#Woman bathing in a river

[mysterious-secret-garden]

Rembrandt Harmensz van Rijn - Woman bathing in a river, 1654.

[youssefguedira]

a lot of talk about how nicky probably uses 12-in-1 shampoo conditioner etc not enough talk about andromache older than the wheel the scythian definitely does the same thing

[lovelybluebirdie]

The astonishing failure of a simple plan

Astarion x f!Reader

Summary: Astarion tries to wrap his head around you, when a sudden tumult in camp occurs.

[AO3]

The concept of altruism had always been quite strange to Astarion.

Doing something solely for benefiting others, without one's own needs primarily in mind – how outrageously foolish. 

And yet, he caught himself considering the idea more often since he had met you. 

You, the soft-hearted soul who always seemed to stumble directly into the next best opportunity to solve the problems of complete strangers that would cross your way – gladly interfering with any sort of personal drama. 

Although you and the rest of your travel companions had been infected with a tadpole to the brain, leaving you in desperate need for a cure to this rather urgent condition, somehow you would always manage to save a child from getting gruesomely killed by harpies, pick a fight with a powerful hag to rescue some random woman you just met or annihilate an entire camp full of goblins to ensure safe travels for a bunch of Tieflings – without at least demanding a proper compensation for all your troubles. 

You just did those things, and it drove Astarion mad.  

Perhaps one of the reasons for your undeniable saviour complex were the recurring thoughts that plagued you. You had once explained it as particularly dark urges, the impulse to hurt and kill spreading its roots inside your brain, evolving into a yearn to act out the most gruesome visions one could imagine. Gloriously kill an innocent to bathe in their blood, crush a squirrel to death with your bare fists or rip off a stranger's hand in need of help – malicious ideas that would otherwise never cross your mind.

The origin of these unwanted desires were unknown to you, but you sensed that it had to be connected to your past somehow – a part of you that had yet to be completely revealed. Of course, you had sworn to give everything in your might to resist them. And luckily for the life of your travel companions, you were mostly able to succeed.

Regardless of these murderous tendencies coming with your affliction, you were still the kindest person Astarion had ever met. A contradiction in itself, and yet you were – well, you.

Lately, Astarion had caught himself just perceiving you. 

Taking in your soft expression as you were mindlessly humming a song to yourself, sitting barefoot by the river, hands elbow-deep in the cold water to wash your clothes, sticking this stupid little melody to his head for the rest of the day.

While resting at camp, he had watched you reading – one of your favourites, the lexicon of bird species in Faerûn – a terribly boring topic, but you seemed to indulge in the lengthy descriptions of a blue jay’s wingspan. You would fetch Astarion a caught smile between slowly turned pages, eyes half-closed, before eventually dozing off in the flickering light of the fire. He had barely been fast enough to catch the edges of your slipping book, saving it from landing in the dirt.

The other day, he noticed you carefully picking flowers from the road, acting like it was the most important task on your schedule. Later, you would sit in silence, brows furrowed in concentration and hands busy with knotting them into a beautiful headband. A gift for Karlach, since you had sensed that she hadn’t been too well on this particular day.

A sickeningly sweet gesture.

And yet, so typically you. Affectionate, always looking after your dearest companions.

He remembered the feeling of you casually squeezing his shoulder after an exhausting battle, the concerned look you would give him as you noticed that he had been injured, and how you insisted on treating his wounds with the utmost care, not leaving his side before you made sure his bleeding had entirely stopped.

There was the sensation of your fingers gently forming circles through his white curls, while he had buried his fangs deep inside your neck, greedily gulping down the blood you had been willingly offered to him. The quickening of your pulse, the little shivers your body would give away as he was feeding on you. 

Your thumb shyly placed against his brow, the tender movement as you traced his features. The sincerity in your voice as you described the outlines of his face to him, after he had shared with you that his lack of reflection had turned the image of his own appearance into a dark shape from his past. Profane vanity was all he had initially seeked from you that evening, listening to you calling him beautiful and stroking his ego, and yet there had been a certain intimacy resonating in that moment. You had described to him what the world would see when it looked at him – what you would see. 

Astarion groaned and pulled his blanket up to his chin, almost covering his bottom lip with the thin woollen fabric.

Gods, how you irritated him. 

How you had infested his mind with your nauseating goodness. 

When you first met, Astarion had decided that precisely this outstanding character trait of yours should be your undoing.

You offered an easy prey, he had thought to himself in a blissful glee, as he imagined all the ways in which he would bargain your trust. 

Luring and deceiving were practically moulded into him, therefore charming you appeared as easy as picking the lock on a broken chest. In order to survive under his former master Cazador, he had become an unwilling adept in these abilities. 

Astarion flinched as the memory of his ruthless tormentor reentered his mind. Cazador had turned him into a vampire spawn almost two centuries ago and made him his slave, forcing him to a life in complete darkness and made him use his body to bring more than thousands of victims to him.

In order to deceive you, Astarion had formed a rather simple plan: Seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you would never turn on him – old habits that cemented over the past centuries had kicked in.

Therefore, it should have been easy with you. Instinctive. Following a pattern of studied behaviour, throwing his best lines at you until you would breathe his name between tousled sheets - leaving your body aching for him and trusting him unconditionally.  

All he had to do was follow this nice little plan of his, deepening the selfish bond he aimed to create between the two of you in order to secure his safety. To get you on his side. 

It should have been nothing more than an insurance. A simple transaction, so to speak: His honeyed words for your protection. Performing an act, yourself delightfully unaware of your leading role in this little play of his.

Well, and what else could it ever be? After all, manipulating others in order to get something out of them was the only way he had ever known. 

And yet: with you, things had somewhat felt entirely different.  

At least, his plan had evidently borne fruit by now: Not only were you voluntarily offering your blood to help him with his cravings after he had revealed his past of being a vampire spawn, you had also sworn to help him finding out the meaning of the scars on his back and dealing with Cazador when the time would come.

Still, instead of savouring his accomplishment he found himself distracted with his attempts to wrap his head around you. 

Sometimes he wanted nothing more than to peek inside this little skull of yours, picking your brain until he would satisfy his curiosity with you and determine the reason why you were lingering on his mind of late. 

He wanted to figure out what made him actually want to listen to the things you had to say, admire your wit when you would share a heartfelt laugh over one of your foolish jokes or why he would seek your company after a night spent in familiar solitude. And even worse: Why in the Hells he had caught himself enjoying how your face would light up after you had saved another unfortunate soul in need on your travels. 

Astarion sighed and pushed his fingers to his eyes, hoping that pressing them shut would free him from his vexing thoughts, as a sudden noise distracted him.

The pounding of hurried footsteps and jumbled voices rose outside his tent, growing louder and faster.

He let out another disgruntled sigh.

Gods, what would it be now?

Whoever was roaming around your camp this late at night, screaming like an animal, better had a rightful reason to do so.

His annoyance fell off immediately as he came to understand what the unfamiliar voices were yelling: Your name. Followed by pleas for help.

Before he even comprehended what exactly posed this sudden level of urgency, his feet had already dragged him outside in the dark, a cold breeze brushing against his skin.

“What is going on?” he heard his own voice meddling into the sudden tumult. 

Then he spotted you: Arms and legs hanging lifelessly, brought down on your bedding by one of the Harpers he remembered from the Last Light Inn. You were followed by a few other Harpers who positioned themselves around your tent - they were desperately shouting for a healer.

An icy grip twisted Astarion’s chest as he stormed forward to reach you, stomping through mud and dirt.

“Is she hurt?” His voice broke as he saw your face. You were lying on your blanket, eyes rolling behind closed lids, cheeks all flushed and a thin line of sweat forming on your brow. You looked utterly terrible: Weakened and sick, seemingly in a feverish delirium. 

Astarion had seen you wounded before, due to blood and gore being in the nature of your journey to free yourself from the tadpoles, but never like this: more dead than alive, not moving a single major muscle.

What in the Nine Hells had happened to you?

Astarion swallowed hard before he found his voice again and turned to the ones who had brought you in.

“What did you do to her?” he hissed, readying himself to grab the Harper next to him by the throat and shake him until his tongue would loosen. “Explain yourself, now!”

Before any of the men could open their agape mouths in response to Astarion’s daunting request, Shadowheart broke the heated atmosphere with a soft push to his shoulder and made way to kneel beside you. 

“Let me see her.” She spoke quickly as she felt for your pulse and started to spread her hands protectively over you, encompassing you in a blue radiance. She was already casting a healing spell.

“Your friend, she… she was fighting a shadow creature, and it must have poisoned her,” the Harper that had carried you pressed between quivering lips. “We already sent someone to call for Isobel. She will know what to do.” As he met Astarion’s furious glimpse, he hastily added “They – they should be here any minute.”

Poison? Astarion wrinkled his nose. Indeed, your blood smelled different – somewhat tainted. 

He focused his gaze back to you, suppressing the urge to slap that damned Harper straight across the face. 

Instead of acting out this violent thought, he sank to his knees next to Shadowheart and carefully laid one hand on your cheek. You were burning hot and letting out ragged breaths between your cracked lips.

“I can cast my spells, but I am not versed in the toxins of the Dark”, Shadowheart declared with the most tensed look on her face, her magic still hovering over your body. “We need Isobel – fast.”

Another twist in Astarion’s chest. He racked his brain for a solution, his hand still held helplessly against your cheek. You were in need of healing, desperately, and more adept than Shadowheart could provide. His senses began to blur.

Through the pulsing sound of blood rushing through his ears he could only gather a few scraps of the enfolding conversation between the Harpers and the rest of your companions that had hurried to your aid.

It was enough to paint a picture of what happened to you: During your night watch, you had noticed a Harper being dragged away in the shadows and went immediately to his aid. With a few quick blows, you had managed to kill the attacking creature and save the unfortunate man from his demise, but for its final act it stroked you with its claw, leaving a deep scratch on your right arm – the source of the suspected poison that would flow through your veins. 

Astarion bit the inside of his cheek, spilling blood. His mind was racing. 

Of course you had gotten yourself in danger over saving someone else again. 

In normal times, he would have loved to tease you for your foolish act of heroism and give you an “I told you so”, probably earning a defiant look from you while you would emphasise the importance of helping those in need. 

Hells, he desired nothing more than to listen to your moralising if it meant that he could just hear your voice right now. 

But instead of lecturing him on morality, you were still lying on your mattress, unmoving and probably on the verge of death, and he couldn’t think of a single way to rid you of this terrible state.

He felt numb. Useless. It made him sick.

A gut wrenching thought rushed over him. 

What if you would die right now – just like that? 

Before he could… Well, before he could do what exactly?

The image of your limp lifeless body with dead staring eyes entered his mind.

No. You didn’t deserve to die. You couldn’t die. Not like this. Not now, not ever, not from saving a goddamned Harper.

Then you whimpered. 

Silent, almost inaudible, but enough to set Astarion ablaze. 

The urge of punishing every single one who had dared to lead you to harm overcame him like a ruthless wave crashing shore. He wanted to cut open, to rip apart and to send everyone into eternal hell.

Fire took over his crimson eyes as he bared his fangs, the look of a predator on his pale face, ready to curse those wretched Harpers or worse, as another quiet sound spilled from your lips.

“As… Astar... ion…?”

He froze.

His name – spoken as gentle as a flicker of moonlight glistening through leaves. Not moaned in lust or used to denounce him in anger – just… him being called, in the most faintest way. 

He felt his eyes wet before he even knew it, his mouth opened for a split second only to his lips pressing it shut again, forcing himself to blink before a single tear could make its way down his cheek.

You sounded so fragile. So ... in need of him.

“Asta...rion?”

His chest twisted again.

He wanted to whisper words of comfort to you, chanting them over and over like a prayer, assuring you that everything would be alright.

“Don’t speak,” he managed to breathe in a cracked voice. “I’m here, my sweet.”

Your eyes were still closed and moving fast underneath your lids. You spoke in a fever, and he could sense that you were in pain. 

Astarion brushed a strand of hair off your sweaty brow, using just the tips of his slender fingers. A most careful touch, as if a hint of deeper force would break you. 

Then, there was no more sound coming from you.

“Hells, where is that goddamned cleric? If she doesn’t arrive here any second, I’m going to drag her over myself-” Astarion’s voice was nothing more than a helpless plea. He sounded way less threatening than he had wished for, almost spilling those tears he had to hold back, and seconds before bursting if there would be no aid for you right now.

“No need to shout, my friend. I’m right here.”

Isobel. Finally. 

A fire in his stomach again.

How dared she sound so calm, considering your condition?

With haste, Isobel knelt between him and Shadowheart and opened her pouch, revealing a set of different sized bottles. She began to examine you with concentration, lifting your eyelids to look at your pupils, checking your vitals and thoroughly inspecting the wound the monster had inflicted on you. 

Astarion gritted his teeth in anticipation, a thick lump forming in his throat. 

“Will she be alright?” he eventually demanded, his voice cracking like a violin out of tune, but Isobel ignored him and silently continued her treatment. 

“Astarion, I’m worried about her too, but I think we shouldn’t disturb Isobel right now,” Wyll interfered softly and squeezed his shoulder. 

Taken aback, Astarion pressed his lips together. Of course Wyll would be the voice of reason in a situation like this, but unfortunately he wasn’t wrong. Isobel was the most profound healer available, an expert on the shadow creatures - and unlike himself, she offered the possibility to save you.

“As I thought,” Isobel mumbled after a minute that had felt like eternity and opened one of her potions with a loud plop. “She will need this.”

She then put her thumb on your chin, carefully opening your mouth and pouring in a dark liquid, before she continued to clear your wound. 

Astarion eagerly watched her hands treating you with expertise, still not laying his gaze off you.

“I gave her a powerful antidote,” Isobel began to explain calmly as she spread a colourless balm on your torn flesh. “Such poison needs fast treatment. Fortunately, if dealt with in time, it can still be cured. I’m glad I was able to aid your dear friend before it made its way through her entire body. Otherwise… It most likely would have been fatal.”

Astarion’s muscles tightened and his stomach turned. You almost died tonight.

Isobel seemed to notice his tension, so she quickly added “With this antidote, she will be completely fine in the morning. Her fever might continue through the night, but I promise that there is no more reason for concern.”

“Are you completely sure of that, Isobel?” Shadowheart asked, seeking out reassurance that the treatment truly had succeeded.

“I swear by Selune, she is not at risk anymore. The antidote freed her from the poison and the balm will heal her wound,” the cleric responded confidently. “Her body will do the rest.” 

The tight, dark blanket that had wrapped around Astarion’s chest began to loosen up.  

“I… I’m glad that she’ll be alright,” was all he managed to vocalise as the adrenaline slowly faded from his body.

“Thank you, Isobel,” added Gale, who had been nervously walking up and down your tent as Isobel had tended to your condition. 

Even Shadowheart, a devoted follower of Lady Shar, spared a few words of gratitude towards the cleric following her sworn enemy’s beliefs.

A general sense of ease took over from the strained atmosphere that had prevailed just a moment ago.

“She needs rest and quiet now,” Isobel claimed and gave a telling look to your companions and the assembly of Harpers that gathered around your tent. 

An unspoken demand that it was time to give you some space now.

*

“I will stay with her,” Astarion announced to Shadowheart and the remaining group after Isobel and the Harpers had left for the Last Light Inn. There had been a quick discussion if you should have been brought with them, but eventually it was decided that you were more safe in your own bedroll than being dragged through the shadow infested lands again. 

“Are you sure, Astarion? I’d be more than glad to watch over her myself,” Shadowheart responded, not hiding her surprise over his proposition.

Even if Astarion wasn’t sure about anything in particular right now, he felt the pressing need to remain by your side until you would open your eyes again, ensuring that Isobel had spoken the truth and the threat had passed. 

“Well, I won’t be able to get some more rest tonight anyway, so I might as well just stay over here,” he attempted in a more indifferent manner. “Besides, her tent is by far the most comfortable one our excuse for a camp has to offer, and I’m looking forward to indulging in some peace and quiet after all of this night's terrible trouble.”

Karlach listened to his explanation in slight amusement and gave him a supporting nod. Liar, her smiling face said.

“Well, if you’re sure, and there are no objections… Then it’s fine with me, I suppose,” Shadowheart replied with a raised eyebrow. “But promise to shout for me if something’s the matter, will you?”

“Gods, would you please give me some credit here, you mother hen. I got this,” Astarion said and rolled his eyes. On the inside, he was still shaken up, and he could only hope that the slight pitch in his voice wouldn’t give him away. “So hush hush everyone, off you go now. Get in some  beauty sleep, as you all are evidently in need of it.”

“Chk!” Lae’zel interfered in the most angry whisper she could muster. “Leave Astarion to look after her for the night if he insists. I’m certain he knows the fate that will await him should she come to harm under his supervision.” Lae’zel’s very own way to express that she came to care about you.

“Charming as ever,” Astarion replied at this implicit threat, still holding no intention to move merely an inch from his spot next to your bedroll.

“You see, Shadowheart? There seems to be no need to worry about our dearest friend,” Gale added with a slight chuckle. “I suppose she’ll be in good hands for tonight.”

Shadowheart let out a grunt and readied herself to leave with the others, but not before she would lay one last gaze on you, ensuring that you had not gotten any worse over the last few minutes.

*

Astarion watched your chest rise and fall in a soothing rhythm.

What a mess this night had been.

From the moment the Harpers had brought you in it had been like a heavy weight violently crushing his chest over and over, turning him into an angry, scared wreck, and the pressure only began to wear off by now.

Realistically, he knew that you were safe and the danger had passed. But then, why was there such an uneasiness lingering on him?

He had been scared in his life before, probably more times than he could recall, and yet… The fear over losing you tonight had shifted something in him. 

You had called for him in your feverish delirium, as you were lying helpless and in pain. 

It was an image hard to shake off.

Astarion sighed, when he noticed that you were still in your armour. There was no way in Hell he would let you sleep in this reeking dirt-covered piece of cloth, so his dexterous fingers began to peel it off, piece by piece. Carefully not to wake you, he stored your armour aside, until you were lying in your undergarment. Then he took your blanket and wrapped it around you.

