#Ayla Ruins

[teeth-draws]

Huehuehue

Click full size as always bls

Ohhh but he used to think nothing of it…

Torturing my fav RO again from @shepherds-of-haven

[toodelusionalforreality]

Azriel x OC | Chapter 4

Shadow

Both his brothers are mated. Both his brothers are happily in love. But after five centuries of rejection, Azriel doesn’t hope for such luxury in his life. When he meets the bar owner who is too mysterious even for the spymaster to decipher, his intrigue turns into more. Lines between mystery and secret blur. The closer he gets to her, the more his instincts warn him to stay away.

Previous Chapter: Bastards

Word count: ~6k Warning: None

A/N: This is an experimental piece of work. I'm testing a writing style, so feedback is welcome. This is a half-baked version which I may edit later. This was supposed to be two separate chapters which I compiled into one. So the style difference may come off a bit strong, my apologies.

The gelding, as dark as midnight sky, stood with an unearthly stillness under the shade of the stable. Its beady eyes followed Mor as she circled the building for the second time. Grateful for the boots she exchanged her sandals for, she stepped along the edge of the bank. Soil crumbled under her feet setting off ripples in the shallow waters. Pushing the hair out of her face, she peered around. Her fingertips trailed along the stone wall allowing the ragged surface to chip at her skin. No trace of magic. No hint of a hidden room. Not an inch of window on either side. 

Sensing its unwavering stare on her back, Mor turned to the horse with narrowed eyes. She teased the ends of her braid between her fingers. ‘You wouldn’t know of a secret room back there, would you?’ 

The beast didn’t even breathe in response. Mor let out a long sigh.

The meadow stretched for miles in every direction with nothing in sight except for the smithy. Gentle breeze chilled the sweat coating her neck. Thunder clapped at a distance and the scent of impending rain sweetened the air. A single droplet fell on her cheek and she looked up at the darkening skies. Maybe a summer drizzle would be a blessing. It would save her the effort to cloak what she had been up to before Ayla returned.

As she walked back, Mor studied the closed doors again. Painted in blue as bright as the ocean in the west, the carvings seemed to blend and merge into waves, chaotic and restless, as though the rustle of Sidra poured life into them. The longer she stared, the harder it was to break her gaze.

Then she felt it—a quiet call beckoning her forward, promising her. . .something she couldn’t name.

In that moment, Mor knew only one thing. She had to own it.

She inched ahead, and a low grunt warned her. The waves froze. So did Mor’s breath. The horse now stood at the doorstep. She hadn’t seen it move.

‘Hey,’ she muttered under her breath, ‘I don’t want to do this either.’

. . .

Her cousin’s smile vanished as soon as Feyre left the room. Alone in his study, Rhys finally turned to Mor. 

Ever since the three brothers returned from Mother knew where a week ago, none had been the same. Only when Rhys found his mate in front of a fire cradling their babe in her arms that night, his love for them chased the darkness away from his eyes. Creases marked his tunic and his usually impeccable hair was dishevelled. Az didn’t enter past the foyer while Cass stood guarding the door after him. The two stared at each other. Az waited for another minute before he stepped to his brother and hissed under his breath. Shadows wreathed around him. But Mor caught glimpses of his leathers ruined with dirt and splattered blood.

‘It doesn’t feel right, Rhys.’ Mor found his eyes devoid of any emotion.

Perched on a simple leather chair, Rhys radiated the power of a High Lord making a throne for himself no matter where he was. He fixed her with one of his rare stares that left no room for argument. ‘We don’t have the luxury to discuss what’s right.’

Mor didn’t need a reminder of what entailed when Az wanted something. She had seen it for five centuries—the ruthlessness behind those kind eyes, the raging fire behind the cool facade.

‘Do you think she’s dangerous?’

Rhys paused. ‘I don’t know.’

Mor couldn’t tell if he meant the mystery woman or Ayla. Perhaps, both. ‘Let’s wait a couple of days. See what happens.’

There had been no news of a missing fae or attack anywhere in the city. Somehow it didn’t offer comfort to either man as she had expected.

‘Would I be asking this if we could sit and wait?’ His shoulders drooped as he heaved a heavy breath. ‘I can barely hold him off from tearing Hewn City apart.’

‘Then let him,’ Mor shrugged. ‘He’d be doing us a favour anyway.’

She would have done it herself, she should have done it herself centuries ago. But she was a coward. The thought of returning to that place even to reduce it to rubble and dust made her blood run cold.

Rhys dismissed her. ‘She was intent on making a bargain. Sounds like an awful trouble for a simple bladesmith, don’t you think?’

Mor gaped at him. He never ignored her whenever that hell was involved. Never. Not only did he speak the city’s name with carelessness, but his eyes lacked the softness they always held when he approached her on its matters.

She squared her shoulders. Her cousin had a point, though she wouldn’t admit it yet. ‘We shouldn’t be making assumptions. It could be nothing.’

But Rhys pressed on, ‘We were in the next room. She wanted the fae. She hurt Ayla.’ He leaned back in the chair. ‘I’m not willing to gamble with their lives.’

Mor hated that Az was caught up in it. She hated it more that she was dragged into it. Az hadn’t been himself the past few days. Damn, he hadn’t been himself for the past few months.

At first, Cass and Mor bet how long his affair with Ayla would last. Az rarely ever shared more than a night with one woman. A few hours at her place, but at the end of the night, he always returned home. Ayla was supposed to be one of his blow-off-the-steam flings. Mor claimed it so, a phase. But Cass was certain it was a mild attraction. I’d never seen Az smile like that at a woman who drew blood from a man, he had said.

Then he returned to the bar again and again. It was a jolt to both of them—at least Cass ended up five gold marks richer. If Ayla had such a hold over Az, if she had meant anything to him, one expected him to tell his friends about his budding feelings. But he kept his escapades a secret, kept her a secret.

Ever since the night, Az had been more distant, more aloof. When everyone went out, as far as going to Ayla’s bar for his sake, he wished to stay home. When everyone stayed the night in River House, he preferred his room in House of Wind. No amount of coaxing convinced him to stay longer than dinner. Nothing satisfied him anymore. 

Since he wished to be anywhere but Velaris, Cass and Mor had planned a whole weekend in the mountain cabin. Yet, Az declared he was going to Day Court on a mission, and Rhys refused them specifics. 

That was before the bond snapped for him. Mor didn't blame Ayla. Still, she couldn’t stop the resentment festering in her heart either. The man she knew all her life, her friend who saved her and brought her back home, was being ripped away from them. Slowly and steadily. She wanted him to be happy. But what if the price was to lose him to a woman they barely knew, to someone who stood to break their family apart? Or worse, break his heart? One day with her had left Az a wreck. What would a lifetime with her do to him? It almost happened once. But Cass and Nesta were one thing.

This was Az.

Getting up from the chair, Mor turned away from Rhys and his hard stare. ‘Didn’t you say the wards are ancient magic?’ Her fingers tugged at the gold chain around her wrist, ‘And Ayla can fight. It will be fine.’ 

She couldn’t go down that road, not even for Az. Let him deal with Ayla and the danger surrounding her. If the worst came to pass, she couldn’t bear to watch it destroy him. She couldn’t get in the middle of his love affairs. But it wasn’t an affair, was it? No, this was his mate. His one true match.

‘Mor,’ called Rhys, kind and gentle that it stopped her pacing. ‘He’s waited long enough. He deserves better.’

There it was, the jab she had been waiting for. Mor kept her breath and voice steady. ‘What does that mean?’

‘It means we look out for our friend.’

A lie. A pathetic one at that. She knew what he meant. They blamed her for breaking Az’s heart. They believed Ayla couldn’t do worse than what she did to him. It wasn’t her fault Az held onto hope. It wasn’t her fault she didn’t love him the way he wanted her to.

‘It’s a mating bond,’ she stated calmly, ‘We shouldn’t be meddling.’ Maybe rationality would earn a sway with Rhys. He always put reason first anyway. ‘Besides, Az wouldn’t appreciate you scheming behind his back.’

‘It’s for him I’m asking.’

. . .

‘I only need a peek inside,’ Mor said.

She revealed her open palms to the black guardian in a peace offering. But it stood unmoved. She took a careful step towards the door—that unknown magic summoning her again. 

Another grunt, and she halted.

Damn you, Rhys!

A gentle murmur closed in on them. Mor looked over her shoulder. She had lingered for too long.

‘Don’t tell on me,’ she whispered to the beast and hurried to the stable.

Ayla wore a ridiculously large shirt that swallowed her frame. The fabric swayed in the breeze and clung to her toned thigh and the graceful swell of her hip. Every inch of her body—except for her face and hands—was hidden. She lovingly looked at the mare limping beside her. As it slowed, Ayla grazed her fingers along its neck and followed its gaze. Her pretty, serene smile faded.

Daylight did her justice, unlike the dim glow at the bar. Ayla was attractive, criminally so. But she wasn’t Az’s type—so simple and. . .forgettable. She was beautiful, and yet her face barely left a mark on one’s mind. As if she merged with the very air surrounding them, invisible and intangible. Unless one knew what they were looking for, they wouldn’t spare her a glance.

The night they found Az in the bar alone—Ares or Larus, all Mor remembered was the ugly creature and her incessant knitting—none of them suspected his reason to be a woman, let alone her. 

One had no say in how Mother chose their mate. Still, Ayla was a far cry. Az instead liked women who were. . .Mor frowned. She realised she didn’t know. Her friend was lucrative about his partners, especially with her. Did Rhys or Cass know of his preferences? Something worse dawned on her. Would he have told her about his mate if Cass hadn’t blabbered in his drunken haze?

Without breaking her stride, Ayla walked past the blonde ignoring her friendly wave and smile. She smelled sweet—like cardamom and something exotic.

The gelding finally moved from its spot and approached her as she reached the stable. It stood by the entrance even when its companion sought the shade inside, its beady eyes only on Mor. 

‘You need anything?’ Ayla peeked at her visitor before crouching by the door. Lustrous strands slipped loose from the messy knot at the nape of her neck. She brushed them away with the back of her hand and reached inside a bucket on the ground. She tossed something at Mor, ‘It’s clean.’

Mor caught it before it hit her in the face. Rude!

It was firm and cool and. . .red. She threw an apple at her.

The mare trudged back to Ayla, looking down over her shoulder. A leather brace encased its right forelimb, winding up from hoof to knee. When Mor moved closer, drawn by its beauty, it whipped its head away and backed into the shade. 

Ayla got to her feet with a dancer’s fluidity, an apple in her hand. ‘I got you. You’re safe now,’ she cooed. ‘No one’s going to hurt you.’ 

She hushed softly. The mare stilled under her touch. She brushed her fingers through its mane, the hair shifting like spun silver. As she breathed, the horse breathed with her.

‘What happened to her?’

Mor couldn’t take her eyes off them. Over the centuries, she had witnessed many fae and humans alike attempt to tame a beast and waste years to earn its trust. She had never seen anyone so in tune with a creature before. Or rather, a creature in tune with a fae.

‘Her owners weren’t kind to her,’ Ayla held the fruit out. The mare caught a sniff before sinking its teeth into its flesh. ‘When she couldn’t breed anymore, they worked her until her leg gave out. They ignored her when she started showing signs. She was in much pain.’

The creature shuffled closer, eager for her touch and words.

Ayla smiled, ‘But that’s the past. She’s making a recovery now. Brave girl, aren’t you?’

Something deep inside Mor cracked and ached. She swallowed, turning to the male horse. It bore no sign of illness or injury. ‘What about him?’

The silver one wearily made its way to a corner hiding from the stranger. But the darkness couldn’t hide the glow in its watchful blue eyes.

Ayla cared neither about Mor nor the threat her horses seemed to sense. She inspected two more apples between her slender fingers as she carried them to the gelding. ‘You’re not here to discuss horses with me. I know who you are, Morrigan.’

A chill went down her spine. No one called her that anymore, at least not in Velaris. She was Mor—Mor who escaped her father and her fate. Mor who freed herself from the darkness from which she was born.

She opened her mouth, unable to resist the urge to correct the woman in front of her. Distant thunder rumbled above the mountains like a warning. A reminder from Mother herself to speak true. Her words halted. It wasn’t the name that unsettled her. But the way Ayla spoke it, the quiet command in it.

Mor mustered the smile she reserved for the courtiers and nobles. ‘Then I guess it makes this less awkward. Tell me about the fae.’

‘What fae?’ Ayla petted the dark coat of the horse. It shimmered like starry smoke under her fingers, and Mor longed to feel its softness on her skin.

‘The one you’re hiding in a secret room back there,’ Mor pointed at the smithy, though Ayla didn’t bother to look at her, unlike her horses who wouldn’t take their eyes away from her.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Seriously?’ Mor snorted, ‘Is this what you want to lie about? Rhys was inside that room.’

‘There’s a room, but it’s no secret.’

Mor rolled her eyes. She regretted not asking Rhys about her first. ‘Fine. Why don’t you tell me about this not-a-secret room and the child you’re harbouring?’

‘She’s not your concern.’

‘Of course, she is. She lives in this court.’

‘No, she’s not.’ She smiled, a twitch of her lips in mockery. ‘Despite what your High Lord believes he heard, that child was never in danger. Regardless, she can protect herself.’

‘Mine?’ Ayla’s chin dipped ever-so-slightly, her gaze shifting. Mor pressed, ‘You said my High Lord.’

‘I’m not mistaken.’

‘Where are you from?’ 

Ayla stayed silent. Mor studied her. Her hair, lighter than a raven’s, a deep brown shone with a tinge of coppery sheen in the sunlight. Her eyes matched her hair, deep and intense. Her skin had a golden hue to it, not tan like the three Illyrians she knew, and not fair like the Archeron sisters. Somewhere in between. Her body showed no hints of other courts’ blood.

Right when she was about to press again, a cool calmness that was the essence of her cousin nudged her mind. 

He’s home.

Keep him busy, she told him. If Rhys were to be believed, Az clung to a delicate thread of restraint from shadowing Ayla day and night. And when that snapped, she wanted to be as far away as possible.

Mor tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘So, Rhys says you’re a weaponsmith.’ 

Ayla pursed her lips, resisting a smile. She petted her gelding, running her nails over its glossy coat, and coaxed it to accept her offering. It hung its head low, careening into her hand.

Mor sucked in a breath. ‘You’re going to ignore me?’ 

‘It’s pointless to state the obvious when you came here knowing who I am. And,’ Ayla drawled, ‘you’re standing in front of a forge.’

Mor snapped her mouth shut at the sound of her cousin’s chuckle in her mind. She almost forgot he was witnessing her trial. What did you do to her that day?

I can’t take credit for this. It’s all her. His amusement was loud and clear. Did you get anything yet?

Mor looked down at her hands. She gave me an apple. Does that count? He laughed again.

‘I understand why you won’t work for other courts. But why refuse your own High Lord?’

Ayla shrugged, ‘Why shouldn’t I?’

Mor tugged at the bracelet coiling around her wrist, almost as tight as the words in her throat. ‘Would it hurt you to give me one straight answer?’ 

Ayla didn’t utter a word. Her gaze drifted to the mare at the tone only for a minute. 

Even as a courtier, it had been a while since Mor had to strain every nerve for a simple conversation. Why would Az lose his mind over her? He wouldn’t want her without the bloody bond. For a moment, she pitied her friend. He waited centuries only for Mother to bind his fate with this infuriating woman. 

Then she remembered her thoughts weren’t secure. She took a breath, ‘Fine, hate Rhys all you want. Why do you hate me?’

‘I don’t have a reason to hate you or your High Lord.’

I tried, Mor sighed.

Try harder. Rhys’s response was instant.

Get down here and do it yourself.

Mor, he warned, his power radiating even through their minds. Then his voice was gone, and so was his commanding presence. Mor inhaled deeply at the emptiness, as if her cousin had taken her thoughts along with him. Come home. I think he’s onto us.

You think? She surveyed their surroundings. Lush plains stretched in every direction, providing no cover for a particular shadowsinger if he chose to stake out. Give me another minute.

When she turned around, she met the coal-like eyes of the gelding that peered into the depths of her soul. It watched her like it sensed what she had been up to, that Rhys was watching it back.

Mor knew such beasts well. So she matched its stare. Tiny drops of rain hit her skin, but she refused to bow down. From the corner of her eye, she noticed the mare edging close to the entrance. Its steps were as quiet as the one challenging her. Neither made a sound with Ayla around, only their breaths a sign of their attention when she spoke to them.

‘I know you’re hungry,’ said Ayla, twirling the apple between her fingers. ‘We’ll go for a ride later if you take one bite.’ The beast nuzzled against Ayla’s neck, but it didn’t relent. She tipped her head and a thin veil of her hair blocked its view. ‘For me?’

Mor shifted her weight to her right foot, and it whinnied out a hoarse breath. Its forelimb twitched, muscles pulling taut along its length, warning her of what it wouldn’t hesitate to do if she made one wrong move.

The Truth-Teller strapped to Az’s thigh flashed in her mind. Or was it Rhys?

Ayla spoke softly, ‘I won’t let anyone touch you. You’re safe.’ She smoothed her palm between its eyes, down its neck, through its mane. ‘Easy now.’ 

The horse blinked. Ayla repeated her affirmations. It slowly turned, leaning into her hand, an eye watching its foe. The crunch of the ripe flesh between its teeth echoed in the air.

Mor shuddered. Yet, she couldn’t mask the smile on her lips or her thoughts. Tell me you're seeing this.

Ayla rewarded the gelding with a kiss between its eyes. ‘Good boy,’ she held out the other apple. But the beast pressed its forehead to her cheek and nuzzled, backing her towards the stone building, away from the stranger. Ayla chuckled as she steadied herself. ‘Come now. Don’t be rude.’

Mor ached to winnow back and tease her friend about his mate and her territorial pet. It wasn’t just her who felt that. 

Does Az know his mate already has a shadow? 

Oh, he won’t appreciate this competition. Rhys laughed.

Mor snorted. The beast stilled, its ears perked up. She cleared her throat, ‘He’s adorable. What’s his name?’ 

A minute passed and another. Well, Rhys would have to find some other way to get his answers. 

Mor sighed, though a little of the guilt and doubt in her chest had dampened. ‘If you ever need help, you can come to me.’ 

To her surprise, Ayla looked at her and nodded.

.

.

.

Seven days. Two cities. One woman.

Some spy he was. For five centuries, Azriel hunted men and women across lands. Never had he felt as useless as he did in those seven days.

He scoured every inch of Velaris for the woman who hurt Ayla. Day and night he searched every inn, listened to whispers in the streets, and sent his wraiths to gather news about foreigners. He searched for her in expensive bars and restaurants, to the theatres and landmarks. He went as far as to look into the seedy taverns on the other side of the city, just to be certain. If she had known they were inside the room while she threatened Ayla, she should have been smart enough to keep to the shadows. Even Hewn City wasn’t spared. He spied every courtier who set foot inside the mountain city in the past two weeks to ensure none of them knew of Ayla’s existence. 

He found nothing. It wasn’t a question of how, but who stumped him. All his efforts were futile, for what did he know of this mysterious enemy?

Azriel played the events of that day in his mind over and over again. His instincts had set in the instant he walked out of the hidden room. His shadows crept along the floor and writhed at his feet like serpents waking from each step. There was no trace of that woman—not her magic, not her scent. The only sign of the ordeal lay red on Ayla’s tender neck. He combed through every spoken word, every moment to find one clue that could lead him to her. A name. A court. But all it yielded was the churning rage in his gut at the voice that rang in his ears—her mockery, her threats, her laughter. 

