#a wondrous adventure fic

[roanofarcc]

GETTING EVEN

pairing. tyler owens x harding!reader

summary. after tyler owens saved your ass, you return the favor. (part 2 to this fic) 

warnings. descriptions of injuries and tornados. reader is the daughter of jo & bill harding (from the og movie!). hurt/comfort (tending to each other wounds? hot). tyler’s the number one loverboy and I stand by that.

a/n. fun fact, my sister's mother-in-law also survived a tornado by hugging a light pole!

word count. 3.7k || masterlist

You stabbed a piece of pancake on your plate, determined to ignore your mom as she spoke from the stove. “Would it be the worst thing in the world?” 

“Yes,” you and your dad answered at the same time, meeting each other's eyes with a small smile. 

Your mom, Jo, sighed deeply and spun around to face the two of you, one hand on her hip. “He’s nice! He’s handsome and-” 

You groaned, feeling a teenager again, mortified that your parents are bringing up any aspect of your love life. Ever since Tyler Owens had helped you to the hospital after a tornado took you and your friend by surprise during a chase, your mom wouldn’t let you go five minutes without bringing him up. 

You were back in town, staying at their farm as another slew of storms were forecast for the surrounding area. Your team was due in later that night, all crashing with your parents, which was their idea. They wouldn’t admit it outright, but that was one thing they missed the most about their storm-chasing days, the friendships formed within their team. Your mom brought out her aunt’s recipes and cooked a big dinner, and your dad was harassed into telling stories of their storm-chasing adventures- which he secretly loved. 

Since the storms were predicted to be pretty wicked, you knew Tyler and the rest of the Wranglers would be around. And while you would rather die than tell your mom, you were excited to see him again. The competition between the two of you for an arbitrary ‘best storm chaser’ title was left behind after you woke up in the hospital to see him still there with you. Instead, your relationship inched more toward friends; though, your mom seemed convinced it was something more. 

“Look, if our daughter isn’t interested in running away with some tornado-wrangling cowboy, I don’t think we should encourage her to,” your dad, Bill, said. 

“I don’t have time for a relationship, anyway,” you added. You were too engrossed in your research to think about a relationship, serious or not. You were content with your team. And your mom’s little fantasy would require Tyler to be interested in you, which you found unlikely.

Yet, your mom persisted. “We did it,” she said, pointing between herself and Bill. “We balanced both work and a relationship. It’s not impossible.” 

You snorted. “Yeah, and you two almost got divorced.” 

Your dad laughed into his coffee mug, hiding it as your mom huffed. 

The thrill of storm chasing, running down backroads as a twister roared beautifully across the ground, wasn’t the only reason you did it. That was only one part of the job. Then there was the research. But the hardest part was trying to help people. Tornados were wondrous but dangerous. They ruined lives, tearing through towns. And while warning systems and radars had advanced significantly since your parents' days, nothing was perfect. That’s why you were the first people to rush into a crowded town directly in the path of a storm and do what you could to ensure people’s safety. 

When a member of your team noticed one of the storm cells you were watching was heading towards a little downtown area not too far from your parents’ farm, you all decided that was where you needed to be, instead of chasing after the storm further west. 

You were close, beating the storm to town, and when you arrived you realized the Wranglers had the same idea. The second you stepped out of your truck, the harsh winds knocked into you. The sirens just started, warning the people of the quickly approaching storm. People were running down the sidewalks, hurrying into buildings to shelter. 

You jumped into action, hurrying some slightly dazed people to safety, along with your team. The storm inched closer, and you knew you only had a few more moments before you needed to take cover yourself to ensure you didn’t get whisked away. You’d lived through enough tornados to know what to do with little fear, but ever since your close call with your team member Frankie, earning you a couple stitches on the back of your head and a newfound appreciation for Tyler, your nerves were a little heighten; you become a little more cautious. 

You turned on your heel to hurry towards one of the buildings, but you caught sight of the tornado wrangler on the other side of a parking lot, searching for something. 

Pressing your lips in a hard line, ignoring the drum inside your chest that started to beat a little faster with the closeness of the storm, you took off after him. 

“Tyler!” you yelled above the howling wind that threatened to knock you off your feet. Rain beat down against your skin, soaking you to the bone. You called his name once more as you neared, finally earning his attention. 

“Harding? What the hell are you doing?” 

“What am I doing? What are you doing? Taking a mid-day stroll?” 

He shook his head, forced his wet hair out of his eyes. “Some kid’s dog got spooked, ran this way, but I can’t find her.” 

You glanced up at the sky, the dark clouds giving the allusion of nighttime. There was a little tremble in your hand, but you steeled your nerves. “Dogs are smart. She’ll find her way, but we’re goners if we don’t get a move on.” He frowned, clearly torn between helping a lost dog and saving himself. “My team and I will help you look after; I promise.” 

With a sigh lost to the wind, he nodded and pointed toward the building others had filed into. “There’s a basement in the library.” 

Together, you two took off in the direction of the library, but the storm rolled in much quicker than you anticipated. It came in with a vengeance, peeling objects off the ground, big and small, with ease and tossing them all around. You ducked, nearly missing a chair that once belonged to one of the downtown restaurants' patios. Your heart started to race uncomfortably, inching toward fearfully. 

Tyler grasped your hand, tugging you to the side as more debris whizzed past you. The rain made your grasp slippery, but you squeezed his hand tightly. There was too much distance to cover, and the tornado was determined to put every possible obstacle in your path. 

It became harder to run but you felt so sure you and Tyler would make it; that was, until the tornado came around the block, tearing into a building and sending the debris in your direction. You didn’t even know what hit you until you felt Tyler’s hand slip from yours and your chin collided with the pavement. A cry of pain fell from your lips, but you rolled over quickly, in search of Tyler. He wasn’t far, just out of arms reach, on the ground. 

You half crawled over to him, tugging on his shoulder until you noticed the look of pain twisted on his face. Your gaze trailed down to his leg and found his foot stuck under a heavy beam plucked from the building the tornado tore through. 

“Shit,” you whispered, grasping the beam with your slippery hands and desperately trying to lift it off. It wouldn’t budge, crushing Tyler’s ankle. 

“You gotta go!” he yelled, trying to wave you off with his hand frantically. 

You stared at him in disbelief. Adrenaline pumped through your veins and the rain clouded your vision. There wasn’t a chance you were going to leave him. Your chest felt impossibly tight, pulling more and more with an indescribable fear you’d never experienced before. Using some kind of strength you didn’t know you had until that moment, you managed to lift the beam just enough for Tyler to pull his bloodied ankle out from under it. 

“Come on,” you cried, trying to help him to his feet. He grunted in pain, pale and breath labored. 

“We’re not gonna make it,” he wheezed out, talking about the library the tornado was already upon. You made a sharp turn, bee-lining toward the building you landed directly in front of. 

There wasn’t even time to get inside. Instead, you half helped half dragged Tyler to where there was a large light post cemented to the ground. It wasn’t much, but there were no other options. Tyler sat on the ground, pulling you down quickly beside him before he wrapped his arms around the pole. You hooked one arm too but kept your other pressed against Tyler’s head. You could take another hit, but you weren’t sure he could. 

You closed your eyes, sending a silent prayer that everyone would be okay. The storm roared, stinging your ears and tugging on you harshly. But, somehow, the both of you remained hugging the light post until the tornado dissipated after an excruciating amount of time. That was the thing about tornados, when you were chasing them, they never seemed to last long enough, but when you were in them, they never seemed to end. 

Shaking from a mix of adrenaline, fear, and cold you unwound your arm from the pole before you brushed your hands along Tyler’s shoulders, drawing his attention, and making sure he was still there. 

You two sat nearly nose to nose, droplets of rain decorating his face, falling his lashes as he tried to blink them away. “Are you okay?” you muttered, voice shaky. 

He let out a breath and tried to shift in his position, but his face twisted up in pain once more before he cursed under his breath. You glanced at his ankle, his jeans were stained with a smear of crimson, but the rest was hidden under the fabric. 

“I think it’s just a sprain,” he said, trying to shrug it off but you saw through him. You struggled to your feet and moved to help him, but he tried to stand on own. He leaned heavily on the light pole, trying to hide a wince. 

You heard his and your name being called in the distance. You hooked an arm around his torso, gazing at him for a moment. “Come on,” you said, gently guiding him back towards the road. As soon as you stepped out onto the sidewalk, you spotted your team and a couple members of Tylers. 

“Holy shit!” Frankie gasped, running towards you. “What happened to you two? We thought you were right behind us?” 

Tyler tried not to lean on you, but you felt his grip tighten on your shoulders with each step. “I think we need to take him to the hospital,” you said, worry seeping into your voice. 

Kate and Javi snapped their gaze at Tyler, who shook his head. “No, really, I’m fine. I think it’s just a little sprain,” he repeated. 

Kate looked at you, half ignoring Tyler. “What happened?” 

“His ankle was crushed under some debris.” 

“I’m right here,” Tyler said. “And I said I’m fine. I don’t need to go to the hospital. But we’ve gotta find that dog-” 

“You mean this lil’ guy?” Boone asked. He and Lily stood with who you assumed was the kid who lost the dog, but who was now cuddling it in his arms with a wide smile on his lips despite the destruction all around them. “He came runnin’ out just a minute ago. Smart dog.” 

You smiled softly, looking at Tyler who sighed in relief. “I told you.” 

“I think the nearest hospital is…” Javi trailed off, looking at his phone with furrowed brows. “Twenty minutes south, just off the interstate.” 

“I’m not goin’ to a hospital. I’m telling you guys, I’m fine-” 

You huffed loudly. “Are you always this stubborn?” 

At the same time, Kate, Javi, Boone, and Lily all replied, “Yes.” 

You realized you probably weren’t going to convince Tyler to get his ankle checked out at the hospital. “Fine,” you sighed. “But you’re not gonna patch yourself up in some grimy motel, got it? My parents don’t live too far from here. You all can crash there.” 

“Are you sure?” Kate asked. 

“Positive. My parents were thrilled to have my team staying. They won’t mind a couple more people.” 

“Wait,” Javi said. “Your parents. Like, your parents as in Jo and Bill Harding?” 

You chuckled. “Yes.” 

He and Kate exchanged a look that bordered on giddy. 

Tyler shifted at your side, pulling out his truck keys and you thought he was out of his mind if he thought he was going to try to drive with his clearly busted ankle. You reached over and snatched the keys quickly. “You’re riding with me, cowboy,” you said before tossing the keys at Kate. She caught with between her two hands, eyes slightly wide before a smile broke out across her lips. 

“I’m driving!” Kate said before she quickly turned on her heel before anyone could protest, Javi following close behind her. 

“You be careful with my truck Sapulpa!” Tyler shouted. 

You all arrived at your parents' place and helped a limping Tyler out of your truck. He tried once more to hide just how much pain he was in, but it didn’t work. As you walked up the driveway, he smirked, a little lopsidedly. “Already taking me home to meet the parents, huh?” You wanted to smack him but decided his sprained ankle was enough punishment already. 

Instead, you rolled your eyes. “Don’t you be talking like that in front of my mom. She’ll start planning the wedding.” You were only half joking. You knew the second she opened the front door and saw you standing side by side with Tyler’s arm slung around you, even though it was strictly to keep himself upright and pressure off his ankle, her imagination would run wild. 

He was quiet for a moment before he cleared his throat and said, “At least let me buy you dinner first.” 

You didn’t get a chance to respond before the front door was swung open and out stepped your mom. Her eyes flickered between the two storm-chasing teams all trailing behind you before they landed on you and Tyler. You saw the little twinkle in her eye, but it vanished when she noticed the state everyone was in, soaked clothes, a little in pain, and in a slight daze. 

She hurried down the step, grasping your face and gazing at the nasty cut on your chin from where you collided with the road. “Everyone okay?” she asked, eyes drifting over to Tyler. 

“Not exactly,” you replied. “Tyler’s got a busted ankle. I think everyone else is pretty okay. But cold and hungry.” 

Your mom clapped her hands together. “Well then, let’s get you all fed and cleaned up then. Come on,” she said, ushering everyone inside and exchanging greetings. 

You helped Tyler into the bathroom before you dug around for the first aid kit underneath the sink. 

“You know-” Tyler started but you glared at him. 

“If you tell me you’re fine one more time Owens…” He held up his hands in defense, pressing his lips together. Once you found the kit, you sat on the floor and carefully rolled up the leg of his jeans. Whatever damage his ankle took was hidden under his boot. “This is probably gonna hurt,” you said. 

You tried to be as careful as you could, tugging off his boot, and he tried to act like it didn’t hurt like a bitch, but the way his eyes screwed shut and hands clenched into fists in his lap told you otherwise. As soon as it was off, he let out a shaky breath and you assessed the damage. His ankle was swollen, bloodied, and overall in pretty bad shape but considering he could put a little bit of pressure on it told you it wasn’t broken. He was right about the sprain, but it was a fairly bad one. 

Working quickly but carefully, you cleaned up the dirt and blood before wrapping his ankle. “Feel any better?” you asked. He nodded as you stood to your feet. “Good. Are you hungry? I’m sure my mom’s made enough food to feed an army-” 

“Wait,” he said, grasping your hand, turning you back around to face him before you could reach the door. “You fixed me up, now it’s your turn.” 

You furrowed your brows. “What?” His eyes dropped down to your chin, where you’d smacked it against the road when you fell. “Oh. No, it’s just a little scratch-” he cut you off. 

“Are you always this stubborn?” he teased, using your own words against you. With a sigh, you slumped your shoulders in defeat. 

“All right, but at least sit down. Your ankle’s not gonna heal otherwise.” He listened, retaking his place on the toilet lid as you sat on the edge of the tub right beside it. He grabbed an alcohol swap from the kit and grasped your face with one hand. His fingers were cold from the rain but gentle as they tilted your head upwards just slightly so he could clean the cut on your chin. 

You couldn’t help but study him. The brightness of his eyes and how they narrowed when he concentrated, and how he pulled his bottom lip just barely between his teeth. Something twisted in your stomach, and you were suddenly very aware of just how close he was. You had been nearly nose to nose with him earlier, in the aftermath of the storm, but the calmness of your current setting made the closeness feel different. The way his hand softly held onto your face made your breath hitch, and it was impossible for him not to notice. His eyes flickered up from your chin, awkwardly covered with a band aid, and met yours. 

“Thanks for saving my ass out there,” he said, voice just above a whisper, like he too didn’t want to break the calmness that was steady in the room. 

You tried to ignore the patter of your heart that quickened as with his little smile. “I owed you for saving mine.” 

“Guess we’re even know, huh?” 

You nodded, words lost on your tongue. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but you dropped your gaze onto his lips for just a moment before you met his eyes, searching for something. But your wishful thinking died with a startling knock on the door that caused you both to flinch back and away from each other. 

“Everything all right in there?” your dad’s voice sounded from the other side of the door. 

You cleared your throat, quickly standing to your feet. “Y-Yeah. We’ll be out in a second!” A shaky laugh left your lips as your turned to Tyler, who stared back at you with cheeks slightly pink. “We should…” 

“Yeah, y-yeah.” 

After everyone showered and cleaned themselves up, your mom and dad handed out plates and everyone dug in. With full stomachs and dry clothes, the collection of storm chasers all crashed around the house. You lay in your childhood bed, squished alongside Frankie while two other members of your team were asleep on an air mattress on the floor. You tried to sleep, but all you could think about was Tyler, who was just downstairs in the living room. The rest of the evening consisted of you two tip toeing around each other, bordering on avoiding each other in the company of everyone else. 

With a quiet groan, you slipped out of bed and headed toward the kitchen, careful to be quiet. Your mom’s words followed you, gushing about Tyler. Would it be the worst thing in the world? You had said yes, but you didn’t really mean it, how could you? This was Tyler. Sure, he was a little reckless and you’d seen him get a little rowdy at a country bar, but he was also the kind of person that looked for lost dogs in the middle of a tornado and who stayed by your bedside at the hospital until you woke up. He was obnoxiously great. You didn’t know how to deal with it. 

In the bathroom, just hours ago, you wanted to kiss him. And a part of you thought he wanted to kiss you too, but the moment was broken too fast for you to know for certain. 

You poured yourself a glass of water before leaning against the counter, eyes focused out the window at the sliver of moon that poked out from behind the clouds. Somewhere behind you, the floorboards creaked, causing you to spin around with a start. 

Tyler paused, wincing at the noise he made before he whispered, “Sorry.” 

You didn’t do it on purpose, but it was like at the sight of him your lips automatically tugged upwards in a smile. You felt a little ridiculous about it but tried to play it off by clearing your throat. 

“I told you that couch was uncomfortable,” you said, voice low to not wake the snoring Wranglers in the next room. 

“It’s not,” he replied. 

“You should be elevating your ankle.” 

“I know, I know. Doctor’s orders, right?” He smiled too. “I was just grabbing some water.” 

You said nothing as you reached back into the cabinet and pulled out another glass before filling it at the sink. You handed it to him, your fingers brushing for just a second before he took the glass with a quiet ‘thanks’ and you pulled away. 