With another gentle motion, he let his finger stroke along your brow, brushing over the dampness of your skin. You were still feeling hot. 

His nose wrinkled as he pulled down his sleeve to cautiously wipe your sweat away. There was no need to get up to fetch some extra cloth, and he would be perfectly capable of cleaning his shirt the next morning.

For a while, Astarion would just watch over you, mustering your relaxed face and ensuring that your breathing continued steadily. You seemed to be in a calm sleep, still feverish, but evidently better looking than the moment you had been brought in.

The next morning came to his mind. Perhaps he might attempt to prepare your favourite food for you, a simple but apparently very delicious berry porridge. Not that he had any particular experience on the matter, since his culinary needs were restricted to blood these days, but if someone like Gale was able to cook it, he surely would be too. Maybe he would surprise you with the dog or the owlbear for some morning snuggling in bed, as you seemed to never spend a single day without indulging in some pets on your journey. Well, he probably should bring in both. Oh how delighted you would be, waking up to these furry little beasts, he thought with a grin. 

Then it hit him.

Shit.

His nice, simple plan with you had truly and utterly fallen apart.

What should have been nothing more than an insurance for his safety, a way to rid himself of the tadpole in his brain and offer him a powerful ally to face Cazador some day, had developed into something he never experienced before.

He genuinely cared about you - more than he thought himself to be capable of. You had become most precious to him, and he felt the urgent need to be honest with you. 

You were incredible, and you didn’t deserve to be lured into a selfish alliance.

You deserved something real. 

He wanted things between you to be something real - even if he didn’t know what real looked like. After all, charming and deceiving others was the only way he had ever known. Forming a sincere connection and being close with someone posed an entirely new and remarkably scary sensation. But maybe, with you…

Your faint voice brought him back from his thoughts. 

“Asta...rion?” 

His face softened, not as an act of will, more like a reflex.

You looked at him with half-open eyes, sounding still a little weak.

He bowed his head closer to you and spoke softly, letting his thumb brush gently over your cheek.

"There you are, my little fool. Getting ourselves in trouble over our constant need to do something heroic again, weren’t we?”

“Mh… Is that so?” you asked in a raspy voice, offering a weak smile through glistening eyes underlined with dark circles, your hair pressed damp to your skull. “And you saved me, I suppose?” 

Astarion’s heart grew tight with adoration. To him, you had never looked more beautiful.

“I’m afraid not, my dear. Actually, you have been poisoned by a shadow creature, so you were in need of a more adept healer. Isobel treated you.”

“Mhm.. How bad was it?”

He thought for a moment, the fear he had felt rushing over him for a split second and piercing his chest like ice. 

"Well, not as bad as it could have. I’ll spare you the details for tomorrow.”

“That’s… good.” You hummed, sounding drowsy and still a little feverish. Then, you gave a soft plea. “Astarion… Would you… stay with me tonight?”

There it was again, a pull at his heartstrings. 

Gods, you wicked little thing.

“Of course, my darling. I’ll stay as long as you need me.”

A promise, unimaginable honest had it been another time, with another person, but this was now, and this was you.

He gave another gentle press to your hand, carefully intertwining your fingers with his, as if to underline his words.

"Thank you,” you whispered, eyes closed for a second before you let your gaze meet his again. Another quiet mumble. "Could you... hold me please?"

Astarion was overwhelmed by your vulnerability for a second. He wanted nothing more than to provide you comfort, to make you feel safe, but didn't know if he should give in. Even though you had often shared your bedroll these days, this somehow felt more open, more intimate.

Before he realised what he was doing, he swiftly lifted off your blanket to slip underneath and laid his arm around your waist, pulling you in close.

He could feel your hand on his chest. Your head gently resting on his shoulder, fingers loosely clutching around the end of his collar. Your warm body against his cold.

Astarion let his fingers gently caressing the small of your back.

You were breathing steady, already seeming to doze off again. A soothing calmness came over him.

“I hope… I didn’t worry you too much,” you mumbled, more asleep than awake.

Astarion bit his lip.

“Well…” he said and cleared his throat. “I managed.” A complete understatement of events, but this was also a confession for another day. “Rest now, my love.”

Astarion continued to gently stroke your back, his lips turning into an affectionate smile. He never thought his heart to be this full over the failure of such a simple plan.

Masterlist

[maxanor]

Who was this woman? A serving wench who dabbled in potions and spells, says Munkun. A woods witch, claims Septon Eustace. A malign enchantress who bathed in the blood of virgins to preserve her youth, Mushroom would have us believe.

GAYLE RANKIN as ALYS RIVERS House of the Dragon | Season 2, Episode 3

[satorusugurugurl]

The Resort

Summary: Satoru and Suguru take care of their intoxicated girlfriend while on vacation.

Characters: Gojo Satoru x AFAB!Reader x Geto Suguru

Warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption, reader is drunk, fluffy sweet goodness!

Count: 1.6K

A/N: This is a part two of my last fic! You can read it here Part One! I loved this, my sweet babies!!

The walls of the hall were spinning. And you so gracefully flipped it off before sipping down your free margarita. It tasted terrific, better than the two strawberry margaritas, beers, and Pina-colada you'd sucked down in the lazy river. It probably tasted so good because it was free.

“Alr-hic-right!” you slurred, taking a wobbly step forward.” To the room!” With that singular step, the walls began spinning faster, and you were certain you were falling when a strong arm wrapped around your waist, steadying you while another plucked the drink from your hand. “Oooh, hibabes~!”

“Hi Princess, I thought I asked you to wait for us?”

“Mhmm! Just want-hic—try w-walkin!”

“Yeah~? Looks like you made it one step and almost ate it.” Satoru sneered with a smug smirk.

“Yep!” You cheerfully nodded, stumbling forward, only to have Suguru grunt as he readjusted his hold on you. “Tally-ho, I need to finish this margarita~!”

“What you need is water.”

Both your boyfriends laughed as they helped you walk through the maze of halls of the resort you were staying at. The twisting turns had your head spinning as you stumbled along with them. Both were so gentle and patient with you as you staggered around.

When you got to your room, Satoru held onto you, smiling as you sucked the last of your drink down as Geto opened the door for the three of you. With the door opened, Gojo helped lead you inside the chilly room, which you were not a fan of due to your still-damp bathing suit. The boys could see the goosebumps rising against your skin as you shivered, your drunken mind trying to process what you needed to do next.

“Oh yeah, she’s gone.” Geto scoffed, taking the hair tie that secured his top bun out before gathering his long raven hair into a singular bun. “Satoru, can you grab me some water?”

“Whose gone—?” you drunkenly asked, unaware he was referring to you.

“No one, Princess.” Geto chuckled, admiring how your flushed cheeks darkened as you concentrated so hard on his words, trying to remain a part of the conversation. “Can you lift your arms for me?”

“Toorruuu~! Who's gone?” You slurred, still confused about whom you lost in your group of three, and you lifted your arms above your head, allowing Suguru to pull off your sheer bathing suit cover.

One of the differences between Satoru and Suguru was that Satoru didn’t drink. So he wasn’t sure how to handle you when you were drunk like this—a buzz he could handle. But you are wobbling around the halls, slurring your words while sipping on your watered-down margarita was something he wasn’t sure if he could handle. But he was fully capable of doing whatever Suguru asked of him. And seeing as how Suguru had it off that you didn’t need to worry about whom they were talking about, he decided to play along.

“Nobody, sweetheart.” As you hummed, he returned to your side, almost pondering if you needed to continue to ask who this missing person was, but your thoughts went blank as you felt Suguru’s fingers working at the top of your bikini.

His long, thick fingers quickly undid the knot you had desperately tied earlier that morning. Your mind was less concerned with the missing person at your party. Instead, you began hyper-fixing the fact that your boyfriend was getting you naked. You bit your lip, pushing yourself back against Suguru, who hissed at the chill of your cold, damp skin. It was a reaction you didn’t notice because you were more focused on seducing the tall, dark-haired man.

Suguru was unaffected by your very poor drunken attempt to seduce him. Your normally tactical grinding was more like a woman trying to twerk for the first time against him. It was adorable. So much to your dismay, Suguru took a step back With a chuckle before tugging the remaining string to your bikini off before he moved to your bottoms, yanking them down your legs, leaving you completely nude with no prospect of any fun to come.

“Twat tease.” You mumbled with a pout that left Suguru batting his eyes at you.

“Did you just call me a twat tease?” Both your boyfriend's laughter had a giggle of your own rising in your chest. “I didn't even tease you.”

You were about to argue with him when a glass with clear liquid was handed to you. “Drink,” Satoru commanded, and despite not wanting any more alcohol, you chugged it down like a shot.

“See, I told you, give her water in a glass, and she won't argue with you.”

Both the men watched as you turned towards them, a drunken smile on your face as you handed the glass back to Satoru, who filled it with more water. “You were right, she's such a good girl.” The praise made you more determined to drink whatever they handed you: plain old water. But you didn’t need to know that, not right now, at least. As long as you weren’t feeling like shit the next day, they would continue to trick you into drinking more H2O.

“She is a good girl.” Suguru wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. “Does my girl want to take a shower now?” The smell of chlorine was strong as you hugged Suguru back. He stroked your damp hair back, smiling softly as you lazily nodded. “Okay, let’s go.”

“I’ll order some room service,” Satoru added, waving at you as Suguru pulled you into the bathroom and turned the water on. “I’ll be right here.”

You wanted to bring him in with you, allowing the three of you to shower together, but your mind was fuzzy; you weren’t sure if you could even enjoy showering with both of them if he wasn’t going to join you. But despite that, you decided it would be best to go with the flow of things, leading you to the shower, where Suguru took his time washing your hair and body and being so gentle with his precious girl. The smell of the fancy resort shampoo and soaps had you relaxing, shutting your eyes as Suguru’s fingers worked at your scalp, massaging you.

It was all a blur of the sweet kisses your boyfriend planted on your shoulder as he let the conditioner sit in your hair, washing your face, to the warm, fluffy towel Satoru wrapped around as you stepped out. Both of them took the time to take care of you when you couldn’t take care of yourself. Doing your skincare routine and helping you into your pajamas made them the best partners you could ask for.

Their kindness and compassion for you left you feeling warm and fuzzy as Suguru gently brushed your hair and Satoru handed you a glass of water. Satoru couldn't help but notice how your eyes began to well with unshed tears as you sipped it. This was not something he was prepared for. But he wasn't just going to ignore the fact that his girlfriend was crying.

“Baby, what’s the matter?” he asked soothingly as Suguru braided your hair, his violet iris meeting cerulean as you hiccup. “Ooh, sweetpea, what's the matter?”

“I just love you both.” You cried as you wiped at your eyes with the back of your wrists. “You both take s-such good care of me, and I just love you.”

“Oh, sweetheart.”

“Princess, we love you too.” Suguru wrapped his big, strong arms around you, and Satoru pulled you onto his lap.

Satoru wiped some of your stray tears away with his thumb. “We’ll always take care of you.” You hiccuped, your big, beautiful eyes glancing up into Satoru’, making his heart squeeze as Suguru pressed sweet kisses on your cheek.

“Forever and always.” Hearing their words, the affirmations that they truly did love you and were always going to take care of you, made them relax in their embrace. And while Satoru hummed lazily, resting his hands on your hips, Suguru snickered against your skin.

Sensing the impending danger, Satoru pulled back enough to glare as Suguru inched closer to your ear. “Don’t—please don't get her started on that shit again.” The pleas were ignored as Suguru nuzzled himself closer to you.

“I guess we're like a trio of happy otters.”

As if on Que, everything Gojo had wanted to avoid came crashing down like a meteor. Your eyes went wide, glimmering with unshed tears, your chin quivering as you stuck your bottom lip out. Your cry was gripping Satoru’s shirt tight as you stared into his dull, drunken eyes.

“T-Toru! We are! We are li—hic—ke otters.”

“Baby, how the hell are we like otters?”

You learned back against Suguru. “T-They mate for like! And they hold little paws while swimming! J-Just like you did with me earlier in the lazy wriver!!” Satoru sighed, laughing softly as you sniffed hard,

“Yeah, and they rub their faces against each other like this.” Suguru rubbed his cheek gently against yours, drawing out another cry from you, and you yanked Satoru back into your chest.

Satoru took a second to watch your cheeks darken in color as you laughed and cried at the same time. And for once, just once, he didn't mind you blabbering about otters. Because seeing the smile on your face as Suguru pulled you to lie down, well, it was capable of melting the coldest of hearts. Satoru flopped down on his back, lying beside you, gently taking your hand, and Suguru took your other.

“Now we're really like a trio of otters!” A warmth spread through your chest as a pleased giggle rose in your throat. That smile, the sound of your sing-song laughter was what Satoru and Suguru, the strongest sorcerers, strived to ensure was always with you.

Because you were their entire world.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree

[alysscoven]

Who was this woman? A serving wench who dabbled in potions and spells, says Munkun. A woods witch, claims Septon Eustace. A malign enchantress who bathed in the blood of virgins to preserve her youth, Mushroom would have us believe. Her name suggests bastard birth… but we know little of her father, and less of her mother. Munkun and Eustace tell us she was sired by Lord Lyonel Strong in his callow youth, making her a natural half-sister to his sons Harwin (Breakbones) and Larys (the Clubfoot). But Mushroom insists that she was much older, that she was wet nurse to both boys, perhaps even to their father a generation earlier.

Though her own children had all been stillborn, the milk that flowed so abundantly from the breasts of Alys Rivers had nourished countless babes born of other women at Harrenhal. Was she in truth a witch who lay with demons, bringing forth dead children as payment for the knowledge they gave her? Was she a simpleminded slattern, as Eustace believes? A wanton who used her poisons and potions to bind men to her, body and soul?

[moonlightazriel]

Love Sick ///Aemond X F!Reader

Summary: Alys Rivers had a vision about the prince’s arrivals, using her charm to lure him, she haven’t anticipated you, his new wife. So a little something might help him see who he truly belongs.

Warnings: SMUT

Word Count: 1,8K

Notes: I have read a lot of love potions fics and decided to give it a try. So here we are.

Main Masterlist

Alys Rivers always had visions, the flames would always tell her their secrets, this made it easier for her to survive. Yet, one vision kept appearing for her, a Targaryen Prince, dressed in his battle gears, long silvery hair tied to his back, a scar across his beautiful face.

She anticipated his arrival at Harrenhal way before it was even decided he should go. So when she heard the roar high in the skies, and saw the huge dragon landing in her home, she knew her time had come.

She had tended to him since he stepped his foot in Harrenhal, preparing his bath, serving his food, and occasionally flirting with him, she noticed how he looked at her, she was a pretty woman, long black hair and emerald green eyes, she was sure that it would just take a couple of days and he would fall for her.

Whoever, what Alys Rivers haven’t seen in her visions, was the Baratheon beauty arriving a week later. Lord Borros' third daughter, known for her breathtaking looks and even more impressive brain.

Lady Baratheon strolled through the front door, guards behind her as she walked through Harrenhal. And Alys watched with horror as the woman entered the dining room, giving a little smile to the Prince before slowly making her way towards him.

“Lord Husband.” She greeted, kissing his cheek and squeezing his shoulders, Aemond gave her a small nod and gestured for her to join him.

“How was your journey, my lady?” He inquired as the servers prepared her a plate, she politely thanked the maid before taking a piece of green bean with her fork.

“Quite exhausting, I am happy to finally settle down.” She bites her food. “Your dear mother was right, it feels good to be away from the Keep.” Aemond chuckled.

“Do not remind me of all that chaos.” She smiled at him, Alys kept in the corner watching the exchange in silent anger.

“Queen Helaena sent her greetings to you, my dear.” He held her hand.

“Did she talk to you?” Y/N nodded.

“Just a few words, but she seems better.” Helaena was still grieving the loss of her children in the hands of Daemon’s assassins.

“More wine, my Prince?” Alys intervened, her voice low and sensual, the prince turned his eyes to her, lifting his goblet. She could be his wife, but Alys knew what desire looked like, perhaps the prince just needed a little help.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Prince Aemond was in his study room, book in hands as he took some time off. Alys knocked, hearing his powerful voice commanding her inside.

“I brought some tea, my prince.” She placed the mug with the hot tea on his desk.

A simple love potion, she knew that he had feelings for her, so this would simply amplify them, make them so unbearable that he wouldn’t have any other choice than to go looking for her. He would claim her as his, as it should’ve been.

Alys excused herself, going straight to her room in the servants wing, she needed to get ready for when Aemond Targaryen knocked on her door and took her in his arms.

She had cleaned her room, and then, took a long shower, rubbing a scented soap on her skin, making herself look flawless. She sat on the bed and waited for him.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Y/N brushed her hair, Harrenhal was quite hot, so she asked the maid to run her a bath, she didn’t plan on leaving her chambers, so a silky nightgown covered her body while she took care of her hair.

The door was abruptly opened, making her jump in her seat. Her husband, without his coat and with four buttons of his linen shirt open, looked at her, a smirk on his lips as he entered the room.

“You know, dear wife?” He closed the door, walking towards her. “It was always you, when I went to Storm's End that day, it was you I had in mind.” His tone was slow, like he had been drinking.

He grabbed her hand, removing the brush and placing it on the desk. His other hand brushed her shoulder, pulling the straps down just a little.

“So beautiful, such a smooth skin. I know I had to have you.” He pulled her up, spinning her around until she was facing him, her hands splayed on his chest while he held her close by the waist. “You smell so good.” The prince said, smelling the skin of her neck.

Y/N felt her cheeks flushed at the attention, heating pooling in between her legs, forcing her to close them for some friction, as Aemond started to kiss her neck.

His touch was delicate, his lips cold against her hot skin. Kissing, licking and biting, making her whimper at the sensation spreading across her body.

“A-Aemond.” She half spoke half moaned, making the prince grow impossibly harder, his cock painfully restrained by his pants.