I don’t work for any court , Ayla had said.

His brother wasn't beyond sending someone to test Ayla, but taking him to the smithy on the same day? Rhys could be cunning, but he was no fool. 

The woman didn’t belong to Night. But she knew where to find the city. She walked past the wards unhindered. She recognised them from their scents alone. She had met them before, at the least, been close enough. Why did she want Ayla? Was it to spite him? No, she mentioned Rhys only when she was denied what she came for. She wanted Ayla. And the girl. 

Azriel found only a mild comfort in all this—if she knew them, they knew her.

From the constant fussing and wary glances between the two, he knew his brothers sensed his desperation. So he went to work and pretended to be past it. He employed every spy of his all over the court, but he kept the details to himself. Every crossing past the borders of the two cities and the court was reported to him, irrespective of who and why. It was tedious work and inappropriate use of resources for his personal matters. He had never done that before.

And yet, it didn’t feel wrong.

Fourteen days. Three brothers. One woman.

Azriel needed answers. But he had no leads. Not true, he had three—none willing to help.

Confronting Ayla would be easier than chasing a phantom around the court. She refused to make weapons for her High Lord—fine, Azriel didn’t care. But as citizens of Night Court, she and her friends were their responsibility despite what she thought. If one of them was in danger or involved with other courts, he had the right to demand answers from her. She wouldn’t have a choice but to comply.

Mother above, he sounded like Rhys!

Ayla hated him. Azriel remembered the way she stepped back from the threshold when he reached for her. Her hand remained on the doorknob, but her back pressed into the stone wall with each step he took. Her breath stilled in her lungs as though she couldn’t bear to breathe the very air that touched him. Once he and his brothers were a few good feet away, she released a breath, and it was enough to crush his heart.

Her naked observation when she had him pinned to the floor was lost as soon as she realised who they were. Emotions flickered in her eyes—deep and haunting. They were nothing more than a threat, worse than the woman who almost killed her.

His brothers promised to protect Ayla. They reassured him her feelings would change with time, as they did for Feyre and Nesta. 

But Azriel wanted to disappear and never to return. He might as well do that. Leave her alone and never intrude into her life, even if the bond killed him.

After he found the woman and skinned her alive. 

Each wasted day chipped at his sanity. The horrid mark on her flesh was seared into his memory. Branded on his soul—a reminder of his incompetence, how he had failed to protect his mate. Not with his sheer Illyrian power, not with his shadows.

It was hard not to imagine, not to see so clearly. Shock and panic flooding her eyes before the fear settled in. Or her fingers clawing at the hand to savour one more gasp of air. Or her legs scuffing on the floor as she fought to level herself. Or her head hitting the wood hard to rattle the wards within, her eyes pinching shut at the impact. Every rasp of hers, every strained breath echoed in his ears—the little choke escaping her lips as the hand enclosed around her neck. 

There was no escape, not for him. Not when he had witnessed many in that position—put many in that position.

It was a twisted joke Mother played on him. A fitting punishment for what he had done over his lifetime for his friend and brother, for his High Lord. A punishment for who he was. To stand helpless and hear his mate endure what he had inflicted upon many without mercy. 

She was his mate. She was so close. She was scared and confused. 

And he couldn’t help her.

Twenty-one days. One shadowsinger. One woman.

Stop.

His shadows hissed as Azriel stared at the worn-out door from across the street. He couldn’t bear to face her again, but he couldn’t stand failing her more. One conversation, he told himself, just one.

He wasn’t afraid. He longed to see her face. He longed to hear her voice. Maybe even a touch, if he was lucky. Yet his body wouldn’t move.

Home.

The one time he wanted assurance from his shadows, they disagreed with him. Azriel balled his fists and turned away, only to meet the very eyes he had been running away from.

Ayla looked at him, the bar, and then back at him. A mere second. That’s how long it took for her to decide to ignore him like he meant nothing to her. She walked past, opening the lid of a brown box she carried in her hand.

‘Wait,’ Azriel said. When she didn’t stop, he called out. ‘Ayla.’

He hadn’t spoken her name out loud before. Not with Uri, not with his brothers, not in the privacy of his room. It had always been her. And now that he had spoken it, it was the only word he ever wanted to utter. The only word that held any meaning.

She came to a slow halt and looked over her shoulder, her eyes narrowed. Azriel held his breath waiting for her to return to him. Instead, she walked to the side of the building and leaned a shoulder against the wall facing him.

Azriel waited a moment before he approached her. For an alley, it was too clean, even in the dark. Behind her stood an iron door leading directly to the office inside. The only shred of light poured down from the streets. And the faelight next to the inscribed plaque of the bar cast an iridescent glow on part of her face.

The usual sternness she carried herself with was replaced with a casual ease. Her legs crossed at the ankles. Her hip jutted out, revealing that sensuous curve of her waist through that large shirt. Locks of hair that never seemed to stay held in her braid spilled around her face. The high collar hid her neck from his eyes. Azriel knew he would only find her flawless skin underneath. Still, he ached to pull her shirt down and see for himself.

The golden rings on her bracelet glinted under the faelight as Ayla reached into the box. Her fingers hovered over the crisp layers of pastries that sat inside. Scratches and cuts littered her knuckles. If the flex of her fingers were any indication, she was in pain.

One made his breath hitch in his throat. One too deep that it split the skin open between and around her knuckles. 

‘Those are fresh,’ he said quietly. He couldn’t take his eyes off the dried blood. What did she do? Did that woman return? Did Ayla have to fight her alone?

‘Yes,’ she hesitated, ‘I just bought them.’

Azriel looked at her. As confused as he was, she was staring down the street where she came from, at the bakery she went to every week. The worry that nagged at him day and night lost its hold in a heartbeat. He bit the inside of his cheeks and tapped the back of his hand with his fingers, suppressing his urge to hold her hand and inspect it himself.

The little frown between her brows disappeared. She nodded at his face—his broken nose. ‘So is that.’

Courtesy of his brother during their morning training when he was so distracted that he practically threw himself into the punch. But she wasn’t interested in it. 

Ayla picked up a pastry. The sweet fragrance of chocolate and butter filled the air between them. Better than her scent, for he needed to think straight if he intended to find simple words around her. Her hand froze close to her mouth as she held out the box to him. 

Azriel’s heart stopped. He was sure of it. Did she know what it meant? Did she know how she was tormenting him?

He gawked at the flaky shell of the dessert. He could do it—take a bite, make her his. 

No!

The weight of his shadows curled around his hands and pulled him back. He shook his head, smiling.

‘Let’s hear it then.’ She returned the pastry with a sigh. 

‘And,’ he started carefully, ‘what is that?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Who is the child? Where is she? Why are you hiding her?’ 

Voices floated towards them. A band of faeries headed for the bar, giggling and stumbling before they caught sight of him. Their pale skin shifted and glimmered like fish scales under the faelight. Glancing between his wings and his face, they blushed and whispered to each other. Until his shadows wound around his shoulders and chest. And they hushed into silence. 

Ayla watched them rush through the door.

‘Are you safe?’ The words left his lips in a whisper.

Her eyes snapped to his face. The calm ones, yet so terrifying in the way they unravelled him every time she looked at him. Slowly, she graced him with a smile. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘I know you were holding back that day.’ He took a step closer, drawn in by her gaze. ‘You could’ve stopped her. Why didn’t you fight?’

‘There was no reason to.’ She shrugged a shoulder, her shirt shifting over her breast with the movement. ‘She can’t hurt me.’

���But you let her.’

‘She wasn’t there for me.’

‘Hamra.’ Ayla hesitated at the young fae’s name, still nodded. Azriel asked, ‘Why does she want her?’

‘It’s not my story to share, shadowsinger.’ 

With one simple statement, she quashed the only excuse for a conversation he had. They stared at each other. One more minute of silence and she would walk through that door. One more minute of silence and she would leave him. Azriel couldn’t find any words. But then, he didn’t have to.

‘You need to stop harassing her,’ she said.

Azriel narrowed his eyes. ‘I met with her once. That’s far from harassing.’

‘So you’re telling me,’ she arched a brow, ‘the shadows following her around is not you? Hmm, must be another shadowsinger I’m not aware of.’ 

It was his turn to shrug. ‘Who knows? That one seems to attract a lot of trouble.’

‘And how would you know that?’ She clicked her tongue, ‘You only met with her once.’

Azriel chuckled, and her eyes flicked to his lips. ‘How much do you know?’

‘Your brother came by the shop exactly when I was away. You’ve been asking Uri about my whereabouts. And Hamra threatened to stab you if she saw you again.’ She missed nothing. She continued, ignoring the dark gleam in his eyes, ‘Those are loyal to me, you know? What made you think they would tell you anything?’

If only she knew loyalty had nothing over pain and the will to live. 

Uri was prone to talk, but he swore to secrecy as Ayla's safety was concerned. Orvin was fiercely defensive to let Ayla know the High Lord she despised and his brothers took an interest in her. Azriel only worried about Hamra, but he trusted her to be smart, especially after his warning veiled as a lecture. He sensed wrong.

‘We believed they cared about you. Besides,’ he crossed his arms across his chest, ‘I can be. . .persuasive.’

Idiot.

His shadows flittered over his shoulders. They were right. What was he trying to do—scare her away?

She watched him in silence. His eyes, his lips, his face. His crossed arms, his body. And finally, she stopped at the knife strapped to his thigh before she met his gaze. She leaned her head against the wall and smirked, ‘Not enough.’

Gods, what did she think of him? Nothing good, he knew.

Her eyes burned with challenge, daring him to hurt the ones close to her. She lived in the city long enough to have heard of the rumours about the shadowsinger—Night Court’s torturer. They weren’t rumours if they were true.

‘I don’t intend to harm them.’ Azriel tried to salvage his dignity, ‘I was trying to find some truth.’

‘Is this your High Lord’s way of protecting his civilians?’

Closer.

Azriel wanted it too. But he stayed still.

‘It’s not him,’ he said quietly.

Her smile faltered.

Silence stretched long and tense. His shadows swirled over his arms drawing her attention. When she blinked at them, they skittered between them, daring to reach for her. Azriel took a sharp breath, and they withdrew.

‘Next time, shadowsinger,’ she pushed off the wall holding his gaze, ‘I find any of you following one of us, I will hand over a dagger to Hamra myself and she will keep her promise.’

With that, she left. And Azriel stared at the closed backdoor with a grin on his face.

Next Chapter: Relic

Someone tell me Azriel came off as a drama queen.

[shepherds-of-haven]

What are the ROs' comfort foods?

Blade: there's a specific meal in Ygrath literally called "soldier's meal" that they would prepare both for the trainees in boot camp (or the Ket equivalent) and that mothers would traditionally prepare for their children when they returned home from war: it basically consists of grilled fish over rice, accompanied by sauteed dark mushrooms, a mountain herbal tea, salted cucumber and radish, and clear "earth-broth" with onions, mushrooms, grains of barley, and a miso-like paste. That's his comfort meal!

Trouble: his answer would be a nice steak, crispy potatoes cooked in duck fat, a beer, and a heaping bowl of honey pudding to follow, but I actually think his real comfort food is a sandwich. sometimes when he's upset, you can observe him going straight to the kitchen and eating his feelings with a massive sandwich. doesn't really matter what's in it, so long as it's on nice slabs of bread and has a bit of nice cheese, lettuce, and tomato!

Tallys: peya, the Elvish stuffed hand bread with nuts and cheese and wrapped in a leaf and drizzled with honey, is definitely one of her biggest comfort foods, but cheese in general is secretly a key ingredient for her too! She just likes nibbling on a little bit of cheese when she's anxious about something. Make her a cheese plate with some fruit and honey (though that part's optional) and she'll be happy!

Shery: definitely baked sweets! Everything she bakes for other people is her comfort food, lol. Sugar and flour and very soft, fluffy textures all the way baby! She tends to like strawberries and cream or angel food cake or fruit tart type sweets rather than really decadent chocolate or extravagant fudgey things, but she'll make whatever! Baking it is as much her comfort as eating it!

Riel: his are definitely sweets, too! Having a tray of little sweets (petit fours, little cookies, little bites of cheesecake) paired with extremely bitter khav or tea are divine ambrosia for him. It's extremely unhealthy but when he's at his peak workaholic stress, you'll often see him working at his desk with only a platter of sweets to graze on, it's so bad...

Chase: he doesn't really derive comfort from food... he has other vices... but if I had to guess, any kind of soup or chowder would inherently be comforting to him, especially since he had a lot of that growing up! He's particularly partial to a pumpkin-eel soup and corn and seafood chowder!

Red: I think he finds bread, particularly soft, slightly sweet bread, inherently comforting, and it's his go-to late-night snack when he's accidentally skipped dinner and doesn't want to fuss with a whole meal but has to eat something. Think of him walking around with half of a brioche roll in his mouth or something! Sticky buns and sweet milk bread was what was usually served for breakfast at the Circle, so it subconsciously brings him back to the days of being a student, having a routine, having the whole day to look forward to, etc.!

Ayla: most meals where there's too much to finish in one sitting are inherently comforting to her... she gets stressed about scarcity of food, so a big cauldron of vegetable soup (until that gets ruined, thanks Halek) or a big heaping pile of really anything where she can just mindlessly eat and process her feelings is comforting to her! This isn't quite a thing in Blest, but one of those huge grazing tables would be a delight for her!

Briony: with her amnesia, I don't think she's discovered yet what is a "comfort food" for her versus just foods she really really likes; she's more in a phase of life where she's trying as many new foods as possible rather than discerning which ones inspire particular emotions in her! I think she hasn't developed enough memories around food (which is sometimes what comfort food entails, that association to a particular experience or emotion) to gravitate towards a particular comfort food yet... but if I had to guess, I think she's drawn towards fried foods or little dumplings and tartlets, like a crab and cheese tartlet that's basically a crab rangoon or something like that! In a modern AU I could also see her being a big ice cream/milkshake/boba consumer!

Lavinet: she's not a big eater, so drinks are more comforting to her than food. When she's had a stressful day, she instinctively unwinds with a nice glass of wine, a cup of hot chocolate, a mug of warm tea, or what have you, rather than seeks out any particular meal or dish! She doesn't really have emotions around specific food like that!

Halek: he finds most foods he grew up with the opposite of comforting, as he thinks most Hunter food is bland and monotonous! (Not everything thinks that, he was just sick to death of growing up in the Reach and having the same-old same-old all the time.) His comfort food is some kind of cheesy pasta: it's simplistic in terms of his cooking aspirations, but there's just something about it that he finds inherently comforting! A nice gnocchi-style dish with a bunch of cheese sauce, toasted breadcrumbs, and broiled under an oven is his favorite!

Mimir: uncertainty

Caine: our boy loves cookies and fruit pies with a tall glass of milk!!

[queereads-bracket]

Queer Fantasy Books Bracket: Round 1

Book summaries below:

Crier's War duology (Crier's War, Iron Heart) by Nina Varela

Impossible love between two girls —one human, one Made. A love that could birth a revolution. After the War of Kinds ravaged the kingdom of Rabu, the Automae, Designed to be the playthings of royals, took over the estates of their owners and bent the human race to their will. Now, Ayla, a human servant rising the ranks at the House of the Sovereign, dreams of avenging the death of her family… by killing the Sovereign’s daughter, Lady Crier. Crier, who was Made to be beautiful, to be flawless. And to take over the work of her father. Crier had been preparing to do just that—to inherit her father’s rule over the land. But that was before she was betrothed to Scyre Kinok, who seems to have a thousand secrets. That was before she discovered her father isn’t as benevolent as she thought. That was before she met Ayla. Set in a richly-imagined fantasy world, Nina Varela’s debut novel is a sweepingly romantic tale of love, loss and revenge, that challenges what it really means to be human. Fantasy, epic fantasy, science fiction, young adult, secondary world, romance

The Burning Kingdoms series (The Jasmine Throne, The Oleander Sword, The Lotus Empire) by Tasha Suri

Author of Empire of Sand and Realm of Ash Tasha Suri's The Jasmine Throne, beginning a new trilogy set in a world inspired by the history and epics of India, in which a captive princess and a maidservant in possession of forbidden magic become unlikely allies on a dark journey to save their empire from the princess's traitor brother. Imprisoned by her dictator brother, Malini spends her days in isolation in the Hirana: an ancient temple that was once the source of the powerful, magical deathless waters — but is now little more than a decaying ruin. Priya is a maidservant, one among several who make the treacherous journey to the top of the Hirana every night to clean Malini’s chambers. She is happy to be an anonymous drudge, so long as it keeps anyone from guessing the dangerous secret she hides. But when Malini accidentally bears witness to Priya’s true nature, their destinies become irrevocably tangled. One is a vengeful princess seeking to depose her brother from his throne. The other is a priestess seeking to find her family. Together, they will change the fate of an empire. Fantasy, epic fantasy, politics, romance, adult, secondary world, series

[separatist-apologist]

Never Not Mine

Summary: Elain Archeron has been betrothed to the seventh born son of Autumn for as long as she can remember. With her family's reputation in the balance, Elain is resigned to her fate.

That doesn't mean she has to like it…or that she has to make it easy for him.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3| Read on AO3

Elain knew she’d gotten Ayla into some trouble. For a month, her friend had been locked away in her family's chambers and when she returned, Elain noticed she winced every time she sat down. 

You’re making a mess of everything, she thought morosely when Ayla wouldn’t make eye contact with her at all. Arina had retreated back into the library, leaving Elain to return to her overrun garden. She’d begun sketching it out crudely in a journal, trying to map out where things would go so she wasn’t planting blind. 

Elain’s garden was the only place she felt true peace anymore. Spending time around Lucien was beginning to feel unbearable—something hot built in her throat if they were around each other too long, spilling into angry words that she couldn’t take back. Elain didn’t know why she couldn’t just be nicer or why the sight of him frustrated her the way it did.

Lucien had given her another gift just that morning—a pretty set of pearl combs she’d thanked him for before tossing them into a drawer that was increasingly becoming dedicated to the things he purchased for her. Lucien was trying, in his way. Everything he gave her was thoughtful and generous—Elain loved the simple elegance of pearls set into silver combs. 

They weren’t good for gardening, at any rate—that was what she told herself as she tied a scarf around her head and headed out, prepared for another long day of ripping out weeds until she couldn’t take the seeping cold. She wasn’t alone today. There, hanging around the gates, stood Tanwen.

“Come to help?” she asked, certain he wasn’t there for any particular reason. 

“Why not,” he replied, opening the iron for her before following just behind. “What do you need from me?”

“You could rip up that tree?” she suggested, pointing toward a sapling that was more weed than anything. “Or loosen up the soil with your magic?”

“Why not both?” he replied with a lopsided smile. For a while they worked in silence, digging up a pile of weeds they tossed in the center of the garden alongside all Elain’s ruined rocks. It was nice to have Tanwen there, if only to provide a little muscle when she didn’t want to exert herself so much. 

“So,” Tanwen began when the skies began to darken and a gloomy fog started to roll over the hillside from the cursed forest. “Have you seen Ayla?”

It took Elain a moment to absorb his words. “I see her, but I don’t speak to her. I think she’s angry with me.”

“Ah,” Tanwen said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I should take these to the stables, if you’ll…excuse me.”

