

“Oh?”

Eris grinned wickedly. “Such a curious, lovely mate you have.”

Lucien forced himself to smile because Elain was gazing up at him with such admiration and he couldn’t bring himself to ruin her good mood.

“Eris brought me a fern from the Forest House,” Elain added breathlessly, tugging Lucien by the hand to the living room to show him her newest acquisition. She’d hung the leafy plant from the ceiling, no doubt with Eris’ help given how short she was, from one of her knitted pot holders.

“They don’t require too much sun,” Eris explained innocently. With Elain’s back turned to Lucien, he gestured wildly for Eris to get the fuck out.

“What? I didn’t understand what you said,” Eris drawled, drawing Elain’s attention back towards the pair of them. Eris promptly sat back on Lucien’s cream-colored sofa, ankle crossed over his knee, and reached for his delicate white and pink tea cup that seemed so out of place in his hands. Elain scurried to the other seat, leaving Lucien to occupy a chair across the room. She began pouring tea from her porcelain, flower etched tray, sitting neatly atop his dark wooden coffee table, clearly meant for him.

“I was telling Elain about the time you came running through the throne room in nothing but your cloak,” Eris began, amusement curling his words. “Do you remember?”

Lucien closed his eyes for a beat, trying not to remember how the courtiers laughed for years after, how they’d made veiled jokes about his penis well into adulthood.

Elain looked up, pouring cream and scooping sugar into his cup exactly as he liked it. She was an angel, he decided. He would allow Eris this memory to make her happy, but afterwards he would make up for his suffering by dragging her off to his bed and refusing to let her leave for the rest of the night…and most of the next day.

“I was six,” he reminded Eris.

“True. Tell Elain about the gang you started. What were they called, again?” Eris, the actual devil, asked. Elain turned, eyebrows raised.

“You had a gang?” She asked him with such wide-eyed optimism it took everything in his body not to slide down his chair. Lucien took the tea cup from her hands, fingers brushing her knuckles. Maybe he could flood the bond with all the sexually inappropriate things he’d like to do to her and she’d get distracted and tell Eris to shove it—

“We weren’t a gang,” he muttered, burning his mouth as he took a drink. “We just had matching jackets.”

“So you did,” Eris replied, his shoulders shaking as he tried to hold in his laughter. Eris was unmatched in this arena, considering by the time Lucien had been born, Eris had been in his thirties, a man in all the ways that counted. It certainly didn’t help that Lucien, a boy who didn’t know any better, had hero worshipped his eldest brother, giving Eris a front-row seat to the most awkward years of his life.

“I think that’s sweet,” Elain assured Lucien earnestly.

“What did you want to be when you grew up, Elain?” Eris asked, evil gleam in his eye. She thought about it for a moment, really considering his question as though it had any merit and wasn’t just another opportunity for Eris to embarrass Lucien.

“I wanted to own a little flower shop,” she told the pair of them. Eris hesitated, some emotion warring in his expression.

“Do you need a financial backer? Why haven’t you done it?” Eris demanded while Lucien chuckled from his chair. Eris might be embarrassing him, but Elain very clearly had Eris wrapped around her finger.

“Ask him for a dog,” Lucien prodded. Elain’s eyes went wide but Eris was one step ahead.

“Do you want a puppy?”

“I—”

“I’ll let you know when the next litter is born,” Eris interrupted smoothly. “And Lucien wanted to be a mommy when he a boy.”

“Really?” Elain asked breathlessly. “You want children?”

Lucien and Eris’ eyes met and Lucien couldn’t resist the smug smirk he levied at his brother. Fuck you, he knew his expression screamed. You just did me a major favor.

“Sorry I loved my mom when I was little,” Lucien told Eris smoothly while Elain stared at Lucien with bright, affectionate eyes. “And yeah, I want to be a dad. Do you want—”

“Nope,” Eris interrupted quickly, standing. “Way to ruin a fun day, Lucien. Elain, you have been lovely,” he assured her, sweeping into a deep bow. “Please keep in touch…I’m sure there are more Autumn flowers that would look stunning in your home. I’ll let you know about the puppies, too…though keep this one away from their treats. He used to eat them.

Lucien slid down the back of his chair at Eris’ words, embarrassment heating his cheeks when Elain giggled.

“Lucien…be nice to my sister.” Eris finished before striding out of the room. Elain, an immaculate hostess, followed after him to thank him for the afternoon and welcome him back whenever. Lucien wished she wasn’t so liberal with her time or their home when it came to Eris. She returned to the living room a moment later, a smile tugging on her pretty, pink lips. Lucien stood, arms extended, and pulled her into his chest.

