#potential title: to and from the autumn

[pyrriax]

[forkingandcountry-if]

For King and Country is an 18+ period low fantasy fic which seeks to combine the extensive background work and history associated with high fantasy titles such as LOTR with more ‘realistic’ storytelling and settings. It may contain distressing content like depiction of regressive attitudes (sexism, misogyny and prejudice), major injury to the characters, character deaths, blood, gore, abuse and optional sexual content. More specific warnings will be given at the beginning of each chapter.

Out Now!

Remember those long summer days when the countryside was green and life was still young, when you were but a little culver and all the world was promised for you.

But summer has ended. Amidst the furore and tumult, autumn crept in unnoticed, finding you unprepared, still a greenhorn.

Now, the old order is dead, yet the Empire endures. In this new and uncertain world, what are you willing to do for your King and Country, O little culver?

Ah little tragedies, that you could not remain in the safety of your family's country manor, that they could not shield you once again from this world.

You must take to the capital at once, like all men and women of good birth, for king and country and the glory of the commonwealth! The spirit of progress and change has swept through the nation. The heady days of revolution are long over, and the streets have been washed clean of blood and filth. Invited to serve in the King's Army and attend university as a ward of the king, you must answer the King’s call. Navigate and become increasingly entangled in the web of intrigue, gossip, violence, and ideas that swirl around the nation. Enter a society radically different from the one you were raised to expect. These are the years that will decide your fate and that of your fellow countrymen. Act wisely, for it is not often that the world is within your grasp.

Features

Fully customize your MC. Choose your pronouns, sexuality, appearance and more. Assume the identity of a citizen of noble birth and experience the story through their eyes.

Romance one of seven ROs or engage in a polyamorous relationship with a pre-selected two of them. The only possible poly route is the Young King and the Queen Ruler.

Practice and specialise in the skills of the King's Army with the option for swordplay, marksmanship, offensive galderquid and diplomacy.

Define your political leanings on the leading issues of your time.

Debate, engage and make allies and enemies with the various competing factions and interests that flock to the city.

Study at Azma University, earning your lecturers admiration for your diligence, intellect, ambition or adventurousness or cruise through relying on your wealth and ability to hide.

Help to stabilize or sabotage the Empire.

Don't lose your head.

Critical Lore*

Talent

Galder denotes the practice of magic within our nation, a discipline requiring extensive study and mastery. The ability to manipulate Galderquid, the fundamental essence of magic, is a rare and intricate skill, demanding years of rigorous training to achieve even moderate proficiency.

Every individual possesses a basic affinity for Galderquid, but those with exceptional potential are identified through comprehensive evaluations conducted by village or city physicians around the ages of 12 or 13. These assessments determine the individual's capacity for advanced magical education.

Upon evaluation, candidates are assigned a national rank based on their proficiency. Those demonstrating exceptional aptitude are offered state-sponsored education at the Pyrenne Univetsity at the age of 18. Others are placed in various other institutions or may pursue private tutelage.

Galder is often referred to as the "fifth philosophy," characterized by its non-intuitive nature. Mastery requires adherence to rigorous methodologies grounded in reason, first principles, and established precedents. The study of Galder encompasses several specialized fields, each with distinct applications and techniques:

Sympathetic Galder: This field focuses on influencing the minds of individuals or animals. It includes practices such as illusion creation, language translation, emotional manipulation, and sleep inducement.

Transmutative Galder: Involves altering the intrinsic nature or form of objects. This process generally relies on the principle that the original and transformed items must possess equivalent 'worth.' The approximate worth of common subjects of transmutation can be found in any good transmutation book.

Invocation Galder: Pertains to the summoning and manipulation of natural elements, including water, earth, fire, and wind.

Clerical Galder: Associated with the Church, this field is predominantly closed practice. However, educational institutions provide instruction in healing and charming, which are also fundamental aspects of clerical magic.

Archery: Involves the use of Galder to manifest a bow and arrows composed of energy. These projectiles deliver significant blunt damage upon impact but they have more varied usage and techniques as taught by bow-masters.

Blade-Use: Similar to Archery, this field focuses on creating blades, swords, or daggers from Galder. These weapons inflict substantial blunt damage but they have more varied usage and techniques as taught by blade-masters.

The Second Civil War

The Second Civil War, sometimes known as the Revolution is recognized as having commenced approximately ten years ago and concluded two years later with the ascension of King Edmund I of House Wynd. The conflict was precipitated by a series of critical events and widespread discontent among the populace throughout the entire reign of the King Wulfric I Wynd regarding the laws of his government and his conduct as monarch.

The Second Civil was notably ignited by the previous monarch's decision to disinherit his eldest daughter and legitimise his illegitimate children thus making them heir presumptive. This controversial move generated significant unrest among the yeomanry and laborers, who perceived the monarch's actions as unjust and contrary to ecclesiastical teachings. Particularly in redeemist cities across the Empire, widespread protests ensued, leading to the deposition and, in some instances, the defenestration of local officials such as Lord Mayors, Sheriffs, and Governors who supported the king and a state of national emergency being declared with martial law being invoked.

A general, Walthe Courtney, who had previously fought in the unpopular Eleven Years' War on behalf of the crown, emerged as a pivotal leader of the revolution. Utilizing strategic peasant uprisings and sieges, Reval's forces delivered decisive blows to the royalist regime. The revolution culminated in the fall of the capital during the Siege of the King's Seat.

Following the war, a great council of all the great houses instituted several significant reforms. While the monarchy was retained, it was now bound with the monarch being bound by the Grand East Code. In accordance with the written will of the disinherited princess, who died on the battlefield during the conflict an exception was made to place her youngest brother, Edmund, then only 17 years old, on the throne.

The bicameral parliament was replaced by a unicameral national assembly with expanded suffrage of yeomanry and labourers with certain amounts of land. The sole eligibility criteria for parliamentarians are citizenship, attainment of the age of majority, no debt owed to the crown with elections held every eight years.

General Walthe Courtney was appointed as Lord-Protector of the Realm with extensive powers throughout Edmund’s reign and continued as Commander of the Armies for the duration of their tenure. Furthermore, the Pyrenne University was opened to all individuals of suitable skill, not limited to the children of nobility.

Under the new provisions, all children from great houses or those vassal houses with an annual income exceeding 1,300 libre must receive training and serve in the King's Army and live as wards of the king upon reaching the age of eighteen. The official language of the proclamation declares it to be in the national interest that the next leaders of the regions and nations of the Empire know personally their king and capital but the aim is considered to be preventing another war.

The King's Council is required to be include the Premier elected by the eligible electorate. The Premier recommends people to be members of the King's Council although the King is not bound to accept. The King retains the authority to appoint cabinet members from outside parliament, early precedent set by King Edmund I Wynd suggests that he will appoint those recommended by the Lord-Protector.

The King's Army and Azma University

The King's Army, colloquially known among the common folk as the Small Army or King's Life Guard, serves as a voluntary armed force in peacetime within the Empire. Its primary role is to function as a national guard, maintaining peace and order across the extensive and diverse territories of the Empire and swear loyalty solely to the King.

During periods of peace, the King's Guard is comprised of volunteers who contribute to the stability of the nation. However, in times of war, the monarch is vested with the authority to implement conscription, thereby obligating the great houses to raise men to fight for their king.

Following the Great Council of 421, significant reforms were introduced regarding service in the King's Guard. Those heirs of great houses are now required to complete four years service and training within the King's Army as wards of the king although this time can be commuted upon ascension as Lord/Lady Paramount of their house. This training is relatively light compared to full military training, designed to balance the economic and educational responsibilities of these citizens with their military duties.

Azma University is a theological university founded in the year 262AR by Trista of Azma, a master of theology and galder and was recognized by the King as a royal college in 289AR. It's Faculty of Theology is unrivaled across the entirety of the world and is considered one of the foremost institutions for education in galder, theology and philosophy.

Azma admits its students on the basis of the national ranking system and the census taken each year, those students with a sufficiently high natural affinity for the study of galder are offered a place in which to study it beyond the common extent offered by tutors and hedge-witches.

Azma has in recent years, following the second civil war and the increase in punishment by religious courts for physicians who attribute false rankings, with an increased student cohort particularly from the yeomanry and international scholars though the large majority of the general cohort remains largely consisted of the children of nobility.

Beyond its Faculty of Theology, Azma University is one of the foremost institutions driving forward the development of innovations regarding farming and building, mechanics and the engine'ering class that has developed in major cities across the Empire.

Situated in the capital city, Azma University benefits from its central location in what is often regarded as a hub of youthful energy and societal activity. Its reputation as a center for young nobles and genteel individuals enhances the college's role as a key venue for social introduction. It is frequently heralded as a place where the most advantageous social and matrimonial matches are made, positioning it as a pivotal institution in shaping the elite's social landscape.

The Empire

The Empire, as it is commonly known, is a vast realm governed by the Nine Paramountcies and the Imperial Household, all of whom rule from the King's Seat. This grand structure of power was forged between the years 23 ANU (Anno Non Unitus, or Year of the Ununified) and 1 AR (Anno Rex, or Year of the King) through the conquests of King Adan I, who earned the title "the Unifier."

From its inception, the Empire adopted an expansionist stance, which has characterized much of its history. This policy of territorial growth has been met with widespread approval among its citizens, largely due to the substantial wealth and resources it has brought to the nation. As the largest empire in the world and the unifier of the continent, it has established itself as the dominant lingua franca of common, further solidifying its influence and stature.

Throughout the Empire's history, the Imperial Household and the title of King have primarily been held by House Galagar, reigning from 1 AR to 399 AR, and later by House Wynd, from 399 AR to 438 AR. There have been instances where other houses acted as regents, temporarily holding the title on behalf of House Galagar, such as House Cruller (348 AR-352 AR) and House Abbey (9 AR-13 AR & 154AR-155AR).

Despite its vast wealth and dominance, the Empire has faced relatively frequent rebellions in its paramountcies where calls for independence have persisted. Historically, these uprisings have been met with swift and overwhelming military responses. However, recently in 399AR during the Wyndham Rebellion, King Hendrick the Conqueror succeeded in overthrowing House Galagar and replacing it with his own house who have led the empire since.

*The lore detailed here is accurate but also only extends as far as the protagonist's knowledge of these subjects at the present time of the fic, some detail will be lost or may have been withheld from the MC and they may have misconceptions.

Romances

When the advisors are not praising his good sense, nor the bards his mirth, the church his piety or the poor his generosity, the question emerges just who is King Edmund I Wynd?

The young king thrust into a position of power who uses it as well as he knows how, having learnt from the mistakes of his grandfather and father and the long shadow of war that is still cast over the continent?

Or is he merely the figurehead, installed after a turbulent civil war, a king whose true authority has been surrendered to the councilors around him, contenting himself with the trappings of kingship rather than its substance?

Alas who is to know?

Name: King Edmund I Wynd

Age: 21

Height: 6'5

Appearance: Edmund stands at a 6'5, noticeably lanky although his seemingly permanent jaunty posture appears to cut an inch or two of him. He possesses short bronde hair styled in such a fashion that it appears wind-swept and fashionably ruffled with various products used to achieve the effect. He possesses a lean athletic physique although it is evidently achieved through some sort of diet or exercise for aesthetic rather than being muscles created by years of work. He nearly always has a relaxed expression with a smile and his pale face is framed by his grey eyes.

(he/him) poly-route, solo-route

Tropes: Life of the Party, Commitment Issues

-

Could it be that she, the queen consort, wields the true power behind the throne, acting as a surrogate for her kind lord, who never could bring himself to grasp the reins of authority?

She possesses the strength and allure of a king in her own right. Under her vigilant oversight, the king’s armies have routed the empire's foes, and now her gaze turns inward, determined to root out the treacherous elements within the realm.

Yet, amid her march towards peace at the end of a sword, there are those who seek to see her order destroyed. How long can it last? A queen consort without an heir, without children, lacking a direct claim to the throne, aging, and some even question her bond with the king himself.

Name: Veronica Abbey-Wynd

Age: 36

Height: 5'9

Appearance: Veronica stands straight at a tall 5'9 although her heels often push her to 5'11 or even 6'0. She has long wavy chestnut brown hair although more often than not it is in an updo of some sort for practicality. She has a healthy physique with faint lines and wrinkles, with an olive skin as well as doe-shaped deep brown eyes. Somehow a picture of beauty and severity, all the soft lines of her body somehow harsh.

(she/her) poly-route, solo-route

Tropes: scary hot, masc women

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Walthe Courtney, Commander of the King’s Armies and Protector of the Realm, emerged as a formidable figure in the Second Civil War. Leading the rebels with unmatched martial prowess, he earned the acclaim of being the finest swordsman in the land. His valor and leadership were instrumental in overthrowing the usurper-king and restoring order to the fractured realm.

In the aftermath of the bloody conflict, he was celebrated as a folk hero—a commoner who rose to lead his people to victory and bring about a semblance of peace. His contributions were rewarded with knighthood and elevation to nobility, an ode to his honour.

Now, as Protector of the Realm, Walthe ensures the continuation of stability with a steady hand. Yet, despite his efforts, a persistent thorn remains, a challenge beyond even his considerable grasp, casting a shadow over his otherwise successful stewardship.

Name: Walthe Courtney

Age: 43

Height: 5'11

Appearance: Walthe has short, practical wavy black hair streaked with grey throughout, reflecting years of experience and hardship. their muscled, well-built stature is a testament to their years of service. He has warm tanned skin, indicative of his heritage being from the centre of the continent. His light green eyes stand out against his rugged features, with a determined, piercing gaze.

(he/him/they) solo-route

Tropes: The Stoic, No Sense of Humour, Heroic BSoD

-

From the day his family and house declared for the usurper-king, it was clear that Lorn Greenspan, the youngest of seven brothers, would be sent away as a ward.

Only eight years old, he had to play his part, leaving behind the familiar chill of his home—its cold peaks and harsh landscape fading from sight. He was a pawn in a conflict he could scarcely comprehend

His father had told him plainly that he must be strong—because until the day their house bent the knee, Lorn would remain a ward, and his father had no intention of surrendering.

Forced to adapt, Lorn became useful, talented, indispensable—not out of love for those his family would call captors, but out of necessity. Now, he stands as your closest advisor and a member of your house in all but name—cool, calculating, indifferent. Yet beneath that icy exterior burns a quiet resolve. Though he never expects his father to yield, he is determined to see his homeland again, even if it means waging war to bring it to heel.

Name: Lorn of Greenspan

Age: 18

Height: 6'0

Appearance: Lorn has a thick head of dark chestnut hair, gently wavy, it is always styled fashionably with pomade and volume. He has a tawny complexion and almost amber, brown eyes that if you didn't know him you'd think were perpetually concerned and caring rather than probing and scanning. Though under his stylish clothes you couldn't tell it, his body is lean and athletic from harsh training.

(he/him) solo-route

Tropes: advisor-turned-lover, secretly-in-love, black cat

-

The unbroken line of Galagar Kings may have fractured at Kirston Wall, but the proud Highland rulers never truly relinquished their claim. To them, Hendrick the Conqueror and his descendants are nothing more than traitors. Yet, they understand that a king's throne is grounded in the right of conquest, and so they bide their time, quietly assembling their forces, tempering their men, and honing their blades.