Elain watched him go, hair blowing in a vicious wind. Was he asking because he’d been the one to carry her in, or because he wanted to hear more about her? Elain couldn’t be sure. It was wrong to meddle when she’d already been the cause of Ayla’s suffering and yet…

“Lucien,” Elain breathed later that night, greeting her husband sitting in a chair in the bedroom, book in hand. His eyes found her nails, caked with dirt and cracked again. Lucien’s mouth drew into a deep frown, though he said nothing.

Smart, she praised silently.

“Wife,” he replied, as if reminding her of exactly what she was to him. Elain knew they were on borrowed time—at some point she was going to have to get over herself and have sex with him. How long, she wondered? Another month, perhaps? Two? Lucien didn’t want her unwilling, but Elain couldn’t imagine a scenario in which she went to him gladly, either. 

“We never had a celebration,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed once she was done with her hands.

“Why would we?” he replied, turning the page of his book without looking at her.

“Why wouldn’t we? Everyone else gets one.”

Lucien glanced up. “You want to celebrate wedded bliss?” he questioned. 

Truthfully, no. It would require the two of them to be together all night, touching and dancing and smiling. Elain took a breath. “Yes, I want that. Will you ask your mother to organize it?”

Lucien stared long and hard, as if he could read her thoughts simply by willing it. Elain was careful to leave herself casual, though it did no good.

“What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” she replied, heart picking up speed. “I just…think it’s strange we haven’t.”

Lucien took a breath. “Does this mean I can expect you to crawl into bed with me that night?”

“I get in bed with you every night,” she snapped, immediately annoyed. Elain didn’t bother mentioning that they were getting a little too accustomed to sleeping beside each other. She’d woken in the middle of the night to find Lucien’s arm flung over her stomach as he drooled into a pillow. 

“You keep your night clothes on.”

They were in dangerous territory. “What are you demanding of me?”

Lucien ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’m demanding nothing. You’re the one who wants to celebrate our marriage and I…” And he was simply a male. He wanted the right to touch her and perhaps considered this a good negotiation point. 

“Don’t host it, then,” Elain said, turning back to the bathroom as a means to escape him. She slammed the door behind her, back against the wood as she listened for his response.

“Cauldron boil me,” he mumbled, but Lucien did nothing else. Even after Elain took a long bath, hoping he might find some other way to amuse himself, but when she came out, hair freshly braided and mostly dried, Lucien was already in bed. He seemed asleep, back facing her as it rose and fell in a steady, fluid motion. He’d pulled his hair out of the strap he’d been wearing, allowing it to cascade over his shoulders and Elain considered, not for the first time, what it might be like to let him touch her. To be curtained with the waterfall of auburn hair, to feel the muscles of his back shift as he moved…

Touch him, a little voice whispered. Elain panicked, drawing her fingers into a fist before sliding them under her body to keep her from doing so. What was wrong with her? The urge had come from nowhere, the instinct to run her finger down the length of his spine so overwhelming that Elain’s hands shook from the effort it took not to touch him.

It was his closeness, she decided as she settled into bed. His male presence and her instinctual response. Nothing more. Still, it took Elain a long time to sleep as a familiar vision crowded behind her vision.

Go away, she demanded. She didn’t want another image of Lucien’s naked form writhing atop her as her mind forced her to contend with what might be if she just gave in. He didn’t want her and Elain would be damned if she made the first move. Or second…or hundredth, actually. She woke a little before him, dressed herself, and made her way down to breakfast before Lucien could speak to her at all.

So she was surprised when the Lady of Autumn came to her, face beaming with joy. “I heard you wanted a celebration,” she said in that sweet voice of hers. The voices in the room fell to a near whisper as everyone listened in, the excitement in the room palpable. 

“I would,” Elain said, wanting so badly to be the daughter The Lady of Autumn—Amera—wanted her to be. She saw the way Amera fawned over Arina, who allowed it with glowing cheeks and shiny eyes. Elain bet Arina let Amera throw her a party the morning after, even if she spent the night torturing Eris with a knife.

Elain didn’t want to think about the implications there. 

Amera clapped pale, delicate hands together. “Oh, how lovely. It’ll take a bit of time to put together…would you like to help?”

“Yes,” Elain breathed, forgetting why she wanted to do this in the first place. Her own mother could be cold, calculated and careful. There had never been much warmth even for her favorites, and Elain often felt intimidated around her mother. Amera exuded the kind of warmth she’d often wished for as a child. If Amera had asked her to commit a murder, Elain was certain she would have picked up a sword and marched beneath the Lady of Autumn’s banner. 

Not that Elain knew how to use a weapon. Perhaps Tanwen could teach her.

Or your husband.

“Should we get started?” Amera asked.

Elain couldn’t suppress her grin. “Nothing would delight me more.”

LUCIEN:

“How do you stand it?” Lucien demanded, interrupting Eris and Cadmus in their private parlor. 

“Looking at you?” Eris replied dryly, eyes flicking up from his cards. “I manage.”

Lucien growled, earning a laugh from Conall across the room. He sat on a sofa, the picture of bored nobility while Tanwen tossed a knife up in the air. They were hiding from Beron, who had woken up in a foul mood. It was only a matter of time before he came looking for his sons.

Better to make themselves scarce and wait for the storm to pass. 

“You’re very funny,” Lucien said flatly, pulling up a chair to sit with his brothers. “I mean with mother. How do you stand her fawning over Arina?”

Eris’s brows knit together. “I rather like it.”

Of fucking course he did. 

“Gets her out of your hair, does it?” Tanwen taunted, clearly bored and looking for sport. 

“Her mother is dead,” Eris snarled, eyes flashing dangerously. It hadn’t been more than a year since the bond had snapped and Lucien didn’t think Eris would ever stop chafing beneath it. Even a whisper of insult toward Arina was enough to set his teeth to snapping. 

“Elain is planning a celebration,” Lucien informed his brothers, sinking further into his chair as he swiped a decanter of whiskey from the ornately carved table. “All mother speaks of is how sweet and lovely Elain is.”

“She is sweet,” Connall goaded. “If she were my—”

“That’s enough!” Eris barked, unwilling to mop up blood. “She would never be your wife because that would require you to be a male with honor…which you are decidedly not.”

Tanwen chuckled as Cadmus only nodded, eyes flicking from Eris to a scowling Connall. Would Cadmus break them up? That was his usual role in moments like these. 

“I don’t have a wife because Elain and Arina electrocuted the only good option left to us. How is little Ayla doing these days?”

Lucien looked up at the ceiling, wondering why he bothered to talk to his brothers at all.

“She’s well,” was all Eris said, laying his cards down with a triumphant smile. Lucien, having the benefit of standing behind Cadmus, cracked a half smile knowing that Eris was outmatched. A scowl darkened Eris’s face as Cadmus chuckled, pulling coins toward his already sizable pile.

No one could outsmart Cadmus in a game of cards.

“If you’re so bothered by your wife, why not remove her from court?” Cadmus finally said, glancing over his shoulder. “Send her to the Mountain Palace, or the Seaside Palace, if you must. Send some of the ladies from court to keep her company.”

The room had suddenly become frosty, the temperature dropping by several degrees. Lucien could feel all of his brothers glaring at him, their disapproval plain. She’d won them over just as surely as she’d stolen his mother and Lucien was jealous. Elain had simply come in and charmed everyone while he’d been trying to win the approval of his family presumably from the day he’d been born.

His brothers acted as if they knew something about him he did not—he was kept just out of reach, tolerated but not one of them. They shared some secret language Lucien did not speak. It didn’t help that Lucien was also a century younger than his next oldest brother, and Eris was nearly three centuries old by the time Lucien had been a baby. They’d watched him grow up, but in his memories, they were all grown.

Why was it so hard for him and so easy for Elain?

“Enjoy yourself, little Lucien,” Connall said in that easy, flippant way of his. “If mother likes Elain, it means you’ve found yourself a keeper. From Spring, no less.”

“It’s just…”

Not what he wanted. Every eye in the room fell back to their hands, refusing to look at him. They knew, though. Even after Eris had sent Jesminda away, even after she’d told him to leave her alone, he was still holding out some sliver of hope that he was going to wake up one morning and it would be Jesminda's dark hair splayed out on the pillow.

Even after everything, he still wanted her.

Lucien knew he was a fool.

“Go to bed, Lucien,” Eris said, rising from his chair. “Go fuck your wife until you can think of nothing and no one else. And if that doesn’t work, take a mistress to amuse yourself.”

“Leave Elain alone,” Tanwen added, a sharp edge to his voice. When Lucien looked around, he found his brothers all looking at him again, their eyes matching Tanwen’s tone. 

Right. 

She was one of them, but he was not. Lucien strode from the room, determined not to take Eris’s advice. Cadmus’ held promise, though. What if he sent her away after the celebration? Eris would never agree to let Arina join her, but Ayla would likely be allowed. Hells, Elain could hand pick the ladies she wanted to accompany her. And if she picked up with some sentry, well. Lucien didn’t care.

I’ll kill any male who touches her—

Lucien exhaled with frustration, making his way back to his bedchambers where he found Elain seated at a table staring at several different color swatches. She looked up when he walked into the room and without thinking, offered him a pretty half smile.

“Come help me,” she said as Lucien stood there agape. Was Elain willingly asking him to sit in her company? She typically darted off anytime he walked into a room. Lucien walked to her, waiting for the spell to shatter and her to realize it was him and not one of the brothers she preferred.

“What do you need help with?”

“These different shades of pink,” she said, a frown tugging the corners of her pretty mouth. “I hate them all.”

“So do I,” Lucien admitted, drinking in the rosy, spring shades. “What is your theme?”

Elain’s cheeks heated. “Old meets new.”

Spring meets Autumn, he supposed. Elain fidgeted with one of the squares of cloth, unable to meet his gaze.

“Perhaps something darker?” he offered. “More maroon than pink?”

“I thought the same thing,” Elain admitted, setting the little square back on the table. “But your mother has this vision of pink and silver and I don’t want to disappoint her.

“Trust me when I say you’ll disappoint her far more if you let her dress you in something you don’t like.”

“She’s been so nice,” Elain admitted, chewing on her bottom lip. “She’s like my mother if…”

Lucien held his breath, waiting for Elain to finish.

“Nevermind,” she said with a sigh, gathering up her swatches. “I—”

“No,” he breathed, strangely desperate. “Tell me.”

“It’s nothing, I promise,” she said, but Lucien wasn’t going to be deterred. He’d take anything, any little piece of information that would give him a more solid footing with the stranger he called a wife. They’d been married for nearly two weeks and Lucien knew practically nothing about her. Elain didn’t give up her secrets easily and in her defense, Lucien hadn’t tried to make conversation with her, either.

“Tell me anyway.”

“You’re not going to let it go, are you?” she said, bracing herself against the table. Lucien scooted closer as Elain lifted herself atop it, legs swinging sweetly. He wanted to get on his knees, wanted to slide his hand up her slim calves and—

“No. So you may as well just tell me,” he said, flashing her what he hoped was a charming grin. 

“Your mother is like my mother if she was warm,” Elain managed, eyes latching on a painting across the room. 

“Your mother is unkind?”

“No, not unkind, just…” Elain bit her bottom lip again. “Spring is a lot like a vipers nest, and you have to think like one if you want to survive. My mother is queen of the vipers, I suppose. She wasn’t cruel, but…we all had our parts to play, clearly.”

“Why did you go first?” Lucien asked, giving voice to the question that had plagued him since she’d first been sent to him. “Why not your older sister?”

Elain sighed. “The High Lord delays the match. He’s angling for Feyre, but the humiliation of spurning Nesta would ruin all of us. I think mother wanted to see me gone just in case he decided to spit in the face of tradition.”

“Tamlin loves tradition,” Lucien said softly. “If he promised to marry Nesta, he will.”

Elain nodded, though it was clear she didn’t agree. Whatever was going on over there, Elain certainly knew it better. Still, it was nice to have some context to the marriage. Elain had agreed, even though she didn’t want to, to ensure her sister's futures, too. There was something strangely lovely about it.

Or maybe it was just the insight that Lucien appreciated. He didn’t understand Elain at all, especially knowing her father likely would have intervened if she’d begged. Sometimes, Lucien imagined that Elain had come simply to torment him, even if deep down he knew that wasn’t true.

She’d come because she loved her family. That made it a little harder to dislike her. Would Lucien have done the same for his brothers? He genuinely couldn’t say, though he suspected he wouldn’t have. Not that it mattered—males weren’t held to the same standards as females. If Lucien had ruined his engagement, Elain would have been tainted in the process but he would have come out unscathed. 

“If you want, I can talk to mother,” Lucien offered, wanting to do something for Elain that wasn’t half apology. He felt earnest—hopeful, even. “Soften the blow.”

Elain offered him a half smile that made her even more beautiful than usual. Lucien was terrified of the day she gave him a full smile, wholly directed at him. Would he survive it? Lucien wasn’t sure he’d survive any of this because Elain was his mate, and he had the terrible feeling that if he got to know her, he’d like her.

It was a constant war between not wanting her at all and wanting her so badly it made his teeth ache. It was going to be like this for his entire life. Lucien understood why so many gave in to the bond. A not small part of him wanted to. Wanted to throw himself at her feet and demand to know why she hadn’t told him if she felt it, too. And another part wanted…well. Wanted to know if she’d like her if he didn’t have that thread tugging in his chest. His heart pounded out a steady, consistent beat: mine, mine, mine.

“I can do it,” she said, rising from her chair while stretching out her neck. “I don’t want her to think I don’t respect her.”

“She wouldn’t think that,” Lucien assured her, though he appreciated Elain was willing to have a personally uncomfortable conversation. 

“All the same,” Elain said blithely, eyes still dancing even when her mouth had flattened into a neutral expression. She was so fucking pretty. 

“Well. Tell me the colors so I don’t embarrass you,” he said, hoping, once again, he was coming off as charming and not demanding. Elain glanced over her shoulder, a curl ghosting over her cheek.

“Whatever you say.”

She turned for the bedroom, leaving Lucien to trail helplessly behind her. 

ELAIN:

If everything went according to plan, Tanwen would ask Ayla to dance. They’d look at each other. Maybe even speak, assuming Tanwen could move both his feet and lips at the same time. Maybe they’d kiss, if the night went well, and Tanwen would realize he was madly in love with Ayla and Elain could spend the rest of her time arranging their marriage to take her mind off her own. 

The Lady of Autumn had gone all out—the ballroom was packed with people from a myriad of courts, including her own. She’d seen Nesta floating around in a gown made of spun silver—a match for the blue of her sharp eyes. If Nesta was there, Feyre was, too, likely exploring some hidden area of the palace she shouldn’t be in. Elain had seen a few Day Court courtiers flock to Arina, their eyes lined with kohl, dressed in bright, breezy linens that seemed strangely out of place around Arina. 

Elain had taken Lucien’s advice, told his mother she didn’t like the rose color that had been chosen and ended up in a blood red gown that she never would have chosen for herself, once upon a time. When Amera presented it to Elain, setting the silk gown gently on the bed, Elain’s heart had thrummed.

Feyre would have worn it. Nesta, too. Her sisters were bolder, less afraid of making a statement. She wanted to be the kind of female who wore things like that, though. It was modest enough, with the off-shoulder sleeves that revealed freckled skin and delicate collarbones without even a hint of cleavage. The bodice was tight, the sides embroidered in gold flowers that made it seem as if her waist was pulled in smaller, creating the illusion of real curves.

She’d pulled her hair off her face with the pearl combs Lucien had given her as a show of good faith given how nice he’d been over the last few days. Not friendly, exactly, but nicer than he’d been since they’d met. He was looking at her when he spoke to her, which felt like a major improvement.

She hadn’t seen him yet, though the night was still early—plenty of time for Lucien to embarrass her yet. 

Floating through the throngs of people, the smell of sticky pastries and wine in the air, Elain tried to find Ayla. Her friend had sworn she’d be there, as had Tanwen after a lot of cajoling and pleading. 

Who will dance with me? she’d asked, making her eyes big and round. Tanwen, unused to being manipulated by a female, had folded almost immediately though he’d grumbled that he didn’t dance. Not with her, perhaps—but someone else? Elain didn’t believe he was above courting entirely given the rumors she’d heard floating around.

The Vanserra’s had a reputation and if Elain had to guess, she’d bet she was one of the few people left that had no idea what it was like to be underneath one.

“There you are,” Lucien’s warm voice murmured as his fingers brushed the tops of her shoulder. Elain turned and immediately wished she hadn’t. Lucien had asked what color she was wearing and Elain had said red and yet somehow, he’d managed to coordinate his jacket to the exact shade of her dress.

Fuck him, she thought privately as she took in the well-tailored fabric fitted to his broad, muscular chest. His boots gleamed beneath the faelights, cut up to his knees before giving way to black pants that showed off powerful thighs. He wore a gold band around his ring finger and he’d half braided his hair off his face much like Elain had done with the combs. He looked…he looked good.

Beautiful, even, in a roguish kind of way. 

“Were you looking for me?” Elain asked, noting that Lucien was looking at her much like she’d just done. His eyes darkened, scent sharpening and oh. This wasn’t a good time for him to realize he was sexually attracted to her. 

Lucien cleared his throat, eyes returning to her face. “It’s our celebration, I figured we ought to be seen together. Happy,” he added with a frown.

Elain couldn’t help her laugh. The whole thing was absurd. “Well, you’re truly selling it.”

Lucien blinked. “Are you going to tell me what this is in service of, now?”

“You don’t believe I’m so incandescently happy?” Elain teased, gaze snagging on the High Lord. She hadn’t expected Beron Vanserra to come, but there he was, arm linked with his wife and brown eyes bright as he listened to her speak. Elain was terrified of Beron and his shows of temper, his violence, and the bruises Elain often caught on Amera’s body when her sleeves slid up her wrists.

And yet here, he was the picture of adoration. Was it possible to love someone you hated? Elain turned, catching her husband also watching with a disdainful expression on his face. He didn’t bother hiding it, and Beron didn’t notice. Elain had heard Beron was preoccupied with Eris and Cadmus, but paid little attention to Connall and Tanwen and practically none at all to Lucien. To Elain, that seemed like a best case scenario, but maybe Lucien resented his fathers disinterest.

Or maybe he resented the way Beron terrorized his family.

She’d never asked, determined not to make it her business. 

Lucien rolled his eyes, returning to their conversation as his fingers skimmed down her spine. He’d been touching her more often—absent gestures she wasn’t certain he was even aware he did. Every time his skin met hers, Elain’s whole body ignited with interest, which prompted her to try, desperately, to avoid his touch. What would Lucien do if he ever caught a whiff of her changing scent?

Elain knew she was on borrowed time, that eventually there would be questions about what they did when they were alone. The expectation of children would begin to arise and Elain would have to bow to the pressure and at least try. It had taken her own parents nearly five decades to conceive Nesta and Elain expected it would take her just as long, even if she and Lucien put themselves on a strict schedule.

What was worse was the thought that she might enjoy it. The vision persisted, lingering in her mind as it taunted. 

You could be happy if you made different choices.

Lucien's fingers stilled at the small of her back, as though he realized how far he’d drifted and knew he was in danger. 

“Tell me the truth,” Lucien murmured, leading the two of them through the throngs of people dancing to soft music played by musicians seated in elegant chairs. Cool air blew in from the open windows and some brave souls donned cloaks before sneaking out toward the garden for a moment alone. 

Elain would bet that's where Feyre was. 

“We deserve a little celebration, Lucien,” she said, turning abruptly for the garden just to see what her sister was doing. The last thing she needed was for Eris to find Feyre poking through something and start an international incident like that one time Feyre had been permitted to join their father in Winter. 

