#oc skies of midnight

[harbors-heart]

Made some Clay rain world sillies!

All of thes are my ocs, the Spearmaster-adjacent is Slugified Guise, the Lizardcat is Skies of Midnight, and the lavender one is The Whaler, who i belive is the oldest oc here, being several years old at this point

[no-erratic-darkness]

"stupid Overseers-"

"lets see... it should be functioning now."

the Lizardcat makes a inquistive noise

"yes, the comms are back up now, we should be able to recive transmissions again"

[withheartsaligned]

[mudkirby]

Happy Valentine's Day

To all [select few] my fellas [mutuals]

All in order of what was drawn

@amazingmezmer bruv tysm for existing

@druidshollow I keep reading your name as Druid Shallow 💀

@trashiiplant that guy from discord

I would do all my fellas but the backlog is a child's book in length now and school go brrr. I just realized I didn't finish GUB >:v

Also, I just learned about stuff like (silly) or (affectionate) so apologies if I insulted someone beforehand :p

[a-podcast-junkie]

once again posting about my own project and not a new podcast review (sorry!)

BUT on the tumblr page for 3008 pod ive posted a short demo for the podcast! if your interested you can listen to it here!

[groupalpha]

Ruby do you know anything relating to the lizard malgy just encountered?

RSbSS: Uh... I don't know much, but I can say that they're in a similar situation to Starglider.

Many of the creatures in those glass vats broke out, and from what I assume, are those lizards. Our local group started calling them Midnight Lizards.

...

From what I know, they've turned Space Collective into their home. The further you go in, the more warped the area is due to their slow takeover. Space Collective is slowly losing itself due to them.

[void-kissed]

✨✨✨ !!!

Hehe, sure thing, friend!! You're why I reblogged the game in the first place, so, thank you very kindly for sending these~

(source: this post by dragonsmooch)

Send me ✨ for a random thing about one of my OCs! (Optional: You can specify one!) - Let's go with Dragon Quest Iris for these, if that's alright with you!

I'm.. not actually sure if I've ever shown what Iris looks like before? So, in case you were wondering, here she is! The armoured appearance is her actual current equipment set in my game right now as I've loaded it up, whereas the set with the dress was put together from some extra equipment pieces I had in my inventory; it seems more like something she herself would choose to wear, having such a style-focused vocation and all.

Speaking of her vocation, Iris is a luminary! This is.. not to be confused with the Luminary, which is the name of the Dragon Quest XI protagonist. Luminaries (or, in the Japanese version, Superstars) are the sole postgame-exclusive vocation in Dragon Quest IX. They are.. kind of seen as not great combat-wise, because they have such mixed-up stats other than their high charm, which only means they might occasionally cause enemies to skip their actions or get paralysed by style slightly more often. But they have some neat vocation-exclusive outfit pieces, like that tint-tastic tutu Iris is wearing. They can use fans, whips, and boomerangs by default - as can be seen in the screenshots, Iris wields her fan in combat, as well as wind magic spells.

And on the note of combat, when it comes to the party as a whole, Iris is arguably the most versatile character in terms of what she can do - however, she mostly tends to play a more supportive role due to the strength of Ardea and Avalon's physical attacks compared to hers. She can use Reverse Cycle using her fan to reflect breath-based attacks, which is very helpful for certain bosses, and she also knows some healing spells which is advantageous if Pavo alone isn't able to keep up with the damage being dealt. Similarly, her wind spells are good against groups of enemies!

I hope that these answers were alright, friend! Thank you very much once again for sending these sparkles~

[sicutpuella]

Midnight Rain | Jacaerys x OC x Cregan

Chapter One.

Summary: Betrothed since childhood, Lady Aelyria Velaryon and Prince Jacaerys Velaryon journey to Winterfell under Queen Rhaenyra's orders; however, upon meeting Lord Cregan Stark, Aelyria finds herself torn between her duty to Jacaerys and an unexpected desire for the Northern lord. Now, she must choose between love, honor, and duty at a critical crossroads.

Series Masterlist [Previous Chapter, Next Chapter]

When Cregan was informed via raven that Prince Jacaerys, along with his betrothed, Lady Aelyria, was to visit the North for diplomatic affairs, he readied his castle with great care. He spent hours ensuring there was more than enough food for the feast that night; the day was consumed by his fussing.

As evening approached, word came that the Prince and his bride-to-be had arrived. He descended to the castle yard, where the entourage awaited.

"Prince Jacaerys," he said, "welcome to the North. I hope your journey went well."

Cregan first took in the prince’s appearance—tall, with sharp and refined features, brown curly hair neatly styled, and a strong nose. There was an unspoken elegance about him, a stark contrast to Cregan’s simple yet rugged looks.

Then he saw her—Aelyria. Her back was turned to him, long silver hair in a few braids. She was momentarily distracted by the children waving at her; they gawked as if she were a fairy from a tale.

When he saw Aelyria, his eyes widened; her beauty and the elegant way she carried herself took him by surprise. She seemed like a vision, a goddess incarnate, too perfect to be true. Her silver hair, cascading down in intricate braids, shimmered in the Northern sunlight; each strand catching the light like spun moonbeams. Her eyes, a vivid brown, held an allure that was both mesmerizing and intimidating. The children around her gawked as if she were a fairy from their tales, and Cregan could hardly blame them!

He had never seen anyone like her before—so unattainable, so ethereal. She was a true Valyrian beauty, embodying ethereal essence of her houses in every elegant movement. He felt his heart quicken, a sense of awe and reverence overtaking him. This was no mere woman or mortal, rather; she was a living legend, a dream made flesh.

He took a moment to look at her before speaking, his mind a little clouded.

"My Lady," he said finally, his voice low and hoarse.

Unknown to him, she too marveled at him. There he was, broad shoulders cloaked in a fur coat; the simple attire did nothing to hide his powerful frame. His longsword loomed behind his back, a silent testament to his strength. His brows were furrowed, as if analyzing her, his rugged looks captivating despite the absence of a beard. His eyes were a piercing gray, like the stormy skies of the North.

Aelyria felt her heart stop; he looked so... so masculine. The raw power he exuded, the sheer presence he commanded—every inch of him screamed strength and resilience. She was utterly smitten, drawn to him in a way she had never experienced before. This was a man forged by the harsh northern winds, tempered by the cold, and she found herself undeniably entranced by him.

Cregan's heart began to beat faster once more; an unfamiliar feeling stirred within him. He couldn't help but admire her beauty—her slender figure, the silver braid, the soft features on her round face, the way she smiled at the children…

He was taken aback by his own reaction. He had seen many beautiful women before, but none had affected him like this. Perhaps it was her Valyrian blood that made her so mesmerizing, or the way she radiated an aura of kindness and grace.

"You are more beautiful than I imagined," he said, his voice low.

"Oh… she truly is." Jacaerys interrupted his thoughts, walking closer to Aelyria, his hands intertwined with hers.

Cregan's eyes flickered to their hands, a pang of jealousy stirring within him. He knew she was betrothed to the prince, but it didn't stop him from feeling a sharp jealousy at seeing them so close.

He forced a smile, though it felt cold. "Indeed, my Prince. You are a lucky man."

"Truly." Jacaerys' hands gripped hers.

"Good afternoon, my Lord." Her voice, like honey; she bowed gracefully.

Cregan couldn't help the way his heart skipped a beat when she spoke. Her voice, soft and sweet as honey, mesmerized him. His gaze lingered on her, taking in every detail.

He bowed back, a bit awkwardly, feeling out of his depth. "Good evening, my Lady. I hope your journey here was pleasant."

"It was… My Prince and I enjoyed the sights."

Cregan felt a pang again; his eyes darted to their intertwined hands once more.

"I am glad to hear that," he said, his voice coming out a little gruff. "We have prepared a feast tonight in your honor. I hope you will both enjoy it."

"You are far too kind, my lord," Jacaerys spoke.

Cregan forced a smile. "It is the least we can do, my Prince. You are our honored guest, after all."

His eyes flicked to Aelyria again, taking in her soft curves and delicate features. He could see why Jacaerys was so besotted with her.

Lord Cregan gave them a tour of the place, hoping Aelyria would not be too bored. She seemed to enjoy it—or was she merely being polite? Why was he overthinking it?

The tension lingered. As much as he tried to ignore it, Cregan could feel it every time he looked at them together; how easily Jacaerys' hand found her waist; the way they shared brief moments of laughter…

Cregan subtly shook his head, as if to banish all those unseemly thoughts of the lady.

She is to be wed, Cregan! Pull yourself together.