Preparing for the inevitable clash, they drill relentlessly through lashing rain and violent gales, each generation more convinced of their righteousness and the frailty of their enemies. The realm may slumber in uneasy peace, but in the Highlands, war is always on the horizon.

Kent Galagar, the young Lord of Kirston, was shaped by this belief from childhood. His father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfather—all were kings in their own eyes, their thrones stolen by usurpers. To Kent, acknowledging this truth makes you an ally, a friend. To deny it brands you an enemy, destined to be crushed when the time comes.

For Kent, proud, arrogant, and stubborn as he may seem, the world is divided by a simple truth: those who support the Galagar claim, and those who will fall before it.

Name: Kent Galagar

Age: 18

Height: 5'9

Appearance: Kent possesses a mane of thick, raven-black hair, often left loose or tied back with a leather strap. His skin is scattered with freckling, with a pale complexion. He has piercing blue eyes and a gaze that can shift from arrogant levity to fiery determination in an instant. His powerful frame is unmistakable, with broad shoulders and a chest that strains against the fabric of his tunics. His physique is defined—broad-shouldered and muscular, but not overly so, with a build that suggests both agility and power. His movements carry the confidence of someone who knows his strength and is unafraid to use it.

(he/him) solo-route

Tropes: Intense, enemies to lovers, jerk with a heart of gold

-

The nobility are arrogant, cruel, greedy, scheming, and foolish—qualities Arfryn has learned all too well through her peripheral access to them. Her current place among them is no accident but the product of the sweat, blood and tears of her entire family.

Born to a guildman father and a common mother from the east continent, Arfryn witnessed firsthand how the shifting tides of national conflict mirrored the fortunes of her own family. Every struggle either bolstered their wealth or teetered them on the brink of ruin, a fate shared by the yeomanry at large.

Her father, Jasper Caldwell, is the first Premier elected from the Small Parliament, a yeoman elevated by the newly enfranchised class. He has—in no uncertain terms—made it clear that his own position hinges on the peace of the realm.

Arfryn, understanding these dynamics, sees through the superficial grandeur of the nobility. Though she finds them to be the very embodiment of arrogance and folly, she is determined to bend them to her will. For now, she plays the game—offering smiles, be gracious, and dance while they are watching.

Name: Arfryn Caldwell

Age: 20

Height: 5'11

Appearance: Arfryn has a striking presence with her rich, deep brown skin and loose, jet-black braids that cascade down her back. Her eyes are a penetrating dark brown, revealing a sharp intelligence behind a charming, amiable demeanor. She dresses in elegantly simple fabrics that highlight her natural grace—always muted and refined to suit her surroundings but always at the very forefront of courtly fashions. At 5'11 her movements are deliberate, blending seamlessly into the nobility’s world, designed to make her easy to like and hard to hold grudges against.

(she/her) solo-route

Tropes: Steel Magnolia, Dark Feminine

-

In public Dean Champion is everything a Lady-Knight should be, prodigiously skilled with both galder and weapons, valiant, chivalrous and extremely popular amongst all who meet her or have the chance to witness her in action.

She like many knights is also spoiled to a fault, her suits of armour gleaming and her squire-boys tasked with keeping them so, as they are expensive and extravagant. Indeed she wears them because all people like a performance.

In private, Dean has dedicated herself entirely to her studies at Pyrenne University, determined to learn all there is about the study and practice of galder and perhaps indeed the deeper secrets that only the great masters know—all the better to become both loved and indispensable to the state.

As the younger sibling of a line with many children, she does not expect to ever inherit and nor does she ever want to, she is entirely content with her career as a tourney knight and the life she's lead in the King's Seat thus far. Indeed Dean has long been utterly convinced that she'd make an awful Lady Paramount, she is convinced utterly that all those like her that revel in the spectacle, the fervor of battle and tourney alike are utterly unsuitable for such position.

Name: Dean Champion

Age: 19

Height: 5'9

Appearance: Dean has long deep auburn hair, typically braided for both practicalities sake and fashion, with strands often escaping to frame her face. Her skin is fair as if she'd somehow escaped the sun of both her home and the tourney. Her pale green eyes are bright and framed by dark eyelashes. Dean's build is athletic and commanding, showing off the results of rigorous training and combat practice, yet she carries herself with a grace that befits her status as a renowned Lady-Knight. Her entire demeanor projects a sort of graceful confidence, like that you'd expect of a Prince of ages past.

(she/her) solo-route

Tropes: The Lady and Knight, Knight in Sour Armour

-

Fran has long understood that she commands little respect at court—indeed, as a bastard, she finds herself dismissed even within her own family. Yet there is one, a young Lord who is but a child, who gave her legitimacy, who looks up to her, and has earned her unwavering loyalty. Her beloved little brother.

It is for him that she accepted the king's invitation to the King's Seat, to train in the King's Army. She wants to be his eyes, his ears, and his sword.

True loyalty is a rare commodity among the highborn, for what do they owe anyone but themselves and their own appetites?

She is content to endure their scorn and wear the title "Loyal Hound" with pride. After all, what insult lies therein? A good hound is strong, lethal, obedient, loved, loyal, and free to roam so long as it always returns. And return to him she will.

Name: Fran Radwell-Cadderly

Age: 18

Height: 5'7

Appearance: Fran's dirty-blonde hair is cut short, falling just above her shoulders—a length chosen for practicality rather than fashion. Her complexion is fair, lightly sun-kissed from time spent outdoors, with a few sun-spots across her nose and cheeks. Her eyes are a dull blue-green, carrying an intensity that contrasts with her otherwise unassuming features. Her build is lean and wiry, reflecting a life of rigorous training, with a strength that belies her slender frame. Though she dresses simply, her presence is commanding, a blend of quiet confidence and restrained power and it makes her feel much bigger than the 5'7 she stands at.

(she/her) solo-route

Tropes: Guard Dog, Loyal Companion, Golden Retriever

Additional

Demo: out now!

Pinterest: not yet available

Art: not yet available

Feedback Survey: not yet available

All Asks and Reposts are appreciated, work will be slow but steady and a demo should be ready shortly!

ask me lore questions please, I have far too many notes on this.

[superblysubpar]

dad!steve harrington x mom!you

a How Sweet It Is story

summary: you want another baby

2,886 words

warnings: please see the How Sweet It Is and Easy Like Sunday Morning masterlists for general warnings about these AU's | SMUT (piv unprotected intercourse / steve breeding kink harrington / kitchen sex and all the messy things like licking food off of another person for example) | NSFW 18+

a blurb for the "Trick or Treat, Freak?" event - don't forget to vote for tomorrow at the bottom of the story!

Autumn, 1993:

Steve rubs at his eyes as he turns onto your street, fighting a yawn as his radio rumbles quietly, the song too soothing despite the cold air from the open window trying to keep him awake. He curses at the time blinking back at him on the dash.

Midnight.

His kids will be up in five hours, maybe less.

He groans audibly to himself and knows that you’ll wake up with them first and insist he sleep in, but he’ll hear you singing or laughing or hear the kids ask where Daddy is and he’ll feel guilty and that’ll be that.

He hadn’t meant to stay at the hospital for as long as he had, but Eddie was sort of a mess and Olivia kept thanking him and apologizing and okay, so maybe, he’s a little excited to rub it in everyone’s face that he was the first one to meet Caroline.

It’s weird seeing one of your best friends have a kid. Weird seeing this guy in a Metallica tshirt who was just leaning over a theater seat and telling him his own kid was a little freak not even five hours ago, hold his newborn and cry.

And yeah, whatever, he cried too.

Meeting Caroline was worth the lack of sleep.

The same lack of sleep making his eyes blink and connect the dots too slowly that the house he’s pulling into should be dark. Yet as he rolls to a stop in his driveway, he finds almost every single light of the house is still on. Warm gold shines from his upstairs bedroom, the downstairs living and kitchen windows. As he makes his way up to the front steps, mentally preparing himself for wide awake yet overly tired three and six year olds, he pauses.

Fleetwood Mac?

He’s sure of it, as he steps closer to his front door and hears guitars and drums, hears your voice singing louder, somehow, than the stereo blaring.

It’s the mix he made you, for your birthday, all your favorites, and Steve closes the door gently, looking around in search of you.

The kitchen is empty, well, not empty.

There’s bold and…uniquely…decorated Halloween cookies on parchment paper. A mixing bowl and utensils all covered in chocolate, frosting, caramel, and essentially anything potentially sticky and edible in his house littered across the countertops.

He makes his way to the living room and finds a blanket fort and crayons literally everywhere, ironically, as the song of the same title starts just then. He goes to nudge the stereo lower when your voice singing on the stairs makes him pause.

His chest fucking cracks open at the sight of you. One of your old band shirts hangs loosely from your frame, no pants, a laundry basket on your hip. He leans against the door frame as you do a little spin-dance sort of thing when you reach the laundry room.

He watches you flick off the light and head to the kitchen and he’s a little alarmed you haven’t screamed or said hi until you stick a spoon of chocolate frosting in your mouth and then call out around the treat:

“You gonna come dance with me or just stare all night, Harrington?��

Steve smiles and watches you twirl in the kitchen and make what you think are flirty eyes at him. He tilts his head as one particular shake of your body in a terrible dance move shows off the high cut of black lace on your ass.

You don’t wear those enough.

“I’m good with staring, it’s a nice view.”

He slowly enters the kitchen, knowing it’s a trap, but a willing prey for your hands that grab him as soon he’s close enough. Your fingers clasp together at the back of his neck as you sway, much too slow for the song and he gets the hint, his finding a home on your waist.

“You remember when we slow danced to The Way I Feel at that shitty frat party?”

Steve smiles, his hands bunch up your shirt in his fingers and his forehead rests against yours.

He remembers it well. Really well.

Remembers the girl he’d made out with a few times in high school, how he messed up his shot with her even more times. How he somehow got a seat next to that same girl on the first day of class in an actual college he still couldn’t believe he got into. Remembers asking her to study, to ice cream, to coffee. Kisses at front doors and make out sessions that lead to more. To held hands and introducing him as your boyfriend. Whispered dreams of the future amidst I love you’s. Then, dragging him along to a party.

Can still vividly recall slipping an asshole a twenty. Your smile around the rim of the plastic red cup you stole from him. Your voice singing softly to him, like you two were the only people there as you swayed a lot like you were now.

The way the song ended and your mouth was hovering over his and you asked him if he wanted to get out of there.

How one thing led to another and you were in the backseat of his car with your head thrown back and his mouth was on your neck and nine months later he was a dad.

Speaking of…

His nose traces yours as fingers scratch up your spine, smiling when you shiver. He leans his head down, just enough to brush his lips against yours as he asks, “Where are the kids?”

Your lips part around his in a barely there kiss as you murmur, “Robin and Nance took them. They made you hocus pocus cookies.”

Steve breathes in as you breathe out, fingers pushing at your spine so your lips bump again, speaking so quietly, if he weren’t pressed up against you, you’d be unable to hear him.

“Was wondering ‘bout the gummy worms. Makes sense now.”

Your head tilts back as you gasp into his mouth when his teeth graze your bottom lip. Then you hum, eyelashes fluttering as you say, “Almost every potion requires worms, according to our little witch. Who, by the way, was only encouraged by Robin who brought her a chocolate wand.”

Steve’s mouth breathes against your jaw while you talk, his tongue slips out as he kisses the hinge of it.

“Oh yeah?”

You’re not so much dancing anymore, instead simply arching your body as Steve grips your waist and leaves a warm, trailing breath down your neck. You suppose it’s like a dip of sorts.

A hum slips past your lips as your stomach flips. Maybe this won’t be as hard as you thought.

“Ye-yeah. Said she can’t be a Sanderson though…for Halloween…cause,” you whine a little when Steve’s tongue glides over your skin, his smile following right behind it.

“Cause?”

The song on the stereo changes with perfect timing to Think About Me, and Steve’s mouth presses a kiss to your neck, encouraging you with a squeeze of your hips.

“Cause,” your voice is quiet, but sure, “Cause she only has Grace. And there are three Sanderson’s.”

Steve’s lips slow their kissing as he hears what you’re saying. Hears the song that just so happened to lead to the conception of his second kid.

He pulls away and blinks at you, pink cheeks and eyes like melting honey.

“Are you…” he licks his lips, swallows, and looks down at where your body clings to his. He looks around at the kidless house, listens to the Fleetwood Mac, and then looks back at your hopeful gaze up at him.

His hands cup your cheeks as he asks, softly, “You wanna have another baby?”

“Yeah,” you laugh around some tears trying to slip out, a little more emotional than you thought you’d be. “Yeah, I really do. I think they’d be good ages apart and they’ll be so close to Caroline and Robin and Nancy are gonna get Zoe in a couple of months and-“

Steve’s kissing you, mouth passionate and hot against yours as he moans into your lips. He backs you up into the counter as you grip at his shirt collar, neither of you really caring or paying much attention to where things are landing.

Your fingers scratch down his now bare back as he lifts you, wedging himself between your spread legs. His lips are frantic in their kissing as he tugs on your thighs, your ass, until you’re flush against him, grinding down in search of friction.

Your body floods with warmth as he unzips his jeans, as he pulls and tugs at your shirt with his other hand, too impatient to wait until he has both free and refusing to admit if he stopped kissing you, it’d be a whole lot easier.

Steve groans at the sight of your bare chest and your legs tighten around his hips now free of the denim. He leans over you on the counter, kissing the corner of your mouth before he whispers, “Hold still.”

“What, why, ohmygod-“

Steve drizzles caramel over your neck, your chest, your stomach, before flinging the spoon somewhere.

His mouth follows the drizzles, carefully licking up each drop as his hands squeeze at your hips, your thighs. His tongue glides across the curve of your breasts before it dips between the two and down your stomach where he gives you a kiss.

It’s all painstakingly slow compared to the speed you were just going, adamant for you to feel every pass of his tongue, every brush of his lips as he enjoys his treat.

Your body squirms underneath him, skin warm and only growing warmer as he pulls at your underwear roughly, leaving you completely naked on your kitchen countertop.

“Steve, we-“

Propped up on your elbows, you swallow your words when he removes his boxers and steps between your legs again. One hand rests on the counter next to your head, the other grips his length and tugs, once, twice, keeping eye contact with you while he lines himself up with your entrance.

“We,” he breathes heavily, stopping to kiss you once, before he keeps going, “Are gonna make another perfect, amazing, incredible kid.”

He pushes into you, capturing your gasp from the fullness of him inside of you. He pants into you, pushing deeper as he holds your stare, mouth never lifting from yours as he groans, “You’re gonna…” he sucks in a breath unable to to finish the thought when your hips roll and you whine for him to move.

“Please, Steve,” you beg into his mouth and he can’t hold off anymore, not that he really was before.

He pulls out and thrusts forcefully, hand gripping your hip and the edge of the counter as he slams into you again, and again, and again.

Your back arches off of the countertop, his name a gasp as you meet each of his thrusts and babble into his mouth.

“More, Steve, fill me up baby, please I-“

He swallows your words, grinds against you each time he pushes as far in as he can while his hand pulls your thigh up against his hip in a bruising grip.

It’s fast and not like you two at all anymore. Sex is usually some pillow talk and soft sleepy smiles and missionary and hand holding and so so so not Steve stopping his kissing and pouring more caramel over your face and chest in the middle of sex.