“You sound divine when you moan my name.” He said, getting away from her and walking towards the bed. He sat down, still looking at her, his shirt was messy and fully opened now. “Come here, my dear wife.” She made a move to walk to him but he stopped her. “Take it off.” He ordered.

She shivered as she saw the lust on his gaze, with shaking fingers, she undone the laces holding her nightgown in place, letting it pool at her feet, standing there completely bare to his hungry eye. His pink tongue darted out, wetting his lips as he eyed her up and down.

“You’re a goddess, I cannot wait to see you choke on my cock.” He grabbed her hand as she got close, pulling her straight to his lap. He kissed her, tongue exploring her mouth, hands cupping her ass.

She reached for the eyepatch, throwing across the room, she hated that damned thing, covering his beauty from her.

“You’re so beautiful, my prince.” She breathed, his lips attached to her breasts. Sucking the nipple in his mouth and moving his tongue in circles, making her squirm in his lap, brushing his hard cock.

He squeezed her flash, kissed her like he was going to die in the next second, and she moved her hips against his clothed cock, making it very hard to keep controlled. He never felt that kind of lust before, but he was ready to give in.

Y/N got up, and slowly kneeled in front of him, she had heard the ladies in court talking about the pleasures the mouth could bring to a husband, and despite the lack of experience, she wanted to try.

She reached for his belt, removing it and opening his pants, he lifted his hips just enough for her to slide all the pieces of clothes he was wearing down, freeing his dripping cock from its cage.

She swallowed hard, hesitantly grabbing it in her hands, earning a hiss from him. She moved her hand up and down, slowly, taking encouragement in his groans, the pleasure growing in him as she gently stroked him.

In a more bold move, she lowered her head, giving it a lick in the tip, Aemond shivering as she did so, she looked at him, giving him a small smile that could be the death of him. Then, she took him in her mouth, bobbing her head and masturbating what she couldn’t fit in her mouth. Aemond closed his eyes, buckling his hips and enjoying the sounds of her choking on his cock whenever she went too deep.

She hummed, sending vibrations down his cock, making his balls tight and the orgasm wash over him, his cock twitching, sending hot cum down her throat. She removed her mouth, coughing a little.

“You look so beautiful, kneeling in front of me.” He praised, his thumb caressing her cheek, making her blush as he looked at her. “Allow me.” He said, pulling her up and laying her down.

He got in between her legs, his breath fanning over her hot core, he circled the back of her legs, squeezing her skin and pulling her thighs apart. Smirking at her glistening cunt, he sank there, lapping at her folds, collecting all of her juice as she arched her back, moaning his name like a prayer.

He kissed her clit, rubbing circles with his tongue, making her see stars. Freeing one of his hands, he inserted two fingers inside her cunt, pumping them inside and out, in the same ruthless pace as his tongue. She moaned his name loudly enough to echo around the walls, feeling the knot in her belly grow until it was ready to snap. Driving her over the edge, her walls clenching around his fingers and closing her shaking legs around his head.

Aemond smirked against her, feeling her recover from her orgasm, he looked at her, sweat coating her forehead and panting, her chest moving up and down rapidly.

“Do you want more, my goddess?” She looked at him, smirking at her like the devil and she nodded. In a second, Aemond was on top of her, without any clothes and his cock ready for a second round.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Alys tapped in the bed frame, growing restless as the potion should be working in this exact moment but Aemond was nowhere to be seen. She got up, grabbing a robe and sliding it over her shoulders.

She walked towards the Prince chambers, forcing the door open just a little, she gasped as she peeked inside.

Lady Baratheon was facing the door, her eyes closed and mouth slacked open as she moaned loudly for him. “Do not stop!” She begged, her voice hoarse from all the screaming.

She was on all fours, her ass high in the air as Prince Aemond pounded inside her from behind, moving so fast that her breasts bounced back and forth.

Alys wanted to move but she was rooted in place, the potion had clearly worked but with the wrong person.

“Please, Aemond. I am going to cum.” She whined, and the prince pulled her hair behind, forcing her to look at him.

“And i am going to stuff you full with my heirs, make you swell with my seed and birth my children.” His tone so raw that Alys felt her cheeks hot in embarrassment, Lady Baratheon moaned his name, her body convulsing as her orgasm crashed down on her again, followed by him spilling inside her.

Alys watched as the prince removed himself from inside her, his hands stuffing his cum back inside her cunt. “I love you.” He breathed, pulling her by the hair again and kissing her with all he had.

“I love you too.” She replied, face flush red as she tried to recover from the amazing sex.

Alys walked backwards, running away from the scene, knowing that no matter what she did, she could never break the bond the two shared.

[hedgehog-moss]

Do you know much of the history of the town you live near? I noticed some very old-looking stone buildings in your photos from the cow parade - does much of the town look like that or were those heritage buildings?

Unfortunately almost every town has some Ugly Modern Houses, but they're usually in the outskirts, while the centre is quite preserved. It's mostly ~200yo houses though, with the occasional very old house (like, 17th century). The towns that used to have a castle often still have a mediaeval layout, with a cluster of houses and narrow streets; sometimes (remains of) ramparts. And every village worthy of the name has the mandatory mediaeval church in the plaza (except mine which has a modern Victorian Gothic church that's like 150yo, but we have the ruins of a mediaeval monastery to make up for it)

One little local history fact I know is that this town that had the cow parade was named after a Central Asian tribe that invaded the region ~1,600 years ago and later helped fight off Attila when the Huns were invading! The cows don't know that. I love knowing where place names come from (unless they mean stuff like "by the river" which is boring.) I went to visit a Gallo-Roman site recently and there was a sign displaying some text by Julius Caesar in which he listed all the Celtic tribes he defeated here, and I thought it was so cool that some of these names are still familiar because they are preserved in place names. The Roman invasion days, two millennia ago, already feel quite faraway but by then the Celts had already lived here for centuries—I wish the specific Gallic tribe that started farming around here in the Iron Age could know that 2,500 years later people are still farming in this place that's still named after their tribe.

Your question made me realise that what I associate with "appreciating local history" is like, going to see the ruins of some 2nd century Roman thermal baths or temples or learning that a town was named after a guy who owned the place in 847 AD, and I don't pay enough attention to the 16th century houses near my dentist's office or the 12th century church in front of the vet clinic. I should appreciate these time periods more! I do love the look of mediaeval towns with their tiny tortuous streets that make life difficult for people who drive stupidly big cars. And I love mediaeval castles, though I've only visited 2 of the 150-or-so castles (not counting the ruins) this region boasts (I use 'boasts' ironically, there's another region nicknamed "the 1001 castles" so our score is pitiful.) (They don't actually have 1001 castles, they're lying, it's like 600, plus some glorified manor houses that don't count)

Last-minute addition: I drafted this reply last weekend and today I saw some ruins in a town where I went to have my spring water analysed, and decided to pop by the town hall to learn more. I learnt that the ruins are what remains of the town's castle, which "successfully resisted many English attacks" (that's what they always say) and was then offered by the King to a courtier in the 1450s, and the courtier hated it because it was 400 years-old and cold and draughty and falling apart so he never lived here. The town hall lady was so unimpressed by her town's attractions it was funny—I imagine if I'd been a tourist she would have tried to sell it to me more but knowing I live nearby she was like, well our town has a 13th century church like everyone else and here's our "castle" that's a ruin now and that was already a ruin in Joan of Arc times. To add some fun fact about their castle she said that a Valois Queen had slept there for a few nights at some point and I said eagerly "Queen Margot?" and the woman said "... no it was in the 1300s. Queen Margot went to [better castle farther North]", in such a humble tone that I felt bad for accidentally pointing out that unlike [Rival Town] they got one of those obscure Valois queens no one cares about.

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Bluebird — Azriel x Reader — Part IX

Summary: Deciding to accept Azriel's offer, Reader's world as they know it is about to change. In more ways than one.

Click here to be added to the Bluebird Taglist! Please remember to check your settings and make sure you can be tagged! 💕

Word Count: 8.5k

Warnings: Some suggestions of smut and heavy petting, but nothing too major!

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Azriel stared out of the huge wall-length windows of the River House, watching shadows move in the sunlight that bathed the estate. 

He hadn’t been to bed. 

In the mere hours since he’d left the human realm, leaving Y/N, their conversation and his offer behind…his mind was too crowded to sleep.

So he’d come to the River House, wind still clinging to his skin and clothes from hours of aimlessly flying, and found his family gathering for breakfast.

“Where have you been?” Cassian had asked him.

“Just flying.” Had been Azriel’s explanation. The questioning looks he’d earned in response had told him they all suspected something more was going on with him. 

And how right they were. He didn’t know why he was being cagey, why he couldn’t just be open with them about the human woman who had utterly captivated him—

It was scary, he supposed. To step out of the bubble they had around them, just the two of them.

But if Y/N did agree to come across the Wall with him…it was time to be open, honest.

As if on cue, a kick landed on his shin. Amren. 

“Cassian is supposed to be the absentminded one, shadowsinger,” she drawled. “Are you present?”

Cassian grinned at the jibe. “Someone’s grumpy because she’s hungry. Poor baby.” His eyes slid to Azriel, ignoring Amren’s glare. “Our miniature friend is right, though. What are you daydreaming about?”

Azriel became acutely aware of every present pair of eyes on him. Rhys’s. Feyre’s. Cassian’s and Mor’s, Amren’s and Elain’s. If Nesta had been present, she’d probably have stared, too.

Az cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. Never comfortable with so much attention on him. “There…uh…”

Rhys frowned, realising, at once, that whatever this was held weight. “Az?” he angled his head.

He must have been pale, because Feyre frowned and asked, “Azriel, are you well?”

He didn’t know why he was fumbling this so much. Perhaps because for all he loved his family, for all he’d stared centuries down with them, his feelings were things that he’d always kept tightly locked away, and they had respected that. If he wanted them to know something, they would know. If not, they wouldn’t ask. It was how it had always been.

But this was different.

He was serious about Y/N, and his first step in proving that was to tell those closest to him about her. 

He cleared his throat again, bracing his arms on the table. “There’s something I want you all to know.”

“We all know you have the biggest wingspan, boy,” Amren speared a slice of melon. “It’s hardly breakfast conversation—”

“Amren.” Mor cut her off brusquely. She was staring intently at Az. Could tell this wasn’t the time for jokes. “Go ahead, Az.”

Azriel clenched his fists at his sides. “I…I have fallen for someone,” he swallowed a lump down, far out of his comfort zone. “I’ve fallen in love with someone. A woman. A human woman.”

Silence.

The faces of his family gazed back at him, a mosaic of expressions varying from surprise to confusion to the twitching of baffled amusement. They were waiting for an explanation, or some indication that this was a rare, random joke that Azriel had decided to crack. And Az found that he couldn’t bear them considering that. He squared his shoulders, the severity not moving from his face. 

“Her name his Y/N,” he continued, heart thudding in his chest. “She hails from a village in the human lands, and she’s magnificent. She helps run her father’s inn. She plays piano stunningly…” stop talking, stop talking, stop talking. Facts were just spilling from his lips, dumping themselves on his friends. He clamped his lips shut, squeezing his hands together again. 

And once more, silence. 

Until Cassian peered closely at him and stated, “You’re not joking, are you?”

The shadowsinger shook his head. “No.”

Rhysand’s chair creaked as he sat up straight. “Well…how did you meet this woman?”

“When you sent me to the human lands to get an idea of the unrest there. I heard her playing piano late at night and I…I went back to hear more. And I kept going back, despite you telling me not to. I’m sorry for going against your order, Rhys, but I’m not sorry for the reason that I did.”

The High Lord and Lady shared a glance, clearly communicating mind-to-mind. Az wasn’t sure he wanted to know what they were saying. 

Mor cleared her throat, coaxing Az’s eyes to her beautiful face. There was kindness there, warmth. “And you say you love her, Az?”

“I do, Mor. Since I first met her, I’ve fallen harder and harder.” His cheeks burned a furious red. “I can’t deny that that is what I’m feeling. And that’s why I want to share this with you all.” 

The initial shock seemed to dissipate a little as shoulders around the table relaxed. Mor smiled broadly, and Cassian quickly followed. 

“No way,” the Illyrian General chirped. “That’s amazing, Az.”

“We’re happy for you, Az, of course,” Feyre added. “Just a little surprised.”

“You should bring her here to meet us,” Amren grinned, flashing white teeth. “If she can hack it.”

Her remark was as close as she would come to congratulating Azriel — but the sentiment was there, hidden amongst the words. 

Of them all, Elain was the only one who hadn’t spoken.

And Az…Az, for some reason, avoided looking at her. 

“Funny you should say that, Amren,” he quickly said. “I’ve invited her to come here tonight, after she’s closed up the inn. I want her to see Velaris at night, in all its brilliance.”

“So we’ll get to meet her,” Mor grinned wider. “This is great—”

“If—if she’s available to come, that is.” The shadowsinger quickly cut in. 

Because he had to be realistic and still consider the possibility that Y/N would reject his offer. And if that was the case…well, he couldn’t bear to think of it right now. 

He certainly couldn’t bear to share that particular detail with the others. Not just yet. 

“Well,” Rhys offered a smile, “if she is available, we’ll be delighted to meet her, Az. Really.”

“Yes,” Elain’s voice, soft and unconvincing, finally drifted around the table. “We will.” 

At the same moment, Azriel’s gaze drifted to take her in. She looked…shocked. Perhaps a little perturbed. 

But for what reason? She and Lucien were giving things a go. Shouldn’t Azriel be able to do the same?

He tore his eyes away from her, dipping his chin in quiet acknowledgement of her comment. That was all he could offer right then. 

“I hope she comes,” Feyre commented, sipping her drink. Her voice was bright, enthusiastic. 

“So do I,” Azriel agreed. 

Gods, he really did. 

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ 

Ale sloshed over the lip of a tankard, joining the smattering of droplets that were already coating the floor and making it sticky. The rowdy men in your line of sight didn’t seem to notice the mess they were making amidst their rowdiness. They’d been here a good few hours, now. Their eyes had long turned glazed, their speech slurred.

It was all background noise.

Background noise, as you stood behind the bar, staring into space. Time was ticking by, the clock hands crawling steadily closer to when Azriel would arrive and wait for you with hope.

Ten o’clock chimed. Two hours to go. Were you going to join him? You weren’t sure. You’d been contemplating it the entire day, on so few hours sleep. You’d gone through the motions, done your jobs, been that normal, plain young woman who was in charge of The Bluebird Inn. You’d compiled pros and cons in your head, the list of them growing with each thought.

Pros and cons, however, seemed not to come into a situation driven so heavily by desire. 

You wanted to believe Azriel so badly — believe that he was good. Was it so out of the question that such a thing could be the case? It didn’t diminish what you had seen out on the road with your father, but…

But after weeks of no contact, having Azriel close enough to touch last night…it had you hoping, once more, that both things could be true. That the world was not so black and white, and there was colour out there, a world of colour that Azriel could fly you right into—

Before you realised what you were doing, your hand was grasping the bell behind the bar. You tugged at the rope, causing a distinct ringing to cut through the arrogant raucous of the men. 

“Last orders!” you called. 

Every pair of eyes swivelled to blink at you. “What?” One man asked.

“Last orders,” you repeated. 

“But it’s only ten o’clock! You don’t close until midnight!”

It was an effort not to roll your eyes. This group had been here since they’d stumbled in from their day’s work. The idea of cutting their drinking short was inconceivable to them.

But you were going. You were going to join Azriel, and go across the Wall, and experience things you’d never experienced, whether it was a good idea or not.

“I’m closing early tonight,” you gave a shrug. 

The brute that had been spilling ale all over the floor gaped at you. “Why?”

Good question. You couldn’t exactly tell them the truth, and if this was going to get back to your father, you at least needed a valid excuse—

“I’m unwell,” you tried unconvincingly. “Sorry.”

Swine-like eyes narrowed on you. “You don’t look unwell, girl.”

“…It’s my cycle.”

A silent pause. And then, in an instant, every man in the room was on his feet. You tried not to smile in triumph; it worked every time.

They couldn’t leave quick enough, as though, if you truly were on your cycle, it was somehow contagious. You saw the last customer out of the door and bolted it shut. Waited until their chatter disappeared into the distance before you turned and began a frantic cleanup mission. 

This was…mad. Truly, thrillingly mad. A reckoning of sorts, you imagined, because crossing that boundary from one realm into another was like sealing a fate. There was no coming back from this — this, that was not merely dipping your toe into the world of the fae, but submerging yourself in it, taking a deep gulp of air and disappearing beneath its surface. A nerve-wracking prospect, but…also an exciting one.

And didn’t it prove to you that you still trusted Azriel at least a little? You had to, surely, to be so willing to take his hand and let him pull you into the unknown. 

Perhaps…perhaps you were tired of having that little bit of doubt. Tired of wondering what might be out there, beyond your meagre existence. This trip would surely put those doubts to bed, one way or another. 

Two hours until Azriel’s arrival seemed both too much time and not enough at all. You filled it with your usual closing duties, making quick work of tidying up and making sure the inn was spotless. Afterwards, you would ordinarily spend some time at the piano, or simply retire to bed. Tonight, your feet carried you upstairs to get ready. 

You combed your hair and changed your outfit choice too many times, not once recognising the girl who stared back at you in the mirror. She was somebody bold and daring — somebody willing to question what she’d always known. 

And you wanted to be her, no matter the fears twisting your stomach. 

Once ready, there wasn’t much time left to wait. You quelled your nerves by knocking back a glass of whiskey and welcoming the burn. Your eyes stayed on the clock. Eleven-thirty. Thirty-five. Forty. Fifty-five. 

When you heard the distant chimes of the village clock announcing midnight, you felt that familiar sensation of awareness. Like an ember under your skin, it burned, and it spread. 

You wiped whiskey from your lips and slipped out of the door, stepping into the courtyard. You were cold, despite the warm night. 

And even colder when you felt the gust of air that came from a descending figure, landing feather-light in front of you. 

Azriel was almost too beautiful to bear. 