Yet, despite his attempts, Cregan found himself unable to keep his mind from wandering back to the lady. He tried to focus on the conversation, to ignore the way her eyes seemed to shine in the light of the corridor; the way her laughter filled the air; and the way her hand fit perfectly in Jacaerys’.

He found himself lost in a confusing mix of guilt and longing, his mind at war with his heart. He tried to remind himself constantly that she was betrothed—to his guest of honor, no less…

Cregan’s hands were slightly nervous upon shaving his growing beard. He wanted to maintain some semblance of youth, even though the Lady and the Prince were close to his age—or perhaps it was an effort to look presentable in front of the Lady? He shook his head as his hands continued to shave. He ensured his guests of honor had time to prepare and rest before the dinner.

“Fuck.” He inhaled sharply; he cut himself, just a tad bit.

His fingers rubbed the cut, feeling a pang of frustration at his own clumsiness.

He looked at himself in the mirror, taking in his appearance. He was handsome, strong—a true Northman. That was how he had always thought of himself. Yet now, as he stood there in the mirror, he couldn't help but feel a pang of self-doubt. He had never felt this way before, never before had he cared so much about how he looked.

“Damn it…” he muttered to himself.

He was first in the dining hall, ensuring all was well for tonight’s dinner. His guests were of royal, Valyrian blood, after all.

The dining hall was meticulously prepared for the occasion. The tables were set with the finest china and silverware. Fresh blooms adorned the tables, filling the air with a pleasant fragrance. The food was a feast fit for royalty, each dish a testament to the North's bounty and hospitality.

As Cregan waited, his thoughts kept drifting towards her. The Lady Aelyria, with her silver hair and brown eyes. He couldn't shake off the memory of her soft laugh and her sweet scent.

The door was slowly filling in with his bannermen, his guests, his squires. The doors to the dining hall opened, and the room slowly filled with the sounds of hushed conversations and the clinking of silverware.

His bannermen were in attendance, their proud, stern figures a stark contrast to the lavish setting. They took their seats, whispering amongst themselves, their eyes discreetly flickering towards the door. Cregan stood near the head of the table, his eyes darting to the entrance, waiting for the arrival of the Valyrians.

Then— The door opened. All eyes turned towards the door as it opened. Cregan's heart skipped a beat.

There she was, just as beautiful as before, but now she was dressed in a gown that seemed to accentuate her feminine curves. She looked like Valyrian royalty; her silvery hair cascaded over her shoulder in waves; her eyes sparkled with a soft light.

Cregan watched as she walked towards the head of the table, accompanied by the prince. Jacaerys was a gentleman—a true, well-mannered royal. Aelyria and Jacaerys politely greeted everyone in attendance. As Aelyria and Jacaerys greeted each person in attendance, Cregan found his gaze drawn to her. He watched as she smiled politely, her voice soft and pleasant as she spoke to each guest.

Her elegance was undeniable; every movement she made seemed graceful and poised. He felt a pang as he saw the prince’s hand on her waist, pulling out her chair like a true chivalrous prince. Cregan clenched his jaw.

“Good evening, my lord… my, the dinner is truly magnificent,” she smiled, the reds in her dress bringing out her eyes.

“Good evening, my lady,” he managed to say, his voice a bit hoarse. He was aware of the other men in the room, some of them stealing glances her way as well.

“Lord Stark,” Jacaerys greeted, his voice smooth and courteous. “Thank you for your generous hospitality. The feast looks splendid.”

Cregan inclined his head, acknowledging the prince’s words. “It is our honor to host you, Prince Jacaerys. I trust your chambers were comfortable?”

“They were,” Jacaerys replied with a smile. “We rested well. Your keep is as warm and welcoming as it is grand.”

Cregan nodded, satisfied. “I’m glad to hear that. Please, take your seats.” The three of them settled at the head of the table.

“Aelyria here enjoys fish,” Jacaerys mentioned, pointing out the plate of fish to Aelyria.

Cregan’s eyes followed his gesture to the plate of fish. For a brief moment, his mind wandered to the idea of personally catching and preparing a fresh fish for Aelyria. But he quickly pushed the thought away, realizing how ridiculous it was.

“Ah, fish…” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “We have the finest salmon from the streams of the North. I hope it is to your liking, Lady Aelyria.”

“We rarely get good salmon in Dragonstone, so this is truly wonderful for me.” She smiled, her eyes lighting up with excitement as she looked at the salmon.

Cregan felt a pang of pride at her words; he couldn’t help but feel pleased that he could offer something new and special to her.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, his voice a little gruff. “We Northerners take pride in our fish, especially salmon. It is a staple in our diet, especially during the winter.”

“Then, Aely, I suppose you should vacation here during winter,” Jacaerys smiled at her.

Cregan's mind briefly imagined Aelyria visiting Winterfell during winter—dressed in furs, cheeks flushed from the cold, laughter in her eyes. He quickly pushed away the thought, feeling guilty that he was indulging in such fantasies.

“Yes, the North is quite a sight during winter,” he said, forcing a smile. “But the cold is not for the faint-hearted.”

“I have a dragon… it can make me a pyre,” she jested.

Cregan chuckled, surprised by her jest. The sound of her laugh echoed in his ears, making him want to hear it again.

“Ah, I suppose that is true,” he said, his smile widening. “With a dragon to keep you warm, the North wouldn’t seem so cold after all.”

The dinner was splendid. Cregan enjoyed it—but he enjoyed looking at her sweet smile even more. He enjoyed Jacaerys’ company as well; the prince was quite intelligent and dignified despite being young. He truly was made to be a prince.

Throughout the dinner, Cregan found his gaze drawn to Aelyria again and again. He hung on every word she spoke, every time she laughed, every gesture she made. He conversed with Jacaerys as well, finding the prince to be a good conversationalist. Despite his young age, Jacaerys was intelligent, charming—a true prince. Cregan couldn’t deny that he was a good match for Aelyria.

Despite his best efforts to enjoy the dinner and the company, Cregan found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything but Aelyria. The sound of her laughter, the way she smiled at Jacaerys—it all filled his mind, making it hard for him to focus on anything else. He couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy as he watched them. They looked so perfect together, a true match, a future couple destined for greatness. The thought sent a pang of pain through his chest.

Cregan and Jacaerys quickly found a comfortable understanding, their banter flowing easily as they sipped their mead.

"You Northerners certainly know how to brew a fine drink," Jacaerys commented, raising his mug in a toast.

Cregan chuckled, raising his own. "Aye, we have to. The cold makes a man appreciate a good, strong drink."

They exchanged stories, Cregan sharing tales of the harsh Northern winters and the battles fought against the Wildlings; Jacaerys spoke of the courtly intrigues of King's Landing and the fierce loyalty of the people of Dragonstone. The prince's laughter was infectious, his wit sharp and easygoing, making Cregan feel more at ease than he had in years. As the evening wore on and the mead continued to flow, Cregan found himself growing more unguarded. He was drinking a little more than he should; the alcohol made him feel a bit loose and unguarded.

"What is it like living on Dragonstone?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of slur.

“Salty,” Aelyria spoke first. “If you stand still enough, you’ll taste the salt on your tongue.” She added, her tone light and playful.

Cregan chuckled at her answer, imagining Aelyria standing still, tasting the salt in the air.

"Ah, so it's quite the salty place then," he said, his eyes studying her face. "I imagine the castle must be built to withstand such conditions… after all, the Targaryens have called it home for centuries."

Jacaerys shared more about Dragonstone, painting a picture of a strong, proud, and ancient castle. As he spoke, Cregan listened intently, his eyes flickering between Jacaerys and Aelyria.

“You should visit one day,” Aelyria spoke softly.

Cregan's heart thudded at her words. Her soft, sweet voice was like a caress, making it even harder for him to think straight.

"Visit Dragonstone?" he repeated, his voice rough. "I… I would love to, my lady."

The thought of seeing her in her home, seeing her on her own turf, stirred something in him. It was a dangerous idea.

Unknown to Cregan, Jacaerys’ hand squeezed hers tighter.

“Tell us more about the North,” Aelyria continued, her eyes following him.

Cregan felt his heart race at the sound of her voice, her eyes fixed on him. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

"The North," he started, his voice still a little shaky. "It's vast, unforgiving, and beautiful. We have endless forests, snowy mountains, and icefields. It's the coldest region in Westeros, but the Northmen are hardy folk. We thrive in the cold—it's in our blood."

"Then there is the Wall," he said, his voice growing softer. "A colossal structure of ice that spans the length of the continent. It's the first line of defense against the Wildlings and the terrors from beyond it. The Night's Watch, an ancient order sworn to defend the realm from those threats. It's a formidable place—cold and harsh, just like the North itself."