So not you two being loud, yelling names and making who knows what kind of noises as he smears and licks up the mess he just made and teeth nip at your skin and soothe it all away with kisses as he pounds into you like he used to. Not you when your hands grip at his shoulders and beg him to go faster, harder.

Steve’s gasping into your neck, thrusts coming closer together and your stomach tightens, warmth threatening to burst inside of you but you don’t want it to end.

Your fingers slip on the countertop, cookies fall to the ground, his name is yelled and it sounds an awful lot like don’t stop, never stop.

Steve searches for your hand and tangles his fingers with yours while the other finds your lower back and makes you arch up into him further. Your hips grind against his as his mouth pants along your throat, your jaw, before it locks against yours in a kiss.

It’s all a little filthy and wild, the way you let go of his hand and both of yours grip the back of his head and pull when his thrusts just keep going. The way you beg into his mouth like you’re sobbing, “Baby, please, please, ohmygod-“ and Steve grips your hips and pumps harder, deeper, practically growling out a “Yeah?”

Your thighs shake, you pulse around him, your heartbeat is in your ears as he hits that spot that makes you see stars over and over and over again until your mouth falls open and you don’t know what comes over you because you’re practically shouting, “Yesyesyesyes,” until it turns into a silent gasp as your orgasm takes over. It’s like the breath is stolen from your lungs, vision lost, as he spills inside of you with a deep, tortured - like he really didn’t want it to be over either - moan.

The pair of you breathe heavily, clinging to each other still, then you both start laughing, tired and euphoric. Foreheads stuck together as your hands move over each other’s bodies restlessly as your lungs fight for air around the laughter, until it all slows down and stops again.

Eventually, Steve clears his throat as his thumbs rub soothing circles on your hips.

“Sorry, don’t know…that was um…”

Your head finds it’s favorite place in his neck, curled up under his jaw, lips finding the pair of freckles you love so much in a kiss. There’s no energy left for anything other than a hum of agreement.

His hands roam higher, soft and soothing up your spine and back down until you yawn against his neck and a low chuckle rumbles in his chest beneath where your fingers draw against his skin absently.

Steve pulls away and his lips twitch at the sound of your protesting whine, at the way your hands cling to around the back of his neck once more. But he’s just adjusting so he can find your lips, granting you a gentle and sweet kiss. The tip of his nose brushes yours as his breath fans out across your bottom lip when they part for him. His mouth moves over yours sweetly, lazily, as his hands pull you closer to him. Your stomach flutters alive, only stirring up the just satisfied feelings when his tongue meets yours. Steve kicks up inside of you when your hips shift, searching for friction again, causing your laugh to break the kiss.

He swallows the sound, his hand roams higher until it’s cupping the back of your neck, thumb brushing behind your ear as he regretfully pulls away from your lips, but only just so. Steve murmurs against them, eyes watching your eyelashes flutter at the sound of his voice.

“Can I interest you in a bubble bath to clean up, Mrs. Harrington?”

His teeth scrape against your bottom lip, a kiss to your top one, his mouth moving over yours too fleeting as your entire body shakes with a shiver, practically drooling over his question and teasing touches with a moan worthy of a bite of chocolate.

Your hands curl into the hair at the nape of his neck, lifting your hips ever so slightly to cling onto his body a little harder, a little longer. The nod of your head knocks your lips with his again, and he rewards you with a deeper and lingering kiss. His arms wrap around your back as he pulls you closer still, neither of you ready to separate any time soon.

“You better tell them you ate every single one of those horrible cookies.”

He laughs into your mouth, nodding his head as you kiss him more.

Both of you are content to take your time getting upstairs, to let your kisses linger and melt like honey. Make sure each moment is remembered, so it’s all easily recalled from the sound of a song and the way you kiss him. Each pass of your lips over each other’s, each brush of a tongue or scrape of teeth or inhale of much needed air makes sure you’re not missing any of it as you clean each other up when you finally do get there.

Steve’s got your back to his chest as he hums into your temple the last song on the tape in between whispers of if it’ll be a boy or girl, names, personality, and all of the things you’ve come to love about your other two.

His hands roam over your body, warm water and sweet smelling suds cascading over you as he kisses your neck and shakes his head no when you ask if he’s tired.

And even if he were, the lack of sleep would be worth it.

[emeritusemeritus]

The little one? [Fred Weasley x Reader]

Title: The little one?

Pairing: Fred Weasley x wife!Reader

Timeline: Set during DH (canon has been altered slightly so that Fred and reader were married before Bill and Fleur)

Summary: A wedding brings out all the extended Weasley family, and their incessant questions about when you would start your family.

Warnings: Established relationship, getting married young, mentions of pregnancy and babies, but neither actually feature in the story. Mentions of sex and a few curse words.

The questions had been incessant ever since you had gotten engaged, never once letting up each and every time you attended some sort of Weasley family event.

You'd been dating Fred Weasley ever since your third year at Hogwarts and over time your relationship had just gotten stronger, knowing right from the start that you were endgame for each other, two souls eternally entwined.  You'd gotten engaged not long after the shop had opened in Diagon Alley, with Fred using the profits of his and George's wildly successful shop to buy you a simple but beautiful ring that he'd proposed with not long after.

You were both incredibly young but with everything happening with the war and the general unrest, time felt precious and neither of you had seen any fit reason to wait to start your futures together.

You'd gotten married in a small little ceremony in the woodland behind the burrow in the autumn, the spot you'd claimed as your own ever since the early days of dating, the spot you would both sneak off to in all weather to claim some time alone. Just your closest friends and family had attended, and you'd spent the evening laughing and dancing with the people you loved.

Bill and Fleur had apparently had very similar feelings and had wanted to marry as soon as possible, which meant Weasley family gatherings left, right and center in preparation for the big day.

It had started when Fleur's family arrived from France to meet the Weasley's and great aunt Muriel had took it upon herself to join in on the family gathering, stating herself to be the head of the family. The questions started from then on, with everyone over the age of 40 seemingly fixated on asking you and Fred the same question. Then, when Bill and Fleur's big day came, you'd been accosted by great aunt Tessie to help her to her seat during the reception and had been trapped there for a while as she went into excruciating detail about her own wedding and basically her entire life story. Truthfully, it wasn't entirely unpleasant with Tessie, not like talking with Muriel, but as you looked around the beautifully decorated marquees and saw Fred and George dancing in the crowd, clapping for the happy couple, you couldn't help but think about how much you'd rather be there with them, dancing with your husband. Fred had found you not long after and had attempted to steal you away to dance but Tessie in a rather spectacular fashion had also managed to get Fred to take a seat and had begun to drone on about her wedding once again with her new audience member.

"So when's the baby coming then?" She's asked with a wicked glint in her eyes, looking between you both.

"Do I look pregnant?" You'd asked in alarm, looking down at your stomach in your bridesmaid dress before flicking your gaze worryingly to Fred who looked just as shell shocked.

"Of course not dear!" Tessie laughed, slapping her hands down on her legs as she leaned back, "but you're married now!"

All words seemed to fall from your mind as you stared back in complete astonishment, not knowing how to respond.

"You know," she says, turning her attention to Fred who still looks frozen in place, "your mother was only 20 when she had William."

Ever since then, it was like the flood gates had opened and suddenly everyone was asking the pair of you about when you were planning on having a child, completely ignoring the fact that a potential war was on the horizon. It was exhausting, deflecting the same question twenty times from both families and towards the end of the night, you could tell that Fred's patience was wearing thin.

"So, have you two thought about trying for a little one?" A deeply unpleasant friend of aunt Muriel's had asked you both as you were making your way out of the marquee for some fresh air.

"Yeah we've just started actually," Fred snaps, making you turn your head quickly to look at him, eyes wide as you hear his words, knowing it would not end well. "Honestly it's exhausting, we've never had so much sex and that's saying something- every single day and sometimes twice a night, it's a miracle she can still walk."

You were horrified and amused in equal measure, not knowing whether to run away to hide your blush or your laughter at Fred's blunt delivery. The old woman looked up at Fred with utter disgust as she barged past him, fleeing from his rude and uncouth behaviour. It took one look between you both before your resolve shattered entirely and you both burst out into infectious laughter, doubling over as you wheezed. Fred dragged you close to him as you laughed and you squealed as he roughly pulled you into his chest, feeling his laughter reverberating through his muscular torso. You slapped his chest to scold him for his outrageous behaviour but he simply chuckled more and pulled you tighter, kissing the top of your head as you both made your way out into the woods, wordlessly falling in step as you sought out your spot.

"You know, I wish it was our wedding we were re-living," Fred says, slipping his hand down from your shoulders and entwining with yours as you walked, your other hand holding up the bottom of the long, satin bridesmaid dress so you could walk the final stretch to your spot without damaging the dress. You looked over at him, seeing the cheekily smile you loved so much and beamed back, nodding your head at the thought.

You approached the little fallen log that signalled the entrance to the little clearing in the woods and Fred suddenly dropped your hand and reached out to grab your waist, hauling you effortlessly over the little stump so that you didn't have to climb over it in your heels. His hands lingered on your waist for a few seconds as you leaned up to kiss him, silently thanking him for the little gesture. He winked at you as you pulled apart before pulling out his wand and casting a charm that created little firefly lights all around the little clearing, just adding a little more light to the moonlit clearing. You smile as you look up at the beautiful little twinkling lights, momentarily mesmerised by the beauty.

"Mrs Weasley," Fred says to your side, making you turn with a wide smile. Your new name and title still made butterflies erupt within you, the same way that Fred calling you his wife did. "Would you do me the honour of dancing with me this evening?" He asks with a smirk, extending his hand to you as he bows formally. His wedding ring glints in the moonlight and it makes your tummy flip once again.

"Why of course kind sir," you said flirtily, placing your hand delicately in his, gasping as he pulls you closer not a moment later, his other hand resting on the curve of your hip, just a little lower than what was deemed appropriate for a waltz as you begin to slow dance in the middle of your spot. "You know, my husband won't like that I'm dancing with such a handsome stranger."

"Husband you say?" He jokes, playing along, "I didn't realise someone had already claimed you, he's a very lucky man."

"I'd say so," you teased, laughing as he suddenly pinches your bum as you joke. "I'm pretty sure I'm the lucky one," you say with complete adoration as he smiles, the hint of a blush appearing on his freckled cheeks. "After all he does fuck me once a day and twice a night."

Your squeal echoes through the woods as he grabs as you, chuckling at your squeal as he spins you recklessly in his arms, both of you perfectly happy with your lives in that moment, without a mini Weasley.

[bonecarversbestie]

I've seen a theory floating around that Eris is actually also Helion's son, and while it’s an interesting theory, I think it takes a lot of impact out of both Eris’s and Lucien's stories.

Eris has a potentially beautiful arc ahead of him where he can prove that he is more than his blood and upbringing. He has the chance to break the tradition of abuse and tyranny in the Autumn Court, and lead it into a new age.

And Lucien has spent his life running from titles and power even though he is clearly destined to rule. He can’t really do that if Eris is actually the heir to the Day Court.

Also, I just love the idea of Lucien and Eris repairing their relationship and being High Lords together.

[myromanempiree]

Enchanting; act two

(previously titled: Dreamers with no stars)

thank you for 222+ notes on act one!!

Eris Vanserra x Archeron!Reader

Warnings: Rhysand sucks, angst, brief description of Eris' legs.

Summary: Will you accept this proposal?

word count: 1.2k

listening to: silver springs by fleetwood mac

“People empty me,

 I have to get away to refill”

-Charles Bukowski 

Recap, or read act one here

The walk back to the dais was as silent as the rest of their interaction. She felt guilty for not being able to seduce the man, but regardless, was glad she was even able to waltz without falling and crashing into something or someone. 

She moved swiftly up to her sisters as shocking words ring in her ears. 

“I will offer you support, in exchange for her hand.”

...

A voice suddenly exclaimed, “Over my wrinkled, dead body!” 

She turned to find Mor, her face flushed and eyes ablaze with anger. Her heels clicked against the marble as she walked towards Eris, her lithe hands crumpled into fists. 

“Morrigan.” Rhysand said,his eyes speaking more words than what came from his mouth. Mor looked up at her High Lord, staring stubbornly at him, before gradually bowing her head and moving away.

Rhysand inhaled and exhaled, steadying himself, before turning to the Archeron sister, seaking her input. She stood there with her eyes averted to the ground, her hand finding the sleeve of her velvet dress. Her mouth opened ever so softly before she closed it, lifting her head to look from Eris to Rhysand, Mor to her sisters. Searching for someone– anyone– to speak on her behalf, to remove her from the room's gaze, to get her out. 

Thankfully, Eris clears his throat, saving her from saying something unacceptable or stupid. “If that is what the lady wants, anyhow,” he adds, with his ever charming smile adorning his features. “I will give you a week to decide.”

… 

The rest of the evening was infinitely more unbearable than the beginning. It was silent, awkwardly so. Not the comforting silence that wraps you in a warm blanket. No attempts at conversation being made, other than Mor encouraging her to stay far from Eris. 

Upon finally returning home, she excused herself quickly. No longer wanting to suffocate in the silence that drowns the family. 

She had quickly paced down the hall, one hand tracing along the lightly patterned cream walls, needing something familiar to keep her steady. Needing the feeling beneath her finger tips to distract from the hurricane of thoughts in her mind.

The other hand balls into a fist, tightening and loosening along with the drum of her heartbeat. She went up the stairs rather quickly, opening her door and going to her room, knocking over the pile of books she'd recently gotten from the library. 

She grabbed the nearest novel and threw it onto her bed, a sound of anguish escaping her throat as she raked a quivering hand through her hair, gripping the strands. She quickly moved to the bedside table, where a decanter was expected to be, yet found it empty. 

A breath slowly left her lips, her hand loosening its grip on the strands of hair, leaving a soothing ache behind. She sat on the bed, running a hand along the tasseled fabric, pulling at one. 

She braced herself for further awkwardness as she dragged herself down the stairs to get more water, slowly moving to peek into the kitchen as she heard shouting. 

“Are you psychotic? She wouldn't last a day in Autumn!” Cassian– presumably– yelled. 

Rhysand countered, “We need her to, Cassian. We can get her out after, but we need this advantage.” 

Amren stepped forward, arms crossed as he sighed. “She's not like any of her sisters, Rhysand. She wouldn't be able to do what we need her to, she's not that type of female..” 

“But with Beron potentially supporting Koschei, we need insider knowledge,” Azriel said slowly, before Mor said, “What the Hel, Azriel! You saw what they did to me!” 

“Trust me, I hate Eris as much as the next, but this could potentially save us,” he told Mor. 

“She couldn't even do it if we sent her.” Feyre said, standing next to Rhysand. 

Her eyes widened as she stood behind the alcove, Eris long forgotten as she heard the distasteful words spoken about her. She slowly stepped forward, then back, her feet dragging along like the lurch of her heart.

As much as she hated the idea of a political marriage, she hated the idea of being dead weight more than anything. Everyone had previously played a role in the safety of her sister's Court. It was high time for her turn. 

Her feet moved quickly past the alcove as she stepped into the kitchen, a set of eyes looking at her. 

“I'll do it.” 

…

Rhysand had quickly gotten in contact with Beron and informed him of her acceptance, before Mor could talk her out of it. Much to most of the Inner Circles displeasure.

She was told not to pack any articles of clothing, and that all would be provided, including the wedding gown. The mere thought had her face immediately scrunching in disgust. 

