#eris week 2025

[sofiameriggiart]

Day 1: Powers/ passions in the @erisweekofficial

~ Be a bird without a cage and without restrictions ~

I thought about all that power that he has not let be seen so that his father does not see his end coming (and also about making all the scars in places that wouldn’t be visible to the eye with a tunic, those scars that his high lord caused him)

[themadmorrigan]

Eris Week 2025 Art, for Day 1!

I wish I had something better to title this piece with, but at long last, here: my rendition of Autumn's Hair taking his revenge against the Forest House. This is the full version, not the tiny snippets I've posted over the last few months.

You MAY see this image again on AO3 sometime down the line in conjunction with a fic of mine. :)

For @erisweekofficial 2025. Art by me ( @themadmorrigan ) on Procreate.

[fourteentrout]

Eris Week Day 4: Monster

Click for quality!

“Hey, Shadowsinger—look what I can do.”

The High Lord of Autumn learned a new trick and wants to share it with Azriel for @erisweekofficial 2025

This Eris is the same as the Eris in my other dragon piece and exists in continuation to that, but I made some changes (most notably with his various horns/spikes) to give the look more dynamic, interesting forms that also easily fit a humanoid face. If I have time before the day’s over I may draw up more sketches of this version of our fav fireling……perhaps that focuses more on his….bottom half……..show off his [REDACTED]

But no promises lol. This was my first foray into lineless art and I am. Exhausted. Pretend the inconsistency in his scales is an artistic choice. I’m just excited I can finally put him out in the world (and on time for the day I planned him for!), I’ve had this idea literally since my first brush with Dragon!Eris and have been working on this on and off for like a week and a half, I feel accomplished!

Anywho, taglist below the cut! Give a shout if I forgot you, or if you want on (or off! No shame in it)

@baileybird71 @pippsmcgee @molcat07 @amalhe-koffee @secret-third-thing @jules-writes-stories @the-darkestminds @iftheshoef1tz @talibunny30 @g00seg1rl @queercontrarian @buffy-vanserra @vanserraoxygen @ejkreader @wovendreamscapes @chunkypossum @brunetterebel010 @disney-acotar-hp @wrraccountant @makinglongwordsslutty @irithiadourden @bloodyplunder @shadowsandlint @thesourcabbage @futurehunt @nus4y @donnadiddadog

[ejkreader]

I feel like this Fandom has generally agreed that when a new HL ascends, they either

1. Start destroying everything around them

2. Become just so, INCREDIBLY horny

3. (Dramatic music) BOTH

Oooor maybe that just the side of the fandom that I'm on. I don't really mind :)

Aaanyways, this work is my thought process of what a High Lord would look like right before that backlash hits- when they are gaining the powers of the recently deceased, and the immeasurable powers they possessed.

Fanart made for @erisweekofficial for Day 1- Powers/Passions

(Inspo + process + ramblings + taglists + honarable mentions below the belt)

Honorable mention to- Slutty Cahoots (on Ao3) by the fantasmical @makinglongwordsslutty !!! SPECIFICALLY Chapter 2, after Eris (SPOILERSSSS IF YOU HAVENT READ IT) kills his dad. Yeah. God he's so fucking hot. Tess, your mind is a gold mine for my art and Eris obsessions. <333 many smooches for you. Genuinely I was thinking about your fic the entire time I was drawing this and I had to stop and re-read the entire thing about... 3 times??? Idk it wasn't enough BUT you get it UR THE BEST TESS 💛💛💛 (sorry tess + goosie! I sometimes mess the two of you up in my head, but I should've double-checked this... thanks to Tess for telling me that this was your work, made for @g00seg1rl . Again, sorry to both of you, that was totally my fault!)