“I should…” You pointed behind you, ready to retreat back to your bedroom and let your Tyler-occupied mind slip away. But he caught your elbow and set down his glass of water. He didn’t say anything as his hand slid up your arm to your shoulder, then to your cheek in a similar way he held you earlier. You were back to being nearly nose-to-nose for the third time that day. Only this time, it was Tyler whose gaze flickered to your lips before he closed the short distance. 

Softly and quietly, you pressed your lips against his, pressing your hands against his chest. His hands were warm on the sides of your face as his lips moved against yours. You parted after a moment, breathing a little heavier, and your chest beat with something new. 

You leaned in once more, kissing him a little harder but pulling back quicker. “Good night, Tyler,” you breathed out. 

He beamed, cheeks rosy. “Good night, Harding.”

[ellecdc]

Hi!! Ok this is my first time doing an actual request so…I hope I do this right 😭.

Poly!marauders x transfer student reader: Reader comes from the US, where quodpot is the more popular wizarding sport (like quidditch is rugby and quodpot is football). Reader has always LOVED quidditch and is excited Hogwarts actually has a team. Maybe reader trying out for the team? Seeker would be cool bc the reader would be able to practice that by themself. Reader going to the pitch early every morning to practice leading up to tryouts, Sirius and James watching from the stands bc that’s normally THEIR time to practice. Remus sitting with a hot tea and bundled up…UGH I LOVE!

this was such a cute idea! this is actually the second fic I've ever written that involved 0 dialogue and I only realized that about either fic once I finished this one, so hopefully it's good! thanks for your request, love, I hope I did it justice!

poly!marauders x transfer student!reader who is obsessed with quidditch [900 words]

CW: .... I don't think any?? read is Gryffindor, written for a fem!reader (term that's used is witch) but could be read as gender neutral as they/them/their are used

If someone were to ask Remus why he could suddenly be spotted haunting the castle grounds before the sun rose most mornings now-a-days, he would quickly blame it on his sodding no good energetic and horribly devious boyfriends (who he loved very much). 

But the real answer was a far more selfish one.

You see, Remus (and Sirius and James) had developed a rather peculiar crush on a rather peculiar witch in their final year of Hogwarts. 

The rumour had been that a new student transferring from Ilvermory was going to be attending Hogwarts for their seventh year, and with Hogwarts (and the wizarding community in general) being as small as it was, it had created quite the buzz. 

The rumours were proven true when a witch far older than the many first years lined up for their turn at the sorting ceremony took their place below the hat only for it to shout GRYFFINDOR before their robes were decorated in red and gold.

You seemed utterly enchanted by it all; by the floating candles, by the stone walls, and by the feast itself. 

Watching you skip throughout the castle in the weeks following the Welcome Feast was nothing short of inspiring; it was as if watching a muggleborn first year see the castle and all of its secrets for the first time again. 

You seemed to be very skilled at finding the magic in, well, magic. 

Remus wondered then when magic stopped feeling so magical to the rest of the seventh year class; even children who were raised by magical parents were nothing short of ecstatic to begin honing their own skills at Hogwarts.

When did that stop feeling so exciting? When did throwing up silencing charms and summoning objects towards yourself become second nature instead of an exciting and exceptional learned skill? When did transfiguring buttons into butterflies become an arduous lesson instead of a wondrous adventure?

And that's not to say that you hadn’t seen or experienced magic before; on the contrary, you were a very talented witch. But you seemed to be awestruck by every single thing that you set your eyes on.

The fact that you were living in a castle had been particularly exciting for you, from what Remus had overheard, as was the game of quidditch. 

The popular and more commonly played sport in the magical United States was that of quodpot, and what little Remus actually understood about quidditch, he understood even less of quodpot, which is to say that he understood absolutely none of it. But even Remus had to admit there was something mesmerising about watching the way your tongue stuck out a little bit through your teeth as you drew out different drills and formations in your dedicated quidditch journal.

Though the quidditch season hadn’t started yet, every time there was a pickup game or a one-on-one, or even a few players feeling the familiar itch of flying through the air at record speeds and dodging other players and flying balls, one could be certain that you would be standing in the bleachers - often even hanging over the edge of the railing (in a way that made Remus very nervous, thank you very much) - with a wide smile on your face as you took it all in. 

And if Remus was really lucky, he’d even get a chance to watch as you balanced on the balls of your feet as if your body was just itching to join in on the fun. 

And if Sirius and James both took the piss for Remus finally enjoying ‘quidditch’ enough to put his sodding book down every once in a while, well, that was neither here nor there. 

So, the second that madame Hooch announced that tryouts for house teams would be starting in a few short weeks; you were hardly ever spotted around the common room anymore. 

Any time there was a free moment, one could bet you’d be down at the pitch - or even elsewhere on the grounds - with a broom underneath you and your eyes peeled for the wiley little snitch. And anytime you were found at the pitch? Well, one could bet James and Sirius would be too.

….

… As was Remus. 

James was all too happy to finally have (enthusiastic and consensual) company in the mornings to comment on the fact that it had been nothing short of painstaking torture to extricate Sirius from his bed for quidditch practices before you had transferred to Hogwarts, or to comment on the fact that it had been nothing short of painstaking torture to extricate Remus from his bed on any given day before you had transferred to Hogwarts.

Because it appeared that they were all in agreement that, even if it had to be at six in the bloody morning, watching you experience the unbridled joy that Hogwarts and quidditch and magic could give you was the best place to be.

Sirius leaned casually against the railing flashing you the odd wink or holler of encouragement when you happened to look over at your admirers in the stands whilst James shouted pointers and cheered you on, basically hanging over the railing in much the same way you would when the roles were reversed.

And Remus?

Well, Remus usually had about three layers on, a hot cup of tea, and a book that laid untouched as he got to enjoy the view.

[galeorderbride]

Forgiving the Flame for a Burn - Zevlor x F!Tav Fic Request

An angst/comfort/smut piece for @evocationwriter. Thank you so much for asking me to do this piece, I adore you! Xx

This is SMUT (tags/details below)

18+ MDNI

Summary:

One year after the defeat of the Elder Brain, Tav is trying to settle into daily life. But being a hero means the making of enemies, and Tav ends up on the wrong side of the city, with the wrong kinds of people.

That is, until a charming, former Hellrider steps in, saving her from the worst and taking her into his home for the night.

Tags: angst, comfort, smut. Unprotected piv sex, oral sex (f receiving), light orgasm denial, tail play, tiefling anatomy (infernal ridges, forked tongue), religious language used; some detailed depictions of a violent attack (beating to be specific)

Word count: 5k

Zevlor x F!Tav

No one talks about the end of a hero’s journey. Tav found herself thinking of that often, ever since the Elder Brain fell by the hand of her and her companions. Subjects of bard’s songs and children’s puppet performances, all of them bending to the whim of ‘thank yous’ and questions about adventures. All of them fading over time into nothing. People moved on, they had to, of course. Rebuilding homes, restarting businesses, schools and cleaning up parks. Life went on, and the looks of admiration as she’d wander the streets dissolved.

Needless to say, that wasn’t all bad. Walking around the city gave her a sense of anonymity she’d missed in the year since the brain’s defeat. While she had fond memories of children asking for autographs and telling tales at the Elfsong to curious attendees, the harassment and threats from those who felt nostalgia for the cult of the Absolute soured the experience. Every time she’d think about it, memories of Stone Lord exiles and concealed Banites taunting her with torture fled to mind.

Now, she could relax. Bask in the beauty of city living with no one to bother her (other than letters from her companions and comrades, which always excited her). Evening slowly began to fall, a wondrous sunset disembarking for the night as shopkeepers lit sconces outside their doors and brought in their signs. Fishmongers and tradesmen met in the streets to coalesce at either the Blushing Mermaid or the Elfsong. Parents corralled their children to follow them home after a day at the markets. Tav walked among them, smiling at the peace of normality she’d never forget again.

On nights like this one, Tav would look up above the Elfsong and see Alfira strumming her lute on the balcony. By now, she’d been giving lessons to children at her very own music studio for the last three or four months. Even then, she’d still go up to that rooftop and sing her heart out. Tav felt remorse every time she gazed upon the dazzling tiefling, guilt in her heart that, rather than enjoy the music, her soul yearned for the presence of a different tiefling entirely.

A year since she saw Zevlor at the final battle. A year since she’d discovered he survived. A year—and not a single letter. Everyone else reached out to her but him. In the weeks following, she wracked her brain for anything she might’ve said wrong. Any word that could be taken as an insult. Only he knew, and that would be just so forever.

She ignored the chest aches now, and the tingling in her abdomen that sometimes made her knees shake. Hoping one day they’d fade away like her fame. One outlived the other.

Was he even in Baldur’s Gate anymore?

Clearing her throat, she kept walking. Straightening her shoulders. New bottles of dye clinked against each other in her basket, held close to her stomach. In her daydream, the clock tower struck nine, startling her as she realized she’d been standing there for too long.

“Shit,” she whispered under her breath, forced to face her newfound fear of walking alone outside ever since anonymous former cultists began to harass her. She chastised herself for going today, irritated that she didn’t just wait until tomorrow morning.

Sticking to the main road, Tav hurried her step through the emptying streets. The end of a tenday, people looking for a rowdy night out were trickling into every space they could get drunk. Irrationality kicked in, everyone became an enemy, and no one had even noticed her yet. She repeated in her mind: Tav, get yourself together, you fought an elder brain. You can take anything a mere civilian can hit you with. Just walk.

Halfway home, things were normal. Everyone ignored her, and she felt her shoulders begin to calm as she neared her destination. The sky grew dark, only the light of the crescent moon peering behind the overcast lit her way. Little droplets of rain began to dot her face, she lifted her cape hood for shelter. Right as heavy footsteps trailed behind. The jungle of buckled boots and a person at least twice her size, she could discern that without even looking.

“The hero of Baldur’s Gate! Walking about these parts alone at night. Guess you don’t need brains to be a saviour, huh?” The voice behind her said. A man with a gravelly voice, slurred with drunkenness and malice.

Tav tried to ignore him, swallowing her fear as she kept walking at a brisk stride. One or two minutes and she’d be home. Counting the seconds, in tandem with the footsteps continuing to pursue her. Now in a quiet street, no one was around to help or witness whatever the man behind her had planned.

“Don’t run off so quick, sweet one! Sing me one of those ballads made about you! Bet it’ll sound sweet gurgling out of your throat when I cut it!” He chided, a growl so feral within him she could mistake him for a wild animal.

Another voice poked through an alleyway she passed, another men bumping her with his shoulder, rough enough to send her steps back against a wall. He said, “Father will love this at his temple doorstep, brother.”

Bhaalists. She should’ve known the ones to keep pestering her after all this time would be them. Likely a worse nightmare than anyone else, given their propensity for insane, maniacal violence. Were they even drunk? Or was that a farce to blend in with the city?

“Leave me be! I’ve killed more than you for less,” she said, sucking in her frightened breath.

Both of them cornered her, trudging towards her and beginning to push her around between the two. Smaller than both of them, she struggled to fight back as her basket of dyes shattered to the ground. Catching them off guard just quick enough for her to throw a punch in the face of one. He fell back, grunting in pain as the other smacked Tav against the brick wall. A sharp ache ran across her spine, the wind knocked out of her to completion when the one she punched slammed his fist into her stomach.

Gasping for breath, they let her collapse to the ground. Holding her abdomen tight, the roof of her mouth dryer than sand. Catching impossible air as the two paced around her, predators toying with their prey. That hit to her stomach so hard that she couldn’t find the strength to get up let alone fight back. Gods, was she really done in so quickly? Had she softened so much in just a year?

Most of the time, they were four at least. Now, she was one. And defeated in a matter of minutes. Dye stained her clothing as she twitched around the ground, feeling a harsh sting of hands clawing at her hair, pulling her back.

“Not so heroic now, are you?” The one that held her hair teased, giggles oozing with evil.

“Enough dawdling,” said the other, sheathing out a sharp, shining knife. “Tie her up to take her to the temple.”

Right when they began to tie the rope around her, a swing of a longsword sliced across one’s throat. Tav didn’t see all of it, still reeling from the punch. But the second one began to fight against her rescuer. Behind her writhing body, the sound of punching, stabbing and armour sliding against leather permeated the air.

And then nothing. Quiet air mixing with laboured breath, a few growling sighs to follow. Ones she recognized after a few seconds. A calming but assertive tone that used to excite her beyond belief.

“Z—,” she tried to say his name, but coughed instead. Recovering from the punch to the gut, breathless all the same.

Warm arms wrapped around her, lifted into an embrace healing her in seconds. Heat coursing within each injured vein, the tender flesh of a tiefling’s hold. Her head hung back against his arm, aching stomach muscles jolting. But the rest of her soul eased with the shelter of safety, letting him take her wherever he deemed right.

It could’ve been minutes. Or hours. Awakening in a soft bed covered in thick furs and clean sheets. Glowing candlelight against stone walls and the blurry flame of a burning fireplace. Sparks flew across the mantle as a broad shouldered, tailed man threw another log in. Trickling liquid poured from a clay pot, steaming scents of green tea and lemon soothing her into full awareness. No more pain, other than a small ache in her abdomen. For a second, she wondered if she’d died.

Tav shifted on the mattress, wincing from her sore muscles. At the corner of her eye were her dye-soaked clothes, hanging to dry after being washed. Bare arms and legs slid around the linen fabric of her ivory slip. Hair swept back from her face in a loose, well done braid.

“Am I dead?” She whispered, groaning out remnants of her voice as if she’d forgotten she had one.

The man turned from the fireplace, rushing to the bedside. Seating himself on the stool directly next to her, she could clearly make out the weathered, handsome features of Zevlor. Pouring tea like an old friend, not someone who’d been silent for a year.

“Not dead, Tav. You can’t imagine how glad I am that you’re awake. After those mongrels attacked you…I feared the worst,” he said, handing her the small cup as she sat up. Zevlor outstretched his hand as she winced, but pulled back before he could touch her.

Her eyes closed with the peace of green tea on the tongue. Pushing away the thoughts of the attack, burdened by yet another memory of pain. She chose another route, “You saved me. I don’t know how you found me but thank you, I owe you for such a gesture.”

With a cordial nod of a soldier, he said, “Think nothing of it. I—well, it’s a long story but I’ve made a living through private security. I was coming home from a job when I saw you in the street. Found you just in time before you slipped into that alleyway.”

She cupped the mug in her hands, resting on her cross-legged lap. A skipped beat of her heart went aflutter when she caught Zevlor’s eyes linger over her bare legs, and back to her face in a split second.

“I didn’t even know you were in the city,” she said, “It’s been so long since we’ve talked.”

Zevlor shifted, eyes darting away from her to every other corner of the room. The place was small, fit for a single man who didn’t want for much. Exactly him, melding in with the space as he paced around with his arms crossed. Keeping his distance as he always did even when they had fought together, even after the celebration…

“Certainly, I owe you an apology for that. There is still much agony in going into it but—I was in a bad way after the final battle. An injury of the mind, if you will. Times were hard, too hard to reach out to you with any confidence,” he explained.

“I expected no less, after all that happened. Only that, well I thought we’d become close. That maybe you’d find some peace through my support. But,” she trailed off as her hands shook, shock of what happened to her still dominant over her, “seems you supported me.”

Her feet hit the cold floor, trying to stand up while wobbling about. Just as her hips moved off the mattress, she stumbled downward. Zevlor strode over, hooking his arms around her, lifting her back onto the bed. In her panic, she clutched him without mercy. Holding him so close to her that he fell forward, knees landing on the bed as she lay under him. Hovering over her, he saw the quick rise and fall of her chest, struggling to properly exhale. Bringing him back to their moment alone at the Grove celebration, when he comforted her, held her as she wrestled with the fear she had to hide for her companion’s sakes. Here he was again, taking one, brave move to slide the strap of her slip back onto her shoulder.

“Zevlor…please don’t leave,” she said as she felt him move away, feeling his heart shred at the discomfort of being so close. No matter how much he craved it. Craved her.

He sighed, “You’re terrified, shocked from what happened. I don’t want to get in your way and make things worse.”

As he pulled away, she stabilized her tremored hand by grasping his wrist, “You haven’t made things worse. Remember when you sat with me at the party? When I confessed to you how afraid I was of everything? You helped me so much back then, how could now be any different?”

Zevlor faced away, staring into the firelight as Tav waited. He could not retreat from the visions of their last meeting. How she cried to him, and told him she felt safe in the comfort of his arms. Sitting in a grassy, humid corner away from the rest of the guests. Sheltered by fern leaves and flowers, he let her talk and talk about all that troubled her. Felt so touched by her vulnerability that he shared his own worries too. Two of them, absorbed in isolating fear and finding each other in the dark. Hands wandering around with each kind word, and then the arousing jolt of remembering her naked flesh against his. Tail wrapped around her ankle while they made love under the plant covered moonlight. So beautiful under him, sensations he never thought he’d experience again.

He thought of making her his again so many times after. But in between then and now, he kept failing. Falling into disorder and defeat. People dying for his mistakes. Who would want someone like that? A man so past his prime he verged on cowardice, next to the hero of Baldur’s Gate. How could that ever make sense?

“Both of us were vulnerable at that time. You’re recovering from an attack, and…well, I know you appreciate honesty. My body is so excited from the fight, and from seeing you again, that if I get close enough I might take you here and now. Even though I’d come to regret being so forceful,” he explained.