Feyre had tried to coax her to cancel the engagement as she was putting her things in boxes. Though that hadn't worked, seeing as she now found herself in a new room.

Crisp Autumn air coming in through the cracked window as she put her things away, some maids had offered to help, yet ahe refused. There was a certain way she had wanted it done, and ordering people around felt odd to her. 

So she found herself straightening a series of clay sea creatures Feyre had made her, smiling softly as she moved the sea lion into its place. Gently patting its head with her finger tip, before turning to hang up a map. 

“You are aware that this shall only be your room until the wedding, yes?” A smooth voice said, causing her to almost drop from the odd position of on the chair and on her writing desk that she was in– which, admittedly, wasn't a good idea regardless.

She stepped down to find Eris, an eyebrow raised as he leaned against the door frame. A confident and easy grin on his face, eyes darting to look up at her. “I… when is the wedding? I was never informed.” She said, tilting her head. 

“Three weeks, Beron and Rhysand both want this to be quick.” 

“So you can't back out”, are the words implied. She nods, fidgeting with her fingers, pulling on the appendages to hear a satisfying pop. She awkwardly looks at his feet, the calf-high riding boots that grip his muscled yet lean legs. 

She was never one for idle chatter, small talk was dumb to her. What was the point of it if it was something simple? However, she had no clue what to say to the statuesque man in front of her, so she asked; “Do you have a horse?” 

His eyes flickered with confusion, an eyebrow raised. “Pardon?” he questioned, tilting his head at her in a way that strangely reminded her of a dog. “Riding riding boots, I think those are what you're wearing. Do you have a horse?”

“Ah, yes. Maybe one-day I'll take you on a ride. After our marriage, of course.” Genesis nodded, thanking him and watching as he left. Burying her face into her hands after realizing the innuendo of his words, she now knew that ‘Thank you’ was not a proper way to address his words. 

This further reminds her of their future marital duties, and in three weeks time, she would be in bed with Eris Vanserra

Three weeks couldn't come slow enough.

Taglist: @babypeapoddd @mybestfriendmademe @lilah-asteria @impossibelle @thestartitaness @thecraziestcrayon @minnieoo @nebarious @rcarbo1 @anyzandy @starsidesigh @wolvesnravens @96jnie 

Taglist is open! Dm or comment if you want to join

[acotarxreader]

⭐Other Worlds ⭐Pancake ⭐Healing Hands ⭐The Stray and The Snakes ⭐Hounded

Oneshot:

Stress Relief⭐👀🔥

Synopsis: Working for the Night Court has become near impossible with Azriel determined to drive you out the door but can a camping trip arranged by Rhys smooth things over.

Papertrail ⭐🥰

Synopsis: For months Azriel had gotten to know you through the intelligence letters you penned from the Autumn Court but finally meeting reveals your twisted reality.

BatBite ⭐

Synopsis: Azriel relies on liquid courage to finally act on his feelings for you but the next day, only one of you remembers and its the one marked with lovebites

Pancake ⭐🥰

Synopsis: Celebrating Feyre's 21st with a large party at the House of Wind proves to be quite triggering for you as you battle with the demons that followed you out of Under the Mountain.

High Lord of Game 👀 

Synopsis: Cassian and Azriel use a simple competition to decide who deserves the title of High Lord of Game, but at what cost to you?

Lessons in Herbology ⭐🔥👀 

Synopsis: You and Azriel are frequently at odds with one another but when Azriel accidently destroys your life's work, the illyrian will do anything to make it up to you.

Storm Chaser 👀 🥰

Synopsis: You and Azriel go your separate ways after a vicious fight leaves Azriels jealousy calling the shots but can the ever brave Illyrian brave a storm without you

Jilted👀

Synopsis: The morning of your wedding your fears are enforced by an old way of thought, sending you running and Azriel to cope with the aftermath but will a reunion set you both back on the path you should both be living?

The Silent Treatment⭐👀

Synopsis: Your past affair sends Azriel into brooding, with Elain being led to believe that the end of the relationship she hated so much had finally happened.

Songbird🥰

Synopsis: Azriel takes to the stage, slightly more than drunk and definitely slightly more than ready to tell the world how he feels about you.

Little Drop Of Starlight 🥰

Synopsis: A story of Azriel and you raising your daughter through the years, Azriels little drop of starlight.

Healing Hands 👀🥰⭐

Synopsis: A new suitor in your life interrupts your friendship with your three best friends at Windhaven. The budding healer in you finds yourself breaking more hearts than healing.

Honey👀🥰

Synopsis: Azriel frequents the hotel in Hewn City that you manage with his many lovers, a source of your constant teasing until Azriel can't replace the way he feels about you with anyone else.

Storybook👀🥰

Synopsis: Azriel's insecurities of not being good enough for the glowing Dawn emissary that had enveloped his world can't be silenced and erupt at Cassian's birthday party. But can he find his way again into the storybook life he believes you deserve?

Tease 👀

Synopsis: Friends with benefits is quickly running its course between you and Azriel with Mor's birthday party being the perfect setting to see which of you will cave first.

Flower 👀🥰💥⭐

Synopsis: You and Azriel are sent deep into the mountains in search of a flower that may save Feyre's life during childbirth but quickly the frenemy status is put to the test as past trials come to a head leaving you to decide between your new sister and the potential love of your life.

Tell me, Party Girl 👀🥰

Synopsis: Your former party girl title rears it's head again as you try to escape the reality of The House of Winds newest resident, Nesta. Very quickly tension bubbles over between you and the night courts current 365 party girl, leaving Azriel to do what he does best.

Series:

 Shadow and Flame 🔥💥👀🥰 ✅

Synopsis: Azriel is growing tired of feeling wronged by the Mother for not allowing Elain to be his mate until he meets a true stranger for the first time, you. Through a series of unfortunate events and ties to Lucien and Autumn, will the Mother keep the winds of fate blowing against Azriel?

Say My Name 👀💥and Part 2 👀💥🔥 ✅

After being separated from his brothers by the High Lord of Night, Azriel becomes accustomed to the new chain of command in his life, led

by you. But with the Mortal Realm war beginning to rage, will your relationship move beyond professional

Other Worlds ⭐🥰and Part 2⭐🥰👀 ✅

Nesta accidentally pulls you from our realm into theirs and a certain Spymaster can't help but be enamoured.

Timing👀 Part Two 🔥💥👀🥰 ✅

Synopsis: Timing works against you and Azriel as a series of unfortunate events lands the two of you alone for the night with a broken down car and a breaking down friendship

Mirror 👀💥Part Two👀💥🥰✅

Synopsis: You were gifted with the ability to mirror other fae's magic with a simple touch and your free spirit nature leads you to cross very close to the borders of a hidden city, where your future best friends and soulmate snatch you out of the sky to protect their border.

Silence in the Shadows 🔥💥👀🥰and Part Two 💥👀

Synopsis: Hewn City has been hit by a fresh crime wave, stumping the inner circle as they search for a solution. Azriel meets you in a crowded bar while trying to escape the stresses that the City was supplying him. But after a spur of the moment night together, Azriel is left wondering if the girl he spent the night with is truly all what she seems?

Moonlight Swim 🥰

Synopsis: Cassian has his heartbroken at the end of Illyrian training party he attended. Lovelorn and in need of a miracle, you cross his path to set his night on a course of centuries-long pining.

The Stray and The Snakes 🥰👀⭐

Synopsis: You're adjustment to the Night Court after meeting your Mate is made all the more difficult due to the unwelcoming nature of two particular sisters.

The Art of You 🥰

Synopsis: Cassian found recovery in the art that he created while preparing to apply to art school in New York, his greatest muse being his high-flying down-to-earth socialite girlfriend, you.

Swept Away 👀💥

Synopsis: Cassian is growing desperate to make his feelings about you known but Rhysand is ever protective of his little sister.

Hounded 👀🥰

Synopsis: Eris loves his dogs more than any other living thing and they love him but soon his eldest hound has found a new interest, you and your endless supply of bread rolls. An unlikely friendship begins to form between the Son of Autumn and one of Springs last border guards, Craos is just hoping to create some sort of parent trap situation.

Vicious little thing 👀🥰💥

Synopsis: Dressmaker for the Inner Circle was the dream job turn mundane nightmare, all in Court you could never quite warm to. A chance encounter with the infamous son of Autumn leaves you wondering if there's more to life than what it seams (get it lol cause seams not seems)

To the Library

Welcome to my lil library of fics I have enjoyed recently (and the gifs that summarise them way too simplistically)! This will be updated as I go 🩷

[bloodismymedium]

Ur urbanspook headcannons? brava. Spectacular give me 15 more of these

Your wish is my command anon🫀🫀🫀

🦷 Mona’s favorite holiday, predictably enough is Halloween and she loves the autumn season in general. Bill meanwhile, as a stark contrast, REALLY gets into Christmas.

🦷 Mona is touch starved and she doesn’t know it. She completely melts when Bill runs his fingers through her hair or touches her for any reason but she tries to hide these reactions since she doesn‘t want to come off as “weak”.

🦷 Nathan Cole was Bill’s partner and the more level-headed of the duo, being the one who had to reel Bill in whenever he got “overzealous” during police work. Nathan’s a legit good cop and generally nice guy while Bill was an asshole who was the epitome of police brutality.

🦷 The Gimp seen in HELL was Mark, as in “Mark The Machine” who was a blogger/YouTube personality who covered real crime and serial killers and was documenting Mona and Bill’s murders for years, which piqued Mona’s interest in him as she believed he genuinely appreciated her “art”, resulting in her stalking him for a while until finally kidnapping him and turning him into a pet, which is the full extent of her showing any actual affection towards someone. The title of Mark’s “portrait” is a reference to his background as an Internet personality and how Mona has managed to break him down to essentially just a machine, a toy for her to use as she pleases.

🦷 As mentioned before, Mona has an extreme allergy towards sunlight and photosensitivity that makes direct contact with sunlight very painful for her. As a result, Mona only goes out late at night or very early in the morning when the sun isn’t up. On cloudy days she’ll wear a “disguise” composed of a sun dress, opera gloves, stockings, a sun hat, a tattered parasol and a pair of sunglasses, allowing her to comfortably be outside during the day while also protecting herself from any potential rays that may be peaking out.

🦷 Mona is double jointed and is extremely flexible as a result. Her flexibility and ability to contort herself comes in handy in her murders as she is an expert in hiding and breaking in and out of places and she can squeeze herself into tight spaces quite easily as well. This talent of her’s comes in handy on nights when she and Bill get naughty 😏

🦷 Mona does not care for personal hygiene, she likes being a decrepit, stinky girl. However, if there is one form of self care she actually likes it’s brushing her hair because she finds it soothing and she likes her hair in general. Bill is tasked with brushing her hair and has a tendency to smell it while he does.

🦷 Mona has a bit of a hoarding problem as she is an avid collector of many things ranging from knives and human bones/skulls to dolls/stuffed animals and many of her hideouts boasts some impressive collections she has amassed over the years.

🦷 Mona also has an interest in entomology and mycology and boasts some fairly impressive knowledge on the subjects as a result. She’s got some nice bug and mushroom collections as well but she keeps them hidden because Bill keeps trying to eat them.

🦷 Bill loves coffee while Mona is more of a tea gal. Bill prefers iced coffee over hot and Mona prefers hot tea over iced. Also, Mona can take or leave coffee, Bill meanwhile HATES tea.

🦷 Bill loved breakfast foods, eggs & bacon, pancakes, waffles, donuts, you name it, he was also a fan of eggs in general and isn’t too keen on sweets most of the time. Mona is a MEAT girl, any kind of meat will do but human meat/organs is her favorite.

🦷 Mona dislikes guns because she finds them to be an incredibly boring and “impersonal” way of killing someone that doesn’t inspire her much, preferring a more “hands on” approach to murder. Bill meanwhile doesn’t just like guns, he practically worshipped them and was a typical second amendment, NRA type before meeting Mona.

🦷 Mona’s favorite genres of music are Industrial, Alternative Rock, Grunge, Horror Punk, Goth Rock and Dark Cabaret, her favorite artist is either Voltaire or Tom Waits. Bill’s favorite genres are Hard Rock, Thrash Metal, Death Metal, Nu Metal, Groove Metal and Psychedelic, his favorite artist is either Rob Zombie or Disturbed.

🦷 By far, the worst thing Mona has ever done was when she blew up a daycare on Christmas Eve, collected the charred remains of the infants, stitched them back together as macabre flesh dolls and sent them to their parents in gift boxes on Christmas day. Even Bill was kinda shocked when she did this and genuinely didn’t think she could get anymore depraved until she did it… which only made him love her even more in the end.

🦷 Mona’s choice for a final meal would be brown sugar glazed pork chops with colcannon and roasted asparagus, filet mignon with lobster tail, black pudding, a slice of spiced apple cake with french vanilla ice cream and a cup of earl grey. Also if given the choice, Mona would choose to be executed by firing squad. Bill’s final meal would be two pounds of fried chicken with a pound of fried shrimp, scrambled eggs, roasted potatoes, a pound of strawberries and a bottle of fireball whiskey. Bill wouldn’t care how he’s executed, just as long Mona is there to see him off.

[flowerbetweenfangs]

Of A Feather

M!Harpy x F!Human

This was an entry into a little contest. I went with a harpy plague doctor as my character. Some people liked it and that was enough for me.

When the village head informed me that he could not pay me in gold or goods, I was sympathetic. A bad harvest combined with a harsh winter had left them with little to spare. What little resources they had were used up to try and keep the remaining people healthy, at my behest. 

While I had no intention of exploiting him, there was still the matter of payment.  After all, services had been performed, supplies used, risks taken, and time spent.

If he couldn’t pay me with such things, what was left? 

Favors and flesh. 

I was taken to the man’s home, where a small gathering of people awaited me. They had obviously picked from the best looking and available people in the village. Hair combed and styled, attire perfectly coordinated to match skin and eye color, and subtle perfumes that did little to mask the stench of death that still clung to the doors. 

Even in the dim light of the candles, I could tell they were dazzling. 

The life of a plague doctor was a lonely one. Constantly traveling from town to town, potential suitors being scared off by the rumors that disease still clung to me, and many that I met died within the week. An omen of Death, bringer of the Reaper, harvester of Life. Titles that did not grant me land or wealth. 

The lot in front of me showed a fear I was all too familiar with. Some cast their eyes downward, but it did little to hide it. A few dared to glare or even scowl when they thought I wasn’t looking.  

I was about to depart, not wanting to further upset those still grieving, when the door opened. 

A chill from the autumn night stirred the curtains and made the candles flicker. As shadows danced across the walls, I could hear a few muffled whimpers and whispers. 

Labored breathing followed. 

The woman at the doorway was still wearing the gowns of mourning, her hair tucked away under a scarf. Despite this, her eyes weren’t red and puffy. 

In fact, she looked almost… Relieved to see me. She clutched a lantern, but I could see it shaking in her hand. For an instant, I feared she would drop it. 

When I took a step toward her, there was a flicker of hesitation in her eyes. She stared at my gloved hand, the fingers slightly limp. 

As her lips parted, I expected a biting remark or curse thrown my way. 

Instead, she tightened her grip on the lantern and set her jaw. 

