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separatist-apologist · 2 years

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I Was Enchanted To Meet You

Summary: In Feyre's nightmares, she sees him. Rhysand and his violet eyes, his inky hair.

She doesn't realize that's by design.

Or what lengths he's willing to go in order to have her.

This is for @the-lonelybarricade who has become one of my best fandom pals and is genuinely one of the nicest people I know. They deserve only good things and, occasionally, dark, moody, dubiously consenting things.

Chapter 2: This Night Is Sparkling

Chapter 1 | Read more: AO3

TW: dub-con via daemati magic. Sort of an ACOMAF re-write? 3/4ths smut, 1/4th plot.

You will stay with me.

Those words rattled through Feyre’s mind long after Rhys deposited her back in Spring. It was more of the same, some game she couldn’t piece together. She’d come back with tears in her eyes, on her knees some mile or two from the estate sobbing though she didn’t know why. It had been Lucien, as always, who’d found her and scooped her up, who took her back.

What happened? His face screamed the question his lips did not dare to say. What happened to you?

Feyre’s anxiety was at a fever pitch, her nightmares pulling her from bed as they always did, though no longer did she imagine the bloodied red hair and piercing ash daggers. She imagined a shredding cord, gold turned to ash and a gaping hole nothing could fill.

“Come with me,” Lucien told her at the end of her first week, grabbing her hand and all but running her out the door. Dusk had just broken over the world, bathing the estate in nauseating pink. Feyre blinked against the light, lacing her fingers with Lucien’s.

“Where are we going?”

“Away,” he said, the corners of his eyes pulled tightly. Feyre didn’t have to ask why. Lucien’s bruised eye, his cut cheek, his deflated shoulders told her that he had lost his favored position at court. Lucien wanted to train Feyre—had spoken his fears into existence only two nights before.

I can smell him on her.

Tamlin had destroyed the drawing room for Lucien’s insinuation and Feyre, trembling and tired, had assured Tamlin she would remember if Rhysand had touched her.

He barely talks to me.

He doesn’t trust me.

But Feyre was missing too much—too many memories, too much of herself. There was a yawning cavern in her chest that seemed to stretch with each passing day. She didn’t know how to fill it, had begun to suspect whatever Rhys had taken could only be returned by his cruel hands.

Ianthe and Tamlin had voted—no training for Feyre. It was too risky and Feyre was too delicate.

She’s practically wasting away before our very eyes.

Lucien, his body a shield in front of her, had snarled so viciously only a bright pulse of Tamlin’s magic had kept him from shredding Ianthe to bloodied ribbons.

She cannot withstand him without help!

Feyre understood Tamlin’s pride. He could not abide by anything happening to his female, something he could not protect her from. If Ianthe said Feyre was fine and Feyre said she was fine, then Lucien must be warmongering.

He’s no better than his father.

Ferye had sworn she’d heard Tamlin say it, had gasped out loud when she heard it. But Tamlin’s mouth remained pressed in that thin, severe line and Lucien had not reacted at all. Perhaps she’d just imagined it. Perhaps she was the terrible one, thinking Lucien had too much in common with Beron.

They walked until the estate was out of sight and they were ensconced in waving trees. Feyre could still scent her metallic blood in the air, could still see the Surial hanging from the tree.

Stay with the High Lord.

“Which High Lord,” Feyre murmured, drawing Lucien’s attention as they trudged through the woodland.

“Hm?”

Fingers squeezed around her throat.

You belong to me.

“The Surial,” she breathed, looking at her friend to steady herself against the rising dark. Shadows ribboned around the rough bark, slithering through the treetops to war with the banding gold sunlight. Lucien steadied her, was the only thing in the world Feyre was certain of. “It told me to stay with the High Lord.”

Lucien’s eyes snapped sharply to her face. “Is that–”

“Yes,” she breathed before he could ask. She could hear the question in her head.

Is that why you went beneath the mountain?

Lucien sighed softly, squeezing her fingers in his grip. “Just a little further.”

Feyre could feel eyes on them, the ever watchful gaze of the Gods. Curious as to what rebellion might bring them, how Lucien would be punished when Tamlin inevitably learned he meant to test Feyre’s power. It was a terrible day—Feyre had thought perhaps she was no more magical than any other creature. Just strong, just steady.

Ice and wind poured from her fingertips. Fire licked against her skin, cooled only by salted water. Tendrils of night and shadow warred with the loveliest rays of dawn and day. Clawes beneath her knuckles pricked her skin, healed by that same metallic liquid.

Lucien, with a hand over his mouth, guessed what Rhysand and Tamlin must have known. Born of all seven courts, Feyre had somehow inherited a piece of their magic. Turning to her, eyes wild, Lucien made a rare demand.

“Ask Rhys to train you.”

Feyre would have preferred Tamlin’s rage to Lucien’s careful words. “No.”

“Ask him–”

“He won’t–”

“He might,” Lucien disagreed quickly, silencing her with a look. “He might if he thought it would spite Tamlin. At least learn his magic.”

“And what of the rest?” she whispered. Lucien swallowed, looking over his shoulder. “I will teach you Autumn. The rest…the rest we will guard carefully and work on when no one is watching.”

“Tamlin will think…”

Lucien swallowed his feelings, looking again into the distance behind him. “I will do what I have to in order to reassure him nothing is happening…just as I always have.” Feyre didn’t let herself think about what that meant. Didn’t let herself the parting shot Rhys had offered before he’d left last month or how Tamlin had chased Lucien off when they’d first met.

“Don’t,” Ferye said, certain what Lucien would be forced to do involved Ianthe. Tamlin didn’t understand Lucien’s dislike, was well aware that every other male in the world seemed to be fascinated by the young priestess. “Don’t do anything. I…how can I be his wife if he won’t let me make my own decisions?”

That pactified something hot in Lucien’s gaze. He merely nodded.

“C’mon. Our secret, just for today.”

It was a secret only until Rhysand showed up. Feyre and Lucien, who had spent every day for a week together, were caught just on their way out the door. Lucien had woven careful spun lies, ones Tamlin only believed because he wanted to. Feyre dropped Lucien’s hand the moment she saw Rhys stroll up the steps, hands jammed in his pockets.

He tsked his disapproval and Feyre wondered if Rhys didn’t want to see Lucien die. “Off for a little more training, little fox?”

Tamlin and Ianthe both turned to look, just in time for Rhys to reach for Feyre and pull her closer. They were so busy staring down Lucien that Tamlin missed how Rhys’s hand curved over Feyre’s hip possessively or the way memories began to flood back in her mind. Lucien’s head snapped to look, nostrils flared. Feyre opened her mouth to scream the word—mate—but they were gone in a choking cloud of star kissed night.

“Did you miss me?”

Feyre lunged at him, toppling him to the ground inelegantly before Rhys could gather his bearings. Feyre got one good hit against his lovely face, claws cutting against his cheek. Rhys’s eyes went wide as he rolled her off him, too careful not to hurt even when his fingers curled over her wrists. His knee pressed against her chest, pushing until Feyre felt the bones crack.

“That’s a cute little trick,” Rhys murmured, droplets of blood splattering over her face. “Is that what Lucien is teaching you? To become a little beastie—”

She spat in his face. Rhys only smiled, his face healing even as he hovered over her. “Are you angry I’ve brought you back…or angry I made you leave.”

And Ferye, who had come to Spring sobbing, could remember why now.

“Don’t make me go back, Rhys, please—”

He knew she was remembering. Feyre’s bottom lip trembled. “Don’t take my memories again–”

But they were gone and so was Feyre’s fight. Rhys lowered his face and moved his knee so it was firmly between her legs. Nuzzling his bloodied nose against her own, he asked, “Did you miss me?”

“Why did you make me leave?” Feyre asked again, a tear sliding down her face. He’d interrupted their frenzy abruptly one morning and told her she’d have to go back. Feyre had begged and pleaded for him to stay but in the end, Rhys had left her all the same.

“Oh, darling,” he murmured, kissing the corner of her mouth. “Never again. I had to leave–”

“Take me with you,” Feyre whispered. “Don’t leave me behind, not like him.”

She wasn’t sure who him was, only that he never included her. He left her, too. Made her feel alone unless he needed to touch, to taste, to feel. Even her own body was up for debate. Rhys shifted over her, smoothing his fingers against her face.

“If you come with me…you can never go back,” Rhys warned. “Not even for Lucien—”

His name was enough to shatter the softly glowing spell around them. Feyre began to writhe, trying to stitch her two realities together. Lucien was her friend, the only person she could trust, Lucien—

“Shhh,” Rhys murmured, stroking her face. “What magic has your clever little fox woven around you, sweet Feyre? Hm? Tell me.”

A masculine voice shimmered like gold in her mind. Something belonged to her, something that could not be taken. “Train me,” she whispered. “My magic. Train me.”

Rhys continued his stroking. “Is that what your little fox was doing? Training you?”

“I’m not allowed,” she breathed. It was all fragmented, these threads. She had a sense he was plucking memories from her mind, pouring through their time apart. His face was a dark, roiling nightmare at what he found, the stars in his gaze winking out entirely. They were laying against wood floors in a place she’d never been. This wasn’t his moontop palace draped in jade and amethyst. This was some place else—a home, she thought. Rhys scooped her up, holding her in his arms as his nose began to set itself.

“The High Lord of Spring thinks to tell my lady what she can and cannot do?” he murmured, taking her through an elegantly decorated living room towards a flight of stairs. She felt pacified–calm. She had loved that male once.

Maybe not anymore.

“He’s worried the other High Lords will learn…”

“Oh, Feyre,” Rhys murmured, setting her atop a black blanketed bed big enough to accommodate the shadowy wings unfurling at his back. “He is afraid of you. You might outshine him, might be more powerful, more lovely, more stunning than anything his simple mind could ever dream of. He wants to keep you small.”

Something clawed at her chest, demanding to be freed from the cage she knew he’d set for her. Rhys stroked at her breasts as if he, too, felt it.

“I’m going to let you out one day,” he whispered against her jaw. “And show everyone what a nightmare you truly are.”

Feyre whimpered. She didn’t want to go back. “You’ll do as he asked? You’ll train me?”

Rhys’s chuckle was dark and sultry. “Yes, darling. Soon. Tonight is for us but tomorrow is for you. I’ll need your help.”

“With what?”

“The Summer Court has something I require…something only you can retrieve for me. I mean to take you with me. Would you like that?”

“Yes,” she breathed. It was honest, just as honest as the kiss she pressed to his mouth. Feyre moaned at that first taste. She’d been missing this, though she hadn’t realized it. He moaned too, holding her face to take more.

“This month without you has been a misery,” he told her, grinding his clothed hips against her body. “I have been consumed by my thoughts of you.”

She was sure she’d missed him too, though Feyre simply could not remember. Sliding her fingers through his soft, raven hair, Feyre merely kissed again and again, gliding her hips against him while he gripped her hard. Punishing. He kissed her like she was the air he breathed, like he’d fall apart without her.

More, more, more.

She wasn’t something fragile here but something powerful, something mighty. A rock against a weathering storm, unbreakable—unyielding. Feyre reached for his jacket, shucking it off his glorious body with little effort. She had a sense that her whole life had been a series of moments that forced her to be weak, to stay small. She was used to it and yet she loathed it.

“Yes,” Rhys groaned when her nails dragged down his chest. Flipping them over, he lined her against him. “Take what you want from me.”

Feyre leaned to kiss him, biting his lip so hard she could taste blood. She moaned when the warm, salty copper flooded against her tongue, lowering her mouth to drag a line of it against his throat. Rhys’s hips jerked outside of his own accord as Feyre moved further down his body.

Something tugged against her mind, ordering her to push. Hands against the buttons of his pants, she looked up at him through star tipped lashes. She was there, freeing his cock…and then she wasn’t. She was watching herself pull out that heavy, thick cock. Watching as she yanked off his pants viciously, as she licked the length of his cock, feeling his writhing, hungry need.

Feyre gasped, and then it was all gone. Rhys watched, heavy lidded. “Did you like that?” he asked her.

“How…”

“You have my magic too,” he murmured with a rough sigh. “I intend to teach you to use it.”