“Elain—”

“Why does it bother you?” she asked without malice, letting him trail after her as they made their way into the dark. A pillar half hid a couple furiously kissing, the smell of salt and desire half choking Elain. Lucien coughed, for all the good it did—the pair broke apart to look at them before deciding they didn’t care if they had an audience. Elain scurried toward the grounds when the male dropped to his knees, head ducking beneath a skirt. Behind her, Lucien muttered something she couldn’t quite make out, though it sounded disapproving. 

“What if I wanted to help whatever scheme you’re currently working through?” he responded, jogging up beside her. “Did that occur to you?”

Elain’s steps slowed. It hadn’t. “I’m trying to set up your brother.”

Lucien’s brow furrowed. “Which one?”

“Tanwen.”

He laughed, which annoyed her. “What?”

“Tanwen? Elain, if you want to set him up, you need to hide her in the woods for him to find.”

“He said he’d dance,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest as she faced off with Lucien. The grass was damp, the wet bleeding through the soft fabric of her shoes. Unlike Lucien who had layers beneath his jacket, Elain merely had the thin fabric of her gown. Lucien looked warm, and some part of her wanted to close the distance between them and fold herself against his body.

“Did you use your feminine wiles on him? Poor Tanwen,” Lucien teased, poking her in the stomach. 

Elain scented something strange just as she was about to retort—sea salt and citrus, wholly out of place in the Autumn wood. Lucien, too, caught the scent of it, his eyes flicking up over Elain’s head as one hand came out to half pull her against his body. She’d been right—Lucien was warm. 

A moment later, Feyre Archeron appeared looking dazed and pale. Elain’s sister had merely stepped out of a rip in the world, trailing star-flecked shadows behind her as she went. There was no one with her—just Feyre, who could apparently winnow. Elain had never known that. 

“Are you okay?” Elain asked when Feyre passed. Her sister started, eyes bright like the moon.

“Of course,” she said, her tone strangely breathless. “I was…lost.”

“Lost.” Lucien repeated, his tone rich with disbelief. “Where were you going?”

“I…out,” Feyre finally said, practically floating away from them. Both Elain and Lucien watched and she suspected if she’d turned to look at him, they’d be wearing matching expressions of confusion.

“That…was strange,” Lucien finally said, releasing Elain from his grip. She took a step away on instinct, desperate for a breath of air not tainted by the soft, masculine scent of him. “Is she always like that?”

Elain wanted to assure him that Feyre wasn’t, but… “Yeah,” she said with a sigh. It was pretty par for the course for Feyre to slip off and keep secrets about her magic. If Feyre could winnow and hadn’t told anyone, it was for a reason. Elain certainly wasn’t going to divulge that information.

“Come on,” Lucien murmured, and she swore when she looked at him, a faint glow emanating off the edges of his skin. She blinked and it was gone, fading to a memory she couldn’t quite recall. Had she seen it? Or had she merely imagined it? 

“You’re shivering,” Lucien added when Elain didn’t move, reaching for her once again. He couldn’t keep touching her—he was wearing down her resolve. One of these days Lucien might put his hands on her and she’d thank him for it.

Something in her wanted to make him work harder, even if it was inevitable. She wanted to like him, at least, before he took her clothes off her. And more than that, Elain wanted Lucien to like her, too. She was certain he didn’t—not really. What she found gazing back at her when she looked at him was merely acceptance. He’d made his peace with this marriage, something he should have done the moment he found himself standing at the priestesses altar, and was ready to get on with things. 

Elain followed Lucien back into the bright, dizzying warmth, eyes scanning the room for both her sisters and Tanwen. She found Ayla, dressed in rich burgundy chatting with a male whose name escaped her. She saw Connall leaned against a pillar holding court while a semi-circle of females laughed at something undoubtedly stupid he’d said.

Cadmus and Eris patrolled the edges of the room, talking among themselves even as Eris’s eyes continued to slide to his mate, giggling with some of the females that routinely came to Ayla’s card games.

But no Tanwen. Lucien must have realized it, too, because his fingers brushed the back of her hand. “Told you.” It was the wrong thing to say to her right then. His touch, combined with her own confusing mix of emotions, caused a rush of anger to flood through her. Elain’s attraction to him, the closeness of his body, the way she swore she saw him looking at her at times—all of it was too much.

“That was uncalled for,” she hissed, grateful when he didn’t follow behind her. Elain didn’t turn to look at him, either.

She knew he was watching.

She could feel it.

LUCIEN:

“You’re an asshole,” Lucien began, snatching the weapon from his brothers hand before Tanwen could take a swing. Tanwen turned, brows raised. 

“For what?”

“You told Elain you’d dance with her,” Lucien reminded him, almost telling his brother the truth of the matter. Lucien very much doubted Elain would be forgiving if she learned he’d messed up her little plan—even if Lucien thought it was ridiculous. 

Tanwen blew out a breath. “I don’t dance.”

“It was one dance.”

“You dance with her,” Tanwen retorted, reaching for the axe but Lucien held it just out of reach. They were matched for height and likely matched in strength, though Lucien knew from experience that if Tanwen wanted to hurt him, it would be relatively easy for him to do so. In his youth, he’d tried to take on all his brothers to disastrous results. Besides, if he limped back into the house with a bruised eye and busted lip, Elain would know that he’d been meddling to help her.

It might make her like him a little better…and Lucien didn’t want her to know he was trying as hard as he was. He couldn’t explain it—call it petulance, call it his own inner angst, but Lucien wanted Elain to simply wake up one day desperate and needy from the bond and court him a little, too.

“You made a promise,” Lucien pressed, tossing the axe to the damp, leafy ground beside his brother. 

“I fucking hate that shit,” Tanwen snapped, running a hand over his messy hair. “The people, the noise, I—” he took a breath. “I tried, alright? But someone tried to talk to me and I couldn’t do it. If you want me to make it up to your wife, though—”

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Lucien warned, temper flaring. Lucien was coming to the realization that he likely couldn’t spend another month sleeping in the same bed as his mate without touching her. He toyed with the idea of creating some kind of bargain between them in which he was allowed to have her in the evenings and she could do whatever she liked with the rest of her time. But Lucien’s treacherous mind betrayed him, conjuring images of her taking a lover and he became restless and angry all over again. In his mind, Lucien was allowed to have her however he wanted her, but ultimately bore no responsibility toward her as he figured out his own feelings.

To make matters worse, every time he pictured Elain, his guilty thoughts bled Jesminda into the image until Lucien was frustrated with himself—Jesminda had told him to move on. Move on. It was taking too long, the heartbreak making a fool out of him. How did people get over it? Did they ever? 

Or maybe you’re scared you’ll move on and be fine, a traitor's voice whispered in his mind. Maybe you’re afraid you’d be happy if you let yourself.

“Shut up,” he mumbled under his breath. 

Tawnen glanced at Lucien, rolling his eyes. “I’m sorry if I upset Elain,” Tanwen conceded, though he didn’t look too shamed. “I’ll make it up to her.” Lucien doubted it, though, given his wife was very much trying to set Tanwen up. He trusted she’d find some new little scheme to put them back in the same room. Begrudgingly, he had to admit the thought of Elain trying to set Tanwen up amused him, if only because Tanwen was the most oblivious of the bunch. If he had his way, he’d abandon court entirely for some cottage in the woods and live entirely off the land. Tanwen would have thrived as governor of the rural counties of Autumn, though that post belonged to Connall, technically.

Beron sent Tanwen to their biggest port city and forced him to oversee the people there, knowing Tanwen hated the politics just as he knew counting crops bored Connall to tears. It wasn’t about learning anything, either. He simply liked making his sons suffer for his amusement. Lucien wasn’t allowed any leadership positions—Beron said he didn’t have enough cities, though Lucien knew that Beron simply didn’t like him and did not want to nurture any potential High Lord qualities in Lucien that might unseat Eris or Cadmus. 

Lucien left Tanwen to his weapons, meandering even when he knew where he was going. He wanted the pretense of stumbling upon her, of seeing her with her hair tied off her face with a pink bandana, hands buried in soil. Lucien found her dressed in a rich purple, hem pooled around her knees as she plunged a little trowel into the earth.

She wore his gloves. Lucien’s heart raced at the sight of them, once tossed carelessly in a drawer along with everything else. She’d worn his combs the night before, his gloves today…Lucien took a breath. Elain was softening. Maybe he could bend a little, too. Pushing open the gate, Lucien made his way toward her.

“Planting?” he asked, noting the bed of weeds had been cleared out of the space. It must have taken her hours to do it.

Elain glanced up, a bead of sweat sliding down her brow. He wanted to taste it. “Your brothers helped clear this place out,” she said sweetly, rising up to sit on her heels. “It’s made things go faster.”

“What are you planting?”

“Here? Aster,” she said, showing him the little trays of budding plants she’d clearly been growing herself. “I’ve mapped it all out. Would you like to see?”

“Yes,” he breathed, coming close enough their knees brushed when he lowered himself to the ground. Elain pulled out a little journal and a rolled up piece of paper that she spread out for him.

Lucien recognized Cadmus’ work, sketched out beside Elain’s looping, pretty handwriting. 

“Your brother painted it for me,” Elain admitted, running her fingers over the pretty watercolors that graced the page. I showed him my layout and he put it together.

“We should frame this when you’re finished,” Lucien murmured, thinking it really was lovely. 

Elain’s eyes were bright. “Really?”

He didn’t like that creeping hope in her voice—her belief that he wasn’t a kind male, and didn’t care about her at all. It wasn’t true, though Lucien knew he’d done very little to disabuse her of the notion.

“Of course,” he replied, trying to keep his voice light and nonchalant. “You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished.”

Elain tucked a curl behind her ear. “It’s just a garden, it’s not as if—”

“It’s important,” Lucien interrupted, tone gentle but firm. “Beautiful, too.”

Elain’s cheeks flushed, eyes slipping back to the ground. “That’s…thank you, Lucien.”

“Can I help?” he asked, deciding to push his luck. What did it hurt, he reasoned, to try and get to know his wife? His mate? 

Biting her bottom lip, Elain nodded. “That would be nice.”

“I saw Tanwen this morning,” Lucien said, adopting a lighter, more gossipy tone. Elain’s eyes lit up.

“Did you tell him he ruined my night?” Elain demanded with a grin. “Winston occupied nearly all of Ayla’s time.”

“Winston,” Lucien grumbled, though in truth he had no issue with the lord. Winston was perfectly polite, in a bland kind of way. He was the kind of male Ayla could boss around and dominate, which wasn’t the worst position to be in given how Autumn viewed females. It was the closest thing to autonomy Ayla could hope for.

“Right?” Elain agreed, taking one of the little plants from him to nestle it gently in the dirt. “He’s so…”

“Agreed,” Lucien replied, heart thudding in his throat. “Could I offer you some advice?”

“Please,” she replied, eyes darting to him again. The urge to push her into the dirt and cover her mouth with his own reared through him with an intensity so hot that Lucien could feel his cock stir in his pants. 

Calm yourself, he ordered. 

“Consider an activity that Tanwen is interested in.”

“Like what?”

“What is the game you, Arina, and Ayla are always organizing on the lawn?”

“It’s a bit like tag, but less rough,” Elain admitted, cheeks flushing again.

“So why not a larger game?” Lucien suggested, mind racing with possibilities. “Or, perhaps something more akin to hide and seek. That could be romantic.”

Elain’s brows raised. “You’re quite clever.”

He grinned. “I’ll take the compliment.”

“How would we ensure we get them alone?”

“Easy enough. You and I will hide somewhere together—somewhere only I know,” Lucien added, his heart picking up again. He knew the exact tree he’d put her in, ancient and hollowed out by a High Lords son long since dead. Lucien had spent years hiding there as a child, reading and writing and otherwise daydreaming about more interesting adventures. With Elain, the space would feel smaller…perhaps he’d take the opportunity to truly touch her. Run his knuckles over her cheek, his nose along the curve of her neck.

“And Arina?”

Lucien snorted. “Eris won’t be able to help himself.”

Elain wrinkled her nose, scrunching the little freckles adorably. “Ew.”

“And Tanwen considers himself an expert tracker. Finding Ayla will be easiest, because she won’t be masked by another male's scent. And maybe, once they’re alone…”

Elain clapped her hands in front of her chest, giving him an excuse to look at the soft swell of her breasts. Elain was far too appealing, mate or not, and Lucien had the sinking suspicion he’d want her even without the cord currently wrapped around his throat. 

Squashing his guilt, Lucien took a breath. 

Unaware of his inner torment, Elain offered him a smile. “Okay. I like this plan—give me a few days to put it together so it seems natural and not too suspicious.”

“Naturally.”

“And you’ll join?”

“Nothing would amuse me more than to see Tanwen fall prey to the very court scheming he loathes.”

“You make it sound so sinister. I merely want him to find happiness,” she said, unaware that Ayla was the kind of female Tanwen had made a habit of ignoring. He could see her with Cadmus, perhaps, if Cadmus ever deigned to smile or have a moment of fun. Connall was too busy fucking his way through Prythian to ever consider a wife and truthfully, was likely to make someone very unhappy given how little he thought of commitment. 

“And you think Ayla is his happiness?” Lucien questioned.

Elain only shrugged. “Maybe. It doesn’t hurt to try, does it?”

Lucien began digging out Elain’s next chalk mark as she carefully replanted, not willing to look at her. “I suppose not,” he murmured, feeling as if she were speaking to him as well. You’re not trying at all, he swore her voice accused which wasn’t true. He’d given her gifts, hadn’t he? He was sitting outside despite the biting chill, hands without gloves, dirt gathering beneath his nails. 

Lucien wondered if she couldn’t sense his hesitation, his indecision. What did she feel? He was desperate to know. Experimentally, he pulled on the bond just to see what she’d do. Elain’s brow furrowed, hand flying to her chest to rub.

“Are you well?” he asked. Tell me you feel what I feel.

“I may have strained myself,” she admitted, hand falling to her lap. “Or perhaps I’m coming down with something.”

Lucien bit back his sigh. She felt it, but didn’t realize what was happening. Perhaps that was a blessing, then. He wondered if the snapping had felt different for her, or had been masked by her other emotions, lost to the swirl of fear and anxiety. How did he tell her without upsetting her? Could he? 

“You should take it easier,” he murmured, unsure how she’d even go about doing that. “Rest more.”

Elain bit her bottom lips, gaze far away. “I feel like all I do is rest. I garden, I go about with my friends, I eat, I sleep. Hardly exerting.” Interesting. “What would you like to be doing, then?”

She considered this, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Travel?”

Lucien’s whole body tightened. Was that it? His disbelief must have shown on his face because she quickly added, “I heard the continent had tulip fields as big as a sea.”

“I’ve never seen them,” he admitted, mind racing, “I’d like to, though.”

“Maybe we could go?” she suggested.

Lucien resisted the urge to crush her against him. “Whatever you like.”

It was a start.

[thereceptioniststyles]

No Control

Present Day

Tears welled in my eyes as I gazed at my therapist, Jo. The weight of my past bore down on me, each memory reopening wounds that seemed deeper than ever. But I couldn't carry this burden any longer; I owed it to myself, to Harry, to let it out.

Jo, my stalwart confidante, had been there through it all. From the shattered remnants of my parents' divorce when I was just 18 to the tumultuous storms of failed relationships and workplace conflicts, she had been my guiding light.

I remembered the first time I met Jo, seven years ago. Now, at 25, she still stood by my side, offering solace and understanding when I felt lost in the darkness of my own mind.

But as I sat there, the weight of my secrets pressing down on me, I found myself unable to speak. My throat tightened, and I was paralyzed, staring blankly at the wall, wishing fervently for time to whisk me away from this moment, to let me forget once more.

"Ayla," Jo's voice pierced through the silence like a lifeline. "It's okay if you're struggling. It's okay if the words won't come. But I can only help you as much as you allow me to."

The word "help" echoed in my mind, leaving me feeling small and vulnerable.

"I... I don't remember," I stammered, my voice trembling with the weight of my own deceit. But Jo's gaze was unwavering, her eyes seeing through my facade, silently urging me to confront the truth I had been avoiding.

"Ayla, what happened next?" Jo's voice pierced through the heavy silence, her gaze steady, urging me to continue.

Taking a deep breath, I mentally anchored myself, summoning the courage to delve into the painful memories that threatened to consume me.

I began to recount the heartbreak, the tears, and the relentless ache that had followed in the wake of Harry's betrayal.

"Harry ruined my life," I declared, the bitterness seeping into my words like poison. I could sense the urge to chuckle in Jo's eyes, but she restrained herself, knowing the gravity of my words. "I thought we had a chance. I believed he would be willing to invest the same effort as I was. After our kiss, I thought he would embrace me with the same fervor I held for him. It felt foolish, Jo, to leave Beck for someone who showed such blatant disregard for my feelings."

My mind wandered back to Harry, his carefree demeanor and his knack for brushing off serious situations with a joke. The thought of how effortlessly he would dismiss the impact of his actions on me gnawed at my soul.

As I sat there, pouring out my heart to Jo, I couldn't help but feel the weight of Harry's absence still haunting me years later, a ghostly presence that lingered in the corners of my mind, mocking the pain he had inflicted.

Past

Restless, I spun in my chair at the front desk, my heart pounding with anticipation for Harry's arrival. We'd been closing shifts together more frequently, and with each passing day, our connection deepened. Despite not knowing him on a profound level, I loved him fiercely. His presence alone was intoxicating—the scent of his cologne lingering in the air, the intensity in his eyes, the way his hands effortlessly ran through his hair. Every detail, every gesture, fueled my adoration. Harry was a complex blend of humor, seriousness, and undeniable charm.

But my affection for him was tested by his effortless flirtations with other women. He had a way of charming them effortlessly, leaving me simmering with jealousy. It seemed harmless until Grace entered the picture. Grace, with her effortless beauty and soft demeanor, had Harry's full attention whenever she entered the room. It was agonizing to watch as she twirled her hair and batted her eyelashes, capturing Harry's affections right before my eyes.

The night everything changed, they arrived together. My mind initially brushed it off as a coincidence until they exchanged a tender kiss at the doorway, sending shockwaves of betrayal through me. My Harry, the man I loved, kissing another woman. Anger bubbled inside me as I watched them, feeling the sting of his recent flirtatious texts still fresh in my mind.

"So," I managed to choke out as he entered, my voice thick with emotion.

"We're not dating, if that's what you think. Just hooking up” he said casually, as if his flippant explanation could erase the hurt.

"Oh," was all I could muster, feeling the weight of his words crushing me. I struggled to find my footing, knowing that one wrong move could shatter whatever fragile connection we had.

"Cool beans," I whispered, my voice barely audible, masking the turmoil raging within me.

"Come on, Ayla, don't play the innocent act," Harry's words cut through the air like a knife, his tone dripping with condescension. "It's just harmless flirting. Haven't you ever flirted with someone you didn't like?"

I shrugged, trying to mask the pain and betrayal coursing through me. Sure, I had flirted before, but it had never felt as public or as intimate as watching Harry cozy up to Grace just days after our own passionate encounter.

I spent the rest of the night in silence, unable to bear the thought of delving deeper into Harry's relationship with Grace. The mere idea of her, knowing she was everything I wasn't, fueled a rage unlike any I had felt before. I had left my boyfriend for Harry, sacrificing a stable relationship for a man who clearly didn't value my loyalty.