“I don’t get why everyone dislikes him,” she said with a sweet sigh. “He’s nice.”

“He’s a menace,” Lucien disagreed. She looked up, chin pressed against his tunic.

“Maybe…but it’s pretty obvious he adores you.”

Lucien scoffed. “Adores embarrassing me, maybe.”

Elain sighed, tucking herself into his embrace. “Were you embarrassed? I thought his stories were sweet.” Perhaps Eris misjudged Elain, he thought, stroking her hair. While Eris had been trying to get a rise out of Lucien, maybe Eris had inadvertently made Lucien look better in her eyes. He couldn’t be angry about that, he decided. He’d take what he could get.

“What was the name of your gang?” She asked, interrupting his musings with a soft giggle. Lucien groaned. “The dandy-lions…because we were…we were both fierce with swords…and the ladies.”

Elain was shaking with laughter, her face pressed into his chest to muffle the sound. “That’s…no…that’s so cute. I’m not laughing at you I swear…you were…what—”

“Fifteen,” he grumbled as a new wave of laughter overtook her. It took her a moment to calm herself enough to gasp out, “That’s nice that you had friends.”

Lucien swept her up and turned towards the stairs. “What are you doing?” She asked, her words breathless for an entirely different reasons, hands clinging to his neck.

“Living up to my reputation,” he replied. Elain dissolved into a new fit of giggles even as Lucien tossed her on his bed.

“Fierce with the ladies?” She asked, reaching for a pillow to shove over her face while her shoulders shook.

“Exactly,” he agreed.

#elucien fanfic #elucien fic #elucien prompt #elain x lucien #eris vanserra #love how much of a menace eris is

[theladyofdeath]

Friday Night Lights {ACOTAR}

Chapter 8

Summary: Inspired by the series Friday Night Lights. In a town that is obsessed with football, a group of teenagers are glorified for what they bring to the field. But what the people of Velaris don’t realize is that there is a lot more to life than football, and it’s not always pretty.

Revolves around Cassian, Nesta, Elain, Lucien, Azriel, Morrigan, Amren, Feyre, and Rhysand.

*Warning: This fic deals with sensitive material.

*Note: A chapter will be posted every Sunday & Wednesday.

Click here for previous chapters.

Author’s Note: Well, you made it through the surprise chapter yesterday (if you missed chapter 7, you can read it by clicking on the link above!). We’re really getting into the meat of this thing. I hope you like it! Ps - there is a disclaimer at the end.....

ENJOY.

“Temper us in fire, and we grow stronger. When we suffer, we survive.” - Cassandra Clare, City of Heavenly Fire

He’s drunk.

He’s outside.

He’s throwing rocks at my window.

Alana is scared.

I’m going outside.

The texts from Mor were hitting Cassian’s phone rapidly, forcing his heart to beat so quickly that he thought his chest was about to burst open. Every other minute, as Cassian sprinted down the sidewalks of Velaris, his phone lit up. He texted back, just once: I’m on my way.

And so were the police.

He had called them the moment he’d left the bar. Not bothering to care that he smelled like smoke and beer, he’d dialed the emergency line and told them that there was a psychotic underage drunk harassing a group of young girls, then gave them Mor’s address.

He was done messing around. Eris may not have been able to be arrested for being an ass, but he did know that Eris already had a few minor run-ins with the law, and underage drinking was unacceptable.

Cassian was grateful that he didn’t have that many drinks at the bar.

With Nesta.

His lips were still tingling from their gentle embrace.

Nesta. He had kissed Nesta.

And she had hated it.

He would never forget the image of her face, of the horror that contorted her features, as she was running away.

And he had let her go.

He should have gone after her.

But he would have to worry about that later. Right now, it was about the girls. His friends. His family.

Mor, Amren, Alana.

If Eris was even in the same room as Alana, Cassian was going to have blood on his hands.

He could see the red and blue lights flashing from around the corner. Mor’s parent’s townhouse stood high above the rest on the street. Two police cars sat on the curb, their lights flashing brightly. One pair of officers had Eris doing a sobriety test, which he was failing miserably, and the other pair was interviewing Mor.

Whose mouth was swollen and bruised.

As he came closer, he could see the split lip, the terror in her eyes, her tear-stained cheeks.

Cassian forgot about the fact that he probably had alcohol on his breath, and ran to her. “Mor?”

“Cassian,” she breathed, and ran into his open arms.

A sob broke lose as she grabbed onto his tee-shirt, and to his surprise, the officers gave them some privacy after Mor told them, “Don’t worry, he’s a friend.”