Hot shame filled every corner of his face just for saying it. Avoiding her gaze even as she took deep breaths, standing from the bed again. This time, with success. Still slow, but steady in each step closer to Zevlor by the fireplace.

“You were always so hesitant about what you wanted,” Tav said, close behind him. The glow of the fire warmed one side of her exposed arms, fingers tickling against the fabric of his cotton shirt. Brushing the tip of her nose against his spine, taking in the scent of brimstone and pine. Her strength regained with each graze of her palm against him, light and teasing.

“I venture to deserve the things I want first,” he said, head down towards the flame. Closing his eyes to the feeling of Tav’s hand sliding from the back of his arm to the top of his hand. Rested on the mantle as she gave a gentle squeeze.

“Isn’t that up to me to decide?” She asked, taking the strap he once adjusted in place and pulling it down again. “You saved my life today. And I missed you terribly, Zevlor.”

Hand in hand, she turned him to face her. Tall and soldierly in front of her, head craning up to face him in all his glory. Fire crackled before them, leading her hand guiding his to her waist. His nails craved to dig into her skin, pull her close and never let go. She tiptoed into his embrace, other arm around her back, forming a gentle, passionate hug. Feeling her skin against his again, he was happy to die that moment.

“Are you sure this is what you want tonight? It was not my intention when I took you in to do this,” he said, wondering if she heard a word he said. She pushed their faces closer, lips hovering around each other. Temptation already too difficult bear as his mouth opened to bite into her supple flesh, but stopped short. “I won’t be able to control myself if you allow me this.”

Tav’s cool breath danced along his tongue, a full body desire to sob over how much she wanted him. To do what they did last time and pretend the world didn’t exist.

“You make me feel safe, Zevlor. I’ve been on my guard ever since we parted. Do you know how wonderful it feels to just…relax? Please, I want you near me. Inside me all night. Just like at the Grove. Hold me, Zevlor,” Tav said, her voice a crescendo of emotion from whisper to yelp.

Words weren’t enough, he had to be shown. Tav ruminated that very idea ever since they last parted. How a commander of a group like the Hellriders could end up so unsure of himself. Maybe he wasn’t always like that, but he was now. And she wasn’t inclined to change a thing. She laced her fingers under the straps of her slip, letting the fabric slowly waterfall off her body. In the wake of her naked form before him, she swore she could hear his beating heart. Rapid and fiery like the burning glimmer of the room.

“Can you promise me one thing?” He asked, hands pressed against her cheeks, lifting her eyes up to him. Round and ablaze with desire, warm and cool at the same time.

“Anything,” she whispered.

“Do not leave in the morning,” he said.

“I’ll never leave if that’s what you require.”

It was a kiss like never before. A whirlwind heart attack imploding between the two of them. Zevlor’s soul rose out of his body, taken over by the beckoning ache of her open mouth, welcoming his forked tongue. Tav melted into him, relishing in the hot pleasure of pressing her bare body against his clothed one. She clawed at his belt, longing for the image of his warrior frame above her. Scarred and toned by years of combat. Tail swivelling back and forth, a supplicant tying around her supple thigh.

Their voices hummed into each other, a hymn of blossoming want. Walking in tandem to the bed as Zevlor climbed over her, shuddering at the pleasure of pushing between her legs. He sat up on his knees, stretching his flexed back muscles as he pulled off his cotton shirt. A tingling sensation spread between Tav’s legs, cool air biting at her wet, sensitive core. She couldn’t resist the urge to run her hands across his torso, savouring every scar and mark, repeating her movements when he’d moan. His belt jingled below, unclasped as the imprint of a large erection outlined his pants. He was an impressive man…everywhere.

“Pull them down slowly, I want to see,” Tav ordered, voice dark and wistful with lust.

“At your command, my beautiful goddess,” he said, a low growl vibrating from the back of his throat. Taking slow, painful time in pulling down his trousers. Tav bit her lip, the excitement almost too much. A little tuft of pubic hair opened the door to a long, thick shaft, bouncing against Zevlor’s stomach when it finally broke free. Her mouth watered, licking up the collection of desperate saliva at the top corner of her lip.

Her heart fluttered, body hot and assured unlike before. That was the spell Zevlor had her under since they’d met. Empowering her just from being close, reminding her of the strength she still had. Not a thing of the past, but something to be embraced. And now, she had a chance to stay with him for more than a night. Protect each other, and revel in their primal need to be attached.

Discarding his pants with the rest of his clothes, Zevlor lowered, kissing between her bare breasts and down to her stomach. Heartfelt, exciting tickles made her giggle with a flirtatious ring. Shivering at the scratches his nails left in their stead. Relaxing every nerve within as she lay in his embrace, letting him take the lead. She hoped he’d always give her a chance to let go this way, think about nothing other than the pleasure he’d cover her in.

Between peppered kisses and flicks of his tongue along her stomach, he whispered, “You’re mine, I’ve wanted you to be since the moment I saw you. I’ll protect you, keep you safe. Come here.”

With untold force, Zevlor swung Tav’s legs onto his shoulders, capturing her cunt in his mouth. Jolts of ecstasy wet and savoured with each slide of his tongue across her clit. Sucking, licking, moaning into her without any attempt to catch his breath. Driven each time he tasted more of her essence. Unbridled to the point where she had to hold his horns to keep balance. The temperature of his hellfire skin stimulated her even more, muscles tightening with every weakened, whimpering moan that escaped her. Assertive, but slow, gentle even as he became primal against her. Letting the rhythm take her exactly where she needed to be.

Tav’s moans fluttered like butterflies, one hand clutching his horn and the other falling over her eyes, focusing on the chase of that wonderful high. Vampiric biting down of her lip, containing her innate need to be even louder. There would be time for that. Tonight, she wanted to sink into him, fall into a calming, warm pool of passionate affection. Enjoy the sensation of his body becoming a vessel for her pleasure, moving his tongue in just the way she liked.

Between tiny gasps, Tav said, “Zevlor…you’re going to make me cum. Please don’t stop…please.”

He didn’t reply, too focused on slurping up every trickle of sex that dripped out of her. He simply moaned, muffled by the soft grind of her pussy against his face. Building up to a climax that bloomed throughout her body, arching her back as she rode out an orgasm she had no idea she craved so deeply until it happened. He’d refuse to let her stop a second early, continuing to circle his tongue around her clit until she shook with sensitivity.

She melted into the bed, a thin veneer of sweat combining with the dripping warmth between her legs as Zevlor took his mouth off. Positively beautiful over her, muscular back bent in a perfect curve when he began to suckle and kiss around her neck and collarbone. Travelling downward in a desperate need to cover every inch. Landing with satisfaction on her nipples, laughing for the first time in years, lost in the joy of her.

Zevlor stopped for a moment, lifting his head to face her below him. Tranquil and drunk with sinful pleasure, cheeks filled with rosy blush and eyes glazed over. Arms splayed out like the wings of a celestial Aasimar. He loathed the past, for so many reasons, but mostly because she wasn’t there with him. In her infinite beauty, a plush and wanton solace before him. How did he ever stomach being away from her since they’d met?

“I’m sorry for leaving you after that night. Forgive me?” He asked.

Tav laughed, spellbound to the point of forgetting she was ever upset. As if he’d never left. She said, “You may need to convince me a little more, hellrider.”

Something switched off within him, a zealous need to have her succumb to him. Forgive him for his misgivings. Praying to a new goddess and asking for redemption. Offering himself to her by inching his cock deep inside her, feeling the pull of her soft walls lock him in. Driven to eternal admiration from the sound of her shocked, euphoric moan, submitting to the stretch of him. An addictive sting, exposed to every synapse erupting within her sensitive, yearning cunt. She bit her bottom lip with a smile, shivering at the comforting wrap of his tail around her waist to keep her in place. No escaping the loving, dominant thrust of his hips deep into her.

“Forgive me,” he said, “Forgive me. Forgive me!” A passionate, hard thrust into her pussy each time he said it.

The might of him rendered her eyes at the back of her head, nearly unable to reply as he begged for her forgiveness. Her slick smacking against his pubic bone, gushing onto his cock in a lustful mess of an orgasm begging to come back. Tav snaked her arms across Zevlor’s shoulders for dear life, brought to the edge with his heavy grunts in her ear. She tightened around him, rocking back and forth on the bed, closer and closer to release.

He felt the contracting of her around him, unfulfilled by her silence on forgiveness. Just as she was about to finish, he pulled out of her, smacking the tip of his cock against her clit repeatedly. Listening to her whine and whimper, threatening tears. Then, before she knew it, he thrusted back in, hard and unmerciful. Pulling out again, repeating that pattern.

“Have I earned your forgiveness? Or shall I deny you until you use your words all night? Tell me, am I absolved, goddess?” He growled, voice husky and feral, the militant part of him revealing just enough of itself to command her to his whim.

By the fourth thrust and pull, she wailed, “Yes, gods above, I forgive you! There’s nothing to forgive, just make love to me!”

He pushed inside her fully, smashing his lips against hers at the same time. Holding her hips in line to use his infernal ridges as friction against her swollen clit. Locking his hand into hers, supported above her head while he thrusted and thrusted with reckless abandon. Both of them grunting in tandem, overcome with delayed pleasure. Tav found her footing quickly, edged so deliciously that her orgasm ripped through her with little effort, squeezing onto his cock. Her nails dug into his knuckles, mouth hanging open in awe over the intensity of her second climax.

Pulling from the kiss, he struggled against his own release. Mourning for the eventual time when he’d have to leave her cunt. Comfortable, warm and wet, a shelter from all harm. He couldn’t stand it yet, and used his tail around her waist to flip her onto her side, like fresh sand in the palm of his hand.

“Let me lie next to you,” he said, moving his body in a spoon position, chest pressed against her back, “I want to cum with you in my arms.”

Tav mustered a whisper thin ‘please’ under her breath, running her hands through his hair as he snuggled in behind her. The curve of her spine angled just right for him to sheathe himself inside her once more. Pumping slowly this time, arms and tail curled across her body like ivy against an ancient wall. Kissing the side of her neck, an endless waterfall of tenderness mixed with the possessive thrust of his cock. She was completely enveloped, safe and sound in his embrace, floating in the paradise he gave her.

“You’re with me, now. Right here, safe. Does that feel good? Am I pleasing you, goddess? Might I cum inside you?” He whispered in her ear, low and gruff. Intense bravado oozing from every part.

She was awash with sensual energy, captivated by him just like the first time. Although that was much quieter, fearing someone might hear them. Now, she felt as if they were sharing a home. In the privacy of their own dwelling, even if that was a fantasy.

“Oh, yes, you are perfect. I want your everything, Zevlor. Please, give me everything,” she replied, taking care to run her tongue up and down his bottom lip before she pushed them into a wet, feverish kiss. Flicking her tongue against his teeth, relishing in the sharp edge.

Their mouths were open to each other when he felt the stirrings of his climax. Languishing movements lost rhythm as he climbed ever forward into that much desired sensation. Possessed by the supple flesh of her lips and everything else. Hips, breasts, stomach, ass, everything. Falling into her deep, insane at the ache of his cock inside her. He breathed out a hard, rapturous moan before he let himself spill, soaking her cunt with the cum that twitched out of him. Dribbling out of the side as she lay before him with a wide, calm smile. Their muscles relaxed together, fusing into the bed.

Tav shivered, the slide of his cock pulling out sending a shock in her spine. Imbued with comfort immediately as Zevlor pulled a thin sheet over her. Tucking her into the blankets and the warm hold of him. Snuggling tight into her, yearning to find a way to fuse his body with hers. Kissing the top of her head, lingering to take in her scent.

“You did not smell of rosemary when we last saw each other,” he said, “That’s always been a favourite of mine. Rosemary.”

Tav grinned, turning to face him. A much needed distraction to keep her heavy eyelids from shutting for the night. To see him once more, maybe twice. Absorb all she missed in the year past. His handsome, aged face glowing under firelight. Sandy hair, messy and dotted with sweat. Strong hands stuck tight to her hips. All she imagined came to life.

Zevlor held her hand, kissing each knuckle, down to the bottom of her palm. A touch so ethereal, he could have been giving healing magic. Rescuing her both outside and in, cleansing her soul of all evil and wrongdoing endured before.

“We’ll replenish your lost supplies tomorrow,” he said, her hand close to his face, “If you’ll allow me to accompany you?”

She smiled, containing its ever widening stretch. “Well, we do have a great deal to catch up on.”

[fayes-fics]

When The World Is Free: Chapter 1 - Sous le ciel de Paris

MASTERPOST | NEXT

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, WW2 AU.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Welcome to the start of my new multi-chapter fic based on a request by the lovely @amillcitygirl! Please see the masterpost for a synopsis of this story. Please note that while I do have a plotted outline, I will be posting chapters as I write them, and I expect that process to take quite a few months. Please bear with me! This first chapter sets up the story - reader moving to Paris in the summer of 1939 and bonding with her new flatmate, Eloise Bridgerton. Please note that Benedict won't be turning up for a couple of chapters yet. Thanks to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy! <3

August 1939

Emerging from the underground Trocadero metro stop, you round the corner of the recently completed, gleaming Palais de Chaillot and stop dead in your tracks. There before you is the most iconic landmark of Paris. Perhaps all of France.

La Tour Eiffel. 

Breathtaking in its metallic magnificence, glowing in the setting sun. A sight that buoys your travel-weary soul seven days after you left New York: boats and trains finally bringing you to this wondrous spot. A light breeze even dances over your neck in greeting, a balm from the cloying subterranean heat of the metro. 

It's a light elbow check to your arm that pulls you back from a state of reverie. 

“A beautiful sight, but one you’ll get used to,” your uncle Robert chuckles, shaking your heavy leather case to indicate it's time to move along. “In fact, I've been told you will be able to see it from your appartement…” 

He has accompanied you to Paris and will see you settled into your new adventures before continuing on to visit friends in England. He spent the roaring 20s living right here in the 16th arrondissement himself and, indeed, has arranged for you to share living quarters with a young British lady, a relative of his English friends. It's a comfort to know you’ll have at least one English speaker to chat with as you dive headfirst into learning proper French as you go.

Robert leads you away from the amazing sight and into the bustling streets, alive with cars, trams, bicycles and pedestrians buzzing in all directions. It's all at once like New York City, but yet so different as well, cafe terraces filling the wide pavements with all manner of people gathered to sip robust cafe au lait and refreshing limonade. 

Within minutes, you are on a quieter side street and stopping outside a handsome honey-coloured stone facade with wrought iron window balconies and window guards, teaming with colourful, fragrant flowering pots. The number 14 gleaming white on a traditional navy blue tile. Your uncle pushes the enormous wooden door open, beckoning you into a cool whitewash wall corridor with mosaic floor tiles.

“Ahhh, Robert!!” a sophisticated middle-aged lady bustles from a nearby doorway and greets your uncle warmly, kissing both cheeks. It would appear they are friends of old.

“Y/n, this is Madam DuLac, your landlady,” he explains as you offer a handshake, admiring her boucle jacket and chic bun.

“Qu’est-ce?” she signals with a good-natured frown, obviously finding your polite greeting lacking, pulling you into a hug and two-cheeked kiss. She smells like Chanel perfume, cigarettes and baked goods. “You are in Paris now, ma chérie; this is how we greet one another,” she counsels in heavily accented but perfect English.

“You speak English?” you sigh, relieved, your French decidedly lacking.

“Bien sûr,” she smiles. “And please call me Solène,” she adds with a friendly smile.

“Eloise should be home from the library maintenant; the perfect time for you to meet,” she gestures towards an elevator cage surrounded by a sweeping grey marble staircase.

“I think I would prefer to take the stairs,” you admit, nerves flaring at the idea of such a contraption.

Your uncle laughs. “Well, I am taking it; I am not hefting this case of yours up five flights of stairs,” he adds dryly as you gaze up the swirling stairwell.

“Five storeys?” you squeak.

“The view is the best from the top,” Solène advises as she rattles back the cage entry and steps in, looking at you expectantly. 

Reluctantly, you follow, all three of you and your luggage crammed into the metal cage as it jerks to life and begins its ascent.

“You will get used to it,” Solène smiles as she reads the apprehension on your face, your vice-like grip on your small vanity case and handbag.

Luckily, the lift reaches your destination safely. One shudder before it stops, and the door concertinas back in Solène’s hand to reveal a sweeping hallway with doors left and right. 

“Ici,” she signals, the last door on the right-hand side.

But before you can knock, the door peels open, and a pretty, petite brunette jumps in surprise, dropping the book she is holding.

“Pardon,” she offers in perfect accented French, and you wonder for a split second if it is the correct apartment.

“Eloise, this is y/n,” Solène gestures.

“Ohhh, hello,” she grins, and the whiplash back to a plummy British accent is momentarily confusing. “I was about to go read in the courtyard, thought you might not be turning up today. Anyway… come in, come in!”

You shake her proffered hand as she ushers you into the apartment. Instantly, you feel a warmth spreading in your belly, like you have come home. It's light and airy, with large windows looking out across the Parisian rooftops, and yes, to the left is indeed the Eiffel Tower, still gleaming in the fading evening light. But the place also feels homely, that sort of messy that is lived in, comfortable. A large velvet sofa with tumbling stacks of books around it, a little kitchenette awash with colourful enamel cookware, and a jumble of art deco posters and random paintings adorning the walls. 