As Harry left early, leaving me to close up alone, I sat in solitude, drowning in memories of his touch and the taste of his lips against mine. But amidst the reverie, a bitter realization began to take root: it wasn't me who had ruined what we had, it was Harry. And I would soon learn that he was a master at leaving destruction in his wake, breaking hearts without a second thought.

Yet, despite the hurt and anger, I found myself unable to resist the pull of his charm. As long as he kept coming back to me, I told myself, I could overlook his indiscretions with other women.

Making a silent vow to myself, I resolved to enhance my appearance, invest in alluring lingerie, and strategize ways to capture Harry's heart. Despite the turmoil, my yearning for him only grew stronger, blinding me to the inevitable pain that lay ahead.

All Parts

[jamespottersdaisy]

Ayla's 1k celebration!

Hello there, my sweets!

In exactly 15 days, my first fanfic (one that you guys love sm) will be one year old! In one year we have grown from 5 people into 1005?! I can't fathom it actually, but thank you all. Thank you for reading my work, but especially thanks to all those that left nice comments and encouraging words for me. They were truly the biggest motivation.

Hence, for you (and for me as well), I thought of a small celebration kinda thing, which, now that I see, takes a lot of creativity. We will be celebrating from 4th april to 14th april! I'm sure this will also get me out of writer's block hehe

🌜- if you want a fluffy blurb of your choice of a character in an established relationship, chose one of the prompts below and send!

banter, playfights, and soft moments dancing in the rain tooth-rotting fluff romantic moments

🍷- if you want an angsty blurb, choose a character with a prompt from below and send!

ruining something good with truth i like you as a friend tired of being a secret hurt/comfort

🌚- if you want a blurb with the specific dynamic and trope such as below, just chose your character and send!

angry love confession sloppy love confessions first kiss hate everyone but you i hate you but also maybe care about you

🪞- send me a description of yourself (physical or not) and i'll ship you with a character!

🪄- chose a character and a trope, i'll make a moodboard for you!

💎- making a moodboard based on their aesthetic perceived by me! (mutuals only)

character list: peter parker remus lupin james potter sirius black regulus black aaron warner leon kennedy steve harrington

keep in mind that i do not write smut

some mutual tags: @parkerpeter24 @starsval @ch-4-eri @tulipsbymybed @sarahs-secrets2 @reve-writes @webslingingslasher @spiderfunkz @comatosebunny09 @ttulipwritezz @hollandweather @franzkafkagf @in-the-sweet-november-rain @luannemar

credits and thanks to @dumplingsjinson for prompts, and to @saradika for dividers

[deluluduck227]

El Ayla | Ez.Abde

Warnings: none, the tiny tiniest sex mention

It was summer already, Abdessamad wasn't summoned to the national team, indeed he was called out to play with the olympic football team and the tournament was set to begin in the late ten days of june. So it meant you guys were going to visit morocco. Abde was so thrilled to see his family since it has been an eternity since the last time he did, and so were you. It wasn't the first time you visited Beni Mellal, your husband's hometown, a beautiful and small city.

You were stretching you arms since you spent what felt like eternity in the car, the road's duration from Casablanca, where your plan landed, to Beni Mellal was 4 hours,so obviously you both grew tired, especially him cause he was driving. Abde told his mother that you guys will visit soon but he didn't specify when so it was like a surprise. You felt the hot breeze of the city against your body, agitating your long hair. Abdessamad's arm was now wrapped aroud your waist to draw your attention to him since you zoned out, your eyes wandered aroud his features but you didn't get the best view since it was dark.

" Let's go " He whispered in your ear, clearly excited, the thing that made you smile at his cuteness, you nodded as you made your way through the gate of the mini villa reaching the door. He exhaled, you sensed he was a little nervous so you held his hand, giving him a reassuring nod as he raised his hand to knock the door. Silenced ruled the atmosphere, you both heard footsteps coming closers, the door flicked open and revieled abde's mom. She was chocked at the unexpected visitors and before she could register, her son already threw himself at her, squeezing in a thight hug and kissing her head occasionally. You smile, your heart brusting with happiness at the sight before as you felt tears prickle in your eyes. Abde's mom engulfed you in a tight hold, kissing your temple and you let your tears flow, you felt warm, you felt home even tho it's not but wherever abde is it felt home. She then separated the hug, cupped your face in her palms smiling brightly.

" Masha'allah a bnti, ghzala " you smiled at her comment. " Come on inside, you must be tired"

" I'll grab the luggage quickly and join you " Abdessamad conceded and you both nodded and launched towards the living room, it was so traditional, a mix of off white and golden. You sat on the 'sdari' as she kept asking you about you, how your family doing and abde joined along with his father, you got up and kissed his hand of of respect as he gave you a side hug, you considered as your father. You guys kept chatting, doing the catch up and occasionally laughing. You felt your eyelids heavy as ever and you yawned, drawing your mother-in-law's attention.

" Bnti! You must be tired, go to sleep. Abdessamad, take your wife to your room. It's all clean, you just grab covers from the drawers." She exclaimed, rubbing your forearm gently as you nodded. You got up to follow abde who grabbed the luggage and mumbled a good night to them.

Abde's room was quite big with the king size bed that was centered. You hurried, oppening the windows to aerate the room since it was suffocated. You felt abde's arms snuck around your waist, his chin upon your shoulder, planting soft kisses on your neck. You leaned at his touch, enjoying the peaceful yet loud moment. You turned aroud so now you were facing him, wrapped your arms around his neck and they hugged long enough to hear each other's breathing. After a while, you separated the embrace earning a whine from him which made giggle.

" You ruined my parade" He accused childishly.

" Awa3di yana, I'm not going anywhere babe. Just wanted to change my clothes i'm exhausted. And you should do the same" You suggested, already openning your suitcase and grabbed a random sleepwear, doing the same for Abde who just smiled at how thoughtful you were, small gestures mean a lot for him.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The sun poured through the window causing you to wake up, you oppened your eyes to the unfamiliar ceiling then you switched your gaze from the roof to the warm bundle that was snuggled against your beating chest, his legs were caging yours, the same for his arms. He was a real Koala! And you weren't complaining. You tried getting up without waking up Abdessamad but you failed cause he jolted awake. You pitied him as he looked so tired so you patted his lower back gently and whispering " Just comeback to sleep babe." he hummed as response.

After doing your morning routine, you joined abde's mom in the kitchen, she was busy preparing el msemen, its scent was in the next level, it was the scent of a moroccan morning.

"Sbah lkhir Khalti" you greeted softly, kissing her forehead. She smiled at you first but she suddenly frowned which made you confused.

"Uh Oh, you calling me khalti! I'm disappointed ! you should call me Mama." She protested sweetly, making you smile. You nodded your head " Wakha a yma"

You offered to help her but she completly refused so you just sat in the lauchroom, sipping at your moroccan mint tea and chitchating with your mother-in-law who was beyond happy for your presence. You knew Abdessamad wouldn't wake up any time sooner.

"We have a long day awaiting for us." She exclaimed while the two of you were eating, Abde's father had some errand to run. She smiled after seeing your muddled features, then she continued

" We'll go to the Hammam near. " You could help but jolt from excitement, it has been an eternity since you went there, surely you exfoliate weekly in Spain but it isn't anywhere near The traditionnal Hammam. After you finished your breakfast, you insisted on washing the dishes and you made your way back to the bedroom, entering as quiet as you can so you'll not wake up your sleeping princess, you packed what you'll need and skipped quietly.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You were currently in your father-in-law's car, making your way back home after the never-ending hammam session. You felt like dying, the heat was too much for you to handle, your shoulders were sore from the exofoliating but nevertheless you felt fresh. You made your way to the house, meeting abde who was laying down in the living room and scrolling through his phone.As soon as he acknowledged your oresence he droped the phone and made his way towards you, the smile creeping to his face when he noticed your state. Your cheeks were rosy, it is ’serr dyal lhammam’, your hair was hidden under the 'zif Hayati', you were wearing an simple navy blue Caftan. His eyes traveled aroud your apparence and he loved what he was seeing. He came closer and planted a gentle kiss on your forehead, his hand between your shoulder and you couldn't feel more appreciated.

"Bseha ya omri" you smiled at his whisper but you made some distance between the two of you when you heard footsteps approaching. Abde giggled at you as you smiled sheepishly, you left the scene , heading to your room to put your things away and the next destination was the kitchen cause you thought some mint tea would be cool to serve at the moment, plus it would freshen you up. A while after, you were heading to the living room, holding a silver tray full of teapotand its glass cups.

" Lah irdi 3lik ya bnti, you shouldn't have done that you're my guest"

" Rbi ikhlik lili a yma, it's not a big deal!" You smiled as you started serving the tea, then you sat next to your husband who was beaming proudly.

" Abdessamad, Wallah if i ever found out you're giving here a hard time I'll disown you." your mother-in-law spoke firmly, subsequently she started giggling when she saw her son's offended featues, then she switched her her gaze to you and resumed " If anything happens you just call me and you'll see" you nodded firmly, looking at abde from the corner of your eyes who scoffed.

Your parents in law started chatting when your husband took it as an occasion. He leaned closer to you, fingers flicking at your earring.

"Babe you're driving me nuts. I missed you." You knew exaclty what he meant but you just decided to pull your dumb card, since his parents were literally in front of you.

" How can you miss me when i'm sitting next to you babe?" you responded, and had some troubles holding your laugh at his face.

" I missed you in bed !" he decided to play along, thinking he won.

" I literally slept next to you, you were clinging at me like a koala !" He shook his head, laughing unbelievably. The chitchat was enthusiastic, the hushed town added the fun. It's like you guys disconnected from your surrounding, forgot there's two ppl in front of you.

" I missed fuck-" you didn't let him complete his obscene sentence as you pinched his thigh. " Awa3di ana hchouma, Basl !" he gave a sheepish look and you knew he wouldn't stop anytime sooner so you escaped to the kitchen claiming you'll cook lunch.

This was requested! As you may noticed, i used the chamali slang, mine since i lived there my whole life so deal with+ plus i think it's cute <3

[zeldamomoe]

Let's do a little bit of a Flashback Friday, shall we? Some of you might remember me as "that Lana cosplayer" from Hyrule Warriors! Back in 2014 before the game even came out in Japan, I swiftly created this costume as my "comeback to cosplay" after a few years hiatus to focus on paying my way through college. It really opened my eyes to how mainstream cosplay was becoming at that time, because of my first photoshoot with PialVisions getting viral thanks to ZeldaInformer sharing it everywhere. Unfortunately, the racists came out of the woodwork like it was their job and ridiculed my skin tone. The ones that stood out to me the most were:

the person who tagged their friend and said "your Arab cousin ruined Lana for me"

and the person who asked if I was Hispanic (in Spanish, mind you), and I said no I'm Lebanese from America, and he said "well your skin should me milk white" again, in Spanish lmao fuck you 😂

I was really sad about all of it that I almost decided not to continue cosplaying. Seeing all that hate after such a long hiatus was difficult (and I wasn't even very good at cosplay or photo editing yet, I just was the first Lana, so it made WAVES 🙈). But I made so many new friends thanks to me getting viral like CinnamonNeutrality (Cee), ChibiTifa, LayzeMichelle, just to name a few. I'm sure I would've ran into Cee eventually since we went to the same GTA cons, but you never know! Nowadays, I stay humble and thankful for the opportunities Lana gave me. I took her to Fan Expo 2014, and shot with Herbiecide there. We took some gorgeous photos on the roof, and I'll remember fondly that we ran into a trio of Perfume cosplayers. Because I hadn't been to Fan Expo since 2009 at that point, and it was my first big con since then, I was so excited seeing Perfume cosplayers XD I was a big fan of them in high school and college. I posted some of his photos of my Lana cosplay on Tumblr actually and got viral again! I do remember that was a good viral though, not much harassment came from that, and if it did, I forgot all about it. My username used to be SMZeldaRules, so it was on that Tumblr, which has long been deactivated. In 2015, I made her staff and brought her to Pax East. And in 2017, I had one final photoshoot with Z is Eternal. I then ended up giving it to my friend Ayla at Antipode Geek Bellydance. It's 2023 now, and big companies and websites STILL don't moderate their comment sections well at all (looking at you Square Enix when you shared my Rachel Amber cosplay in 2020 and people were acting a fool lmao). We gotta stand up for all marginalized groups in cosplay! Keep making your stuff and have fun! FUCK RACISM 😤😤😤

photos: Pial Visions, Herbiecide, Z is Eternal & edits by me

[flatbstanley]

Saturday, 12:51 pm

Transcript below the cut.

Taylor: Sorry it's taken me so long to get back to you. I told the kids one of my sponsors sent me on a tech-free weekend so they wouldn't mess with my phone and see something. Hiding in the bathroom now.

Taylor: Anyway, I'm SO sorry about what happened with Justin at the hospital. Are you ok?

Ayla: Oh please. Justin's the one who needs to apologize. You should never have to do it for him.

Ayla: And I'm absolutely fine!!! Way more worried about you and the kids. How are you all doing?

Taylor: Gia's moping because I left her phone at home. Couldn't risk her telling Justin where we are. But she says I'm ruining her life.

Ayla: LOL. I've ruined Poppy's life that way a few times!

Taylor: I considered throwing it into the lake here but that seemed extreme

Taylor: The others are too excited about being in a cool new place to care about much else. Except Ambrose. I was able to stall but he knows something's up.

Taylor: We just have to hold on until Monday. Will and I are going to court first thing to ask for an emergency protective order

Ayla: And he thinks you'll get it?

Ayla: Let me know if you need me to give a statement or something. I gave one to the police but I will 100% show up if you need me to!!!!

Taylor: I appreciate it!!! But the best place you can be on Monday is at St. P's with my kids. Especially sweet Ambrose.

Ayla: I got you, Tay. Reach out any time if I can do something <3

[alwayzraven]

Kardeşlerim Ep 101

Berk read Aybike's text.

Berk:"Is this true? They adopted me? I was adopted? They lied to me my whole life, right? My mom...The woman I thought was my mom is the reason why my real mom died?"

Berk:"That's ridiculous, Aybike. You're joking, right? You're making up an excuse so we can make up"

Aybike:"I am sorry! I am really sorry! But I had no choice but to tell you! I am so sorry but it’s all true"

Berk then remembered how his mom destroyed a phone and then threw out a bag and then when he asked Aybike if she hid something from him. He then went home with Aybike to confront Ayla.

Berk:"Did you adopt me? Did you kill my real mom"

Ayla to Aybike:"What did you tell him? What did you tell him?"

Berk:"It's true, right? It's all true, right?"

Ayla:"No, No son, I didn't kill anyone. It was an accident"

Ayla held his hand

Berk:"Let go, Don't touch me! Let go!"

Ayla:"I didn't kill anyone. It was an accident. Please let me explain. Please, come, let's sit down and talk."

Aybike:"Berk, calm down. Sit down, let her explain, listen to her, okay? Just listen, come"

Then they sat down. Ayla tried to hold his hand but he told her not to touch him.

Ayla:"Okay, okay, I won't touch you. Let me explain, I am going to explain everything from the start"

Ayla:"Son, I wanted to have a baby so bad but whatever I did, it didn't work. Your dad, Resul, he felt so bad for me. He met a family, the woman just had twins. I wanted to take them both, I wanted to have a son and a daughter but Resul always wanted a son. That's why we took you, son. We didn't tell you and we never met that family after that and we weren't planning on seeing them again and we weren’t planning on staying in contact with them. So you actually weren't going to find out about this ever but one day, Sengul came to my door"

Berk:"Did she want to see me?" (he is talking about Sarpil)

Ayla:"No, she asked for money"

Berk's reaction when he knew his mom didn't come to see him but she came to ask for money instead 😭 It broke my heart 😭

Ayla:"She blackmailed me. She said I will take your son. She said I will take him away from you. When she said that I got so mad, she said I will tell your son everything. I wouldn't have allowed that to happen, I wouldn't have allowed her to hurt you, son"

Berk:"And you killed her, right?"

Ayla:"No, son, please stop saying that. I took the woman to the hospital. After that she got out of the car and then we were arguing then she slipped and fell. She died on the spot"

Berk:"Why didn't you go to the police? Why? Why didn't you come to me and tell me what happened? Why didn't you tell me? Why? Why?"

Ayla:"Son, I was so scared. I didn't want this to happen. I am in the wrong, I should've told you from the beginning. I was going to tell you, I really wanted to tell you, I've always wanted to,but your dad, Resul said"You can't tell him, the child won't love us. He won’t rely on us and we will be estranged" He said we can’t tell you the truth and he managed to convince me. I said okay and we decided not to tell you the truth. I am so sorry, son, I am so sorry"

Berk:"You ruined my life! You ruined my life! I didn't get to see my family because of you. I didn't see the face of the woman who gave birth to me even once, not even once. I didn't know about my sister. you ruined me!"

Ayla:"Son, I am sorry, I am sorry."

Berk:"Don't touch me! Don't touch me!"

Ayla:"Son, I love you, I love you so much. You're my everything, you're my world."

Berk:"I will never forgive you! Never"

Ayla pleaded so much, he kept telling her to get out of his way and to not touch him. Then Elif came and heard the screams. She asked them:"You guys didn't go to Italy? Why are you both crying?"

Then Berk hugged Elif and left. Elif asked Aybike why Berk hugged her. Aybike looked at Ayla and Ayla was shaking her head as in don't tell Elif. Aybike told her that Berk will tell her later and she left.

Berk and Aybike went to the beach. Aybike was telling him how Sengul was the one who found Sarpil and brought her to Ayla.

Aybike:"My mom didn't have any bad intentions. She wanted to reunite a son with his mother. If she didn't meddle, it would've been better but..."

Berk:"No, it's a good thing that she got involved, this way my mother's lies were exposed. Why am I still calling that woman "mom""

Aybike:"My dear Berk, of course you're going to call her mom. Until today, She raised you, she treated you like her son"

Berk:"and she gave me a life that was basically a huge lie, Aybike. Is this called love?"

Berk:"My mom...I mean What's my real mom's name?"

Aybike:"Sarpil"

Berk:"My dad? Is he alive?"

Aybike:"He is in prison"

Berk:"That's great! That's nice!"

Berk:"Why do you think they didn't want me? Was I too ugly? Did I cry a lot when I was a baby? Was I a troublemaker? What was it? How can someone give their child to someone else?"

Aybike:"Do you really want to know?"

Berk:"Yes, I do"

Aybike:"Your family was very poor. Your father owed money to some people. Loan sharks probably that's what my mom said and when that happened, they gave you do Ms Ayla and her husband....in exchange of money"

Berk was so shocked

Berk:"You mean, they sold me? right? Wow! and till now I was thinking, I am such a lucky guy, I have a nice life, I have a family that loves me, I have money, it turns out I was living in a nightmare. They gave me up for money. It turns out I have no one. Everything was a lie"

Aybike:"What do you mean you have no one? I am here, I am not a lie, okay? I will always be by your side! Also, you have a rude and sweet twin sister"

Berk smiled when she mentioned his sister.

Berk:"That witch is my twin sister, right? Do we resemble each other"

Aybike:"a bit. You are fraternal twins (twins from two separate eggs), that's what my mom said"

Berk:"God dammit! They ruined my life! They ruined my life!"

Aybike hugged him.