“What happened?” Cassian demanded, when she finally let go, and took a step back.

“I came outside to ask him to leave,” she said. “I didn’t want Lana to have to see that. She was starting to panic.”

Alana had seen a lot of shit in her short lifetime, but it never became easier, even if she had seen was much worse than an idiot attacking Mor.

Cassian reached up and brushed his thumb gently across her bottom lip – which was swollen, and bleeding.

She winced.

After letting his hand fall back down to his side, Cassian raked his fingers through his hair. An officer asked if he could continue with his conversation with Mor, and when Cassian asked her if she wanted him to stay, she shook her head. “Go check on Alana. I’ll be okay.”

So he did.

Mor’s parents were out of town – as they often were – and Cassian was grateful as he sped up the stairs and found Amren sitting on the window sill, Alana wrapped in a blanket on her lap. If Mor’s parents were there, they probably would have found some absurd reason to side with Eris. 

“Hey,” he said, quietly, when he had reached the landing.

Amren gave him an apologetic look as Alana jumped to her feet, and ran into Cassian’s arms.

A common occurrence for the evening.

“He never came in here,” Amren assured him. “He never came close to her. Even if he had forced himself in here, we wouldn’t have allowed it. We wouldn’t have let him near her.”

“I know,” Cassian said, as he refused to let go of his little sister. 

He believed her, though. Amren may have been small, but she could make a nun swear with the terror and wrath she could accumulate. 

Alana nuzzled her face in his neck, but she wasn’t crying. She wasn’t shaking. She was tough, he knew that. Too tough, for a five-year-old.

“How’s Mor?” Amren asked, returning her gaze to the front lawn.

“It’s bad,” Cassian said.

Amren just nodded, mournfully. 

“He punched her,” Alana said – the first thing she said. “In the face. Mor fell down. Then the police came.”

Amren looked back over her shoulder. “Good call, by the way. I assume that was your doing.”

“I’m done messing around with him,” Cassian shrugged, putting Alana back on her feet and joining Amren at the window. “If Mor wasn’t going to do anything, I was, and she can blame it on me, for all I care. I need Mor safe. And I need Eris to go to Hell.”

Amren simply whispered, “Me, too.”

  Rhysand pulled up to the curb of Alis’ house, and Feyre hoped he wouldn’t ask too many questions about who lived inside – not that he really had a reason to, she supposed.

“Well,” Rhysand sighed, putting his car in park. “I have to admit…..I had an amazing time with you tonight, Feyre.”

Feyre felt her lips form a smile as she whispered back, “Me too.”

The radio was off, and the only sound was the quiet purr of the engine. Feyre didn’t move to get out of the car, and Rhysand didn’t act like he wanted her to.

“I’ll see you Monday?” he asked.

Feyre nodded, then suddenly felt a pang of sadness. She wasn’t going to see him again until Monday. Why did that bother her so much? This was ridiculous. 

“Can I confess something?” Rhysand asked, and Feyre nodded, once more. “I really don’t want you to get out of the car right now.”

Feyre felt her cheeks heat. “What would you like me to do, then?”

Rhysand turned to her and smiled meekly as he said, quietly, “Stay.”

She wasn’t sure what had prompted it, if it was the sincerity in his gentle voice, the way his eyes shone in the starlight, or if she was simply high on the evening they had shared, but Feyre leaned over the center consul and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

At least that was her intention.

But he turned, last second, and caught her mouth. Feyre tasted mint and lemonade as her lips collided with his, as her tongue swept idly into his.

It began sweet and simple, but quickly turned into something primal. She reached for the collar of his shirt and pulled him closer, nipping at his bottom lip, making a low growl escape from the base of his throat.

That growl sent chills to parts of her body that Feyre wasn’t aware chills were possible.

His hands raked up her neck and became tangled into her hair as Feyre climbed over the seats and straddled Rhysand’s lap. After her back accidentally tapped the horn, and Rhysand laughed as he moved his seat back, her lips were back on his.

She wanted him.

She needed him.

She gave him a sultry smile as she leaned back so that he could view her in full. With wandering hands, Rhysand shook his head, “I knew you were different from the moment I met you.”

“Different?” Feyre raised her brows.

“Good,” he said, simply. “You are good. Wonderful. Beautiful. Spectacular. Unearthly. A goddess, in the purest form.”

Feyre rolled her eyes, but her messy hair and burning lips were anything but annoyed.

Rhysand smiled, and held onto her hips. “I suppose you should go inside, though. You don’t want your family to be worried.”

Feyre glanced at the door, and debated on telling him that she had no parents. But, it wasn’t the time, and she did have family that would soon be worried, if they were even home yet: her sisters.

