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larkspyrr · 8 months

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chapter i — we could form an attachment (wc. 4.9k)

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The Opera Epiclese was almost always a circus — sometimes in the most literal sense of the word. But this event was on another level entirely.

The epicenter of Fontaine's rich history on Erinnyes played host to a menagerie of pastels, frills, cuffs, and nonsense. A sea of nobles and hopefuls swarmed the Court of Fontaine from Marcotte Station all the way to the Fountain of Lucine — a mass of the nation's wealthiest, most ambitious, and most eligible young people, escorted here and there by older family members with varying degrees of investment, twirling and sipping and gossiping.

The jets hidden within the overlapping layers of shallow pools spouted pillars of crystalline water, casting an almost imperceptible mist over the whole courtyard, granting it an ethereal charm and allure not befitting such fatuous rituals. A flood of rainbow roses, lumidouce bells, marcottes, and activated romaritimes bloomed raucously over every inch of the gardens, their aroma thick but not unpleasant, their petals offering a lush natural carpet for the venue — not that there was enough space between the milling crowd to appreciate it. Cuihua trees bursting with bulle fruit lined the perimeter, the little citruses begging to be picked, only protected by the unspoken high society rule that to do so would be unbecoming. A small quartet of violins stood before the fountain itself, playing a light-hearted and airy song to accompany the festivities, though not a soul was paying attention.

A few lucky (or conversely, unlucky) aristocrats may leave the Opera tonight with the promise of approaching nuptials and a happy future. Far more would simply leave with an impending hangover and some gossip on Baron Something-or-Other's latest romantic failings.

You took a dainty sip from your champagne flute. It would be more nauseating if it weren't so entertaining. You and Lady Furina seemed to have that in common — an enduring appreciation for the cyclical drama. You wondered absently if the Archon herself would make an appearance to stir something up. You hoped she would.

All the world's a stage, indeed.

You made your way across the courtyard, the click of your heels on the parquet stone drowned out by the throng; a nearby wide, stone planter in your sights. It would be as good a place as any for you to remain aloof and antisocial but still in sight of your father, who spared you a supervisory glance from where he stood with other noblemen, certainly discussing nothing of importance.

From your new perch, the noise and color and spectacle all were duller, easier to digest. You leaned against the marble and observed the sea of activity, daintily nursing your drink.

You were enjoying the time spent on your own when you heard a soft rustle of fabric to your right — a noise that would have been impossible to catch had you been any closer to the heart of the gathering. You turned in time to see a man you didn't recognize leaning against the same planter as you, looking for all the world as comfortable as if you'd invited him to be there.

You had not.

He didn't seem to belong there — that much was evident — and not just because he was an unfamiliar face. Tall and dark, his icy blue eyes were framed by a rush of thick, dark hair and a thin, crescent scar. Far from his only scar, by the looks of it — a complex network traveled down his neck and disappeared under his collar, intricate enough to rival the meticulous lacework that had cost your father a pretty mora at the boutique — despite your insistence that such costs were wholly unnecessary. The stranger's suit, a well-tailored gray and black ensemble, was partially obscured by a fussy, fur-lined coat. His burgundy tie was ever-so-slightly crooked, making your fingers twitch with the urge to adjust it. A desire no doubt born of the years you had been doing the very same for father.

Even under the warmth of the setting summer sun, he seemed to radiate a chill that brought goosebumps to your exposed arms.

If he'd ever been at an event before this one, there was no way you could have forgotten him. He seemed the type to linger in someone's mind long after he left a room.

He tilted a polite smile down at you.

"Good afternoon, miss," he greeted in a voice altogether too friendly to match his intimidating countenance.

"Charmed," you clipped. You gave him an appraising look, not rushing the path your eyes made up his frame, from the clunky boots, ill-suited for the occasion, to the silver streaks in his hair he didn't seem quite old enough for yet. He had the dignity not to cower under your inspection. "I'm afraid this flowerbed is occupied, sir. Please find your own."

His smile shifted and was clearly meant to look apologetic. You weren't convinced. "I'm afraid I can't."

You lifted a brow. If nothing else, this could be an entertaining interlude from the pomp and circumstance. "And why not?"