This scene was so beautiful! I loved seeing Aybike support Berk ❤️

Aybike brought Berk to Tolga's house since obviously he wasn't going to go back home. Tolga called him "runaway" when he saw him. Aybike asked them if they accepted guests and Mahir said "of course"

Aybike:"Berk, then you go inside and I will go home, you know how my mom is. You can call me whenever you want, okay? Call me if you're sad, call me if you're upset, (whispering) call me if you cried. Call me whenever you want"

Berk:"Okay"

You can see it on his face, Berk was mentally drained. It's like his soul left his body.

Aybike:"You can call me at 3 am, or 5 am, you can call me at 5 am too"

Berk:"Okay"

Aybike:"I love you so much"

Then she hugged him

Berk:"I love you so much too"

Aybike to Mahir and Tolga:"Then, I entrust you with my boyfriend"

Berk told her to be careful and then Aybike told him that she will leave after she sees him go inside. This was so ADORABLE 🥺

Aybike was talking with Asiye about how she went to the airport to stop Berk from leaving. Asiye told her that it was like one of those scenes in the movies 😂 The way Aybike recounted everything to Asiye was so beautiful. She told Asiye that she never felt so helpless in her life because she couldn't get to Berk. Asiye asked her if she told Berk about the horrible thing that Ayla did and Aybike said yes but she can't tell her about that without asking Berk first because it is a private matter but she told her that Berk knows about Elif being his sister. Then Sengul came and Asiye left. Aybike told Sengul that she told Berk everything. Aybike told Sengul that she wanted to be fair towards Berk. Sengul was worried about Ayla and Aybike said:"Berk was also devastated btw, you only think about Ayla"

The next day, Berk came with Tolga to school. Oglucan asked him if he shrank his uniform in the washing machine and Berk said that he was wearing Tolga's spare uniform because he stayed at his house yesterday. Then Elif came. She told Berk that his mom cried all night because he left and they even called a doctor for her. Berk told her that he doesn't care then asked Elif if she was okay. Elif said that she was okay but his mom was the one who's not okay. Berk told her again that he doesn't care about Ayla and he doesn't want to fight with her over this then he asked her how she drinks her coffee. Elif asked Aybike why Berk was being nice to her and Aybike said that she doesn't know.

The professor was in a meeting so she appointed Aybike to tell the class about their homework and teams. Aybike was acting like she was the professor. Sarp said okay it was fun but he has to leave. 

Berk:" sit down or I am going to take out all of my anger on you". 

Berk said if Aybike says sit down then you SIT DOWN 😂! The students needed to make something using recyclable materials. Aybike, Asiye, Berk and Elif were in the same group. Berk told Elif that since she is in the same group as them, she is going to get a good grade and Elif called him "arrogant". I can't believe he already started bickering with his sister 😂

Berk was sitting on a bench alone and Aybike came from behind and kissed him and Berk smiled instantly.

Aybike showed him the plastic bottles she found. Berk told her that they can look up on the internet for ideas about what they can make with recyclable objects. While he was trying to do that, Ayla called him and he ignored her call. Aybike told him maybe he should've answered for 2 seconds so Ayla can hear his voice. Berk said that he doesn't want to hear "that woman's" voice or see her face. Aybike asked him if he was going to call her "that woman" from now on and he said that she isn't his real mother. Aybike told him that she raised him and treated him like her son so he shouldn't treat her like the enemy. Elif was coming to talk to them but a guy bumped into her while he was trying to get the ball. Elif told him to watch where he was walking and the guy basically told her that it was her fault and that she was stupid and that's when Berk pushed him and told him to apologize to Elif. Aybike and Elif were trying to hold him back. Elif told Berk that he should let him go, she will beat him up later anyway. Berk told her if that guy bothers her again, she should tell him.

Elif:"I can defend myself! What's going on with you? Why are you acting like you're my brother?"

Berk:"Let's say I am, wouldn't you have loved me?"

Elif:"You're not my brother! In my eyes, you're a rude guy who upset his mom"

Aybike told her to stop, then she went to get Asiye.

When they were talking about what they can make for their project, Elif mentioned that her mom used to make her bags from old pants.

Berk:"What kind of person was your mom? You never talked about her"

Elif:"Could it be because you never asked me?"

Berk:"I am asking you right now. Was she a good person?"

Elif:"Of course! My mom was an angel. She got upset from time to time because we're poor but she had a hard life, I understood that. I used to tell her that I am going to be rich and that would make her happy. I miss her a lot, I wish she was still by my side"

Elif told him that she was going to cry bc of him. Berk asked her if she had a picture of her mom. She told him that she did but she asked him why he was crying. Aybike told her that he was crying because he fought with his mom. Asiye and Elif left. Aybike stayed with Berk to comfort him.

Ayla was looking through Berk's baby clothes and toys. Elif brought her some food. Ayla showed her Berk's baby clothes and shoes. Elif told her that she is going to buy ice cream on her way back and they will sit down and eat it "like a mother and daughter". Ayla was taken aback. Elif explained to her that she meant that she is like a mom to her. Ayla was so guilt ridden.

Berk asked Tolga if he can stay with them for a while and Tolga told him he can. Berk said that he was going to go home to get some clothes and he told Tolga that he will contribute to the rent. I wonder how? Is he going to find a job? I can't believe Berk is poor now

Berk went to get some clothes from home and Ayla saw him packing a suitcase. She asked him what he was doing and he told her that he is leaving this house and he is never coming back. Ayla said that she won't let him go. She won't allow him to leave and he has to kill her if he wants to go. Berk told her that she is not his mom and that his real mom is dead. The look Ayla gave him 😭 Ayla was so heartbroken and Berk started crying just after he said those words because he knew how hurtful they were. Berk loves his mom so much and that's why he is so angry with her. 

Ayla:"I am your mother. I looked after you. I raised you for years. When you fell and got hurt, I was in pain. What do you mean I am not your mother? How can you talk to me like that?"

Then she told him to look at her but he refused to do so. She asked for his forgiveness but he said he will never forgive her.

Berk:"Do you know what I went through because of you? Do you realize what you did to my sister Elif? Do you know how much that girl misses her mother? and you shamelessly brought her to this house as a servant. You are a bad person. Just be thankful I didn't go to the police, okay?"

Ayla:"Okay let's go! Let's go to the police! Let's go and I will tell them everything that happened and I will get punished if it's necessary. Will you forgive me then? Do you think I am scared of going to jail? Do you think going to prison is worse than losing my son? Let's go and tell them everything. Should we go?"

Berk:"Let's go"

Berk drove Ayla to the police station and he was just a mess. He watched as Ayla went into the police station and he started sobbing.

I think he will stop her from confessing. Like I said he is angry with his mom but he still loves her. Everything he said to her was out of anger.

I don't know which show we watched tonight but this can't be Kardeslerim. This episode was SO GOOD!!! I still can't believe the scenes and the storyline they gave us. May they spoil us like this until the end of the season! Recep, Melis and Asli did such a great job in this episode! Their acting performance was 💯💯 I can't wait for the next episode.

[my-watch-begins]

A match for love. Part X.

Pairing: Harwin Strong x Female!OC.

Words: 6k.

Warnings: none for this chapter.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9

Ayla worked on Harwin's curls carefully, the mane almost seemed to have a mind of its own, loose strands slipped through her fingers when she moved her hand to the opposite sides. Once she managed to gather the ones at the top, she unwrapped a leather from her wrists and tied them together in a half bun.

When she finished, Harwin looked up at her from his seat and frowned at her.

"Why is your breathing so labored?" He placed a hand at her waist "are you alright?"

She took a deep breath and moved to a chair adjacent to his, the food for breakfast on the table still untouched by her. She sat stiffly and sighed.

"It's your child. Look" she motioned at her sides, the seams of her dress stretched, threatening to rip. "Grayce and I were going to the market today to buy fabric to start making dressed for when I'm bigger"

Harwin's hands traced the tautness of her dress, constricting her and the babe inside of her. He then leaned down as Ayla kept talking, took the bottom of the dress with both hands and pulled.

When the sound of fabric ripping reached Ayla's ears, she extended her hands to stop Harwin, but he pulled again and her complaint got caught in her throat.

The dressed, ripped at the middle now, allowed Ayla to breath better. Her stomach peaked from between her ripped dress, leaving it to be seen from under the white fabric of her under skirt.

They exchanged looks, Harwin looking for approval of his work and Ayla one of annoyance at her ruined dressed, a look that quickly went away when she noticed how free she felt, able to lean back on the chair and breath normally.

"Better?"

"You're not doing that to all my dresses" she scolded faining annoyance. She looked at the torn fabric and decided she could sow the edges, it would have to do until she could make more.

"I had a dream" Harwin said, his hand sneaking under the fabric to touch her stomach, hoping that now that the child was bigger, he would feel it move like Ayla had the last couple of days.

"Really? Tell me about it" her hand pressed on top of his and moved it around to where she felt the babe could kick next.

"I dreamt that you called me to a room and presented me a son"

She smiled at the image of that, her fingers caressing Harwin's own over her stomach.

"I wish that comes true for you, my love. For your sake and your father's"

Harwin moved his hand, growing impatient that his child would not wake up to greet him.

"I don't care what my father wants or expects from my child"

"It's the insurance for the male heir" Ayla also grew impatient that Harwin did not receive a kick, she leaned over the table determined to eat somethings.

"Any daughter that takes after you will be ten times better suited to run Harrenhal than any sons that take after me. Should anyone find a problem with that will meet the edges of my sword"

Ayla smiled, content with the vote on confidence Harwin placed on their child, regardless of the gender.

"I do wish for a son for my own sake. It's my biggest dream to have another pair of eyes like yours to look at"

They shared a tender smile, Harwin leaned to her to kiss her lips in slow pecks, retreating mere inches from them to kiss them in another angle. Ayla hummed in content, then gasped when Harwin's hand rested at her thigh. His fingers gripped between her legs, a move so simple that had her drenched in seconds.

Harwin pulled back with a displeased grunt when the door knocked and opened instantly, his hand retreating from her thighs.

"Are you ready Ayla?" Grayce spoke from the door, then frowned and walked to her "what happened to your dress?"

"Your brother happened"

Harwin exchanged the same pleased smirk and annoyed stare with his sister.

"I'll look for something to fix it quickly and then head out" she assured. Ayla nodded thankful and watched Grayce walk to the door, halfway she stopped and turned "oh, and Adrian wanted to accompany us, if that's okay"

"Of course he does" she muttered under her breath, Grayce questioned her with a frown "I don't mind" she spoke quickly, kicking herself for letting her displeasure be the first reaction.

"I'm coming as well" Harwin chimed in. Once Grayce was out of the room, Ayla looked at him with a twist of her lips.

It was no secret that Adrian and Grayce were courting eachother, or at least that's what she perceived every time she saw them talk shoulder to shoulder in hushed tones or walk the gardens, not to mention the time she had seen them kiss at the entrance of his room. 

Harwin and Ayla had already disagreed on that to do in regards to their respective siblings. Ayla stood her ground to try and keep her brother away from the Strong girl, noting that he was promised to the Queen's guard and in due time he would have to assume his role in it, unable to take wife and father children.

He was more of the idea of letting things run their course without their intromission. At the first sign of disagreement when they discussed the matter, and noticing that the both of them were dead set on their points of view, they both silently agreed to not discuss it further.

"Once we return, might we discuss some things?" She offered, her hand extended over the table. Harwin took it while looking at her with worry in his eyes.

"Any concerns I would like them voiced as soon as possible, Ayla"

She gave him a dismissing smile with a shake of her head.

"They're not concerns, I assure you. I just want to talk about the near future"

She led his hand to her lips and kissed the back of it, hoping to reassure that she had no bad news to give him.

Grayce helped Ayla with her dress, between the two they mended the fabric and headed out the room. As they walked intending to leave the tower of the Hand, Lord Lyonel gave the party a look as he entered.

"Where are you heading?" He asks, his eyes leaving a piece of parchment shortly to address them.

"We're going to the market. Ayla needs new dresses" Grayce explained, her arms linked with Ayla's.

"Is Jaena not going with you?"

"No, she didn't wish to"

"Well, after you return, might I speak with you Ayla?"

She was surprised to be addressed, after exchanging a short but inquisitive glance with her husband, she nodded.

"Of course"

"I'll see you when you return then" he excused himself with a short nod, one that the three of them replicated in respect.

Ayla had much in her mind as she looked at the different fabrics in the market. One was; why would Lord Lyonel want to talk with her. She had a feeling it couldn't be anything good, even though she hadn't done anything to get on her Good Father's bad side.

The other thing that plagued her mind was Jaena's sudden withdrawal. She knew the exact reason of it though. Again, it was Adrian and Grayce's closeness. She was very aware that both of the girls fancied her bother, but she couldn't fathom that their infatuation was so that they would retreat from the family in jealousy. Jaena, the closest one to Ayla because of their similar personalities, had stopped hanging out with her and preferred to either be alone or in the company of other ladies at court, they only shared meals in silence.

It gave Ayla all the more reason to want to keep her brother away. She was already in open war with Larys, she didn't wish to also astray herself from Jaena.

Once back in the tower of the Hand, Grayce and the seamstress worked on Ayla's overall measures. She gave them one of her dresses and asked to keep the style like it. After an hour she was free, and the first thing she did with her freedom was go downstairs to the office of the Hand.

Lord Lyonel seemed to have been in it since they left and when Ayla arrived he was about to walk out of it.

"You wanted to see me?" She asked, her hands holding each other over her stomach. Lord Lyonel dedicated a short smile to her, then looked at the table that never seemed to be free of unread parchments of paper.

Ayla looked between the table and then him with a frown of misunderstandment.

"When I told you you were too smart for your own good Ayla, I was being truthful. You have a keen eye for certain things. If your father trusted you with secrets of the Vale, then I believe I can trust you with some, the little ones, of the Realm. And I also trust that if you come in contact with something you weren't supposed to know, you'll be discreet about it"

Not in her wildest dreams she thought that Lord Lyonel would offer her to peak at the Hand's correspondance.

"I truly don't know what to say" she muttered, looking at the pile of parchment on the table "it's one of the biggest forms of trust I've received, maybe ever" she then looked at him, her face was serious and didn't reflect the inner excitement she felt "thank you, Lord Lyonel. I hope I can meet your expectations"

"I'm sure you will" he placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, finally allowing her to let out a smile.

"I wouldn't know how or what to do"

"Worry not" he reassured again.

He explained that the marriages and the changes of them had to be written down in the books by the maesters, but the Hand had the privilege of reading them first. It was a simple task and it was true that the Hand was right in not needing to know absolutely everything. He wanted Ayla to fill herself with the knowledge, relate it to the maesters and then tell him only the important things.

She assured that she would start the following morning. After dinner, once her and her husband were in their room and getting undressed to head to bed, Ayla spoke to him over her shoulder.

"Your father has offered me a job" she mentioned, slipping into her long nightgown, one that she would soon need to replace as well.

She turned on her heels and sat on the bed, cradling her stomach as she leaned back on the headrest, fluffing a pillow under her. Harwin had already slipped in bed, one of his hands laid on top of his chest as the other one cradled his neck.

"Doing what exactly my love?" He inquired, glancing in between her and her stomach.

"Reading mostly" she had asked for permission of the Hand to tell Harwin about the offer. He had told her to keep it simple in terms of content.

"That's wonderful, Ayla. I'm glad you and my father are better acquainted" he pushed himself up the bed to match Ayla's leaning position on the headrest "I'm glad you're thriving in King's Landing" he pressed a hand to her knee and gave it a squeeze "it was the thing I was most worried about. Bringing you here and you hating every second of it"

Ayla gave him a shake of her head as she pulled a smile.

"I do like living at the capital. Though things are definitely different here"

Harwin suddenly remembered that she wanted to speak with him, he shuffled himself closer and moved his hand from her knee to her outer thigh.

"You wanted to speak with me earlier?"

"Ah, yes. It truly is nothing" she shook her head again, the closeness of him allowed her to hold the arm that was holding her, press a kiss to his shoulder and finally place her chin over it as she talked "there's just some things that are done differently here than in the Vale. Mostly relating to children and how to have them and raise them"

She searched in his eyes any indication that he knew what she was talking about. Harwin just waited patiently until she spoke again.

"I've spoken with other ladies at court and the  about what they do here, as soon as they have their child they have wetnurses and people to take care of the child. I wish for none of that"

Harwin straightened, boring his eyes into hers.

"Everything will be done as you want, you are the one facing this and I wish nothing more than you to be pleased, specially with the pain you are to endure to have our child"

"But?"

"But" he leaned into her again, their noses almost touching "they're there to help you, if you're working with my father and also taking care of a child, you'll exhaust yourself" he leaned back and looked between her and her stomach again "I also don't think this is the only child we will have, do you?"

Ayla smiled at the weariness with which he mentioned having more children, almost fearing her answer.

"I think we stand to give my father more grandchildren than all my four brothers combined" she joked. He exhaled, not wanting to let Ayla know that he was holding his breath at her answer, but the relief he felt was hard to hide.

"All the more reason my love. I wish for you to be replenish. If you don't want them then we won't have them, but know that they're at your disposal whenever you need them"

Ayla smiled in content, then leaned in to kiss him.

She pulled back with a little gasp, then her hand quickly searched for his and placed it over her stomach, covering almost half of it with it's extension.

They waited in silence, looking down at Harwin's hand expectantly until he felt it, the kick at the palm of his hand, so tiny yet so powerful he almost felt like crying.

"Did you feel that?" She asked excitedly. Harwin only replied by leaning down and placing several kisses over the spot where he had been kicked, hopeful that the babe would still be there to receive the kisses.

The first week of being in the Hand's office looking into the letters had gone smoothly, she had a parchment where she would write down what needed to be related to the maesters and keep the scrolls that needed to be related to the Hand. 

She enjoyed the job, it stimulated her mind more than anything, allowed her to make acquaintance with the maesters and read their books. The books of the big families had to be updated in both sides of the families, so she had a chance to also peak at her own family book and was proud when she saw that the last update on the Strong's family page had been "Ser Harwin Strong took to wife Lady Ayla Redfort, now Lady Ayla Strong"

Upon telling Lord Lyonel what she had chosen to let him know, he was pleased with how her view matched his, which gave him more confidence in her work.

With her new responsability she had even forgotten about her worries with the Princess, internally knowing that she didn't need to worry.

Her ever lasting problem was now sitting in front of her, looking at her with his always present eerie smile.

"So now you've taken to read my father's correspondence when he's away" Larys accused.

"I have, not without his permission though" Ayla replied her eyes not leaving the scrolls as she read them.

"I doubt my father has given you such permission"

"I'm sure he can ease your doubts if you go to him and present them"

She left one of the scrolls to the side and took another one, breaking the seal to open it and read it.

"And later you, what? Tell him what each one of this scrolls says?"

"Not all of them, only the important ones"

"And who are you to decide what is important and what isn't?"

Ayla left the piece of scroll on the table, her fisted hand coming down on the table as well harder than what she intended, giving it a slam.

"I am the person who the Hand of the King has named and trusts to decide what is important and what isn't" she spat. She was having recent difficulty controlling her outbursts.

Her eyes focused behind Larys, the open arch gave way to the entrance and the figure of Harwin, who was approaching them with a frown after having changed his armor and not have his every move accounted for with the noise it made.

"You best leave" she muttered only to him, giving that Harwin was approaching them with clear intentions of figuring out why a table had been smashed in anger.

Larys stood and left her, not without giving him a winning smirk and avoiding his brother's stare.

Harwin stared down at his brother as he retreated from the office, then Ayla who was reading the scrolls with fire in her eyes.