“Solène, I don't suppose you've baked any more of those rather delicious madeleines, have you? To welcome my new housemate?” Eloise pipes up with a chipper, conspiratorial wink your way. 

You already like her.

“Effronte!” Solène exclaims with fond exasperation before pausing. “There may be some…”

“I remember those!” your uncle adds with a tinge of nostalgia as he drops your suitcase. “You are in for such a treat, y/n.”

“Well, while our landlady decides if she’s willing to share the treats she has obviously baked but is being coy about…”Eloise raises a pointed eyebrow at the woman before returning to you. “...let me show you your room, then maybe a drink? I'm sure it's been a long journey.”

You nod and, with an exchange of grins, follow her down a corridor. She sweeps open the door to a lovely room, a large double bed with matching bedside tables and a dresser. But best of all, french doors onto a Juliet balcony overlooking a quiet courtyard filled with a riot of birch trees, their leaves gently rustling in the evening breeze.

“Mostly, it’s pesky pigeons down there, but you do get the occasional blackbird singing in the morning,” Eloise smiles as if intuiting your thoughts.

You spend some moments wandering the room and checking out the various fixtures, running idle hands over the furniture, already feeling remarkably at home with your new housemate and, indeed, your new home for the next twelve months.

“I'm just next door,” Eloise reveals, pointing a thumb over her shoulder. 

Your uncle appears in the doorway to announce that he and Solène are off to catch up as you unpack and suggests you all reunite for dinner later at a local bistro. It all sounds so very Parisian chic; you cannot wait.

“So tell me about yourself,” Eloise flops onto your bed, already wonderfully casual in your presence, as you open your case and the wardrobe to unpack.

“I’m y/n. I'm from a little town on Long Island called Patchogue, about fifty miles outside New York City. I'm 22…”

“Me too!” she interjects, then signals for you to proceed.

“I wanted to see the world before I settled down. And I’ve dreamed of living in Paris since I was a little girl...” You feel your eyes misting at the fact it's now finally coming true as you continue. “So my parents agreed to pay for me to come to Paris for a year. Under the strict agreement, I get married when I return…” 

“You have a fiancé?”

“Yes. Well, sort of. Stanley. We practically grew up together, and we’ve been going steady since we were eighteen.”

“Going steady? That's so American,” Eloise chuckles.

You nod with a giggle, then continue. “He hasn't proposed formally yet, says he is saving up for a ‘real nice’ ring, but it will happen. He is the son of my dad’s business partner. They run a construction company. So, while I'm here, they are building a home for us to live in when I return. We will get married next summer and move right in.” 

“You don't mind?” Eloise frowns.

“Don’t mind what?” you query as you hang up your favourite dress.

“That your future is so… plotted out. I couldn't bear the idea. It's why I think my mother let me move to Paris. She was so fed up with me refusing to settle down.” Eloise laughs, idly flicking through the magazine you were reading on your journey.

“I suppose I've never really expected anything else,” you shrug, pausing as you put away your hosiery, but her words make you contemplative. “You don't have a boyfriend back home?”

“God, no. Too many pretty Frenchmen to entertain me here,” she winks. “I’ll introduce you to some, just in case you change your mind,” she breezes, climbing off your bed and drifting to the door. “Wine?”

“Oh… well, why not? When in France, etc,” you agree and close the drawer on the pile of cardigans you have just safely stacked.

“That's the spirit!” she effuses over her shoulder as you follow her back into the living room, the Eiffel Tower still glittering in the dusk.

“This place is so lovely,” you sigh, transfixed by the view as she wanders over and hands you a glass.

“It is a pretty magical view,” she agrees, staring at the skyline with you, watching as each window seems to illuminate in soft yellow with the dying light.

“And the decor, too; I see you love books as much as me,” you smile, tilting your head to the piles before taking a sip of red wine. It's the perfect balance of refreshing, mellow fruitiness and tart tannin coating your tongue, so much better than any wine back home.

“Oh god, yes! I work in the library. I can bring home as many as I want,” she enthuses.

“So, are there actually any left on the shelves?” you jest, lightly, savouring your drink and wandering to take a closer look at a smaller painting that catches your eye. It's very different to all of the others.

“My god, this is beautiful,” you breathe, hugging your wineglass to your chest as you stare transfixed at the art. It appears to be a large country house, probably British, bathed in the warm pinkish light of dawn.

“That's home. Aubrey Hall in Kent. I think the family made me bring it in the hopes it would make me homesick,” Eloise deadpans.

“It’s a wonderful piece,” you breathe, fingers reaching out to lightly trace over the heavily oiled brushstrokes. Something about it is so captivating and intimate.

“I'll be sure to let the artist know,” she smirks. “Although I'm reticent to give him any more praise, seeing as, unfortunately, he is my brother.”

“Your brother painted this?” taken aback by the revelation, assuming it an heirloom.

She nods and comes to stand next to you. “Yup. Benedict. Second eldest. I'm fifth of eight, by the way. Hence ‘E’ for Eloise. It's a thing,” she rolls her eyes.

“Wow. Big family. I just have one brother...” 

“Lucky you. Although, as much as he is irritating, if I could only keep one sibling, it probably would be him,” she admits, taking a swig of wine.

“I love art,” you sigh, finally tearing your gaze from the canvas but already knowing it is something you will return to again and again. A pull you can’t quite understand.

“Oh, then I know the perfect job for you! There’s a gallery around the corner from the library, and I saw a sign saying they wanted an English speaker to assist international visitors! You would be perfect!”

“I would love that!” you extol, even as a tiny part of your brain lingers on the idea that it would be too good to be true if it all worked out, that fleeting sense of foreboding in paradise.

“Excellent!” Eloise’s enthusiasm pulls you back to the immediate. “So let’s get your glad rags on! It's time to hit the town for your first night in Paris!”

And thus, you find yourself being bundled back into your room to refresh and change for your first night in the city of your dreams. Indeed, as you find yourself being led by Eloise, arm looped in yours, through the bustling evening streets to a little bistro, your uncle and Solène already waiting at a table with smiling faces and drinks in hand, you can't help but feel this really is the only place in the world you could ever want to be…

Your adventure is just beginning.

Benedict taglist: @foreverlonginguniverse @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaaa

[ivystoryweaver]

im so interested in what u think the moon boys would be like as dads???

Ohhhhh, this is gonna hurt my heart. In a good way. I have a lot of feelings about Moon Dads and I've not yet written fics about it so yeah...

I'm gonna jump right in with Marc.

I think if Marc had a child, he would be all in: attentive, tender, affectionate.

I don't actually believe Marc would be afraid of parenting. I know that can be a popular hc/fic plot and I totally understand why, and love reading those.

But I think Marc would be one of those people that would try to do the opposite of what was done to him. Example: his parents were married and that went well... (sarcasm)

Yet Marc got married. He and Layla were together for years and, according to her, had "adventures together", meaning they worked as a (likely successful) team. Marc bailed on Layla once his mom passed and he could no longer control or hide his disassociations (plus Khonshu's threats for Layla to be his next avatar).

Point being: Marc did get married and seemed pretty successful at it, for the most part.

Marc is in charge of bath time. This includes little toy boats, fish that squirt water, bubbles. He's going to wash their hair, or whatever hair needs they have, depending on race and hair types. If it is a hair type he isn't as familiar with, he is going to be talking to his partner, looking up vids, whatever it takes. Touch is going to be so important to him. He is the dad who will know how to do french braids or styles for textured hair.

He's never going to react in anger. If he is angry, he's going to hand the reins to Steven or sometimes Jake (if he is able, it's obviously not a parlor trick), or he will just say to his little one, "Daddy is going to take a time out. I'll be back in a minute and we can have a talk." The idea of putting himself in time out is so endearing to his child that they end up calming from whatever misbehavior they were attempting, wanting to join him in the corner for time out, touching a plushie or reading a book in his lap.

They learn very young that their father's expressions can be stern but his hands are safe. They will not want to disappoint him.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Steven can converse naturally with children, this we see in the first episode. Steven's open, engaging nature is great for children. His own childlike wonder will shine in fatherhood. He was also able to quickly redirect the behavior of the girl who was littering at the museum. So a spunky child in a doctor's office waiting room will be easily wrangled by a distracting toy, quick game or wonderful story.

Steven is your go-to guy for bedtime stories. With a young child, Steven will share how wondrous the world around them is. He'll always have a anecdote or a fun fact for tweens or teens.

He will offer choices. "Do you want to put on 'jammies now or after a story?" "Do you want to help Dad set the table or feed the cat?" Steven has lacked agency in his life, so he is going to give it to his child. He will teach them to speak up for their needs.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Jake is going to be such a little shit as a dad. I'm sorry but there is no nicer way to say it lol. Jake's used to operating in the background and he's a night owl. He's the fun dad. He's the "don't tell mom" dad (or don't tell dad, dad). Kid wants stay up 15 extra minutes? It's Jake that's gonna sneak them some of the popcorn he popped after they were supposed to be asleep. As a partner, you'd find your little one on Jake's knee in the most comfy chair, watching the Yankees play baseball.

You give them The Look™ and they know they are busted. They exchange guilty glances and then Jake starts repeating words in Spanish. Baseball, Popcorn, very good! If you are already all Spanish speakers then Jake pretends to be practicing in both Spanish and English.

Either way, he and his little twin, with their adorable curls, give you shit eating grins.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Moon Knight Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Askbox

[expanding-hyrule]

Story Spotlights Hub Post

Reference post for links and details on the Expanding Hyrule Story Spotlights community project.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Original Post - Review Form - Reviews - Fic Archive - Art Archive

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Works In Need of Reviews

Looking to help support a creator in Expanding Hyrule? All of these works in our collection have yet to get enough reviews for a spotlight. Works need a minimum of 3 reviews to be featured, and will include up to 5 in their post, but you are welcome to submit more, the link to the responses is available on this post for creators to read the whole list.

You can find all these works linked in the archives listed above!

Short Projects (Concept boards, under 10 chapter fics, etc)

Song of the City by @/ReBuggy

Break the Wheel by @randombutloved (1/3)

Depths of the Darkness by @/Veelilu

In the Blood by @/Zeldas_Eyebrows

The Hero and the Princess by @mistresslrigtar (2/3)

The Ritual of Lomei Labyrinth by @pocketseizure

Vessels by @ro-blaze

The inconsistences of fate by @stinkyguar

Linkubus by @/RoughInTheDiamond

Fae and Fortitude by @sparklyhyperbole

The Baker and the Seamstress by @haste-waste (2/3)

Fall Under Your Spell by @louwhose

The Final Hyrule by @louwhose

An Encounter in Kokiri Forest by @louwhose

Swan by @/woodgale

Red Dead Zelink by @/ghostgirl19

On the Shores of Change by @/leadernovaandthemacabre

The Temporanaut by @/leadernovaandthemacabre

The Fruitcake Campaign by @/leadernovaandthemacabre

Day After Destiny by @amelias-zelda-calamity-quintet

Moderate Projects (Started comics, <50k fics, etc)

The Triforce Awakens by @sillylildude (2/3)

DadLink AU by @dadlink/@pluviatrix

Princess Link: Engaged to my sister's kidnapper??? by @sparkspsps

Chained Truths AU by @mirensiart (1/3)

The Legend of the Three by @fablesfables

A Voice from the Desert by @avoicefromthedesert

Lock and Key by @louwhose (1/3)

petrichor and bones by @/pastelsandpining

Into the Dark by @deiliamedlini

Restoration Age by @amelias-zelda-calamity-quintet

Cinders of Life by @amelias-zelda-calamity-quintet

Large Projects (Ongoing comics, <100k fics, etc)

Uneasy Lies the Chosen of Farore by @drsteggy (2/3)

The Curse of Demise by @thecurseofdemisecomic (2/3)

Fighting Fate by @/Allendra

Desert Blight by @/jclbs

Path of the Infinite by @shadow_djinni

Blooming in Adversity by @/botwriter

The Promise by @zeldaelmo (1/3)

Strings of Fate by @truffeart (2/3)

A Conviction to Save by @advocaado

Inspiration, Illusions, and other Inconveniences by @zeldaelmo (1/3)

Epic Projects (Long running comics, >100k fics, etc)

Hero by @karama9 (2/3)

All That Hurts Us by @karama9 (1/3)

The Hero of the Dunes by @webhead3345

The Golden Chain by @zeldadiarist (1/3)

Legacies & Bloodlines by @/nolansman

Unbroken by @deiliamedlini (1/3)

A Crossing of Stars by @ixtaek

Fighting Gravity by @/CrazygurlMadness

The Wondrous Adventures of the Righteous Maximus by @/Split Infinitive

Bright as Night by @/Allendra

Make a Wish, Make it Count by @/LiliansMalice

Cloak and Dagger by @crownedcrusader

The Weekly Hyrule News by @/BatNeko

Reality by @/Leila Editer

The Hunt by @/andrhars

And the Clouds Parted by @/SkyLeaf

I Belong To You by @mistresslrigtar (1/3)

The Magic Awakens by @/Scarlet_Curls

Alone With You by @deiliamedlini

Goddess of Secrecy by @amelias-zelda-calamity-quintet (2/3)

Mark of a Hero by @amelias-zelda-calamity-quintet (1/3)

Already Spotlighted Projects

| Alternate Triforce | Captain Link Araki and the Harbinger of Destiny (post scheduled) | Cycle of the Stars | Divine Gemstones (post scheduled) | Guarding Zelda (post drafted) | The King's Lament (post scheduled) | A Link To The Stars (post scheduled) | The Mage's Lantern | No More. Not One Single Time More | On My Honor (post scheduled) | The Princess's Heart (post scheduled) | Remnants of the Past | The Sea's Prophecy (post scheduled) | Stone Fate (post scheduled) | Too Old to Keep (post scheduled) | Triforce of Power | Void's Grasp (post scheduled)

[seiya-starsniper]

Anon I have NO IDEA what happened to your original ask oaisdjaodjoaijasas. I got three asks around the same time so I am assuming they were all from you? If so, I still have those asks, THIS ONE just got deleted. Tumblr either glitched mad hard or I deleted it by accident. But luckily I still have the email notification so I saved it.

Anyways, continuing with the birthday fic posts, here's my fill for your prompt! 💖

[AO3 Link Here]

-----------------------------------------------

Hob Gadling has lived a long life. A long, rich, beautiful life, full of wondrous discoveries and terrible heartbreaks, hard lessons and thrilling adventures.

There are, Hob thinks sometimes, few experiences left in the world that are truly brand new for him. The realization does not make him want to live less, for he always finds a thrill in experiencing something familiar, just in a different way, a different decade, a different century. But he does occasionally mourn the fact that the gap between novel experiences has grown longer and longer.

When the role of Dream of the Endless is passed on, and the facet known as Morpheus is cast off and left to his own devices, he stumbles wide eyed and weary into the arms of his oldest friend. That event alone is an entirely unprecedented experience for Hob, who has never seen Morpheus as anything other than infinite and otherworldly. But in this exact moment Morpheus is mortal, and so very fragile, and Hob vows to himself that he will not let this man walk the earth alone for as long as they both lived.

Over the next few months, Hob rapidly realizes that every experience with Morpheus is something brand new, for both of them. Morpheus has never been anything other than Endless, and Hob has never had to teach anyone the basics of being human. They fumble and fight, laugh and cry, and then at some point through it all, Hob realizes he’s in love.

He has no idea how to go about confessing to his friend of 600+ years though. At least that will be a new experience for them both too.

-----------------------------------------------

On a cold and rainy evening, Hob returns to their shared flat after a long day of lectures. The weather outside was utterly miserable, and he was looking forward to planting himself on the couch and watching TV, while pretending to accidentally cuddle with Morpheus.

Except, Morpheus is fast asleep on said couch. And wearing Hob’s forest green fluffy robe despite very much having his own matching robe in midnight black.

Hob swallows as he takes in the sight. He wants to take out his phone and snap a photo. He wants to burrow himself in Morpheus’s side and never let him go. 

Before he can do any of these things, Morpheus stirs awake and yawns, only startling the slightest bit once he notices Hob is home. 

“Hob?” Morpheus asks. “I—I apologize, I did not mean to fall asleep here.”

“You looked so cozy I didn’t want to disturb you,” Hob replies, smiling as Morpheus rubs the sleep from his eyes and looks around. Suddenly, the other man’s face pinks, and he must realize what it is he’s wearing, for he wraps his arms around himself, as if that will somehow hide the fact that he’s wearing Hob’s robe.

Hob snorts and then nudges Morpheus’s feet with his knees. The raven-haired man brings in his knees, and Hob flops unceremoniously onto the couch, patting his lap to indicate that his friend could place his feet there. Morpheus does so easily, and Hob tries not to yelp when he realizes just how freezing cold Morpheus’s feet are. 

“Green’s a good color on you,” Hob says, placing his hands on Morpheus’s ankles and rubbing small circles to warm them up. He grins, and Morpheus huffs, his blush even more pronounced now that the subject is out in the open.

“Yours was more convenient to locate than mine,” Morpheus replies, still not meeting his gaze. Hob knows that’s utter shit, they hang their robes next to one another over hooks on the bathroom door. But he hums and accepts the flimsy excuse, before he grabs the remote off the side table and turns on the TV.