He cleared his throat, nodding in the direction of some hedges across the way. You flicked your eyes over discreetly, just in time to catch a head of blonde hair and another of jet curls disappearing behind the greenery, followed by stage whispers that surely they didn't think were quiet. Didn't they?

"You see," he began in a lower tone, clearly having better mastered the art of not being overheard than your spectators. "There is a gaggle of lovely but persistent young women in pursuit of me at this very moment, and I'd very much like to be engaged in conversation with someone else in order to postpone my torment. I'd be in your debt if you could look engrossed in this discussion for just long enough that they lose interest and find someone else to prey upon."

You hummed thoughtfully, watching now ginger curls leaning incautiously from behind the hedge, green eyes landing viciously on you and the interloper before vanishing once more. Just how many girls were hiding behind there?

"Oh?" you said, raising the glass to your lips with a smirk. "Not interested in sampling their scintillating conversation skills? Are you not here in search of a partner?"

"No, I'm not," he responded good-naturedly, running a hand through the artfully tousled sweep of his hair. "I have no intentions to marry at present."

You hmphed, twirling the flute in a gloved hand. "Yet here you are," you said, softly flicking the glass in his general direction, the tiny whirlpool you'd gotten going interrupted. You did not bother to conceal your skepticism. "Tolerating the vagaries of a high society debutante ball. And you'd tell a complete stranger this, because...?"

He leaned in, conspiratorial. "I am here as a matter of obligation only. Politics. Appearances. You understand." He returned back to his former stance, expression neutral, resting lazily against the polished marble. "Let's just say I'm sharp enough to recognize a kindred spirit when I see one."

You could feel yourself reflecting the same curiosity that danced in his eyes against your better judgment. This exchange was turning out to be interesting. "A kindred spirit, is it?"

"Indeed," he said. "Judging by the fact that you are also skulking in this corner and don't seem to have any more interest in mingling at this event than I do."

"I do not 'skulk'," you responded, unamused at his word choice. "And while I'd ask you to separate me from your assumptions, you aren’t incorrect. I'm also here only because it is expected of me."

He looked pleased with himself at your confirmation, and now dealt you the same appraisal you'd previously subjected him to with a calculating stare. You fought the urge to fidget under his evaluation, finding it beyond frustrating to have no idea what he was thinking behind his amicable yet inscrutable exterior. "Is that so? It is not often you see a noble lady uninvested in the affairs of the court."

You bristled, fighting the urge to furrow your eyebrows in a way you'd been told by many etiquette coaches was 'unflattering'. "There are greater aspirations to have beyond being a pretty little thing for some nobleman to set on his trophy shelf. Even for so-called 'noble ladies'."

He laughed then, a short, surprised burst. The sound was rich, reverberating in your bones. "My apologies. Please don't misunderstand, my curiosity tends to get the better of me. Indulge me?"

You sniffed, turning away from him once more to observe the hedge across the path — it seemed quiet enough now that the ladies within must have moved on like he'd hoped they would. Your chin lifted of its own accord as you flicked your eyes back to him. "I'm not interested in discussing my life aspirations with a man who lacks the good manners to even introduce himself first."

His mouth pulled up at one corner. "Are you sure the exchange of such confidential information would be of equal value?"

You held your stance, unfazed. "That will be for me to decide, sir."

"Very well." He inclined his head, an earnest hand pressed to his chest. "I am Wriothesley, Duke of the Fortress of Meropide. It is an honor to make your acquaintance."

You felt the color leave your face and your fingers go dead cold. This man — the Duke of Meropide, of all things — watched cheerfully as you hurried into polite obeisance. Damn it all. You hadn't exactly been courteous with the man. "Your Grace. The honor is mine."

His eyes still shone with mirth as you straightened. "Please, no need for such formalities. My mistake for — ah, what was it you said?'' he pondered, eyes drifting off in mock thought as you waited, drenched in miserable anticipation. "Right! ‘Not having the good manners to introduce myself first’."

Your cheeks warmed and you forced back a rush of frustration with yourself. "My apologies, I — I meant no disrespect," you said, gathering your composure. "You are not at all what I pictured, Your Grace. I hadn't known you were to attend a society function here on the surface."