Standing up straight, she drew herself to her full height. The lantern shook in her grasp, the flame dancing and moving the shadows on the wall. While far from an intimidating stature, the boldness that rolled off her gave me pause. 

Determination now gleamed in her gaze, the lamplight making it look almost like a hunter’s glint. 

Tension rose in the room. Eyes flicked back and forth. The crowd cleared a path as she walked up to me, no hesitation in her step. 

There was no need to ask who I was. The mask and robes left little doubt. 

Without a word, she curtsied to me. She looked back at the villagers, as if daring them to try and stop her. No one said a thing. In fact, everyone seemed to be relieved at her presence. There was a glimmer of hope. 

No one would have to choose a sacrifice to give to the boogeyman. 

We left the home, the door slamming behind us. 

I led the way, and she followed me to the outskirts. Not one person stopped to thank her or bid farewell. It suddenly made sense to me. They had wanted to be rid of her, and she of them. A few faces in windows twisted and contorted with disgust. Never with sorrow. 

Like me, she was an outsider.

Once we reached the border, where the dirt road gave way to the sprawling beyond, I saw her hesitate. She stared over her shoulder, and for a moment I thought she would weep. 

Clumsily, I reached into one of the pouches on my belt and produced a handkerchief. She stared at the square of fabric, and then began to laugh. Tears still welled, but I felt better knowing they weren’t from sorrow. 

I found myself entranced with the emotion and expression. She quieted too soon, and we were once more on our way. 

We walked in silence, and I was beginning to work out the terms of a contract and the conditions of my new companion’s stay. 

She continued to look out of the corner of her eye at me, smirking when our gazes met. I didn’t pry into the details of her life, nor did she mine. Perhaps it would come in time, when she became accustomed to her new position. 

When we arrived at my home, I allowed her inside and set up her accommodations. She explored the rooms and seemed satisfied. Rather than shrink away or cry out at the sight of my more macabre collections, she seemed intrigued. 

It was far from luxurious, but she would be comfortable until we found a more long term solution. I also supplied her with books so we could begin her training proper. She took them, but seemed confused, raising a quizzical brow. 

“We will start your studies tomorrow. By the end of the week, you should know what to expect moving forward.” 

I bid her goodnight then went to my own room to draw up the contract of her stay. 

An assistant would help relieve the burden of a few jobs, but I couldn’t afford to keep one for very long. My focus was purely on this new endeavor that I never removed my clothing to prepare for slumber. 

I was perched at my desk, having scribbled out dozens of lines on my papers when I heard the bedroom door open. Living alone, I had never gotten into the habit of locking it. 

She came into the room, wearing only her shift. It was threadbare, leaving little to the imagination. Her eyes flicked around the room, perplexed at my lack of a bed. The confusion didn’t last long and she approached the desk, standing behind the chair. 

While both of us were about the same height standing, she nearly towered over me. 

I turned to face her, and she leaned forward, putting her hands on the desk behind me. The bare flesh of her arms barely brushed against my robes. Even through the thick material I could feel their warmth. Breath fogged up the lenses of my mask, obscuring my vision. 

It was then I realized while I had expected a repayment in the form of a favor, she had chosen flesh. Perhaps she assumed that doing so would end her stay with me sooner and she could flee back to her village, or wherever she decided, after. 

Slowly, I lifted up my glove and pressed the back of it to her lips as I waited for the fog on my mask to dissipate. 

Her eyes became lidded as I felt the pressure of her lips against the leather. With an intentionally gradual pace, she brought them further down, where the glove went under my sleeve. 

She seemed perplexed at the material going so far up, but I could still feel her warm breath rolling down my arm. I was statue still as it flowed to my chest and heart. 

Blood sang in my veins as desire long buried began to claw its way from the grave. 

I retracted my hand from her. Her fingers twitched, curling on empty air. Slowly, she stepped away, eyes averting apologetically. Lips moved, tongue flitting nervously as she prepared to speak. 

Instead, I put my gloves on either side of my mask. 

Without waiting for a request for assistance, she slipped it off. 

I expected her to recoil in horror, or to flinch. But she only stared, eyes hungrily taking in the details of my face. While I was certainly far from a beauty, she clearly expected something more grotesque or marred. Her gaze seemed to focus on my hair, the long plumes that caught the light in a strange way, the way it frayed out.  

I stood up, expecting her to take a step back. Instead, she was resolute, not moving from her spot in front of me. 

My gloves found her hand. I could feel it shaking. She laced her fingers with mine, breath still tickling my lips. 

Gingerly, she set the mask down with her free hand. Dexterous fingers worked open my robes, running softly over the pebbled skin. Inhaling sharply, I flinched away reflexively as the shed material fell to the floor, leaving me in only my breeches and boots. 

While I possessed the same flesh as her on my head and torso, black feathers began to dot and eventually cover my arms, giving way to wings stuffed inside gloves. They too fell to the floor, no longer being held in place by sleeves.

I could see her eyes going lower, wondering what lay beyond the clothing. Ironically, the one part of my outer clothing that resembled a bird masked my human features. 

Then, she finally hesitated. Blinking, she traced over my shoulders and ran fingers down my bicep, stopping where flesh ended. The slightest edge of her nails made my feathers ruffle. A few formed a black ring around my boots. 

I could see the worry in her eyes. An unspoken question. 

What are you?

I made no move to pull her closer. Nor did I push her away. Neither of us spoke, not wanting to frighten the other. 

When she stepped back, I could feel a pang in my heart. The small space now between us cut through me like an icy blade. 

She grabbed her shift’s hem. Pulling it over her head, she let it join my feather’s on the floor. Despite all the heat coming from her touch, nipples were erect, skin covered in gooseflesh. I found myself closing the gap, letting our bodies share the warmth between them.  

Soft lips pressed against mine, arms encircling my waist. Legs wrapped around, bare flesh of thighs and calves rubbing against breeches and boots. My touch feather light, I followed every curve and crevice of her skin, unable to fully embrace and grasp her like she did to me. 

As I traveled downward, I could feel her breath catch against my neck, fingers digging into my back. I lacked the dexterity she did, but I could feel the trickling folds between her legs. Since I didn’t possess fingers, I moved my human mouth down and parted her thighs. 

The clothing we’d shed formed a slight cushion as she sat, hands tangled in my hair. I could feel her fingers exploring as my tongue plunged in and out of her. Each quiver and shake brushed against my feathers, the sensation only seeming to add to her enjoyment. 

Ankles locked between my shoulders, pulling me more into her. I increased my efforts, hooking her legs in the crook of my elbow. The gasps and moans became cries and screams of ecstasy, begging for more. 

The fingers in my hair formed a fist. My lips pressed to hers, groans and growls escaping me in a carnal language we both knew all too well, my tongue exploring as hers called out for more. 

When she finally loosened her grip, I shifted. Breeches brushed against her soaking folds, betraying the hardness within. Shaking legs spread wider. In the moonlight, I could see her shimmering wetness. Shallow breaths betrayed her ache. The need to be filled.

With some difficulty, I molted the last bit of my clothing. My boots clomped noisily on the floor. My breeches had barely slipped down my thighs when she managed to get up, her whole body shaking with the effort.

Once more, she leaned over, hands resting on the ground behind me. Straddling me, she lowered herself down. 

The warm and wet gripped me tightly, and I could see her spread across the girth, before vanishing behind my feathers. She tossed back her head at that, breath catching as she took a moment to recover, before starting again. I met her with each movement, once more devolving into the ancient language. 

However, she seemed to have had enough of it, and her lips covered mine. Her tongue explored, no doubt tasting herself. This only seemed to invigorate her further, moans and whimpers rumbling through the both of us. Even muffled, the sounds rattled me to my core. 

I wrapped my wings around her, not wanting a feather’s width of space between us. I wanted this to last. But I was dancing so close to the edge already. 

My taloned feet traced over her calves. The sharp tips must have lightly scratched her, because she stared at me, finally parting our kiss. Trembling legs gave out then, and she collapsed on top of me, labored breaths telling me she was at the brink herself. 

Despite the hesitation, she gave me a nod to continue. 

They gripped her ankles tightly, locking her in place. Taking her under my wings, I let her rest against me as I rolled my hips. Each thrust was punctuated with a sigh or a moan. The slow pace drew out each motion. 

Soon, I could feel her trying to wriggle down onto me, begging me to fill her faster. A few times I gave in, remaining inside her, only to draw back out again. She would bite her lips, scratching at the floor. The request was loud, despite a word not being spoken. 

Each breath and sigh further fanned the heat inside me. My motions were rough and out of practice, but she craved it all the same. 

Finally, I hilted and held her fast, feeling the flame of passion sputter out. She twitched around me, soft sighs telling me she could feel each drop inside her. It spilled out onto my stomach and hips, my grip finally loosening. 

We stayed entangled, clothes and feathers scattered around us. I managed to get my robes and drape them over her. The shivering eventually ceased, and she laid against my chest, hand resting on my shoulder. Slowly, her eyes closed and I could feel the soft breathing of slumber. 

The lenses of my mask gleamed in the candlelight, watching over the two of us.  

[fastlikealambo]

burn for you: coriolanus snow x black!fem reader regency au

summary: notorious rake coriolanus snow, duke of districtshire, must marry or face financial ruin. he sets his sights on you, an extremely wealthy woman in your own right and what transpires over one year told in 4 acts will change both their lives.

this is a sample chapter, please interact, comment or reblog if you would like to see the full chapter.

@rosewine-5

@saturnville

      Act One: Autumn

                                       

Just before the first leaves fell, Crassus Snow, the former Duke of Districtshire, died beneath the warm thighs of a chambermaid, a simple fact that brought joy to His Grace, Coriolanus Snow, his son and the new Duke of Districtshire every single time he thought about it.

The social season had begun and from his rooms in The Corso, he could see that the entire street had begun preparations for The Plinth Ball to open the season. Sejanus would be arriving soon to go over strategy for a successful social event but Coriolanus wasn’t the least bit worried, in fact he was annoyed.

He was a duke now, his name was on several ladies’ dance cards, he had an entire legion of staff and a village at his disposal, the world should have been his for the taking. But with his new title came his father’s old debts and the bastard loved to spend.

His Grace Coriolanus Snow, Duke of Districtshire, was flat fucking broke.

A knock at the door interrupted Coryo’s dream of a new cravat and with the arrival of his grandmother and cousin, his annoyance only grew with whatever Grandma’am was about to pester him with.

     “Coryo,I fixed the buttons on your jacket for the ball, pearls from the guest room curtains worked perfectly. I need to see it on you, make sure it fits like it’s supposed to.” Tigris said

 Coryo was only happy to oblige as his most beloved cousin moving back in with them after his father died had been the only bright spot in weeks. Slipping into the tailcoat, he looked in the mirror, admiring Tigris’ work.

Above all, he would look every inch the duke his father never was even if he only had a bit of cabbage and cold mutton to break his fast all day.

   “It’s wonderful,Tigris, thank you.” Coriolanus said truthfully, happy to see her smile while Grandma’am continued to look dour.

   “I had a letter from Lord Highbottom. He purchased the country estate without any warning and he intends to buy this home, our ancestral home, within a year if we do not pay what your father owed him for investing in his peasant child fighting establishment failure. You must marry well and marry now, Coriolanus! Do you wish me to be the laughingstock of the gardening society?” 

Grandma’am rather melodramatically threw herself onto the nearest settee, sobbing into a handkerchief while Tigris patted her back and gave her cousin an apologetic look.

No.

He did not wish to marry, not when there was fun to be had, that was something for a later date of his choosing, not in his first months of dukedom.

If it took selling off a prized horse or two, so be it.

Absolutely not, not happening.

    “You know my grandson, Coriolanus? He’s very much on the hunt for a suitable bride tonight! There’s not a young lady in all of Panem that wouldn’t want the title of Duchess and my grandson on their arm.”

Grandma’am’s voice unfortunately carried throughout the Plinth ballroom and it took everything in Coryo to not jump through the nearest window and to a brothel where his coin was far more interesting than his title.

       “Cheer up Your Grace, you’re scaring your potential brides.” Clemensia Dovecote quipped, stealing the  champagne flute from him with a smile.

      “Is it really that obvious, Clemmie?”

      “You look like you were bit by several snakes. Come dance with me unless you’d like to be set upon by overeager mamas in the next sixty seconds?”

Coriolanus could see Grandma’am leading an army towards him and joined the quadrille without a second thought.

All he had to do was pick the most agreeable one with the biggest dowry and their money problems would be settled with no more interference from Highbottom. 

He could buy all the cravats he wanted.

No.

He was still a duke and dukes did whatever they wanted and at this moment he wanted a drink, not a duchess.

Yet as he made his way to the nearest servant, the sound of double doors opening made him stop and everyone in the ballroom cease talking and dancing.

You.

You walked through the double doors, a masterpiece for all to gaze upon and immediately every thought of leaving early left Coriolanus’ mind.

Perhaps there was fun to be had this evening.

[shadowdaddies]

What Makes A Prince?

@ruhnweek Day 2: Crown Prince

Ruhn Danaan x Reader

“How was the ceremony, Prince Ruhn?” Dec teased as Ruhn and Flynn shoved their way through the door of the White Raven, both of them tugging at the restricting ties around their necks that they donned from whatever royal event they had been sentenced to attend tonight.

Shoving off his suit jacket, Ruhn tossed it to a nearby chair before sweeping his arms under you. Your yelp turned to a giggle as he cradled you to his chest, sitting himself in the chair where you just sat, with you in his lap.

Tattooed arms wound around your waist, lazy fingers stroking your thigh. “Hi,” Ruhn whispered, pressing a kiss to your cheek before turning towards the expectant males at the table.

“Same shit, different day,” he groaned, running a hand through onyx locks before he caught the bartender’s attention to motion for a beer. “One of these days, I will make my father regret forcing the title on me,” he murmured, fingers tapping against the table.

A smirk spread across your lips at the newfound opportunity for mischief. “And how would you do that, Prince?”

His hand squeezed your side in a teasing reprimand, his laugh low at the squeal that escaped you from the touch. With a deep sigh, violet eyes stared into the amber liquid in front of him, apparently deep in thought. 

“I’m going after the Starsword,” he declared solemnly, drawing silence as all eyes at the table focused on him. He looked to you, irises swimming with galaxies as he spoke with a newfound hope. “I won’t allow myself to be under his thumb any longer. With the Starsword, I will have my title of my own right, not because of him.”

“I’ll go with you,” Dec said, nodding along with Flynn who echoed his sentiments. 

Your hand found his jaw, dragging Ruhn’s gaze to you. “I am with you, always,” you promised. “Whatever you have planned, I want in.”

A wicked grin spread across Ruhn’s face, the prince working his lip ring with his tongue as he eyed you with admiration before turning to the rest of the group. “Then let’s start planning.”

After hours of discussion regarding Avallen, the Cave of Princes and potential problems with Ruhn’s cousin, Cormac, you all came up with a reasonable plan to retrieve the Starsword. 

“You don’t have to go, if you don’t want to,” Ruhn whispered against your neck, arm wrapped around your waist as you lay tangled in the bedsheets. “I know you can handle yourself, but the ways in Avallen...” he loosed a sigh, onyx hair tickling your skin as his head laid against your shoulder. “They’re backwards when it comes to females. I couldn’t bear if anything happened to you.”

You could feel his muscles tensing, arms subconsciously holding you tighter to him. You turned over your shoulder, pressing your chest against his while you nestled close to his warmth.

