Here On Ao3

Hello, a little request here!! ❤️‍🔥

Azriel gets jealous when Eris courts a female his father has ordered him to win her favor. The sole view of her hooked to his arm makes Azriel see red, and unable to bear it any longer he's dragged to the Autumn heir's chambers where he waits for his return to make a clear statement of possession and raw desire. *winks, winks*

helloooo lovely anon!! thank you for the request!! i love it and it made me realise i've never actually written jealous!azriel so must remedy that immediately. Hope you enjoy!

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It’s the colour of her dress that Azriel loathes the most. 

A deep emerald green, layers of silk and lace that fall on the floor like spilled ink. They trail after her every delicate step, the click of her heels against the marble grating on Azriel’s nerves like clashing blades. 

She has no name—but she smiles and holds her head high and her eyes are green, two shades lighter than her dress, and cunning. The words she says are few, but the looks that dawn on the other guests’ faces as she speaks tells Azriel enough—that she is as cruel and mean as the male whose arm she hangs off, that she is smart, that she is familiar with the game she has come to play, here, tonight.

Her wings rest folded against her back, the open back of her dress framing them perfectly. Green, like her eyes, like her dress; beautiful gossamer webbing sparkling against her deep skin. 

Eris’ hand brushes against the small of her back. 

Azriel looks away. 

The ceremony is dreadful; he does not want to be here. But Rhysand dragged him here with a single, menancing look, and Azriel hates his brother, just a bit, just enough for his skin to pull tight over his hands when he curls his fingers into fists. 

At least the stone wall against his back is cool. They are in Dawn, and the night, as it descends slowly over Thesan’s court, is pungent and bright. 

The air smells faintly of oranges, blown into the open-roof ballroom by a gentle breeze. All manner of Fae mingle together, talking in low tones or bursting into laughter or dancing, fine dresses fluttering around ankles and females dipping low towards the floor. 

Azriel tries not to stare at her—but the light refracting off her wings catches his attention more times than he would like. When his gaze falls on her, his stomach clenches, a feeling like spiders crawling up his throat causing his wings to twitch against the stone. 

He should be working—he should be paying attention to countless of other things but her: this Fae that glides across the room with an ease even Rhysand would be envious of. 

Eyes other than Azriel’s track her movements avidly; whispers follow her as she makes her rounds across the room, leading Eris more than Eris leading her. She takes a sip of the peach-coloured wine in her glass and Azriel shadow’s show him how Eris’ eyes fall to her mouth, how they linger, for a moment, on the wet curve of her bottom lip, painted a burgundy shade. 

A burning ache alights in Azriel’s stomach. Eris’ hand on her back pulls her a little closer. The golden embroidery of his tunic shines against her green dress. 

Azriel wraps himself in shadows and disappears, just as Eris looks away from her and towards him.

He reappears high in the sky, the deep purple of the nights echoing green against his closed lids. He flies all the way from Dawn to Autumn, his shadows coiling around his limbs, demanding he return. 

But Azriel can’t, because the ache in his stomach has grown into a fury that stretches and wraps around his very bones. His pulse thrums in his ears, louder even than the wind as he flies over red and golden trees. 

He dives with desperation clustering his sternum and when he lands in front of Eris’ garden doors, the earth shuddering beneath him, Eris is already there. 

Eris’ eyes are bright, his long hair dancing with the wind brought forth by Azriel’s landing. 

“Azri—”

Eris’ words are cut short by Azriel’s mouth pressing to his, by his hand cupping Eris’ neck and bringing him closer, until thier bodies are flush. 

Azriel kisses his anger and hunger into Eris’ mouth—pushes him backwards until the curtains of Eris’ bedroom part and make way for them. 

Eris grunts into his mouth and kisses him back with the same desperation, his hands cupping Azriel’s face, fingers tangling in his hair. 

“Who was she?”

Azriel presses the question against the hinge of Eris’ jaw as he pushes him down onto the bed. 

“No one,” Eris says, then groans when Azriel’s blunt teeth bite just above his collar, where Eris’ pulse is alive and thrumming and Azriel’s. 

Azriel wraps one hand around Eris’ waist and pulls him closer to him, until their hips are pressed together and Eris’ breath hitches. 

Eris captures Azriel’s mouth in another searing kiss. Azriel wishes, fervently, that the Mother would let him rest, let him live in this moment forever. Let him keep Eris for himself, tucked away somewhere no one will ever find them.

“You’re mine,” he says into Eris’ mouth. “Even if they don’t know it, you’re mine.”

Eris’ fingers tug at Azriel’s hair. He pulls Azriel’s mouth away from his to leave a burning kiss against the side of Azriel’s neck. “Always.”

reblog this if your icon could kill a man

Okay I have a fic brewing for today's @tamlinweek prompt biting/chest, but I don't actually know if it'll be ready to post to AO3 by the end of the day, so I figure I'd give a little snippet now!

This fic is Rhysand/Tamlin, past friends to enemies, present strangers to lovers. There's technically an age gap but Rhys worries about it way more than he actually needs to.