They watch a silly movie for the next few hours, and settle into easy conversation, Morpheus asking clarifying questions on pop culture references he still doesn’t quite grasp, and Hob explaining some of the minutiae of human chores when they’re mentioned in casual dialogue. 

They order take-away eventually, eating peacefully on Hob’s couch, and then the next thing he knows, Hob is waking up with a serious crick in his neck, the TV long turned off due its power saving feature, and with Morpheus curled into his side. Hob jostles the other man lightly, laughing when Morpheus groans in obvious displeasure at having been disturbed.

“Wake up sleepyhead it’s time for bed,” Hob whispers to his friend. 

Morpheus blinks up at him, still half asleep and Hob can’t help but lean in close, like he’s ready to tell his friend a secret.

But then Morpheus leans his head up, and their lips brush in an accidental kiss. 

Hob freezes, unsure of what to do. His eyes are wide open but Morpheus’s are shut. The other man lets out a pleased hum at first, and then a moment later they snap open as Morpheus belatedly realizes exactly what he’s done. He pulls away and Hob—

Hob leans down and kisses his friend of 600 years on purpose. 

Morpheus kisses him back.

Hob sighs happily into the kiss, and Morpheus wraps an arm around his neck, pulling him down onto the other side of the couch. Hob goes easily, carefully placing his body atop his oldest friend’s, all the while refusing to let go of his mouth. Morpheus tastes like starlight, even though Hob knows that shouldn’t be possible. He’s mortal now, or at least as mortal as Hob is, which is to say, not very. But he’s no longer Endless so nothing about him should feel so otherworldly. 

But maybe Hob’s just projecting. Maybe he really is that far gone for this man. 

“You desire me,” Morpheus whispers, his voice tinged with awe when they take a short break from kissing.

“I do,” Hob answers. “Have for a little while now,” he admits. 

Morpheus’s brow furrows.“But…you didn’t before—”

Hob shushes him gently.

“We didn’t spend time like this before,” Hob whispers, pressing his forehead to Morpheus’s. “You were never this accessible before you were human. I’ve always found you beautiful, even when you were still Endless, but it was always look, don’t touch.”

Morpheus nods in understanding. There was never a chance for the idea of them before, not when Morpheus was still Dream, and Dream of the Endless carried the weight of the entire unconscious universe on his shoulders. Not when he held so much baggage he knew Hob could not help him carry. 

“But now?” Morpheus breathes, his voice so hopeful, so longing, so human, it nearly breaks Hob’s heart with how much he loves him.   

“But now,” Hob replies, touching his hand to Morpheus’s check, admiring the way the other man’s eyes flutter shut in pleasure. “Now we have all the time in the world to love each other, if you’d like.”

“I would—like that,” Morpheus says, opening his eyes once more. “It will be new for me, to love as a human.”

Hob smiles, and presses a kiss to the corner of Morpheus’s mouth. 

“It’ll be new for me too,” he replies, grinning against his friend turned lover’s mouth. “Everything is new and beautiful with you.”

[another-lost-mc]

Rubies in the Dark LUCIFER x gn!Reader 4.9k Words | NSFW | Medieval Fantasy AU | Dubious Behaviour Content Warnings: Dark Elvish Prince!Lucifer x Alchemist!Reader. Contains descriptions of monsters, magic and blood/gore/violence; minor injury; implied stalking, breaking and entering, invasion of privacy; dream magic, dream sex, mutual masturbation, implied somnophilia. (Also, shameless references to Warcraft lore because it inspired the worldbuilding for this story.) A/N: This is my fic for @bizarrebankai's 1k Follower Collab! 💙

It’s been nearly five years since you left your family’s small farm to create a new life in Hillsbrad Foothills. You didn’t have any weapons' training and you weren’t magically gifted. Some of your childhood friends were, and they were able to move away to pursue new adventures, leaving you behind. Your family expected you to accept your boring country life, but you knew you wanted more. Disappointment and heartbreak finally motivated you to pack your meager belongings and set off on your own adventure.

You might not be a warrior or mage, but your new freedom gave you the opportunity to explore and study your true passion for alchemy. Your small cottage is located in one of the villages near the Alterac Mountains. Most of the villagers are hunters, gatherers, or tradesmen.

You make a comfortable living trading your alchemy creations to the other villagers. The foothills are an abundant source of some of the most useful flowers and herbs for crafting utility potions and healing elixirs. You don’t like to let things go to waste; the discarded plants you can’t use are milled and turned into ink that you supply to the local constable and village leaders. 

In exchange for your services, they provide you with clothing and food and other useful goods. Your life is lonely, but it’s comfortable. Time has healed old wounds and very rarely is your mind plagued with doubt and regret; you know you’re better off without your unsupportive family and the weak-willed ex-lover you left behind.

Today was surprisingly busy and you were in your alchemy lab all morning. The weather started to turn and you saw clouds rolling over the hills when you peeked out the window. You glance at your herb reserves hesitantly and wonder if you have enough time to gather some more before the storm comes.

One of the village’s recent hunts ended bloodier than usual–there weren't any deaths, but more hunters were seriously wounded than normal. You were more than eager to provide them with potions to accelerate their recovery, but most of your supplies have run out as a result.

The wildlife in the foothills has become exceedingly aggressive. There aren’t many visitors to these quiet lands. There are rumors circulating the village of suspicious travellers conducting experiments with local animals and plant life along the region’s uninhabited borders. They talk about rabid animals and foliage overrun with disease, but you’ve been fortunate not to come across anything like that yourself.

The foothills aren’t easily accessible and are used mainly as a thoroughfare to other regions. There’s only one main road travelers can use to bypass the mountains: the eastern road leads into the valleys and the sea beyond; or the western road that winds up through Silverpine Forest, a thick and dark place nestled along the mountain range.

You’ve heard stories about Silverpine Forest, too–or the Demon’s Forest, if suspicious townsfolk are to be believed. Some people say that monsters hunt along the road at night. If the legends are true, they capture weary travelers and unsuspecting hunters and drag them to their demise in the dark, never to be seen or heard from again. This land might be home to magical and wondrous things, but even you doubt that the stories are true.

Regardless of what you believe, you try to be cautious when you go out to collect herbs on your own. You attach a long knife to your belt before you slip on your cloak, although it is more useful for trimming leaves and brances than for protection.

You bite your lip and glance nervously at the sky. The clouds overhead threaten rainfall, but you think you have enough time to restock some of your depleted resources. You slip out of your little cottage and follow the stone path to the main road heading west.

Today’s harvest is productive and uneventful. These foothills are an excellent source of Briarthorn and Silverleaf, some of the most potent herbs you use regularly. You’ll be able to provide the local healers with more elixirs with extras to spare.

You don’t normally venture this close to the western border, but you naturally follow the most abundant patches of herbs and it led you there. You haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary, but you’re still eager to return to your cottage before it gets too late. 

You set along the path that will lead you home when a strange sound carries on the wind and catches your attention. It doesn’t sound human, but you recognize the whimpers and whines of a creature in pain. You take a hesitant step off the main road, and then another, until you’re walking slowly, carefully, through the grass towards the noise.

The unusual sounds lead you down a deep, sloping hill towards one of the region’s abandoned mines. You shiver from the sudden drop in temperature–something about the air in this area feels unsettling and desolate, and it sets your nerves on edge. The pained noises come from just inside the opening of one of the mining tunnels. You peek around the corner carefully, and you spot some sort of wounded animal.

At a first glance, you think it might be a type of bear, but it’s hard to tell without getting closer. It’s stuck in a tangled mess of thick, white webbing that pins it to the ground. The beast raises its head when your leather boot disturbs some loose stones, and its eyes–or is that two pairs of eyes?–blink at you. The beast is still whimpering in pain, but a low growl echoes around you now, too.

You hold up your hands and show the beast you mean it no harm. It sniffs the air curiously and the growling fades, which you interpret as a sign that it’s safe to approach. You kneel at the beast’s side and examine the webs trapping the poor animal in place. You stroke its furry back soothingly as you slowly cut away the thinner sections of webbing, but the thicker ropes along the beast’s back are too tough for your knife to hack through.

You’re so distracted by your task that a new sound startles you and makes your blood run cold; the beast starts to growl louder and more menacing than before. There’s a hissing noise approaching you from deep within the mine. The flurried sound of skittering limbs echo off the stone walls. Dozens of yellowish eyes seem to float in the darkness further down the tunnel from you and the beast.

It appears that the mines are home to a nest of overgrown spiders. The spiders are nothing like what you’ve seen before: they’re nearly as tall as you are and much wider. They have gnarly limbs and strange, pulsing growths jutting from their backs.

You have no weapons except for your knife, and it’s a poor substitute for a proper sword or axe–not that you could wield either of those successfully, even if you had one. The beast struggles to break free of its bindings next to you, but its limbs are still immobilized by the webs.

You don’t want to run and leave the beast to a bloody fate, but you don’t want to be devoured by the monsters approaching you either. You’re paralyzed by indecision and fear. You remember the stories of suspicious individuals creating abominations from nature in their wake. You didn’t want to believe the rumors were true; you didn’t think this is how you would die.

Something knocks into your back, and you yell in fright as you’re pushed aside. You’re afraid that a monster ambushed you from behind, but instead you see a tall figure wearing leather hunting gear underneath a long, dark cloak.

Whoever it is stops and examines the beast closely, and a male voice speaks to it in a strange language you don’t understand. He pats the beast’s heads–all three of them– before he approaches the swarm of spiders. He doesn’t hesitate to draw a long steel blade, and you stare in horror as he marches towards certain death.

“Hey, wait, don’t–!” you try to warn the stranger. You realize very quickly that your warning was not wanted or needed.

It’s not a battle so much as it is a slaughter. His movements are graceful but quick, and they’re difficult for you to follow. He darts a path through the monsters, his sharp weapon slicing through the air and cutting them down effortlessly. Frenzied, monstrous shrieks and hissing fill the air; the sound of flesh slicing and squelching blood makes you nauseous. The musty mine air grows heavy with the hint of copper. You clench your eyes shut and cover your ears.

Eventually, the sounds of carnage fade into nothingness, and all you can hear now is the wild thumping of your heartbeat. When you open your eyes, the hooded stranger is standing near the beast’s side once more. His sword drips black-red ichor from the slain spiders, and he wipes the blade clean. He cuts through the webbing so the beast can finally stand up properly. It reminds you of an enormous dog as it shakes its dark fur. Its heads each try to lick at the stranger’s face, and you hear a soft huff of amusement; it nearly makes you smile, despite everything you’ve just gone through.

The stranger finally seems to remember your presence and turns to face you. Most of his face is shrouded in darkness with his hood still up, but you know he’s staring at you. His attention feels weighted, almost suffocating. His aura is intense and you’ve seen for yourself he’s capable of ruthless bloodshed, but for some reason, you don’t feel afraid.

His head tilts questioningly. “Why?” his smooth voice asks quietly. “Why did you stop to help him?”

“I wanted to,” you reply honestly. You cringe when you realize how naive it sounds. You could’ve died, and you probably would have died, if not for the traveler’s excellent timing.

You don’t know what to say, and neither does he judging by his icy silence. Something catches your eye when you take a better look at his clothing. There’s a gash on his arm, and the thin material of his tunic is already soaked with blood from the wound. “You’re hurt,” you point out worriedly.

He looks at his arm like he didn’t even notice he was wounded, but he startles when you approach him without hesitation. “What do you think you’re–?” the stranger demands, but he only makes a half-hearted attempt to pull away from you.

You shake your head to silence his complaints and focus on his injury. You normally carry a small assortment of bandages in one of your pouches, pre-soaked with healing elixir, and you unwrap one and press it to his arm. You wrap it around the wound as gently as you can.

“I make these myself,” you explain to him quietly. You move the ripped fabric of his shirt aside, and your fingers brush against his bare skin. You hear a sharp intake of breath, and you pause tying the bandage in place. “Is it too tight?”

Even with his hood up, you can tell he’s shaking his head. “No, no–it’s fine."

When you’re satisfied with your work, you step back and give him some space. The man seems to be focused on his arm now, and the strange tension between you makes you nervous. Before you can think of anything else to say, rumbling thunder booms in the distance outside the mine and you look over your shoulder. The sky is even darker now, and only the barest hints of sunlight peek through the clouds.

You suddenly feel the tingling sensation of magic in the air. You turn around to ask the man if he lives nearby and what his name is, but he and his beast are gone. You scan the tunnel as far as your eye can see, but nothing else remains except for the plagued spider creatures the traveler killed to save you.

More thunder booms, louder and closer than before, and you rush from the mine. You see no sign of the man or his beast, but the storm brews on the horizon. You have no choice but to continue the journey home as quickly as you can and hope that they’re safe now too.

The villagers are on high alert after you inform them of the monstrous spiders you encountered near the western border of the region. You leave out the details of meeting the cloaked stranger and his three-headed beast.

Your thoughts drift to them often in the days that pass since that tense encounter. The traveler must be a gifted magic user if he was able to teleport them both away so easily. You feel the pang of envy when you think of your nonexistent magical skills, but you remind yourself that you’re an accomplished alchemist instead. You’ve honed your talents and found your own purpose in life; you don't need anything else.

Sometimes when you walk to town to buy supplies, or when you tend to the small garden of herbs near your cottage, you feel uneasy. You glance around nervously when the sensation of being watched makes your skin break out in goosebumps. You call out nervously and ask who’s there, but no one answers. The silence feels anticipatory somehow, and you wonder what it means.

The next morning you stumble tiredly from your room after a restless sleep. You think a warm cup of tea will help, but you freeze when you realize there’s a man in your house. His back is facing you while he looks over the alchemy texts and storybooks on your shelf. He turns to you properly when he hears your startled yelp of surprise. 

The man looks like no one you’ve ever seen before. Black hair streaked with grey falls over his intense ruby-coloured eyes. He wears a silver circlet adorned with black opals. His black regalia is perfectly tailored and looks expensive. The dark fabric is accented with gold and red threads that almost seem to glitter in the sunlight shining through your window. His cloak is lined with fur, and his black leather boots are shined to a high polish. He clears his throat and tugs on the cuff of his gloves, almost like he’s nervous. Whoever the stranger is, he looks regal and important and painstakingly out of place in your humble cottage.

You should be afraid that a stranger broke into your home and looked through your belongings while you were sleeping in the next room unaware. However, there’s something familiar about him that you can’t place at first. You suddenly think of a three-headed beast and the cloaked stranger that saved you both, his pale, sharp jawline peeking below the shadow of his hood–

You realize the man before you is the swordsman from the mine, and he nods his confirmation when you ask him if he's one and the same. Your gaze lingers on his intense red eyes and the pointed tips of his ears, and he explains that he lives deep in Silverpine Forest with the elves. He tells you that he’s the crown prince of his kind, and he’s here because he owes you a debt of gratitude.

He looks visibly irritated when you tell him repayment of any kind isn’t necessary. Shouldn’t you be repaying him since he saved your life? But there’s a pink flush blooming across his cheeks despite his offended expression, and all he says is that it’s complicated. Apparently, risking your life to save elvish royalty–or his pet–is a big deal.

You rub your arms nervously and ask what he means. You’re expecting him to offer some sort of compensation, like gold or rare goods, and you plan on refusing all of it. What you don’t expect is for him to ask permission to court you. His eyes are serious and they blaze angrily when you burst into laughter at his proclamation.

(He doesn’t tell you that his brothers noticed his increasingly distracted behaviour the days following your fateful encounter. He washed the bandage you gave him and kept it for sentimental reasons he can’t even articulate properly. He can’t look at Cerberus without remembering how close he came to losing his beloved companion, or how brave you were to try to save him yourself. He thinks of how kind you were when you tended to his wounded arm and how gently you touched him–no one's ever touched him like that before.

He thinks about the spies he sent to your cottage to learn more about you, and how he grew too eager and started watching over you himself. He thinks about your reputable alchemy skills and kind nature, and how respected you are in your small village. He thinks about your potential, and how he can offer you so much more, if you’ll give him the chance.)

In the awkward silence that follows, you realize he isn’t joking and he's waiting for your response. You don’t mean to offend him, and you apologize profusely, but he can’t seriously expect you to accept such a proposal so easily, right?

But you think about your quiet isolation with only fleeting acquaintances among the townspeople to keep you company. You think about the world beyond the foothills that you pretend doesn’t exist. You’re not sure how you’ve ended up in another isolated prison of your own making.

Were you craving a sense of adventure when you let a strange beast’s cries lead you astray from the safest path home? What could someone like an elvish prince offer someone like you?

The world, a treasonous voice whispers in your mind. Judging by the mischievous gleam in his eye, you’re not sure whether that voice was yours or his.

You explain to him as gently as you can that you can’t accept such a bold offer of courtship, but you would be happy to accept an offer of friendship instead.

He readily agrees with your counter-proposal, and you wonder what you’re missing that makes him look so pleased; he looked ready to attack you for wounding his pride only moments ago. He refuses your offer to stay longer and visit, but he assures you that you’ll see him again soon. You stop him before he leaves when you realize you don’t even know his name.

My name is Lucifer, he tells you warmly. There’s an unreadable smile teasing his lips, and he offers you a murmured farewell before he disappears in a ripple of magic.