You stared at him with an intensity you couldn’t keep a lid on. And he stared back at you, took in your shirt and breeches, your braided back hair, your shoes. He clocked within a second that you were dressed to go out — a breath of relief forced its way out of him. 

“You’re coming?” he breathed, and then shook his head, seeming to remember his manners. “Sorry. Hello.”

You swallowed. “Hello.”

He paused. Dared a step closer. “I half expected to find you in your nightgown. Or to not see you at all.”

“I…contemplated it. Not coming, I mean.”

Another step. “And what tipped the scales in my favour?”

You sucked in a breath, inhaling his scent. He was close enough to touch, now, and the smell of wind mixed with his natural aroma, creating a dizzying concoction that, for a moment, had you forgetting how to speak. 

You shook yourself out of it, blinking a few times. “I think I’m tired. Tired of…only knowing what I’ve been told. I think it’s time I saw things for myself.”

Azriel’s broad shoulders seemed to relax a little. A beat passed of heavy silence, heavy eye contact. He stared at you like you were the only person left in the entire world. 

And then you jolted just a little, as cold, scarred fingers touched yours in a light, tentative brush. He waited to see if you would pull away. 

You didn’t. 

Those fingers explored more. Wrapped around yours. Laced with yours. And then Azriel was holding your hand in his. 

“Let me share my world with you,” he whispered.

Maybe it was the weight of his hand, or maybe the raw pleading in his tone. Whatever it was…you knew you didn’t need any more time to consider. 

“Yes.” Was all you managed to respond. “Yes.”

Just like that, Azriel was yanking you closer, pulling your body flush to his. You waited to feel your feet leave the ground, for him to lift you into the air. 

It took you a moment to register that his arms were winding around you tightly in an embrace. That it was a hug he’d so fiercely pulled you into. 

He held you, both firmly and gently, his chin pressed to the top of your head, his hand cradling the back of it. You were stunned, stiff as a statue — but then you were sinking into his hold and welcoming its security, its…passion.

“I can’t tell you how relieved I am,” Azriel murmured, pulling back to gaze at you. “Truly — thank you. For trusting me with this.”

“I haven’t made any decisions yet,” you pointed out. “I just want to see for myself…if what you’re saying is true.”

But even as you spoke, you knew it wasn’t that simple. Heading across the Wall with Azriel was sealing a fate far bigger than you’d stopped to consider. Whether you were ready for it was anyone’s guess.

The shadowsinger took your words in his stride, nodding. His hand found yours again. “Shall we go?”

You were really doing this. The idea made your head spin. 

But you did not pull away. You did not run back inside, no matter how much a tiny part of you screamed at you to do so. Perhaps you were stronger than that now. 

“Yes,” you nodded, and braced yourself. “We shall.”

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Flying was precisely as you remembered — exhilarating and terrifying and cold. The night sky eddied past you in a star-streaked blur, and you were soaring, hurtling forwards towards a world unknown. 

You and Azriel did not speak. He seemed content to leave you in your thoughts, though you felt his gaze on you more than once, drinking you in. You couldn’t help wondering what he was thinking. Whether he deliberately chose to press you firmly against him and rub soothing circles into the small of your back, or whether it was a subconscious thing. 

You closed your eyes at one point, focusing on the feeling of the chilled wind on your face. 

But it was another feeling that had you suddenly alert. Opening your eyes again. 

It was hard to explain, but…something like a staticky charge crackled and sparked. You knew that the Wall was not a physical thing to behold, but rather an invisible barrier…yet somehow, you knew that was what you were feeling. Like a huge sign in bold, screaming at you: TURN BACK. DO NOT COME ANY CLOSER.

“I can feel it, too,” Azriel spoke into your ear, as though he’d read your thoughts. It was the first words that had left him since he’d carried you to the skies, and they were soothing and warm against you. “It’s the magic. Those who built the Wall abhorred the idea of humans and fae alike crossing over. I think the feeling it offsets is supposed to repel people.”

You held onto him a little tighter as the feeling grew stronger. “Clearly it doesn’t work.”

“No.” His eyes found yours. “Not when there are such enticing reasons to cross.”

You were thankful that the wind put a stop to the furious blush that crept up your neck. You stared forward, and Azriel’s arms tightened around you, and you knew that you were about delve into another realm. 

“Ready?” he murmured, before that charge thrust its way through your body like a bolt of lightning. 

It was brief and yet nauseating. Your stomach lurched, your head spinning. And then, as if clearing fog, it was gone. You had the distinct feeling of being someplace completely alien — a place where the grass was greener, the scents richer. A place where magic was the blood in its veins, snaking through the ground beneath you and breathing vibrant life into the land. 

But you had barely a chance to take in your surroundings before Azriel was coaxing your eyes back to him. 

“Now that we’re in Prythian,” he said, seeming to visibly relax, “I’ll winnow us from here.”

You gave the briefest glance to your surroundings — a forest so like the many in the human realm, and yet also something more. The thrum of dangerous life seemed to lurk just beneath its surface, and with the moon bearing down on you, you didn’t much like the idea of waiting around to see what might emerge from the dark. You dipped your head into a nod, and Azriel’s arms tightened around you. 

But before he could make a move, you were speaking, stopping him in his tracks. “There’s something I don’t understand.”

He paused, head angling curiously. It made a few dark hairs slide across his forehead, and the urge to reach out and touch the silken strands was a burning one. 

“What’s that?” he asked.

“You want to show me your home, but why show me at night time, when the world is asleep?” Besides the fact that this was the only time you could sneak away from the prying eyes of villagers.

But Azriel’s mouth seemed to lift into a subtle, beautiful smile. One that was telling — but telling of what?

“Velaris does not sleep,” he said, and then you were disappearing into starlight.

A brief burst of darkness that lurched you from place to another. The feeling of both flying and falling, of being nowhere and everywhere all at once. And then your feet were suddenly on solid ground. 

You didn’t realise you’d closed your eyes until the sounds hit you first. Distant music, mingled with crisp laughter. The sounds of enjoyment, fulfilment. You snapped your gaze open to put a picture to what you were hearing. 

You went so preternaturally still, you could almost be mistaken as fae. 

You must have been perched upon a viewpoint, to see the city in its entirety like this — but not too far up to miss the details. Restaurants teeming with activity both inside and out front, gatherings of customers who talked and smiled and laughed without a care in the world. Vendors selling their wares despite the late hour, peddling anything from food to wooden carvings to flowers. People wrapped in each other’s arms and dancing merrily to a song that a young female strummed on a lute in the busy street. 

If not for the dark blanket of stars above your head, you could be forgiven for thinking it was daytime. Your shoddy little village was never this bright nor light, no matter the hour on the clock.

This was Velaris, and it truly did not sleep.

You stared and stared and stared, for so long that your vision began to blur and smear the lights below into swirling shapes. It was almost easy to forget you were alone, just you observing this beautiful, seemingly perfect world. But a hand touched your arm.

“Would you like to take a walk?” Azriel asked, coaxing you to look at him.

Such palpable hope sat within his gaze that you couldn’t bear to look away. And when you nodded your agreement, that hope shifted into damn near elation.

The city seemed to welcome you into its arms as you began a slow stroll right through the heart of it. Azriel gave you your space, always remaining a few paces away. You could have sworn, in your periphery, that you caught him clenching his hands now and then, as though he didn’t know what to do with them. As though all he wanted was to reach out to you.

But he left you to acquaint yourself with the sights and sounds and sensations of Velaris. Never had you been amongst so many fae, and you half expected them to sniff out your mortality, to turn and stare or even make a grab for you. If they noticed you were not one of them, they paid it no mind, barely casting you a glance. Some of them greeted Azriel cheerily as they made merry and socialised. Not a drop of misery seemed to taint the blood of this living, pulsing place. 

You came to a stop on a grand bridge that arched over a glinting river, its waters stretching further out than your human vision could comprehend. Only a moment after you leaned against the carved balustrade, Azriel was emerging in your peripheral vision, stopping beside you and mirroring your stance. 

You could feel his gaze on you. And after a moment, he asked, “How are you feeling?”

A slow, stunned shake of your head was all you could manage. That was a question that had many different answers. You weren’t sure which one to give. 

But you found yourself turning to him, your brow pinched, lips parted. “I don’t understand how any of this works. What…what is this place?”

Velaris, obviously — you knew that much. But was the entire fae realm like this? Was this what had been hiding on the other side of the Wall in the centuries since it was established?

Azriel seemed to think on your question for a moment, combing through his answer. He angled his body towards yours, the way his hands twisted around each other hinting that he was…nervous.

“When I took you flying the first time, I mentioned that Prythian is divided into seven courts,” he explained slowly. “Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter, Dawn, Day and Night. Do you remember what else I told you?”

How could you forget? You’d turned it over in your mind enough that the words had begun to fray at the seams. 

“You said you’re from the Night Court. That you’re part of the High Lord’s inner circle. You’re his spymaster.” Your gaze swept around. “So this is the Night Court.”

Azriel dipped his chin. “It is. But it’s a city in the Night Court. A secret, guarded city. There’s more out there than just this.”

“Secret and guarded? Why?”

For a moment, silence stretched between you that felt as long as the winding bridge. You found yourself focusing on the ebb and flow of the water beneath you, watching its languid dance. Until warm fingers landed on your arm.

The touch — tentative and gentle — coaxed your gaze back to Azriel. You studied him, drank in the sincerity and openness on his face. This was hard for him, you realised — to be so forward, to bare all. He was, perhaps, as guarded and secretive as this city itself. Perhaps more. 

But his soft hazel eyes told you that he wanted to push through that difficulty. For you.

“It’s secret and guarded,” he answered huskily, “because it is beautiful and good, and the entirety of the Night Court is not. The entirety of Prythian is not. There are other places like this, of vibrancy and love and light, and then there are places of pure, evil darkness. Places that I would never dream of you venturing. They exist as truly as the good places do. As Velaris does.”

Once again, your eyes took in the area around you. On the other side of the bridge, a couple were hunched over a table, in their own world, sharing quiet words and quick kisses. A few buildings down, a group of friends roared with laughter as they spilled out of the door, arms around each other and happiness on their faces.

This place was beautiful. It was…life. 

And the existence of darker places did not change that, did not steal its essence. Good and bad both simply existed. In people, and in places. 

Just like in the human lands. 

Just like Azriel had been trying to tell you all along. 

“There’s good and bad everywhere…” you murmured quietly, the words sinking in, hitting home. How could you deny it when the people here clearly were not scared, not running and screaming and begging for their lives?

There was movement, and you felt Azriel’s side press against yours. “There is.”

And you could see it now, like a fog had been lifted. But there was still one pressing question that plagued you. One you couldn’t tamp down on as you angled yourself towards Azriel proper.

“Why bother, though?” you asked, studying him. “Why go to these lengths to prove this to me? You don’t owe me anything. Why…why would you bother taking the time to make me see this?”

Azriel gazed back at you, something burning in his eyes. He pursed his lips, like he was trying to force his words back down, trying to stop them spilling out. 

A fight he ultimately lost. 

“Because I am selfish,” he said, staring at you fiercely. “And I couldn’t bear the thought of not being able to see you anymore. Of you thinking I’m a monster. I would not care if anyone else were to think so, but…”

“…but what?”

“But not my Bluebird.” His voice was raw, raspy. He reached out cautiously, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Not my Blue.”

A breath shuddered out of you, and with it went your resolve. You knew you could no longer fight what been pressing you for a while, now. Could no longer deny what was right in front of you. 

You cleared your throat, feeling the shivers that pulsed through your skin with Azriel’s hand still hovering so close to it. So badly, you wanted to lean into it. But you forced your gaze back to the brilliant city of Velaris. 

“Life seems so lovely here,” you admitted, your voice surprisingly hoarse. 

“It is,” Azriel concurred. “It really is. And you, Y/N…you deserve loveliness.”

You stared fiercely at the water, begging yourself not to get choked up. You’d never had loveliness. 

A warm, comforting hand pressed against the small of your back. You shamelessly allowed it to. 

“Would you like to meet my family?” the shadowsinger asked.

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You were going to be sick — and not from the flying.

Your feet touched down on a beautiful, ornate estate — grass trimmed and decorated with fountains, ornaments, decorative hedges. Trees and obscure plants and beautiful flowers. Never had you been anywhere so grand. 

And before you — a huge, stunning house of pillars, winding staircases, giant windows and just…pure opulence. It intimidated you just to look at. 

“This is…this is where they live? Your…High Lord and High Lady?” The words felt foreign on your tongue. 

“It is.” As Azriel stepped up to your side, you realised his arm was still wrapped around you. “Did I ever tell you she used to be human — my High Lady?”

Your gaze shot to him in a flash. “What? How is that possible?”

“It’s a long, elaborate story that I’ll allow her to tell you, when she feels like it. But it’s true — she and her two sisters were once human, and they were all turned fae.” 

A thought that set your heart thudding at a gallop. Had they once been lowly village girls, like you were? You hadn’t considered that you might have anything in common with these people.

“Shall we?” Azriel’s arm tightened around you, and you welcomed it. You needed the grounding comfort.

With a deep breath and a nod, you allowed yourself to be led up the broad stone steps that trailed up to the mammoth front entrance. You followed Azriel’s lead, wide-eyed as he opened the front door like it was his home, also, and led you inside. 

The interior was, unsurprisingly, as decadent as the exterior, but you found yourself too nervous to take in any details beyond polished marble flooring and huge, painted portraits that hung on the wall of beautiful beings. You did, however, stop to take in the portrait that was undoubtedly Azriel. 

“Feyre — our High Lady — is an artist.” Azriel stopped beside you. “She painted all of these.”

“And a damn excellent artist, too.” Behind you, a voice of pure, cloaked night echoed through the giant room. It added with a hint of glimmering humour, “Not that I’m biased, of course.”

You turned at once, knowing that such a voice could never come from a human. Your heart almost stopped at the sight of the male who leaned against a carved arch, and you blushed furiously at the thought that he could probably hear such a thing. 

He certainly resembled Azriel, in his golden skin and dark hair. But his eyes were of a stark, peculiar shade — violet — and his ears very much pointed. Something about the smug ease with which he stood screamed at you that this — this was the High Lord of the Night Court, looking regal in a black button-up shirt and dark trousers. 

And beside him, a woman — female — of such otherworldly beauty, it was hard to imagine that her golden-brown hair and blue eyes had ever been dulled by mortality. 

“He is biased,” she said with a soft smile, fondness in her eyes. She drank in the sight of you, and there was no judgement, no disapproval — just simple curiosity. “Y/N. Welcome to our home.” 

“This is Rhysand and Feyre,” Azriel explained beside you. “High Lord and High Lady.”

“Rhysand?” The High Lord echoed jovially. “You sound like Feyre when she tells me off. Just Rhys will do,” he sketched you a flourishing bow, “and as my beautiful mate said — welcome to our home.”

“I…I’m afraid I don’t know the customs, where greeting a High Lord or Lady is concerned,” you cleared your throat. “But thank you for having me.”

Feyre smiled warmly. “You’re very welcome. Shall we get a drink? The others are waiting.”

Your stomach turned with nerves, but you nodded. As Azriel stepped forward, falling into stride with Rhysand, Feyre stayed behind, turning to you. 

“It’s nerve-wracking, isn’t it?” she smiled at you gently. “I had already been turned fae when I first came here, but…I can’t imagine coming here as a human who’s never had much to do with our kind.”

Our kind. Clearly her mortal roots were but a distant memory. 

“It is,” you agreed. “This is…hugely out of my comfort zone.”

“Just stick with me, Y/N. But you have nothing to worry about.” Her smile grew. “We’re all just happy that Azriel has found someone. Even Elain.”

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Even Elain. What the hell did that even mean?

It stuck in your mind as you held yourself through introductions, your curiosity such that you were waiting for an Elain to be introduced to. But through the names that were thrown at you — Cassian, Amren, Morrigan, Nesta — that one did not come up. 

The tiny Amren was terrifying despite her small stature, and yet you found her quick wit and remarks to be personable. Morrigan — Mor — had invited you to sit with her the second the introductions were over, and she seemed almost…excited by your presence. Cassian was jovial, warm, quickly making it clear that he would joke and banter with you as much as he would with his family. 

Ironic, then, that the least forthcoming with any warmth was Nesta — who surely could relate to your humanity, even if her own was long gone. 

She’d barely spoken to you beyond a terse greeting. And since then, she’d stared you down from the other end of the table. You couldn’t help noticing that her eyes continuously darted to the round edges of your ears. You couldn’t read the ferocity in her gaze.

It was an effort to ignore it as conversation bloomed around the table.

“So he was just hovering above your inn like a little creep?” Cassian’s broad grin was savage, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he plied you with questions. “You should have shot him down with an arrow. Taught him a lesson.”

Your lips twitched as you answered, “Somebody else saw to that. I just ended up helping him.”

“Boo.” The Illyrian warrior snorted. “How boring.”

Beside you, Azriel rolled his eyes, but a soft smile played on his lips that told you he rather enjoyed the teasing. You couldn’t help relaxing at the…normality of it all. How easy and light and warm this conversation was.

How naive you had been, to assume that the fae were simply cold, severe beings. The furthest thing from this loving family unit. It didn’t even seem to be a bizarre circumstance to them, that they had been gathered to meet at such a late hour. If not for the huge windows letting the night sky in, you’d be forgiven for thinking that their energy and enthusiasm was indicative of day time.

“From which village do you hail, Y/N?” Feyre asked you, sipping from her wine. You’d tried not to stare too long at the casual intimacy between the High Lord and Lady — the little touches you so naturally wanted to mimic with the male beside you. She added, “Perhaps Nesta and I would have heard of it.”

At that, Nesta lifted her chin a little. You could have sworn a glimmer of curiosity streaked through her eyes, there and gone in an instant.

“Northern Swancross.” You answered, eyes darting around the opulent dining room. “It isn’t anything grand. “Most of its residents are living in poverty.”