It was almost two in the morning. She should really go inside.

“Okay.”

He leaned up to kiss her one more time before she crawled off, smoothed down her sweater, and exited the car. He waited until she was inside, and waved goodbye, before driving off.

Feyre quietly shut the front door behind her, and tiptoed down the hallway to the kitchen.

Where a light was on.

Alis was sitting at the small kitchen table, a cup of tea in her hands. She smiled, knowingly. “Are you okay?”

Feyre cleared her throat, and hoped she didn’t look like she was just making out with a beautiful guy in his car. “Um, yes.”

“Are you safe?”

“Yes.”

“Did you do anything illegal?”

“No.”

“Are you hurt in anyway?”

“No.”

Alis nodded, and took a sip of her tea. “Very well. Goodnight, then, Feyre.”

Feyre let out a shaky breath. “Goodnight.”

She had only run up three steps before Alis called out, “Feyre?”

Feyre froze. “Yes, Alis?”

“I’m never going to try and replace your mother. I’m not going to cause a fuss like mother’s do,” she began. “But, I do want to make sure you are always safe. Next time, could you text me and let me know who you’re with, and when you’ll be home?”

Feyre smiled, and she wasn’t sure why. “Of course, Alis.”

“Thank you,” she said, with a wink. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

As Feyre got ready for bed that night, she dwelled on the word Alis used so casually: Home. And maybe Feyre finally had found a home. She was with people who cared, and who wanted her safe. She was with a woman who took care of her, and wanted the best for her. For her, and her sisters.

Yes, maybe she was home.

Maybe it wasn’t going to be so bad, after all.

 Cassian was digging through the medicine cabinet while Mor sat cross-legged on the bathroom counter.

“Mother’s tits,” he mumbled. “Do you know how much useless shit is in here, Morrigan?”

He’d been searching for what felt like minutes, although he was certain it was only a few seconds since his rummage began.

She’d tried to smile, but there was no more light in her eyes.

She’d told the cops of their history, of what had happened recently, of the fact that she was afraid of him.

And they had told her not to worry, had told her they were going to do what they could then let her know his punishments.

That didn’t keep her from worrying, though.

“Ah,” Cassian said, at last, pulling a tube of anti-infection ointment out of the cabinet, and twisting off the top. “Take off the ice a minute.”

Mor dropped the bag Cassian had made her hold against her lip. “It’s late. You should go to sleep.”

Alana had already been asleep for an hour, and Amren had soon passed out beside her. “I’m fine. I’m going to stay awake with you.”

Mor sighed. “I can take care of myself.”

She winced as Cassian gently spread some of the ointment across the cut on her lip. “I know you can, but that doesn’t mean you have to.”

Something in Mor’s eyes softened as Cassian finished, and twisted the lid back on the tube. “I’m lucky to have you.”

Cassian shook his head. “People like you and me have to stick together, Mor. People like you and me were made to find each other.”

Sad people. Broken people. Lost people.

She took his hand as she hopped off the counter, and walked back into the room where Alana and Amren were sound asleep, an animated movie playing softly in the background.

Cassian sat with Mor on the couch, and threw his arm around her. She rested her head idly against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry Alana had to see that,” Mor whispered.

“It’s not the worst thing she’s seen,” he said. Unfortunately. Mor only nodded, then Cassian said, “Just try to relax, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

It wasn’t even five minutes later that Mor was sleeping, her arm slung around his waist, her breathing evened.

Cassian never shut his eyes. They just kept drifting from Mor, to Amren, to Alana, as thoughts of Eris filled his mind.

Elain opened her eyes at the crack of dawn.

She still felt like she was crying, her heart still heavy in her chest from the night before.

She knew Lucien was too good to be true.

Maybe it ran in the family – the cruelty.

But she had thought Lucien was different. When she talked, he listened, and it seemed like he actually cared. He had a sparkle in his eye as he hung on to her words. He had told her about his family, had made her feel sorry for him.

But maybe those were lies, too.

Nesta was already awake, sitting in the chair by their bedroom window, reading a book. She looked like she hadn’t slept at all – her hair was a mess, her make up smudged, dark circles beneath her eyes.

As soon as Elain sat up in one of the two twin beds, Nesta’s eyes had snapped to her.

Feyre was still sleeping soundly on the futon as Nesta asked, “You’re still crying.”

Her voice was gentle, but her words were clipped.

Elain hadn’t even realized she was crying, but her cheeks were damp, as was a small spot on her pillowcase.

She shrugged.