I used watercolor markers + gel pens for this one :)

Another honorable mention I should make is- my own AU idea which... is very long and complicated and will not be coming out anytime soon (more info on my piece for day 2 <3) But thinking abt that AU definitely influence how I wanted this to look- very ethereal and powerful. :]

Taglists

Azris- @eatsbooks @amalhe-koffee @wrraccountant @unanswered-stars @fourteentrout @thesourcabbage @makinglongwordsslutty @talibunny30 @skies-for-eyes-trees-for-knees @shadowsandlint @pippsmcgee @plumita-d-la-sangre @nus4y @mistandmemories @mudandmire @the-darkestminds @jules-writes-stories @ysmtttty @irithiadourden @iftheshoef1tz @futurehunt @g00seg1rl @nightsandflamess @olenvasynyt @chunkypossum @stargazingmellon @astro-h0e-4azris @betweenthelines888 @molcat07 @icey--stars @vanserreneity

General- @definitelyyesnt @brunetterebel010

[my-maasverse]

Autumn Fashion and Hounds

When it comes to his smokehounds, I imagine he’s a strict but caring owner. He raised them since they were pups so they’re loyal and can read him without verbal commands.

His private cabin in the Autumn woods is where he takes them for training, hunting, and gives them a break from being so fearsome. He secretly carries dried meats with him to give his hounds as treats and will let a couple of them sleep with him in his bed while he’s at the cabin. He enjoys having some of them lay at his feet while he’s reading a book or drinking whiskey.

His largest hound, Enya, has red eyes, making him look like a helhound, especially with the way his smoky tendrils lick his dark fur.

Eris’s first ever pup was a gift from his mother when he was a boy and he still cherishes that hound dearly. It’s the one he invites into his bed the most.

To Eris, his hounds are as important as soldiers under his command as Autumn’s general. They are a unit, but they are also one of the few creatures in Prythian who know his true self.

Hope you like my headcanons for Eris and his smokehounds! @erisweekofficial

[iftheshoef1tz]

Hollow

Summary: The person who steps into the flickering light is not her sister. His hair is astonishingly red against the dark green of his shirt. The laces are undone at his throat, and she follows the column of it up to the unimpressed mouth, the thick eyebrows quirked in feigned confusion. The hope in Nesta’s chest withers away.

Eris Vanserra stands at the threshold, but he doesn’t look guilty for being caught. 

Eris gets to Nesta before the Valkyries.

For @erisweekofficial 2025, Day 5: Enemy/Ally.

Rating: M

Pairing: Nesta/Eris, unrequited Azris and Nessian

Notes: Special thanks to @queercontrarian, @poisonivy206, and @yams-77 for looking this over - the beta dream team is back! The fic title is from the Stray Kids song of the same name: "Even if I embrace everything and run, why do I feel so hollow?/Do I need love so much that I'm alone?"

The banner art was found on Twitter, I believe from the user "as above astro," though there seem to be a lot of people reposting the art, so I'm not certain. Feel free to correct me if there's a more concrete person to credit!!

Read now on ao3.

[climbthemountain2020]

Silver Spoons and Butter Knives

Eris Vanserra | One Shot | Ao3

It's @erisweekofficial!

Rhysand doesn’t trust Eris Vanserra. But when he finds him bleeding in The Middle, broken by the same kind of father Rhys barely survived, he sees something too familiar to ignore. The bitter truth is that not every silver spoon feeds you.

The Middle was quiet tonight.

Concerningly quiet.

Rhys hated the way it made his wings shudder, the ripple of something just this side of wrong settling deep into tendon and bone. He hated the feeling. Hated The Middle. Hated this whole part of Prythian with a passion. Still, he made it a point to fly patrol here regularly, especially since the smoke had cleared and the courts were at least pretending peace had been wholly restored.

Never again would Rhys allow it to happen again. There would be no more like her—left to go entirely unchecked until she had crushed everyone like bugs beneath her heel.

It didn’t mean that he had to enjoy it.

Tonight was a routine sweep. He’d fly in and out, waiting for any indication of unrest to sweep down and inspect more closely before flying back to the comfort of Velaris. If nothing else, it gave him an opportunity to stretch his wings and clear his head on the way there and back. It never demanded more than a few hours of his time, but already, he longed to be back with his mate and child, safe in their home, surrounded by their family in their city.