Feyre sipped her drink, offering an understanding nod. “Perhaps too far north for us. I don’t recognise the name—”

“I do,” Nesta said sharply — the first time she’d really spoken to you. “I remember reading a pamphlet once, about fae attacks on human villages. Northern Swancross was named in regards to an attack there a couple of decades ago.”

Silence and stillness filled the space that conversation had lit up moments before. Your mouth went dry. You felt the cool touch of a shadow caressing your arm.

“That would have been my mother,” you answered, clearing your throat. 

Nesta stared at you a long moment, a slither of what seemed to be…solidarity…seeping through the cracks of her icy reception. She lowered her chin in the slightest of dips, and somehow, you knew exactly what that minute gesture communicated. We have both suffered at the hands of the fae. And yet, somehow, here we both are.

“That’s awful,” Rhysand’s voice cut through the moment, quiet and laced with sympathy. “I’m sorry for the loss of your mother. We all are.”

You nodded. “Thank you.”

“Nesta, Elain and I also lost our mother,” Feyre supplied. “To illness, rather than to the fae. But we understand what the loss of a parent is like. Many of us here do.”

A kind and heartbreaking sentiment, and yet all you could focus on was the mention of that name again. Elain. She must have been the third sister. 

You didn’t know why you felt such preying curiosity about her standing in this group…or her standing with Azriel, and why her support for his happiness was a thing Feyre felt was worth mentioning. You couldn’t stop yourself wondering if her absence was a deliberate thing. 

As if she’d read that thought, Feyre cleared her throat. “You’ll have to forgive Elain’s absence. She’s not much of a night owl.”

“Despite living in the Night Court,” Cassian added, and his booming chuckle at once chased away the tension that had seeped into the room. He grabbed the bottle of wine and refilled his glass. “So tell us more about you, Y/N.”

You did exactly that — and found yourself peculiarly willing to do so. Such a sheltered life you’d lived with no one to truly call a friend, that it now seemed that years of pent-up conversation came flooding out of you. And as hours ticked by, pedalling closer towards morning, you found yourself relaxing, forgetting that you were human and they were fae. They were just…people. Kind, good people. 

And in turn for the information you shared with them, they told you about themselves, answered your questions, explained things you didn’t understand. Mor spoke to you like she’d known you for years rather than minutes. Even Nesta’s reservedness began to thin into something more cordial. One-by-one, the High Lord’s Inner Circle pulled you into its fold as if a place for you had been carved there for a very long time. 

They did not balk — not even a little — at the idea of you being of worth in Azriel’s life. 

Azriel himself was largely quiet throughout the night. He seemed to take a backseat and allow you to navigate this situation as you saw fit, only interjecting with comments and responses every now and then. But at your side, he remained a solid, steadfast presence, his shadows a thing of comfort. And the urge to lean against him as the night wore on was a pressing, growing one. 

You didn’t want to resist anymore. Didn’t want to take a step backwards. You’d seen what he’d wanted to show you, and there were no more weak excuses you could come up with as to why your involvement with Azriel was a bad idea.

You wanted him…and you were done denying yourself him. 

It was only when the night drew to a close that you began to feel the tiredness waiting on the edges of your mind. Nesta was the first to leave, and soon after that, everyone else was standing and saying their goodbyes. 

“You’ll come back soon?” Feyre asked you, her hands squeezing yours. She seemed genuinely thrilled that Azriel had brought you here. 

You glanced at the shadowsinger beside you, a smile playing on your lips. “If he’s willing to bring me.”

A soft, low chuckle sounded in Azriel’s chest. But there was nothing comical about the way he promised, “Whenever you want.”

Bidding the High Lord and Lady goodnight, you descended the front steps with a lightness that you hadn’t felt upon arrival. Tonight had been…easy. Simple. There was nothing more to it than merely getting to know Azriel’s friends. Getting to know Azriel’s world.

And when the doors closed behind you, it was just you and him alone, for the first time in hours. 

He strolled at your side, back through the opulent front garden. Neither of you seemed to know who would speak first.

Until you turned to him and said, “Thank you for bringing me here.”

Az stared back at you, pausing for the slightest of moments. “To the River House?”

“And to Velaris. To…to Prythian.” You, too, paused. “To the truth, I suppose.”

His chin dipped just slightly. “You deserve the truth.”

A few paces forward, you walked in silence. It wasn’t until you were under the canopy of a huge, overhanging tree that you pressed your back against the trunk and allowed yourself to stare at him. Properly stare at him. To take in his beauty.

He stopped a few steps away, asking, “What?”

So many things you wanted to say. I’m done fighting this. I’m done fighting us. I want to dive further into this world with you. I want you, Azriel, whatever the hell that means for me—

“Who is Elain?” The words spilled, unplanned and undignified, from your lips. Your eyes shuttered for a moment as you regained your composure. “I mean…I know who she is. I know she’s Feyre’s and Nesta’s sister. I just mean…who is she…to you?”

Azriel was still for a moment, his brow pinching slightly. He took a step closer. “She’s…a friend.”

“…just a friend?”

“I…I won’t deny that I wondered, at one time, if she might be more than that.” His scent hit you as he continued to step closer. “But she has a mate. And I wondered that before…before I met you.”

The bark of the tree bit into your back as you held yourself firmly, grounding yourself in the moment. You inhaled a small breath, trying to ignore the dizziness that his general proximity seemed to provoke. But as he stepped closer still, now mere inches from you, you knew you were fighting a losing battle. 

Still, you lifted your chin and stared up at him. Stared, as he closed the gap between your two bodies and pressed you further against that tree, his body seeming to line perfectly with yours despite your height difference. His breath tickled your neck as he leaned into your ear. 

“Were you worried about that, Blue?” he asked huskily, a smile in his voice. 

You couldn’t control the way your breath hitched in your throat. Lie, save face, deny it, your mind screamed at you. You weren’t sure you currently had the mental capacity to do so. 

“You said you’ve had lovers,” you rasped back. “I was just wondering if, perchance, Elain had been one of them.”

A mix of both relief and disappointment filled you as Azriel pulled back — not far, but simply enough to stare sincerely into your eyes. His face was open and soft, despite the teasing that had been in his tone. 

“No.” His tone was a promise. “Elain has never been my lover. I don’t…I don’t want you to worry about that. About her.”

Your shoulders relaxed just slightly. But as your gaze began to lower from his, his hand was suddenly at your face, cupping your jaw, holding your attention firmly on him. 

“It’s been a long, heavy night for you,” he murmured, studying you closely. “I want you to tell me honestly how you’re feeling.”

Perhaps the most loaded question he could have asked. You swallowed, slowly shaking your head. “I…I’m feeling lots of things. Relief…that what you told me about this place was true. Shame…that I was obstinate in my ignorance—”

“You do not need to feel one bit of shame. There are always two sides of the coin—”

“And fear. I feel scared.”

Your words lingered between the two of you, truthful and unwavering. They were out in the open, now. You found yourself not wanting to keep them to yourself.

“I feel scared,” you repeated, “because I have nothing to hide behind, now. I can’t run and deny what I feel. You’ve shown me the truth, and I…I can no longer deny my own.”

His hand still cupping your face, Azriel brushed his thumb over your cheek. His eyes remained fully trained on you, not willing to look away for a second.

“There is no going back from this night,” you whispered, staring back at him. “And I’m glad about that. But I’m also so scared.”

“I don’t ever want you to feel scared. Not with me.” His hushed words, spoken quietly for your ears only, landed on your lips. “I just want to make you happy, Blue.”

It took a moment for you to realise that the soft noise that sounded — a small cry of both relief and need — came from you. You couldn’t hold yourself back any longer. You were done with resisting. 

Your hand cupped the back of Azriel’s head, and you pulled it down, slanting your mouth over his. At once, he hummed against your lips and moved his hands to your waist, pulling you closer against him. 

This was everything. Azriel was everything. He just wanted to make you happy, and you wanted to make him happy, too. He was not fae or a shadowsinger or a huge, imposing figure with wings. He was just Azriel. Your Azriel. Your salvation. 

The male you were so, so glad to have been proved wrong about. The male you were falling in love with. 

Your tongue pressed against the seam of his lips, and he parted them for you, allowing you to dip inside. At once, his taste mingled with yours, and you moaned softly, your hands grasping at him, wanting to feel him against you as you kissed him harder, fiercer. 

And he kissed you back just as ferociously. You may have been inexperienced, but you knew the taste of desire on his tongue, and you knew exactly what you were feeling when he hardened against you, his arms banded around you. 

“Blue,” he broke away, panting. His eyes were glazed as he stared down at you, his chest rising and falling heavily. “We’re getting carried away. Tell me what you want. I need to know what you want.”

Him. All of him. Every single inch of him.

Your eyes trailed down to the hardness that was unmistakably outlined through his leathers. Such stark hunger bolted through you that it sent shivers coursing down your spine. Had wetness pooling between your legs. 

And from the way Azriel’s nostrils flared, and a deep, guttural noise vibrated in his chest, you could only guess that he’d scented it. 

You pushed up onto your toes, brushing another kiss to your mouth. A light one that he seemed ready to get lost in, before you were pulling away, your eyes clashing with his again.

“I want you to take me back to my home,” you told him breathlessly, your fingers biting into his leathers. “And I want you to stay.”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Not one bit of the journey was memorable. Not the flight back to the Wall, or that brief flash of darkness as you were winnowed from there, right back into the taproom at the Bluebird Inn.

Your only focus was on Azriel. The feel of his body pressed against yours, and how…how it would feel even better when you both rid yourself of clothing.

And gods, you were nervous. But you could feel in your very bones — you were ready.

This night had, indeed, been a reckoning. This night had, indeed, changed things forever, and made you realise that you had no good reason to deny yourself of the brilliant fae male who consumed your every thought.

You trusted Azriel. You wanted Azriel.

And when both your feet and his touched the wooden flooring of the inn, your eyes clashed only momentarily with his before you were pulling his face down to kiss you. And kiss you, he did. 

It was hot and greedy and desperate, a kiss that could wait no longer. He made a low noise against your mouth, his hands finding your hips as he walked you backwards and pressed you against the bar. It was tongue and touching and too many clothes, and you were done waiting, done thinking, as you dragged a trembling hand down the firm feel of his leathers, down and down until you were cautiously folding your palm over the bulge in his pants. 

You had no idea what exactly you were doing, but the way Azriel gasped against your lips seemed to be a positive reaction. One that only spurred you on further. 

Even without properly seeing him, you could tell he was huge. Your hand barely fit over what pressed through his breeches. You explored the length of him, wishing that clothes weren’t in the way. That it was just skin on skin. 

Azriel let out a choked moan — one that seemed pleasurable. Until he pulled away.

“Wait, Blue,” he panted, staring down at you. “Just…tell me you’re sure.”

You had gone past sure. Sure wasn’t a strong enough word. Sure was nothing against the certainty that roared in your veins.

“I am,” you promised, applying pressure with your hand. “Show me…show me what to do, Azriel.”

It was a pure, animalistic growl that broke from him then, and in one swift movement, he was lifting you up and carrying you over to the bar, perching you atop and slotting himself between your legs. 

“I’m going to make you feel so good,” he kissed you. Kissed you again. Kissed you harder. “I promise, my bluebird.”

“Please,” you begged softly, grasping at his leathers. “I want you.”

Kisses deepened, turned more ferocious. Hands wandered, began roaming, exploring. You felt the cautious touch of a hand gliding over your breast, warm fingers permeating your shirt. You gasped, arching into the touch. 

Perhaps that was why you didn’t hear it. Perhaps you were so distracted, so hungry for the male before you, that the quiet footsteps that approached were heard by neither of you. Not even by Azriel’s fae senses, his shadows. 

No, you were both oblivious until a cold, stern voice filled the room. 

“Y/N?” Devin stood against the doorframe, not taking his eyes off Azriel’s giant form. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

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[christophernolan]

Who was this woman? A serving wench who dabbled in potions and spells, says Munkun. A woods witch, claims Septon Eustace. A malign enchantress who bathed in the blood of virgins to preserve her youth, Mushroom would have us believe. Her name suggests bastard birth…but we know little of her father, and less of her mother.

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON APPRECIATION WEEK Day 5 | New Character ↳ GAYLE RANKIN as ALYS RIVERS

[randomdragonfires]

18+ Content Ahead. Minors DNI. I do not take requests.

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SERIES

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ONE SHOTS

Pieces of a Woman | BONUS | Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Take Me Down To The River, And Bathe Me Clean | Aemond Targaryen x Reader

I'm A Fire And I'll Keep Your Brittle Heart Warm | Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Moon Song | Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Kalopsia | Daemon Targaryen x Reader

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[azrielslittleslut]

"The Lost Queen"- Chapter 10

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: A magical incident causes Azriel to unexpectedly tumble through a portal into modern-day Earth. Confused and injured, he is discovered by a compassionate human woman with a hidden past. She takes care of him and helps him discover the complexities of the modern world, completely unaware of who she truly is. Meanwhile, Azriel struggles with his conflicting desires: his duty to the Night Court and his growing love for the woman who saved him.

Their journey unfolds amidst ancient prophecies and the looming threat in Prythian. As they uncover the truth about forces conspiring against them, they must confront their deepest fears and make choices that will change their lives and the world forever.

Warnings: language, slight angst, a little fluff, the smallest bit of sexual tension

Word Count: 5.7k

series masterlist

Enjoy!

Azriel lounged in the chair next to your bed in the River House, his body stiff from lack of movement, his wings drooping onto the floor behind him. Truly, it was his bed, but he didn’t let himself dwell on that fact for too long, for those thoughts led him into dangerous territory.

He couldn’t think about the fact that you, his mate, had been lying in his bed and going in and out of consciousness for the last four days. Even worse, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

After Elain had bathed you, you had fallen back into a deep sleep- a sleep so deep that Azriel had checked your pulse a few times to make sure you were still breathing. You had woken up once, at Madja’s insistence, to eat something. He had watched you eat every last bite, his body screaming at him to protect you, to help you, but there was nothing he could do. But as you ate, you had looked at him, your eyes empty and dark, and offered him some food.

He had denied it, of course, knowing you didn’t know the meaning of such a gesture. He hadn’t missed the look of hurt in your eyes at his denial, but he couldn’t bring himself to explain it all. Not now, at least.

So here Azriel was, in the same spot he had been in for days, watching you sleep. Madja had said that this sleep was good for you, that it was healing you and helping your body recover from the immense amount of power you had used up. Even though he was worried, he had to admit that the color had returned to your skin. There was a soft glow to your features that reminded him of a fire burning behind a pale screen.

He hadn’t noticed that before, back in your world, but you had been glamoured then. Now, he could see the difference in your features. Your face appeared to be more angular, your limbs longer and more toned. Your lovely hair had a healthy sheen to it, and your lips were fuller. A flare of heat spread through his body as he remembered what it felt like to have those soft lips pressed against his.

You were so beautiful, and Azriel’s heart stuttered at the thought of never talking to you or laughing with you again. He had seen the look of pure grief on your face when you had realized Celeste and Lou were gone, ripped away from your life in the worst way. He knew that if you woke up, no when you woke up, you would have to walk through that dark void, but you wouldn’t walk through it alone. He would be here for you, always.

Azriel sighed as he watched his shadows swirl around your sleeping form. They had been just as restless as he was, always swirling around your body, alerting him if your condition changed. “She will wake up,” he murmured to them, his voice quiet. “She has to wake up.”

Footsteps sounded down the hallway, heavy enough that Azriel’s body tensed, ready to shield you from any possible threat. His family had promised him that they meant no harm toward you, though they had many questions about the whole ordeal. He had answered the ones he could, his worried mind straining to remember all of the details.

Still, his body roared with the primal instinct to protect you at all costs.

Azriel’s body eased when he saw Cassian’s massive frame fill the doorway. Out of everyone, he had been the one who had been the calmest, and Az couldn’t thank his brother enough. Cassian had even offered to take shifts watching over you when Azriel could no longer force his eyes to stay open, his body screaming at him to rest.

“Still asleep?” Cass asked, his footsteps now lighter as he made his way toward Azriel. He leaned against the chair, his wings tucked in tight. “Madja said she should wake up any day now.”

Azriel hummed quietly. “I’m starting to wonder if Madja knows what the hell she is talking about.” He did nothing to hide the bitterness in his voice. He knew the healer was skilled, especially after what she had done for Cassian during the War. But you were different, possessing a power that nobody had ever seen.

What if Madja was wrong?

Cassian was silent for a few moments, his face like stone. “Rhys told me.” He paused for a few seconds as if he were contemplating on what to say next. “About her being your mate.”

Az ground his teeth, his shadows moving frantically around his body. “And what about it?” he growled.

Cass held up his hands, his siphons flaring slightly like red flame. “Easy now, Az. I just want you to know that I understand. Rhys does, too,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “We talked about it earlier. Neither of us could imagine what we would do if we were put in your position.”

“Then why does Rhys keep asking questions? Why does he keep insisting on going into her head to see the truth, even though Y/N doesn’t know the truth?” Azriel had stood his ground each time Rhys had walked into the bedroom, asking if he could use his powers to search your memories. Az knew that Rhys meant no harm in it; he was a High Lord who was trying to protect his people. But with the way Rhys’s magic had been affected lately… A shudder ran through Azriel’s body as he thought of what a slip-up on his brother’s part could do to your already traumatized mind.

Cassian looked down at him, his eyes shadowed. “You haven’t asked how bad things got here since you’ve been back.”

“I’ve been a little preoccupied,” was all Az said. He had been too worried about you to ask any questions. Besides, he didn’t think his mind or body could handle any more stress.

Azriel had asked how long he had been gone, and he had been informed that he had practically disappeared for five days. The only thing he had learned so far was that the timeline between the two worlds went at the same pace, which was a useless piece of information that didn’t help him at all.

“I know,” Cassian responded, moving to stand in front of Azriel, who had to fight back a snarl as he blocked you from his sight. “Which is why I came to tell you. You need to know, Az. The unstable magic is affecting Rhys. Badly. It’s getting to Feyre, too. Nesta is too afraid to use her powers, and Elain’s visions are worse than they’ve ever been.” Cassian’s eyes grew darker, and Az had the sense that he was holding something back.