"Tragically, society functions below the Fontemer are in short supply," he said sardonically. "And please, don't apologize, it's not often one gets to enjoy a chat with a charming, spirited stranger. What's your name?"

You offer it with another small nod. "My father is the Viscount Vellerot."

As if on cue, you faintly heard your father's voice calling your name from somewhere amidst the hustle and bustle; evidently he'd lapsed in his duty as your chaperone — once again — and had lost track of you. You weren't sure what it was he may want, though; clearly something must have come up to remind him of his purpose at this party. That was generally the way of things.

You tended to prefer being forgotten.

"And that would be him calling for me now," you explained as you pushed yourself from the planter and stepped past him. "This flowerbed is all yours. It was a pleasure to hide from the gaggle of lovely women with you, Your Grace. Good luck avoiding them for the rest of the evening."

He chuckled, a sheepish smile on his face. "The pleasure was all mine, my lady," he said. "But don't think I've forgotten our deal. You still owe me an answer."

With a vague smile and a polite curtsy, you disappeared back into the crowd, leaving the duke still leaning against the flowerbed.

Turns out, your father had only wished to introduce you to yet another son of yet another powerful acquaintance of his. His hopeful eyes as he sent the two of you off to dance only made it harder to turn the boy down, even if he were several years your junior and an entitled brat to boot. Your father truly only wanted your happiness, and you didn’t have the heart to tell him his efforts were in vain. This young noble wasn't the first you'd ever had to reject, and you unfortunately very much doubted he'd be the last — though you hoped he would, at least, be the last for that particular soirèe.

It turned out that would not be the case either, but you tried to keep an approximation of optimism anyway.

The one thing more sure than the line of people begging your attention — for want of your dowry and the association with your family, not anything to do with you, mind — was the tidal wave of whispers that had begun to take over the flow of the neverending gossip. It hadn't taken long for the news to spread —

Did you hear? This event has a special guest —

The Duke of Meropide is here? He must finally be looking for a duchess…

Come, Anne, allow me to introduce you to the duke. Fix your gloves, we want to make a good impression. Let me put this flower in your hair — maybe he will ask you for a dance!

Slowly, all the usual chirping melted away into one, resounding sentiment from all corners of the court — the Duke of Meropide is here, and he will be mine.

None of them knew what you did. You did your best to conceal your smile at the knowledge that all their posturing and peacocking was an investment in vain. Just as it was when their artless schemes were directed at you.

Afternoon melted into evening and you'd been idling away the hours, chatting to and dancing with and entertaining people who you didn't have the privilege to inform were wasting their time with you, longing to be anywhere else.

You finally seized enough of an opening to flee the courtyard proper for a moment of respite in a blooming hedge maze, as the gathering at the top of the grand stone steps was dying down and getting ready to migrate to the beautiful, opulent expanse of the Icewind Suite for the evening's grand finale. You found a remote, hidden spot and sat heavily, removing a shoe so you could massage the soles of your aching, overworked feet.

A branch snapped nearby and you whipped your head in its direction, heart thundering, to find the individual responsible for interrupting your moment of rest.

You should have known.

"We meet again," said the duke with a dip of his head.

"We do indeed," you said from where you were seated, letting your foot drop. Even in the dim lighting of the garden, you could see the man looked worn. Delight pulled at your lips at his evident misfortune. "Enjoying your evening?"

He sighed, a long, drawn-out, heartfelt sound. "Can't say that I am," he admitted.

You smiled ruefully. "That makes two of us. These events are nothing if not a test of our constitution." A yawning silence expanded between you and you slipped your heel back on, standing with a small stretch. You brushed down your dress. "I will return to the group. I really shouldn't be seen here with you without my chaperone, Your Grace. It wouldn't be proper."

He rolled his eyes. "Don't you ever get fatigued by these stuffy, outdated rules?"

"Every day," you said wryly. "But the rules still exist, and I have a reputation to uphold. I can't be thought to have been compromised. There are always sharp eyes waiting for someone to slip."