This place would forever give him a feeling of perpetual unease, and his wings rustled in the breeze as though they felt it independently of him.

He was just about to turn and begin the journey back—flying for a bit then winnowing the rest of the way—when he scented blood.

It was the sharp tang of a fresh wound. Sighing, Rhys tucked his wings, plunging down into the trees. It took almost no time at all to find the origin. There, half-slumped against a stone outcropping, was Eris Vanserra.

The Autumn lordling looked like he’d been dragged through hell and back. It was so jarring to see the normally coiffed and perfect heir of Autumn so disheveled Rhys had to blink hard to make sure he was seeing correctly. 

Blood soaked through Eris’ delicately embroidered clothes, or at least, what was left of them. The gold and red was torn violently, an entire sleeve missing on one side, the lapels inundated by deep crimson stains. Rhys cursed his heightened senses as he smelled singed flesh mixed with the blood, the smell of char that haunted his nightmares from his time Under the Mountain.

Eris’ arm hung limp, his lower leg bent at a strange angle. His freckled face was a ruin of bruises, split skin, and more blood, dried black-red and thick around his eye and lips. Magic flickered around him like a dying ember, sputtering and failing as he tried to rise.

“You look like shit, Vanserra,” Rhys drawled, standing a few feet from him. He held his dispassionate expression on his face, but he was scanning the area for anyone else, not entirely certain that this wasn’t some sort of trap.

“Go fuck yourself, you great bat,” Eris spat onto the dirt, a spark flicking at his fingertips before extinguishing entirely.

Charming, as always, Rhys thought. But he didn’t detect anything for miles—no other life nearby, no other magical signatures.

Rhys kept a careful distance, despite Eris’ painfully clear injuries, out of an abundance of caution. Wounded animals could sometimes cause the most harm.

He could see Eris straining, his magic fighting him as the edges of his body flickered again. 

“Trouble winnowing?” Rhys asked.

He expected another slew of curses, and it seemed like Eris tried, but a massive bout of coughing overtook him instead, a spray of blood cascading from his lips. Rhys’s smile faded and his stomach twisted.

“What happened to you?” he asked, his voice softer than he intended. But Eris didn’t answer. He looked up, eyes both sharp and dull, all at once. A slow breath rattled from Eris’ lungs as he tried and failed to stand again. 

These injuries weren’t from a tavern fight or a disagreement. These injuries were brutal. Intentional. Personal.

“Beron did this?” Fire flared in Eris’ eyes at that, his lips peeling back into a snarl.

“Get out of my head, you fucking bastard.”

Rhys hadn’t been prying, but Eris had unintentionally confirmed his suspicions. Eris suddenly seemed too exhausted to care. 

“I wasn’t.” Rhys noted his voice sounded almost small in the wooded clearing. As a precaution, he threw up a protective shield around the two of them, invisible, but enough that he could focus.

Eris just laughed, realizing what he’d admitted. The sound bordered just on the wrong side of hysterical. It was a brittle and blood-soaked sound, the rattle in his chest pulsing and stuttering. “Don’t seem surprised. It’s not as if it changes a thing.”

But around them, within the shield, Rhys swore the air thickened. History and a companionship and understanding that no one wanted to share swirling between the two of them.

For just a moment, Rhys saw Eris. Not the face of a predator, cunning, charm, and cutting words used as armor,  but a mirror of himself. A reflection of what he, too, could have been in different circumstances. Raised by cruelty, molded by violence, inherited by hate like a rot in his bloodline. 

“I can hear you thinking, you bloody brute.” Eris didn’t look up as he spoke. “Either leave, or help me,” he ground out, the words seeming to hurt as the blood dribbled down his chin.

“Did you know,” Rhys started slowly, unsure of where the words emerged from, “that my father used to beat me too?”

Rhys remembered a time—more than just one time—where he’d fallen short of expectations. He’d been too wild, too distracted, too Illyrian. How his father spit the word when his mother wasn’t around like it was a curse.

