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velarisnightsky444 · 7 months

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Scorched Shadows: Part 3

Eris x Azriel'sSister!Reader

Summary: Y/N is the younger sister of Azriel. She has shadows just like him, and is also a spymaster for Rhys. When she meets Eris, she initially hates him, but after a bargain is made between them, things begin heating up. This takes place before Under the Mountain.

Warnings: overbearing brothers

Series Masterlist

Part 2 || Part 4

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Year 3

Morrigan had never been overprotective of you like your brothers were.

You'd been six when you and Azriel were released from that cell and taken to Windhaven. You were the youngest, and everyone treated you as such.

But never Morrigan.

The day you turned 16, Morrigan had dragged you to a bar to get wasted with her. Rhys’s mother had sent you both to the cabin for a week after that.

But with Morrigan, you could speak freely. You didn’t have to worry about scandalizing her like you did with your brothers. You could barely say a bad word around them without them acting like you'd killed somebody. To them, you were still the scared little girl who didn’t speak until she was 11.

“Mor, you’re still hungover, we’re not going out again tonight,” you scolded the female. She pouted.

“Getting drunk is exactly what I need to get rid of this hangover,” she insisted. You giggled as your shadows swirled around her.

Rhys’s talons gently caressed your mind, and you let them in.

Come to my office, now.

You tried to keep from being anxious at the tone. You got to your feet, explaining to Mor that you’d be back.

Your shadows were giving you no intel as you made your way to his office, and his talons never left your mind.

You recalled when you were first brought to Windhaven, how terrified you’d been. You didn’t speak back then, and they were all concerned about you.

The first time you’d had to leave Azriel’s side in your entire life was his first day of training. You had been so upset with no way to express it.

Rhys had caressed your mind, thinking it would help. But it had terrified you, and you'd thrown a screaming fit that only his mother had been able to calm.

For years, you would cry anytime he tried to enter your mind. But centuries later, you had become used to it.

“What’s going on?” you asked as you finally entered the office.

All three of your brothers were there, and none of them looked happy.

They’re upset, a shadow whispered.

No shit, you replied. You winced as it tugged a strand of your hair in response.

“We’ve received a letter from Eris Vanserra,” Rhys announced, holding it up.

You chewed on your bottom lip, anxiety eating at your gut.

“He invites you to a ball being thrown in his honor,” Rhys explained. “According to him, you owe him a favor.”

“Shit,” you grumbled, earning a raised brow from Cassian.

“Why don’t you tell us exactly why you owe him a favor, dear sister?” Rhys asked you, setting the letter down.

“A few weeks ago, when I went to meet with Graham, Eris found me waiting,” you admitted. “He told me Graham had been beheaded.”

“And you didn’t tell us?”

“I did tell you!” you objected.

“No, you told us your shadows informed you of Graham’s death,” Azriel corrected. “And you certainly didn’t mention Eris Vanserra.”

“I knew it’d just upset you all,” you explained.

“Damn right,” Cassian agreed, narrowing his eyes.

“Why do you owe him a favor, Y/N?” Rhys demanded, impatience wearing his voice thin.

“I said if he didn’t turn me into his father, I’d owe him a favor,” you explained, sighing.

“Well, you’re not going to this ball,” Azriel decided. You glared at him.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” you snapped.

»»————-　♔　————-««

You liked to talk to the portrait of Rhys's mother nearly every Sunday. It was stupid, but you enjoyed catching her up on your week. Even the mundane details.

Rhys's mother, Selene, had been everything to you. She was never a replacement for your own mother, but you still loved her like one. And she loved you like a daughter. She had rescued you from your father's keep after Azriel had been sent to Windhaven, you left behind to rot in that cell, only six years old and all alone.

“I just hate how overbearing they are,” you were telling her. “I didn’t even want to go to this ball, but now that they’re forbidding it, I have half a mind to go.”

Her beautiful, violet eyes stared back at you. Even if it was just a painting, it was comforting.

“I hate Eris, but I hate being told what to do more,” you went on. “You know that better than anyone. The only thing holding me back is it might hurt Morrigan if I go.”

Every interaction you had with him, you thought of your cousin. Your best friend. Guilt would eat at you with every word you said to him.

“But she might understand,” you debated. “I’m just doing it to spite my brothers. She does things to spite her family all the time.”

It may not have been a fair comparison, but it was true.

“You would never have forbade me from a ball,” you mumbled. “I miss you.”

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Scorched Shadows Taglist: @the-sweet-psycho @hnyclover @lilyevansstudygroup @esposadomd

Eris Taglist:

Comment to be added to the Scorched Shadows or Eris taglists!

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littlest-w01f · 28 days

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How Villains Are Made

Rhysand

For @officialrhysandweek

Rhysand week 2024 Masterlist

Music fic Masterlist

Day 6: Worlds Axis

Summary: Rhysand's reduced, repeating world Under the Mountain

Cw: UtM Rhysand, Rhysand's trauma, blood, gore, torture.