“Terrors?” Jacaerys nearly chuckled.

Cregan gave Jacaerys a wry smile, realizing that tales of White Walkers might sound like a strange concept to a man from the South.

"Yes, terrors. Creatures from beyond the Wall, creatures of ice and cold. They are called the White Walkers, or the Others. They are said to bring with them the cold and the dark—a darkness that can last for years."

He paused, his eyes flickering to Aelyria's face, hoping she wouldn’t belittle or laugh at him.

Aelyria’s lips pursed, clearly in a bit of thought.

“Oh, you humor me, my lord,” Jacaerys witted.

Cregan bristled at Jacaerys’ comment but held his tongue. He knew that the prince was jesting, that he didn't believe in the tales of the Others. Many in the south didn't, and Cregan couldn't blame them; it all sounded like legends and fairy tales.

But the thought of the prince dismissing it so lightly made him feel another pang of… something he couldn't quite name.

“Darling, if dragons exist… surely there might be something else?” Aelyria looked at Jacaerys, then at Cregan, seemingly agreeing with the lord’s tales.

Throughout the dinner, Cregan found his gaze drawn to Aelyria again and again. He hung on every word she spoke, every time she laughed, every gesture she made. The sound of her laughter, the way she smiled at Jacaerys—it all filled his mind, making it hard for him to focus on anything else.

Cregan felt a strange sort of relief at Aelyria's words. Her agreement made him feel a little less foolish, a little less like the northman whose tales were seen as barbaric and primitive. But another part of him bristled at the endearment she'd used for Jacaerys—"darling." He found himself gritting his teeth.

"You see, my lady understands," Cregan said, his voice betraying a tinge of irritation.

He watched as Jacaerys placed his hand on Aelyria's waist again; that casual, familiar gesture set his teeth on edge.

“But, let’s not hope such terrors become our priority,” she added.

Cregan nodded, his irritation slightly quelled by her words. "Indeed. We should not hope for such horrors to come to pass."

He took a deep breath, trying to shake off the strange mix of emotions swirling within him.

“I pray that they get lost by the snow somehow,” she chuckled.

Cregan couldn’t help but smile at her soft, musical laugh. It sent a little thrill through him; he found himself wanting to hear it again.

"Ah, perhaps the snow will confuse them. They’ll wander around in circles until they get so cold they’ll simply freeze to death."

"Or better yet, maybe they'll try to attack a polar bear and get their heads bitten off." He chuckled at his own joke, hoping to get another laugh out of her.

“Prince Jacaerys!” A bunch of young boys came upon him, eager to show the prince something.

“Well, the young need me,” Jacaerys chuckled, and left a kiss on her cheek, sighing as he stood up to face the young boys, “I’ll leave you to the company of Lord Stark.” Jacaerys smiled at Aelyria first, then waved them both farewell.

Cregan watched as Jacaerys left, his eyes narrowing slightly at the kiss Jacaerys left on her cheek. He found himself clenching his jaw again, his jealousy flaring. With Jacaerys gone, he turned his attention to Aelyria, a sense of nerves and desire stirring within him. He was alone with her, and he couldn’t deny the thrill that gave him.

"So… now it is just the two of us," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. He glanced around, seeing that the others around them were engrossed in their own conversations, paying them no mind.

“Oh yes…” she smiled; he could sense she was a bit nervous as she sipped some of the wine.

Cregan took note of her nervousness—the way her fingers fidgeted with the stem of her goblet, the way she avoided his gaze. Knowing that she too was feeling the same tension he was only heightened his own desire.

"Are you enjoying yourself, my lady?" he asked, his voice lower than usual.

“I have been enjoying myself,” she smiled. “Your people’s and your hospitality is lovely.”

"I'm glad to hear that," he said, his heart thudding in his chest as her smile made him feel a little breathless. He leaned a little closer, drawn to her like a magnet, wanting to be nearer.

"Is there… anything else you have been enjoying?" he asked, his voice a little gravelly.

“Ooh! The food, yes… the salmon was delightful—I think I may have overeaten.” She smiled.

Cregan chuckled, amused by her description. "You enjoyed the salmon, did you?" he repeated. He found himself enjoying just listening to her talk; her voice was so pleasant to listen to. He reached out to refill her goblet, his fingers brushing against hers for a moment.

He liked hearing her talk… about anything.

“Oh… and the pig too,” she smiled, continuing.

Cregan took a sip from his own goblet, his eyes never leaving her face. Her smile was enchanting, her cheeks slightly flushed from the wine and the heat of the fire.

"The pig, of course," he echoed, his voice lower.

He wanted to touch her, to reach out and pull her closer to him, to feel the heat of her skin against his fingers. But he held back, not wanting to be too forward.

"You seem to have enjoyed quite a bit of our food," he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

He took another sip of his wine, watching her over the rim of his goblet.

"I suppose that's a good thing, it means you're not… unsatisfied with our hospitality."

“Oh, you are all so kind… the customs and attitudes are definitely different from the south— but it’s not a negative one. But rather, better,” she said with a diplomatic tone.

Cregan raised an eyebrow at her comment. Better, she said.

"Better, you say?" he repeated, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He found himself amused by her diplomatic tone, but also strangely pleased to hear that she preferred the North to the South.

“I suppose, I’ve been used to the courtly manners of acting kind upfront while being a monster behind you,” she chuckled candidly.

Cregan nodded, understanding her point perfectly. He had never much cared for the politics and scheming that were so common in the South. He preferred honesty and directness, things that were valued in the North.

"We don’t have much use for fake pleasantries in the North,” he said, a hint of pride in his voice. “We say what we mean and mean what we say."

“There’s always a hint of fakery and dishonesty down south.”

Cregan chuckled, her words making him feel even more comfortable in his own skin.

"Sounds exhausting, having to put on a false facade all the time," he said, his eyes tracing the line of her jaw, admiring her profile in the firelight.

“Oh, and you cannot— I repeat cannot make a mistake. Even a spelling writing in your parchments will surely have everyone questioning your intelligence,” she chuckled.

Cregan chuckled along with her, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Question your intelligence over a spelling mistake?” he repeated, his tone incredulous. “We’ve got more important things to worry about in the North, like not freezing to death."

He leaned in a little closer, his voice lowering again.

"We don’t sweat the small things here, it’s not worth the effort."

“I suppose… perhaps the pampered life has over sensitized us…”

Cregan chuckled again, his eyes glinting with humor and something else. He liked her more and more, the more they talked.

"That’s what it is. You Southerners are too soft, too used to living a pampered life," he teased. "You’d never survive a northern winter."

“I have a dragon. I think I’ll manage Lord Stark.” She smiled.

Cregan chuckled again, enjoying her clever response.

"Ah, yes. Your dragon," he said, his eyes roaming over her face, taking in her every feature.

He found himself wondering what it would be like to ride a dragon, to feel the wind through his hair as he soared through the sky. But he pushed the thought aside, focusing on her.

"Yes, a dragon would keep you warm, I suppose. But you’d still have to eat northern food… and drink northern ale."

“I’d love to eat northern salmon all day… everyday… the ale? I cannot say positively about it, I get drunk rather fast.”

Cregan laughed heartily at her admission, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"You get drunk fast, eh?” he said, a bemused smile on his lips. "You might want to be careful then, our ale is strong enough to knock a grown man off his feet."

“When I turned 15… my granduncle Corlys gave me dornish wine… he had to carry me 4 flights upstairs because I passed out!” She laughed.

Cregan couldn’t help but laugh along with her, picturing the image she painted.

"Dornish wine, eh? No wonder you passed out," he said, his tone light and teasing. "That stuff is strong, but even I wouldn’t give it to a girl who’s just turned 15."

“Oh and I vomited on a few maidens…”

Cregan’s eyes widened in surprise, a burst of laughter leaving his lips.

"You vomited on your handmaidens?" he repeated, still chuckling. "Ah, that must have been quite the scene."

“Oh Granduncle Corlys still won’t let me forget… even Jacaerys who was one of the poor audience of my drunkenness.”

Cregan chuckled, imagining the look on Jacaerys’ face.

"Poor Jacaerys, having to witness your drunken escapade," he said, his tone playful. "I can only imagine what his reaction must have been."

“How about you my lord? How are you when you’re drunk?” She smiled.

Cregan chuckled, his eyes meeting hers.

"Me? I can hold my liquor well enough, if I do say so myself," he said, a hint of pride in his voice.

He paused for a moment, studying her face again, feeling that familiar stirring in his chest.