Eris’ eyes shot up, but he covered the surprise with a glare. “Don’t flatter yourself, Rhysand. We’re not bonding here in these woods.”

“He wasn’t much better than Beron,” Rhys continued anyway, as though he hadn’t heard him. He was remembering days of splitting blood himself, bones doing their best to knit back together after some perceived slight to his name, his legacy.

“He certainly didn’t live as long,” Eris snorted derisively.

Rhys bristled, that strange mix of ego and shame that always rushed through him when he thought of his father. He’d been a cruel male—with everyone but Rhys’s sister and mother, at least.

Eris continued. “He was capable of love—I remember how he looked at them.” For a moment, Rhys had the passing thought that Eris might be a daemati too for how easily he was reading him tonight. 

“He kept your family safe. Died protecting them. He let you have your friends—your little court of misfits and bastards. He didn’t weaponize you all against each other.” The words rang out like curses, like Eris spit poison out right along with them.

Another coughing fit overtook Eris, and Rhys flinched. It was the rattle of a battlefield injury. Eris was much more deeply hurt than Rhys had guessed.

Still, his words landed like knives.

“Just luck,” Rhys said.

“What?” Eris asked, wiping the blood and smearing it around his chin with the ruined sleeve of his jacket.

“It was just luck. In any other life, I could have been you.” The words were more of a revelation than a comfort for Eris, and Rhys’s tone reflected it.

Eris met his gaze, something dangerous behind the exhaustion lingering in his eyes. “In another life, a merciful life, I’d have died long ago.”

Rhys inhaled, the too-damp air of The Middle somehow burning as it settled in his lungs. He should have walked away. He shouldn’t be here feeling sympathy or empathy for Eris fucking Vanserra.

But the fact was, he wasn’t wrong.

A simple change in the tapestry of fate—a death, a passing of a mantle—how different might things have been without his court? His friends?

But this was Eris. The truth of that alone echoed in his head.

“Don’t play the victim, Eris. Don’t pretend you’re blameless,” Rhys said tightly. “Mor—”

Eris cut him off with a hollow laugh through cracked lips. “Not this again.” He spit more blood into the moss and mud beneath him.

“It will always be this. Always what you did to her.”

Eris let his gaze become unfocused for just a moment, hesitating as though he was debating something. As though he were fighting it. Finally, he spoke.

“What’s her gift, Rhysand?”

Rhys blinked, surprised by the question. “What?”

“What. Is. Her. Gift?” Eris ground out the words as though they hurt him.

“Truth.” Though the answer was simple, it felt loaded.

Eris’s voice was nearly inaudible. “Don’t you think I’d have told anyone by now if I could? Cleared my fucking name if there was any chance that I might?”

The words clanged around Rhys like stones dropping into a well. It wasn’t so much the accusation as the honesty he felt in them. 

Why hadn’t Eris cleared his name? He was known for his cunning, his self-serving ways. It didn’t make sense…

The silence between them wasn’t peaceful, the shaking of Eris’ breath the only thing punctuating the heavy quiet.

Rhys said nothing.

His mind was spinning through the history, retracing every step, every fact, every omission. He didn’t trust Eris farther than he could throw him. But—but.

Eris was selfish. There was nothing that should have been keeping him from clearing his name. Unless—

Before him, Eris’ eyes grew glassy as he bled out into the dirt. The image flashed—blonde hair and a bloody red dress, dying in the Autumn leaves. He blinked hard.

He couldn’t process this here. He needed to be alone, to get back to Velaris and think this through with the wind in his wings and the quiet of the night sky around him. He needed to untwist his thoughts. He needed to speak with Mor.

He turned away, flaring wings in preparation to leave this horrid little clearing and the truth he’d accidentally found here. It wasn’t like Rhys to flee, but he suddenly could think of nothing else.

Still, he hesitated for just a moment.

“Go on,” Eris rasped. “Go back to your family.”

The words didn’t hold the acid they usually did. 

Rhys froze, his body rigid. It wasn’t bitter, just hollow. An ache in Eris’ tone so familiar and lonely that it carved itself into Rhys’s ribs.