“I was in your mind,” she said. “Feeling…”

“Feeling my desire? Seeing how beautiful you look about to suck my cock? You can come in my mind to look at yourself anytime you like. Maybe you’ll finally see what everyone else is missing.”

Feyre sucked the tip of him into her mouth, though she didn’t intend to stay long. His words had started a buzzing in her chest, a seeping awareness she didn’t know what to make of. This magical male had done something to her, though what, exactly, Feyre could not say. Perhaps she did not want to. It occurred to, just before she swallowed his heavy, swollen tip, that Feyre was content to know nothing beyond this.

The world was big—messy. And she was tired of navigating it.

“No one takes care of you, do they?” he murmured softly, gathering up her hair. “No one sees how delicate my sweet mate is.”

His words ended abruptly when she swallowed a good third of him, drawing him into her throat. Rhys made a series of garbled noises that shot straight between her legs. She needed more of this, more of those whimpering, pleading noises coming from his mouth. Legs spread wide, wings flared on either side, she thought he looked like some terrible, dark prince splayed out.

Rhys reached for her before she finished, forgetting she’d always meant to straddle his waist. A phantom talon sliced through her pretty dress. “No more pastels,” he whispered, shoving the remnants of the fabric off her body.

Rhys lifted her, seating her just over his pulsating cock. Feyre jerked from his grip and slid down him quickly, her moan of pleasure mingling with his own. “Ride me, darling,” he begged. “I need this—need you.”

She rolled her hips, sinking back into a familiar, frenzied place. “Mate,” she whispered. That was real. She could cling to that and rebuild her messy world from the ground up on that word alone. The male beneath her, with his thrusting hips and his parted lips. He was real, too. Rhysand. “Rhys,” she whispered, pressing her chest against his body until their lips had crashed together, tongues stroking in time with their frantic bodies.

“Come for me,” he begged. “Feyre, please.”

And she did, shattering around him until the world was nothing but him. Only the beautiful male beneath her, holding her hips while he pumped frantically. Rhys had her on her back, knees in the air, in a moment.

“I want to see you,” he whispered, spreading out her legs to look at their combined bodies. “All of you.”

“You have me,” she told him, reaching for the edge of his wing enveloping them. “I’m yours.”

He shattered into a thousands roaring pieces, pouring come into her body. Feyre remembered how he’d hoped something might stick.

She hoped that too, clinging desperately to him. “Don’t leave me,” he whispered, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

“I won’t,” she swore.

But some small part of her hesitated.

A beast waited.

~*~

Feyre sent her note to Tamlin. I’m not coming back. It must have said other things, though she hardly remembered. It was becoming a problem. Tugged by strings that didn’t belong, Feyre moved when she was supposed to. Said what she was supposed to say.

Smiled when she was supposed to smile.

She was clawing at those little cords constantly, ripping them apart only for new ones to appear. One day she’d break free and pull it all together. She remembered Lucien, though she knew she wasn’t supposed to. Remembered his name, his face. Remembered his final words. She tucked that glowing memory deep, deep inside herself where no one could access it and forced Rhys to live up to that promise. She had a sense someone else had not.

And Rhys did. He trained her as best he could, forcing her to build a shield in her mind until even he could not access it. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down.

“Very good,” he’d purr before pulling her into his lap for a kiss that made her breathless with need. The bond between them had not released them and Feyre was all too happy for the distraction. Happier still to be cared for in this way. No longer shut out—though of what, she couldn’t say—Rhys included her in his scheming. He wanted the Book of Breathings and he needed her to help him get it.

Some small part of her knew it was wrong but a darker, much larger part just did not care. The place that governed her mating bond and her missing memories crooned a lullaby. Everything is fine. Don’t worry about that. Sweet, pretty Feyre.

She didn’t want to. Not then, not when every time she pushed the memories of red came peeking back. Memories of death and rot and ruin washed through her until she was gasping desperately for air and vomiting on the floor. Those days saw Rhys sweep her up in his arms and whisper words she just vaguely heard. Sometimes he’d hold her hair while she heaved up everything she ate before he took her someplace quiet and cool.

This is wrong. You are a princess of daylight and life, the shimmering air seemed to murmur. But the twinkling stars up above always had reply just as soon as the sun went down.

Princess of carrion, of rot and death and bone. Join us in the darkness. Welcome home.

She was excited to go to Summer. Dressed in the softest gown of lavender, her hair pulled off her face with a headband, Rhys brought her and his second, Amren. Amren, who was the shortest woman Feyre had ever seen, with eyes that felt all-too familiar. Like she, too, knew of the horrors lurking.

Amren had mastered them. Feyre had not. Amren’s silvery eyes lingered on Feyre until Rhys put his body between the two women and Feyre wondered if he’d done it on purpose. Rhys had been invited to mend relations between their two courts but Feyre knew she was the distraction. Tarquin couldn’t take his eyes off her, curious about the runaway bride from Spring.

Feyre didn’t know whose voice spoke for when all of Summer Court turned their eyes on her. “He let me go,” she said, almost breathless with wonder.

I wish, her traitorous thoughts agreed.

“It’s over between us.”

“What a relief, then, know we are not harboring a stolen bride,” Cressida said softly, a princess of sea and sand. Feyre was too mesmerized by the blue of her eyes, swimming like the water just behind them. “And that we do not need to bother returning her to her master, as the law demands. And as any wise person might do, to keep trouble from their doorstep.”

“I left of my own free will. And no one is my master.”

Feyre blinked and then blinked again. War. It made her head burn with that blood red and for a moment everything came flooding back, stitched like a poorly sewn tapestry. Tamlin and Rhys, Amarantha and Spring and Night. The magic in her body, the same tasked with protecting her, reared its head to slam Rhysand out just long enough for Feyre to take an actual breath.

He was teaching her to use her magic…but not this. Not to control him, to control others. And Feyre reached out tentatively before he could stop her, and pushed into Cressida’s mind.

Everything is fine. Tamlin isn’t looking for me. Summer is safe. I am safe.

And then those walls she’d so carefully built slammed apart and Rhys was there, shoving her down, down, down.

She did have a master, at least for now. Turning her head before anyone could realize something was wrong, Ferye looked to her mate. He was speaking, his words smooth and easy, his body relaxed. Master.

He heard her think it, his mouth twitching with a smile.

That’s enough, Ferye, his voice crooned softly in her mind. Where is my good girl? My sweet mate?

And it was all gone, then. Feyre blinked again, offering Tarquin a saccharine smile. It was her own and yet felt so foreign on her face that her cheeks seemed to ache from it. Tarquin stared for a moment, head cocked. Did he recognize his humming magic fluttering through her veins?

He smiled back and Feyre was almost breathless. He was so beautiful. Her fingers twitched to touch, to connect with this tiny little piece of herself and make it whole.

She didn’t, not until he offered to show her his palace. Only then did Ferye slide her hand into his and revel in the warmth of his skin. He smiled again, telling her of his jewels, his treasure, his trove. It was far lovelier than anything she’d ever seen. He offered her a necklace with so much earnestness and the sweetest smile that for one moment, she wished she’d met him first.

Darkness rumbled through her chest.

Back in her bedroom, Rhysand was unimpressed with the gift, with the way she so easily drew seawater from her eyes and hands. He was fixated. “You wished you’d met the High Lord of Summer first?”

Feyre didn’t move.

“Answer me,” he whispered, his voice seductive like the night pouring through the windows around them. Salty air and crashing waves punctuated the silence .

“He is kind,” she said, unable to explain why, exactly, that mattered so much to her. Rhys arched one of those dark, sculpted brows.

“Why don’t you tell him you think so?”

She leveled a step towards the male before him but a knock on the door gave Feyre pause. Rhys was watching, those starlit eyes glittering with some emotion she didn’t immediately recognize.

“Open it,” he demanded. Feyre felt pulled, like she couldn’t say no even if she’d wanted to. That was familiar, she thought, reaching for the silver handle.

Tarquin was on the other side, shirtless and draped in a pair of breezy linen pants.

“This isn’t real,” she whispered, staring into his clear, blue eyes. Tarquin only smiled, brushing icy white hair off his broad, muscular shoulders.

“Isn’t it, though?” came his purring voice. That was Rhysand—she knew it, and yet when he pushed forward, Feyre jumped out of his way. Rhysand ought to have been just behind her but the room was empty now, save for Tarquin and Feyre, locked behind that now closed door.

Tarquin’s eyes swept through the room, a smirk stealing across his handsome features.

“You wanted to express your gratitude?” he murmured, coming close enough she could touch him. Feyre was desperate to lay her hand against the flat of his stomach, just to see if her magic would react. It was shadow and now water that roiled in her veins even as Tarquin reached for her face, tilting it towards him.

“Tell me the truth, Feyre,” he whispered, his breath fanning over her face. “Do you truly think I’m kind? Or are you just desperate for any attention that you’ll take what you can get?”

“That’s not…I’m not…” his other hand was wrapped around her waist, his thumb rubbing little circles. He smiled.

“Of course not. Tell me, darling. Will you smile for me again?”

“Is that what this is about?” she asked, sliding her hand up his chest.

“Get on your knees,” came Tarquin’s voice, his once kind features shifting into near cruel amusement. “Thank your High Lord for treating you with kindness.”

Feyre looked up in his eyes, hesitating for only a moment.

This is your game, she whispered in her mind as she sank to her knees.

You want it, Rhys’s voice purred in reply.

Tarquins warm hands came over her own, helping her remove the pants slung low against his hips. The considerable length of him sprang free, hard and thick and already pooling moisture against the tip. For the first time since Tarquin had walked in, Feyre considered that perhaps this wasn’t a game. Maybe Rhys had merely spoken to the High Lord of Summer mind to mind and offered her up.

“I hear you swallow like a dream,” Tarquin murmured, taking a fistful of her hair. “Open that pretty mouth.”

The head of his cock pressed against her lips, wiping come against them. Feyre was in to deep—she opened her mouth, allowing him to push his swollen cock into her mouth with a satisfied breath of air.

“We should pass you around to all the High Lords,” Tarquin grunted, using that hand in her hair to work him over him. “Let them see how good Prythian’s Cursebreaker sucks and swallows.”

Feyre pressed her knees together as he worked her, well aware Tarquin—or whoever he was—could scent the pooling arousal just between. Just like Rhys, her jaw ached the longer she sucked, widened unnaturally in order to accommodate the girth. Tarquin was unconcerned, his eyes rolling upwards. The muscles of his gleaming thighs were taut, his whole body trembling ever so slightly.

“Do I get to come down that milking throat?” he rasped. “Or should I let you wear it like a necklace?”

Feyre could only whine in response. She was at his disposal, could not tell him what would please her, if it even mattered.

“Swallow it,” he demanded, dragging her closer and closer to the flat plain of his stomach. “Tell me if the salt reminds you of the sea.”

He pulled roughly, forcing more of his bruising cock into her throat. Feyre pushed at this thighs for all the good it did. Tarquin might have been made of granite, holding her still as his cock pulsated and twitched, his cock sliding down her throat while she gagged and choked.

He pulled her off him, mouth popping wetly. “Well?” he whispered, hauling her up to her feet. Feyre was mistaken in thinking it was all over—that he’d come and she could go back to her evening.

“Did you like the taste?” he asked her, pressing his mouth against her own before she could ever respond. Tarquin backed her up, leading her away from the door towards the turquoise and gold bed centered in the middle of the room. By virtue of his bigger body, his stronger frame, Feyre was swept up in the dominance of the moment, of the messy, exploratory kiss that all but robbed her of breath.

He tasted like citrus, his tongue sliding between her lips to find his own arousal. Tarquin groaned and the sound of his heady desire shot straight to her belly.

“Are your holes mine to use?” he asked, pushing the straps of her dress off her shoulders?

“I…” Feyre was fogged with lust, unsure what to even say.

Her dress pooled like moonlight at her feet, shimmering like the stars twinkling just outside her window. She reached for him but Tarquin was quick, spinning her so her naked torso was pressed against the unmade bed. One hand rang a slap against her ass before he pushed her lower. She let Tarquin manipulate her body, tucking her legs on either side just beneath her until just her pussy and her ass were hanging off the edge. Tarquin smacked again, harder this time. The bite of pain made her yelp, her skin suddenly burning.