“I said I am with you. I don’t care how dangerous it is, I love and support you,” you assured, pulling his lips to yours for a slow, soft kiss. 

“And I do live to serve my Crown Prince, after all,” you purred, leg hooking around his hips as you ground softly against him.

With a sharp breath, Ruhn’s eyes darkened, grip tightening on your waist. “That title doesn’t mean anything to me,” he breathed, voice rough with arousal.

Humming, you couldn’t hold back your smirk as you dragged a finger up his chest. “Well it means something to me, Your Highness,” you whispered. “You are not the ‘Autumn Prince’, you are the Starborn Prince. Sword or not, you are Ruhn Danaan, Crown Prince of the Valbaran Fae - and title or not, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he echoed, thick with emotion as you found yourself moved onto your back, strong arms caging in each side of your head.

Hips ground against your own, eliciting soft whimpers while your prince smirked down at you through a curtain of long, black hair. “Now let me show you how I bow before my princess,” he purred, eyes glinting with mischief as he slowly dragged himself down your body.

[the-darkestminds]

Autumn's Shadow: Chapter 8

Azriel x Eris (Azriel POV)

Summary: A covert meeting between Azriel and Eris to exchange valuable intel leaves Azriel reeling—and questioning everything he has ever felt for the Heir of Autumn. Azriel finds himself inexorably drawn to Eris, unable to resist his captivating allure. With the threat of Koschei and Beron looming ever closer, can their forbidden love endure in the face of such danger?

a/n: As always, this is not canon compliant. This was posted as part of @azrisweek Free Day! Hope you like it! (nsfw, 18+)

Let me know if you want to be added to a tag list!

Read on AO3!

Full Chapter List

Chapter 8:

The following week, with permission from the priestesses, Azriel brought Eris to the library beneath the House of Wind. Their plan was to research what they could of Koschei, aiming to fill in the gaps in Vassa’s knowledge of the death god, and possibly uncover something useful about her curse as well.

 Nesta had subtly informed him that Cassian would be in Windhaven until the following day, and he was grateful she had cared enough to find out for him.

Azriel was well aware of the hatred that burned between Eris and Cassian. Whenever he mentioned his brother, Eris went cold, lip curling in disgust. Azriel wasn’t sure what to do about it, so he left it alone. He had no delusions about them ever being friends, but he hoped maybe one day they could at least be civil. If not…well, he’d worry about it another time. 

On their way down to the library, Azriel solemnly explained to Eris what manner of work the priestesses did under the mountain—and of the sanctuary it provided. They both nodded respectfully to Clotho as they strolled by her desk quietly. She had been helpful in identifying books that might be of use to them, and had already created a small stack on the table before them, along with a list of other potentially useful titles.

“Rhysand created this place for them?” Eris asked in a hushed voice. His eyes were alert as he took in the shelves around him, and peered over the winding staircase that disappeared into the darkness below. 

“The library itself has existed for thousands of years. He had the scholars who worked here relocated to other libraries and opened this place up as a safe place for those who needed it most,” Azriel replied. Eris considered, frowning slightly, and Azriel couldn’t place the emotion that flashed in his eyes.

They spent the following few hours hauling heavy tomes, pouring over the scrolls, and scanning old, dusty pages for any scraps of information they could find related to Koschei and magical curses. They encountered only a few potentially useful snippets—a short blurb about an ancient monster who could enthrall humans and Fae like mindless puppets, of a cursed lake that dragged victims off the shore into its murky depths, of a siren song that could travel with the wind and pierce the mind of whomever heard it. They couldn’t be sure the words were written about Koschei, but they recorded them anyway so Azriel could report the information to Rhys. 

Eris had stumbled upon a brief account of an ancient Fae of fire who had bound three demons to the earth using some power in her blood. He'd studied the information for over an hour, so deep in thought that Azriel had left him alone to think while he explored the shelves. 

The priestesses moved throughout the library on silent feet. Azriel could usually identify them all by scent alone, even those with their blue hoods drawn and faces hidden. He scanned the shelf before him. So many volumes and scrolls, many written in languages he could not read. Eris had stunned him with the knowledge that he could read the Old Language, along with twelve others, each more obscure than the last. He’d tutted at Azriel’s bemused face and reminded him that a High Lord’s education should be extensive and thorough.

Azriel pulled a particularly large book on hexes and maledictions off the shelf and moved to return to their table a level below. He smiled politely to the black-eyed priestess who looked up at him as she breezed by. She quickly averted her gaze. He had only just reached the first step of the spiraling staircase when he paused.

He glanced back over his shoulder to the shelves. He sniffed the air but detected only parchment, ink and dust. Odd. Perhaps Rhys had welcomed a new priestess in recent weeks and Azriel had been too distracted to notice. He swept his shadows out around him as he walked back towards the stacks. Nothing. Those eyes felt familiar, and yet he couldn't place where he’d seen them. He let his shadows explore the levels above and below him, searching for the scentless priestess. He was mindful not to let his familiars be seen, so as not to upset or frighten the females who were working quietly. No sign of her. He made a mental note to ask Rhys about any new arrivals as his shadows returned to him. 

He puzzled over it as he descended the stairs to the level below. He found Eris bent over an ancient looking scroll, his eyes scanning rapidly across the page. Eris looked up as he approached the table and smiled, and then cracked his neck and stretched.

“Find anything interesting?” Azriel admired his long neck. Eris leaned back in his chair, and rubbed a hand over his jaw absently.

“We know Koschei wants to be free of the lake. And Vassa suggested he might intend to make himself master of this world, as he once tried to do, long ago.” Azriel sat down across from him, content to listen to him think aloud. “Legends say he is from a different world, and that he slipped through a crack in the sky and found himself trapped here. Do we know if he would like to return home?” Azriel considered. Feyre had spoken to Koschei’s brother more than once. The Bone Carver had told her and Cassian about his siblings, though Azriel never inquired after the full conversation. Azriel speared his mind outwards towards the city in hopes of snagging his brother’s attention. 

Rhys? Do you have a minute? Need to know what the Bone Carver revealed to Cassian and Feyre two years ago. Rhys responded a few minutes later, his voice faint, like he was much farther away than Velaris.

I’m with Cassian in Windhaven. Azriel frowned, but then Rhys continued. Feyre will be right with you. Make sure Eris behaves himself. The presence in his mind faded.

A moment later, Feyre appeared before them. She smiled tentatively at Azriel, and then threw Eris a weary glance. “I was told I could be of help?”

***

“We offered the Bone Carver a chance to return to his home world, but he had no interest in going back,” Feyre said from her seat at the head of the small table. “He suspected it had become nothing more than dust on a plain after being abandoned for so many millennia. From what he told us, it seemed that Koschei and the Weaver were content to stay here, worshiped as death gods by the ancient Fae of that era.”

“But did we ever truly have the means to send him back? The text Amren had been decoding was an unbinding spell for her Fae form, but nothing more. Right?” Azriel asked. Eris listened intently, eyes volleying between them.

“Amren said there were other spells in the Book that could’ve potentially sent him home,” Feyre admitted with a grim expression.

“Where is the Book now?” Eris asked. Feyre blushed and glanced down guiltily.

“I threw it into the Cauldron,” she said with a wince. She looked at Azriel apologetically. Eris quirked a brow.

“And what did you hope to achieve by doing that?” he asked dryly. Feyre scowled at him.

“The Cauldron was breaking apart, ready to devour our world. I panicked,” she snapped. Eris rolled his eyes with a sigh. “It’s not like you’d be able to read it anyways,” Feyre mumbled.

“What did he tell you of Koschei’s curse?” Azriel asked. Feyre refocused her attention on him.

“Very little. He told us he allowed himself to be locked in the Prison by the same Fae female who trapped his siblings. He mentioned something about her being his salvation, but that her bloodline was long gone now.” She sighed as she recalled the conversation. “He did love to hear himself talk, so who knows how much of it was genuine,” she said. “He also said Koschei’s influence was considerable, even contained to the lake. He was afraid of him.” Feyre shrugged.

Azriel looked at Eris but he seemed deep in thought and his eyes were distant.

“Thank you, Feyre.” She nodded and looked like she wanted to say more, but seemed to decide against it. She stood and squeezed Azriel’s shoulder affectionately with a smile, and he returned it. She gave Eris a stiff nod and then winnowed home.

“What are you thinking?” Azriel asked.

“There was something I read, about a Fae who bound three demons to the earth. There was a bit about two binding spells, similar in nature to those that contained the Weaver and the Bone Carver. The third excerpt was vague, only a sentence or two about a curse tied to the power in the female’s blood. She was described as a Fae with the power of flames.” He shrugged, but his eyes were swirling intensely. “I wonder if the Boner Carver was mistaken in thinking the bloodline had ever truly died off.” Azriel’s furrowed his brow, trying to follow Eris’s train of thought. 

“Many bloodlines possess the gift of fire,” Azriel pointed out. Eris nodded pensively.

“That is true—my mother and father being a prime example. It’s just curious,” he said mildly. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that if Koschei were freed, he’d simply find his way home and leave us in peace?” Azriel snorted and Eris smiled at him. 

As they cleaned up and returned the books to the cart nearby, Azriel considered what Eris had told him. Something was bothering him about their conversation, but he couldn’t put a finger on what exactly it was. 

He’d worry about it tomorrow. He would ask Rhys—his brother would surely have more insight than Azriel. After all, as High Lord, his education had surely been extensive and thorough. He ducked his head to hide his small smile and reached for another book. 

***

Eris and Azriel returned to the House proper to find Nesta lounging in an armchair in the cozy little library above the mountain. She looked up as the males entered, eyes bright and aware as they passed over Eris, examined him and then flicked to Azriel. She snapped her book shut and stood.

“I was just leaving,” she said.

“You don’t have to,” Azriel replied and smiled. He didn’t want to chase her away. This place had become her home, after all. She returned the smile and shook her head slightly.

“It was a long day. I’m tired.” He wasn’t sure if it was true. “Eris.” She gave him a sharp smile and silver flames swirled in her eyes.

“Nesta Archeron.” His smile was feline and his eyes twinkled with mischief. “You are more magnificent with each passing day.” She snorted and rolled her eyes, unfazed by the compliment, and Azriel stifled a laugh. 

“And you are full of shit,” she replied with syrupy sweetness. Eris’s smile grew and he laughed and bowed his head when she breezed by him.

As she strode out of the room, they each claimed an armchair and settled in to read—this time for pleasure.

***

“What the fuck are you doing here?” a voice snarled from the entryway. Azriel stiffened and his stomach dropped as he saw Cassian standing at the door, glaring at the male beside him. Shit. He was supposed to be in Windhaven. His hair was windswept and he still wore his Illyrian leathers, like he’d only landed seconds ago. His siphons glinted as he stepped into the room. 

“Cass…” Azriel glanced at Eris and stood, his shadows skittering around him restlessly. “We were researching Koschei. Rhys suggested we start with the library beneath the House.” That much was true, though they had finished their work hours ago and Eris only remained because they wished to spend time together. Not that he would ever admit that to Cassian.

Eris remained seated and slowly raised his eyes to Cassian, as if he could barely be bothered to look up from his book. His lips curled in a sneer, something cruel flashing in his eyes. 

“How lovely of you to join us. Unfortunately, I don’t think you’ll be much help, as this task requires the ability to read,” Eris said with mocking sympathy.

Azriel whipped his head towards Eris. Gods, he could never keep that wicked mouth shut. Cassian’s wings flared at the insult, his entire body trembling with barely-contained violence. Fuck.

“Eris, stop. Cassian, I didn’t know you’d be here. Nesta said you’d be in Windhaven tonight,” Azriel said firmly, stepping between them. Cassian ignored him, his eyes still pinned on Eris. He took a step forward and growled, fist clenching like he ached to pummel it into Eris’s pretty face.

“Use your words, Cassian,” Eris said slowly, as if Cassian were truly a moron. Azriel cringed.

“Fuck you, Eris,” Cassian bit out. His shadows swirled faster, sensing the tension in the room. Eris laughed darkly.

“No one told me about your quick wit,” he mused, brow arching. “And all this time I’d merely assumed you’d taken one too many blows to the head to form a coherent thought.” His smile was vicious.

“Eris.” Azriel knew this would not end well. Cassian snarled at Eris, siphons flashing, and took another step towards him. Azriel blocked his path and Cassian shoved him out of the way hard enough that Azriel was forced to concede a few steps. 

Eris was on his feet in front of Azriel in a blink, shoving Cassian back with considerable force. “Keep your fucking hands off him, brute,” he hissed, his eyes near glowing with rage. 

Cassian stumbled, eyes flaring wide at the staggering display of strength. Very rarely did anyone get the upper hand on him. Cassian recovered quickly and glanced between them in anger and disbelief. Azriel blinked at Eris, shocked at the unexpected display of protectiveness.

“So you two are friends now? What the fuck, Az?” Cassian’s voice was cold, but Azriel could hear the hurt beneath it and his stomach twisted with guilt. He didn’t know how to respond, how to explain, but he didn’t get the chance.

“Cassian.” Nesta’s voice was hard and filled with warning as she stepped into view behind him. Cassian’s wings tucked in at the sound of it. “Come.” She held out her hand and Cassian looked at her and then back to Azriel and Eris. He shook his head in disgust and glared at Azriel.

“I’m disappointed in you, Az.” With that, he turned and took Nesta’s outstretched hand and they disappeared around the corner. Azriel blew out a slow breath, his wings sagging slightly as he turned to face Eris.

“What was that?” Azriel asked, exasperated. Eris wouldn’t meet his eyes as he shrugged. Azriel sighed. “Did you have to antagonize him?” 

“Yes. I find that I can’t help myself,” Eris said mildly. 

“He’s my brother,” Azriel pointed out. Eris just looked at him. Considering the relationships Eris had with his own brothers, Azriel supposed that likely meant very little to him. Azriel sighed loudly and massaged his temple where a headache was already forming. “Let’s just call it a night.” 

“Alright,” Eris replied. He stretched, baring a sliver of skin above his belt. Azriel stared at the faint trail of hair that disappeared into the waistline of his slacks, both his headache and Cassian instantly forgotten. When he brought his eyes back up, Eris was grinning at him. He stepped closer to Azriel and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips.

Azriel marveled at the open display of affection. No one else was around to see it, but it still had something fluttering happily in his chest.  

***

Eris winnowed them back to Azriel’s apartment, directly into his bedroom. His mouth was on Azriel’s before either of them could take a step. Azriel groaned against his lips and opened for him as Eris swept his tongue against his own. Eris gripped the back of his neck and pulled him closer, devouring his every breath like he was starved for air. 

Azriel whispered his name as Eris licked and sucked at his neck. The feel of that hot mouth on his skin sent a thrill shivering down his spine, through his legs, and his cock hardened instantly. Eris’s movements were frantic, desperate—he pulled off Azriel’s shirt and shoes, removed his pants and pushed on his chest until his thighs hit the bed and he fell backwards onto the mattress in only his undershorts. Eris looked down at him and flame simmered in his eyes. 

“Take them off,” Eris ordered, his voice laced with sensual dominance. Azriel obeyed, slowly removing the tight, black briefs, until he was completely bare before Eris, his cock thick and hard against his stomach. His wings flared as he leaned back on his elbows and let Eris look his fill. “Do you think of me? When you touch yourself?” The words were a low caress. Azriel’s skin burned at the question, under the heat of that gaze, and he nodded slowly. “Show me.”