“What aren’t you telling me, Cassian?” he asked, leaning forward in his chair.

Cassian bit his lip, his wings twitching slightly. “It’s not just affecting them. Last night, I went to do a quick inspection of the Illyrian legions.” He ran a hand through his dark hair, and Azriel saw that it was shaking. “Some of the Illyrians are unable to control their siphons. Whole camps have been reduced to rubble and ashes due to their magic lashing out, and the camp lords are at their wit’s end.”

Azriel felt as if ice had been poured all over his body. The Illyrians had magic, like the High Fae, but it had always been different. It was used and channeled in different ways, although now that he thought about it, it all came from the same source.

The chill Azriel felt didn’t only have to do with the unstable magic- he could not give less of a fuck about the Illyrians. He hated those people, the ones who had tortured him and brutalized his mother. He would never forgive them for what they had done, and the thought of them destroying their own camps made him want to laugh.

Good riddance, Azriel wanted to say, but the grim look on Cassian’s face made him think better of it. Besides, even though he hated it, he was an Illyrian, just like Cassian, and if the others’ magic had been affected…

“What about your siphons?” Az asked, his voice low and dark. “Have you been affected?”

Cassian shook his head. “Other than being weaker than usual, nothing odd has happened. But I’m assuming it’s only a matter of time.”

The words hung in the air, and the room fell back into silence. Cassian stepped aside, once again allowing Azriel to look at your sleeping form on the bed. You looked so peaceful, completely oblivious to everything that was going on in the world.

Azriel found himself full of envy at the sight.

“It makes sense now,” Azriel said finally, his voice hushed. “When we came through the portal, it was like my magic had been drained. I thought it was due to traveling between worlds, but now…” He trailed off, his eyes on his shadows. They hadn’t been acting particularly strange, other than their obsession with you.

Still, Azriel decided it would be best to keep an eye on them. He didn’t want to think about what it would be like to have a shadowsinger lose control of his own shadows.

Cassian laid a broad hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, brother,” he said, his usual optimistic tone returning to his voice. “We will figure this out. Gwyn has been searching through the ancient scrolls, and she thinks she might be on the edge of a breakthrough.”

A soft smile graced Azriel’s lips. Gwyn was stubborn, and if anyone could figure out this whole mess, it was her. “I’m glad to hear that.” He paused for a moment as his mind worked. “I will talk to my spies. See if they can find out anything.” In the chaos of the last few days, he hadn’t even bothered to reach out to his spies in the courts.

He didn’t know if any of them were aware he was alive, or if any of them were dead.

“Good idea,” Cassian murmured, taking a deep breath that reminded Azriel of the controlled breathing techniques his brother used before charging into battle. “So… are you going to tell her?” he asked, his voice carrying a smile that Azriel could almost see through the tone alone.

Azriel looked at you, his mind racing. He had thought of all the ways to tell you about the bond, and he had been unable to come up with anything good enough. He was also afraid of the timing. You have just gone through a massive physical and emotional shock, and he worried that the thought of being soul-bound to someone, being bound to him, would be too much.

“Eventually,” was all Azriel said in response.

Cassian hummed quietly as he made for the door. “I wouldn’t keep it from her for too long,” he said with a laugh. “Rhys had the same idea, and you saw how that turned out.”

Azriel sighed as he watched Cassian leave the bedroom. So many decisions to make, so many questions to ask. His head was pounding under the weight of it all, so he leaned back in the chair, his eyes once again locked onto you as you slept.

****

You opened your eyes, your lids heavy with sleep. The bedroom was filled with a dim light, the early morning sun softening all of the harsh edges. You blinked against that light, running your tongue over your dry lips.

Thankfully, you didn’t have any more strange dreams. You had only been met with a peaceful and serene darkness as you slept, your body and mind floating into an endless abyss. You wanted to go back there, not ready to face everything that had happened.

But you had never been one to run away when things got hard. You had known struggles, but you had always risen above them. You didn’t know exactly how to rise above this overwhelming sense of grief and pain, but you knew you had to try.

It was the only way you were going to survive.

Slowly, you moved your arms, pressing your palms firmly against the mattress. When you were not met with any pain or soreness, you pushed yourself up, your body moving with surprising ease. You looked around the room, gasping softly as your senses were overwhelmed with… everything.

Everything around you seemed sharper and brighter as if you had been looking through a fuzzy glass window your entire life. You could hear children laughing outside, the murmur of conversations in the distance. Your nose was overwhelmed with a variety of scents- lavender, jasmine, citrus- and your eyes rolled back as you smelled the delicious aroma of food cooking somewhere.

You raised your arms to look at your hands. They might as well have been a stranger’s hands. Your fingers were longer, your skin perfect and without any spots or blemishes. You looked at your palm, eyes searching for that scar you had gotten when you had fallen off a skateboard as a child. You couldn’t stop the ragged gasp that left your lips.  

The scar was gone, replaced by a layer of smooth skin that seemed to glow from within.

You scrambled off the bed, your longer legs getting twisted in the thick blankets. You hit the ground before you could catch yourself, not knowing how to navigate using this foreign body. Your thin nightgown was wound tightly around your legs, and for a moment, you wanted to scream. You felt trapped, totally unable to move, and you couldn’t breathe-

Strong and gentle hands gripped you by the waist, hoisting you back up to your feet. Shadows surrounded your body, as if they were attempting to soothe your discomfort and fear. You raised your face, your eyes squinting against the light.

Azriel’s face was mere inches from yours, his hazel eyes full of concern. This close, you could see a light dusting of freckles on his nose, and you had to fight the urge to trace them with your fingers. “Azzy,” you whispered, your voice foreign to your ears. It sounded different, higher in pitch and tone.

He released a breath, his strong arms wrapping around you, holding you close. He buried his face in your hair as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He was trembling slightly, his wings fluttering behind him. “Fyrvor,” he breathed, his voice full of wonder. “You came back to me.”

You closed your eyes, breathing in his scent of night-chilled mist and cedar. You felt your body ease slightly in his embrace. “Where else would I go?” You spoke in a hushed tone, afraid that this was just another strange dream.

But Azriel was very much real, especially in the way his scarred hands moved up your body, his fingers grazing your back and shoulders, stopping once they got to your face. His palms were warm against your skin as he pulled your face up to his. “You’ve been out for days. I was so worried.”

“Do you know how to do anything but worry?” you asked, forcing a small smile to form on your lips, but you knew it didn’t meet your eyes.

Azriel smiled back, though. “I always worry about you. You’re all I think about.” You watched as his eyes moved to your lips, his gaze darkening. The memory of those lips crushed against yours at the ball washed over you, and you felt heat prickle your skin. “How are you feeling?”

Despite your growing desire for him, you took a step back, knowing that you would do something you would regret if you stayed too close. “I feel… strange,” you admitted, once again raising your hands to look at them. “I look strange."

"Do you remember what Madja said?" Azriel asked in a soft voice. “About you not being human?”

You were unable to say anything in response to that, so you only nodded.

Azriel walked over to a dresser in the corner of the bedroom, and you took his momentary distraction to survey the room. You saw the door that led to the bathroom, though your memory of it was murky and dark. The room had a massive four-poster bed, and the twisted bedding atop it was black, paired with silky dark blue sheets. The walls were plain, with no decorations or pictures, and they were painted in a light shade of gray. Though the room was large, it was sparsely furnished, with only a few chairs, a nightstand, and a dresser. There was a fireplace along the far wall, its embers burning low.

The style of the bedroom was not feminine, and you suddenly wondered whose bed you had been sleeping in for the past few days. “Where am I?” you asked Azriel, who had grabbed something from the dresser- a small mirror, you realized. “I remember you saying this is the Night Court, but… where exactly?”

A small blush crept up Azriel’s neck as he looked around the room. “This is the River House,” he explained. “It’s the home of Rhys and his mate, Feyre. This is my bedroom.”

You now understood the calming scent that had enveloped you during the short time you had been awake. It was his scent. You had bathed in his bathtub, and you had been sleeping in his bed. Your cheeks started to warm at the realization, so you hastily asked, “Why did you bring me here?”

He tilted his head to the side, and you realized you had asked a loaded question, but you hoped he would ignore it. “If you’re asking why I brought you back to Prythian, it’s because I watched in horror as your entire body went up in flames before my eyes, and I didn’t know if you would live or die.”

Guess he won’t ignore it then, you thought to yourself.

“And I brought you to the River House because I felt you would be more comfortable here than the House of Wind,” he finished, his hazel eyes shadowed. You had the sense that he was leaving out something but, unlike him, you would ignore it. “Does that answer your question?”

“Mostly,” you said with a shrug. “But I assure you, I have a lot more.”

What the hell is a mate? What is a House of Wind? What is wrong with me?

“I know.” Azriel offered the mirror to you, and you silently took it from him. It was small, encased in plain silver, much like the ones back home. Your brows furrowed in disappointment as you looked at it- you had expected something more… magical, especially in a world full of magic. “First, I think you should take a look at yourself. Then I will answer any questions you have.”

You looked at yourself in the mirror, your mouth falling open in shock at the woman in the reflection. It was undeniably you, yet subtly transformed. Your face retained its familiar contours, but there was a newfound sharpness- a slight sculpting of your cheekbones and a more defined jawline. Your lips appeared fuller, and your hair was glossier than before.

As you leaned closer, a small detail caught your attention. Your eyes were still the same color, but deep in the depths, you could see a tiny flame flickering, like embers catching fire.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, staggering back from the mirror. It slipped from your grip and shattered onto the floor at your bare feet. “What am I?”

Azriel’s boots crunched on the glass as he caught you in his arms. “You are Y/N,” he murmured, his eyes searching your face. “You are changed, but you are still my Y/N.”

Your hands clutched at his leather clothing, holding onto him like a lifeline. “Azriel. There’s fucking flames in my eyes!” You sounded hysteric, but given the circumstances, you didn’t care.

Azriel chuckled softly, and you stared at him, wondering how he could remain so calm right now. “I find it rather attractive,” he said plainly.

“Can you be serious? Just for once, can you be serious?” you screamed at him, cementing your words with a hard slap onto his bicep.

Azriel laughed harder this time. “Just a few moments ago, you were wondering if I do anything but worry,” he said through his laughter. “Now you’re yelling at me for being too serious?”

Perhaps it was your body’s reaction from the shock of everything that had happened, but you found yourself laughing too. You smiled up at Azriel, your voice breathless as you murmured, “You’re insufferable, Azzy.”

He ran a thumb gently over your cheek, his calluses running across your skin. “There’s those beautiful dimples,” he whispered as he laid his forehead against yours.

You were suddenly aware of how close he was, his body hard and hot against yours. His shadows swarmed around you as you moved your hands up his arms, lacing them behind his neck. You could feel his warm breath ghosting your cheek as you tilted your face up to his, your eyes searching his for any sign of disgust or hatred.

There was only awe, and something else, something stronger and more passionate. His scent washed over you, muskier and more potent than before. A fire that had nothing to do with the burning ember living inside of your chest spread across your body, and you felt this strange, primal urge to claim him.

“Azriel,” you whispered as you stood on your tiptoes, raising yourself so your lips ghosted across his. Azriel’s hands gripped your waist, his skin burning through your thin nightgown. He lifted you up as he moved his head down, his lips so close to yours that you could taste him-

“She wakes,” a female voice drawled from the doorway, full of amusement. “I was starting to question my knowledge of healing.”

You and Azriel sprang apart, both of you breathless as if you had been running. He gently set you down on the floor, and with a firm squeeze on your hips, he stepped away. He turned and faced the woman, his features smooth, all sign of the earlier passion wiped away.

“Madja,” he greeted politely. “I didn’t tell Rhys she had woken up yet.” You didn’t miss the slight tightening of his face, and it was with pure satisfaction that you realized he was upset at being interrupted.

Madja chucked softly. “I heard you two talking,” she stated as she walked into the room. “I figured I should go ahead and do my check-up.” She looked… old, her face filled with wrinkles, but her eyes were clear.  She had pointed ears, dark skin, and wind-blown hair.

Azriel nodded once. “Of course.” He glanced over to you, his eyes wary. “Would… would you like me to stay? If not, I can-“

“Stay. Please,” you said, not caring that you cut him off. The thought of him leaving you made your chest tighten in an almost painful way.

He smiled as he took a seat in the chair next to the bed. His shadows rested along his shoulders and wings, seeming content to sit and watch. He looked at Madja, his eyes gleaming. “Pretend I’m not here.”

Madja rolled her eyes. “Illyrians,” she grumbled as she laid a bag down on the bed. “Such busybodies.”

You bit your lip, struggling to stifle a laugh as you peered into the bag, curious about whether any of the healer’s tools would look familiar. She began pulling out various bottles, each filled with liquids that sparkled and swirled. One was a vibrant green, another was an inky black. You thought you caught a glimpse of a needle and some stitches, but other than that, everything was foreign.

“What are those for?” you asked quietly as you looked at the bottles, your stomach rolling at the thought of having to drink one of them.

Madja raised the one with the black liquid. “This one can reverse the effects of a magical spell, such as being turned into a toad or a dragon.” She pointed at the green one that was still lying on the bed. “That one… Well, it’s quite nasty. It’s for those who are afflicted with ‘Mermaid’s Moan.’ If you get too cozy with sea folk and can’t stop singing sea shanties, this will clear it right up- though I’ve heard it burns like hell and tastes like acid.”

You blinked at her, your mouth open in horror. “Please tell me you’re joking,” you shrieked. “I haven’t been around any spells, and I definitely haven’t been… cozy with sea people!”

Madja lowered the bottle, her face warm and gentle. She laid a hand on your arm. “I’m just joking. I find it makes my patients feel more at ease.” She gestured to the bottles again. “These are sleep and healing potions. Nothing harmless, I can assure you.”

You released a breath and nodded. You had done the same thing many times with your own patients, though your jokes hadn’t been focused on magical potions. You glanced over to Azriel, only to find his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. He was enjoying this.

You glared at him, and he raised his hands in surrender. What? he mouthed to you, his face the perfect picture of innocence.

You smiled sweetly at him as you flipped him off.

“Now,” Madja said, pulling your attention away from the smug shadowsinger, “how are you feeling?”

You paused for a moment, truly letting yourself feel your body and mind. “I feel fine,” you admitted quietly. “As fine as I can be anyway, considering what happened a few days ago.” You assumed Azriel had told Madja everything, and you didn’t feel like explaining it all again.

The healer nodded as she placed a hand on your chin, her dark eyes searching your face. She closed her eyes, and your body was overwhelmed with a strange sweet feeling. It took all of your strength to remain standing as an overwhelming calm washed over your body.

After a few moments, Madja pulled her hand away, and the serene feeling left with it. You swallowed as your mouth was left with a strange, metallic taste, like metal. “Was that… magic?”

“Yes. I was checking your body for any sign of injury or ailments,” she explained. She turned her head to Azriel, her eyes soft as she said, “She is fine. It seems her magic is still recuperating, but other than that, I give her a clean bill of health.”

Azriel let out a breath, and his shadows seemed to relax as well. As much as shadows could relax.  “Thank the Mother,” he mumbled to himself, but your new and improved hearing allowed you to hear him clearly. “Thank you, Madja. For everything.”

Madja only smiled as she started to gather the bottles, placing them carefully back into the bag. “Wait,” you said, placing a hand on her arm. “What am I? You said I wasn’t human, and I can’t think of any other options here.” You shook your head in disbelief, your eyes searching the woman’s face. “You said I have magic, and you’re just going to leave without giving me an explanation?”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Azriel lean forward in his chair, his shadows once again swirling restlessly around him. But you kept your eyes locked onto Madja, and you watched as her face grew grim, her eyes shadowed. “I don’t know what you are,” she admitted, her voice dropping. “You aren’t human, but you are unlike any of our kind here in Prythian. There is something… familiar about you, but I can’t place it what it could be. Your magic is strong and powerful, something old and ancient, and a kind that I’ve never faced in my centuries of living. I think you could even rival the High Lords with the amount of power you have.”

You heard Azriel suck in a ragged breath, but you kept your eyes on Madja, your grip like iron on her arm. “I don’t even know what that means,” you whispered, your voice thick with tears. No, don’t cry. Don’t let her see how weak you are.

Madja placed her hand on your arm, her palm warm and soft. “I’m sorry I cannot give you a better explanation, my dear,” she murmured. “But don’t fret. I’m not giving up on searching for answers. I just don’t have any right now.” She glanced over to Azriel, her eyes filled with something like exasperation. “Besides, I think that Illyrian of yours is just as curious as I am. If anyone can figure it out, it’s the spymaster.”

Spymaster. Azriel was a fucking spymaster?

Your mind spun with the amount of new information being thrown at you, and you staggered back. You were held steady by a pair of scarred hands, and you sighed as you leaned into Azriel’s body.

How does he move so fast?

“Thank you, Madja,” he said, his deep voice clipped. “We will call for you if anything changes.”

Madja smiled politely, and with a bow of her head, hurried from the room.

You looked up at Azriel. “Spymaster, huh?” you teased. The title fit him. He was so quiet and broody, and you imagined those shadows, whatever the hell they were, would be quite good at helping with stealth.

Azriel rolled his eyes. “Non-human but unlike any of our kind here, huh?” he quipped back with a smile.

“Smartass.”

“I’m your smartass, though.” His tone was warm- genuine, even.

You leaned your head back onto his chest, your eyes staring at nothing. “I still have so many questions, Azzy,” you murmured. “None of this makes sense.”

Azriel wrapped his arms around your front, his forearms resting politely on your belly. “I know.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “We will figure all of this out. Together. But first,” he said, his voice darkening slightly, “we need to do something that is far more frightening.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion as you tried to think of what could be more frightening than figuring out the truth of who you are. “And what’s that?” you asked, your voice tinged with worry.