“I’ll bet you have males begging to eat that pretty pussy. Don’t you, Feyre?”

Another slap.

“Is that what you thought? Sweet, nice Tarquin would get on his knees for you like Tamlin does?”

She sucked in a breath. “Wha–”

He smacked again, the hardest yet. Tears sprang to her eyes though she didn’t move save to look over her shoulder. Tarquin was watching, eyes wholly focused on her gleaming cunt as he stroked his still hard cock.

“You don’t get to come on my cock, Feyre. You are just a hole for me to fuck.”

Feyre screamed when he thrust into her, so hard she could feel it reverberating in her bones. Another slap against her aching ass was all she got for her trouble. One hand against her spine, the other holding her hips with bruising force, Tarquin pushed Feyre’s face into the blanket.

“Too loud,” he warned, his words just barely louder than the slap of his body. “Don’t want the whole palace to know how greedy you are, do you?”

She moaned into the fabric, her body responding with a flood of slick. Tarquin chuckled darkly behind her.

“What did I say, darling? You don’t come on my cock.”

She didn’t know if she could stop herself. Something was between her thighs—besides Tarquin, of course—teasing and tugging at her aching, swollen clit. Feyre wanted friction so badly, wanted to feel that ecstasy of release that she didn’t question what might actually be responsible for the feather-soft kissing.

Tarquin’s soft grunting drew her back to reality. Her body spasmed around him automatically, wanting to draw him in, liking the force with which he was pounding into her. He kept her pressed to the bed as he pushed, angling her hips up higher until her knees threatened to come off the bed entirely.

“Your pussy grips my cock so well,” he praised. “It seems the Cursebreaker can do more than just suck.”

She whimpered.

“Wait until I tell the others. We’ll keep you at our feet on a leash, pass you around until that pussy drips nothing but come. Would you like that, Feyre? Birth seven heirs for all seven courts with that pretty, breeding pussy of yours?”

Each word was punctuated with a well-time thrust. She moaned again. “If you finish, I’ll punish you, darling,” his voice purred. “Any moment, now. Be a good girl and keep that ass arched for me.”

His voice wasn’t quite right. Feyre couldn’t move, pinned beneath his broad hand though something shadowy had blocked out the little light from the window. Wings. Massive, membranous wings were folded around her as that lingering scent of citrus and the sea now cascaded over her.

It had never been Tarquin. She’d known that, hadn’t she? And yet it was jarring when she felt Rhysand push himself one last time into her body and spill himself within her, how real the whole thing felt. How she’d been so certain it had been him.

Rhys went still, his hand palming her ass. “You didn’t come.”

It was his dark, deep voice who spoke, and his broad, muscular body now blanketed against her back. His shadows that had teased but not enough to make her finish.

“You told me not to,” she whispered, turning her head to meet his violet gaze. Rhys dragged a finger through her body, sliding it back into her body along with the release that was dripping out of her.

“You smiled at him,” Rhys whispered, sinking to his knees beneath her.

“That didn’t mean I wanted to have sex with him,” she whispered.

“You didn’t,” he said, his breath fanning against her cunt. “You were fucking me. You merely saw what you wanted to see.”

“Liar,” she replied, daring to say it. “You’re the only person I ever want to see.”

His tongue slid along the seam of her, tasting their mingled arousal. He groaned when he heard her say that, dragging her hips to hover directly above his face. “My pretty mate is so sweet when she wants to be.”

Rhys sucked her clit between soft lips before he began licking wildly, spreading her open and holding her tight against him. How he could breathe, Feyre didn’t know. Maybe she didn’t care.

Maybe Feyre wanted Rhys to feel a little discomfort.

Grinding against him, Feyre pressed even closer, until she could feel his nose rubbing against her with each new licking pass. Rhys didn’t move at all and if he needed air to breathe he certainly didn’t act like it. He merely continued to lick until he could tell climax was building. Only then did Rhys add his fingers into the dripping wet, fucking her with an obscenely wet sound that made Feyre moan.

“The whole palace has heard how well I fuck you,” he gasped before he returned his taunting, teasing lips to her body. Feyre didn’t care, rolling her hips against him, fucking his hand desperately. This was what she needed. Something that was for her, something that was dependent on his raging erection or need to finish. .

She broke over his face, coating him in her release. Rhys road her through it with a loud, trembling groan that made her stomach clench. “That’s it, Feyre,” he panted wildly, taking one last ragged taste.

Pulling her off the bed, Rhys held her against him, his face buried in her hair.

“What would it take for you to truly love me?” he whispered between the strands, his wings cocooning around them.

“What?” she asked, his words already fading. She swallowed. “What did you say?”

He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck.

“I said you come so pretty against my face, darling.”

But she was certain that was a lie.

~*~

In the morning, Tarquin smiled just as nicely at Feyre as he had the day before. He didn’t know he’d been the subject of her nightly fantasy though she would certainly never forget it. He was far too polite to say if he’d heard what went on between her and Rhys. Sunlight was peeking through the dark haze that was Feyre’s mind and memories though she didn’t think Rhys was aware of it.

Feyre could feel his purring presence, a cat curled in her lap while that clawed talon waited to pull her around. She didn’t know when she’d first realized but some small shred of herself was hiding in the darkest recesses.

Watching.

She couldn’t remember what came before, though she was sure there must have been something. All that was gone, tucked away in a locked chest, with a key hanging about the cat’s collar. To get to it, Feyre would have to somehow shove Rhys out entirely. He was over five centuries old and his practice and control far exceeded her own.

And still, she had managed to go undetected all morning. Rhys didn’t notice when Feyre decided to practice on the High Lord of Summer, burrowing into his own mind to look for the book. Down, down, down, until she saw it, hidden offshore in a place only Tarquin could reach.

And Rhys didn’t realize, when Tarquin placidly offered to take Feyre on a tour of Adriata, that he was taking her to that half hidden structure.

“For you,” he murmured, unaware of what he truly offered. Feyre leaned up on her tiptoes and gave Tarquin a kiss on the cheek. To him, it was merely another piece of jewelry. A small token of his affection, standing ankle deep in water and sand.

“You’re so kind,” Feyre told him, smiling wide. “I can never repay you for all this.”

“You don’t have to,” he said, hand on her back. Rhys’s presence was watching, seeing exactly what Tarquin saw. A bustling market place surrounded by people surreptitiously eyeing the High Lord. The pretty necklace in her hand.

Feyre.

Smiling.

It was thrilling to meet Rhys and Amren just outside the palace. She presented not a pretty diamond trinket, but one half of the Book of Breathings. Amren’s silver eyes narrowed.

“Where did you get that, girl?”

But Feyre was looking at Rhys and his slack jawed expression. When did you get that? His voice whispered through her mind. He was invading again, that claw looking for what he’d missed. She scurried back, waiting for him to dig her out but Rhys swept right over her…missing what was beneath his nose.

Still, his fogging magic smothered most of her resistance until Feyre was looking up at him, lips parted.

“He gave it to me,” she said breathlessly. Rhys’s brow furrowed and Amren, clearly satisfied, was the one who answered.

“Must have been all those pretty smiles. We should leave before he realizes the gravity of his mistake.”

Rhys offered her his hand, gleaming like shimmering dusk beneath the beating, overhead sun. Feyre didn’t hesitate to take it, pleased when he pulled her into his chest before winnowing away without so much as a goodbye. Rhys deposited them both mid-air, laughing when Feyre screamed as they plummeted back to Earth. He still held her, his massive wings slowing them until they were airborne again, headed towards his mountainside palace. Clutching at his neck, Feyre didn’t release Rhys until he very gently pried her fingers off him.

“You…you’re a—”

He raised his brows as something familiar rose through her. Some old anger she’d forgotten, buried like a life she’d long since stopped living. It was gone just as quickly as it came, replaced with that softness she so often felt for him.

“I’m a what, darling?” he murmured, caressing her cheek in his hand.

“You scared me,” she whispered. Rhys had the decency, at least, too seem apologetic.

“So did you,” he admitted, drawing her in for a kiss. “Why don’t you smile at me?”

Feyre blinked. “I…”

It’s not real, some soft voice in her head whispered. When had she truly last smiled, besides? Years. Her whole life was a blur of suffering, of desperately trying to survive an onslaught of misery she couldn’t hold back.

Could he sense those thoughts? His thumb rubbed against her cheek, eyes impossibly soft. “No one takes care of you.”

Was that what he was doing? She supposed it was. Rhys bent his knees, pulling her into his arms like she was his new bride. “My soft, sweet mate takes care of everyone. And how do they repay her?”

She pressed her head to his chest.

“They take from her. They lock her away. They refuse her information, training…power.”

“And you?” she asked when they reached the bedroom they shared.

Rhys halted for a moment, still holding her like she was everything to him. Infinitely precious. Feyre felt it when his grip tightened and his eyes darkened. She expected him to lay her out, to peel her from her clothes and make love to her like he so often liked to do. Feyre wanted that, too.

“You are my equal, Feyre,” he murmured. Caught by surprise, Feyre let him set her back to her feet.

“You are my mate,” he added, with surprisingly ferocity. As if she didn’t understand what that truly meant to him. She realized she didn’t when he added, “I’ve been waiting five centuries for you.”

She didn’t know if she’d ever known what it meant to breathe before that moment. Feyre’s heart thundered in her chest as Rhys ran a hand through his inky black hair, his eyes wild and panicked.

“The whole world has a better claim to you than me, but Feyre I would lay the world at your feet if I thought you wanted that.”

The world rumbled for a moment, as if he meant to make the entire universe bow to his every whim. Rhys’s eyes glazed for a moment and then he was reaching for her.

“Come with me,” he whispered, grabbing her wrist. Feyre trotted obediently after him, that tiny piece of herself watching with curiosity just out of his awareness. What did he mean to do?

He swept her up, taking her back into Velaris. Like she’d imagined of Tarquin, the bustling crowds all paused to stare at their High Lord, head held high as he walked. Did he notice their eyes?

Or was it so normal he didn’t recognize their awe.

Cobbled streets and brightly colored homes were tucked against the same snow capped mountains as the palace. At the very top, overlooking the city at large, was the iridescent tower that belonged to the priestesses.

“Rhys–”

“It’s not what you think,” he all but panted, long legs moving just a little quicker. She had no say in the matter, not that Feyre would have told him no. They were mated, after all. What was marriage by comparison? Still, marriage, she thought, meant something. That little bit of her couldn’t figure out what. Too much was lost and too little could be risked by digging.

A wide eyed priestess draped in silvery blue met them at the door. She swept into a bow.

“High Lord,” she demurred, bent at the knees. “How can we serve you?”

Rhys’s eyes slid from the priestess to Feyre.

“I mean to make my mate my equal,” he said, his voice raw and dark like the onyx granite of the mountain behind them.

“Swear her in as High Lady of the Night Court.”

#i dont think this is even that bad but geeze i don't want to tag it either #feysand smut #dark feysand #feyre and tarquin sort of?#rhys is just really really jealous #and i am living gratuitously through feyre being so hot all the high lords want her #wish that was me

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vulpes-fennec · 1 year

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The Fae Equality Initiative (Ch. 7) 🌊

Summary: Tarquin, High Lord of the Summer Court, has sent ripples of shock throughout Prythian with his plans to eliminate discrimination against Lesser Fae. When the Night Court is invited to send a delegation to Summer Court, Elain Archeron can’t wait to show everybody what she’s capable of on her first official Inner Circle assignment. Little does she know that Tarquin has also recruited Lucien Vanserra’s assistance…

Read: Ch 1 | Ch. 6 | AO3

Viviane's POV is here! ❄

Viviane giggled as Kallias peppered her with affectionate kisses the moment she arrived home. “I missed you, Viv,” the High Lord of Winter murmured, burying his face against her neck. “I’m going to be very reluctant to let you leave again next weekend.” Viviane smoothed her mate’s snowy hair and took a moment to admire his face. White blonde hair curled slightly around his pointed ears, each studded with sapphire. His pale, angular face was almost devoid of color save for his flushed lips and icy blue eyes. Beautiful. Fifty years of us were lost to Amarantha. I’m so glad that we never stop cherishing every moment we have with each other.