"But sometimes... when I've had a few too many ales, I tend to get a bit... bold."

“Hmm? Like… how? I know some men who tend to start a fight.”

Cregan chuckled, shaking his head.

"Oh no, I’m not a brawler. I’m just... more honest when I’m drunk," he said. "I say things I wouldn’t normally say, I act on my impulses more."

He paused, his eyes roaming over her face, his gaze lingering on her lips.

"I might... say things I wouldn’t normally say to a lady I'm interested in," he added, his voice lowering.

“Ooh… pray tell… which lady here has caught your eye?” She could tell she enjoys gossiping.

Cregan smirked, enjoying the playful lilt in her voice.

"Ah, well, there is one lady..." he said, playing along.

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, as if he was sharing a secret with her.

"She is beautiful, intelligent, and kind. She has eyes as deep and dark as the night sky, and a smile that could rival the stars themselves."

“My lord, I believe you are… drunk!”

Cregan chuckled at her response.

"Perhaps I am, my lady," he said, a hint of sheepishness in his voice.

He took a sip of his ale, his eyes roaming over her face.

"But I am still perfectly aware of my thoughts and feelings," he added, his gaze growing a little more intense, more heated.

“Please do not vomit all over my dress, the silk came from Essos.” She sighed dramatically.

Cregan laughed, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

"Oh, I’m not that far gone, I assure you," he said, lifting his ale-filled goblet in a toast.

He paused, his gaze moving from her eyes, down to her dress, drinking in the soft material, the way it hugged her curves.

"Wouldn’t dare ruin such a lovely dress with my vomit."

He took a moment to collect himself, his eyes moving back up to her face.

"Besides, it would be a shame to ruin something so... beautiful," he said, his voice lowering again, a hint of huskiness in his tone.

"Red and black..." he repeated, his eyes roaming over the dress again.

He was even more aware of how closely it fit her frame, how the color brought out her eyes.

"It suits you," he said, his voice lower than usual. "You look... stunning."

“Oh… thank you, my lord.”

Cregan felt a pang of desire shoot through him as she thanked him in that sweet, polite tone. He took a mouthful of ale, trying to calm himself, but his eyes kept straying to her, taking in every little detail of her face, the way her silver hair cascaded over her shoulders, the fullness of her cheeks. He found himself wanting to say something more, something bold, something that would express exactly how he was feeling in that moment.

He had never felt this way before, this intense, almost overwhelming desire for someone. He was a northern lord, after all, used to living in the cold, unforgiving North.

And yet here he was, sitting next to a southerner girl, a dragon rider of fire, blood and the sea, whose eyes could disarm him with a single look.

He took another large gulp of ale, trying to steady himself, but he could still feel the heat radiating off his skin, the way his pulse drummed in his ears.

“Jace is taking a bit too—“

“You look incredibly beautiful,” he interrupted.

“Huh… oh?… oh.”

Cregan chuckled at her flustered response, his eyes flicking over her face again, taking in her cheeks slowly turning pink.

“Did I surprise you, Aely?” he teased, a smirk on his lips.

“I did not expect you to be so… bold.”

Cregan chuckled again, the sound low and rumbling in his chest.

"You have no idea how bold I can be," he said, leaning in a little closer.

He was taking a risk, he knew, but he was feeling a little tipsy, a little more confident than usual. The ale and the heat in his veins had given him a certain... recklessness. He loved looking at her perfect face. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her face, the perfect shape of her cheeks, the rosy color on her lips. He wanted to reach out and touch her, to feel the softness of her skin under his fingers.

He took another sip of ale, trying to calm himself, but the heat in his veins was only growing stronger.

“Is there something on my face?” Cregan thinks he might have stared a little too long.

Cregan chuckled, a hint of sheepishness in his expression.

"No, nothing on your face," he said, shaking his head. "I was just admiring your beauty."

He let his eyes roam over her face again, taking in every little detail, the curve of her lips, the flutter of her eyelashes. He knew he should stop staring, but he just couldn't help it. He couldn't get enough of her. He sees the way her expression changes.

Cregan raised an eyebrow at her reaction, sensing a subtle change in her expression. Was he being too much? Was he making her uncomfortable? He leaned back a little, giving her some space, but his gaze was still fixed on her face.

"Is everything okay, Lady?" he asked, his voice low.

“I’m fine…” she spoke, he noticed a little tinge of anxiety.

Cregan furrowed his brow, sensing the hint of anxiety in her voice. He knew he needed to be careful, to tread lightly. He set his ale goblet on the tabletop, giving her his full attention.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his tone softer now. "You look a little... uneasy."

But he couldn’t be bothered. He didn’t care that she was betrothed. The thought of her being betrothed didn't sit well with him. He knew he was a northern Lord, and she was a southern dragon lady. It was completely improper for him to have these feelings for her.

But the ale had made him bold, and the desire that was coursing through his veins made it difficult to care about propriety. He wanted her. He tried to push the thought away, but it kept resurfacing, like a wave breaking against the shore.

“Gods, I wanna kiss you right now.” He blurts, his words slightly slurred.

Cregan's eyes widened as the words left his lips before he could stop himself. He had not intended to say that out loud, but the ale had loosened his tongue, and the desire that had been building within him was too strong to ignore.

He studied her face again, seeing the surprise and the hesitation in her eyes. It was not a polite thing to say, certainly not to a betrothed girl. But he couldn't take the words back, and a part of him didn't even want to. Her eyebrows furrowed, her mouth dropped.

“My lord… you are… so drunk!” She nervously laughs, and her body faces away from him.

Cregan chuckled at her reaction, the slight slur in his voice more apparent now.

"Aye, I may be a bit drunk," he conceded, his eyes roaming over her face, not quite able to look away.

He noticed her body turning away from him, and it sent a pang of disappointment through him. He had overstepped, and now she was pulling away. He reached for his ale again, taking a long gulp to soothe the dryness in his throat and the nerves in his body.

"But... " he said, his voice low and a little rough. "I meant what I said."

The ale had made him reckless, and he was past caring about propriety or what was right. All he could think about was the way her lips would feel against his, the way her body would feel in his arms.

“I should go look for Jace…”

Something in him flared at the mention of Jace’s name, a pang of jealousy. He didn’t want her to go looking for the other man. He wanted her to stay with him, to keep talking to him. He reached out, his hand darting out to grasp her arm, gently but firmly.

"No, wait…" he said, his voice low, his grip tightening, preventing her from leaving.

Cregan's hand was still gripping her arm, holding her in place. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin material of her dress, and it only served to intensify his desire. He leaned in closer to her, his face just inches away from hers. His ale-soaked breath fanned over her face as he spoke.

"Stay with me a little longer," he said, his voice a soft, commanding whisper. Cregan's heart thudded in his chest as she sat back down. The knowledge that she was staying, that she wasn't leaving to find Jace, made his pulse race. He released her arm, but kept his gaze fixed on her face, his eyes roaming over her features like he was trying to commit them to memory. The ale had made him bolder, more confident, but it had also heightened his desire for her. Every fiber of his being was screaming at him to take her in his arms, to kiss her senseless.

“Just for a few minutes… I want to know if Jace is alright.”

Cregan's eyes narrowed a bit at the mention of Jace again, but he tried to push the annoyance aside.

"Aye, a few minutes," he said, his voice a little gruff.

He took another long swig of ale, trying to calm his racing heart and his restless hands. He wanted to touch her, to pull her closer, but he knew he had to restrain himself. For now. She remained silent, self-conscious as Cregan drunkenly looked at her. Cregan's gaze lingered on her face, his eyes tracing the curves of her jawline, the slope of her cheeks. He was drunk, and the ale had made him completely forget about propriety and what was appropriate. He had never wanted anyone so badly in his life.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his words a bit slurred. "Can't take my eyes off you."

His hand reached out, seemingly of its own accord, his fingers brushing lightly against her cheek. The skin was soft, as soft as he had imagined. He wanted to touch more, to explore every inch of her body. But he knew he couldn't, not yet. He needed to maintain some semblance of control, no matter how difficult it was with the ale coursing through his veins.

“Thank you, my lord… perhaps you can keep your hands to yourself?” she smiled as she pulled away.

Cregan's hand froze in mid-air, hovering a few inches from her face. He felt a pang of disappointment as she pulled away, but he couldn’t deny the fact that he had overstepped.

"Aye," he muttered, dropping his hand back down to his lap. "Forgive me, Lady. I’m afraid the ale has made me a bit… forward."

“It’s fine…” she sighed.

Cregan took another gulp of ale, trying to steady himself. He had come on too strong, too fast. He should have known better, but the alcohol and the desire he felt for her had clouded his judgment. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a slow exhale.