“What happened?” Nesta asked. She had asked the night before, too, after she had gotten home and found Elain crying in the bathroom. She wasn’t ready to talk about it, though.”

But now, Elain said, “He has a girlfriend.”

Nesta’s brows rose. “Lucien?”

Elain nodded.

Nesta looked skeptical, like she couldn’t quite believe that Lucien could be that type of guy. He had caught Elain off guard, too. Liar. He was a liar. And he was good at it. “And how did you come to that conclusion?”

“Because she was there last night. She came up to me while Lucien was in line, ordering us drinks. She said she had been gone for a few weeks, on vacation, and she had come home a day early. She went to Rita’s to surprise him.” Her words were barely audible, her sob had contorted them. “He – he – he has a girlfriend, and he was making me th – think –“

Nesta had sat down on the mattress next to her sister, and patted her knee. “You’re too good for him. Don’t let some asshole steal your joy, Elain.”

Elain took a deep breath, collected herself, and nodded. “You’re right. You’re right.”

Nesta’s worried eyes caught hers as she said, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Elain sniffed, and fell back onto her pillow as Nesta went downstairs to brew her a cup of coffee.

As the morning went on, she tried to hold onto Nesta’s words. She was right. She was too good for a relationship like that. It wasn’t even a relationship – was it even a date? Maybe he had asked her as friends, and she had just gotten it all wrong.

Then again, she truly thought he liked her.

But she was wrong.

And she could see why. His girlfriend was gorgeous, with her long blonde hair, and deep blue eyes. For the rest of the morning, Elain could not get the image of the girl out of her mind, as her words kept interrupting her thoughts.

She was beautiful. And she was Lucien’s.

Every word she had spoken to Elain the night before kept swirling through her mind, including her name.

Ianthe. 

  ***Disclaimer: Before you Lucien lovers come after me for making him an evil character, just remember that there are two sides to every story. Your questions shall have answers in chapter 9: coming on Sunday. ;) 

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #fanfic #fanfiction #mor #azriel #cassian #elain #nesta #lucien #feyre #rhysand #my writing #tacmc fnl #friday night lights #updated #nessian #elriel #elucien #ianthe #feysand

[myselfinserts]

The choice is yours, don’t be late

“Hello, Mr. Aizawa? This is Mr. Aylward, calling to confirm your interview time. Please be here no later than 11am this Saturday. You’ll be expected to bring a portfolio of your previous modelling jobs if you can, along with an extra copy of your resume, a change of clothes in case the artists want to give you a test session, and your identification. If you wish to cancel, please call us before Friday at 5pm. The choice is yours if you wish to proceed with your application process, so please don’t be late for this appointment or the cancelling deadline. We’re very excited to meet you.”

Shouta had prepared everything the night before. He’d made sure he was cleaned up, packed a brush and hair tie just in case, and made damn certain he had triple copies of his previous modelling work. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to show he was experienced and committed. He wasn’t worried about the appointment. 

The one he was worried about though was his daughter. Midoriya and Togata both were busy preparing for the upcoming practice exams, and everyone else he knew had prior commitments. And he was not going to just leave Eri with someone he didn’t know on short notice. 

So he packed her day bag and brought her with him to the interview.

“Where are we going?” Eri asked, staying close and her head low. 

Shouta smiled fondly. “I have a job offer, and we’re going to the interview. If I get this job, I’ll be away a bit more for a short period of time, but it’ll mean I can earn some more money.”

“And money is important?”

“It is. You earn lots of money, you can buy lots of apples.”

Eri managed a smile. “I like apples.”

“I know, Eri.” They stopped in front of the building, looking up at the door. “That’s why I’m doing this interview. If I get the job, we can get lots more apples.”

She looked up at Shouta, her head tilted slightly. “Can I work too? To get you a cat after Melba goes home?”

“No, it’s okay,” he chuckled. “You enjoy your childhood. You can work when you’re a grumpy old man like me.”

“Can’t I be a grumpy old man now?”

“No, you be Eri.”

“Okay. I’ll be Eri.”

Shouta gave her a gentle pat on the head and the two went inside. 

The main floor was rather nice, with clean white walls and tiles, fine art hanging from the walls and ceiling, giving it the bold colors and making it feel more welcoming. There were stairs to the right and an elevator to the left, and near the back end between the two a rather nice desk with someone typing away at a computer. 

I guess I sign in here.

“Excuse me?” Shouta said, pulling out his i.d. “Shouta Aizawa. I’m here for my 11am appointment.”

The secretary took his i.d., flipping through to a page on the small dates binder off to the side. “You’re thirty minutes early. That’s good, but not ideal. Monsieur Allard does not like being interrupted while in the middle of work and is quite of the mind of people being punctual.”