You ignore the curious voice inside your mind that wonders how long he'll make you wait before he visits again.

It’s been nearly a week since Lucifer visited your cottage and turned your world upside down. You haven’t seen him since, but you’ve made a mental note to ask him what friendship means to elvishkind. It almost seems like he completely ignored your rejection of his offer to court you.

Each morning when you wake, you find some sort of gift in your sitting room: a vase of rare wildflowers, silver jewelry fashioned similarly to the circlet he wore, a new cloak lined with soft fur that looks suspiciously like his own.

You pick up today’s gift–a heavy, leatherbound book about plants and herbs with blank pages at the end for keeping notes. You recognize some of the drawings on the pages: those plants don’t grow in the foothills, but you know they grow in abundance within Silverpine Forest where Lucifer lives, that cheeky devil.

These tokens feel too intimate for the early stages of blooming friendship, but you suspect he knows that. Is he so arrogant that he thinks your affections can be won so easily despite your initial protests?

(Or does he know that despite your protests, you enjoy all his thoughtful gifts? He’s so considerate of your interests and passions. It’s difficult not to be flattered that someone as interesting and handsome as him would be determined to impress someone like you.) 

Your cottage starts to feel different as it fills with gifts the elvish prince brings you while you sleep. It’s almost like he leaves hints of his unique magic on purpose for you to find. You catch whiffs of the smoky-sweet fragrance he wears as you walk through the halls, and you can't help but think of him when you do.

Sometimes you still feel like you’re being watched, but the sensation feels friendlier somehow, rather than invasive and alarming. When you look out your window in the evenings and stare into the thicket behind your cottage, you can almost imagine the flash of blood-red eyes staring back at you.

You’ve been using the book Lucifer gave you as a type of journal. It’s become an intimate confession of your wonder and your fears and doubts. You write about regret and hope and opportunities for new beginnings. You think about friendship and the potential for more, and you wonder how it might feel to wake up in a bed warmed by someone that loves you. You haven’t wanted these sorts of things in a very long time. You’re not sure whether to thank or curse the elvish prince for filling your head with such desperately beautiful ideas.

The next morning, you wake up and find another gift: a glass jar filled with fragrant tea leaves. The unique blend smells earthy and herbal and slightly sweet. You hold the jar to your chest and glance at your journal on the writing desk. It’s open to the last page you wrote on, but you know you closed it before you went to bed last night. Realization dawns on you: Lucifer wanted you to know that he read it, and now he knows all your conflicted thoughts about him.

You boil water and make a cup of tea with the leaves he gave you. You step outside into the early morning sunlight and sip your drink thoughtfully. The familiar feeling of eyes on you returns, and you wonder why it doesn’t bother you nearly as much as it used to.

You dream of Lucifer for the first time that night. It feels like your consciousness is floating amongst soft clouds. You feel weightless and protected and cared for. You can’t see him–not at first, anyway–but you know he’s there with you. His familiar scent is so strong you can almost taste it, and you recognize the deep, teasing timber of his voice when his quiet chuckle echoes all around you. You know it’s not real, but it feels like strong arms cradle you in a warm embrace and it feels so wonderful.

Wakefulness disturbs the tranquility of the dream, and you see one last flicker of red eyes before you sit up in your bed, wide-awake and breathless. You rub your eyes and squint as the morning sunshine filters in the gap of your curtain and bathes your room in light. Something catches your attention from the corner of your eye, and you realize he left his next gift in your room this time: a deep-red rose fully in bloom and tied with a black ribbon, placed next to your pillow while you dreamt of him.

Whatever is happening between you and Lucifer continues to grow more intense as days pass. Every night when you sleep, he visits you in your dreams like he knows your resistance to him is crumbling. His dream-self doesn’t really speak to you, except for deep sighs that sound like your name when he holds you against his chest. Sometimes his fingers trail lightly up and down your arm, and you can feel his warm, damp breath fan against your nape as his nose brushes against your neck.

His presence fades away when you wake up with the morning sun, and your new gift from him waits somewhere nearby. The traces of his magic seem to linger and grow stronger each time he visits you in your room. It almost feels possessive, like he’s leaving his mark on you so you can’t possibly forget him. It’s a constant reminder of who he is and what he wants from you.

His gifts become more intimate over time, too–a box filled with rare candied nuts and creamy chocolates, a bottle of rare fruit wine, a delicately woven blanket for your bed. Today’s gift is the most extravagant yet: a black silk robe with gold and red embroidery. It’s similar in style to the royal regalia he wore when he came to your home for the first time. The underlying significance of that doesn’t escape your notice.

You set the robe aside while you dress in your normal attire and carry on with your work for the day. Time passes in a blur as you grind herbs to make potions, and you mill the discarded parts into pigment for ink. When you head to the village to deliver the finished goods, you feel his intense gaze on you from somewhere nearby; he must realize by now that the bashful smile you try to smother is meant for him.

A strange feeling of anticipation has been building inside you all day. You get ready for bed that evening and take off your clothes. It’s almost like you can’t stop yourself when you slip on the robe he gave you in place of your usual sleepwear. The significance of wearing this to bed, and only this, doesn’t escape you either.

You don’t normally think about your appearance or attractiveness, but wearing something that he made specially for you feels like a type of seduction. The robe feels so soft and sensual against your naked skin, and you realize this is what it feels like to be desirable. The robe is loose across your chest and near the gap between your legs when you lay down. The thin fabric leaves tantalizing strips of bare skin exposed in the cool night air.

When you fall asleep, you realize immediately that tonight’s dream is different. You’re laying flat on something soft, and someone’s body cages you beneath theirs. You recognize the red glint of his eyes as the shadows fade away from his face. He braces himself on one arm while the other tugs at the fastening keeping your robe closed.

Mine, he whispers. His hand pauses, waiting for permission. 

Yours, you whisper back.

Once he has your consent, the restraint he’s been clinging to finally gives way to his primal instincts. He leans forward and kisses you as your robe falls open completely and you’re finally bare to him. His hands and mouth claim every inch of your body for himself. He’s gentle and slow as he explores you. The crimson eyes you once feared are molten with greedy affection for you and you alone. He makes a trail of open-mouthed kisses and small, suckled bruises across your skin.

When he's reached the edge of his control, he surges back up your body and captures your lips in another heated kiss. He slides his hand between your legs and teases the edge of your arousal. He nips gently at your skin when you bare your throat to him, and he smiles wickedly at the first soft sigh that escapes you.

He groans when you explore his chest and glide along his tapered waist until you find the hardening length grinding against your hip. His cock is hard and heavy in your hand, and he growls deep in his chest as you begin to stroke him. His fingers are relentless and you move together, stroking each other in a hot, desperate haze that threatens to consume you both.

He whispers sweet praise into your ear when you fall apart beneath him, and he gasps and moans your name when he comes too. Your hands are both stained as his release mixes with your own. The inside of your thighs are wet and sticky, and your chest heaves while you catch your breath.

He maneuvers you so he’s laying behind you. He wraps an arm possessively around your waist. It may only be a dream, but you swear you’ve never felt so good. You feel relaxed and content and your eyes slip closed.

Stay, you whisper into the strange, ethereal silence of the dreamscape. He grows still behind you for a moment, but he brushes a kiss against your bare shoulder and you know what his answer is.

Something suddenly jolts you into wakefulness. It’s still early in the morning and the sun hasn’t risen yet. You feel so warm, but you realize it’s because of a heavy weight against your back. A strong, muscular arm is draped over your waist and nimble fingers trace abstract shapes on your belly. The familiar tingle of magic and the scent of honeyed smoke surrounds you. The evidence of his desire for you still clings to your thighs, sticky and not quite dry.

“Mine?” his sleep-roughened voice rumbles behind you as he tightens his hold on your waist.

You relax deeper into his arms and smile when he nuzzles against you. “Yours.”

[snarryauctoberfest]

2024 Snarry AUctoberfest: Creator Reveals (Part 1) 💚❤️

Thank you to all the wonderful participants who made this year so special, and to all the Snarry fans who have helped celebrate and enjoy the works created for this fest. View the collection on AO3.

We wanted to put together a final list of all the works, but it appears this year it is too much for a single tumblr post to handle! Tumblr is weak, Snarry is strong, so the post has been split in 2.

This is part 1, which covers Podfic, Art and some of the fic.

Part 2 can be found here.

Thank you to every one of our amazing contributors: Aeternum, armassy, blackwhitelight, Cailynwrites, Coconutice22, DaniPantsu, danpuff, enoby_w, Faithless_3105, Goddess47, HNWitt15, Klari, Likelightinglass, lone_amaryllis, LoveCrumb, lumosatnight, maraudersaffair, originella, razz, sillybeans, Somn, SquibNation10, Thestingratporcupine, Trueliarose, WeAreTheLuckyOnes.

Podfic

Title: Lively Days at Potter House by khaleesisophie - a Podfic Creator: Cailynwrites Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Length: 2:12:47 Summary: Podfic of Lively Days at Potter House by khaleesisophie Harry, who has a misplaced understanding of his own skill in matchmaking, attempts to strike a match for his dear friend, Draco Malfoy. A tale of misunderstanding and romantic misadventures. Or, the Emma Snarry AU we always needed. 💚❤️ Listen on AO3 💚❤️

Art

Title: A Dragon's Treasure Creator: sillybeans AND Trueliarose Rating: General Audiences Word Count: ART and 278 words Summary: It is only in the world of legends and myths that dragons live today. They are matters of stories and tales told to children at night, fantasy so wondrous only the bravest of us dare to let our minds wander. 💚❤️ View on AO3 💚❤️

🧡

Title: Fanart: You Are... Creator: SquibNation10 Rating: General Audiences Word Count: Art Summary: What does Harry have to do to get Severus' attention? 💚❤️ View on AO3 💚❤️

🧡

Title: Illicit Goods Creator: DaniPantsu Rating: Mature Word Count: Summary: Harry is very interested in what is in Snape's pants… and his bag, and his coat, and… 💚❤️ View on AO3 💚❤️

🧡

Title: Muggle Adventures (Alligators Edition) Creator: DaniPantsu Rating: General Audiences Word Count: Artwork Summary: You want alligators? I'll give you alligators. 💚❤️ View on AO3 💚❤️

🧡

Title: positions of love Creator: Thestingratporcupine Rating: Explicit Word Count: Summary: A few pages of a gay wizarding version of the kama sutra, starring Severus and Harry 💚❤️ Read on AO3 💚❤️

Fanfic - In alphabetical order

Title: A Prize Worth Any Price Creator: razz Rating: Explicit Word Count: 7.7k Summary: Defeated by the Rogue King and his army, the remaining nobles of Voldania sacrifice omega Severus Snape as a war prize. They know the propaganda about the Rogue King's marauding ways and discarded lovers. The nobles laugh about sending an old, 'ugly' omega and taunt Severus with predictions that he'll be hate-ravished or killed outright for the insult. Meanwhile Harry thinks he's agreed to an arranged marriage for the peace contracts. He knows about the spy who worked for the resistance during Voldemort's reign. He's excited to have such a dashing spouse. 💚❤️ Read on AO3 💚❤️

🧡

Title: After Spinner's End Creator: enoby_w Rating: Mature Word Count: 4.2k Summary: When Harry left his aunt and uncle's he hadn't meant to end up in Cokeworth. But he'd fallen asleep on the bus; it was late, and now he needed somewhere to stay until morning. While the crooked, empty house on the corner looked like it would do just fine in a pinch, had Harry bothered to ask, the locals would have told him the house at Spinner's End might look empty, but it wasn't. Something lived there; whatever it was, it was best left alone. 💚❤️ Read on AO3 💚❤️

🧡

Title: After the Orchard Creator: originella Rating: Mature Word Count: 20.8k Summary: Prompt 2024-110: Newly widowed Harry has trouble getting his son to sleep. One night Hermione sends him a podcast of Severus Snape talking about his time during the war, and it puts his son directly to sleep. Even though the man had never answered any of Harry’s letters through the year, he decides to reach out and tell him about this new development. 💚❤️ Read on AO3 💚❤️

🧡

Title: Bad Ideas Creator: Klari Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 684 Summary: A romantic weekend gets run aground when a hunt for mythological creatures finds “something.” 💚❤️ Read on AO3 💚❤️

🧡

Title: baring my arse (baring my heart) Creator: blackwhitelight Rating: Explicit Word Count: 5k Summary: "Why do we have to be naked again?" 💚❤️ Read on AO3 💚❤️

🧡

Title: Beginnings Creator: Trueliarose Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 3k Summary:  In the beginning there was nothing… A retelling of the beginnings of time and the world as we know it. 💚❤️ Read on AO3 💚❤️

🧡

Title: Blonde Tresses Creator: HNWitt15 Rating: Mature Word Count: 1.2k Summary: Same as prompt. 💚❤️ Read on AO3 💚❤️

🧡

Title: Chance Creator: armassy AND Trueliarose Rating: Explicit Word Count: 27.8k + art Summary: Severus did not receive a lot of text messages. Especially not to his work phone. Especially not from unknown numbers. Especially not dick pics. 💚❤️ Read on AO3 💚❤️

🧡

Title: Chords of Affection Creator: Coconutice22 Rating: Explicit Word Count: 18k   Summary: Severus is distracted by his newest admirer. 💚❤️ Read on AO3 💚❤️

🧡

Title: Conditions To Bloom Creator: LoveCrumb Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Word Count: 9.8k Summary: Severus lets his gaze fall to the sagging aloe plant in front of him, and it hardly takes a cursory glance before he has his diagnosis. “Root rot,” he says. The man’s eyebrows shoot up on his forehead. “But how do you–I’ve hardly been watering it at all!” Supporting a drooping leaf with the tip of his pen, Severus eyes the unnatural lean of the stem and gives the customer a disbelieving raise of one eyebrow. 💚❤️ Read on AO3 💚❤️

🧡

Title: Deceit and Debauchery Creator: Faithless_3105 Rating: Explicit Word Count: 13.8k Summary: Severus' curiosity as to who Tracey Davis is going to try to entrap into marriage pays off when he see's that it is none other than Harry Potter. He knows he has the chance to save his friends son from what will certainly be a disastrous marriage but what will be Severus' rewards for his efforts? 💚❤️ Read on AO3 💚❤️

🧡

Title: Don't You Wanna Mess With Me? Creator: razz Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3.3k Summary: Things get messy when rival bakery owner, Severus Snape, pays Harry a visit in his kitchen. 😘 💚❤️ Read on AO3 💚❤️

🧡

Title: Fate's Blind Date Creator: Faithless_3105 Rating: Explicit Word Count: 29.8k Summary: When Severus indulges himself with a walk along the West End after work, the last thing he imagines is that he will get invited to a show by a gorgeous young man. Things only get more astounding after that when their casual meeting evolves into something more and Severus finds himself pulled into a family feud that threatens to bring his dark past to light. 💚❤️ Read on AO3 💚❤️

🧡

Title: First Impressions Creator: Aeternum Rating: Explicit Word Count: 24.6k Summary: When Harry is forced to marry a complete stranger, he tries to make the best of things. After all, he's a Healer, he can take care of himself. And his new husband seems nice enough… But why, exactly, has Severus already been married three times before? And why have all three of those previous spouses died unexpectedly? Is Harry next? Or will he fall in love with his new husband after all? 💚❤️ Read on AO3 💚❤️

Creator reveals part 2 can be found here.

🧡 2024 Snarry AUctoberfest Entries || HOS Tumblr || Discord 🧡

[im-not-corrupted]

@samsalami66 very kindly gave me another prompt for a new Dreamling fic--Can I do your hair? from this list of prompts.

Features: human au, too much pining, Dream on the aromantic spectrum, childhood friends, developing friendship, and so many feelings!

-------

The sun is already low in the sky when he asks, evening setting in far too quickly for Dream’s liking.

The question comes as quite the surprise. Dream doesn’t quite know why, exactly—they have been steadily growing closer over the last few months, since they reunited after a good many years apart. It is a strange thing to go from close friends to nothing but tentative strangers after years apart. There is familiarity, of course—not everything changes. Some things remain the same.

Most things do not. Dream recalls the way he saw Hob after their numerous years apart. He did so with an entirely different light, though whether that perspective came with age or that distance, he doesn’t know. It was simply that he saw Hob grin at him—small and tentative, unsure despite the confidence he held himself with, a beautiful study in contrasts—for the first time in years, and it did something to him. Stirred something within him, something that remained stubbornly latent until that one moment.

It was something to do with his eyes, Dream thinks. Hob has lovely eyes. Russet brown with specks of gold. They are made for sunlight and seem to crystallise its rays in their irises, all brilliant colours that manage to take his breath away each and every time. They are gentle, hopeful things, those eyes, and made even more beautiful by the soft lines in their corners. Crows feet, barely noticeable but there. Those were not there when they were children, and serve now as proof that they both grew older, but also that Hob has spent these last years away from one another happy.

There is a jealousy to be found there, in the idea that he has been unable to contribute to this joy. He has found the act of bringing smiles onto Hob’s face almost addictive—they are blinding in their brilliance, precious gems Dream just knows he will treasure until the end of time. He wants to be the one to bring him further joy, and wishes he was there to do so during their years apart.