I promise my real post for it will be prettier than this haha. But anyways, the clip is below the cut if you'd like to see what's in store!

It’s maybe a little weird. Or a lot. Rhys can't really tell.

It's definitely a little weird that he's at a high school reunion for a class that he was never a student in, but Mor had asked until he relented, and he loves his cousin enough not to make a big deal about it. Plus, it's basically a form of community engagement. Good PR.

And it’s not like he wasn't curious.

(But Rhys supposes he knows what curiosity does to the cat.)

It probably is weird. He should just let it go. Pretend he didn’t even see that flash of pale hair, that once-familiar smile, the eyes that somehow still look green from afar in the dim throwback-to-homecoming lighting. Rhys knows that he’s become a little dry, distracted, and that people will start noticing, but he just can’t stop searching.

Looking for a trace of the boy he knew ten years ago in the man he sees now.

Tamlin looks practically unreal. His hair has gone from sandy, dirty blonde to vibrant, spun gold, practically platinum in some places. It cascades down past his shoulders, wavy and thick, holding none of the country club pretentiousness that his preppy little swoop had back in high school. His shy grin is the same, but the face it decorates is practically foreign. Angular and distinct, high-definition in human form.

When Rhys first met Tamlin, he’d looked like he was growing like a puppy. Linebacker shoulders that he didn’t seem to know how to grow into, a jawline hidden in lingering baby fat that he hadn’t yet grown out of. He’d always moved with a clear cautiousness, like he didn’t know what to do with his size, a kid piloting a teenage body. With the soft roundness of his face and the unsure gait he walked with, he'd almost appeared small despite his height.

Now, it seems like there’s not a part of him that hadn’t stopped growing since Rhys last saw him.

He fills out his sage green dress shirt like it was tailored to display his form in the most accurate way possible without the stitches ripping. He’s thicker than most average men, his chest curved, arms thick, and hell, even his legs show their definition through his light tan pants. He’s very clearly jacked.

It’s understated enough, though, that he doesn’t look crazy or roided out. Just very carefully crafted, like somewhere along the way, he’d turned himself to stone just to reshape his body into the cut he wanted.

His clean-shaven jaw is now entirely visible and perfectly sharp, not too severe. His cheeks have hollowed a bit as well, but not in a way that suggests cosmetic help. Broad shoulders now have the muscle to make up for it, his large hands finally matching the rest of his body, his strapping chest smoothly leading down to a slim waist, creating a figure that simply dominates among regular layfolk.

And he’s tall. Even taller than he’d been when Rhys graduated, towering over his company, easily clearing six feet.

He’s a man now. Practically a whole different person.

But it still feels so weird. That spark of attraction racing along Rhys’ veins, teasing the inside of his mouth, under his tongue.

If they were strangers, he wouldn’t think twice about it. It’s not that big of a difference.

But the fact is, they’re not strangers. They knew each other, once. When Rhys was already awaiting his acceptance letter from Brown, and Tamlin was fourteen.

A Song for Spring

Chapter 2/2: 7k words

Azriel X Eris

Read on Ao3

“You’re coming too, right?” Tears burned in the corners of his eyes, and he remembered what it felt like to be sad and scared.  “I don’t think I can.” So at peace, Eris only had smiles to give. Azriel should have wanted that for his mate; he had wanted it for his mate for so long, but right then, he hated it. “I’m sorry.” 

Holla at ya boi if you want on or off the Azris tag train :

@talibunny30 @iftheshoef1tz @born-to-riot  @fieldofdaisiies @aktrain @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @secret-third-thing @acourtofladydeath @pippsmcgee @youvereachedthenearest-lovergirl @baileybird71 @skyesayshi  @yams-77 @buffy-vanserra @areyoudreaminof @unanswered-stars @futurehunt @ninthcircleofprythian @matrixsss @going-through-shit @c-starstuff-man0 @jules-writes-stories @the-darkestminds @krowiathemythologynerd @cauldronblssd @hieragalbatorixdottir @yourlazykitkat @hellolordling @climbthemountain2020  @lilah-asteria  @shadowsandlint @acourtofbatboydreams @theeternalstruggle @christeareads @molcat07 @mistandmemories @neciebee @dusk-muse @chairofchaos @amalhe-kofee @brunetterebel010 @astro-h0e-4azris @g00seg1rl @queercontrarian @neverendingstay @beppyd07

Could you maybe reblog this post if you think respecting trans peoples' names and identities is a basic right and not a political opinion?

No pressure. Just seeking some validation of my sentiment. Due to some. people

Azriel and Eris doctor and emt AU

xD thought you might need this @irithiadourden

My fan art of nesta aka lady death.

Kallias and Viviane let Rhysand off the hook a little too easy about the Winter Court children. They're just supposed to believe it was another Daemati when Rhysand was tormenting them all UtM and Rhysand couldn't even provide the name of this other Daemati? All this evidence against him and they just believe his word? just like that?