“You don’t have to interrupt him. We can wait for him to finish.”

“We?” The secretary narrowed their eyes. “Mr. Aizawa, you’re the only person we’re expecting this morning.”

Shouta nodded, reaching down and picking Eri up, holding her close. “I know, but I couldn’t find a babysitter. This is my daughter, Eri.”

“Hello,” Eri greeted timidly. 

The secretary’s harsh stare softened a bit and they let out a sigh. “Hello.” They quickly pulled out the sign in sheet, having him sign them both in and then proceeded to escort them to the elevator. “My name is Chris, and I’m Monsieur Allard’s personal assistant and the group’s secretary. I’ll be taking you up to level seven, where you can wait for your interviewers to arrive. I’m sure Mx. Adaire won’t mind you both waiting on their floor.”

Shouta was confused. “Their floor?”

Chris nodded. “Each artist gets their own floor for their own personal work, with the exception of Mx. Adaire, who turned their floor into a sort of activity room for the cats during the day. Each floor comes with an apartment for every member of the group regardless if they are involved in art or not, and there’s a total of twenty-two floors.”

Eri looked at Shouta, head tilted slightly. “Is that a lot of stuff?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It’s a lot.”

The elevator came to a halt on level seven, and the moment the doors opened they were greeted by a fluffy white cat that looked tinged pink. She stared up at them, eyes wide and pupils dilated, before turning around and trotting over to one of the nearby cat towers. The room was filled with towers, play tunnels, cat toys, beds, a sitting area for the humans, and of course an area just for the litter boxes. Near the human area sat a person with bright blue hair, holding a tiny golden kitten and bottle feeding it. 

“Lucien,” Chirs called out. “Mind watching our guests until Étienne finishes prepping for the interview?”

Lucien looked up, not stopping the feeding. “If they don’t mind me focusing on the babies a bit.”

“We’re okay with that,” Shouta assured, trying not to act startled at how pink their eyes naturally were. 

“Then come on over. I’ll introduce you.” 

Shouta nodded and set Eri down, walking over and having a seat in one of the nearby armchairs. He let Eri get as close as she was comfortable with, her face plastered with a look of awe as she saw the mama cat laying down to rest while the other kittens suckled. 

“You can call me Luci,” the cat caregiver said, turning to point at the cats with their toes. “Mama Meatloaf here is a little tired from playtime, so it’ll be naptime for her and the babies soon. The big one there is Camilla, the one with the spots is Domino, those two calico boys are Cai and Leroy.” They settled back to criss-cross position, holding up the golden tabby. “And this little one is Honey.”

Eri smiled softly. “They’re so cute.”

Luci nodded. “Aren’t they? They’re really precious.” They nodded back to Meatloaf. “If you give her a light scratch behind her cheek, she’ll probably start purring. You can try if you like.”

Shouta knelt down, helping Eri give Meatloaf a scratch. They both barely touched her and she began to purr. Eri let out a soft gasp, looking at him with excitement. 

Even if this interview is a bust, at least she got to have fun.

“Dammit! This just won’t do at all!”

“That doesn’t mean you need to consider tossing it out the window.”

“You’re right. An incinerator would be better.” Étienne grumbled, throwing down his paintbrush before turning on his heel and hurrying to the apartment door. “Ceri, can you get my suit from the closet? Its the one in the gold bag.”

“Certainly, love.” Ceri went towards the bedroom, making quick work finding the outfit. “I don’t see why you’re unhappy with the piece. It’s a lovely piece.”

Étienne rolled his eyes as he jumped quickly into the shower. “But that’s not what I’m going for! We’re all supposed to do several pieces for this exhibition and I can’t do something like this piece of repetitive trash! Everyone expects more from me.”

Ceri set the bag on the back of the bathroom door, reaching into the cupboard to pull out two towels. “Then what is it that you’re trying to portray in this series of pieces?”

“Something that’s a challenge for me. God, why did I agree to let the theme this time be selected in a hat draw.” 

“Oh Étienne.” Ceri held out one of the towels as the disgruntled artist stepped out of the shower, taking the other and gently drying the glistening blond hair. “You’ll find your muse. And who knows? Maybe the interviewees today will give you some inspiration.”

“Mhm.” He let out a contented sigh, reaching out and wrapping his arms around Ceri’s shoulders. “Are those interviewees the reason you handed me the towel for my waist?”

“I, um-”

“You said ‘um’. It’s definitely because of that.”

“We have to be professional, and I don’t want to be thinking of what might have been if I didn’t hand you that towel.”