He crossed his arms in front of his chest, keen eyes glinting, in a gesture all too calculating for your liking. "Why risk coming out here alone at all?" he asked. "What if a person with bad intentions were to come looking for you? Someone who might wish to 'compromise' you?"

"A person other than you?" you retorted. "All I know of your intentions is that they do not include marriage, yet here you are anyway. Who's to say what your intentions truly are?"

He frowned. "Point taken," he conceded. "Though I assure you, they are nothing untoward. You didn't answer my question."

Your smile was scornful. "Fear not, Your Grace, for I am quite sure no one at this party could present any real physical threat to me. Of course, we are all always subject to the whims of the rumor mill, and I'm afraid that could do much more damage to me than any wealthy man in tights ever could."

His lips twitched in amusement. "Physical?" he remarked. "You grow more intriguing with every word."

"I am quite skilled, sir, both with a sword and without," you replied, a proud tilt to your chin.

He hummed thoughtfully, nodding. "That brings our deal back to mind. What is it you'd do instead, if not play along with these society games?"

You considered him for a long moment. His curiosity seemed genuine. You saw no reason to lie or disguise the truth. "I'd become a Champion Duelist."

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly before his smile broadened. "How about that?"

Your eyes narrowed, leaning forward into his space just slightly. "Is there a problem?"

"Not at all," he assured with a dismissive wave and a light, surprised laugh. "Just caught off guard."

You huffed and leaned back, allowing the remainder of your defensiveness to drain away. "Miss Clorinde is an acquaintance of my father, as it sometimes seems everyone in Fontaine is," you said, dry. "She has been gracious enough to join me in training from time to time. Of course, that will slow considerably during the social season while I trade in my boots for heels and my fencing ripostes for verbal ones."

He looked lost in thought for a moment. "I knew nothing about the aristocracy before receiving my title — it wasn't part of the curriculum for urchins, believe it or not. But in all my studies since, I've never once heard of a member of the inherent nobility leaving their seat for such a role."

"There is a first for all things," you said airily. "I had forgotten you come from, uh, humble beginnings. Your studies must have been quite intensive."

"I do, and they were. They still are. There's a lot about all of this I still find kinda baffling. My 'humble beginnings' are unfortunately part of the reason I have to make appearances this season," he said, tone ringing resentful. "It seems not all of our peers are pleased that a former… commoner with an honorary title is in the position I'm in. There are those interested in incorporating the Fortress as an official Fontainian entity — a government-managed facility. The question of my legitimacy is only helping their case when I haven't participated at court in any formal capacity as Duke."

You pondered his words for a moment. "So the rumors are true? This truly is your first time ever attending a society function?"

He nodded, his nose wrinkling with distaste. "It is, and it seems no amount of reading could have prepared me for it. The Iudex suggested that making a point of looking for a wife of noble birth, genuine or otherwise, might be enough to keep the wolves at bay, at least until the nobility votes to solidify or dissolve the Fortress of Meropide's autonomy, and by extension, my position as its administrator. He said if I wished to sway the vote my way, then I'd have to convince them I belong." He grimaced. "And that I’d have to consider making some sacrifices to do so.”

"I can't say that I'm surprised," you said. "These people value one thing above all else — their own superiority. Anything that threatens that, threatens them. If you were to form a connection with a strong family, the fuss would surely die down. No one wants to be on the bad side of those more powerful than they are."

The duke hummed. "Then Lord Thibeault must think he is very threatened indeed. I've been feeling a bit like a fish quite literally out of water. Would it be improper of me to say I miss my fortress?"

You snorted, unladylike. "He's the ring leader? Lord Thibeault must have far too much time on his hands if he is available to cause as much trouble as he does."

"You're familiar?"

"'Familiar' is one way of putting it. Lord Thibeault is a busybody and a wretch. He can't bear to see anything fresh or interesting shake up his beloved court or upset the status quo he holds so dear."

"So it seems," the duke said thoughtfully, letting a quiet beat pass. "Your aspiration was a pleasant surprise. Thank you for sharing it with me."

"It is only a secret by necessity," you sighed. "Not because I'd like it to be. What was your expectation?"