“I missed you too, my love,” she responded, hugging him tightly even as he set her down. “How was Violetta the last few days?” Their daughter was just shy of three years old and her ice powers…well, they were a work in progress. Her tantrums could shock glass bottles into shattering, while her playful moods could create beautiful snowflakes. Controlling powers is a struggle with ALL Fae children, but I don’t remember it being so HARD.

“She’s sleeping right now, after I gave her a bath and read her a polar bear story…Only one temper tantrum this weekend. You missed the lovely ice sculpture we made last night. I cleaned it all up, of course.”

“As you should,” Viviane rolled her eyes, her fair skin blushing. Seeing Kallias dote on their daughter…whatever it was…it made Viviane want to yank him into bed and show him just how much she appreciated his acts of service.

Kallias’s icy eyes glinted as he sensed her suppressed arousal. “As much as I’d love to ravish you right now, my snowflake, I’m sure you have much to report.”

Viviane’s mouth twitched mischievously. “Can we do it while we are cuddling in bed, at least?” Kallias didn’t need to be told twice. One snap of his fingers removed their clothes. The next snap had them winnowed into their bed, where he swaddled Viviane in comfy blankets and fluffy pillows.

When his warm body pressed against hers and he stroked her hair, Viviane began to regale him with conference stories. She told him of the resentment between High and Lesser Fae: the Lesser Fae hated how their resources were being siphoned off to help the High Fae rebuild after the war, while the High Fae envied the Lesser Fae for being “spared their younglings” during one of Amarantha’s final attacks.

To which Kallias replied that: a) he and Viviane should revise the taxation brackets with their finance bureau, and b) the High Fae were misdirecting their envy, for the Lesser Fae suffered numerous attacks and injuries throughout Amarantha’s reign.

Viviane relayed Emerie’s experiences as a female Carynthian warrior in Illyria. That Viviane resonated with her, especially when many Winter Court nobles begrudgingly acknowledged her “presence” as High Lady.

To which Kallias replied that Viviane deserved every bit of her title after defending Winter for 50 long years. “I’m sorry if I was ever one of those males, Viv,” Kallias confessed. “For not considering that you could be High Lady, until you asked me if you could.” His blue eyes were so genuinely despondent that Viviane took his hand and kissed each of his knuckles.

“We were too busy enjoying the time we had after reuniting, Kal,” she said softly. “And you’ve always supported me after I became High Lady.” Kallias only hugged his mate closer, pressing a soft kiss under her ear. Viviane smiled at Kallias’s softness, wondering how she ever managed to reduce the icy Lord of Winter to a lovey-dovey youth.

“How’s Tarquin doing?” he murmured into her ear.

“Stressed, as always,” she replied. “I daresay he’s still adjusting to being a High Lord.” Viviane couldn’t imagine what it was like for Tarquin and Helion to take on the mantle of an entire court while powerless Under the Mountain. Tarquin, Helion, and Feyre were the other “novice” rulers in Prythian; Viviane always felt a certain kinship with them. Too bad Helion and Feyre weren’t in Adriata this past weekend.

“It’s a lot of work for one person,” Kallias sighed. “Especially with his Lesser Fae initiatives.”

Viviane perked up. “But what about us?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…you said it’s a lot of work for one person. But there’s two of us. So what if we did something similar to Tarquin?”

Kallias went quiet in a way Viviane knew he was about to say something she didn’t want to hear. “Tarquin’s ideas are admirable but…I thought you wanted to work on uplifting the females in court?”

Viviane tensed. “Why can’t we do both?”

Kallias sighed. “It just…we’re both busy with enough things already. And we have Violetta to raise…I would like to do something for the Lesser Fae in the future but it just doesn’t feel like the right time, you know?”

“We’re always busy. When is the right time, then?” He was always the more cautious one, always wanting to plan twenty steps ahead. His foresight and care kept her alive during Amarantha, but—

“Why can’t we start off small? Dedicate a memorial to the Lesser Fae lives lost in the war. Set up funds and scholarships for their communities.”

Viviane disentangled herself from Kallias, upset. She tugged a sweater and pants on, running her fingers through her messy hair. Of course he would want to start off small, she thought bitterly. All of this would hardly make a dent in the Winter Treasury.

“You saw firsthand how much planning Tarquin needs to restructure everything in Summer.” Kallias sat up in their bed, blankets falling off his muscled body. His voice was strained. “This isn’t something we can just do overnight.”

Viviane hated to admit Kallias was right about that. But how can he not care about this as much as me? This may not be urgent for us, but it sure as hell is affecting the Lesser Fae in our court! Disappointment was apparent in Viviane’s slightly forceful movements around the room. “What, we can’t be a little ambitious about helping our own people?”

“Where are you going?” Kallias asked, choosing not to answer her question.

“To see Violetta,” Viviane snapped over her shoulder as she left the room.

***

The council meeting was a tense one, more so because Viviane was still upset with Kallias. When she presented her plan for expanding the print industry, two male advisors nitpicked and questioned every aspect of it. Nevermind that the final policy was something both she and Kallias worked on. Viviane got into a verbal spat with another noble who habitually steamrolled her suggestions to the agriculture committee. As if he knew anything about agriculture, for he was one of the infrastructure ministers.

Kallias could only glare daggers at the offending council members. Viviane had made it clear she didn’t want him coming to her defense every damn time, and he had begrudgingly complied. Despite the mini argument they had earlier that evening, Viviane could see Kal’s fingers were visibly itching to flex his power and school the males into respecting her.

Viviane winnowed into Lillestad shortly after the meeting, not bothering to tell Kallias where she’d gone. The city was on the border of Winter and Summer, and on clear days, one could see the lush green lands peeking between the mountain range.

Several Fae greeted their High Lady as Viviane strode the brightly lit streets. She often sought refuge here, for Lillestad was proof that she was a capable leader. It was also proof that High Fae and Lesser Fae could live and work together on relatively equal terms.

Sometimes, she wondered what became of those relationships once things “returned to normal” after Amarantha. Many returned to their hometowns. But a good number of High and Lesser Fae refugees had remained in Lillestad, having made the border city their new home. Seeing the signs of friendship and respect as she walked through the quaint streets gave Viviane some hope that progress had not been reversed.

Snow began to fall lightly, dusting the already white streets. Viviane turned the corner, arriving at one of her favorite parks in the city. Remnants of snowmen, ice sculptures, and sled tracks were proof of younglings playing earlier in the day. But right now, it was empty.

Save for a tall figure she would recognize anywhere, standing under the golden glow of a faelight lamp. Kallias.

Vivane froze, for it was too late to pretend she hadn’t seen her mate. Kallias was still dressed in his High Lord’s finery, his high cheekbones a ruddy red and the snowflakes blending into his white-blonde hair.

Kallias approached her cautiously, stopping just a few inches away from her with a look of regret in his icy blue eyes. “Bad day, miss?” he asked quietly, breath fogging in the air. This was the “game” Viviane and Kallias had played ever since they were children. Post-fight, they interacted with each other as strangers initially, in order to hear each other without anger’s bias.

“Yeah.” Viviane chewed her lip anxiously. “Had to deal with some stodgy old males who don’t take me seriously.” Kallias’s eyes flashed with glacial anger so similar to the one from the meeting. “They don’t see me as their High Lady.”

“From what I’ve seen, plenty of Fae in these streets see you as the High Lady of Winter,” Kallias’s voice was soft.

“My friend Lucien and I visited the Lesser Fae part of Adriata,” Viviane continued. “There were so many who knew someone, a family member or a friend, who sought refuge here. They thanked me—” her voice cracked, “thanked me for taking them in, because they expected to be turned away. Because they were Lesser Fae.” Tears rolled down her cheeks as she recalled the faces of those who had trickled into these very avenues over the years. Young and old, big and small, some with fresh injuries, others who had lost everything…

Kallias’s facade dropped. He crossed the distance to his mate in a few strides and hugged her tightly. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I should have known how difficult this weekend would be for you. Instead of acting like—”

Viviane wiped her tears on his very expensive jacket. “But you were right. About how we can’t do everything at once.”

Kallias’s broad hand threaded her hair, pressing her closer. “I was thinking with my head, when I should’ve been listening to my heart. You never limit yourself, you’re never intimidated by a challenge, Viv, and that’s what I admire about you.”

“And you’re my High Lady of Winter,” he added roughly. The power emanating from his voice bowed in deference to Viviane, sending a thrill up her spine. “Don’t question yourself when you care more about our people than those council members.”

Viviane lifted her head from Kallias’s chest, hopefulness in her eyes. “So does this mean we’re following Tarquin’s footsteps…eventually?”

Kallias nodded. “We’re a team, Viv. Just like you said earlier…we can work on it together. How about we get started on the background planning tomorrow?”

She smiled at her mate. “Did I ever tell you how much I love you?”

“I love you too, my snow queen. Shall we quit our duties for the night and take a stroll?” Viviane looped her arm through his in answer. “How’s Lucien doing?”

“Hmm…his mate is there. Elain Archeron. They still avoid each other, as far as I know.”

“Interesting,” Kallias mused. “And did he tell you how he managed to free Queen Vassa from Koschei’s clutches?”

“Oh, I didn’t get a chance to ask. We were so busy this past weekend. But whatever he did, it’s quite impressive, isn’t it?”

Kallias contemplated the snowy landscape before them. “Yes. It seems the clever fox may be more powerful than we thought…”

***Tarquin***

Summer:

Send more aid to poorer districts of cities

Integrate docks in harbors

Educational reform (Day Court?)

Set up harassment reporting system by end of month

Court governance committee diversification

Spring:

Tithe → taxation (?)

Human lands/loss of the Wall → ask Lucien

Winter:

Attitudes towards females → ask Cresseida

Recognition of war’s impact → education + monuments (?)

Day:

Obstacles to leadership → diversity in hiring

Dawn:

Prejudice towards same-sex couples → covered in law, education (?)

Discrimination in craft guilds

Night:

Attitudes towards females

Prejudice towards same-sex couples

Supporting Lesser Fae-owned business → business council, merchants (?)

Great. More things to add to the list of things to revamp. Tarquin broke his gaze away from his meeting notes. Cresseida and Varian were sitting in his study, just under his portrait that was painted shortly after his return to Adriata.

Back when I was young and spritely, Tarquin sighed inwardly. It hadn’t even been a decade of proper leadership yet. Back when I used to tackle problems head on, eager for a learning opportunity. I can’t be jaded YET…I just need more HELP.

“Tarquin, you need more support,” Cresseida’s voice cut through the air as if she’d just read his thoughts. The Princess of Adriata looked relaxed as she lounged in one of Tarquin’s chairs, but her brown eyes were alert. “Give me something to do.”

Tarquin assessed his list. “Alright. I’ll task you with integrating Adriata’s schools and university. As well as the markets—that should be enough to keep you busy.” Cresseida nodded in affirmation.

“You should establish a permanent committee for managing the transition,” Varian suggested. Tarquin’s cousin was a male of few words, so whenever Varian spoke, he came with hard-hitting points.

“Are you volunteering, Varian?” Tarquin raised an eyebrow.

Varian’s mouth twitched. “Respectfully, no. There’s enough on my hands with potential civil unrest and increase in intimidations in the city.”

“Right. What’s the update on that?” Things don’t sound good if even Varian is stressed.

“We are averaging about three public brawls between the Fae at the docks each week. I suspect we are undercounting the fights that take place in the taverns. Lucien spotted graffiti on public notice boards that included Lesser Fae slurs.” Tarquin checked his notes. “The reports of discrimination from businesses has stayed the same, which isn’t that great because they’re still acting out. Also, several instances of intimidation in public spaces. Those bastards.” The Captain of the Guard loosed a rare display of emotion in a growl.

Tarquin felt like he was made out of sighs as he let out yet another depressed sigh. “Thank you, Varian. Please send your guards my thanks as well,” he said dryly. “I’ll let the treasury know there will be more overtime pay to process.” Varian nodded curtly.

Solstice is approximately five months away…that time is going to fly by fast.

“It’s good that the delegates are getting us to think outside the box already,” he mused. “We’ll continue with our regular discussion agenda for next weekend. And I’ll work on establishing a permanent committee by next month.”