The command sent a tremor of pleasure through Azriel’s body. His heart raced as he gripped the base of his cock tightly. He kept his eyes on Eris as he dragged his fist slowly up his length and twisted it over the head. His shadows curled around Eris, surrounding him in a dark cloud.

“Harder,” Eris demanded. Azriel obeyed and pumped his length again, hand fisting tightly as he worked himself. Eris’s eyes were like twin flames as devoured every stroke of Azriel’s scarred hand. 

He finally stepped closer and trailed his warm hands up Azriel’s legs, over his muscular thighs, and pushed them apart slowly. He grabbed Azriel’s hips and leaned his head down to drag his lips across the skin there, kissing and biting so close to where Azriel wanted him—until Azriel was writhing with need. 

Eris straightened back up and gazed down at him and he nearly whimpered at the loss of those warm lips on his skin. Eris kept his eyes on Azriel’s as he removed his jacket and then pulled his shirt over his head. Azriel watched, transfixed, as he unbuttoned his pants and slid them down his muscular legs. He towered over Azriel in nothing but his briefs, his arousal already straining against the fabric. 

Eris’s amber eyes pierced Azriel to his very soul. “You’re perfect,” he breathed. Eris’s voice was like silk over his skin and Azriel’s heart leapt at the words. Eris stepped forward and then slowly lowered to his knees between Azriel’s thighs. His hands trembled as he grasped Azriel’s hips once more.

And then Eris trailed his tongue from the base of Azriel’s cock all the way to the tip and licked the drop of moisture from the head. Azriel moaned and let his head fall back in pleasure, his shadows swirling languidly.

“I love the way you taste,” Eris purred, low and seductive. His lips closed over his cock and he took him deep in his throat, hand fisting him tightly as he pumped him in time with the bob of his head. Azriel’s skin was on fire at the feel of Eris’s mouth on him. He thrusted his hips up as his length slid between those lips, his fingers tangling loosely in Eris’s silky red hair. Azriel chanted his name like a prayer with each lick of his tongue, each brush of his hands against his skin. Eris, Eris, Eris. There was nothing but the two of them.

Eris licked him again and pumped his hand slowly over Azriel’s length. “Do you trust me?” He pressed a light kiss to the broad head, licked his tongue over the slit.

“Yes,” Azriel breathed. He’d never let himself be so vulnerable with anyone, male or female, in his entire long life—had never trusted anyone enough to do so.

Eris rose and then knelt on the bed between Azriel’s spread legs. He leaned over Azriel, both hands on either side of his hips. He kissed a trail up his stomach, across his broad chest and then he claimed Azriel’s lips with his own. Azriel lost himself in the pleasure of it, would take whatever Eris would give him and be grateful for it. Their mouths clashed together, and Eris growled deep in his throat. Azriel dragged him closer, so his full weight rested on him, and stroked his hands over Eris’s broad back, speared them through his hair. Eris devoured Azriel’s mouth with his own until they were both grasping at each other desperately. He could feel Eris’s hard length against his stomach and groaned into his mouth.

Eris broke the kiss first, panting slightly, and pushed himself up on his knees. He looked down at Azriel and smiled, his eyes sultry and bright as his hand reached down to stroke him tightly, setting an agonizingly slow pace.

His other hand caressed his hip, his thighs, and then slid down between his legs. His knuckle brushed the sensitive skin of his sack and Azriel’s hips bucked at the sensation. Azriel closed his eyes and lost himself in the intoxicating touch, drunk on the smell and feel of Eris, all warm spice and crisp apple cider and soft skin. He felt Eris pause briefly and then the soothing smell of massage oil wafted up to him. 

“I’m going to take care of you, Azriel.” His shadows danced around them at the pure dominance in his deep voice. Azriel could only nod, beyond words. Azriel felt Eris’s finger press against his ass, massaging and circling the tight ring of muscle while his other hand continued to pump him steadily. Azriel was mindless with lust and the intimate touch had pleasure surging through his blood. Eris pushed his finger inside slowly and Azriel groaned.

Eris dragged his hand up Azriel’s length again, and then slowly added another finger, prepping him to take every thick inch. He pumped his fingers in time with his cock and Azriel lost himself in the ecstasy of it. His wings twitched with each delicious pass of his hand and his heart beat frantically in his chest. He wanted more, and Eris obliged him. 

He removed his fingers and Azriel opened his eyes to watch as Eris slid his oiled hand up his own length, spreading the drop of moisture across his tip and down his shaft. His amber eyes burned with dark fire as he lined himself up with Azriel’s entrance. 

Azriel felt the head of Eris’s cock brush against him. He pushed the tip in an inch and Azriel tensed at the stretch, the fullness, his eyes fluttering shut.

“Look at me, Az.” His deep voice was low and demanding and the sound of it had Azriel’s eyes snapping open. They locked on Eris, the male so beautiful and magnificent above him that Azriel’s breath caught in his throat. “You can take it.” 

Eris gripped his hip tightly in one hand as he waited for Azriel to nod, to relax, his whole body trembling with restraint. He swirled his other hand around the head of his cock again and Azriel groaned softly and spread his legs wider in permission.

Eris pushed in another few inches and both males moaned in unison. He withdrew slightly and then rocked his hips forward again, sinking deeper. Azriel’s shadows coiled around Eris’s arms and circled his body like snakes, like they wanted to be close to him. Eris didn’t seem to notice, too far gone in his pleasure. He paused to let Azriel adjust to the size of him before the last full thrust had him seated to the hilt. The flame in his eyes danced and his broad chest glistened with sweat. His eyes trailed over Azriel’s face, his chest and then lower, to where they were joined.

“Look at you,” he crooned. Azriel almost came undone at the sound of Eris’s smooth, sinful voice. He withdrew his hips and then pushed back in slowly, inch by inch. Amber eyes met his own. “So perfect,” he groaned.

Eris began to move his hips in a steady rhythm and Azriel’s head spun with the sheer pleasure of it, unlike anything he’d ever felt before. He felt release already gathering at the base of his spine as those elegant hands worked him, as Eris’s body moved inside his own, as he whispered filthy praise in his ear and kissed him so tenderly that Azriel’s heart threatened to burst. Each deep thrust brought him closer to the edge. 

“Gods, Azriel,” Eris groaned. His name was a plea from his lips. Eris’s eyes smoldered as he watched himself move inside him. “You feel so good,” he rasped. He withdrew and slammed back in hard and Azriel moaned. 

Each thrust was slow and deep, each pass of his hand smooth and graceful. Eris wrung every drop of pleasure out of Azriel until he was boneless and dazed. Eris increased his pace, hips rocking against Azriel frantically. He leaned over him and dragged his lips across Azriel’s neck, licking and sucking, his teeth grazing the soft skin. And then Eris bit down, just breaking the skin, and Azriel felt himself shatter apart.  

Eris’s hips jerked roughly and he squeezed Azriel’s cock hard and then they were both crashing over the edge as climax roared through them. Azriel came across his own stomach as Eris emptied himself inside him. His shadows fragmented around him and stars danced behind his eyelids as wave after wave of pleasure washed over him. Eris collapsed onto Azriel, panting, his hips twitching with each pulse of his cock.  

When they had finally come down and their breathing had slowed, Eris pulled out slowly and padded to the bathing room. Azriel could hear the water running and then he was hauled out of bed and guided to the already steaming shower. 

Then, like he’d promised, Eris took care of him. He washed Azriel’s body and his wings. He gently dragged his fingers through his dark hair and massaged his scalp. When they were both clean and exhausted, Eris dried him off with a fluffy towel, winnowed him directly to bed and pulled the blankets over his naked body. Eris slipped in beside him and held his face in his hands before pressing a soft kiss to his lips. His amber eyes shone with emotion, but Azriel was too tired to decipher it.

“Sleep, Azriel.” 

And so he did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next Chapter

Tag List: @unanswered-stars @futurehunt @christeareads

[theroyalhouseofwindenburg]

Echos of Solitude

The months that ensued after Cordelia's return showed promising signs. The King frequently joined her on walks, finding solace in the altered landscapes that aided her recovery. King Edward transcended his role as a mere sovereign; he evolved into a beacon of hope. His benevolence and generosity starkly contrasted with his father's legacy. Edward's court was a realm open to all, where nobles and peasants found equal footing. He earned the title of "The White King," deeply revered and cherished by his people.

King Edward was also renowned for his extreme piety and unwavering devotion to the Jacoban Church, a faith deeply instilled in him by his mother, Queen Cordelia. His faith permeated every aspect of his rule, beginning each day with hours of prayer and attending Mass daily. After banishing the previous clergy involved in the conspiracy against his mother, Edward sought to restore the church's integrity. He replaced them with devout and learned men, instituted rigorous training and educational programs, and founded seminaries to ensure a well-rounded and ethical clergy. He also reformed church finances, promoting transparency and accountability. Through these measures, Edward revitalized the Jacoban clergy, restoring its sanctity and earning respect and faith from the people of Windenburg.

While residing in Windenburg, Margaery and her daughter, Empress Mary, deliberated on a potential union for Mary's son, Prince Fernando of Tartosa. After thorough consideration, they concluded that Princess Augusta would be an ideal match. At 21 years old, Princess Augusta was prepared for marriage and welcomed the proposal with joy. Subsequently, they presented their decision to the king for approval.

King Edward sat in his office, deeply engrossed in state affairs, when Queen Margaery, Princess Augusta, and Empress Mary of Tartosa entered the room. Edward looked up, a faint smile gracing his features as he acknowledged their presence.

"Good day, Your Majesty," Mary greeted with a respectful nod, her demeanor poised and regal.

Edward returned the greeting with a nod, "What brings you all to my chambers today?" he inquired, curious about their unexpected visit.

Margaery spoke first, her voice gentle yet firm. "My dear grandson, we have come to discuss an important matter regarding Princess Augusta."

Edward's interest piqued, and he turned his attention towards Augusta, awaiting her words.

"Brother," Augusta began, her tone earnest, "Empress Mary has expressed an interest in a potential alliance between our kingdoms through a marriage proposal."

Edward's brows furrowed slightly, processing the information. "I see," he responded thoughtfully. "And who is the intended groom for such an alliance?"

Empress Mary spoke up, her voice carrying a sense of diplomacy. "Your Majesty, I humbly request the honor of Princess Augusta's hand in marriage for my son, Prince Fernando of Tartosa."

Edward nodded, acknowledging the strategic advantages of such an alliance. "I appreciate your candor, Empress Mary," he said. "However, my sister's happiness and well-being are paramount. Augusta, how do you feel about this proposal?"

Augusta smiled warmly, her eyes reflecting a mix of excitement and gratitude. "I would be honored to ," she replied, stepping forward to embrace her brother in a heartfelt hug.

Edward returned the embrace, a proud smile gracing his features. "You will make a fine empress one day," he remarked, his tone filled with confidence and affection. "I look forward to working alongside you throughout my reign, sister."

Windenburg appeared to be finding its footing, yet the saying held true: where light shone, shadows lurked close behind.

In the autumn of 1354, King Edward presided over court at Windenburg Castle. Among those who approached him was the Countess of Westfield, Lady Dorthea, who performed a graceful curtsy as she addressed him.

"Your Majesty," she began with a tremble in her voice, "I implore you to release my son Richard from his confinement. He has suffered greatly, and my heart longs for his freedom."

Edward's gaze softened with understanding, though his tone remained firm. "Lady Dorthea, I cannot grant that request. I have already extended great mercy to Lord Richard by sparing his life."

Dorthea persisted, her desperation evident. "Since Princess Corrine and my grandchildren left Westfield, Richard has been my sole comfort. Please, Your Majesty, allow me to see my son."

Edward's reply was gentle but resolute. "Richard is currently confined, and I cannot permit any visitors at this time."

Overcome by emotion, Lady Dorthea dropped to her knees, her voice filled with anguish. "Please, Your Majesty, just a moment with him. I beg of you."

Edward rose from his throne, his hand resting reassuringly on her shoulder. "We will discuss this matter further at a later time, Lady Dorthea. Rest assured that your pleas have been heard."

With a heavy heart, Lady Dorthea rose solemnly and left the throne room abruptly. Edward watched her departure with a mixture of concern and empathy, understanding the depth of a mother's love and the weight of his responsibilities as a ruler.

As the golden hues of dawn painted the horizon over Westfield Manor, one of Lady Dorthea's devoted servants approached her bedroom door, a sense of duty driving her actions. She knocked softly, awaiting permission to enter. Minutes ticked by in unnerving silence, and the servant's concern grew with each passing second.

With a heavy heart and a growing sense of dread, the servant cautiously pushed open the door. What greeted her shattered the tranquility of the morning. Lady Dorthea's lifeless form hung from a makeshift noose, she had taken her own life.

The servant's screams echoed through the room, mingling with the sound of her pounding heart.

The evening sun cast a warm glow through the stained glass windows of Windenburg Castle's chapel as the royal family attended their nightly prayers. Among the solemn hymns and flickering candlelight, Sir Walter Arnold, The King's hand and Dorthea's cousin, quietly entered and made his way towards King Edward with a heavy heart.

"Your Majesty," Sir Walter's voice trembled with sadness as he approached the king. "I bear grave news. Lady Dorthea… she has passed."

Edward's expression shifted from serene contemplation to one of shock and devastation. "What? How can this be?" His disbelief was palpable, having just spoken with Dorthea the day before.

As the weight of the news settled upon them, the men exited the chapel to address the sudden tragedy. Margaery, Edward's grandmother, followed with a troubled expression, hoping against hope that she had misheard. "What is it, Walter? Please tell me it's not true," she pleaded, her voice trembling.

Sir Walter's solemn nod confirmed the heartbreaking truth. "I'm afraid it is, Your Grace. Lady Dorthea has taken her own life."

Margaery's grief poured forth in tears, her hands covering her mouth in shock. "Oh, Dorthea… my dearest friend," she whispered between sobs, her heart heavy with sorrow at the loss of a cherished companion.

[elainemg97]

✨ACOTAR fun crack theories ✨

(Or fanfiction inspo)

1. Azriel retires from being a Spymaster because he’s tired and just wants to enjoy life (like Hunt). Nuala and Cerridwen are declared the new Spymasters.

2. In a surprising twist of events, Lucien is declared High Lord of the Autumn Court. It turns out that the LoA’s bloodline is more powerful than Beron’s, and her blood, mixed with Helion’s, made Lucien more powerful than Eris. He just hadn’t tapped into his true power potential until he learned the truth about his heritage. His marriage to Vassa will be a step toward the unification between humans and Fae.

3. Eris, now without title, gets into shady business to fill his crushed ego, so the Night Court sends its Spymaster, Nuala (or Cerridwen), to spy on him. He’s wholly intrigued and entranced by her and her powers. Sweet irony: once obsessed with appearances, now he’s feral over a female who is literally part shadow.

4. There’s a possibility that Tamlin’s being kept alive because there’s no heir. What if Gwyn is his daughter and has to take over the Spring Court (a lot of nymphs come from there)? She can then connect with her roots.