"I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable," he said, his voice sounding a bit more clear now. "I just… I can’t stop thinking about…"

He trailed off, his eyes roaming over her face again.

“Please don’t be inappropriate again…but it’s alright... just not again.”

Cregan nodded, realizing that he was once again overstepping his bounds. The ale was still coursing through his veins, making it difficult to think clearly, but he tried to rein in his impulses.

"Aye, I understand," he said, his eyes downcast. "I’m sorry for being so forward."

He took another sip of ale, trying to control his trembling hands. He wanted to reach out and touch her again, to feel her skin under his fingers, but he knew he should keep his distance.

“I must remind you that I am to be wed to the prince…” she spoke.

Cregan's expression darkened at the mention of her betrothal to Jace. He had nearly forgotten about that for a blissful minute. He clenched his jaw, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his tankard. He knew he had no claim on her, no right to harbor feelings for her.

"Aye, I’m aware," he said, his voice gruff. "But that doesn't stop me from wanting you."

Cregan realized his slip too late. His words had been more honest than he had intended, and he saw the look of surprise in her eyes. He stared down at his hands, his fingers trembling slightly. It was all so damn frustrating. He wanted her so badly, but he knew he could never have her.

"It's not fair," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Then, the doors opened, revealing a rather happy-looking Jacaerys.

“My loooove,” he sang out, clearly tipsy enough to miss the tension.

Cregan's heart sank as Jace burst into the room, looking all too cheerful. The sight of him only served to fuel the fire of his jealousy.

He watched as Jace sauntered over to her, his arm wrapping around her waist possessively. Cregan clenched his jaw, his hands balling into fists as he fought the urge to punch the other man in the face.

He noticed how immediately relaxed Aelyria looked…

“My dear. How’d it go?” She smiled again, the tension from her face disappearing slightly.

Cregan watched as Aelyria leaned into Jace's embrace, her body relaxing against his. He could see the affection in her eyes as she looked at him, and it made his heart twist with jealousy. He took a long gulp of ale, trying to calm his racing heart and his growing anger. But it was difficult to ignore the pang of jealousy that stabbed through him every time he looked at them together.

"It went well," Jace replied, his voice a little slurred from the ale. "Everything is all sorted out."

He tightened his arm around Aelyria, pulling her closer to him. Cregan couldn't help but notice the possessiveness in the gesture, and it only fueled his jealousy more.

Cregan's grip on his ale tankard tightened as he listened to their playful banter. He could feel his jealousy growing stronger with every word. He wanted to be the one she was laughing with, the one she was leaning into.

“Did the kids make you drunk?” She giggled.

Jace chuckled. "A little bit," he admitted, his voice still slightly slurred. "They were relentless in their drinking games. I had no choice but to join in."

Cregan's grip on his ale tankard tightened as he listened to their playful banter. He could feel his jealousy growing stronger with every word. He wanted to be the one she was laughing with, the one she was leaning into.

“Come… we should go upstairs.”

"Aye, good idea," Jace agreed, his arm still securely around her waist.

Cregan watched as the pair prepared to leave the room, his heart sinking lower with each passing moment. He knew he had no claim on her, but it didn't make the pain of watching her leave with Jace any less painful.

"Wait," Cregan blurted out, the word leaving his mouth before he could stop himself.

“Oh yes— my lord, me and Jacaerys will be going upstairs now?” She spoke.

Cregan's eyes flicked between Aelyria and Jace, seeing the possessive way the other man held onto her. It only fueled the jealousy that burned within him.

"Aye," he muttered, his voice low. "Go on then."

He couldn't bring himself to protest further, knowing it would be pointless. He watched as they turned to leave, his heart heavy with unfulfilled desire.

“We’ll see you tomorrow?”

Cregan forced a tight smile onto his face, trying to hide his jealousy and hurt.

"Aye," he replied, his voice gruff. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He watched as they left the room, his eyes following them until the door closed behind them. He was alone now, with only his jealousy and unrequited feelings to keep him company.

He could only imagine what the two will be doing tonight… and he gripped his tankard so hard the wood chipped at his nails.

Cregan's mind began to race with images of Jace and Aelyria together, in each other's arms, in a tangled web of limbs and desire. The thought only made the jealousy and anger burn hotter in his chest. He took another long swig of ale, trying to drown out the images and the unwanted thoughts in his mind. But even the strong ale couldn't completely erase the pain and longing in his heart.

He threw the tankard across the room. The tankard hit the wall with a loud thud, sending splinters of wood and droplets of ale flying everywhere. Cregan sat there, breathing heavily, his body tense with anger and frustration. He clenched his hands into fists, his nails digging into his palms.

The sound of the shattering tankard echoed through the room, Cregan runs a hand through his hair… “fuck.”

All photos sourced through Pinterest, dividers made by @cafekitsune

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[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.

[cherryqueen88]

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[spacebarbarianweird]

For the parental HCs prompts:

Hide and seek with the amazing Alethaine? Vampire vs. Barbarian vs. Dhampir and

see who wins (I bet on Alethaine because she sneaky!)

Summary: Astarion plays hide-in-seek with his daughter but it doesn't go smoothly.

Pairing: Astarion x OC (Tiriel)

Tags: hurt/comfort, fluff, dadstarion

Alethaine's age: 6-year-old

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Masterlist

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Dadstarion prompts

“Now my turn to hide!” Alethaine squeals as she waves to Astarion from the ground.

Astarion chuckles and jumps from the branch. There is no point in hiding from Alethaine – as a dhampir, she just knows where he is. 

Sometimes Astarion thinks it’s a blessing – his daughter will always be able to find him, no matter what. But then he remembers the 7000 spawns released in  the Underdark. How many of them have already conceived children? Pale half-vampires, born one foot in their parents’ graves?

And how many of them have decided to hunt vampires?

Will Astarion ever be safe, after all? Or will his mercy towards his victims be the end of him?

“But I will hide very very well, much better than you!” the six-year-old elf’s ears twitch in anticipation.

It’s a dark night, way past midnight and the dark woods of the Unicorn Run are as unsettling to mortals as possible.

But Astarion and his daughter aren’t mortals; thus, the woods have become their playground. Here, in the dark of the night, Astarion can forget about his vampirism and his limitations in the daylight. Here and now, he is the father of this little girl and he plays hide-and-seek with her. 

What can be more normal?

“Alethaine, don’t run too far away, '' he tells her strictly.

She nods and grins. Another weird quirk of the little dhampir. Astarion can’t catch her scent, so he tracks her the same way he does with Tiriel. Her heartbeat is so quiet he can’t hear it. She is invisible to him the same way she would have been if they were mortal elves.

“Count to… twenty!” She tells him and once Astarion turns away she disappears in the woods. 

Astarion tries to hear her footsteps but they soon fade away. He stops counting and slowly moves forward.

There is something natural about this game. Something that appeals to his predatory side. Astarion makes no sounds looking for the hiding girl.

Thanks to the dark vision he sees perfectly – and he also catches heartbeats and breathings of different night animals that hide in fear sensing the presence of the undead. 

Alethaine is nowhere to be seen or heard.

Astarion feels the wave of panic but suppresses it. She just hid somewhere in the bushes or in the leaves. Soon when he fails to find her she will run to him laughing and mocking him for “failing such a simple task”.

But it doesn’t happen.

“Alethaine!” he calls her out. “Alethaine, are you all right?”

No answer. His daughter has just disappeared. 

Old habits that refuse to die heighten his new fears. He lost his daughter. Something bad has happened to her. What is he going to tell Tiriel? What if Alethaine is wounded? What if someone kidnapped her?

What if she’s fallen down on the rocks and died?

“Alethaine!” Now his voice trembles and he feels his body freeze.

Mistakes mean punishment. Punishment means pain. Even now when there is no one to torture him, his mind can perfectly do it.

Astarion calls for Alethaine and searches her across the area, but she is just gone as if taken by a fey. Maybe she has been? There are so many dark creatures who love to mess up with little kids. Well, whoever and whatever did this must know that Astarion is very good at breaking contracts and beating the shit out of powerful bastards who deceive and manipulate.

Another wave of fear makes his skin itch.

The sunrise.

He looks to the east and sees that the skies are turning lighter and the stars start disappearing.

“Fuck!” Astarion’s voice is already hoarse. “ALETHAINE!”

He needs to come back to the town. Run to their home that was built in the underground part of Daggerlake and tell Tiriel what has happened. He is embarrassed, he hasn’t felt so much guilt since…. forever.