Étienne smirked. “Maybe later tonight you can find out still. If you behave.” Ceri turned beat red and Étienne took a moment to swipe a peck on the cheek. “When do interviews finish tonight?”

“Your last one of the day is at three.”

“Then how about tonight we go out for dinner? I need to stretch my legs.”

Ceri smiled fondly. “Sounds perfect.”

Étienne finished getting ready and headed for the elevator. He pressed a button on the little screen beside the doors, and Chris’s face appeared. “Chris, is our 11am here?”

“Yes, sir,” Chris said. “He’s on Adaire’s floor. Arrived early with his daughter so I sent them there to wait. I hope that was alright.”

“Perfect. I can check on their progress while I’m down there. Let me know when our next appointee arrives.”

“Absolutely.”

Chris disappeared and the elevator doors opened. As he rode his way down, his mind wandered back to the hat drawing, trying to pinpoint who submitted that troubling theme. Whoever it was wrote it sloppy, as though it wasn’t their dominant hand, so that ruled out anyone ambidextrous. 

Which, if he remembered right, almost all of them were. And he couldn’t remember who wasn’t. 

It couldn’t have been Lucien. They were too focused on Meatloaf and agreed to do whatever anyone else did, so they didn’t even throw their hat into the ring. The most likely candidates were probably Princess, Reginald, Phoenix, and Ceri. Oh well. It doesn’t matter. I’ll figure out something for this expo. I always do. And I always come out on top.

As he arrived on the seventh floor, Étienne looked over at the sitting area, immediately pinpointing the interviewee. He seemed like a decent enough model from even at that angle, but he wasn’t sure. Only a proper look at the face would give him a better idea. 

“So which kitten do you think is the cutest?” Lucien asked, half-jokingly. 

“I think they’re all pretty cute,” said the interviewee. “What do you think, Eri?”

Eri (the little girl if he had to assume) turned to look at the babies, who were all refusing to nap and instead were climbing all over mama Meatloaf. “They’re all really cute. But...” she pointed to the smallest. “She kinda reminds me of the scoop of honey you put in my warm milk. So I think she’s the cutest. She looks sweet.”

Étienne couldn’t help but smirk. This girl had taste. “Shouta Aizawa?”

Aizawa looked up, quickly getting to his feet and nodding rapidly. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Étienne Allard. I’ll be conducting your interview.” He turned to Lucien. “Would it be alright if we borrowed your apartment for the questionnaire and you watch over the child?” 

Eri immediately froze up, reaching up and taking Aizawa’s hand. He wasn’t sure, but Étienne could have sworn she was trembling. 

“If it’s all the same to you,” Aizawa said slowly, “I’m afraid Eri has to stay beside me during the interview. For her health.”

Étienne cocked an eyebrow. “For her health?”

“Yes.” He gave the girl’s hand a soft squeeze. “Her well-being is my top priority, so if that’s going to be a problem, we can see ourselves out.”

Now this is a surprise, he thought. “Storge...”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s nothing,” he assured. “Very well. We can do the interview here then.” He took a seat across from them and pulled out his notepad. “Ready?”

Aizawa nodded, sitting back down and softly wrapping an arm around Eri, who immediately relaxed. 

“Alright then. Let’s begin.”

#myselfinserts #mybnhaocs #friends ocs #class of aus: artist au #in which kittens are adored and an artist is having a slight block #but hopefully things work out after this interview #Anonymous

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Monstrous Secrets Chapter 3

Eris Vanserra x reader

Word Count: 1250

Summary: Mor.

After returning--you hesitated to call it this but--home to the Hewn City, your main contact with Eris, your mate, were letters that appeared on your bedside table right beside the ones from Rhys. Part of you wondered how the both of them would react to learning they shared this little similarity.

Mostly, the pair of you discussed the goings on of daily life in your respective courts; though, nothing either of you shared was anything that would be considered a weakness in your courts. Occasionally, very occasionally, there were deeper, more meaningful discussions. Quippy banter, to the contrary, became fairly common much to your surprise. Then one day you received a note--for it wasn’t near long enough to be considered a letter--the likes of which you’d never expected. It was just one line, no explanation, no signoff, just three words.

“Please forgive me.”

Before you could pen a reply, Cassian burst into the room. “You need to come quickly. It’s Mor.”

You hadn’t laid eyes on your friend in weeks. Really since that ball where you learned that your fate was tied to Eris’s You could barely stand to look at her in all honesty. Partially because you were assigned across the house from her usual haunts (something you were suspicious of due to the suddenness of the shift since you couldn’t be sure there wasn’t a reason Rhys did it) and partially because you felt so damned guilty about the fact that you were chest-deep in the process of falling for her unwanted fiancé. Guilt that, over the next few hours, would claw its way deeper and deeper into the pit of your stomach as you learned the true horror of what happened to Mor at the border of Autumn.