“Next month?” cried Cresseida. “Tarquin, are you going to get any sleep at this rate?”

“He’ll be immune to the effects of coffee soon,” remarked Varian. “Why not ask Lucien for assistance on some of the projects? We can contract him out for some management work.”

Lucien. There’s a lot we haven’t caught up on, such as how he, Vassa, and Jurian dealt with Koschei. Perhaps he will be helpful in an unconventional way…

Resources linked here!

Read: Ch. 8

#viviane x kallias #winter court #tarquin acotar #summer court #acotar #acotar fanfiction #elucien #tagging as elucien bc of mentions

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velidewrites · 2 years

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Waterfire | Chapter 1

Summary: An unexpected request from the new High Lord of the Autumn Court unravels a series of events that are sure to leave Tarquin's heart changed forever.

Pairing: Tarquin x Eris Vanserra

Word Count: 5k

Note: Dedicating this to @abraxos-and-ataraxia who put me onto this elite ship <3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

The waves crashed softly against the shore, carrying the salty breeze that molded the castles of Adriata.

With the sandstone city spread below him, Tarquin allowed himself to linger in the moment, content to let the fresh scent of the sea caress the power that coursed through his veins. Standing on a balcony perched on one of the the lower levels of the palace, he could still take in the view in its entirety, hear the happy squeals of gulls as they flapped over the gleaming stone and bustling streets.

It was comforting to see Adriata like this—tranquil, undisturbed by war. Even the sky was cloudless above it, as if determined to cast as much sunshine as possible over the healing city. Indeed, soft, afternoon light was draped over the buildings, making it seem as though their tan stone had been replaced with nothing but pure, iridescent gold. Stretching onto the half-moon bay, the sun shimmered off the sea, playing with the turquoise water in the final hours of daylight. Adriata seemed to bask in peace—the sounds of battle long gone, replaced by the gentle whisper of waves.

The thought shimmered deep inside him—a sun of its own, giving life to the High Lord of the Summer Court. Tarquin could only hope the rest of his Court would heal as quickly as Adriata had—and that happiness would be restored at last.

Over a year had passed since the war with Hybern, though Tarquin had been High Lord long enough to know it would take years—if not decades—for the world to forge itself anew. With the advantage of being in a position of power, he’d been working tirelessly to ensure Prythian would not only recover, but progress.

He’d be lying if he’d said working hadn’t helped him, too. Focusing his efforts on helping his Court—the people under his protection—had been gratifying to say the least. It was the knowledge that his rule would make a difference, Tarquin supposed. That when his time came, he would leave the Summer Court—and perhaps, the world—a better place.

Uniting his people was the ultimate goal. He dreamed of a Court where all Fae—High or Lesser—would work and exist together as equals. Only then Summer would thrive, in nothing but blissful peace. Tarquin believed in leading by example—and so, he’d started by opening his borders to all those seeking refuge after the War. Encouraging his citizens to welcome whoever was in need of help, and accommodate them in the Summer Court—with the full support of its rulers.

Now, after months of work, pride filled his very soul as he watched his lands become the place that Fae from all over Prythian considered home—or at the very least, a safe haven where they could lead their lives in undisturbed peace. Tarquin could only hope it was there to stay, that no storms would plague the sea that enveloped his borders.

A tingling sensation around his feet pulled him out of his thoughts as the sea breeze carried the sand onto the balcony, warm and golden as it settled on the stone. Tarquin did not mind the intrusion, finding himself wishing for the wind to carry him to a beach somewhere far away instead. A much more appealing option than being forced into the meeting that has been on his mind ever since he received the request a week ago.

As if conjured straight out of Tarquin’s thoughts, a servant entered the office, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight that poured into the room from the open doors of the balcony. “My lord,” the male bowed before announcing, “the High Lord of the Autumn Court is here.”

Stepping out of the balcony, Tarquin sighed. “Send him in,” he ordered. Once again, the servant bowed before making his way out, leaving his High Lord to the distant crashing of waves outside.

With a single motion of his hand, the balcony doors shut with a soft click, the room instantly a shade darker with only the windows to allow in the light. Fixing the sleeves of his tunic, white and lined with golden thread, Tarquin noted a few grains of sand grazing the stone floor, undoubtedly brought in under the soles of his shoes. The thought of having a piece of the beach with him brought unexpected comfort, and he rolled the tension back from his shoulders, silently promising himself to go for a midnight swim once this was all over.

Too soon, the servant returned—this time, with company. “Eris Vanserra, my lord.”

“Thank you, Ilios,” Tarquin offered in dismissal. With a deep, final bow, Ilios was gone, and the High Lord of Summer turned his attention to a guest he’d never thought would enter the place he called his home.

Eris nodded, his bright, red hair catching a glimpse of the afternoon sun. He’d cut it short since he’d last seen him—short enough to display the arched ears. He had a small freckle just near the top. “Tarquin. It’s been a while,” Eris said in a manner of greeting. After so many months, he’d had forgotten the sound of his voice—rich yet smooth, like fresh honey dripping down the comb.

“Indeed,” Tarquin agreed, gesturing to the centre of the room, where two armchairs had been set up for their meeting. Draped in velvets of deep blue and purple, the chairs sat opposite a round coffee table, coated in tinted glass that reflected light of too many colours to register at once. The room’s interior had not been one he’d choose for himself, but there was a reasoning behind opting for Cresseida’s office for this particular meeting. His own space was situated on the higher levels of the palace, and he’d had been reluctant to allow Eris to see into rooms that could potentially hold secrets Tarquin did not trust his visitor with.

Taking the blue chair, Tarquin took the opportunity offered by their momentary silence to finally take in his guest. Eris had only been High Lord for little over a month, but Tarquin knew from personal experience it could take mere days to carve the effects of such responsibility in the features of one who bore it.

Usually twisted in cruelty, as Tarquin had so well remembered from Under the Mountain and long after, Eris’s face now betrayed signs of the kind of tiredness only a fellow High Lord could notice. The slight furrow of his brows, for instance, drawn together in constant worry. The circles under his eyes, a shade darker than his pale skin, begging for sweet rest that could not be satisfied by sleep.

His lips. The last time he’d seen them, they were curved up in a mocking sneer—Eris’s usual manner of carrying himself through conversation, one that Tarquin had readied himself for all week since the High Lord of Autumn had requested an audience. Now, those lips formed a thin line as Eris’s eyes landed on his, their shining amber the only thing that seemed not to have been affected by his new role—amber, watchful and full of focus.

“I understand condolences are in order,” Tarquin finally spoke.

A small gleam of those sharp eyes, barely noticeable as Eris leaned back in his seat. “Yes. Quite the tragedy.”

Having personally observed Beron’s cruelty Under the Mountain, Tarquin could hardly express such sentiment. Instead, he forced out the only truth he had to say on the matter. “High Lord or not, an assassination is an atrocity that has no place in an era of peace.”

He truly had believed that. Tarquin would hate to admit an exception to the rule. Though, he supposed, the act had already been done, and some cruel part of him knew he’d be lying if he said Beron’s death hadn’t brought him some relief.

Amber eyes surveyed him watchfully. “Trust that I have my best spies working to uncover those responsible.”

Tarquin may have been a pacifist, but he was hardly a fool. There was no doubt in his mind that the person responsible was sitting right in front of him. Still, he played the game, offering whatever truths he could scrape to satisfy the conversation. “I do hope your mother is doing alright. After centuries by Beron’s side, it must be a painful loss.”

“We were all quite shaken,” Eris agreed, though not a shred of sorrow lingered in his gaze. Nor did remorse, for that matter.

Tarquin tensed, drawing his focus aways from the eyes that clearly offered nothing but lies and fake pleasantries. Eris may not have been High Lord for a long time, but growing up and serving under Beron had seemed to have done its job. He hated this part, Tarquin thought. The scheming and pretending. The way it had become such an integral part to politics. No world of peace could be built on the foundation of lies. They were too weak, too loosely woven to offer any stability. Any truth in happiness.

Instead, Tarquin turned his attention to the sea breeze beyond the walls that had now seemed too tight, sheltering the room from the world beyond them. Beneath invisible hands of his magic, the windows opened, letting the salty scent infuse the air, a flicker of comfort under the stiff atmosphere that had managed to fill the room.

He let his eyes shift back toward Eris. “Still, I feel compelled to offer my congratulations. You’ve been Second to your father long enough. I am sure you’re looking forward to your certainly lengthy rule.”

Amber eyes gleamed with challenge. “It is a responsibility I do not take lightly, High Lord,” Eris warned before adding, “I do hope both of our rules are as lengthy as they are fruitful. I would hate to see them ended as abruptly as my dear father’s had been.”

Tarquin’s jaw tightened. “Is that a threat, Vanserra?”

Finally, that mocking smile he’d been waiting for, the sight enough for Tarquin to grit his teeth. “On the contrary. It is merely an extension of my best wishes.”

“Is that what you’ve come here for, then? To offer your best wishes?”

Eris leaned forward in his seat. Pleasantries were over, it seemed, as even the seagulls behind the closed terrace doors had gone quiet. His gaze fixed on him, gleaming like a sizzling flame, and Tarquin was suddenly reminded that with his new role, Eris acquired more than merely a title. Fire, the thought burned inside his mind. He commanded the element, almost as cruel and unpredictable as his kind was known to be. As if in answer, Tarquin’s power rushed through his body with the force of waves rising from an ocean, ready to put out any fire that threatened burn his Court to the ground.

Red eyebrows jolted in surprise, and for a second, Tarquin wondered if Eris could hear the magic that screamed to flood the room around them—an ability that should not have been possible, and yet…

The fire died out, and Eris merely propped himself up on the soft arms of the chair. “Times are different now,” he said, fingers caressing the purple velvet. “As you said, this is an era of peace. I only wish to return the Autumn Court to what it once had been.”

Feeling his power settle back to a steady course, Tarquin asked carefully, “Which is what, exactly?”

“Let’s not pretend my father’s best interest laid in the well-being of his Court,” Eris drawled. “Autumn deserves a ruler that looks after his people, not himself.”

Tarquin said very quietly, “And I suppose that ruler is you?”

Eris cocked his head, red hair glinting with unruffled grace. “I’m the only choice left, aren’t I?”

“I’m sure there are a lot more Vanserras out in this world, Eris.”

For the first time since he’d set foot in Adriata, Eris smiled, amber eyes shining with unfeigned amusement. “You are not what I expected, High Lord of Summer.”

He didn’t know why, but he corrected, “Tarquin.”

Eris hummed, as if weighing the word on his tongue. “Tarquin.”

He leaned back in his seat, a new sensation tingling in his chest, much like the sand that had caressed his feet earlier. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s say you are what your Court needs—”

“That is not something for you to question,” Eris interrupted.

His mouth twisted to the side. “You have come to my Court for a reason, High Lord,” Tarquin said. “Clearly, you want something from me. I will question whatever I please to decide if you’re worth my help.”

Eris’s smile sharpened. “I’ve got to say, this visit is far more enjoyable than I anticipated.”

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment,” Tarquin only said.

Amber eyes studied him for a moment. “I haven’t decided yet.”

A fresh wave of salty air whooshed into the office, clearing his mind and grounding him in his seat. “What do you want from me, Eris?”

Eris leaned back. “I told you. I’d like to ask your help in rebuilding my Court.”

Tarquin suppressed a huff. “How do you plan on doing that? You and I both know your father had not left much to rebuild. Beron was blinded by power and poorly chosen alliances. His mistakes left your citizens in search for a new home, well away from Autumn’s borders. Many of them found it in my own. I cannot blame them. Your Court is known for cruelty like no other.”

He watched as Eris’s smile faded. “Autumn and Summer are neighbours. With your pacifist ways, I thought you’d be the first to wish to strengthen the relationship between our Courts.”

Tarquin clenched his jaw. “There is no relationship to strengthen. Your father made sure of that.”

Eris’s face tightened. “I am not my father.”

“I’m not sure your people would agree. There is a reason they had chosen to stay in the safety of my borders rather than returning to their home.”

Utter silence filled the room as the ever-present fire died out from Eris’s amber eyes. For a moment, Tarquin wondered if he had gone too far.