"I didn't have any expectations,” he said. His mouth curved into a roguish grin. “Never do. That's what makes the wait so good. I love cliffhangers."

You laughed. "I'd hate to have kept you in suspense. Sadly, the endless cycles of dancing and tea and etiquette classes will leave me little time to continue my training over the coming months, so my dream will remain just that: a dream."

"Why do you do it, then?” he asked, cocking his head. “Continue enduring all this nonsense?"

"As I said before, it is my duty,” you said slowly, wilting. A familiar feeling of defeat sank into your bones. “It would set a bad precedent if I didn't. I have two younger sisters and my father is a good man who only wants us to be happy, but he is getting on in years and... well. If I were to dishonor our family by abandoning them before they were situated, I could never forgive myself."

His eyebrows drew together and you could see his gears turning. "That's why you continue to take part?"

"Yes. I just need to somehow find a way to avoid any... obligations until they are in safe, happy situations, and then maybe I can be free. They are only just behind me in years, so it won't be that long. If all goes according to plan, a few years, maybe. Otherwise, as there is no male heir, my sisters would be at the next Viscount Vellerot's mercy when my father passes, whoever he may be once he is named. I will not risk their futures for my own selfishness."

The duke frowned. "I don't think wanting to pursue what would make you happy should be considered selfish."

You shrugged. "Nevertheless, if I want to make sure my sisters are taken care of, I likely will eventually need to secure the hand of a respectable man, my own wishes be damned,” you sighed. “I suppose I just can’t help but to naively hope for something more."

He looked to be lost in thought, arms crossed in front of his chest, tapping a considering finger on his chin, a tap-tap-tap that set your teeth on edge and filled your with a sense of foreboding. His eyes, looking at something far off in the distance, eventually focused back on your own as he came to some hidden conclusion in his mind.

"And what of a duke?" he offered.

You blinked, your mind hurrying to understand the implication of his words, yet failing to do so. "Something on your mind, Your Grace?"

"I have a proposition for you."

You looked at him intently. "And what would that be? This isn't going to be another ill-fated proposal, is it?” you scolded. “I thought you were supposed to be smarter than that."

"Oh, not at all," he said, dangerous eyes holding yours in a vice grip. "We could pretend to form an attachment."

You found yourself temporarily at a loss for words. You heard him, knew the meaning of each word in solitude, but strung together in such a fashion they felt like mismatching puzzle pieces, the completed landscape out of reach. "What do you mean?"

He began to pace in the small clearing, gesturing with his arms as he unfolded the inner workings of his mind. "We are both uninterested in marriage and yet forced to give the impression that we are. I need the lords and ladies of the court to believe I have found my duchess to cement my legitimacy as the duke until we secure the Fortress of Meropide’s autonomy. You need them to believe that you are searching for a respectable husband to maintain your, and by extension, your family's good reputation until your sisters have found happy matches. Who could be more suited to our respective needs than each other?"

"You're suggesting a ruse?" you whispered, scandalized. “Are you crazy?”

"Perfectly sane,” he continued. “What I'm suggesting is that we let the people believe we are precisely what we are — respectably off-the-market."

You began to shake your head in disbelief, wanting to back away but finding your legs refusing to obey your command. "Your proposition is ridiculous."

"It's perfect,” he said with conviction. “What better way is there to keep the wolves at bay than to lower the gates? Plus — you understand more about how to blend into society than I could ever hope to, and let's just say that with my background, I could offer a hand in your training. We can help each other.”

“The season won’t last forever,” you pointed out. "And when autumn comes around?"

"Oh, that’s the beauty of it. We go our separate ways," he said, eyes gleaming like he was telling an inside joke no one in Teyvat other than the two of you could ever understand. "It didn't work out! It happens."

You laughed, incredulous, an unfamiliar feeling beginning to fill your chest.

"There are sure to be reporters for the Steambird here,” he said. “One dance in the Icewind Suite, and you and I will be the cover story of tomorrow's paper. Then, no one will touch us."