He looked back.

Eris was slumped again, barely upright. His eyes were closed—a show of vulnerability, as though he expected Rhys to already be gone. His chest was rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.

Just another male, broken by the same man who had shaped him.

And Rhys—Rhys couldn’t leave him like this.

Not because he forgave him. Not for an alliance. Absolutely not for trust.

But because he understood.

With a slow exhale, Rhys crouched beside him, the dark violet glow of his magic already gathering around his hands. 

“Try not to die before I finish,” he muttered, and Eris jumped, clearly not expecting him to be there still, or so close.

He was immediately back to his normal self, summoning all the sarcasm he could to mumble “I didn’t realize you were so sentimental.”

Rhys’s jaw tightened.

Asshole lordling.

“I’m not. I just like the idea of holding a favor over you, you smug bastard.”

A flicker of a smile ghosted across Eris’ torn lips, lifting a bruise with the corner of his mouth.

Rhys’s magic flowed over him, dancing low and steady, sealing what it could, knitting horridly marred flesh back together. Even as bad as it looked, it had been much worse beneath the surface. 

Rhys willed his mind to not think of Nyx, his sweet, babbling son who held the High Lord of Night’s entire world in his chubby little fingers. How could any male sire a son and use the same hands used to cradle him to cause such ungodly harm.

Nausea rose in Rhys.

Rhys didn’t speak, and neither did Eris.

There would be questions, conversations for later. But for now, Rhys healed Eris just enough that he could feel the magic of Autumn thrumming, low in his veins. Just healed enough so that his father wouldn’t be suspicious.

When it was done, Rhys rose without a word, his wings spread, silhouetted against the stars.

He didn’t look back again as he shot up into the trees, wings heavier now than they had felt before.

Gifting this to @ablogofsapphicpanic who I told I was writing this back in the winter lol. And who, since, has sent me so many fuck ass painful edits to this song it's gonna trigger angst in me forever as a visceral response.

[wrraccountant]

Mastermind

Eris Week 2025: Day 5: Enemy and Ally

Mastermind: Read the full version on AO3, snippet below.

3.5k words | Teen and Up | Eris x Azriel

A huge thank you to @fourteentrout for his arresting and emotional commission of the "Eris, Mastermind" art piece for this fic! The fury, calculation, and sheer will of the eldest Vanserra shine through in this piece. Dark symbolism in the room and objects signifies his lack of control, hidden character and plans, and penchant for strategy. I love @fourteentrout's vision when it comes to the many faces of Eris!

┈┈・ ✦ ・┈┈・ ✦ ・┈┈

Snippet of the fic below :

Calm. He must remain calm.

He left the private viewing of the Mask of the Dread Trove with his own mask firmly in place. He glided between the High Lords and their guests, immaculate in his green jacket and tailored tan hunter's breeches.

Smirking, Eris met the amber-eyed stare of Helion, who stood in the foyer, spells at the ready to protect the treasure from any mishap. The Day Court High Lord gave him a slight nod, while watching him too closely and with too much interest. That would not do. He needed to be seen as a future contender for the throne, but not an immediate threat to anyone.

Flipping his flaming hair from over his shoulder to behind him, Eris drifted over to a mirror and adjusted his lapels and cravat. He smoothed his hair, pulled back from his perfect features, and fiddled with a couple of earrings in his delicately pointed ears.

The absolute picture of a bored, pretty heir.

Read the full version on AO3

@erisweekofficial

Please let me know if you want on or off the tag list!: @pippsmcgee @chunkypossum @olenvasynyt @g00seg1rl @greenvelvetcouture @iftheshoef1tz @ysmtttty @jules-writes-stories @the-darkestminds @mudandmire @mistandmemories @neciebee @nus4y @palomita-de-la-sangre @shadowsandlint @talibunny30 @makinglongwordsslutty @thesourcabbage @fourteentrout @eatsbooks @molcat07 @irithiadourden @amalhe-koffee @brunetterebel010