Azriel’s arms tightened around your body as his shadows trailed down your arms, as if they were trying to comfort you in preparation for whatever he was going to say. He took a deep breath, his voice vibrating in his chest as he said, “It’s breakfast time, and my family has been dying to meet you.”

****

“You had one fucking job, Mathias,” the female sneered, her features twisted in disgust. “And you failed. Horribly.”

Mathias cowered on the floor, his body tense, ready for whatever punishment was sure to be given to him. His queen was notorious for her punishments, especially the ones given to those who had failed her.

“Please, my queen,” he pleaded, his face pressed down to the floor. Through the reflection of the dark marble he could see his pale face. The piercings he had put back into his nose and ears gleamed in the dim light of the ramshackle throne room. “I was unprepared, that’s all. I didn’t expect-“

“Didn’t expect what?” The queen’s voice was low, full of sinister intent. “Go ahead and say it, you worthless bastard. Say that you weren’t prepared for the amount of power she has.”

Mathias trembled at her words. His queen was powerful, the most powerful person he had ever met. But that woman had unleashed an amount of power that had rattled his bones and burned his veins. He had barely had enough mind left to open a portal back to Prythian during the whole ordeal.

And that fucking shadowsinger- that good-for-nothing Illyrian brute. Mathias was already dreaming of the ways he would make him suffer when he got his hands on the bastard. He couldn’t wait to wipe that smug smile off his face.

These common Illyrians, always thinking they are better than everyone else. Little did they know-

“Perhaps I should get rid of you,” his queen continued, pulling his thoughts back to the present. Her heels clicked on the dark marble floor as she paced around him. “There are so many others who have sworn fealty to me. I know they would kill for the chance to help me with this particular quest.”

Mathias dared to raise his head, even though he hadn’t been ordered to. “Please. No. Let me finish this,” he pleaded, his voice full of desperation. “I can do this, your grace.”

The queen looked at him, and he was thrown back as a wave of her dark power hit his body, his head slamming onto the floor. He grunted as the taste of it filled his mouth- decay and rot, a power made to destroy and take. “Did you see where they went? Can you even tell me how to get to her?”

Mathias smiled up at the ceiling. “Yes. They are in Velaris. When she opened the portal, I knew it would take her to the Whispering Woods. If they went there, don’t you think Azriel would have called for Rhysand at once?”

The queen tilted her head to the side, clearly contemplating his words. “Fine. Go get her.” She snapped her fingers, and a dark, obsidian collar appeared in her hands. She threw the collar at him, and his fingers burned as he touched the cold metal. “Take that. You should be prepared this time.”

Mathias nodded, his eyes locked onto the collar. Even in his hands, the darkness of the metal seemed to pull his magic from his body. He had to fight the urge to throw it on the ground, his magic recoiling in the presence of such darkness.

“Go!” the queen ordered, her voice thundering through the room. “Get up!”

Mathias scrambled to his feet, his legs wobbling slightly. He bowed low at the waist. “Thank you for trusting me, your grace,” he said with a strained voice. That damned collar was making it hard to think straight. He slowly stood and turned for the door, but her voice stopped him in his tracks.

“This is your last chance, Mathias,” she said, her voice like darkness given form. “If you care at all about your life, I suggest you don’t fail this time.”

tag list: @starofanotherworld @lilah-asteria @melmo567

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@talesofadragon

[ohwaitimthewriter]

The Memory Keeper

Chapter 1 : List.

Pairing : Noa x human reader

Warning : A bit of mourning. Otherwise, all clear for this one!

Summarize (please I'm so bad at writing these!): A woman, allowed to live as long as the virus keeps running through her body, living on autopilot for 260 years, is going to see her life takes a new turn, finding hope in something that might come to put an end to her wandering.

Words : 3.2k

A/N : It has been a long time since I've written something and it feels pretty good to get back at it with this story! I hope you'll like it and do not hesitate to share your thoughts or like/reblog, it's always appreciated! As English isn't my native language, I'm sorry if you find mistakes or weird wording in there, let me know if you find some and I'll be glad to correct them!

Enjoy your reading 😊

The Memory Keeper masterlist.

It wasn't going to be a difficult day. The list was ready, the tasks the same as the day before and the day after. You had to go to the river: catch a fish, fill the flasks with fresh water, bathe… You had to get on your horse and on the way back, stop at the 16th tree on the right, get off, walk 30 steps and fill the bag with blackberries. You had to avoid the brambles and avoid tripping over the prominent root. Get back on the horse and ride home.

Prepare the fish: remove the head and tail, the skin, gut it and remove the bones, light a fire to cook it. Yes, evolution had done many things, but it must have missed the episode where it was necessary to improve the human digestive system. So the fish still had to be cooked.

The garden had to be tended. Over the years, it had evolved too. It had been a long time in the making. A vegetable garden, tomatoes, green beans and, you couldn't quite remember how, artichokes had found their place too. An apple tree was easy to grow. It took time, but it was easy. And then there was this little gem you'd stumbled upon one day: a rosebush. It was an important one. You had to take care of it too.

You always had to do something.

Your hands knew what to do and how to do it. Your legs took you where you needed to go, and at that particular moment, they had led you to your horse. You had to remove his saddle and bridle, check his hooves and remove any stones that might have got stuck on them. Run your hand over his belly to loosen the skin compressed by the girth. And don't forget to give him a drink. When it came to eating, he found everything on his own, except perhaps an apple, which you gave him from time to time to thank him for his help. He knew how to ask, too. In fact, he huffed and gave you a nudge.

Okay, an apple.

He followed you to the apple tree and you climbed onto his back. You could reach the branches, but it was always difficult to keep your balance. Especially when your right hip wasn't working properly. And you sighed. It really wasn't convenient.

You had to go on with the list, what was next?

“ Hearing my voice at least once and speaking so I don't forget.”

This was important. You had to remember how to speak. The world had forgotten, but you must not. You had no right to forget.

“Say something new.”

And you looked around.

“It's cloudy today.”

Which meant rain wasn't far off. Your horse was now grazing beside you.

“You should take shelter.”

You smile, you'd said one more sentence today. Your horse's ears twitched as if to say “I do what I want” and you shrugged. After all, he was the one to decide. But you didn't want to get wet in the rain. You patted his neck and went off to find shelter in your wooden hut.

You've lived here for a long time. A very long time. So long that you no longer needed a torch to light up the big room when night fell or when the clouds darkened the place. You knew exactly where the shaky table was, the armchair with its deformed, hollowed-out seat and even the little plastic pot you kept forgetting to put back on the table to avoid getting your feet caught in it. And despite the years, you never tripped over it.

You were right to come home. You'd just had time to put the water flasks and the cooked fish on the table when a torrent of water hit the floor. The end of the list would have to wait. The timing was perfect, as your stomach signaled that it was time to fill up, and the smell of the wood-fired fish made your mouth water.

Settling back in your armchair, you ate the fish, watching the rain fall against the hut's only window. Eating with your hands was no longer as disturbing as it had been at first. There were a lot of memories that had slipped away over time, but you almost smiled when you thought back to the embarrassment you'd felt the first time you'd had to eat like that. If you'd known back then where you'd end up…

A sigh.

Drops tumbled against the window and some seemed to challenge themselves to get to the bottom first. They were following the path traced by others before them, but obviously not all roads were good ones to take. Some raindrops went straight down, others tried to cut off their opponents' path, and still others weaved in and out to create their own path. Then a raindrop caught your eye. It seemed the most likely to win the mad race. It glided and slalomed proudly until it landed delicately on your windowsill, blending in with its sisters who had landed there before it.

You turned your eyes to the last piece of fish, which you brought to your mouth.

You took one last look out the window, and that's when you caught sight of it.

A shadow.

A shadow had just moved past your window. The rain kept on pounding against it and you could see the trees in the distance stirring in the wind, and you were sure you saw the shadow moving, quickly to the right, but the shadow was gone. There were only raindrops, only the wind, and you could even hear the dull roar of an incipient thunderstorm.

A deep breath. You had to.

Then a sigh.

The rain and wind must have played a trick on you. If the storm picked up, you definitely wouldn't be able to finish your outdoor to-do list. But that didn't matter, there was still plenty to do inside.

First you had to tidy up. Keeping the interior clean and tidy was important, so you couldn't leave the water bottles on the table. You grabbed them and stepped over the little plastic pot that stood between the table and what you could call a kitchen. At least, that's what you would have called this part of the hut back in the day, because there was only a broken sink and a cupboard without a door. You passed the front door and it rattled against the latch in the wind. You had managed to install a branch across the door, allowing you to keep it closed in bad weather. However, as it didn't close very well, the wind always managed to rattle it between the branch and the latch. But you got used to the noise. So you walked past the shaky door to put the water bottles in the cupboard, and when you heard a suspicious rustling sound, you jumped, staring at the door.

You frowned at the unusual sound. You had been holding your breath, but the wind suddenly whistled through the doorframe, which was sorely lacking in hermetic seals. So you breathed out, taking a calmer breath. The wind. Mother Nature was definitely testing your nerves tonight.

Well, you still had to change your clothes. Night was coming on and you couldn't possibly sleep in your day clothes. You stepped over the little plastic pot again and made your way to the wooden chest beside the fireplace to find a t-shirt and a pair of jogging shorts with a hole in the left knee. Maybe one day you'd find a stray piece of fabric while walking through the forest, so you could mend it. But you hadn't yet got to the list asking you to explore the surrounding area.

There were 7 lists divided into 4 sections, themselves arranged in 12 categories. It was your way of keeping track of time. You no longer counted the days, let alone the years; you'd long since lost the very notion of time. But to grow crops, harvest the fruits of the forest and simply follow nature's millimetric events and be able to anticipate them, you needed a reference point. The lists, though mostly identical, were that reference point. Hanging on the wall with pieces of wood you'd carved yourself, they determined your days and the things you had to do.

You didn't really know when or how you'd started making these lists. But judging by the ink, half washed away by the years - some of the lists had even gone back to being blank - it must have been a long time ago.

You put the current day's list back in its place. Tomorrow, you'd have to complete it while carrying out the next one. But there was one more thing you needed to do indoors before settling into your armchair for the night. One last important thing.

From the chest, you took out a picture frame. The corners were worn, the wood had crumbled and you had to handle it carefully to avoid getting splinters in your hands. You set the frame down on the floor by the fireplace, knelt in front of it and reached into the jar on your right to pick a rose petal, which you placed carefully in the right-hand corner of the frame.

You struggled to swallow.

That's where it always got complicated.

Once again, you reached into the jar and pulled out 7 petals. You always needed 7 petals. You placed 6 of them in a circle on the dry twigs in the fireplace and began humming a song whose words you'd long since forgotten. But you remembered the feeling. You felt a lump in your throat, and you often wondered how you managed to keep the song going.

You hummed, and on the last petal, with the help of a needle, you delicately traced his initials. You had to be careful not to press too hard, you shouldn't pierce the petal, just brush against it enough to see, if you concentrated hard enough, the outline of the letter you were drawing. You also had to blink a few times to see clearly what you were doing. It was important to get it right. Once you'd written the letter on the petal, you laid it at the center of the circle.

It was always at this moment that your hands shook. You needed a moment. Just a bit of time.

You had to wipe your hands over your eyes, the most important thing was to handle the two flints on the floor with care. Your hands had to be steady, not shaking. You interrupted the song to get your breathing under control.

Inhale.

Breathe out.

Grab the flints.

Inhale.

Exhale.

A sharp stroke.

The clatter of the stone threw sparks onto the pile of twigs and a flame sprang up. You started humming again as the fire slowly consumed the wood until it reached the petals of the circle.

A tear.

The fire continued to progress and you stared desperately at the petal in the center, quickly ridding yourself of the tears that were blurring your vision. The flame touched the edge of the petal and you watched the letter “C” burn away and disappear into the ashes.

The flame faded as the twigs gradually disappeared and, once gone, you slipped the petal on the frame back into its jar.

Now you had to put the frame away. Your fingers brushed the edge of the picture inside of it. Despite the years, you had managed, by some miracle, to keep the photograph almost undamaged. At least, sufficiently intact that you could still distinguish the shape of an ape in the center of the picture, despite the cracks.

He was a force of nature. You had taken this photo on a December day, you still knew because you could still discern the white flakes clinging to his dark fur. Back then, you loved taking pictures.

What did they call you again?

The memory keeper.

Even after all this time, it still made you smile. You gently squeezed the frame between your fingers, keeping it balanced on the knees you'd just tucked in towards you. This way, he was a little closer to you.

You made an extra effort to remember the day. He was standing high enough to see everyone around him. He must have been talking about something important; he always had that powerful, soul-piercing stare when he was saying something important. But he always looked…

“Grumpy.”

You concluded your thought in a whisper that knotted your throat. Grumpy. You almost expected to hear him growl, his ego bruised, every time you reminded him that he was sometimes a little too grumpy. “Grumpy because a lot on my shoulders,” he'd snap back at you. “No, grumpy because you're old” you'd always reply, your eyes always playful. And you were the only one who could say such a thing, with the only result being an amused snore coming from him.

And you felt yourself take a deep breath. Of all the pictures you'd taken, this was the last one you had left. You had to put the frame back in the chest, so your fingers tightened even more around the wood. Your head tilted slightly forward, closing your eyes as the wood touched your forehead.

Tonight was difficult.

You took another deep breath, and before the knot in your throat hurt too much, you straightened up and went to put the frame in the chest.

“Caesar, tonight is really difficult,” you whispered, watching the shadow of the lid close over the frame.

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

It had been a restless night. When your eyes opened the next morning, they felt heavy and swollen, and you found yourself rubbing your eyes to try and make the heaviness go away.

Today, there was much to do. After changing from your night clothes to your day ones, you removed the branch blocking the door and let the sun shine in, warming your skin. The fresh early-morning air caressed your skin and you took a few seconds to smell the distinctive light scent that follows a thunderstorm.

No sooner had you taken a few steps forward than your feet bumped into something hard, causing you to lose your balance. In a fraction of a second, you found yourself on your butt on the ground, a stabbing pain in your right hip that had failed to move to stop you from falling.

“Ouch!” was the only thing that slipped out of your mouth.

You straightened up slightly, remaining seated in the grass, to see what had caused your fall and a pile of apples laid exactly under the wobbly small porch that covered your front door.

God, what a dummy not to have put that away last night. You thought to yourself, looking down at your hands full of dirt. You'd have to go to the river to clean it up, and now you'd just have to take your night clothes with you because you'd also have to wash the ones you were wearing-the mud from the storm must have dirtied your current clothes.

A pile of apples. You thought as you rubbed your hands together.

A pile of apples. You glanced at your right hip. Pfft, if you'd made Caesar break it to put it back in its place, you'd never have fallen today. In fact, you'd have avoided more than one fall.

All because of a misplaced pile of apples.

A pile of misplaced apples.

And like a light bulb switching on, your gaze suddenly fell on those apples that actually had nothing to do there. You hadn't gathered them the day before.

Then you heard it. A muffled purr came gently from behind you. Surely you should have turned around, stood up and dealt with it, but you'd found yourself rooted to the spot, eyes glued to those apples, waiting as an orangutan appeared in your field of vision.

And you refused to look at him, your hands balled into fists to keep them from shaking. You weren't afraid. No. But for some obscure reason, your brain had simply decided to freeze.

The orangutan once again let out a rumble, softer this time, and held out his hand to you.

“I'll help.”

His voice made you blink several times. You did your best to snap out of your stupor, but this time your eyes agreed to look at him, and the orangutan seemed delighted.

Just one more moment. It took another second, just one, to see your hand slip into his and before you knew it, you were back on your feet.

“Raka, we must go.”

The second voice surprised you a little. It sounded familiar and your eyes fell on a chimpanzee, a little further away, who had just finished saddling a horse. You frowned, your horse? You were trying to determine whether it was really yours, but the distance didn't allow you to be sure. There was only one way to find out.

So you whistled.

The horse shook its head and the chimpanzee didn't have time to grab the reins before your horse galloped off to meet you. They were going to take your horse… in exchange for a stack of apples?

You grabbed the reins and stroked the horse's neck as he snorted. He chewed the bit and blew heavily through his nostrils.

For a fraction of a second, you forgot about the two large apes who, from the sounds they were making, weren't particularly happy to have lost a chance of obtaining a second means of locomotion: in your peripheral vision, you could see another horse quietly grazing.

Your hands still knew what to do, and it didn't take you long to remove the bridle and bit from your horse's mouth.

“He doesn't like it.” you said simply.

And only silence answered you, so you showed the bridle to the two apes.

“The bit, he doesn't like it, he's not used to it.”

Your answer didn't seem to convince them. They stared at you, dumbstruck, and if you paid close enough attention, you could almost see their mouths hanging wide open. And that left you bewildered. What didn't they understand? You'd heard them talking, so that certainly wasn't the problem.

“You can't take my horse.” You went on, starting to remove the saddle.

It was becoming increasingly obvious that they were staring at you as if you'd just landed from the sky.

“If you want a horse, there's a wild herd to the south, past the river.” And you pointed in the right direction.

They remained silent as tombs, but the chimpanzee followed the direction you pointed with his eyes.

“Just be careful, the group's stallion isn't very friendly.” You thought it important to tell him.

Your gaze fell back on them and the orangutan, Raka, if you'd heard correctly, hadn't moved a muscle. The chimpanzee, on the other hand, was staring at you thoughtfully, as if he was trying to put together a puzzle with a missing piece. He then moved towards you inquisitively, perhaps, confused?

“Echo, speak?”

It was certainly the most surprising sentence you'd ever heard in your life.

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Down at the river

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Request: Hello, I love your stories and have an idea for werewolf Daryl. In wolf form, Daryl finds a reader who is swimming in the river and falls in love with her. In human form, he brings her to the group (no matter what time) but he is afraid to tell her about himself without knowing how much the reader has fallen in love with him. Preferably with smut at the end ;) Thanks♡

Down at the river, where the stream split was where people used to find Daryl during the days before and after the full moon. He'd be bathing in his changed form, or fishing to bring back a haul for his community.