He had one job – to take care of their daughter. And he failed. He’s lost his child in the woods.

Of course, he couldn’t be trusted. Who the fuck would think he could be a good father?

Astarion rushes home driven by a terror only the undead know. The fear of burning.

“Astarion!” Tiriel who’s spent the whole night in the tavern in the upper-town and probably has just come back stares at him anxiously. “Where… Where is Alethaine?!”

“I am so sorry… She… just…disappeared…” Astarion sits on the porch and grabs a fistful of his hair. “It was sunset… I couldn’t… stay…”

Tiriel casts a glance at him and he subconsciously expects anger but sees nothing but motherly fear.

“It’s all right… I am going to look for her. She has probably just hidden somewhere”

“What if something bad happened to her? I will never forgive myself!” Astarion sniffs. 

Tiriel, still dizzy after the merry night, takes her two-handed ax. “I will find her. Don’t worry. How far were you from the tunnel?”

“Maybe half a mile. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have taken her to the woods”

“Don’t be stupid, love. You can’t be outside the lower town in the daylight. When else are you supposed to play and walk with her?” she kisses his cheek. 

Astarion nods but he knows Tiriel is scared to death, she just never shows it up when he is afraid too. And he is sorry for that, too.

**

Alethaine has cried her eyes out. 

At first, it sounded like a good idea to hide a bit further in the woods. Her dad is a vampire and he can find her! But then she saw a weird-looking butterfly and followed it, enchanted by its blue wings. 

And the dhampir got lost.

She started calling for Dad, but he couldn't hear her and she had no idea how far she wandered. Then, Alethaine decided that maybe Dad returned home and she needed to do it too but the narrow pathways of the dark woods took Alethaine even further. 

She has never felt so lonely and scared in her life.

Alethaine cried hoping her dad would hear her, but no one came. Now, she is sitting on a small boulder in the center of the clearance and the sun is showering the woods in its light.

Alethaine is hungry.

And tired.

It’s way past noon, the last time she ate was when she left home with dad – mother told them she would go to drink some ale in the tavern.

The dhampir sniffs.

She wants home. She wants to eat. She wants to sleep. She wants her parents. Her stuffed toys. 

Alethaine starts crying again.

“Alethaine!” She hears her mother’s voice from a distance. 

“Mum! Mum!” Alethaine jumps on her feet. Her dhampir hearing immediately identifies where Tiriel is, and the girl rushes there.

The red-headed woman lifts her up and hugs her. Alethaine wails and presses her little face to her mother’s shoulder.

“Where have you been?!” Tiriel pulls Alethaine away and starts looking at her arms and legs trying to see if she is wounded. “Dad told you not to wander too far, how come you’ve disappeared?”

She sniffs.

“I wanted… I wanted… To hide better… And then… there was a butterfly…”

Tiriel squeezes her lips and Alethaine senses how her mother’s fear is being replaced by anger.

It's not easy to make Tiriel angry, but Alethaine, like any child, managed to do that.

“Your father is scared to death. I was scared to death. What if someone took you?”

Within the next half an hour Alethaine hears all the possible stories about children who were taken by feys, and hags, eaten by wolves, kidnapped by giants, frozen to death, drowned in rivers, and died of open wounds. Every story feels like a slap and, even though none of her parents have ever gotten physical on her, Alethaine suspects being spanked wouldn’t be that scary in comparison to the horrors her mother tells in the barbarian voice she uses against her enemies.

“Let’s go home” Tiriel lifts Alethaine up again. “No sweets till the end of the week. And you aren’t going to play outside until you learn how to follow the rules.”

“But mum!”

“You heard me, Alethaine.”

Alethaine places her cheek on her mother’s shoulders. The fear is taking its grip on the dhampir’s half-dead heart and she just wants to hide under the blanket at home.

**

Astarion tries to occupy his mind with something at least. Worrying won’t do him any good. He needs to wait till Tiriel is back and, gods, he hopes Alethaine has just got lost. And that nothing bad has happened.

It’s been too long.

Tiriel left at the early summer sunrise. And now it’s almost evening.

Astarion takes one of his books out. It’s a collection of short stories for kids he found in a dungeon a year ago, but, once he opened it for the first time he realized it’s actually a guide on how to join the thief guild written in Thieves Cant. It’s been years since he practiced the language for the last time and it feels like a good mind exercise.

And then he hears the familiar scent. 

Tiriel is coming back.

Astarion can’t understand if she carries Alethaine or not, and he’s afraid his wife is coming back alone.

He rushes outside and sees Tiriel coming back with Alethaine in her arms. The fear lets him go and he runs to them to truly make sure she is fine.

“Where did you… Gods…” he gasps, taking Aletaine from her hands. The girl's face is puffy because of how long she’s cried. 

“She ran away. And got lost.”

“I told her not to…” Astarion presses Alethaine to his chest as if fearing she would disappear.

“Well, I suppose she’s learned her lesson. And will learn it even better,” Tiriel repeats what punishment Alethains is going to receive. 

Astarion places sleepy Alethaine on a bench and helps her to undress. It's obvious the girl needs to bathe and eat, but she is barely conscious so he decides to bring her night dress and let her do the rest once she wakes up.

The word “punishment” ties a knot in his stomach.

“Tiriel, she almost died! I think it’s enough punishment,” he says once Alethaine is put to bed. The girl hugs a plushie dragon and immediately falls asleep.

“It's not enough, '' Tiriel says, closing the door. “Astarion, please, I know what it reminds you of. Punishment, disobedience. Running away. Your master twisted the idea of a family making you call him his father and other spawns your siblings. But there is nothing internally bad about punishing a child for breaking rules.”

“She almost died!” Astarion insists. “She is scared.”

Tiriel shakes her head. 

“Alethaine is much stronger than me. She can already take my ax! She is stronger than you and, soon, she will understand it. And if she decides to run away in the daylight you won't be able to stop her. Imagine her hooking up with someone older than her, who can manipulate her? Alethaine will just go not knowing what dangers lie ahead! And we won’t be able to do anything! We need to punish her for what she did. Because what she did could have killed her. Actions have consequences and we both have to be on board with that. You can’t be “the good parent” in this scenario. Because if you spoil her rotten and I try to impose rules, she will just do whatever she wants.”

Astarion clenches his fists. Rules. Disobedience.

And now one more terrible similarity.

Many of his victims, the ones who weren’t just lonely travelers or drunkards, were those careless young people, girls and boys, who, for some reason, thought nothing would happen if they got wasted with a handsome stranger in a shady tavern. Or someone would save them from vampires if they fucked up.

Kids who knew no dangers were coddled by their parents from this dangerous world and were killed for that.

“I agree. She needs to learn,” Astarion finally says.

It doesn’t go smoothly. Alethaine, probably being sure that it was all just words, asks for gingerbread after dinner and starts crying after a rejection.

“No sweets,” Tiriel reminds her.

Alethaine looks at Astarion with her puppy eyes but he shakes his head showing that there can’t be any disagreement between him and Tiriel.

Then, they don’t let her go to play with the neighbor’s kids who come to pick her up on their way to the river which causes another meltdown that stops the moment Alethaine realizes her cries aren’t working.

Unluckily for her, both her parents can withstand much worse things than the meltdown of a six-year-old.

**

The young man in a rich red doublet looks anxious. All his arrogance and pride have disappeared the moment he realizes people call Astarion a vampire for a reason.

“Will you… Will you do what I ask?” he cocks his head. The heir of one of the local jarls, the boy has gotten used to getting what he wants. And now he is bound by a pact with a hag who will turn him into a gnoll if he fails to deliver her his bride, and he needs to ask a vampire for help.

“One hundred and fifty gold. And you pay the half right now. I will come to your father for the rest once we’ve done” Astarion plays with his dagger trying to look as distraught as possible. 

“That’s insane! Eighty gold!”

“I have a family to feed, boy. '' Astarion chuckles. “Besides, you were dumb enough to make a pact with the hag. What did you want? Money? Power? More lands? Didn’t your parents teach you not to meddle with things you can't understand?”

The young man huffs. Then he notices Tiriel, who watches the whole conversation in silence – and cringes at the sight of a fresh bite mark she hasn’t hidden. 

Astarion suppresses the desire to beat the guest. 

“I was dying in the swamps… She… It…”

“Offered you salvation because you told her you would do anything?” Tiriel finishes the sentence. 

“I can hire an adventure party to slay the hag! I thought you were going to help me with the contract but you aren't the only one who does this kind of work!” 

Tiriel laughs. “There will be at least six adventurers and each of them will demand a fair share. And if they make it out alive, there will be one with good intimidation and persuasion skills - and you will end up paying much more. Oh, and there is a big chance they will make a deal with the hag and will bring you to her because hags usually have more things to offer.”