You blinked, running through every possible outcome and scenario in your mind, but — steadily, the pros began to outweigh the cons. You could continue your training. You would have to invest significantly less of your time at these Celestia-forsaken events and not sacrifice anything for either yourself or your sisters in the process. A smile crept onto your lips as the feeling in your chest reached a crescendo — it was hope, a happy, buoyant feeling you were always afraid to let yourself feel.

"This really could work, couldn’t it?" you asked softly.

His smile looked truly genuine for the first time that evening as he offered you his arm. "It will work."

Your arm was looped through the duke's as you made your way down the stairs towards the Icewind Suite, the path lined with lit lamp posts and romaritimes and gawking attendees. The hydro blooms were releasing an array of colorful, opalescent bubbles into the cooling night air, making the latest turn of events feel even more surreal than they already did. The usual residents of the Suite were nowhere to be seen, likely decommissioned, their eternal waltz paused so they could make room for the evening's closing event — and some select charades.

The crowd hushed as you stepped past, a wave of quiet rolling downwards, and you could feel the weight of dozens of curious eyes on you. With each step, arm in arm with the duke, it seemed that more and more attention broke away to hone in on you. You wondered vaguely if your father was anywhere among them — you wondered what he thought. You managed to spot Lord Thibeault in the throng — a disapproving scowl pulled at his wizened face.

Finally, the two of you reached the ground, the shimmering sea of polished marble spread out before you, empty but for the reflection of the night sky in its depths. It waited for you, the symbol of a successful evening of new partnerships and futures to be shared. You’d seen many a pair spin upon this floor — never once had it been you. You had never intended for it to ever be you.

All the world’s a stage, after all.

The duke gently shifted your body so that the two of you were facing one another. He bowed, an elegant bending of his knees and lowering of his head, far more graceful than a man who had his history etched into his skin should be capable of. He made it look effortless.

Icy blue seized you as he straightened back up, eyes crinkling ever-so-slightly at the corners. "Might I have this dance?" he asked, holding out a hand.

His mirror, you curtsied, slow and deliberate. You smiled, a small and surreptitious thing, and placed your gloved hand in his. "You may. Don't trip on your feet now, Your Grace. Rule number one for fitting into high society — you must be as graceful and confident in a ballroom as you are on a battlefield."

He pulled you in closer; too close to be strictly proper. "Call me Wriothesley. We want this to be convincing, don’t we?” he murmured into your ear. Another pulse of low whispers spread throughout the spectators as a few more pairs joined you on the Icewind Suite. “And you wound me, my lady. I think you will find my performance to be more than satisfactory.”

You swallowed thickly. "That remains to be seen, Wriothesley. Let's hope you can convince them better than you can me."

The grand ballroom and every last soul within held their breath as the duke placed a rough, scarred hand on the small of your back. You could feel the weight of it through layers of thin lace and silk as you wove your free hand under his arm and anchored it against the back of his broad shoulder. Your fingers on his back felt inexplicably cold, but the rest of your body burned hot. Your heart pounded. Your eyes locked onto his. Time came to a standstill.

“I intend to,” he said.

The music began to play, and you allowed him to lead.

a/n: so here she is!! i am really excited to get into this one, and i know there was a bit borrowed here from bridgerton itself, tho i promise this is where most of the direct similarities will end. i simply wanted to pay homage to where this idea initially came from <;3 hope you all enjoy

i didn't initially plan to have a taglist for this one, but if there are enough requests for one, i'll consider it. if anyone knows of a better way to notify people when i update (besides pointing them to ao3, anyway) im all ears

til next time!

#wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wrio #wrio x reader #genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin imagines #reader inserts #reader insert #lark.writes #🌊

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naffeclipse · 4 months

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Okay so you’ve got that Naga brain riot, right? I saw an ask about if SJ Eclipse was a naga along with Sun and Moon of that AU.

But LISTEN. My brain conjured this:

Mob Boss Sun and Moon plus Chief Eclipse from that one SJ AU as nagas?

Wanna know what's worse than one mob boss-esque naga? Two mob boss-esque nagas! Granted, SID Sun and Moon aren't as violent leaning as SJ Eclipse, but they're still very much about man-handling and taking what they want when they want it.