5. High Lady Gwyn of Spring and High Lord Tarquin of Summer, who are right next to each other, start communicating, and after seeing how much they have in common, they start courting. She’ll accept her Lightsinger nature and hone her powers, and Tarquin will accept her exactly as she is. She will also discover benevolent uses for her powers.

✨Not so Unhinged✨

6. Jurian is working with Koschei and will bring Vassa back to him when it’s time. Jurian actually wants Vassa’s crown.

[houseofsnarry]

💚 HoS Mods Recs ❤️

Cause, why not? photo source

Summer is coming to an end, and autumn will be here soon. Seasons change, years pass us by, but Snarry is here to stay. The following brought us some joy and hopefully it'll bring you guys some joy, too.

Art

🎨 @ofnightsndsongs - Spicy Polaroids Rated E

🎨 @flymetosnarryland - Muggle London Rated E

🎨 @ac1d6urn - The Bravest Man Rated T

🎨 @danipantsu - Tailormade Rated G

Podfic

🎙️Things We Wish For by @avioleta (AO3) Podfic by JocundaSykes Rated E, 2 hours

Harry blinks. Blinks again. It doesn’t make sense. It’s simply not possible. But yet… “Snape?” It’s not the Snape Harry knows or remembers. Not the Snape Harry grieved. But he would know that face, that profile, those eyes anywhere. “What happened?” he manages. “How are you here?”

🎙️ World Enough, and Time by @likelightinglass (AO3) - a Podfic Podfic by Cailynwrites Rated T, 40 minutes

Soulmate clocks start ticking when you first lock eyes, and count down until your time with them is over. Harry’s starts ticking on September 1st, 1991. He has only six years, eight months, and one day.

Fic + Art

🌸 The Curse of Anteros - @danpuff-ao3 (AO3) / @mrviran (AO3) Rated E, Word Count 53k

When Harry is cursed, he seeks out Severus Snape. They have a long history behind them, after all, and they've always had so much between them. Who else would he go to?

🌸 A Step into the Light - @givereadersahug (AO3) / @gullibert (AO3) / @dandelionstars (AO3) Rated NR, Word Count 10k

Severus Snape is now a free man. He fills his time travelling the world, collecting potion ingredients, and helping Luna with her business. The thing is, Severus has a gift. No, not potions or the Dark arts. He can see mushi, creatures that show up from time to time. Severus knows how to help them and the humans that come into contact with them. This time, their travels take them to an island off the coast of Japan, to a man sitting on a log, staring out into the ocean and waiting for his wife to return home. Inspired by the anime Mushishi. A retelling of Season 1, Episode 8. For the Snape Bang 2022.

🌸 The Ugliest Veela - Octroman Rated E, Word Count 60k

Snape is part-veela. It is interfering with his dating life. Post-war, Severus Snape finds himself in a life without purpose. In a desperate bid for the family he always wanted, he subjugates himself to a matchmaking service in hopes to find an acceptable partner. However, it is mandatory to disclose veela status in order to use the premiere matchmaker of the old family houses. Wrinkled, sallow, oily, big-nosed, and bony, Severus shows up for a string of horrific dates where potential partners expect him to be both gorgeous and enchanting. “I thought veelas were supposed to be beautiful!” Cue the jokes. How much humiliation can Severus stand? --------------------------------------- Illustrated chapter titles and crafted with love.

Fic

📚 A Series of Events - @babygray (AO3) Rated M, Word Count 67k

In January, the impossible occurred. It took Severus until April to realize just what that was, and to believe. Snarry Mpreg, takes place during Half-Blood Prince.

📚 A Trick of the Mind - @vulnerasanenturmyprince (AO3) Rated E, Word Count 40k

Ever since the horcrux in his head is gone, Legilimency comes easy to Harry. It’s nearly laughable how easy it is, considering how much he used to struggle with it back in his fifth year. But he reckons half of that had been Snape’s fault anyway. Who on earth would enjoy the nasty git invading their mind? But as life as Harry has known it changes, Harry’s opinion on the matter changes with it ― rather drastically so if he’s being perfectly honest.

📚 Blowing Smoke - DawnOfTomorrow Rated E, Word Count 231k

Harry doesn't care about Snape beyond having to sit detentions with the man despite being of age. He doesn't. He asks him out for a drink just to get out of detention. So what if it's... nice? So what if they become friends? So what if Snape *is* lonely? It's not Harry's problem - at least not until he realises he's accidentally befriended the man, and just how much he cares for Snape. Well, shit.

📚 Close Encounters - @bleedcolor (AO3) & @likelightinglass (AO3) Rated E, Word Count 35k

Years after the war, Harry Potter and Severus Snape meet and fall in lust, then love. Too bad they don’t know who they’ve fallen for.

📚 Curatio - @serenaew (AO3) Rated T, Word Count 12k

curatio, onis, f noun 1. healing/curing 2. object of care 3. treatment, surgical operation, medical care

At the foot of the Whomping Willow, there lay an injured kingfisher. Now with moodboard (chapter 2)!

📚 Date In A Dash - @silvereye5 (AO3) Rated E, Word Count 16k

Harry and Severus accidentally attend the same speed dating event.

📚 Fuck, Marry, Kill - @titconao3 (AO3) Rated T, Word Count 13.2k

After the war, Harry Potter and Severus Snape, er, fuck sometimes. You know, it just happens; it's one of these things. They're not in a relationship, right? They're not like that. ...Until they are, but only one of them can see it.

📚 Gold Like Ichor, Gold Like Magic - @dandelionstars (AO3) Rated M, Word Count 26k

Seven years after Harry James Potter was left unceremoniously on the doorstep to Number Four, Privet Drive, Vernon Dursley was offered a promotion and the whole family had to move to Cokeworth, England. While Dudley is off terrorizing the local children, Harry spends his days in the school library and finds a fast friend in Ms. Eileen Prince. From Cokeworth to Hogwarts and back again, this is a story about the friendship, the magic, and the love that can be found in the unlikeliest of places, if only one bothers to look.

📚 Hawthorn Branches in Spring - zalil Rated T, Word Count 37.5k

Harry returns to Hogwarts to finish school properly and sit for his NEWTs. He doesn't expect Snape to be back teaching, nor their old animosity to resurface. When it is pointed out to him that he is responsible for it, he sets out to change their relationship for the better. The results have more of an impact on him than he expected.

📚 Little Monkeys - Lilian Rated T, Word Count 15.7k

"There might be a chance that maybe, perhaps, Severus went too far this whole ‘exile far away from the Wizarding World’ thing. Because however he tries to frame it, it comes down to this: after nine years of being completely alone, the first time he stays with another person, he’s plotting to steal said person’s children."

📚 Loose Ends - @arrisha-ao3 (AO3) Rated E, Word Count 9.8k

I love you, Severus wants to say. But the timing is never right.

📚 Lovers Reunited - Now with a special buff! - @hereiamwithmyninjaclan (AO3) Rated T, Word Count 10k

MMORPGs are a fun way to pass the time and spend time with your friends- and hey, Harry might just find true love along the way. Beta'd by the lovely @silverdrip

📚 Not Giving In - @hippocrates460 (AO3) Rated E, Word Count 38.7k

Harry comes back from his holiday to a stack of memos on his desk that all say the same thing: "Severus Snape adopted Teddy Lupin." Snape. No one has seen him since the war trials ended, no one knows where he lives, no one knows why he took Teddy. And what happened to Andromeda? Harry is determined to be a good godfather and sort it all out. Even if it means dealing with Snape. Title from Better Son/Daughter, because Nanette.

📚 Professional Strippers - @coconutice22 (AO3) Rated T, Word Count 6k

At Uncle Vernon’s funeral, Aunt Petunia asks Harry for a favour.

📚 Snowed in with Severus - @maraudersaffair (AO3) Rated E, Word Count 32.5k

In eighth year, Harry decides to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas. He sets out to spend the time with Professor Snape, but after a magical accident, they find themselves stranded alone in a snowy cabin with no way out and only one bed.

📚 Sudden Light - @liladiurne (AO3) Rated E, Word Count 48k

Seven years after the war, in the dead of winter, Severus Snape meets a beautiful stranger on a train. Inevitably, he falls in love. Inspired by D.G. Rossetti and Paul Celan and based on the movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

📚 The Beating of This Fragile Heart - @writcraft (AO3) Rated E, Word Count 33k

After the war, the last thing Severus Snape needs is the memory of a fleeting wartime kiss and a very persistent Harry Potter thwarting his plans to live a peaceful and solitary life. It’s only when Harry’s life is endangered that Severus is finally forced to confront his feelings head on.

📚 the Boy Who Lubed - @swoontodeath (AO3) Rated M, Word Count 7k

Desperate to pass his N.E.W.T. in Potions, Harry Potter joins a secretive Discord server run by a Potioneering expert known only as the Half-Blood Prince. What will happen when Severus Snape, full-time Potions Professor and part-time Discord mod, realises that the newest addition to his server is none other than his least favourite student?

📚 The Half-Blood and the Prince - @tax-onomic (AO3) Rated E, Word Count 6.5k

“It’s just a book, Harry.” “Okay. Thanks.” “But… you’ve got a crush on a book, mate. That’s a bit much. You need a girlfriend.” She tapped the name on the first page thoughtfully. “Or perhaps a boyfriend?”

📚 The Measure of a Man - @ac1d6urn (AO3) Rated E, Word Count 50k

Several years after defeating Voldemort, Junior Auror Harry Potter discovers himself and, at the risk of losing his childhood love, follows the truth. Through it all, Snape is an unexpected solace. Will he become more?

📚 The Want of You - @fleetingdesires (AO3) Rated E, Word Count 7.3k

On his night off, Severus unexpectedly realises that Harry has grown into quite an attractive man. He's just not going to think too hard about it. No, he's not going to think about him at all. It's fine. He's fine. Everything is fine.

📚 Thirteen and a half inches - @loneamaryllis (AO3) Rated E, Word Count 8.3k

The Marauder's Map shows a number above some people's head. Harrie investigates what it means.

📚 You Were Myth-Taken - @hokee101 (AO3) Rated T, Word Count 23.8k

When vampire attacks hit Hogsmeade, Severus Snape is the prime suspect. With Harry and Albus not taking these accusations seriously and the students threatening to expose him at every turn, this term was going to be just fangtastic.

Discord || Recs Lists

[sonnenreich]

It had been a long day at the shop. Amber was sick and Zeev had been the only one with enough time on his hand to take the shift. He liked the work, but he actually had thought to spend the majority of the day with @hochmvt —well, at least he was given some time to focus on his script he fought with for days now already. As a treat, Zeev had closed the store earlier, stopping on the way home at their favourite bakery; strawberry cake on the passenger seat for Isaiah to devour. Zeev wasn't the best in surprises, usually too impatient when it was about his husband, but he had managed to keep shut. Dawn was already highlighting the reddish leaves of autumn, caressing the pavement and driveway. Despite summer being his preferred season, autumn was a close second—not only because it was close to his birthday, too. Zeev stopped the Chrysler right behind the Chevy, the engine silencing after withdrawing the key that had nothing but the cute, black eyed alien keychain dangling from the ring that Isaiah once had bought from a Space Museum because he thought it was cute. Zeev treasured all gifts, but none he loved more than those who reminded him of his husband. With a smile on his lips he slipped out of the car, glad for another day he had not embarrassed himself on the streets. Despite having gotten more secure behind the wheel, he still at heart, was a passenger princess and he wore that title with pride. He strolled to the front entrance, flicking the key between his fingers, a fidgeting habit that kept his hands busy and soothed his senses. 

Senses that stirred suddenly.

It started the second he took the first step onto the front porch, a very uncomfortable shiver that rolled down his spine, usually a symptom of excitement to finally return home, into the tight embrace of love and harmony, all that radiated off this place Isaiah and Zeev called home, but this time was different. Zeev knitted his brows tightly together, eyes locked on the door, standing ajar from the frame. Immediately, Zeev's heartbeat quickened and he pushed the door open with his foot, not daring to touch anything that could serve as evidence. What he saw then, almost caused him to pass out. The living room was a disaster—piles upon piles of books and papers, all sorts of pencils and paraphernalia. Zeev thought to see a glimpse of some bills and old contracts. Every drawer had been pulled open, the contents scattered all over the floor. Even cushions had been thrown off the sofa, the blanket serving as a fire hazard as it dangled in the fireplace, luckily the embers had run cold the night before. The bloodrush in his ears turned him deaf and light-headed, but hardly dulled his emotional state. Shock transitioned over to fear as he let the white plastic bag fall down and rushed through the rooms. The kitchen looked almost untouched, besides the open drawers. But Zeev couldn’t care less about that. Technically, it would have been much more clever to have called the police and waited outside—how would he react if the intruder was still there? He was undoubtedly putting himself in potential danger, but he wouldn’t wait twenty minutes for the police to arrive to look for the only value this house held.

“Isaiah!”, he yelled, pushing every door open, glancing into the rooms. His entire body trembled with fear, panic forcing his eyes to become restless as he scanned the rooms. The bathroom, the hallways, the three bedrooms—everywhere were traces of assault. He hadn't been touched at all, but felt nasty and defiled regardless. He couldn't make up any sounds, but he didn't feel safe at all. Once more he yelled for his husband, but didn't get an answer. 

His heart stopped for a second when he saw the mess the basement was in. All of Isaiah's books and journals were lying on the ground, treated with what Zeev only could describe as carelessness of the worst kind. But no sign of Isaiah. The PC was running, but the screen was black, showing nothing but a small, tiny-lettered message, that it was blocked. 

Quickly he rushed upstairs, stumbling over the steps, hitting his knees as he fell, gasping in shock at the state of his attic. All of his belongings were in a similar state as the rest of the house. His wish to check if anything had been taken was just a secondary thought. Especially once he heard the strained meowing. Jersey sat underneath the green armchair, her entire grey body drawn into the tiniest shape he ever had her seen. As calm as he managed he lured her out, grabbed her neck and pulled her into his arms, where she seeked safety immediately, clinging to him desperately. The witcher kissed her tiny head and refrained from running. 

He wasn't sure if he preferred finding Isaiah over not finding him at all. Both thoughts unsettled him tremendously. This was a nightmare come true. Before he dialled the police he tried calling Isaiah, but there was nothing but the Mailbox. He sent him message over message, asking about his whereabouts, that he needed to return home, where are you? Please call back. What kind of horror movie shenanigan was his phone reception out of a sudden?

Quickly as he had gone into the house he had left it again. He couldn’t look at the mess and let his mind wander into territory that would only cater to his fears and imaginations. With the police contacted and Jersey in his arms he found refuge at his neighbour's place, the old lady bathing him in sympathy and care, keeping him from losing his mind completely. He kept calling Isaiah regardless. But his mobile wasn't having it.

Two officers arrived at the scene, nothing much but fifteen minutes tops between the discovery and the arrival, and just when Zeev was about to tell them how he had returned and what he had seen, he saw Isaiah rushing down the lane, a shopping bag in one hand and the phone in the other. Zeev felt his own ring in his pocket but didn't need to pick it up, he excused himself breathlessly and ran towards the other, flinging himself quite literally into his arms, caring little about the bag hitting the pavement. “Bloody sun, I was so worried, I was this close to freak out,” he gasped, holding him tight, feeling the tears dwell up in the corner of his eyes, relieved to smell, hear and feel the blonde. He grabbed his face and stroked his cheeks, kissing him quickly, unable to think of anything but: he's okay.