Two armies are coming at me

Their flags and weapons look the same

There was nothing before, there was nothing now, Rhysand didn't feel a single thing, he couldn't, because if he allowed himself to feel, he would feel Amatantha's touch on his body.

Disgust was the only thing he ever felt for that female, from when she had held him at a camp decades ago to torture him during the War, it seemed the female had found a new way to hurt him. It was all for what his father did, murdering her friend.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles turning white under the strain. The bitter taste of anger filled his mouth, making him want to spit out words of hatred but instead, he swallowed them down, refusing to give her the satisfaction.

The High Lord of the Night Court forced himself to focus on something else – anything else – to distract himself from the overwhelming emotions threatening to consume him.

One tells the truth, the other's lying

And they're both calling my name

As he walked down the diaz, hands in his pocket, a look of indifference on his face, he couldn't help but here the people hiss at him, Amarantha's whore, they called him, the Attor and creatures like him were holding two young fae males of Dawn Court, both scared. Scared of him. They looked so innocent, so vulnerable, caught up in a war not of their making. It twisted his heart in ways he thought he'd forgotten how to feel, or at least, show on his face.

They were Peregryn, large beautiful wings with pure white feathers sprouting from their backs, he titled his head, not showing a single emotion as one of them reached for his feet, begging for his mercy. He didn't see the males, but he saw Cassian and Azriel in their places, the thought of his friends being the ones to lose their wings made his stomach turn. He knelt in front of them, he said nothing, watching them cry, he could feel the gaze of the High Lord of Dawn bore into his back, his son, Thesan, watching hiding a little behind his father.

Scream. He simply said in the minds of the two Peregryns, holding their minds in his hand, he couldn't feel anything. He made sure they wouldn't be able to either as the creatures behind them gripped onto their wings, coarse hands plucking at their feathers.

The agonized screams pierced the air, echoing off the stone walls of the cavernous room. Tears streamed down the faces of the Peregryns as more and more feathers were brutally ripped from their wings, they couldn't struggle, couldn't feel pain, but their acting was good enough to convince people they were hurting, still not as good as his.

This is how villains are made

The sounds of cries, the feeling of their anguish, it all washed over him like a tidal wave, leaving him cold and empty inside. He could convince himself he wasn't Amarantha's whore, but he had become Amrantha's monster, nothing could change that.

With a bull whip in hand, he landed strikes on the dark flawless back of the High Lord of Summer, the male had been caught sneaking around by one of Amrantha's centries, and she made Rhysand deliver the punishment as she made the Lady Summer watch. His magic didn't work here, none of theirs did in that sector of the duenguns. The High Lord of Summer felt every strike, Amarantha was sitting beside the scene, a squeal of delight with every time the High Lord cried out.

Rhysand wanted to stop, for a moment he considered turning on his heel and striking at her, but he couldn't, he was mortal in this cell, weak compared to her, it would do none of them any good, Amrantha cleared her throat, that made him realise that he had stopped the punishment, with the way she looked at him, she knew he would be next, she said she did that to properly show how to deliver punishments, and he hated every second of it.

He spared the Lady Summer a single glance, both of them knew that she and her High Lord were about to die, with tears streaking down her cheeks, she spat at him. He wiped away at his clothes, he really had forgotten how to feel.

Rhysand met her gaze, those turquiose eyes glaring at him with pure unadulterated hate, he wanted to tell her that she didn't know him, that he wasn't this person, that he didn't want to do this, but he couldn't find the words. He looked at the bloddied whip in his hands, but he was a monster, because he had done it. He deserved her haterate, their haterate, worse even.

He dropped the whip and turned to walk away, ignoring the sobbing of the High Lord and his mate. Another scar burned into his soul, another piece of himself lost forever. He had become exactly what he hated most, a cruel and vicious monster, just like Amarantha. And yet he kept going.

No one ever starts that way

But this is how villains are made

He wasn't always like that, in times like these he tried to remind himself about how things were before everything, before the War, before when everything was a little more normal.

He reminded himself of the moments with his lovely mother, his fierce little sister and the warmth of his childhood home in Velaris, the laughter, the love, the sense of belonging, with his mother, sister, and chosen brothers.

He remembered the smell of freshly baked bread wafting through the kitchen, the sound of his mother's voice as she sang while cooking, the way his sister used to chase him around the house, giggling uncontrollably. Those memories were his lifeline, the threads that kept him grounded amidst the darkness.

But even as he clung to them, the weight of his current existence pressed down upon him. The blood on his hands, the screams still ringing in his ears, the knowledge that he was complicit in the suffering of others, it all threatened to drown out the remnants of his former self.

Time to put my medal on

Whose neck to cut? I don't know.

But even that peace was taken from him. He had made the wrong friend. Tamlin, High Lord of Spring, he had betrayed him, led his father and brothers to where his mother and sister would be. He had got them killed, his mother and sister were defenceless. And Tamlin's betrayal had led to their death.