He took one of the chairs and pulled it around the desk, setting it next to her and sitting down on it.

"What happened?"

"Nothing" she dismissed almost too fast. Harwin's hand came to her stomach and she leaned back on the chair to give him more access.

"That didn't sound like nothing" he pushed.

"Your brother likes to undermine me, that's all"

"And you don't think something should be done about that?"

"I can handle your brother"

"Maybe I don't want you to handle my brother. Maybe I want to handle him for you"

Ayla chuckled once, leaving the scrolls and placing her hand over his, her eyes finally meeting his.

"Do you consider me so thin skinned, husband?"

Harwin held her stare. Every second of every day she challenged his mind with questions and scenarios and what to say and how to react. Though it was true they had only known each other for barely a year, he enjoyed when the conversations weren't one sided, when she didn't recoil, when she didn't retreat, when she looked at him through her lashes as she quipped a remark.

He felt like he knew her like the back of his hand, and even though she prided herself in being a little conniver and mysterious, she was actually an open book.

"I consider you too thick skinned and too stubborn for your own good" his hand moved to run the back of his finger on her cheek "I think that you hold too much in, it's okay to let your guard down sometimes"

He knew he was right in his assumptions by the way her lips tightened and she swallowed in nervousness.

"I can't let my guard down, it's not who I am, I'm always on the offensive and you now that" she wanted to scream 'specially not with Larys'. But she didn't. She felt it was still too soon to let Harwin know about her suspicions of his involvement in the attempt of her murder at her wedding.

"It's going to break you someday"

"I'm far from my breaking point, Harwin"

With the hardness in her voice, Harwin only nodded and leaned in for a short kiss to her forehead. He would have to pay double attention to her now.

It took Ayla another month before she finally broke. It started with the disaster she witnessed when she saw the first one of the new dresses presented to her, she thanked the seamstress and told her she wouldn't be needing the others, then proceeded to tear it down and redoing most of it, cursing to herself and wondering why in the Seven Hells would she wear three layers of fabric clinging to her waist and puffed long sleeves in the hot summer the were currently passing through.

She took to make her own in the style she wore in the Vale with the help of Grayce, who found the sleeveless and open cleavage a bit too much for a pregnant woman, but made Harwin stop in his tracks when he saw her walk the corridors.

She had taken a new responsability whilst working with Lord Lyonel, besides now looking at the majority of his mail as it reached the Tower, he had also asked for her to look through the other letters, the kinds he wished he'd never asked her to look for. Marriage proposals.

It wasn't long after Grayce's sixteenth name day that he asked, trusting that Ayla would know enough and use her feminine intuition to find her a suitable partner. The first time she read through them, he was sitting across them also entertaining some with her.

"You're not blind, are you?" She asked all the sudden, looking at him over the letter. They had gotten along so well since she started helping him that she took the liberty of speaking to him freely.

Lord Lyonel had also taken to treat her like his own daughter. His eyes lingered on hers before she spoke.

"I am not. But I feel your father would have my head if I even presented that offer"

"I feel the same" she said with a sigh "I told my brother to not pursue this adventure with Grayce. I don't know how well either of them are going to take this"

"We shall see" was the only thing he said. Ayla did ask him to not tell either of them that she had any involvement or opinions.

Her very stressful week ended, when she was about eight weeks before her babe's arrival, with a knight intercepting her in the hallway as she intended to reach the Hand's office near the room of the Small Council.

Her walk was interrupted by the knight when he approached her. Her hands quickly came to her middle as she looked up and down at him with a worried frown.

"Lady Ayla" he said, taking his sleeve and turning it upside down, the crest of House Redfort revealed itself. When she recognized the sigil, she relaxed just a bit. The man looked to his side and grabbed his bag, pulling a package from it "your father prays you are careful"

Ayla took it and before she said anything, he left her in the hallway.

She walked hastily to her brother's room, since it wasn't in the tower but in the outskirts of the Keep, she found herself free from prying eyes and able to look at the package in peace. Adrian was there about to change for his practice after his shift at the city watch. They exchanged worried looks when she recalled the interaction, then sat at his bed and unwrapped the package.

Inside, she found her own letters she'd written to her father in the last month, she looked through them with a frown, then saw a wax stamp with the sigil of House Redfort. She didn't understand what any of it meant until she read the letter her father had written to her.

"My dearest daughter. I suspect, by the look of the seals, that your mail has been intercepted" she read out loud, her stomach twisted and cramped, looking at her brother with worry. He returned the same look. "I've sent you a new wax seal, more intricate and harder to replicate. Please, take care of yourself and lean on your brother while you can, I'll be in King's Landing by the birth of my grandchild as promised. I'll see you then"

They spent a good amount of time looking at the seals, noticing that they were different from the one her father had sent him. When they compared it to the one her brother had brought from the Redfort, the sigils matched to the one or her letters but were still different. The wax had been melted again, giving it a slightly darker red color than the original wax she used. Adrian noted that it smelled burnt too. He took to read some of the letters as Ayla worked on her breath, looking over the package as she thought.

"At least there isn't anything incriminating in them"

"Of course there's not. I haven't even told father of my work with Lord Lyonel. I'm not an idiot" she huffed in annoyance.

"So, what do you think we should do?"

She looked at the package and the new seal, her hand pressed against her tight stomach, uncomfortable at the twist in it that wasn't product of her child moving around.

"I think this is exactly what I needed" she took the letter and looked at it pensively "up until this moment I only had hearsay to go against Larys. But if he's truly intercepting my mail hoping that I'm telling my father about my work with Lord Lyonel, then I finally have something to accuse him with"

She looked at her brother. He left the letter and leaned forward, his forearms coming to his legs.

"I think we still have to confirm it's him, that he forged the seal"

"How?"

"You send a letter" he began to explain "like normal, seal it and take it to the maesters, where do they usually send them from?"

"I send the scrolls from the east tower, with the ravens that go to the Vale"

"Next time you send one I'll be there, I'll be able to back you up if they don't believe you"

"Harwin already knows that his brother and I don't get along, he's witnessed some of those fights, so have his sisters. Lord Lyonel... I don't know if he'll turn against him though"

Ayla took a deep breath, feeling her stomach tighten on its own again. She pressed her hand at her base and the top. Adrian's hand carefully came on top of hers.

"Do you need to go to the maesters? Does it hurt?"

"No" she released her breath "it's just uncomfortable"

"I'll take you to your room to rest"

Two days later, Ayla stormed into the common area, walked to the table were Larys was sitting and having some tea, then threw the wax seal on the table. It clattered two times before it rolled next to his tea pot. He looked at her with interest.

"You're spying on my personal letters now?" She accused.

"I don't understand what you mean"

"Don't fuck with me Larys" she threatened, the angry scowl she had in her face was one Larys had rarely seen, using a language so foul that she hoped would convey her state, giving that she didn't look so menacing whilst pregnant.

Ayla had seen from her peripheral Jaena round the corner wearily and look at them fight, a book hugged against her chest.

"What is it going to take for you to drop your suspicions against me? How many more of your accusations will I have to fend? Are you ready to call my child a bastard as well?"

Larys looked very unimpressed, eyeing her from the table, twisted to the side, it infuriated her even more.

"Sadly that can't be said of you. I believe the child, though collateral damage, is my brothers'"

"Collateral?" She whispered, twisting her head slightly to the side.

Jaena had approached them and now stood between them, her head bobbed from side to side following both parts of the argument.

"You spied on her letters?" She asked, her high pitch voice giving away her disbelief. Larys didn't answer "how do you know that?" She now asked Ayla.

"My father sent me back my letters with the forged wax seal, your steel workers aren't as good as you think they are" Ayla spat accusingly, her eyes never leaving Larys'.

"Why would you do that?" Jaena asked to Larys again. He just scoffed at her and shook his head.

"I won't waste my breath in explaining things that are beyond your understanding. I had my reasons and you need not to know them"

Jaena seemed to have taken great offense at Larys' dismissiveness. Jaena threw the book on the table angrily and turned around.

"Jaena" Ayla said wearily "where are you going?"

"To look for my brother" she continued walking. Ayla now walked behind her and attempted to catch her

"Jaena, please don't" she begged "I don't want to involve Harwin"

"Enough is enough, Ayla" she whipped around, also looking at her with a begging frown "and it's not because of you, it's because he called me shortsighted and I will not have that"

"Jaena, please" Ayla begged again, her voice quivered when Jaena turned on her heels again and walked out. She let out a shaky sigh, then straightened herself and turned around.

Larys had not stood up from his seat, but he definitely tensed when Ayla turned and then, out the sudden, smiled.

She hadn't planned for Jaena to be there, much less for her to defend her given that Jaena seemed to be avoiding Ayla as well as her own sister. It had all gone perfectly.

After dedicating a winning smile to Larys, she headed up to her room. All she had to do now was wait.

Not even ten minutes after she laid back on the loveseat in front of the fire, Harwin stormed in the room, standing in front of her with his hands fisted at his sides.

"Speak" he demanded. She took a breath, ready to tell him to drop it and it was nothing, but Harwin anticipated that. He leaned over her and gripped each armrest of the love seat, his eyes and jaw hardening on her "Ayla, speak"

She swallowed, thinking that maybe things had gotten out of hand. She shrunk under his stare, feeling no longer in control of the situation.

"Ayla" he called again. She figured Harwin already knew everything, but he needed to hear it from her.

"Larys has been weary of me since I... Well, since always. Now he's taken to read my letters to my father because he thinks I'm sending him information about the work I do for your father"

Harwin huffed and pulled back. "How do you know that?"

She moved to stand up, Harwin's hand shoot up instantly in front of her. She took it and stood up heavily from the chair.

"My father sent me back my letters" she searched in one of the drawers of Harwin's desk, tucked back and covered was the package her father had sent her. She gave it to him and he inspected it.

"How do you know they are forged?" He asked, looking at the seals. His demeanor had calmed, he now spoke sternly but in an even tone, she didn't feel like he would suddenly burst in shouts.

"The seals, they're different, and the was has been melted twice"

"Where's your seal?" He motioned at the drawers where Ayla kept her things for writing letters, she searched for it and gave it to him.

"I only learned about this two days ago" she murmured, feeling herself shrink at his heavy gaze.

"Why would my brother go through all this trouble to look at your letters?"

Ayla could only roll her eyes, feeling her throat tighten.

"Because he's got it in his head that I only married you for my father to get Harrenhal, for him to work with his troops there, he thinks I give him information about the Hand, about the state of the troops here, the captains, to hopefully get him here to be the Master of War. He thinks that I'm just using you, that I don't love you, that our -"

She stopped herself to take a breath, holding both hands to her stomach as she felt it twist. Heavy tears streamed down her face and Harwin wiped them with the back of his hand.

"Our child what?" He pushed. He had heard enough, the word vomit in her part had been genuine and persuasive enough to want to make him go down there and tear his brother appart. She refused to speak when he demanded it "our child what, Ayla?" He tried again, now taking another step to her and leaning his head down to meet her gaze.

"I don't know what he's implying" she said after letting out a shaky breath. She shrugged "I truly don't know, and I don't want to think about it"

Ayla's shoulders slumped when Harwin took a step to the side and began walking out of the room.

He skipped the steps and walked with the package in hand. Both of his sister's, Adrian  and his own father were talking around the table, as soon as his eyes focused on Larys sitting next to his father, he quickened his pace. With clear intentions on his face, his father took a step to him and extended his hands to stop him, so did Adrian, attempting to grab him from his arm.

"Today is the last day you will speak to my wife Larys, I am done with your disrespect" he said through gritted teeth, his finger pointing threateningly at him over his father's shoulder.

"I will have the truth of this at once" his father demanded, making Harwin take a step back and hand his father the package.

"Ayla believes Larys has intercepted her letters, hoping to catch her inexistent treason"

"Not inexistent, but late it it's manifestation. We shall give her time" he quipped. It took a lot of self restraint for Harwin to not push his father aside and engage with Larys.

"Quiet!" Lord Lyonel demanded. Whilst he inspected the letters and the seals he wasn't a stranger to the fight between Grayce, Jaena and Larys, recalling the other instances where Larys had made distasteful comments to and about Ayla. Both Harwin and Lord Lyonel were surprised at the ongoing fight the two had and neither of them were aware of.

Ayla had given Harwin the wax seal that her father had sent her. The new one had  even more intricate fine lines in the bricks of the castle put to shame Larys' faux one. The forgery was abundantly clear then.

"I'm absolutely dumbfounded at this treachery to your own family, Larys" Lord Lyonel spoke, the disappointment and anger clear in his voice "Never mind your brother's own happiness, his union with House Redfort is the biggest alliance House Strong could have made. You could've made us a terrible enemy. You should be thankful that Lady Ayla decided to face you herself instead of presenting this matter to Lord Edder"

Larys remained quiet, searching in all the faces in front of him, finding no allies in the people in the room. He focused on a spot behind them, not wanting to look down like a scolded puppy but neither at his father's own disappointed glare.

"Larys will leave the Tower of the Hand and live in the other side of the castle at once, where he can't run into Ayla anymore" Harwin spoke with authority "if not, Ayla and I will leave for Harrenhal away from such troubles. The Gods know she's dealt with enough"

"That won't be necessary" Lord Lyonel replied, giving Harwin a quick glance "Larys will leave the Tower, I'll have accomodations settles for him right now"

Larys looked at his father, the anger he felt at his exile didn't reflect on his face, he played it nonchalantly, as if it didn't cut him deeply that his whole family had chosen a woman that had been part of it for less than a year. Instead he bottled his feelings and diligently stood up, shuffling with his cane as we walked to the front door of the Tower.

Harwin approached him and cut off his walk, looking down at him with a glint of sadness in his eyes.

"I'm saddened that this had to be this way. But I will not allow such disrespect towards my wife and child  from anyone. As far as I'm concerned I no longer have a brother"

Taglist: @her-fandom-sanctum @mostclevermiss @mostlyskateboarding @evyiione @agentstarkid @stitchattacks @grimistangel

[toodelusionalforreality]

Azriel x OC | Chapter 6

History

Both his brothers are mated. Both his brothers are happily in love. But after five centuries of rejection, Azriel doesn’t hope for such luxury in his life. When he meets the bar owner who is too mysterious even for the spymaster to decipher, his intrigue turns into more. Lines between mystery and secret blur. The closer he gets to her, the more his instincts warn him to stay away.

Previous Chapter: Relic

Word count: ~4.0k Warning: None [not enough editing/formatting]

A/N: This is an experimental piece of work. I'm testing a writing style, so feedback is welcome. This is a fuck-it version as my brain doesn't seem to be working right now.

Since Nyx was born, House of Wind lay empty most days and nights. Azriel preferred his old room still, for the familiar privacy, for only the skies, the winds, and the moon to keep him company. But at times like these, when the laughter of his family filled the house and his brothers pretended to be better than an infant, he didn’t mind the city after all. 

Despite the constant ruckus, he welcomed this distraction, especially after what he had done two nights prior. Ayla, for some reason, had trusted him and he ruined the first chance he had with her. She had offered him her kindness and in return, he proved her he was deserving of everything vile and cruel in the world. Every blessed moment they shared, Azriel tainted it by forcing himself onto her.

He had hoped Ayla would ask him to stay, or at the very worst, threaten him again. Instead, she stared at him. She stared at him like her entire being wasn’t consumed with desire as his, like it was one of those meaningless kisses she granted other men she took to her bed. How the light in her eyes flickered out, he couldn’t erase it from his mind. Nor the taste of her lips, or how his own tingled hours after he returned home. 

Guilty as he was, Azriel was more ashamed for not regretting the kiss he stole from her. 

‘I know how to hold my son,’ hissed Rhys. He walked back and forth, cradling his child in his arms, round the sofa for the fifth time in the past fifteen minutes. 

Nyx loved to torment his father whose perpetual cockiness crumbled under the pressures of parenthood, and Azriel loved him for it. He leaned against the window frame and kept out of the way, for offering advice only made Rhys lose his mind. 

But Cass was oblivious to this sentiment. He reached to take Nyx into his embrace. When his calloused fingers scraped against the tender wings, Azriel winced. Add it to their natural sensitivity and they had a crying babe in their arms. Literally. The tiny wings posed a greater hindrance with their involuntary flexing than the three brothers imagined them to be. Though they understood the plight as Illyrians, they were equally pathetic when it came to a suitable remedy.

Cass backed a step, his hands in the air. It wasn’t his first ordeal facing the wrath of the new parents, yet his biggest challenge was the fervour of their outbursts. Some days, Feyre threw everyone out of the room, and on the others—well, once Nyx’s talon clawed into the wood of the cradle, and Rhys bawled while all his child did was stir in his sleep.

A tendril of shadow tickled the babe’s nose before rising to whirl above his head. Fragile silence settled in the room as Nyx watched, his blue eyes wide and filled with wonder.

‘You can’t keep doing that,’ said Cass through his teeth.

Azriel grinned. ‘It’s not my fault he likes me better.’

‘If I did parlour tricks, he’d like me too.’

His tricks include getting piss drunk and fucking Nesta, said Rhys in his mind and Azriel snickered.

Cass looked between them. ‘What did he say?’ He asked Azriel before grunting at Rhys, ‘Tell it to my face, you coward.’

‘You’re making him antsy,’ warned Azriel quietly.

It was too late. Nyx’s lips trembled on cue as though he knew to milk their predicament to his advantage. Rhys’s spawn indeed. With a nervous smile, Cass took a step towards him wagging his finger in the air. But the wails grew louder. 

Shadows rushed back seeking the quiet around Azriel.

When the doors flung open, Cass took three steps back. But Feyre’s eyes were only on her child—one touch from her and Nyx babbled like a portrait of innocence tugging at her shirt. Nesta walked in with a smirk on her lips, knowing well the cause of distress, and with Mor in her tow.

Slumping into the chair next to the fireplace, Rhys draped an arm over his eyes. ‘I’m learning to respect my mother more. No wonder she bit our heads off as much as she did.’

‘I swear,’ grumbled Cass as he sat across him, ‘if you’re making him do it—’

Rhys peeked over his arm, anger darkening his eyes. ‘Why would I make my son cry?’

As the two bickered, Nyx laughed at his accomplishment, convincing Azriel he might have inherited more than his father’s theatrics.

Feyre chuckled and rocked her babe in her arms. ‘You lasted an hour. You’re making progress.’

Rhys shot a glare at Cass. ‘I would’ve lasted longer if not for a moron.’

‘I’m sure she was talking to Nyx,’ said Azriel.

Sensing the attention slipping from his pudgy fingers, Nyx spewed more gibberish. Mor let out a gasp and leaned over him, matching him with her own nonsense. But, he reached for Nesta instead.

Mor placed her hands on her hips and turned to her cousin. Her blond hair whipped dangerously in the air. ‘How does he not find me adorable?’

Rhys grinned. ‘Clearly, my son has standards.’

Nyx snuggled against Nesta’s chest and grasped at the wisps of shadows that deigned safe to approach him again. Mor smirked, ‘Well, clearly. He prefers Az over you.’

A dark power enveloped the corners of the room swallowing the light and warmth from the hearth.

‘Not funny now, are we?’ 

When Mor made a grab for Nyx’s hand in the air, he squirmed away. Amusement replaced the jealousy in Rhys’s eyes. ‘If only you could hear what he thinks of you.’

‘He thinks of me already! He likes me.’

While the rest of his family flocked wherever the babe was, Azriel always found a corner for himself. And Feyre seemed to notice. ‘He really likes his Uncle Az.’