Her sleeping with Cassian however long ago to ruin her virginity was an act of desperation that was unexpected but not all that surprising.

Her father trying to force the marriage anyway, not at all shocking.

But the story, however vague, of what they did to her when Eris said in no uncertain terms that he would not be going through with the engagement. Then the fact that he’d just left her there, potentially to die of her various injuries. Especially in light of the knowledge that he’d been so close to getting her out of the whole arrangement. At minimum, it made you want to go back and tell her that you had a way out, that she didn’t have to go through such desperate measures. At worst, you wondered if Eris was really the man you’d come to know him as or if he was really how Rhysand and the others claimed.

You had to speak to him. Speak, not write. So you penned your own note as soon as you were able.

“Meet me where you left her or I’ll never speak to you again.”

You told no one you were leaving, let alone where you were headed. This was a mess for you to sort out, not them. Still, no matter how this panned out, you’d never be able to tell anyone who your mate was; that was certain. Gone was whatever hope you had that you’d all be able to sit around a table at Solstice. Gone was the dream that you might one day have your own wedding with your family smiling happily for you. Now with this looming over Eris’s past.

Sure enough, the second your feet touched the ground, he was stepping out of the shadows.

“Why?” you demanded, tears welling up in your eyes.

His shoulders were slumped, hands in his pockets. A far cry from his usual, cocky self. “Because if I’d touched her, everything would have been over. For us and for her.”

“What the ever-loving fuck does that mean?! Is it so far beneath you to offer her help? Cauldron’s sake, Eris, what if it’d been me?! Would you have turned me away as well??”

His voice was uncharacteristically icy when he muttered, “If it was you, there is no force in Prythian that would have kept me from your side.” A deep breath hissed past his teeth. Scalding hot rage danced in those golden eyes. “If I’d so much as touched her, it would have been as good as accepting her as my wife. I don’t expect you to understand how Court poli--”

“Now is absolutely not the fucking time to talk to me like I’m lesser, Vanserra,” you snapped.

His jaw visibly clenched before he spoke again. “If I helped her, I would have no choice but to marry her. Because she acted so rashly, there was no clean way to break off the engagement. She would have been bound to me, trapped in a court surrounded by ravenous hounds, and I to her, doomed to know I would never be able to wed you. 

“I won’t make excuses to say it was acceptable. Not to you. But you know how my father can be. Cauldron knows the only one in my family not like him is Lucien. Her fucking an Illyrian bastard--” There was a weight to those words that made your insides squirm. Too many times you’d seen his normally-neat handwriting turn jagged or blood spot the page after Beron ‘punished’ his eldest son, but you couldn’t let that insult slide.

“I’m an Illyrian bastard, Eris. Does that make it acceptable to make you suffer for talking to me?!”

 “I am not saying it makes it acceptable!” he snapped. “She’s alive and free because of my actions, so I cannot regret the end result. I can only regret how she got there. I will live the rest of my life with that regret, but at least I know she will get to live hers.”

“They will never forgive you.” There was so much else in your tone than just those words. All the hopes and dreams for the future that the pair of you had developed in your letters were dashed forever.

“As they shouldn’t.”

Those tears finally spilled over as you asked the question that’d plagued you since discovering he was your mate. It felt like asking it just added fuel to the fire that was trying to separate you at every turn, a fire named Beron Vanserra.  “We’ll never be able to tell anyone about us, will we?”

In the span of a second, he was across the space between you and was pulling you into his arms. One hand cradled your head to his chest, the other pressed against the small of your back. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

Your hands clenched against his shirt. “They’ll kill you if they so much as smell you.”

“I wouldn’t blame them.”

You looked up at his face. “Eris . . .” was all you managed to utter before grasping at the nape of his neck to pull him down for a desperate kiss.

It was him that pulled away after a few moments. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against your forehead after placing a tender kiss there.

You wanted to assure him that it was alright, but it truly wasn’t. “I know.”

“What she okay? When you left?”

“Unconscious again, but healing. Azriel and Cassian are playing guard dog for her.”

“Good.” There was a pause. “I--” The words seemed to get caught in his throat. “I am proud to have you as my mate, Illyrian bastard or not.”

Your hand slid up to cup his cheek. “We’ll get through this, Eris. One way or another.”

#eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra imagine #eris x reader #eris imagine #reader insert #acotar imagine #a court of thorns and roses imagine