It was a brutal reminder of the consequences of trust misplaced, of the fragility of life. He felt the familiar numbness creeping over him again, a defense mechanism against the unbearable pain of loss. He couldn’t afford to dwell on the past, not when there was still a war to fight, a court to run, lives to protect. His eyes narrowed, the memory of Tamlin’s betrayal burning like acid in his veins.

Whose side I'm on?

He stood outside Tamlin's manor, his mask over his face, every time he thought of the male, all he could see was his mother and sister's heads crammed in a box he had received while in Windhaven. All he could feel was pain that Tamlin had given him.

His hands clenched into tight fists at his sides, knuckles turning white under the strain. A low growl rumbled in his throat, barely audible above the wind whistling through the trees surrounding Tamlin’s manor. The image of his family’s decapitated heads sent waves of nausea coursing through him, his stomach churning violently. He hated Tamlin, hated him with every fiber of his being, that who was once a friend wasn't a thing to him anymore.

There lies my sanity

There goes my mind, I could not save

He rembered finding their bodies after he had called out to his father in panic, both the males were on the ground, holding their females, rage, anger, sadness, they felt everything. The sight was a grusome one, the bodies were missing heads, and their wings. It was the first time Rhysand had ever seen his father cry, tears in his own eyes as he watched his father hold and press the severed head of his mother to her body, as if trying to join them, as if it could fix anything.

His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing the horror of that day, the agony of loss searing itself into his soul. He could still hear his father's anguished sobs, the gut-wrenching grief that shook his usually stoic father to his core. He remembered the sickening sensation of his own tears streaming down his face, the raw, unbearable pain of knowing he'd never see his beloved mother and sister again.

The memory of their mutilated bodies, the gruesome sight of their missing heads and wings, haunted him relentlessly. It was a nightmare he’d wake up from screaming, drenched in sweat, heart pounding wildly in his chest. But it wasn't a dream, it was reality - a harsh, cruel reality that he had to live with, forever etched into his mind.

I don't trust what I see right in front of me

I don't know who to betray

Rhysand had joined his father when they snuck to Spring Court, he didn't feel like himself then, he had never felt anger like he did holding the minds of the two elder heirs of Spring, they had went after his family, struck down defenceless females, and he couldn't help but enjoy the fear in their eyes, turning them into the defenceless ones. Their fear was palpable, tangible, an intoxicating rush that coursed through his veins, fueling his anger, his hatred, his desire for vengeance.

There was no denying the satisfaction he’d derived from watching those bastards squirm in fear, the thrill of power as he toyed with their emotions, twisting their thoughts into a labyrinth of terror and despair. He enjoyed their fear, relished in their discomfort, wallowing in the pleasure of revenge. It was a dangerous addiction, born out of desperation and pain. He knew it wasn't right, that he shouldn't revel in their fear, but he couldn't help himself. They deserved it.

This is how villains are made

He had killed those males. Tortured them till their bodies gave away, and he had enjoyed every twisted moment of it. He savored the taste of their fear, the sweet tang of their terror. It was addictive, intoxicating, a drug that numbed the pain of his losses, the guilt that gnawed at his conscience. He knew it was wrong, that he should feel remorse, pity perhaps, but instead, he felt liberated. Free from the chains of sorrow and regret.

He wasn't able to save his mother and sister, but as he stood in that room, covered in Spring blood, he knew he had avenged them. A twisted solace in the knowledge that justice had been served, albeit in the most brutal and merciless manner possible. The blood on his hands, the stench of death clinging to his skin, it was a grim reminder of the price he'd paid for vengeance, but also a testament to the lengths he'd gone to honor his family's memory.

In that moment, standing amidst the bloodbath he'd brought, Rhysand finally allowed himself to acknowledge the true extent of himself. He was no longer the carefree, mischievous young prince he once was. He was a creature forged in the depths of anguish and wrath, a being driven by a singular purpose: to protect those he loved, no matter the cost.

So easily we're persuaded

When the lines are blurred and faded

Now he watched in amusement, Tamlin and Lucien kneeling on the floor, begging him, their hands at his feet, he had the thought of crushing Tamlin's head under the heel of his boot, instead he took pleasure in that moment alone. That male was nothing to him, he would never be anything against him.

Because whoever he had become, this cold, cruel creature, Tamlin had been the first to turn him to this direction when he betrayed him. Rhysand couldn't shake off the feeling that Tamlin bore some responsibility for the monster he'd become. That betrayal, the brutal murder of his family, had shattered something fundamental within him, unleashing a torrent of anger and grief that he struggled to contain even still.

Tamlin may have been the catalyst, but Rhysand knew that he himself had chosen this path, embracing the darkness to survive, to protect those he cared about.

No one ever starts that way

But this is how villains are made

{General Taglist - @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot @dee-writes-smut @adalia-jaycee @anarchiii @alwayshave-faith}

{Rhysand Taglist - @yeonalie}

{RhysandWeek Taglist - @andreperez11}

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