‘More like Uncle Ass,’ grumbled Cass, still sore from the rejection, earning a glare from both parents.

‘You still won’t hold him?’ Feyre asked with a softness that bordered on pity.

In the beginning, it was easy to make excuses blaming it on the care needed from a mother, or on his tender body. With months passed and everyone grown comfortable with handling a babe, it became clearer that Azriel stayed away the most. And somehow, Nyx was fascinated by him the more he distanced himself. It couldn’t be his shadows for Rhys was the night sky incarnate, or perhaps Nyx sensed a familiar darkness in them.

‘I did when Rhys—I did,’ he sighed offering a smile, however strained it was. 

Mischief lurked in Feyre’s eyes as she walked over, ‘You better begin your training now,’ and looped a hand through his arm, ‘You might not have time to prepare.’

Azriel choked. Him with a babe? He had hardly spent minutes with Ayla. Besides, he forbade himself from indulging in such fantasies. He did once and suffered the consequences for centuries. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. With Ayla, it would be different. It had to be different.

The sisters’ laughter worsened the heat rising up his neck. His eyes shifted, darting to look anywhere but their faces, and he caught the glance shared between Mor and Rhys.

Cass swivelled in the chair, ‘What about us? Nes and I are still ahead of him.’

Nesta went rigid. Feyre looked to her mate for help who merely grinned instead. Fortunately for her, Nyx yawned and she rushed to him. ‘I should take him to bed.’ 

Mor stomped over to the couch, ‘You owe me a night, Feyre.’ She pulled Cass to his feet and held onto his hand. ‘You all do. I’m leaving at dawn again and who knows when I’ll be back.’

Right, Vallahan teased her for months with the prospects of a successful alliance, only to test her patience.

‘I’ll stay with him,’ Nesta said quietly, tearing her eyes away from her mate. Cass only shook his head with a dramatic sigh but he didn’t argue or pull away from Mor.

Feyre and Rhys were silent for a while staring at each other, Azriel assumed, arguing over who got the honour to care for their son. Finally, she said, ‘Elain said something about pruning before sunrise. She won’t mind watching him.’ 

It was then Azriel realised the third sister hadn’t joined them since dinner.

.

.

.

Mor slowed as she took in her surroundings, a frown tugging her lips. ‘I thought we were going to Rita’s.’

‘After last time,’ Rhys shared a secret smile with Cass, ‘they’ll appreciate not seeing us for a while.’

Azriel didn’t know what trouble his brothers had stirred this time, but he resisted his words as he followed them down the cobblestone path he knew all too well. Without sparing even a courteous look at him, his family entered Pharus and went to his usual table as though it hadn’t been their plan all along, as though his mate wasn’t sitting on the dais right in front of him.

Ayla was alone that night. She strummed a tune on her lute, and at the first sound from her lips, every conversation died in the room, every patron straining to listen to her instead. 

Pretty things that did pretty things.

Azriel was convinced he had learnt everything about her from his secret visits. But every time he met her, Ayla surprised him. What else could she do? Who was she beneath the stories he had gathered those months? He couldn’t tell if they were careless gossip from his server or curated tales from her loyal friend anymore. 

Her fingers fluttered along the strings, light and nimble, every note a perfection. With each delicate stroke, her body moved with the music like she couldn’t hold back, and as she did, her hair swayed too, teasing the corner of her smile. 

One day, Azriel imagined, he would take her in his arms and brush those treacherous strands away. His heart tightened at the vision—the intimacy of being so close to her, to touch her so gently, to reveal her beautiful face to him inch by inch.

If only he had used his mind for once instead of acting like a lustful prick.

Ayla had laughed for him. She had shown him a side of her that only a few were privileged to witness. She had extended a ray of hope with her truths, and he snuffed it out with one kiss.

When the fog of guilt and shame cleared later that night, Azriel realised he had failed once again. For each of his questions resolved, plenty more arose. How did she end up in Velaris? What of her family? With Hamra safe and away, was Ayla safe from the mystery woman too? If he had another chance, he might coax some answers from her without her games. But she wouldn’t let him close to her again, let alone trust him.

In a twisted way, he wasn’t surprised. When had he ever made right when it came to love?

Azriel almost laughed. He was mated to Ayla. He didn’t love her. He couldn’t, not yet. He wasn’t sure he knew what love was. His half-brothers had ripped his heart away when he was a boy, long before he learnt what the word meant. All his life, he only ever ‘loved’ one woman and she rejected him. She chose his brother over him for she saw what lurked under the surface, recognised what he was—a shroud disguising the darkness within.

Now his mate, would she reject him too if she knew the true scars deep under his skin?

Ayla took a breath between verses, and he shuddered. Her voice reeled him out of his fears. The weight in his chest loosened its grip with her every word, yet Azriel held onto the ache. What was he without his burdens? What could he be without this longing?

Slowly, as her song came to an end, his swirling thoughts settled too. For long minutes, not one spoke. Silence embraced the void her voice left behind.

Feyre and Cass looked away first, then Mor. When a gasp escaped Nesta, everyone turned to her, except Rhys. Silver sparkled in her eyes beneath the unshed tears as she clutched her chest. Cass spoke her name but her eyes remained on Ayla who padded down the steps. It was only when he placed a hand on her thigh, that she met his gaze with a smile.

His shadows awoke from their trance too. They slithered up his neck and chanted Ayla’s name in his ears. But Azriel’s attention was elsewhere. As conversations came alive and servers went around the room, Rhys watched Ayla. When she stopped in front of her office and talked to a female among a band of four, his violet eyes shone bright.

‘Rhys.’ Azriel called, interrupting him had he chosen to invade his mate’s mind again. Still, his brother didn’t tear his eyes away from her.

A frown creased between his brows before Rhys blinked. He turned to Feyre first—it had been she who pulled him out of his reverie—and then, Azriel. Neither of them spoke, aloud or in their minds. But a tension lingered in their stares. Feyre ran her palm down his arm and it brought a smile to his lips. He looked away first.

With the risk of other courts seeking someone from Velaris, Rhys was bound to get involved sooner or later. With the fae gone, he would have nothing to focus on except Ayla. And so, Azriel kept Hamra’s whereabouts to himself. As far as his brother was concerned, she was hiding somewhere in the city.

The faerie bowed her head and apologised, holding Ayla’s hand in hers, her cheeks flushing red, while her companions set up on the podium. Ayla nodded with a gentle smile—ever so gracious. She blinked and her eyes pinned on Azriel as though she’d expected to find him there, and his breath caught in his throat. 

Once the faerie left, she went to the bar.

‘Come with me.’ Nesta dragged him along before he had the chance to protest, and he swore his shadows aided her. She perched on a stool at one end of the counter, close to the office, making it impossible for Ayla to leave the room without walking past.

It was Raya who approached them though. ‘What can I get you?’

‘Could she serve us?’ Nesta glanced at Ayla. ‘She made me a drink last time and it was delicious, but I can’t remember its name. We were hoping she’d make it for us again.’ With her smile so earnest even Azriel found himself convinced.

Raya cut him a glare but spoke to Nesta, ‘Tell me how it looked. I’ll make it for you.’

‘I’ll take care of them,’ said Ayla softly, not looking up from the drinks she stacked on a tray. While Raya began to protest, Uri urged her with his eyes, then picked up the tray and waded through the crowded tables.

Watching the defeated bartender shuffle to the other end, Nesta remarked. ‘I thought they liked you here.’

‘Not anymore.’ He ignored her expecting gaze and sat beside her. 

No one was privy to what had transpired between him and Ayla, and he preferred it that way. When his family meddled, she seemed to slip away from him.

Minutes passed. She catered to every patron at the counter, ignoring him and Nesta, including the ones who came after them. Azriel glimpsed over his shoulder and found the glasses empty at their table. Cass hollered to Uri, yet the server turned around and talked to a couple who sneaked wary peeks at the ridiculous male waving his arm in the air. 

Azriel smiled at his mate. Keeping liquor from his family was one, and very efficient, way to encourage them to leave the bar.

At last, with no one else left to tend to, Ayla turned their way though she refused to meet his gaze. ‘What would you like to drink?’

‘You have a beautiful voice,’ said Nesta, her words whispered with a touch of awe.

‘Thank you,’ smiled Ayla. She stared for a moment and then blinked twice. ‘You sound good too.’

Nesta sucked in a breath. Compliments weren't meant for her. Everything she did was expected and never deemed worthy of praise. As though remembering her manners, she dipped her chin in a graceful nod.

‘How often do you sing?’ She inhaled sharply, ‘I mean, if I wish to listen to you again, when is it likely for it to happen, again?’

‘You can request to my bartender or the servers. If I’m here, they shall let me know.’

So, Azriel hadn’t been special. Yet, seeing her offer kindness to his friend without hesitation was endearing. Nesta pursed her lips as Cass came to stand beside him. The scent of citrus smothered him before Mor wedged herself between the two and wrapped an arm around him. ‘What are we having?’

Shadows scattered back to his wings. Azriel shifted in his seat, the hold on his shoulder growing unbearably heavy with each passing second. He peeked at Ayla but her focus remained on the glasses she was readying for them.

‘Not the one from the other night,’ Mor leaned over the counter and spied the ingredients she mixed. ‘I still haven’t forgiven you for that.’

Ayla offered the first drink to Nesta. ‘I don’t remember apologising. But, alright.’

Azriel shook with silent laughter and his shadows skittered down his arms. Mother, how had he gone two whole days apart from her?

‘Don’t worry about her. It’s easy to get into her good graces.’ Cass snorted, earning a vicious glare from Mor, but she soon smiled brightly when Ayla served her. ‘Just don’t take her wine from her.’

‘And why would I want to be in your graces?’

A laugh escaped Azriel. When he looked up, none of his friends were laughing with him, they only watched.

‘So,’ drawled Mor, ‘what do you think of our Az?’ Her arm tightened over his shoulder as she pressed closer.

Azriel glared at his brother silently cursing him for unleashing their disaster of a friend. 

The next drink was for Cass. Ayla poured another four and began setting them on a tray, ‘I don’t know enough about your Az to make a judgement.’ 

His name rolled off her tongue in a smooth caress. Blood rushed to his face, and between his legs.

‘Would you like to know enough?’ 

Azriel whirled to his other side where Nesta sat wearing a smirk. Why did they leave Rhys and Feyre behind? Why didn't they bring the whole entourage and embarrass him in front of his mate? 

But then, Ayla said, ‘He can ask that himself.’

Ask, his shadows urged. Ask. The words merged and weaved until all he heard were incoherent whispers. Ask.

Azriel was never at a loss for words, he simply chose not to say them aloud. But with her, he often found himself speechless. Nesta nudged him with her knee, a reminder that he still hadn’t spoken. He cleared his throat, and his friends had the decency to scramble. Cass ruffled his hair, making him hiss under his breath, before he and Mor wandered back to their table.

Nesta made to leave as well, watching them for a breath before staring into her drink. Almost a year had passed since she accepted them as family, yet she felt no less an outsider.

Ayla noticed Nesta’s hesitation and watched the two once they joined Rhys and Feyre. Laughter erupted, drinks flowed, and their eyes often drifted to Azriel.

‘You should dance,’ said Ayla. Nesta’s eyes snapped to her as she watched the ones swaying in front of the dais with a smile. ‘The band loves when people do.’ Right then, Uri appeared behind them with his usual smile and she nodded at him, ‘If you’re shy.’ 

How she knew about his friend or the server materialised at that very moment was a mystery.

While Nesta sat contemplating the offer, Ayla set a drink for him. ‘You two have a history.’ 

She was looking past him, where his family was, and Azriel knew who she meant.

A glass shattered across the bar, and Raya darted to the kitchen mumbling about needing a broom, although the smirk on her face was unmistakable.

Nesta choked on her drink. She quickly got to her feet and patted him on the back, ‘Don’t ruin it,’ as walked away with Uri.

Alone at long last, free from prying patrons and his meddlesome family and her vigilant friends. Yet, Azriel felt no relief. His shadows retreated behind him, barely peeking over his shoulders. Now that he was in a bind, they were silent as the dead.

‘Do you regret it?’ she asked quietly.

All night, Ayla wouldn’t meet his gaze, and now it dawned on him���she believed he regretted the kiss he’d dreamed of for months, his one true glimpse of boundless happiness in ages. And with Mor acting like Mor. . .Azriel couldn’t breathe.

‘I don’t.’ Her words nearly drowned in the chaos around them as she fussed with empty glasses on the counter. ‘Although I’d prefer you didn’t run away next time.’

His shadows fluttered around him, emboldened by her admission. Azriel let out a shuddering breath, the need to explain the past tightened in his chest. ‘It’s not how you think,’ he began. What were he and Mor if they were barely friends in name? What remained to say when nothing had existed between them? Instead, he settled on, ‘It was a long time ago.’

Her face was bare and calm. ‘How many long times ago are there?’ 

When he thought it couldn’t get worse, it did. It wasn’t a conversation he was willing to have with his mate in a bar, with his family undoubtedly listening in on them.

‘Two.’ His shadows hissed in his ears and sank behind him again.

Ayla took a slow breath. ‘And not long times ago?’

She pressed her lips together and they quivered. 

Azriel was a fool—an absolute, blind fool.

‘Well?’ She finally looked at him. The light in her eyes returned, brighter than ever. ‘That many, huh? How about in the past century?’

Azriel held in his smile.

Her eyes widened as Ayla faked a gasp. ‘How about the last fourteen months?’

Fourteen months ago, Azriel walked into Pharus for the first time, he saw his mate for the first time, he saw her smile for the first time. While he tortured himself with the misery of being invisible to her, she had remembered him.

Even the ones he called his friends didn’t know this part of him. And Ayla was unravelling him in mere seconds. A voice in his mind warned him to stop, to think, to run away. But he saw the grin on her face at his unease, the unbridled amusement on her face. 

‘Eight,’ he said and waited for an insult but none came. ‘What about you?’ 

‘One.’

Azriel’s brows rose. He knew there were more—more than eight—male and female, none she invited again. His shadows had whispered so during his secret trysts, and that was before the bond snapped for him.

His mind refused to believe her, yet his craving heart did. For a sweet moment, he tasted relief, then she ruined it.

‘Doesn’t sound fair, does it? Perhaps, we should get even.’

Next Chapter: Sinner

[shepherds-of-haven]

Since you're now playing BG3, I have to know, what quote would the characters say whenever MC asked them to stay behind in camp (swapping them out of their party)? :3c

Blade: "...................As you wish." *turns away to sulk in brooding silence*

Trouble: "What?? You're joking, right? What the Hael am I going to do around here, sit with my thumb up my arse? :("

Tallys: "I'll wait here. Be careful out there."

Shery: "*breath of relief* Oh, good. --I mean!! Um, well, it's probably for the best... but please take care!"

Riel: "Yes, I concur. I'll run things from our base of operations here." *he can only soothe his pride by acting like he's in charge of things back at camp LOL*

Chase: "Aw, sunshine, but we've been having so much fun! Are you sure you don't want to keep me around? I'm a handy guy to know... ...No? You're sure? Well, all right, but don't leave me here for too long, or I'll waste away to nothing."

Red: "All right, if you're sure. I guess I could go take a look at those ruins I saw over there..."

Ayla: "WHAT. But there's nothing to do around here! ...FINE. I guess I'll just sit around here and eat dirt or something." <- stolen directly from Karlach but it fits something Ayla would say so well that I couldn't resist lol

Briony: "! But I wanted to... *crestfallen* ...Okay. 🥺"

Lavinet: "Hm, if you're sure, darling. Come find me when you change your mind!"

Halek: "Great. I'm going to go take a nap."

[asterias-corner]

hiiiiii would you care to tell me all about your diety oc (or ocs if you have multiple) I’d really like to know more about them!! It’s fine if you don’t ofc ^^

hehehehehshshhsehjsjsjs

Ofc!!

(ramble under the cut)

I’ll start with my deity oc, umbra! umbra is actually an Loz oc- the deity of shadows :3 not going off canon because why not! I designed umbra around the horned statues from botw/totk, being the entity that resided inside! They used the heart/stamina containers to regain some kind of power from lost travelers to escape, it only took a few millennia though… now they watch over whoever they deem interesting through their shadow! Whoever’s shadow their in, is tinted darker, no matter how bright the sun! (Also can time travel cus i said so)

————

rain pool!!!!! My sweet lil baby <3

rain pool was originally a lost kit abandoned by two-legs nearby river clan! She grew up there and was raised by not just one queen, but basically all of them. Because my fav characters/story arc is the power of three, she was born around the same time as jay feather, lion blaze, and holly leaf. They didn’t know each other, until river pool had accidentally communicated with star clan. She had been pulled into the dream, surprised but excited, when they turned her away- saying she should not have been part of the clans and she was not clan born- she could ruin the prophecy. This created a resentment, so river pool made it everyone’s problem. She managed to figure out that the prophecy was talking about lion blaze, jay feather, and a kit yet to be born. Holly leaf’s ‘disappearance’ did not go unnoticed. Cue an incident where she made star clan speak to her, ending up in jayfeathers dream, and she attacked starclan, causing them to make a brutal flash flood, and a lightning storm with rough hail. She got dragged away and drowned, now she roams and haunts wherever she pleases :3 not allowed in starclan or anywhere else- forced to stay on the lake.

(that was long- not 100% set in stone, nor going completely off the books- but that’s what I’m going with right now!)

————

Link/element! My link oc :3

element is a draconic, a dragon species that are similarly looking to hylians! Element and Zelda became siblings when they were very young, little babies :3 Zelda was dropped in their woods to die, but found by Umi! Elements mom! They grew up, the triforce symbol on their hands wasn’t something they really thought about, their kind was highly secluded and didn’t interact with many other species. They would worship the 4 dragons, each a representing a different element! (Wink wink, hence his nickname) but Zelda goes by Ayla, they save hyrule, and element is an autistic hopeless gay nonbinary king 🫶

[sapphic-book-tournament]

Crier’s War by Nina Varela-

“After the War of Kinds ravaged the kingdom of Rabu, the Automae, Designed to be the playthings of royals, took over the estates of their owners and bent the human race to their will.

Now, Ayla, a human servant rising the ranks at the House of the Sovereign, dreams of avenging the death of her family… by killing the Sovereign’s daughter, Lady Crier. Crier, who was Made to be beautiful, to be flawless. And to take over the work of her father.

Crier had been preparing to do just that—to inherit her father’s rule over the land. But that was before she was betrothed to Scyre Kinok, who seems to have a thousand secrets. That was before she discovered her father isn’t as benevolent as she thought. That was before she met Ayla.”

The Jasmine Throne by Tasha Suri-

“The Jasmine Throne, beginning a new trilogy set in a world inspired by the history and epics of India, in which a captive princess and a maidservant in possession of forbidden magic become unlikely allies on a dark journey to save their empire from the princess's traitor brother.

Imprisoned by her dictator brother, Malini spends her days in isolation in the Hirana: an ancient temple that was once the source of the powerful, magical deathless waters — but is now little more than a decaying ruin.

Priya is a maidservant, one among several who make the treacherous journey to the top of the Hirana every night to clean Malini’s chambers. She is happy to be an anonymous drudge, so long as it keeps anyone from guessing the dangerous secret she hides.

But when Malini accidentally bears witness to Priya’s true nature, their destinies become irrevocably tangled. One is a vengeful princess seeking to depose her brother from his throne. The other is a priestess seeking to find her family. Together, they will change the fate of an empire.”