Yet Dream has duties to his family. He could not forsake them, not even for Hob. (He wishes to. They meet every fortnight since their reunion. Dream creeps out the palace, takes his mare from the stables and rides to their obscure meeting place, where Hob is always—always, without fail—waiting for him. The sight always makes his heart ache in his chest, and when they say goodbye…When they say goodbye, Dream wishes he could follow Hob. Wishes he could follow the steps of his childhood friend who he had become ridiculously attached to, a bond that is so terribly unwise he knows he should not continue to meet him yet finds himself unable to not do so. He wishes he could forsake every duty that has ever been placed upon his shoulders and see what life away from the palace might be like—what a life with Hob might be like.

He imagines it to be wondrous. Hob’s stories have always been so…so full of adventure, the tales he spins so full of drama and excitement and everything the palace is not. He wishes he could experience that, if only once.)

In the end, that faint amount of jealousy—the idea that he should be the one to inspire joy inside of Hob, the selfish thought that he has missed so much—it all faded away into gladness. He is happy that Hob has been happy in their time away. He is glad his friend gets to have that, and gets to have enough of it that it has made a permanent mark upon his face.

That, Dream thinks, is enough.

So they have grown closer, these last few months since their reunion. It started tentatively, with unsure steps, a little like walking on eggshells. For Dream, though much about Hob remains the same, the differences are large enough that, at first, he was terribly unsure of himself. There is Hob, with his new-found confidence, with arrogance that suits him instead of feeling obnoxious or annoying like half arrogant nobles back at the palace, with his new-found strength and tanned skin from years spent in the sun, with easy smiles that look so natural on his face. And then there is Dream, who is, for all intents and purposes, much the same. He still dresses in black, as he did when they were younger. He still finds court to be stifling, frustrating, a cage he has yet to escape and one he fears may crush him someday. He still argues with his parents, though admittedly far more politely than he used to, about duties and marriage and all the things that were predetermined for him the moment of his birth. He still wanders the halls of the palace a little like a ghost, stays quiet when he is expected to raise his voice, and is perpetually terrified that he is not enough. For his kingdom, for his family, for anybody he truly cares for.

When he thinks about them like that, it is clear that the two of them are so different. It seemed a foolish idea, that the two of them could be friends, that they could rekindle what they once had. Dream missed him dearly in their years apart, of course—Hob was one of the few things that made his life bearable, along with the books inside the Library and Jessamy. But in that first moment, the day of their reunion, he was sure that he was so much lesser than Hob. That Hob would see it and spit at his feet and simply leave.

That did not happen. For all his fears, all his uncertainty, things were just as easy that day of their reunion as they were the day Hob left. They learned what parts of them had changed, decided they still fit together, and they formed a friendship that now seemed stronger than the one they left behind when Hob had to leave.

It is a blessing, Dream thinks. He thanks the stars that Hob decided, however foolishly, that he is worth befriending. That he is worth knowing.

Still. Growing friendship or not, Dream was not expecting Hob to state at him for a couple of moments and ask, abruptly, “Can I do your hair?”

He blinks, taking a moment to register the question. He replied with a quiet, “…What?” because, truly, he is unsure he heard correctly.

Despite all his confidence, gained from years of befriending people with nothing but a smile, Hob sometimes manages to be so unconfident sometimes. This is one of those moments—his eyes widen fast enough to almost be comical, staring at Dream like he had made a grave mistake, before his face turns red. Distantly, Dream wonders at that, at the way it appears so becoming on him. It compliments the tan skin of his face and Dream wants to see more of it, though isn’t entirely sure where that impulse came from.

“Sorry,” Hob says sheepishly. “Only—your hair is so pretty. I had the sudden urge to braid it. I know that may be…weird? Just. Forget that I asked?”

”No,” he says, and, truly, he is unsure where the word came from. Only, he is not opposed in the slightest to the idea of Hob’s hands in his hair. They’re tough hands, scarred and callused from years of soldiering, yet they have only ever treated Dream with an unfamiliar tenderness he craves. The few touches they have shared are memorable solely due to this—to the carefulness with which Hob touches him. Not like he is a delicate, breakable thing, but instead like he is something worth treasuring. He did not think there was a difference between those two things until Hob Gadling pulled him in for a hug the day they reunited, one arm around Dream’s waist and the other cradling his head.

It is a moment that has changed him, he thinks. Because now that he has been offered more of those touches, more of that gentleness, he wants it. He is familiar with want. It is a great burning thing inside of his chest. He does not want with any kind of moderation, and he wants so much of it that the wanting has nowhere to go.

But it has a direction now. He thinks of Hob’s hands in his hair, of the loveliness with which Hob would no doubt do this with, and he wants. Which is why he looks at Hob, at the red blossoming across his cheeks, pretty like roses, and he offers softly, “You may. If you truly wish to.”

He watches as a smile full of relief and delight breaks over Hob’s face like the sun at dawn. It feels a little like a miracle to be able to see this, and even more like a blessing to know this is solely his. That, in the end, Hob smiles with such beauty in his direction, and now he is able to keep this close inside his memory and revisit it again and again. “Really?” he asks, and he tugs at his ear in a way that can only be nervous, and Dream thinks this is what it means to be in love. “I only want to if you’d be comfortable with it.”

He has read about it, in books. There are plenty in the library, and it seems to be one of the more common themes. Love. Romance. These are things he has never understood.

He does love, of course. He loves his dear older sister, Telute, who they all call Death. He loves his youngest sister Del. He loves Lucienne even if he is not strictly supposed to, for she treats him less like a prince and more like a person, and that is important. He loves Jessamy, who has taken care of him even when his parents have not.

But romantic love is another thing entirely. He feels a little as though he is incapable of it, and cannot quite understand why. It seems to come so easily to everybody else, after all. It seems to be such a universal experience—has to be that, if there are so many works about those feelings inside the library.

Here, in this moment, he thinks he understands. He wants, only he is not sure what exactly it is he is wanting. He aches with it, with the desire to see Hob’s smile again and again. It is different from friendship, he thinks. It is a little like a wildfire catching, burning bright and beautiful and yet so dangerous.

This thing is large enough to ruin him, he can tell. If he reaches forward and lets his fingertips brush those flames, he will burn.

He offers Hob a smile that feels a little like tempting Hell and figures he will be okay with burning if it means he gets to have more of this. More of these moments, lovely and warm and gentle. More of Hob’s smiles and more of his touches. “I wouldn’t agree if I didn’t want you to,” he points out, and Hob laughs.

It is a loud, joyful thing. Dream wants. He wants to taste that sound for himself. Wants to swallow it and let it take root inside himself so that he has a piece of Hob with him. Wants to press his lips to Hob’s and see if he will be as kind to him then as he is every other time.

”Alright then, my friend,” Hob says, and he is beautiful when he is delighted. It becomes him. He had a face built for joy and a voice made for expressing it. Dream wants as many of these moments as possible. “Sit in front of me?”

Hob crosses his legs where he sits in the meadow, amongst wildflowers that bathe the area in a sweet scent that reminds Dream of all things summer. Of sunlight on his skin, its warmth seeping in through his blood and settling inside his bones. It is heady, and it reminds him also of the early days of his and Hob’s friendship—the times when Hob would convince him to take his horse down to the beach so that they might be able to jump in the sea, the times when Hob would drag him to the market in town and teach him the art of pickpocketing. Each time felt a little like courting danger, for he knew his parents would disapprove of both of those endeavours, but they all felt golden, the days so full with possibility that any bad ending would surely be worth it.

(There were no bad endings, not even when they jumped into the sea. Jessamy found him before his parents ever could and tutted softly at the sight of his sodden clothes, no doubt ruined by sea water, and bid him clean up before anybody else found out. There were no bad endings because Jessamy protected him from them, and Dream is eternally grateful to her.)

And, after a moment’s hesitation, Dream sits between his friend’s crossed legs with an insistent feeling of anticipation. He faces forward, turned towards the gradually setting sun. It is beautiful up here, on top of this hill in the middle of a meadow.

He brings his legs up to his chest, wraps an arm around them. With his other, he picks at the grass beneath them, the green so beautiful and vibrant and lovely. It is a nervous thing, this action, and he feels distantly foolish for it. He is not supposed to appear nervous—he is a prince, after all.

Yet Hob makes him feel like this. Like anything is possible. Makes him nervous, despite all the effort Dream has put into learning how to mask these things.

He does not mind. Hob is…Hob is safe. He knows this.

He does not gasp when he feels Hob’s fingers in his hair, but it is a close thing. The touch is so light, so soft that Dream could melt into it. He does not think it would be entirely appropriate to lose himself like so if he does, but he is tempted. For now, he keeps his eyes on the sun and tells his heartbeat to calm down. It is only Hob.

Except it has never been only Hob, has it? This is Hob he is talking about, after all. He is beautiful and lovely and Dream loves him so much. Perhaps a little more than platonically.

”Is that alright?” Hob asks him. He is…close. Which makes sense, considering their proximity, but being confronted with this so suddenly is almost startling.

It takes him more time than he would like to admit to find his voice. When he does, his voice is small and breathy, and he does not have it in him to feel embarrassed. “Yes.”

Hob hums softly under his breath, and then he starts to braid.

He starts from the top of Dream’s head, so it is certainly no ordinary three-strand braid. He sections the hair carefully, mindful not to tug, and braids with an efficiency that feels practised. Dream did not think this would come out of keeping his hair relatively long out of little more than pure spite and a vague like for the style, but does not mind it at all.

“I used to have a sister, you know,” Hob tells him with an air of wistfulness, like he looks into the past and wishes he could go back as he says it. “She used to demand I braid her hair constantly, so I was forced to learn. Admittedly, I rather enjoyed it. Your hair is perfect for it, too.”

He doesn’t preen at the compliment. He doesn’t. “Used to?” he asks softly, then winces slightly. The use of past tense says enough, does it not? There is no need to drag up old ghosts, and yet, he has done so. Accidentally, and without thinking, but he has. “I apologise. You do not need—“

”Hey.” It is so soft that it stops him in his tracks. “Don’t be. You didn’t know. She died a couple years ago. I miss her very much. You would’ve liked her, I think. I am glad you let me do this. Feels like I’m…remembering her by doing so, if that makes sense.”

Dream thinks it does, and says as much. Hob hugs once more, and the two of them fall silent for a while. There is little more between them than slight rustling of movement from behind him as Hob readjusts himself to continue the braid. More than once, he pauses for a reason Dream is unable to determine.

It is comfortable. Quiet. Dream thinks he would like to do this time and time again, if Hob is amenable.

Eventually, Hob tells him, “It is done,” and Dream immediately regrets having not brought a handheld mirror with him. It feels a crime that he is unable to see Hob’s work with his own eyes.

There is nothing for it. But he reaches behind himself and it feels so neat, so tidy, he knows Hob has done well. Then he runs his fingers over feather-soft petals and asks, “Flowers, too?”

”Yeah. There’s plenty about. They suit you.”

Dream turns to face him once more, and Hob stares at him with an expression he cannot quite read. He wishes he could. He wishes he knew what this is, this growing thing between them. He wishes himself capable of putting it into words.

It is enough, he supposes, to leave this thing between them to its own devices. Perhaps it will make sense, make itself known and understood, at some other point in time. For now, Dream lets himself imagine pressing his lips to Hob’s cheek in the gentlest of kisses, let’s himself wonder if Hob might hold him close with the same gentleness he does everything else, and he decides it does not have to be anything more than what they were already, not necessarily.

”Thank you,” he murmurs softly, and Hob smiles. It is a small, delighted thing. Dream adores the sight of it.

”Anytime, my friend. Anytime.” He settles back a little, resting his back against the grand oak tree they mark their meeting spot by, and says, “Come on. Tell me a story. You’re good at those.”

”I am,” Dream agrees. And Hob asked this of him, so he does. He tells him a story, and eventually, the two of them part ways.

He does not take his hair out until long into the night, where he takes the flowers out carefully and keeps them on his nightstand. They will wither soon, he knows, but for now he keeps them as—as a token of Hob’s friendship, he supposes.

When he sleeps, he dreams of his friend, beautiful and joyful and oh so lovely.

[thatfreshi]

omg I think a perfect fic song with Astarion would be She Had The World by Panic! At The Disco

Tav and Astarion think back on when they were stupid and first falling in love (well, they're still stupid, but that's okay). Turns out things weren't always as perfect between these two, and yet here they are.

Recommended Song: She Had The World - Panic! At The Disco

It's many years after the nautiloid crash and the adventures you shared with Astarion and your odd little band of companions. You're in the kitchen of a house you've finally bought together after scraping together some money through pickpocketing and odd jobs. You're steeping some tea when you hear the wooden floors creak in the other room, and the lovely vampire comes to join you.

"And what flavor are we steeping today my love?"

"I'm not quite sure yet. I picked a couple of random things from the garden. I'm hoping it tastes good."

He scoffs playfully.

"I'm still not sure why you insist we can't just drink wine every morning."

"Because that's no way to live Aster. Wouldn't you like to be aware of how great the days are, without something in the way?"

"Oh trust me, a good reisling makes me very aware."

You go to sip your tea while you roll your eyes at him.

"You know, I used to hate that about you."

Astarion holds his hand to his chest, as if he's been shot.

"How dare you, everything about me is incredibly loveable. What could have possibly hated?"

"Just every time you would talk about alcohol, ugh, I just heard gibberish."

You giggle a little.

"Well, I wasn't always so fond of you either."

You raise an eyebrow.

"Okay, well maybe I was always fond of you, but you were such a tease."

"I wasn't being a tease, I just didn't realize you were flirting with me! However was I supposed to know you wanted to bed me if you talk those sweet words to everyone?"

"Oh, I wanted to do much more than bed you."

He places himself by your side, throwing his hand around your waist. You put your tea down and look into his eyes.

"Oh trust me, I know."

"And yet you didn't know back then?"

"Nope, not at all. Wasn't exactly focused on romance in the middle of the worst thing that's ever happened to me."

"Well, I'm happy you're just a little thick-skulled, because like I said, I'm wondrous."

You wrap your arms around his neck and give him a quick, spritely kiss.

"Trust me, I know my love."

[rebornofstars]

A LU Fic Rec List - NOVELS (50K-100K)

I love this fandom so much. Here are my favourite quality novel-length works for when you really feel like curling up with a long story and a hot cup of something. I recommend each and every one of them! In no particular order:

Child's Play by @aimeelouart

If you like the Wild deaging trope, this one is for you. If you like Flora and Wild having the most adorably protective and mildly codependent relationship, this one is for you. If you feel like reading something so cute you'll still be grinning hours later, this one is absolutely for you!

The Wondrous Sword of Legend by @imperialkatwala, @polynomialpandemic

If you like downfall duo, THIS ONE IS FOR YOU. The banter is excellent, the emotions feel real, and the catharsis is very heartwarming. If you've ever wanted to see sword spirit Legend, I am on my knees begging you to read this fic.

A Guide to Living (Again) by @cerame

I think I've read this fic at least five times now. If you like Shadow, this one is for you. If you like thinking about the Chain's Dark equivalents, this one is for you. Each character in this story is entirely three dimensional (despite being shadows 😂) - and it contains, probably hands down, my favourite characterisation of Dink I've ever read.

Language Barriers by Kastaborous

If you've ever wondered what a more realistic depiction of the language drift between the boy's eras would look like, look no further. If you're looking for linguaphile Wild, look no further! This fic is stunning in its detail and lore, and the reveal moment slaps.

Level One by LightBlueScrubs

If you like modern AUs, this one is for you! If you like gripping detail and a fully fleshed out world so harrowing and real that you are transported into the story, this one is for you! If you like angst, if you like following characters as they go through tough times together, if you like hospital settings, this one is destined for you.

this year it taught me (lost and ambitious) by @noorahqar

My friends like to joke that this fic is the Sky Bible (Skyble). It well deserves that title for its characterisation alone, yet it also contains top tier character dynamics and terrific hurt/comfort. This fic changed my perspective on Sky forever. Go read it.

Elastic Heart by @skyloftian-nutcase

If you like dungeon crawls and adventure, this fic is for you. If you like Sky angst coupled with the Chain's agonising worry for him, this fic is for you! If you like Demise's Curse reveals, you have found a masterpiece!

With a special mention to:

Colour Theory by @thescrapwitch

Not Linked Universe, but absolutely worth reading. If you've ever wondered how to reconcile the three doppels in Tri Force Heroes with the Colours from Four Swords Adventures, this is for you. If you've ever wanted a heartfelt murder mystery that is also a comprehensive overview of the game it lives in, this is for you!

I would like to make extra versions of this post for different story lengths - short stories, novellas, etc., so watch out for that. If you have any other fic recs for loz or lu in this word-count bracket, I would absolutely love to see them!

[critter-genfic-events]

Doty! Take this down. We have six excellent fics today- all chronically the wondrous adventures of one Taryon Darrington! Check them out under the cut, and of course - comment and kudos if you like them!

Love Letters of Convenience by elissanerdwriter (1103,General) Warnings: None Pairings: Taryon Darrington & Lady Kima of Vord

Kima and Taryon run into each other at a bar. They help each other out.