“Eris—”

“Don’t,” he only said, rising from his seat. “Your lack of trust is misplaced, but understandable. With time, you might see a worthy ally in me and my Court, rather than a reflection of Beron and his pitiful choices. I only ask that that you hear me out. You don’t need to give me a chance, but perhaps you may extend that courtesy to the Autumn Fae you’re so graciously harbouring within your borders.” Tearing his gaze away from Tarquin, Eris turned to the door before adding, “I’ll take my leave tomorrow. If you change your mind before then, you know where to find me.”

And with that, Eris left.

He cursed himself for it, but Tarquin wished he’d stay.

***

The Princess of Adriata found him lingering in her office minutes after the sun had set under the horizon.

“You’re still here?” Cresseida asked in her usual manner of greeting.

Tarquin sighed, turning away from the balcony to face her. “I needed to think.”

A shadow played on the corners of her lips, teasing to curve them up in a smile. “Vanserra give you a hard time?” she mocked.

He grimaced. “Something like that.”

“Oh?” Cresseida mused, plopping down on the purple chair. Tarquin’s eyes followed, as if they could still see the way Eris’s form stilled in the velvety seat, his eyes dimming upon hearing the harsh words leave Tarquin’s Cauldron-damned mouth. He blinked the image away, returning his focus to the female before him.

“He wants us to ally with his Court. Offer our help in rebuilding it.”

Cresseida’s white brows furrowed. “By doing what, exactly?”

Shame washed over him as he admitted, “I don’t know. I didn’t give him a chance to explain.”

Blue eyes widened in shock. “What?”

“Look, I—” Tarquin sighed. “I don’t like this situation. Beron was known for his scheming, and Eris is no better. You should see the way he talks, Cresseida. He’s too calculating, too secretive. Plus, I’m pretty sure he killed his father.”

His cousin rolled her eyes. “So? Someone had to do it eventually. Kudos to him for having the guts.”

“Cresseida—”

“No, Tarquin,” she pressed. “You keep talking about your equality, your peace. It’s a noble sentiment, but open your eyes. This is no peace. Adriata was destroyed twice in less than a century. If—when—another war comes, we will not be ready to protect this Court again. We could use an ally.”

“There are other Courts to ally with,” Tarquin countered.

“Oh, please,” the Princess scoffed. “No matter what undying promises of allegiance they lay at our feet, the Solar Courts will fight for each other before they bother to look past their mountains. Winter is still in ruin after Under the Mountain. Spring has already fallen, Tamlin alive or not. Most of the Court lives in Summer now. Autumn is our neighbour. They could be useful.”

Tarquin’s lips pressed together in a tight line. “Forming an official alliance with another Court could send the wrong message,” he argued.

“So don’t make it official,” Cresseida offered. “Help him rebuild his Court or whatever it is that Eris Vanserra wants these days. A favour for a favour. I do not care if you don’t trust him, Tarquin. You’ve been High Lord long enough to understand that peace is temporary, and that in times like this, your duty is to your people first.”

He considered for a moment before he said, “I still don’t know what favour it is he wants from me. Rebuilding his Court could mean anything. Sending resources, establishing trade routes…”

“So find out,” Cresseida demanded. “And don’t let those pretty eyes distract you this time.”

Tarquin’s brows rose. “Pretty eyes?”

“What?” she protested, a faint blush now staining her cheeks. “Eris might be a Vanserra, but he’s as attractive as he is cruel.”

“Cauldron, Cresseida,” Tarquin sighed. “Please don’t tell me you did not just make this whole speech because you want Eris to visit Adriata more often.”

She huffed. “I didn’t. I actually care about the future of this Court, you asshole.”

“Careful, cousin,” Tarquin warned, though a smile began forming on his lips. “I still am your High Lord, you know.”

She rolled her eyes at him once more. “Then be a High Lord and find out what it is exactly that Eris Vanserra wants from you. Or, more importantly, what it is you want from him.”

The image of those amber eyes sparkled in his mind again.

Mother spare him.

***

For a city of the shining sun, golden beaches and shimmering seas, Adriata was nothing less than exquisite as it basked in soft, pale moonlight.

The view from Tarquin’s bedroom offered the most spectacular views of it all, yet he found that not even the gentle caress of silvery light over the sleeping sea could calm his raging mind.

I am not my father, Eris’s words hummed in his head with every loud thud of his heart.

I only ask that that you hear me out.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

You don’t need to give me a chance.

Oh, but he wanted to.

You know where to find me.

“My lord?” a voice sounded behind him.

Taquin whipped back, torn from the honeyed voice that seemed to stick to his lungs, blocking the air out until he could hear it again.

“Ilios,” he sighed in relief. “What are you doing here at this time?”

“My apologies, High Lord,” the male bowed. “It appears you have a visitor.”

Tarquin’s brows furrowed; it was nearing midnight. “Who is it?”

Ilios’s brown eyes seemed to avert his blue ones. “It’s Eris Vanserra, my lord.”

His stomach clenched.

You know where to find me.

It seemed that Eris had found him first.

“Send him in.”

Stepping out of the small balcony of his bedroom, Tarquin couldn’t shake the feeling that some cruel fate was echoing their meeting from hours ago—only this time, it would take place in a room veiled in darkness, with the moon’s pale light peering weakly through the shadows. Suddenly, he became very aware of every limb of his body, his hand hanging awkwardly at his sides. Was he supposed to cross his arms? Tie them behind his back? Prop them on his hips? No, that would have been ridiculous.

The choice seemed to be rendered meaningless as Eris entered the room, stopping only under a soft ray of moonlight that shone upon the cool stone. Gone were the immaculate clothes he’d worn earlier this afternoon, his carefully combed hair now disheveled as it hung loosely over his face in soft waves. Tarquin decided he liked the way the red looked under the silvery light of the moon—a deep, wine-like shade unlike its usual crimson.

He swallowed hard, suddenly very aware they were now in his bedroom. “What are you doing here, Eris?”

Amber gaze, darker somehow in the night, fixed on him, unwavering. “I know what you are afraid of, Tarquin,” Eris said.

He ignored the shiver that rippled through him at the sound of his name on Eris’s tongue.

“You have every right not to trust me,” he continued. “But I need you to know that I would never hurt your Court. That I would never hurt you.”

Stunned, Tarquin stumbled back a step. “Eris—”

He didn’t get a chance to finish. In two, quick strides, Eris closed the distance between them, his mouth crashing against his, stronger than the waves of a raging sea.

His tongue was like hot fire dancing in his mouth, all-consuming and unafraid to dive deep past the shore. Strong fingers tangled into his white hair, and Tarquin found himself mimicking the movement, dying to feel its softness against his skin. Flames licked at his body hungrily, begging to devour him whole as Eris’s hands came up to frame his hips, guiding him back step by step until Tarquin felt his calves hit the soft mattress of his bed.

His veins pulsed with a mix of shock and lust as Eris broke free from his mouth, from a kiss hotter than a summer’s day. Any sound of protest died on Tarquin’s tongue as Eris ripped the shirt of his body, revealing strong arms and a pale, defined chest.

Turquoise eyes went wide as Tarquin scanned the toned muscles that formed his stomach, the V that peered from beneath the soft linen of Eris’s pants. His hands were on him in an instant, pulling him down, pulling him closer until there was only a breath between them.

“Do you want this? Want me?” Eris asked.

“Yes,” Tarquin gasped. “Yes.”

Those red brows furrowed, and Eris pulled away an inch. “Tarquin.”

“Yes,” he repeated, fingers digging into his lover’s arms.

“Tarquin!”

Tarquin’s eyes shot open.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Cresseida shouted, hovering over his heaving body in exasperation.

The dream began fading away as reality sank in, as tangible as the waves of seawater that surrounded his bed.

Tarquin blinked. Waves—

“Shit,” he cursed, sending the water that flooded his room away to the balcony, his racing heart steadying as he heard it descend down the walls to hit the ground beneath.

“What is wrong with you?” Cresseida demanded. “You can’t just summon the sea while you’re sleeping! Unless you were planning to die and take this whole palace with you.”

A dream. It was only a dream.

By the Mother.

“Why are you in my room, Cresseida?”

She let out a heavy breath, stepping away from his bed at last. “Vanserra is leaving. If you still want to catch him, you better go now, High Lord.”

Shit indeed.

***

Entering the room, a small office on the ground floor of the palace, Tarquin ran his fingers through the knots in his hair, wondering if he looked as disheveled as Eris had in his dream.

Mercifully, Eris was there, standing by a small table of light wood. His hair was nowhere near a mess, combed as immaculately as he’d remembered it from the day before. A jacked of deep green rested on his shoulders, the golden threads woven through the fabric accentuating the knowing gleam of his amber eyes as they rested upon Tarquin’s form.

Feeling his cheeks begin to burn, Tarquin prayed to the Mother, Cauldron and any gods that would listen for his dream to fade away from his mind, for the image of Eris’s bare chest and burning eyes, darkened with desire—desire for him—to blur out from his memory forever. But watching his red hair glisten with the Summer sunshine, Tarquin realised he was in a shit deeper than the seas of Adriata.

Eris’s gaze dragged up his form, lighting a fire in every spot where those russet eyes lingered for longer than a second. His skin prickled, taking his mind back to the way broad hands traced every inch of his body, slender fingers digging into his muscles with every hot breath. Feeling the heat rise through him, Tarquin wondered if the High Lord of Autumn’s powers included igniting a hunger inside him, burning brighter than a living flame.

Shit, shit shit. He needed to get it together. Eris was here on Court business, and his dream was nothing but a trick played on him by his treacherous mind and a direct result of Cresseida’s teasing the day before. A figment of his imagination, roughed up after the long day he’d spent out in the scorching sun before his meeting with Eris. The sun—and nothing more—was the only reason why his body felt as though it was lit on fire.

He enjoyed it, though. More than he’d like to admit.

Mother spare him.

“Aren’t you going to sit?” Eris finally asked, his voice somehow deeper than Tarquin remembered.

Shit.

Feeling his composure hang by a thread, Tarquin asked, “You’re telling me to what do you in my own palace?”

Eris’s eyebrows rose. “Would you rather stand?”

He had no idea how, but he could swear a shadow of a smile curved up the corner of Eris’s lips. It made his body burn even hotter.

Anger, Tarquin told himself. It was anger that sent fire into his veins and made his blood boil. This male was aggravating. Nothing more.

Tarquin sat down, though.

“Let us begin,” he said, gesturing to the chair opposite his own—a rather pathetic attempt to regain control of this meeting.

Eris smirked openly now as he gracefully dropped onto his seat. “Right.”

Eris might be a Vanserra, but he’s as attractive as he is cruel, Cresseida’s voice sounded in his mind. But Tarquin was a High Lord. Attractive or not, he would not let Eris toy with him in his own Court.

After all, water would always put out fire, no matter how hot it burned.

“You said you need Summer’s help in rebuilding the Autumn Court,” Tarquin began. “But frankly, I don’t see how our aid could boost your internal strength. After all, the true strength of a Court lies within its people.”

“That’s exactly it,” Eris said, lacing his fingers atop the wooden surface. “But as you pointed out so perceptively yesterday, most of my people seem to have found a new home beyond my Courts borders. Most of them had left just before Beron returned from Under the Mountain. Others followed during the War.”

Understanding dawned on him like the rising sun. “You want me to send the Autumn Fae back to your Court? The same ones that found refuge within my borders, ones that offered safety when yours could not—” he accused, feeling anger stir deep inside him. Was that what Eris wanted? To reclaim Tarquin’s people after years of suffering they’d been forced to endure?

As if reading the thoughts off his face, Eris spoke calmly, “They are my people, Tarquin.”

Beneath the table, Tarquin gripped his chair tighter, ignoring the sound of his name fall from Eris’s lips.

“Like you said, the people are essential to the Court’s functioning. Look what happened to Spring. Its lands are deserted, with their High Lord the only beast left to roam around them. I do not want Autumn to share Spring’s fate.”

“I’m not going to exile my citizens and betray the trust they put in my Court,” Tarquin said, his tone unyielding.

Eris’s lips tightened. “I’m not asking you to exile anyone. I am asking you to encourage them to consider returning home.”