The Chairs

The Chairs has a new chapter posted today: Chapter 46 - Explorations

The Vanserra brothers leave after the Council meeting. Eris is given some highly advantageous intelligence, and Azriel finally comes clean with what he's been hiding. How will Eris react?

This Chapter has sexual content, please check the tags on Ao3

The Chairs is an Explicit (very) Slow-Burn Azris romance. New chapters are released on Fridays.

day 4: Powers

@tamlinweek

Protector of the Emerald lands

_______________________________________________

They had come - and Tamlin had managed to rally that force I'd so gleefully destroyed-

(ACOWAR ch.70)

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Lucien panted, wiping at his bloodied lip with the back of his hand.

Even with the combined efforts of the Illyrian forces and Miryam and Drakon's army, Hybern was still outnumbering them. Pathetically so. But even as his stomach roiled and his heart jerked, Lucien tightened his grip on his sword and continued onward.

If today was to be his last, he would fight like hell. 

The hours bled into the next in a wild blur. 

Foe after foe fell under his sword, and yet still more appeared.

A shrieking cry erupted from above, and Lucien was sent sprawling across the dirt. He instinctively turned himself onto his back, bringing his vambraced arms up into a cross just in time, the sound of talons against metal setting his teeth on edge. Lucien snarled, grappling frantically for his fallen sword with his free hand. 

The harpy's wings beat at the air as it swiped madly at him. It was all he could do to keep a firm grip on its throat, pushing its gaping maw away from his face. His arms screamed under the effort. Flames would not deter the disfigured beast, no matter how intense, and soon he could feel himself weakening under the exertion of using his powers.

But then,

The groan of a war-horn. 

It reverberated through his chest. 

The beast was distracted by the sound too. 

It paused in its attack, confusion marring its features. Lucien took advantage of its distraction, slithering his arm down towards his boot as quick as lightning and drawing out a hunting knife before ramming it into its throat, killing it instantly.

He clambered to his knees, crawling towards his sword with great panting breaths. 

A second groan of the war horn. Then a third.

He twisted his head round, eyes straining.

It was- Mother and Cauldron above…

High on the cliff's edge...

It was Tamlin.

And- no, it couldn't be…

Autumn was there too, their scarlet banners whipping wildly from the steady flaps of the gryphon horde waiting in the skies above. 

The sight was enough to bring tears to Lucien's eyes.

Tamlin wore no helm, and carried no shield. He wore no armour at all. Only his favoured cuirass and vambraces, made from supple leather the colour of the forest. 

"Gods damned idiot," Lucien breathed.

Stupid though he was, Tamlin cut a formidable figure, flanked on both sides by the beasts and fae of Spring's army. 

Along the cliff's edge, the warriors beat at their painted chests with throaty cries, their weapons shining in the sunlight. Lucien thrust his own sword into the air, screaming until it felt like his lungs would give out. Hope flooded his veins for the first time that day.

As Lucien watched, Tamlin raised one arm and the air seemed to freeze, every being coiled and prepared to strike. Then, with a sharp cry, he sliced his arm through the air.

Hundreds upon hundreds of shrieking gryphons dove from the skies, their talons glinting as they sliced through Hybern's army. Centaurs galloped down the ragged cliffside, brandishing wicked swords. Nymphs and dryads rode atop the backs of wolves and bears, daggers and bows gleaming in their hands. 

And in the thick of it all, their High Lord.

For a moment he stood alone on the edge, his hair whipping like a golden silk about his face. Then he ran, leaping off of the cliff. At the last possible moment, Tamlin flicked his wrists, bending and shaping the land to his will. 

Columns of earth and stone rose to meet his nimble feet. He swept through the battlefield, the dancing movements of his fingers sending devastating shockwave after shockwave through Hybern's forces, the soldiers flung in every which way into the neat paths of the diving gryphons.

In the sky behind him, Lucien could spot Rhysand flapping midair, caught in a trance.

Tamlin's arms rested lightly by his sides, then slowly, he began to raise them.

It was a quiet rumble at first, so soft he could barely feel it. But then the earth began to shake, in great waves of energy that pulsed and reverberated up from his feet to his chest. Louder and louder, a crescendo of pure noise. It rattled his teeth and sent his stomach lurching. 

Then everything stopped. The battlefield froze, a thousand hearts barely daring to beat.

And then the earth split apart with a horrible, thundering crack. 

Lucien stumbled to his knees, his ears ringing. 

An ugly chasm tore across the battlefield like a gaping maw. Those of Hybern's men that weren't dragged into the chasm's depths were thrown violently through the air, where the gryphons awaited them. 

Disjointed screams of pain echoed up, bloodied arms clawing at the earth, struggling to pull themselves free. The nymphs rode swiftly by, yipping triumphantly as they loosed arrow after arrow into their trembling hands. dropping them into the cool depths.

For Spring.

For all that Hybern had taken from them.

A laugh tore itself free from Lucien's throat. 

Hybern would fall today. 

Once and for all.