“They… They won't!”

“I've been an adventurer since I was fifteen. Trust me, I know my kind. I would have made a pact with the hag.”

“To be fair,” Astarion adds. “You murdered the hag.”

“Wyll dealt the final blow. And I was staying in the corner of her lair contemplating what choices led me to have a tadpole in my brain, a vampire in my bed, and ‘killing the devil’ in my to-do list.”

“The devil you’d made a pact with, which I told you not to do,” Astarion reminds her.

“Hm, it ended up well, didn’t it? I was also advised against giving you blood and meddling with your master. I did both,” Tiriel presses the young man’s shoulder causing him to yelp in pain. “Astarion is your best choice. You don’t need a monster hunter. You need a magistrate.”

The young man looks absolutely defeated and then calls his bodyguard, a half-orc woman who puts a few small sacks of gold on the table. 

“Don’t involve my father in this, once you’ve done, come to me and I’ll pay the rest”

“No,” Astarion bares his fangs. “We go together. And you follow my every order”

Tiriel takes the money and leaves the room to store the gold in the basement of their house.

Suddenly, the guest looks up at the ceiling and mutters something incomprehensible. Astarion follows his sight and sees Alethaine standing right above the table upside down. She wears her black dress and her long hair is braided. 

“Is she a vampire?” The bodyguard asks.

“Dhampir. This is my daughter, Alethaine. Princess, don’t scare my clients. Come down and say ‘hello’.”

Alethaine does not react. She just sits on the ceiling and observes the visitors. Astarion shrugs.

“Not very talkative today,” Astarion continues. “We go at sunset through the underground tunnels. Don’t worry, I won’t drag you to the Underdark. Unless you really piss me off. Wait for me in the tavern. Now go, I need to prepare for the road.” Astarion bares his fangs again, enjoying the fear on the guests’ faces. 

Alethaine jumps from the ceiling once the strangers leave. 

“I don’t like them,” she says.

“I don’t either. Did you want anything?”

“Daddy, are you going to be away for long?”

“Maybe a month. Don’t worry, I will be home before the winter starts”

Alethaine frowns. 

“I am sorry. For running away. I won’t do this again. Can we play in the woods when you are back?”

Astarion studies his daughter’s face. There is an honest guilt in her pitch-black eyes. 

“Apologies accepted. Come here.”

Alethaine wraps her pale hands around his neck and he enjoys the sound of her heartbeat for a few moments.

“Can I go out with my friends while you are away?”

“Yes. But only in the town.”

It takes Astarion an hour to get ready for the trip into the wild. He knows Tiriel wants to go with him, but they’ve agreed not to leave Alethaine on her own while she is so small. 

“When you are back, I will give you a very good rest, if you know what I mean,” Tiriel playfully smiles and kisses him goodbye. 

Such a normal thing, he thinks.

A father is going to do some work in the wild.

His little family will be waiting for him.

Such a normal thing and so precious to him. 

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka  

@herstxrgirl 

@herdarkestnightelegance  

@vixstarria 

@not-so-lost-after-all  

@marcynomercy  

@theearthsfinalconfession 

@starlight-ipomoea    

@micropoe10 

@astarion-imagine-archive  

@veillsar

@elora-the-slutty-songstress  

@fayeriess  

@lumienyx  

@tallymonster    

@caitlincat-95  

@tragedybunny  

@valeprati  

@lynnlovesthestars   

@marina-and-the-memes  

@waking-eyes   

@ayselluna  

@connorsui  

@asterordinary  

@darkarchangel96  

@locallegume  

@brainfullofhotsauce   

@coffeeanddonutscafe  

@my-queen-rhaenyra-targaryen 

@queenofthespacesquids  

@ednaaa-04  

@dajeong

@wilteddreamsofbaldursgate

[harbors-heart]

Scribbly lil line up of the critters for @no-erratic-darkness

[runwiththerain]

i have made a uquiz if yall wanna take it ! making it into a tag game

@bassguitarinablackt-shirt @lostlosersclub @literatureisdying @urbanflorals @svnflowermoon @a-beautiful-fool @a-wondering-thought @misc-me0707 @catinasink @dandelions-fly-in-summer-skies @dandelions-arent-weeds @misc-me0707 @midnight-thedyke @genderfluidsgetguns @ssavinggrace @i-am-an-arson-enthusiast

+ anyone else who wants to join

[rosegasly]

you came out of the blue.

MAX VERSTAPPEN X FEMALE READER

⇢ summary: she is beautiful in a quiet sort of way. hair unbound and flowing with the night’s breeze, her skin shimmers under the light, glitters like a thousand stars have scrambled down to adorn her. ⇢ genre: fluff ⇢ pairing: max verstappen x female reader/oc

The season was over another championship in the metaphorical bag for Max and a champions trophy for Redbull. After the worst possible start, things had really picked up for the team. Post sleepless nights and long hours put in by everyone on track as well as back in Milton Keynes, it had been a double landslide win. 

When finally, after what may very well have been the best season of his motor racing career, his friend and fellow Dutch musician had proposed joining him for a three-day music festival, well agreeing was a no-brainer for Max. 

He is weaving through the sparse but busy crowd backstage, a VIP pass hanging from his neck, letting him through uninterrupted. Contrary to the image the media had painted of him, Max was pretty outgoing. He didn’t spend time with the drivers off track as much as maybe Pierre or Charles did, but it was all because of the complicated and competitive nature of the sport and not at all because he didn’t enjoy being around people or as the media was fond of portraying–a surly grump. 

Max is straightforward, sometimes abrupt, and while he leaves most of those heated feelings back on track, he isn’t quite comfortable enough to play jolly best pals with the other drivers, either. 

“Max!” 

He swivels, eyes roving over the people until he finally spots the Dutch DJ and nods, making his way over. 

“Hey man, glad to see you are up. Didn’t think you would be after last night.” 

Max decides not to mention the persistent pounding hurting the left side of his face and jaw. He’s felt worse over the years training for races. 

“Yeah, just a little tired. When’s your set?” 

“It’s the last one bruv. Not for a while.”

He absently nods and with a promise to catch said man later disperses back into the crowd. 

It’s a few hours later when it’s dark out and he’s walking back with a drink from the food stalls built further away from the stage that he sees her. Max doesn’t recognise her, can’t even see her clearly from how far back he is, but he hears her voice, that raspy, low undertone, the slow, gentle sway of her hips as she sings and it captivates him. Something about her, the way she sings, her tone, the words, so vulnerable with her voice stripped bare. She is talking to him, spilling all her secrets in confidence under the hush of the night and not in front of thousands of people amidst the loud yells and cheers. 

Max walks closer and looks for a screen because he knows there isn’t a way he can push past the screaming crowd. He wouldn’t budge if he was in the front too, and it’s easy to get lost again now that he can see her clearly. 

She is beautiful in a quiet sort of way. Hair unbound and flowing with the night’s breeze, her skin shimmers under the light, glitters like a thousand stars have scrambled down to adorn her. It’s a sad song. She is talking of heartbreak and wanting to let go, being unable to and her voice dips, grows raspier, like she wants to cry, is on the verge of before it lifts, becomes crisp and clear and so so sweet. 

He doesn’t know her name, still can’t recognise her, but when she opens her eyes, his breath seizes. Twin pools of midnight skies gaze back at him through the screen and he feels naked. Like a word from her would crumble all his walls, the stranger in the gray bar whom he’d tell all of his world to, the fears that keep him from sleeping, the things that make him happy, the parts of him he is ashamed of, the ones he has worked years to build. 

The cheers grow louder, the song ends and so does her set because she goes back in and doesn’t come out, though he stays rooted where he is. Breathless, his pulse races under his skin with an itch to be closer to her. He wants to know her, touch her, bury her under thoughts of him as she has and be her muse. 

If his friend notices the slightly crazed look in his eyes when he asks him to introduce her, he is kind enough not to say anything. 

Max waits, impatient in a way he has never been. He isn’t used to falling apart like this. He is usually steel and calm, forged under the relentless rain of his hometown, aged on the racing track where a possible death lurks at every corner, every wrong inch of a move, yet here he is, tripping over his own feet, anxious over a girl. He doesn’t need his father to be a witness to feel his disapproval. 

 She comes out of her room backstage, ironically enough, tripping on her own feet and if anyone asks, he would chop it up to the years of developed reflexes but he feels the truth in his gut. Even if he weren’t an f1 driver, he would still have felt her losing her footing before anyone else. 