Paint a picture of a reformed Autumn, safe under new leadership. That’s what Eris truly wanted. But how was Tarquin to know that Autumn was truly safe? No matter what Eris had said, those Fae were still his people—whether they’d been born in Summer or not. He would protect them at all costs.

“What if they already found their home here?” he asked.

For a moment, there was only silence.

“Please, Tarquin.”

Eris Vanserra never pleaded. Perhaps that is why Tarquin now searched his face, and, for the first time today, truly allowed himself to take it in—take in the tiredness that perhaps carved deeper than he’d originally thought. A part of him, one that was not the High Lord of the Summer Court, wanted nothing more but the believe Eris had truly cared for those people—had truly wanted to create a home for them that his father had taken away.

Tarquin leaned back in his chair. “I will tell the Autumn Fae of your visit, and of my impression.”

Eris nodded, the barest of creases smoothed out from his forehead. “Thank you.”

“But I refuse to lie to my people when I have no certainty that the cruelty of the Autumn Court has been put to rest along with your father.”

Eris had gone quiet. Seconds had passed, each one longer than the other, and Tarquin found himself holding his breath.

“Then come with me,” Eris finally said.

This, Tarquin did not expect.

“What?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“Come with me. To the Autumn Court. Let me prove my Court is worth becoming a home to my—to our—people again.”

Water had the ability to put out any fire—he could end this there and then. But looking into Eris’s eyes, Tarquin decided he would let his fire burn for a little longer.

“Alright.”

#eris x tarquin #eris x tarquin fic #eris vanserra #tarquin #acotar #acotar fic #my writing #shadowban hides my tags so any reblogs are appreciated <3

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ladyelain · 2 years

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I’ve said this before but Elain, Tarquin and Gwyn would honestly be squad goals.

Prythian around them could collapse and they’d probably be eating strawberry tarts and watch Mamma Mia 2 someplace in Tarquin’s hood. 🏝

#unproblematic sweethearts #elain archeron #gwyneth berdara #tarquin #he needs to invite them all asap #eventhough half of the ic doesn’t rly deserve to set foot in summer tbh #feyre & cassian i’m looking at you #especially feyre #i mean the audacity #the betrayal #dude was this close 🤏 to falling for feyre #feyre dropping high lords left and right 👑#her and tarquin would have been something ngl #enough with the tags tho #pov you’re so invested in your stupid little tags the initial point of the post becomes irrelevant

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abraxos-and-ataraxia · 2 years

Note

Eris x Tarquin is up bestie 😏🔥

PSA: Eris and Tarquin are a criminally underappreciated ship and @velidewrites has blessed us all with a multi-chapter fic that I’m obsessed with

Go check out the fic ASAP because the vibes are impeccable

#eris vanserra #tarquin #eris x tarquin #bestie I gotchu covered on the tags #im sorry I didn’t see this apparently your asks only show on desktop *cries* I’ll be checking religiously #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #eris vanserra fic #tarquin fic

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writermuses · 1 year

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#tag dump post #ref: thea sofia teague #ref: thea starters #ref: thea resources #ref: thea musings #ref: thea wishlist #ref: thea canons #ref: thea closet #ref: winston watson family #fc: katie douglas #//this is a second gen muse #//mutuals only #//her father is my kingpin Tarquin 'Quin' Teague #//Teague's real surname was Watson

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pit-and-the-pen · 1 day

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The Art of Dancing in the Rain

Summary: Eris needs to unwind, reader has the best idea to do exactly that.

Eris x summer court reader fluff

WC:1.5k (short and sweet)

A/n: As a Florida girly, playing in summer rain is so nostalgic that I had to write about it. Also I live for soft sweet vanserra brothers.

Let me know if you want to be added to a tag list general or character specific

Eris was about ready to tear his hair out.. He wasn’t even supposed to be doing work but when Tarquin had handed him the stack of parchment, he couldn’t exactly say no. So that was how he ended up holed up in your childhood bedroom. Windows thrown open at the hopes of chasing in some semblance of a breeze. His skin felt sticky, unused to the summer heat.

Mind reeling with the half-assed documents in front of him. Trade agreements that had so many loopholes, it was a miracle the paper they were written on didn’t resemble swiss cheese.

The two of you were supposed to be visiting with your family. Which is where you were. Probably playing with your sister's new babe. The whole time during her pregnancy Eris would listen as you babbled excitedly about all the things you would do with the baby, hearts practically forming in your eyes. The moment she had gone into labor you had Eris winnow you both and the several bags of presents for the little tot. You had left to give the new family time to settle but you could only stay away for a few months, refusing to miss any major milestones for your precious niece.

You had been particularly excited to show off the little strawberry covered swimsuit you had found, ignoring Eris’ reminder it would probably be too big for the infant. And that the water would be far too cold to swim in at this point in the year.

So here Eris was cursing his dead father for the millionth time. This time for his utter lack of organization. For making him have to take time away from his excited mate and her family. He would love nothing more than to see you playing in the waves, splashing around with the small bundle in your arms.

A small knock on the door startled Eris from his musings. He jumped slightly before he recognized your signature knock. The only one he never had to answer to. Just like he expected, you slowly opened the door and searched the room for him. Your breathtaking smile was enough to make him put down his paperwork. Returning it wholeheartedly.

“Pumpkin, what are you doing here?” He asked, a smile not fading from his face. You crossed the room in a few steps, the light fabric of your dress catching on the wind that had not been flowing through the room a few moments ago.

“Do I need a reason to check on my favorite person?”

“I didn’t realize the babe was in here.” He made a show of looking around the room, like he might be able to find the small child

“Well the biggest babe is in front of me right now” He shot you a fake scolding look that made your head tip back in laughter. “I wanted to check on you, you said it wouldn’t take long and that was hours ago. I had to make sure you weren’t wasting away.” You closed the distance between you two and wrapped your arms around his waist. You head resting perfectly against his chest. His hands came up to rest on the small of your back and he placed a small kiss to the crown of your head.

“I should be done here soon, sweetheart. Go spend some time with your family.” He muttered but only squeezed you tighter. You looked past him, eyes glancing out the window before a breathtaking smile graced your face. You looked back to him and held up a tentative hand out to him.

“Do you trust me?” You asked simply. He didn’t hesitate.

“With my life.” He swore and you wrapped your hand around his and started pulling him out of the make-shift office through the giant sliding glass doors in the room. They opened right onto a small private beach and he tried not to grimace at the unfamiliar feeling of sand under his feet.

“Okay, now that you’ve got me here,” he wiggled his eyebrow at you, “what are you planning to do to me.” He was rewarded with another sweet giggle. When you stopped, you got silent. Waiting for something he realized. That familiar twinkle in your eye that told him you were scheming.

“Just stand here. Should be any second now.” And as if on cue a loud crack filled the sky and Eris vaguely felt something cold and wet drip down his scalp. Then another, and another until suddenly the sky opened up, the downpour of cool summer rain. You let out a sound of pure joy at the feeling of it against your skin. Your dress was already starting to cling to your skin and your hair was already starting to fall into your face.

“We should go inside my love.” Eris spoke up with a shake of his head, trying to free himself from the spell that you seemed to be casting on him.

“Dance with me?” You said a little too loudly, trying to be heard over the loud rain. He cocked his head slightly, swearing he must have heard you wrong. Huffing slightly, you grabbed his hand and gave his arm a tentative swing. Still not entirely getting the hint, you pulled him close to you and threw your arms around his neck. You started swaying slightly and Eris, with practiced hands, came to rest on your waist.

The two of you rocked back and forth, swaying to an invisible song until he leaned down close to your face. “If you want to dance, who am I to tell a beautiful female no?” You didn’t even have time to think of a response before he grabbed your hand and raised it over your head, swinging your body in a dramatic circle. He wanted to drown in the sound of your answering laugh. It warmed his body against the chill of the rain and he spun you once more just to hear that sweet sound again. He spun you around until you were dizzy and needed to lean against his chest for stability.

The small swaying motions quickly turned into a broken waltz. Nothing court worthy as the wet sand made it hard to find your footing but he got to hold you close so he wasn’t going to complain.

As the rain continued to pick up, you started to hum the melody of your favorite song to dance to. He couldn’t help his own laugh that flowed out of his mouth, your joy too infectious for him to feel silly about his current actions. He loved his hands to your waist and lifted you off your feet and into the air in a graceful arc.

When he placed you back on your feet, you wrapped your arms around his neck again and pulled his lips down to meet yours. You tasted like you mixed with the taste of the fresh raindrops that freckled your face and lips. He instantly felt drunk off the taste and pulled you closer against him, tipping your head back slightly to deepen the kiss.

The two of you stayed out for well over an hour. Spinning and laughing and kissing. Until the sky started to lighten and the downpour slowed down to a trickle. You were panting slightly, worn out between the heavy giggling and movement of your dancing.

You pulled his forehead down to rest against his. “I love you, Eris” and the reverence those four words heod as they flowed off your tongue was enough to make his knees weak.

“And I love you sweetheart.” He continued to sway the two of you back and forth until the rain had completely ceased before dipping you low enough for the tips of your hair to dip against the damp sand. He pulled you back up to him, your chest bumping against his and he put a single finger under your chin and placed a sweet kiss onto your lips. Pouring all his love into that point of connection. When he pulled away he couldn’t look away from your eyes. Bright and so full of energy that he truly couldn’t believe you were his.

He was still in awe every day of your beauty and the unabashed way you felt your emotions. Today it was joy and he felt that same feeling mirrored in his own face as he pulled your head against his chest, more so embracing now than dancing and whispered a quiet, “thank you” into the crown of your head. He couldn’t say all the words he wanted to but he hoped you could hear the meaning behind those two. Thank you for loving me, thank you for showing me that goodness still exists in this world , thank you for being with me when I was in a bad mood, and thank you for reminding me how it is important to enjoy the little things like dancing in the rain.

“No, Thank you” Thank you for letting me love you, thank you for loving me back, thank you for still believing in that good and working so hard to make sure it’s still there, thank you for coming out with me and sharing this moment with me. Those words held so much more meaning than either of you could either find the words for but the two of you felt them all the same. As the two of you swayed until the sun started to set along the sea, Eris wished he could bottle this moment and carry it around with him for the rest of his life.

Tagging the Eris fans now that it’s not 1 in the morning (hopefully) @daycourtofficial @secret-third-thing

#no stop I love him #🥺#acomaf #acosf #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acowar #eris acosf #eris fluff #high lord eris #eris x you #eris vanserra #eris x reader #a court of thorns and roses #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight

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thetwistedbeauty · 8 months

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It irks me when people can’t tell that the IC was isolating Nesta. How many friends does Nesta have? TWO and why? Because she was only allowed to go to two places where she WORKED and TRAINED. It also irks me when people say that she wasn’t locked up because they obviously can walk down 10,000 steps or can grow wings and fly out or MAYBE they can winnow so she could have gotten out despite the fact that she didn’t know how to winnow, she can’t walk down 10,000 flights of stairs lest she be laughed at again, and she can’t ask for help because if they don’t like where she’s going then they can just choose not to take her. I love Gwyn and Emerie, I also hope that Sarah doesn’t brainwash them but I also wish that Nesta didn’t meet them at the two places she was required to go but I do understand the importance of their roles and I love the trio (please Sarah don’t ruin them). But Nesta literally depends on the IC … not to mention they’re holding Elaine hostage to control Nesta basically or are we gonna forget when Rhysand said that he would make Elaine scry if Nesta didn’t do it for them … like guys c’mon??? And now I know that Nesta is gonna be forced into having children with Cassian? The guy who physically, mentally, and emotionally manipulated and gaslights her. She literally changed her autonomy and it’s Sarah we’re talking about so be real that it’s probably gonna happen. I wanna scream right now because I wanted so much more for Nesta’s healing and I think it would have been so great if it focused on the Valkyrie’s and not Nesta molding herself into Feyre number two so Cassian can have Feyre. Also why did Nesta have to train? Like I know to be a badass female in Sarah’s books you have to know how to fight but that NEVER made sense for Nesta who always fought with words. This is more like a rant then anything because Sarah threw away Nesta’s character that we had gotten to see and instead gave us a ‘she’s a bitch and has an attitude so boooo’ when has being a bitch ever been a bad thing like even before Silver Flame all of her Anti’s called her a bitch but why is that a bad thing? It’s constantly used as an insult, she said some shitty things, did some shitty things too but so did every other acotar character in the IC. They slaughtered a LOT of people and it’s literally canon but Nesta is obviously worse.