But nowadays he spent his time around the area in hiding. Covered by the thick greenery he'd watch the new woman bathe in the river and catch his fish. She had skills he admired, and she was beautiful as well. Her hair down to be washed or up in a bun when just rinsing her body, she was beautiful.

Daryl traveled along with a supply cart between the communities. He was asked to be security because of the increase in walkers lately, but also because multiple carts had been robbed lately.

Daryl kept his eyes and ears open for any noises and caught something getting closer to the cart. It was too subtle for a human to hear, and too calculated to be a walker. He took his crossbow and watched for any movement but whatever it was stayed hidden.

Only when Daryl went to explain what he heard and let his guard down momentarily there was an opening to rush in, slash the tarp and grab whatever was underneath with both hands and running off.

Daryl was quick to grab his crossbow and follow the figure, easily catching up and hauling them up against a tree and watching all the produce fall to the ground.

"Where's yer camp?" Daryl snarled, inches away from your face. His gaze flickering around the area for any sign of backup.

"I swear it's just me. I found a cabin but fish isn't enough to live on.. Please I just want to eat." You raised your hands as much as possible, palms open and empty for the man to see you were harmless. He caught no sense of you lying to him, so he set you back down and handed you a small portion of what you had stolen. "Ya know we got communities. If ya wanna live nicer, try Alexandria." With the leftover produce in his hands and crossbow over his shoulder he turned around to walk away. "I know ya know where it is."

On his way back he couldn't help but flash back to when he saw you in the river. You knew your way around the woods and were a skilled survivor, but he couldn't let all of that make the heat rise in his cheeks.

"Was a lone woman. Left 'er with a warning." Daryl placed the produce back in the cart, clearly less than what was taken. "Some got squashed when she ran 'n dropped it. M'sorry."

Daryl went to find the cabin, locating it with ease and watching from afar. It was a nice place, and surrounded by walker traps. He remembered your complaints about eating just fish, so while you did know how to fish, hunting and animal trapping wasn't something you were familiar with.

Which is why he hunted down some small game and prepped it to leave at your door, boxed in a stupid tupperware box he took from Carol's kitchen.

He waited til the next full moon for you to knock on the community gate, but you never did.

Back in the woods, Daryl went to his usual spot. A giant pile of leaves becoming his base for those nights. A nice bed and a great hiding spot for his stuff. With the nights becoming colder again he didn't want to fish, opting for hunting instead. He ate his fill and trodged back to the place he'd call his bed for the night, quickly dozing off covered in yellow leaves.

That same night, at the cabin not far off you rested, unable to fall asleep with the lack of thick blankets. Tossing and turning and groaning in frustration you sat up, remembering the giant pile of fallen leaves a short walk away. You thought of stuffing the ratty duvet cover and making a thicker blanket that way and set off to where you had seen it.

Upon arrival you found.. something else as well. At the base of the pile laid a creature, covered partially under a golden blanket. 'Looks like we had the same idea.' The thought came and went as you stared at the large bear.

No, not a bear. Its shapes weren't bearlike.

You scanned the animal's features and got hit by a realisation like a truck. The creature in front of you bared a scar over its eye. Just like that man who let you have that food after you stole from his people. The greying fur indicated his older age too. It matched up perfectly. The long shaggy fur now looked entirely black in the small bits of moonlight passing through the trees, but you bet it was that same dark brown from your memories.

You ditched the plan of taking the leaves, as to not wake up the sleeping beast and turned back home to your cabin.

Despite the night's cold temperature you eventually passed out and slept til late in the morning.

By the time you went to head out, pushing open the cabin door you felt it hit something, shoving it along.

A quick look around the door showed a small wild boar, its throat cut and seemingly drained. But it looked clean aside from the rope burns around its leg. You took the boar inside and stashed it away, giving a quick glance at the plastic tub that held the other animals last time with a fond smile. Your mind wandered to the man who so kindly let you keep the food even after you stole from his people. You were convinced he was bringing you the animals and it warmed your heart.

Were you catching feelings for him?

Shrugging it off you went to set out into the woods to do your daily gatherings, sneaking along the area where you saw him sleep last night, but not finding anything that indicated he had been there besides the leaf pile being a mess. Your trip was ended quickly now that you didn't need to hunt or fish, so you decided to make the extra trip back to the leaf pile with your blanket cover after all.

The amount of walkers in the area increased quickly. It was like they were swarming in from all sides. Daryl had noticed it too. It wasn't safe for him anymore to sleep in the woods during full moons. His mind kept wandering to you, and went by the cabin a few times but never caught you there. He couldn't afford to camp around your home with his community needing food stockpiled if it got too bad outside the walls. He had to keep up the supply and needed to hunt.

It was late at night after two weeks of daily trap checking and hauling back food for his people when he was being summoned to the gate.

"This woman claims to know you, but not by name." Deanna's voice was stern, not trusting the stranger at her side.

Daryl gave you a once over and nodded, "yeah. Seen 'er out there. Traded food once or twice." It was cler you were hurt, and seeing the way you carried your bedsheets stuffed with items he made out you had to leave in a hurry. "Ya should rest. I'll take someone ta check yer old place in the mornin'."

The offer took you off guard but you welcomed it, thanking him for being so kind.

"Alright." Deanna stated quickly. " you may accompany mister Dixon for the night, since you two have a history together. Tomorrow morning mister Dixon can show you my home where we can continue this talk. Goodnight for now." With a kind smile she headed back home.

Daryl bid the guards a good night aa well before showing you the way to his shared home. "Ain't got a room fer ya yet, so yer gonna havta live with the couch tonight."

Daryl led you inside where you were met with Carol who was woken up by people coming to get Daryl earlier. You watched her as she got up and with a kind smile to greet you and introduced herself. When you responded with an introduction of yourself, Daryl made a mental note of your name. "Would you like some tea?"

She had practically readied everything already before you answered, so instead you just nodded and thanked her as she offered you a cup.

"I'm going back to bed. Find me when you need something, okay?" A small wave punctuated her leave as she disappeared up the stairs.

You stood with the tea in your hands, looking around the house and taking it all in. It had been years since you'd seen a house in this near perfect state, untouched by the dead, or the living that took everything they desired.

"Yer gon' be alrigh?" Daryl's voice was soft, like he was trying his best not to overwhelm you. He got to digging out blanket from the basket beside hus lounge chair and handed it to you along with an extra pillow.

"Thankyou. I'll be fine for the night." With tour bedsheet bag set to the side you sat down to undo your boots, remembering you had set your tea down and taking a sip before it got cold.

Daryl kind of just watched your scatterbrained self do five things at once until you were finally ready to lay down. Only then did he wish you a good night, and upon walking away he stopped for a second, turning towards you. "Name's Daryl, by the way."

It had been a while since you slept through the night and woke up with the smell of fresh breakfast being prepared. The groan you let out as you stretched earned you a call of good morning from the kitchen. Carol peeked her head past the corner and walked up with a new cup of tea.

While you waited for breakfast as Carol had instructed you went to unpack the stuff you brought. Trying to make a list for Daryl to help him on his trip to your cabin later today.

You stacked your clothes on the armrest beside you, clearly missing a couple of items that weren't on the closest pile when you ran. You dug out a canteen of water, some weapons and a solar powered lantern that was at the end of its life. The last thing all the way at the bottom was--

"Hey, where'd you get that?" Carol's curious tone had you jump up, pulled away from the focus on your task.

"Ya took it with ya? Empty?" You hadn't even noticed Daryl coming into the room, all dressed and ready to leave already.

Your gaze switched from Carol over to Daryl, and back to Carol again who was staring at her friend with a confused look on her face. "Daryl?"

Again your head moved to look at Daryl, who was chewing on the skin of his thumb. A clear sign of his nerves. "Took it ta bring 'er som meat. She weren't showin' at the gate so I took some to 'er home."

Carol raised her brows at that, but decided to stay quiet, going back to preparing the plate of breakfast for you and shooing Daryl out the door, who made a vocal protest of having to take you to Deanna. "I'll take her later. You go do your thing, she'll be here when you come home."

You smiled around a mouthful of food, loving the playful banter between the two.

With Daryl out the door, Carol went to take her own breakfast and sit down with you.

"So, how'd you two meet? Usually Daryl shares tales of his hunts, but I never heard anything about a woman."

You had to start improvising now. If you shared the truth there was a chance of being straight out the gate again. "He almost shot me." It was the first thing that came to mind, it was close enough to your first encounter where he would have shot you if you had beem further off. "He told me to find this place, but I got scared. I mentioned being tired of fish and he figured out where I lived." You shared a simple version of the whole truth that seemed to work well enough for Carol to move on.

After breakfast you washed up and Carol took you to see Deanna, where you went through some sort of interview initiation process. She talked about the inner workings of the community and finding a job for you based on your chat.

You found it strange, but you guessed it was a necessity.

Deanna gave you a quick tour of the community after deeming you not dangerous, showing you all the important places like the pantry, the infirmary and the vegetable gardens.

You got to search through the community clothing reserves and pick out some stuff to take home and take a much needed shower.

You had no idea how long you spent in the bathroom. All you knew was Daryl had come home by the time you were done.

It then hit you you never gave him a list of missing items.

"Hey." Daryl's eyes caught yours and for a second all he could see was you, with your soaked hair in the river. He shook the thought off and awkwardly pointed out the door. "Stripped the place. Come see what ya wanna keep?"

In your clean clothes and damp hair you followed Daryl outside, padding along down the porch steps and to the back of the truck parked in front of the house.

Together you sifted through the truck bed, taking out the items you wished to keep for yourself and sorting rhe rest into useful community items and stuff to take apart for material.

Spending the whole day going around the community with Daryl was the best time you had since the dead came back to life.

Just one day of donating your gathered items and clearing out your now bedroom was all it took to have those butterflies from back in your cabin flutter so much more intense than before.

But you kept it quiet, showed none of it. There was no way it would be okay to share something like that only a single day into it.

Where you went to bed content, Daryl ended up downstairs with a less positive mindset.

He was angry. Not at you, or anyone in general. He was angry with himself. He was angry for falling for you since day one and not having had the courage to show himself to you during the full moons.

Weeks passed where the two of you danced around each other in and out of the community, all the way up to the week of the full moon.

Daryl had to leave again in three days and his mind was plagueing him. He hated the idea of having to lie to you about his leave. He hated that he'd have to use your cabin and reinforce it in record time so he had a safe space to sleep.

But if yoy knew your cabin was walker-proof, you could want to move back and Daryl didn't want that. He wanted you to stay..

Around the community it was clear something was bugging Daryl, but most of them wouldn't even bother to find out what that something was. To Carol it was clear as day, and she made it her personal job to make sure Daryl talked to you before leaving.

"Pookie.." Carol sat down beside her friend who had been chainsmoking on the porch, leg bouncing and thumb almost bleeding from how much he bit it. "She's gonna be okay with it. The cabin, you. Everything."

Daryl only grumbled something in response. Something that sounded like you being afraid, which only made her laugh niw that she knew how the two of you had officially met.

Of course Darul had shared the whole truth with her, it's how Carol figured out her friend had been in love with the girl way before she had shown up at the community. Before he had caught her stealing, even.

"Daryl, look. It has been obvious that she's comfortable around you. You attacked her for stealing and lied about it to get her to stay." A soft reassuring smile ended her last sentence. "She's lived in the woods. She'll love your animal half."

Daryl spent the remainder of his cigarette mulling over Carol's words. She made so much sense it had to be true.

It took the rest of the day to mentally prepare him to go find you at home, and to his luck you were helping Carol in the kitchen.

He thanked the moon for Carol being there as well, he was going to need someone to back him up.

"Hey, Daryl." Carol happily greeted him from where she was showing you how to create her cookie dough, kneading it side by side with you.

The soft hum of the oven sounded through the kitchen as Daryl came over and leaned against the counter behind you.

"Man, I wish we had chocolate chips.. I miss those." You reminised to the old world and its delicious snacks that had your mouth water.

"I have some, we can set some dough aside for a small batch." Carol moved to separate a small portion of her dough for later. "Just keep those away from the regular ones. Daryl's allergic to chocolate and we don't want him getting sick."

Your brows furrowed in confusion, while Daryl glanced over at Carol's conversation starter.

"You're allergic to chocolate? That must suck.." You peeked away from your work to give Daryl and apologetic look.

He only shrugged it off, too busy with his confession to make a snarky comment. The kitchen fell silent again and he felt the panic gnaw at his skull again. He had to get it over with.

"S'watcha get when ya ain't fully human. Can't eat all kindsa food."

Carol smiled to herself when your hands stilled. In the reflection of the window you could see Daryl's worry clean on his face. You had to choose your words carefully.

"What else can't you have? You know, for if I'm ever in charge of dinner."

The response was one Daryl didn't see coming. It was clear in his little stutter as he found the words to reply. "Can't have grapes. So no wine either, not tha' I can get drunk anyways."

You were hoping he'd straight up say what he was thinking and not dance around the subject, but you saw he needed time. Back to questioning you went.

"So, what exactly is making you have those allergies? What non-human part, I mean." You kept peeking his way over your shoulder as you followed Carol's moves in cutting and placing the cookies.

"Yer gonna think 'm crazy. Feels gross sayn' it out loud." He couldn't even look up from the floor with how badly he wanted to disappear right now. His hands in his pockets plucking at any loose threads so he wouldn't chew his fingers down to the bone.

"You could always show her." Carol shrugged with the plate of raw cookies in her hands, placing it in the oven while you operated the door for her.

"Nah. S'too scary ta show jus' like tha'." He was getting restless, he had said what he wanted in a way, so why was he still so anxious about this whole thing?

"Scary? I swear I mistook you for a bear undernthat pile of leaves last month. You're pretty cute when you sleep." Your eyes squinted with the wide smile on your face, remembering that night in the woods.

Only when you saw Daryl's face become one of utter shock you couldn't hold back your laughter.

It took a moment for the situation to die down again, you catching your breath and Daryl still not knowing what to do.

But Carol did. "I told you so." With a shrug she kept moving around and continuing the baking process while Daryl's mind rattled and you reassured him once more.

"I came here after I saw you and realised who I found. If I saw you before I came here I would have been just as happy to have seen you, because I like you for who you are, not what you are."

Daryl's hands had by now found their way out of his pockets. One tucked underneath his armpit and the other being anxiohsly chewed on, the skin angry and red.

You abandoned your baking, trusting Carol to pick up, and took two steps towards him. Your hands found his, tugging them down to hold them in yours. "Daryl.."

You watched a million thought cross Daryl's eyes, his hands trembled in yours as he looked anywhere but at you.

With your hands intertwined you could feel the anxiety seep into you. The words you had ready all jumbled up and were unreachable in your head. The only difference was, you did find words when you looked Daryl in the eyes and he looked right back. The trembling of Daryl's hands in yours turned into full body jitters, lifting you on your tiptoes to press the quickest peck to his lips, quietly mumbling an 'I love you' against his chest.

For a moment the kitchen was quiet. No mure humming of the oven or rummaging on the counters. Carol had soundlessly slipped away too.

After a while of not getting a single response, Daryl's hands slipped from yours and for a second your heart broke. You were ready to step back and head out, ready to disappear when his hands settled on your lower back, fingers brushing over the fabric of your shirt ever so lightly. He was testing the waters and you let him. Daryl needed time to let everything sink in and give it a place.

Your hands hung limp at your side, unsure what to do with them but tensed as Daryl nuzzled against your hair, softly pressing and nudging you to look at him.

With you facing him again he lowered his head and press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

Your arms snaked around him, pressing further into him. "I love you, Daryl."

After the kiss Daryl kept nuzzling your cheek, a soft humm rumbling deep down in his chest.

He may have not said it back, but it was clear in his actions he felt the same way for you.

A/N: This request was fun! I'm sorry it took so long, I really hope it's what you wanted ♡♡

[femsolid]

Fun fact! The god Vishnu is probably the most famous hindu god and, according to hindu texts, he would stalk women as they were bathing and then steal their clothes.

Only after the women begged him would he return their clothes and let them dress themselves and leave. Of course men made lots of art about this beautiful event.

It's funny how male gods act exactly like male humans isn't it? What lesson are hindu women supposed to take from this? Well the metropolitan museum has a perfectly good explanation: "Krishna, the mischievous Divine Cowherd, has stolen the clothes of the bathing gopis, who shiver with cold but also with delight in their devotion to their lord. This splendid allegory of spiritual love-" excuse me what? the splendid what? lol Krishna is Vishnu in case you're wondering, he's an avatar of Vishnu kind of like Jesus is the avatar of God etc. Anyway, the museum details: "it recounts his playful theft of the clothes of the female cowherds, the gopis, who had left their clothes on the Yamuna River bank while bathing. Krishna placed them high in the branches of a tree, in which he is seen perched, daring the gopis to venture from the water. Metaphorically, this story serves to convey the power of devotion, to stand vulnerable before one’s God, secure in the power of bhakti, the unquestioning devotion to one’s god." ah it's not a creepy story it's just like if you love god and you're a woman you need to show him your body and beg him for your clothes and stuff. Makes sense.

Still according to hinduism, humans were created by the god Brahma.

Brahma was a pervert "in love" with his own daughter, the goddess Śatarūpā. She tried to run from him so he grew several heads and arms to reach her no matter where she tried to hide. He grew four heads to look at her from every cardinal direction, she couldn't escape his gaze. He's a buddhist idol still represented with his 4 heads and arms for better stalking.

Fun facts all around... I love religions.

[christophernolan]

Prince Daemon at a stroke had captured the not-inconsiderable wealth of House Strong and a dozen valuable hostages, amongst them Ser Simon and his grandsons. The castle smallfolk became his captives as well, amongst them a wet nurse named Alys Rivers. Who was this woman? A serving wench who dabbled in potions and spells, says Munkun. A woods witch, claims Septon Eustace. A malign enchantress who bathed in the blood of virgins to preserve her youth.

Gayle Rankin as Alys Rivers HOUSE OF THE DRAGON 2.03 | "The Burning Mill"