Reccer says: This is a pairing I would have never expected or thought of but the wlw and mlm solidarity vibes are immaculate. They should hang out!

i'll know my song well by actualflower (1149,General) Warnings: None Pairings: Taryon Darrington & Cassandra de Rolo

A short conversation between Cassandra and Tary

Reccer says: I love outsider pov and the clarity about the world it brings, and this little bit of bonding between these two

Out of Favor by mythomaticallydelicious (5551,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: Taryon Darrington/Percival de Rolo

An AU where Taryon fails his persuasion roll against his father.

Reccer says: It's not completed, but it delves into the details of Taryon's relationship with his father and features heart-to-heart conversations with Vax and Percival.

this antique’s rustic eulogy by Princex_N (5213,General) Warnings: Pairings: Taryon Darrington & Doty

He wants Doty. He wants Doty and instead all he has is the gaping empty space at his side where he's supposed to be and the intrusive images of him being pulled to pieces in the nine hells where he is and Tary hates it.

Reccer says: I liked it

Arranged marriages and families of choice by multifandom damnation (1570,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: Taryon Darrington & Vox Machina

He learns two things during that meeting with his father, Howaardt falling apart before him and Vox Machina a steady presence against his back; firstly, they're improvised, and secondly, he has always been nothing but a pawn in his father's games.

Reccer says: Amazing look into what it might have been like for Tary to have Vox Machina at his back during the confrontation with his father

And two recs for:

Where We're From and Where We're Bound to Go by CitizenMocha (3318,Teen) Warnings: None Pairings: Taryon Darrington & Vex'ahlia

In what will likely be a less physically-demanding expedition but still harrowing and fraught with emotional turmoil like all the best adventure stories are, the heroes make their way through bleak countryside framed by the distant snowcapped mountains to confront the father of their beloved and full-fledged member Taryon Darrington, who is… Not doing so hot at the moment, to be perfectly honest.

Reccer #1 says: The friendships between Tary and the rest if Vox Machina is very sweet, even when they are joking around. It's also got some great character introspection for Taryon as he sits down and they talk about this thoughts. Reccer #2 says: Just the right amount of humor (poorly) covering some angst and feelings, and great voices all around

This is one of our weekly communally-generated gen rec lists. Every week we announce a new theme and allow anyone to submit a fic recommendation. Please note that the summary and content notes are provided by the reccer, and may be different than what the author has provided. Please assume good intentions all around. <3

And hey, anyone includes you!

October 15th, it'll be time for Alternate Meetings - followed by Beau, One shots, and then Imogen!

Any fics coming to mind? Well, then use this form to submit! If you're looking for some more, check out some fics written in the critter genfic bingo tag, or the older rec lists! Or you can request your own card and join in on the fun!

[lockea]

10 Fanfiction Recs

In honor of IFD 2024 and @ao3org organizing the feedback fest, here are 10 fanfiction from my bookmarks (all complete, lots of oldies) spread across as many fandoms as I read.

Scylla and Charybdis by Mithrigil, puella_nerdii Fandom: The Hunger Games "Finnick decides that, come hell or high water, he is bringing his tribute home from the seventieth Hunger Games. That tribute is Annie Cresta. But Finnick never thought that he would have to choose between bringing her home and keeping her safe, and he wants both. How Annie Cresta crept up on Finnick Odair."

I heard Hunger Games was back in fashion, so have this fic from 2011 that's just so good.

Primary Colors by RobotSquid Fandom: Homestuck (no, I am not apologizing!) "As a young troll living in the desert with the Dolorosa, the Signless comes across an unconscious psionic wriggler. Over the next few nights, they come to understand and care for each other. Although seemingly destined to be apart, they make a promise to be together again. But the destructive ways of the highbloods are becoming more widespread, and as the Signless begins to dream, he dedicates himself to regaining the peaceful world Alternia once was. But troll society as it stands now holds no sympathy for a candy red mutant, a psionic slave, or the matespritship they have."

A canon-compliant (I think, I stopped reading Homestuck around this time) story about the Signless that's full of great world building and honestly I don't remember much but I have it on my bookmarks list for a reason, I'm sure.

A Long Road to Destiny by Miko Fandom: Final Fantasy VII (set in Final Fantasy X verse) "The summoner's journey is a long, hard path to walk. Having guardians you trust makes all the difference in the world."

The story follows Cloud, who is half Al-Behd, as he makes his pilgrimage to be a summoner. Early on, he's joined by Sephiroth, a former Summoner, and Zack, who wants to be Sepiroth's guardian, and the three begin quite the epic adventure to save Spira.

Immovable, unbreakable by Cards_Slash Fandom: Assassin's Creed "Altair has known since he was thirteen years old, the year he realized he was an omega, that his body was never going to be his own. He thought he had overcome his own fate when Al Mualim agreed to allow him to stay on as an Assassin but even becoming the youngest Master Assassin ever did not save him. Following the semi-failed mission at Solomon's Temple, Altair is gifted to Malik as a reward for his service. Malik doesn't want Altair but he does not turn down the chance to show him his place."

A retelling of the first game if Altair was an omega, lost his assassin status, was summarily married off to Malik, and had to work around all that to still solve the mystery and save the day. Altair is truly the biggest badass in this story, and the historical perspective on an Omegaverse is truly neat.

Teach Me How to Fight (I'll Show You How to Win) by Skalidra Fandom: Batman (DCU) "Dick is taken by the Court after his parents' death to be trained as a Talon. He becomes loyal, deadly, and the Court's primary Talon. At least until he meets a boy from the Court's secondary, darker kind of servant who gets assigned to be his partner, and makes him start to care about things other than serving the Court. Tim, a boy-genius member of the Court, could have told anyone who listened that pairing Talon with the other boy - Jason - was a poor decision, and the fact that the Grandmaster of the Court doesn't listen, at all, is something he's finding less and less tolerable."

I love this fic so much that it was my first attempt at fanfiction binding.

Oh, You Wondrous Creature by Ginia Fandom: Final Fantasy XV "Ignis Scientia had learned at a young age to perform his duties quietly and flawlessly. He learned not to draw undue attention to himself, as attention had often lead to pain and humiliation at the hands of those who considered themselves to be his betters.

He has no idea what to do when the attentions of one Gladiolus Amicitia are directed at him. He expects harshness and cruelty, but is met with something quite the opposite."

This is classic frenemies to lovers scenario. Ignis and Gladio start off disliking each other, but as Gladio uncovers more about the discrimination Ignis endures, he shapes up to be a friend, ally, and eventual lover for the steward.

Someone You Have To Let In by Arsenic Fandom: Batman (DCU) "Basically a horribly sideways BDSM-AU where Talia actually raises Jason from the dead to use him to get Damian to safety. If you're looking for super indulgent h/c, I got your back. If you're not, this is probably not the fic for you."

This was my introduction to the BDSM-AU, also called the Dom/sub AU, where people have biological imperatives towards either dominance or submission. The world building here is especially great, as there's parts that talk about how you raise kids in this kind of dynamic. Also I love me some Dick/Jason so there.

Holding Cell by red-catmander Fandom: Guild Wars 2 "Rytlock Brimstone is trapped in a human jail with a hairless mouse, a talking plant intent on infuriating him and a headache the size of the Black Citadel. Now he's stuck fighting in the arena, buying his freedom one slog at a time, and the only thing awaiting him when he gets out is scrapper duty.

He hates these people. He's sure of it. Especially Thackeray.

He really, really wants to hate these people."

Listen, this fic is hilarious. Like funnier than anything Snargle Goldclaw could write (if you know you know). It's Rytlock/Logan in like the crackiest way possible and while I unironically love this fic to pieces, it's main use in my life is to deal 1d6 of psychic damage to members of my GW2 guild.

Maan'alor - The Prime by papermachine Fandom: Star Wars (Prequel Trilogy Era) "Jango Vhett was Mand’alor only briefly to the Mandalorian Empire before he was captured by the Jetii and Republic forces on Galidraan.

Now an unwilling guest on Kamino, he is buir to Boba and he fears his protection can only stretch so far for the rest of the children made in his image. Jango doesn’t know if he can save all of the clones from the Kaminoans or the Republic, but he does know this: Verde sa akaan nau tracyn kad. Warriors are forged in the fires of war.

These children are made for war, and they have been fighting to stay alive since their creation.

He will do what he must to save them."

The series is ongoing, and this is technically the third installment in the series, but it's a great place to start reading. The series follows various characters in this AU where the Sith Empire, the Mandalorian Empire, and the Republic are all at war with each other. Meanwhile, an unwilling Jango is template to the clones, and he is NOT happy about is. But rebellions are built in secret, and Jango never was a very good spy.

hope has bloody knuckles by independent_variables Fandom: Star Wars (Clone Wars Era) "Davijaan discovers mountains, thinks about the war, and maybe falls in love."

I think some people are turned off from this fic because it's a relationship between Davijaan (Odd Ball) and an OC, but the main focus is on Davijaan and Cody's relationship with each other as clones, as having survived the Clone Wars with no Order 66. There's also some lovely word building around Pantora which is the real appeal of the fic, imo. And of course Loren herself is easy to like, with a strong personality and well developed character. You really want to root for her and Davi as the story goes on. Like, come on you two idiots! Figure it out! I do love this fic very much.

Oh my gosh picking only 10 fics was hard. Here's my bookmarks page if you want to see what else I'm reading.

[plasma-studios]

hey guys whatcha think (for an upcoming utmv Fae fic)

Up in the mountains, the ice does not melt.  Cloud cover shrouds the palace on the peak; sculpted of ice and frost, it houses the Fae with long frozen over hearts. Beware the wind sweeping lost souls up the mountain paths; statues of ice made of brave adventurers and desperate men litter the snow-covered paths. And many more have long been buried under the snow. The Winter King hoards souls, it is said. Beware the frost that doesn’t melt; beware the greed that guards their icy hearts. Winter’s greed has long been spoken of. ***

The blooming of crocuses is what marks the beginning of Spring. Like other members of the iris family, the fruit of a crocus is a capsule. It only splits open to release the seeds.

Perhaps most is known about the Spring Court. “Sketches of Iridescent Irises” is perhaps the most-well known depiction of its splendour. The Spring Court is beautiful, after all. The poets sing endlessly of the marvels within the Court of forever-blooms and the sweetest fruit; who could refuse the most wondrous bait?

The Spring King himself does not refrain from indulgence. Come, savour the honey that will taste all the more sweet by his hand. His favour is rare, but not non-existent. So many have been taken into the meadow already, made beautiful, made better. His favourite flower, it is said, grows out of soul-planted seeds.  Spring is known for its beauty, not for its kindness.

[just-another-t-word-blog]

Curiosity Killed the Small Mammalian Predator

A Stormlight Archives fanfiction

Summary: Wit is getting increasingly frustrated that he can’t get a laugh out of Jasnah, and in his mind he has no choice but to resort to drastic measures.

⚠️WARNING!!!!⚠️ this is, as always on this blog, a tickle fic. Don’t like, don’t read. Thank you 💙

⛔️⚠️SPOILER WARNING!!!!!⚠️⛔️ pretty massive spoilers if you haven’t read Rhythm of War. I’m not done with Wind and Truth yet so nothing that far in, but Rhythm of War at the furthest.

Where our story begins may surprise you.

Out of all the wondrous, magnificent, and marvelous things that could happen in the Cosmere, we do not begin with magic.

We don’t begin with a brave adventurer.

We don’t even start with a great and terrifying beast.

We begin with a sulking Wit.

Yes, Wit. The one who could twist your words around and toss them back to you at the speed of light. The one who can, and has, brought down kings with sentences sharper than swords. He who was so overwhelmingly skilled in magics beyond that of Roshar.

He who couldn’t make his girlfriend laugh.

Wit pouted in the most dignified way he could think of. He sat on a windowsill looking out over the mountains surrounding Urithiru, eyebrows knitted together and arms crossed.

Occasionally he would glance over to Jasnah to see if she was looking.

She was not.

She couldn’t look more unenthusiastic about how upset he was. Book in hand, she barely seemed to register his existence.

He had tried banter, jokes, stories, but nothing he said or did got her to crack more than a half assed smile.

He was used to making people laugh on accident, a mere side effect of his usual ridiculousness and general tomfoolery. Wit couldn’t get a snicker out of her even when he was trying for it.

So he sulked. Thinking, trying to cook up a great plan so he might one day hear the sound he so craved from her.

That’s when it hit him.

A devious, mischievous, stupid, of-the-ten-fools idea slinked into his mind. A tantalizingly easy to test “what if”.

He stood, straightening his outfit. If he was going to pull this off he’ll have to act perfectly natural. Wit willed down a playful grin that threatened to give him away, not that Jasnah was looking anyway, but in case she could sense his excitement.

Wit quietly moved to a tray table in the corner of the room, acting as if he were fixing himself a drink from the various decanters displayed. He waited just long enough, swirling a glass of sapphire wine in one hand, before he took in a gasp of breath. He made a show of shooting in his eyebrows before scrunching them in in thought. He brought his other hand to his chin, setting down his glass and leaning against the wall.

“What?”

He jumped slightly at her voice, making eye contact with her before looking away. He had to look deep in thought, like he was concerned. Reel her in.

“It’s just that… well…. I just don’t know.” Wit muttered, half to her and half to himself.

He began to pace, pushing off the wall and walking forward past her chair. He paced back and forth, rubbing his chin and scratching his head. Yes, very deep in thought indeed.

Jasnah kept her eyes trained on him, only looking away when he disappeared out of her view.

“What is it you don’t know, gemheart?” She said, curious. Not curious enough to turn around though when he stopped pacing behind her.

“Well, it’s a bit of a personal question, my dear.” Wit said, perching his hands on the back of her chair. She didn’t turn to look at him, attention redirected back to her book.

“And what might that be?”

Wit chuckled, removing his hands to poise them behind her, aimed for her unprotected sides.

“Why, whether or not you’re ticklish, darling.”

He dug his fingers in before she could lurch away. She yelped, book dropping to the floor as she crunched her elbows in. She folded forward, her hair blocking his view of what he hoped was a ticklish grin.

“You see, I put a lot of pride into my work. I say things, ridiculous things, helpful things, hilarious things, but you seem to find me decidedly unfunny.”

Wit smiled as he spoke, catching her huffing to try and keep the laughter at bay. Unfortunately for her, he’s been around awhile, and in his time Hoid had had a lot of practice.

His fingers were nimble, scribbling and scratching with terrifying accuracy. He wormed his way up and down her sides, digging around her lower ribs, spidering in her underarms, poking around desperately in search for-

She broke.

High pitched giggling sliced through the air. Jasnah flopped backward into her chair, throwing her head back. Wits heart did somersaults as he gazed down at her, laughing freely, with a wide happy grin and faintly pink cheeks.

He focused, paying attention to that spot and committing it to memory. Lower back ribs, light massaging circles. Maybe if he upped the pressure?

She shrieked, arching her back and falling into loud cackling.

“Ooh, looks like I found a good spot.” Wit said teasingly. She shook her head, still trying to cram her arms close enough to stop him.

“Why- why are you doing this?” She managed to squeal.

Wit shrugged, trying for her sides again. Jasnah relaxed slightly from the less intense spot, giggling wildly.

“I never could get you to laugh. This was an almost guaranteed way.” He said, giving her a few experimental squeezes, finding himself laughing when she thrashed. “And in my defense, you did ask what it was I didn’t know.”

She changed methods, reaching to grab his wrists. Her safe hand sleeve made it nearly impossible to pry him off on the left side though. Jasnah whined through her laughter in frustration, blush deepening at the undignified sound.

“I didn’t need a demonstration!”

“Would you have told me?”

She didn’t have a response for that, snickering as he spidered around her hips. He quickly stepped around the chair, kneeling in front of her. He dug his thumbs into her hip bones.

Wit received a swift knee to the chin.

He fell backward, hands flying to his face in pain. He heard Jasnah gasp, giggles dying on her lips as he laid there.

“Wit! I’m sorry I hurt you but in all honesty I feel that was well deserved!” She scolded, not moving from her chair.

Wit laid there, hands over his face, arms limp.

Jasnah quirked an eyebrow.

“If this is some kind of ploy to make me feel guilty, it’s not working.”

He was still, breathing softly.

She moved from her chair, concern gracing her features. “Wit? Are you alright?”

He did not reply.

She dropped to her knees at his side, worry pulsing in her chest. She reached for one of his hands, gingerly picking it up and away from his face.

He looked at her, grinning.

Wit launched himself at her, straddling her waist and pinning her hands under his knees.

“What did we learn from this, my dear?”

“That I have a terrible boyfriend.”

Wit tutted, making a show of cracking his knuckles and wriggling his fingers.

“That curiosity killed the cat.”

She paused at that, confused.

“What’s a cat?”

——————————————————————————

Navani was walking the halls of Urithiru, trying to clear her mind and wind down so she might actually be able to sleep after all that has happened.

That is, until she heard a shriek.

She scrambled down the hall. The only other woman who had quarters up her was Jasnah, so it must have been her. Her quarters were just down the hall, if she hurried she might make it in time to-

Laughter.

Loud, unrestrained laughter rang through the hall, making Navani pause. She followed the sound, finding it coming from the door to Jasnah’s rooms. Laughter spren zipped through the air around the door, phasing through it with excitement.

She smiled softly, almost tearing up at the sound. She closed her eyes, basking in it. It had been so long since she heard such joy from her daughter.

She left them to it, hoping to hold the sound in her memory until she heard it again.