#anti feysand #anti inner circle #anti sjm #sjm critical #anti rhysand #pro nesta #pro tamlin #pro tarquin #I don’t wanna hear anything from ic fans cause I’m using the correct tags so gtfo

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achaotichuman · 2 months

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Hello!!! I was wondering if you have recs for pro-Tamlin fics, fics where he gets a happy ending in general? Or where the Night Court get called out on their bullshit with a side of pro Tamlin bc I’d devour them but have a hard time finding them (I love your fics btw)

Sure do!

Pro Tam fics can be difficult to find. I found all of these scrolling through either the Tamlin redemption tag, or the different relationship tags on AO3.

I'll link all the fics here. I'll put all the summaries and the relationship that goes with them, if there is a relationship. This is a list of all my personal favorite Tamlin fics, but these creators make other amazing Tamlin fics, and scrolling the pro Tamlin tag can take you to some really cool fanfiction.

A Court of Threads and Daises by @shi-daisy. Tamlin/Lucien.

Tragedy almost struck the Spring Court when Tamlin Evergreen tried to take his own life. Lucien Vanserra manages to save his former Lord, but not his power.

Now that the Spring Court has a new High Lord and the horrors of war are behind them, both Tamlin and Lucien agree to help the new heir navigate court life and attempt to rebuild the broken Spring Court, along with healing themselves.

They weren't expecting to fall back in love in the process.

A Second Chance by @goforth-ladymidnight. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra. Modern ACOTAR AU – There is a reason that Tamlin disappeared from Lucien's life seven years ago. Lucien just doesn't know what it is. They were more than college roommates; they were best friends. Now, a chance encounter in a bookstore leaves both of them wondering if they can pick up where they left off. A new year is right around the corner, but there is no wiping Tamlin's slate clean. Featuring Jurian and Vassa in supporting roles, this is not a story of redemption, but of finding love—and forgiveness—in the most unlikely of places.

Lovely and Lonely by @praetorqueenreyna. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

"In hindsight, Lucien thinks he fell in love with Tamlin the moment he first laid eyes on him."

**************************

Lucien Vanserra must come to terms with his sexuality, and his complicated feelings for High Lord Tamlin.

Wildflower by @mathiwrites. Tamlin/Rhysand.

Five hundred years before Feyre’s arrival in Prythian, the humans fought against Faeries, led by the King of Hybern, for their Freedom. Tamlin is only seven years old when the war begins, but his family’s involvement and a fated friendship with a handsome young Lord from the Night Court will change his life forever. This is the story of how he becomes the High Lord you know and love, and the redemption story nobody asked for.

TL;DR - before they were enemies, they touched butts.

Make The Switch by @lorcanisdabest. Tamlin/Rhysand.

Tamlin is desperate to save Feyre from the Night Court so he decides to put his shape-shifting abilities to good use.

Note: this leans heavily on BOOK 1 Tamlin and BOOK 1 Rhysand.

A Court of Beasts and Chances by M4r0u_Mar. Tamlin/Tarquin.

About a Beast who must be prince and a Prince who wants to be beast. About a Prince who learns of second chances and a Beast who learns of redemption. About looking for love and finding it in the journey rather than the destination.

Or the one where I rewrite ACOTAR to make Tamlin and Tarquin mates.

A Court of Choices Made by Anonymous. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra. Lucien decides to go after Tamlin to pick a fight after his first Winter Solstice with the Night Court.

Tamlin Decides Feyre Is Not Worth The Trouble by @lorcanisdabest. Tamlin/Tarquin. You remember that glorious moment where Rhysand was dead? Let's extend that.

I see red, I see nothing by AngryRamen. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra. Lucien travels to Amarantha’s domain to try and bid for peace between her and the courts of Prythian. It doesn’t go well.

Still Beautiful, Still Mine by @goforth-ladymidnight. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra. ACOTAR AU - In the weeks following his visit to Amarantha’s Court Under the Mountain, Lucien is still recovering from the loss of his eye. Nuan has made him a replacement out of gold, but the scars on his face are there to stay. When Tamlin comes to see him, Lucien cannot help but relive the events that brought them to this point, if only he could focus on what's standing right in front of him...

A Sunbeam Shining Bright Into the Night by @nocasdatsgay. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

After the Great Rite ritual is completed, Tamlin always goes back to the Manor to see if Lucien is waiting for him. This year he is.

Forbidden by @nocasdatsgay. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra. Calanmai has come once again, but Tamlin isn’t focused on the females waiting for him.

Breezing on by Sprighnt (SliPuP_Slit). Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

His focus was shattered when Feyre dropped onto the bench next to him with a dramatic sigh, “You won’t even say hi after you ditched us last week?”

Lucien rolled his eyes at her antics, “I didn’t ditch you, I was studying for math. The exam of a subject that I need days to prepare for, remember? I didn’t think you’d even notice me gone, what with all the ogling that takes up your time in our practices.”

“Shut up!” She shushed him, glancing around wildly for any eavesdroppers, “what if he heard you?”

——— Lucien has settled into a routine now. He’s finally able to go back to competing after an accident that had him wondering if he’d ever be able to skate competitively again, he’s out of his hellish childhood home, and has friends that make him happy.

By the Fountain by Sprighnt_(SliPuP_Slit). Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

Tamlin is tired of stuffy dinner parties, luckily, he has his best friend, Lucien, to make things more interesting.

———

Tamlin took the time to look at Lucien, who was staring at an elegant fountain nearby. He examined the dip of his nose, the scrunch of his brows, the slight part of his lips that indicated he was contemplating something. Then Lucien’s mouth set in a firm line, meaning he’d made up his mind on whatever the issue was.

Lucien glanced back at him and Tamlin startled at being caught watching. He placed his hand gently on Tamlin’s arm, “I don’t think my father will plan one for me either.”

New Springs by Sprighnt_(SliPuP_Slit). Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

“I can’t be here for as long as you,” she clarifies, gesturing to the forest around them.

“You’re leaving?”

She shrugs, “It’s nice here, but my sisters, my father, they’re my only family. Even if they’re, a little difficult at times, and I don’t want to hurt Tam. I was really in love with him, but, to put it plainly, I’m not like you.”

“Like me,” Lucien repeats, confused, “what do you mean?”

———

In another universe, an alternate timeline, Feyre says “I love you”, before she’s sent off and therefore breaks the curse the way it was supposed to be broken. Things are different.

absolution by @praetorqueenreyna. Feyre/Mercenary Lady, Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

Things didn't work out between Feyre and Tamlin. Years later, they both find love in unexpected places

Beauteous Evening, Calm and Free by franklinarchive. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

Tamlin heals and then he moves on.

Or, what if Sarah J. Maas hadn’t committed ‘character assassination’ against Tamlin?

When The Sun Came Up (I Was Looking At You) by pansexual_intellectual . Jesminda/Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

There was a slight choking sound from the Night Court side of the room, but when you looked, Lucien was expressionless, adjusting his doublet.

It was the worst idea you had ever had. In the shreds of your manor you dropped to your knees. He was gone in the morning, as you knew he would be.

Burning Batter by Sprighnt_(SliPuP_Slit). Tamlin/Rhysand. Rhysand comes over to make cupcakes with Tamlin for Feyre’s upcoming New Year’s party.

A strange thing happened the night of the High Lord meeting by @umthisistheonlyusernamenottaken. Tamlin/Rhysand.

Tamlin shook his head, a small smile on his full lips. “You forget that we were closer than friends once. I know your face. Even when you think you’re being so clever, hiding behind that mask of impassivity, I see you.”

He snarled, even as his heart began to beat faster as the other male approached him.

“You think I didn’t see you? You couldn’t stop looking at me during that meeting.” He took another step closer, and his next words were tinged with playfulness, a hint of the Tamlin he’d used to know.

“Were you thinking of that night too?”

He froze. “What?”

In the Eyes of My Beloved by Alynaw66. Tamlin/Rhysand.

I promise, Rhysand sighs into his mouth; Then down onto the slight curve between his neck and shoulder. Tamlin shivers, feeling dazed. Overwhelmed.

“Another offer,” he begins, one hand sliding down to grip Tamlin’s narrow waist.

(Also fun fact about this fic, I was brought to Tumblr because of a link in the notes, so without this fiction I wouldn't be here)

Stay or Go? by SoulOfStars. Tamlin/Rhysand. Both of their families are dead. Rhysand decides to stay. They fuck in the second chapter.

heaven sent a hurricane by @praetorqueenreyna. Tamlin/Eris Vanserra. After his family is killed and he is crowned High Lord, Tamlin struggles to keep his Court under his control. (Un)Luckily for him, Eris Vanserra steps in to help.

A House of Flame and Flower by Mellowenglishgal. Nesta Archeron/Tamlin, Nesta Archeron/Azriel.

“Spare me the self-righteous lecturing, Feyre. You and your new family believe yourselves superior: that anyone who is not deemed worthy by you must bow or be eliminated. I refuse to bow to those I do not respect: and I owe none of you any such obligation. Nor am I obligated to remain where my autonomy is threatened,” Nesta sighed, gentle yet commanding, her voice low and steady and unyielding. “I renounce all ties to the Night Court. From now on, you are no longer my sister.”

“Where will you go?” Feyre snapped, but Nesta saw it: the sudden realisation that Nesta meant every word.

“That is no longer your business. Goodbye, Feyre,” Nesta said softly. She rose to her feet, elegant as an empress despite her unkempt clothing. As she stared down her youngest sister, Nesta caressed the delicious power shimmering like slumbering embers deep in her heart, until her veins sang with silver fire, pure light, blistering heat, deadly yet silent.

Flame was silent: everything it met shattered and snapped, disintegrating, unable to withstand it.

She was flame. She was undiluted, unrefined, unapologetic power.

She told Feyre, “You will not hear from me again.”

(Side note, I just started reading this fic and it looks FREAKIN amazing) Edit- Anyone who saw that I changed the name of the author to a tag, ignore it, I was wrong.

A Court of Lies and Resurrection by @ashintheairlikesnow. Tamlin/Rhysand. AU: Feyre is dead, torn apart by Amarantha when Tamlin did not send her away in time. Tamlin, forced to submit to Amarantha's terms, finds himself looking for help (and finding affection) in places he never expected, while Lucien allies with an ancient enemy (and one of Rhys's closest friends) to save him. WARNING Extensive explicit adult content, sexual situations, violence, MA

In This Peace Series by @trshtffc, the first fiction in the series is completed The Sorceress . Tamlin/Original Female Character.

Seven years after ACOWAR, Spring Court is struggling to keep from falling apart completely. A mother tries to move on and keep her daughter safe in this chaotic world, but when the young female most needs a friend, she'll give the disgraced High Lord a chance to attone for the pain he has caused, and, perhaps, to finally heal.

TW for - mentions of suicidal thoughts - mentions of loss of a pregnancy - mentions of sexual abuse - mentions of emotional abuse (toxic relationships and toxic family dinamics) - colourism - LGBT+phobia

(This one was recommended to me in the replies of this post, and it looks so good)

And finally, (shameless self-ad) A Court of Song and Desolation by me. Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra.

She had eyes like starlight and a grin that could outshine the moon, "We'll rule the world."

"What if we fail?"

"Then we'll burn it all down."

In hindsight maybe it could only have ever ended like this. Making a man who was never made to rule, High lord. This was all inevitable.

With his Court in ruins and everyone gone, Tamlin lives amongst the broken pieces of his Court and has no intentions of changing that. Lucien, however, will not stand to leave his oldest friend alone.

When Lucien takes Tamlin back to the human lands, they discover a darkness coming for Prythian. If something does not stop it, it will completely rewrite the way Faeries and humans alike live as they know it

I hope you like these amazing fics as much as I do, anon!

Edit- If anyone has any recommendations for pro Tamlin fics, or anti IC fics, please let me know and I will add them to the list!

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