SID Sun and Moon take after the yellow anaconda with long, muscular bodies. Sun displays a vibrant yellow color with round brown and black splotches throughout, whereas Moon is a deep cobalt blue with sharper, crescent-like gray and red splotches. Both are sinister and cunning and are deeply enthralled by you.

Since you've attracted so much attention from other rivals in the jungle, they don't mind using you as they deem fit. That's not to say they don't have a certain hunger for you, they simply mean to take advantage of your high demand to coerce you into leading other nagas right where they want them so they might take out the competition.

Of course, you're not a very willing participant. You resist and deny them your assistance but they refuse to let you go so easily. Whichever way you step, there's Sun, blocking your path with his wide smile and long body, and when you turn around, Moon is coiled, cutting off your exit. He's not so polite in pointing out that you're cornered. When you're surrounded by the two, you almost wonder if there is truly nowhere to run. They tend to trap you between them, with Moon grabbing your waist from behind and Sun holding your chin tightly in his palm. They muse and hiss over you, wondering when you'll realize that it's only their way. They'd rather not see your pretty face get red and flushed from constantly fighting.

(They're lying.)

Police Chief Eclipse on the other hand is the most caring of all the Eclipse nagas. His dark and burgundy scales lie low along the wetlands and marshes, and his wide, soft amber eyes follow your every step, hoping you don't trip. He's concerned for you. He's the one to warn you to leave, even if he'd rather you stay a little longer. He tells you again and again that you shouldn't be here. You should stay at the base with the other two humans. You don't listen—you're stubborn and scared—and that frustrates him to no end (and endears him). His heart aches at all you endure from each creature. He's had thoughts of simply carrying you away, far from the jungle, where he shouldn't venture, just to make sure you'll be okay. He wants you out of reach from his brothers.

But of course, you don't listen. He's forced to keep up with your precarious position in the jungle.

#bittyfromquotev #the serpent den #sid naga au #syzygy in dedication #y/n: at least it can get any worst than sj clip #sid sun and moon: heyo #y/n: ben affleck meme

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jetsetlife138 · 4 months

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Imaginary: Reimagined (Alastor-Fem!Reader) - Chapter 2

A Multi-Chapter Story

Previous Chapters: Intro / Chapter 1

Chapter 2: The Introduction

Chapter Rating: Mature

Chapter Warnings: Reader experiences intense feelings of anxiety, discomfort, fear, and unwanted attention from a certain Radio demon.

Startled by the unexpected greeting, you pivoted swiftly in search of the elusive voice. Given the distinct static overlay accompanying the speaker, you initially anticipated seeing an antiquated television or vintage radio. However, to your astonishment, the origin was far more ominous.

The towering, gaunt figure before you exuded a distressing aura, his malevolence etched into every line of his sinister visage. As you examined him further, a labyrinth of unique features unfolded like a tapestry of the macabre, each detail more entrancingly unsettling than the last.

His penetrating leer felt like it could scorch the very depths of your soul, his eyes smoldering with an otherworldly crimson fire. The blood-red sclera lent an eerie depth, complemented by cinober irises that glowed with a supernatural intensity. Thin black pupils, sharp and unwavering, bore mercilessly into whosoever dared to meet his gaze. A burgundy oval-shaped monocle rimmed with sleek black adorned his right eye, adding an air of sophistication to his countenance.

A mischievous, broad smile unfurled across his face, a wicked crescent that exposed a set of teeth colored like sulfurous flames—sharp, pointed, and reminiscent of shards of amber. Each tooth, a gleaming weapon, hinted at a predator's cunning, a testament to the calculated danger that lurked behind the veneer of his baleful grin.

Crowning his head, peculiarity manifested in an unconventional hairstyle—an unruly cascade of fiery strawberry-red, meticulously cropped with a rebellious flair. The tips, dipped in the deepest black, created a striking contrast. Two audacious tufts of hair, tipped in the same jet black, extended defiantly from the apex, creating a distinctive silhouette, adding an almost devilish semblance.

Perched atop this vibrant display were two small, elegant black antlers—a subtle yet distinctive touch that further emphasized his unearthly presence. Together, the hairstyle and the antlers wove a tale of defiance and mystique, marking him as a character who embraced the havoc within, turning it into a crown of eccentricity.