She lands in his arms and the way his hands clench around her waist tighter is entirely unconscious. She breathes an embarrassed laugh near his ear and he suppresses the shiver that wants to wrack his whole frame when it washes over him. She smells of mint and sugar, like the sweetest of things and he aches to have this woman he barely knows. 

Jokingly she wraps her arms around him too, making a pun about this being how she meets new people and introduces herself and Max feels her touch more acutely than he feels his car midrace, senses attuned to every bit that is she. Soaking all the words and breaths and glances like a man parched. 

He doesn’t remember introducing himself, unsure if he even said anything but soon she is ushering them into her room and he tails behind her, still spellbound like a child, amazed by her zest for her craft as she discusses her performance with his friend. It’s a foreign feeling, rare, the way he feels right now. Almost undeserving of her attention since he didn’t know who she was before, hasn’t heard her music, doesn’t know what’s the right thing to say. 

Max is all sharp edges and brusque words and is afraid to say the wrong thing. Come across as harsh and inadvertently drive her away. He feels no parts a two-time world champion and all parts an awkward teenager tongue-tied in front of his first real crush. But then she turns around, looks at him and smiles, cracks a joke, leans over at some point to lightly grab his arm, like she is letting him on a secret, including him in her own little bubble, and there’s nothing he can do to stop the joy from bubbling over in his heart.

thankyou to the anon for sending in the prompt and aww I m so happy to hear u like my writing 🥰🥰 happy reading luv 💕

[n0tamused]

"Amoris"

A/N: I miss my husband y'all. Made this as an oc x canon thing but I took out any names or descriptions so it can be read as x reader. We all deserve soft Nanami

Content: blind reader, female reader, post Shibuya - Nanami lives, they're enjoying their time in Malaysia now, soft Nanami

Word count: 978

Warnings: Scars? Besides that, nothing.

Long arms of midnight blue embrace the once azure skies, taking them into their slumbering hold. A soft light emanates from the young moon hanging overhead, drawing and calming the breathing waves that swallow up the beaches lick by lick.

The sight is one of its kind, and one the two dreamed off for years beforehand. They could only dream about how refreshing the salty air would be, and how the sound of the sea would lull them to sleep every night, how the summer rains will water the plants hanging from their windows and how lovely it would be to hold hands through all of it. 

Nanami’s calloused hands draw the long curtains over the window after catching one final glimpse of the view outside, humming along with the tune that plays on the phone radio. When he turned to face the bed he saw her sitting comfortably against the headrest, a young little tabby kitten taking much interest, and taste, in her fingers as it let out playful yowls and meows, nibbling at her digits. His beloved giggled, her eyes pointed downward but staring at nothing, the small little scars that sprawled around her eyes had faded, but they were still there, and proof of what hardships she faced. Long lashes flutter shut as she gives up on trying to get the kitten off of her hand, simply letting one fingertip stay lodged between its small pointy teeth, feeling how he tried to chew and bite. “Kenntoo” she called into the air, hearing him move about, his humming following him along. He always seemed to make it a point to do his activities a bit louder than he needed to, simply to let his presence be known to her so she knew he was still there. 

“Yes, my dear?”

“It’s time to go to sleep, I hardly got hold of you the entire day today” says (Y/N), breathing in deeply and letting her sigh fall heavy from her lips, as if to make a point. The kitten in her hands lets out a meow that sounded more like a squeal instead, making him turn his head to the two on the bed. “See? Even he agrees, he’s calling you over- Na Na Miiiii” she teases, barely hiding a smile from her lips as she feels the kitten's body, turning it around to face away and lifting it up into the air. Her smile widens as she feels Kento’s big hands take the kitten from her, inevitably touching her own hands. “You both seem so needy today, I can’t have been absent for that long, right?” The bed dips beneath his weight as he takes a seat beside her stretched legs, and the kitten is promptly placed into his lap for a short while. Big strokes over the little furry head and body leaving the kitten purring loudly. She nudges his hip with her foot when she finds it, asking for more attention to be cast to her.

“We had a perfect chance to sleep in this morning, yet you got up so early. And for what?” she points her words at him, curling her knees to her chest before scooting closer to where she felt him, one hand stretching out and landing on his bicep first. Then the hand crawled up to his shoulder, holding herself there. “Besides the kitten surprise, what else do you have going on?” she asked with a soft sigh, squeezing his shoulder as if that would squeeze and answer out of him. He chuckles, letting the kitten jump to the floor before he turns his body towards her, taking her hands in his. “What could I have going on? I can’t keep anything from you, even the cat was hardly any surprise”  “Only because he was meowing from his box” “Pfft”

“But no, seriously. You’ve been working a lot.. and I miss you, Ken” Her voice had mellowed out, and with his guidance she made his lap her seat, her hands climbing up his chest before cupping his cheeks. The feeling has her smiling bigger, her heart catching up in her throat. One hand can feel the scarred skin from the burns he had sustained, and the other is met with smoother skin, both equally warm to the touch, both his cheeks lead up to the brows she mapped out with her fingertips before moving to his temples. He falls silent, holding his words on the tip of his tongue as he lets her touch his face.

Her fingers go to his hairline, carding through the golden locks before dropping to his earlobe, and with a fingertip on each side she traces the high cheekbone up to the base of his nose, and then a single finger goes to his lips, and he swears he can feel his heart leave him completely. It escapes his chest and runs to her embrace. Finally, he moves, taking hold of her wrist to keep it still while he kisses her fingertip, and gently he turns her hand over to show her palm so he could place kisses onto it. “I missed you too, so much” Kento replied, taking the other hand to and making her cup his cheeks again while he turned his head and kissed this hand and then the other, maneuvering them how he saw fit, showing love to each hand that held him so delicately, much delicately than he believed he deserved. 

Nanami pulls her closer in his lap, and before he could initiate it, he already felt her  soft lips find a corner of his own. Both of them burst into a quick chuckle that gets muffled by a proper kiss, now landing on his lips and it quells their feelings of yearning. 

“Mm, let’s get to bed now, hm? And I can tell you what I was up to today, alright?”

I didn't write in a while, so I hope this is alright <3

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[the-golden-comet]

⛵️OC Ship Song Tag ⛵️

Thank you for tagging me here @thecomfywriter , here @theink-stainedfolk , here, @mundanemoongirl and here @drchenquill ! Love me some ships, and love me some songs ✨

Rules: list the ships of your wip (canon or otherwise!) and the song that "describes" your ship, or that would be used for a fan edit of the ship

For Your Wish Is My Command, I have one song by Fox Stevenson: “All This Time.” detailing Noah and Ali’s journey to self actualization, trying new things with new lenses from both their perspectives separately and together. 💛✨

For Ali, it’s seeing how the world has changed since he was last freed from the lamp. For Noah, it’s taking steps out of his comfort zone to bravely go places he’s never gone… with a little help from a friend. The upbeat music is hopeful, light, cheerful, and summery. ☀️

Lyrics:

I don't mind

'Cause this is something that I have to find

After all this time

I'll be okay.

'Cause when the skies turn black

And the floor beneath me starts to crack

You know I'm coming back

Today

I know

That it's too hard to find

A little peace of mind

In this crazy storm

So we'll go

Wherever we feel like

'Cause I'm that kind of guy

You've been warned

(✨✨✨)

Well, as a last resort

We're gonna give it one more try

We'll give it one more shot

And one more go

And it'll be all for naught

If after all this time

We've given all we've got and still don't know

(✨✨✨)

I don't mind

'Cause this is something that I have to find

After all this time

I'll be okay

'Cause when the skies turn black

And the floor beneath me starts to crack

You know I'm coming back

Today

Going to (gently) tag: @autism-purgatory , @wyked-ao3 , @gioiaalbanoart , @tragedycoded , @words-after-midnight , @sableglass , @saturnine-saturneight , @lychhiker-writes , @kaylinalexanderbooks , @honeybewrites , @finickyfelix , @jev-urisk , @paeliae-occasionally , @agirlandherquill , @fantasy-things-and-such , @clevah-girlboss , @katenewmanwrites , @oliolioxenfreewrites , @badscientist , @caninecomplex , @tildeathiwillwrite , @mauannacreates , @moltenwrites , @deanwax , @dearunreliablenarrator , @worlds-tallest-fairy , @theaistired , @ominous-feychild , @mysticstarlightduck , @the-letterbox-archives , @willtheweaver , @aintgonnatakethis , @ceph-the-ghost-writer , @differentnighttale , @noxxytocin , @houseplantblank , @musicismymoirail , @lavender-gloom , @smellyrottentrees , +open tag 💛✨