His attire, further validating his enigmatic persona, consisted of a carmine pinstripe coat and dark cherry lapels lined with stark white; the garment exuded an air of both elegance and decay. Torn and ragged along the hem, it hinted at a history filled with battles and untold challenges. Beneath the coat, a bright red dress shirt with a bold ebony cross on the chest hinted at more profound symbolism. A black knotted bowtie with a ruby center adorned his neck, giving the apparel a subtle touch of formality.

His hands, sheathed in sable gloves, each fingertip adorned with a flash of dramatic scarlet, adding a touch of theatrical flair to his gestures as though every movement was part of an elaborate performance. Completing the ensemble, obsidian pointed-toe boots at his feet, their tips dipped in a fiery red, as if the ground itself ignited in his presence.

Maintaining a poised stance with impeccable posture, he stood with shoulders pulled back and chin elevated in a decorous and dignified pose. One arm rested gracefully behind his back, enhancing the implication of formality. At the same time, the other gripped a staff crowned by what looked to be an unusual microphone fixture, hinting at a strange fusion of worlds in his grasp.

This ambiguous figure stood as a walking paradox, a haunting blend of elegance and menace, sophistication and chaos.

Sensing your trepidation, his grin widened even further into a wicked expression that seemed to relish in your stunned reaction as well as the element of surprise. “Tongue-tied already?”

Apologizing nervously, you stumbled over your words and cleared your throat before mustering a hesitant greeting, "Um... hello."

"Delighted to make your acquaintance, sweetheart!" he exclaimed, extending his hand to clasp yours forcefully. The unexpected strength in his grip caught you off guard, smoothly drawing you closer—a bold move that sent a tingling sensation through you as you struggled to reclaim your composure. "Alastor, at your service. An absolute pleasure, I must say!"

A subtle crackle in the air marked a palpable shift, signaling a sudden transformation in his demeanor. In the blink of an eye, his welcoming host facade vanished. In its place emerged the persona of a beguiling gentleman, his intentions now veering towards the less honorable. Undeterred, he continued his greeting; his charismatic glamor, now laced with an undeniable allure, hinted at lurking danger beneath the surface. "And you, my enchanting mystery, what should I call you?" With a subtle yet commanding touch, he pressed a refined and tender kiss to the back of your hand, each second stretching into eternity as his intense gaze remained fixed on yours.

Despite your desire to reclaim your hand, it remained ensnared in his firm grip, rendering your haphazard attempts futile. Staring back at him, completely captivated, you failed to muster even the most straightforward responses, such as your own name. His aura derailed you far more than the demons you had encountered when you first arrived, surpassing even the ones who posed more direct threats.

Incoherent and nonsensical words stumbled out of your mouth, the quiver in your voice reflecting the unease that enveloped you in the magnetic field of his presence.

Growing impatient, the demon interjected, "Surely, you possess a name of your own. Come now, don't be a canceled stamp. What moniker belongs to such a captivating individual as yourself?"

As he continued speaking, you noticed his language unmistakably belonged to a bygone era. The vintage phrases and rapid-fire delivery echoed the dialogue of old black-and-white movies you had encountered over the years, particularly those with brisk and lively commentary.

His manner of speech carried a peculiar mix of disconcerting enticement, seamlessly melded with his overall style and disposition. A fleeting thought crossed your mind, contemplating whether it was a carefully crafted act or if he could indeed be a relic from the 1930s. In your current setting, where boundaries between eras blurred, the possibility of him being a genuine product of the past could be as likely as any other extraordinary occurrence in Hell.

Drawing a deep breath to steady your nerves, you eventually yielded, surrendering your name to the demon. Alastor, as you now knew him, flashed his ever-present grin, the twisted mirth dancing in his eyes as if he had just secured a coveted prize. The lobby's light seemed to flicker in tandem with the sinister satisfaction on his face.

"Why, that's absolutely delightful," he declared, testing the sound of your name on his lips. "It just rolls off the tongue, doesn't it? Splendid! Now, forgive my curiosity, but you don't strike me as a local." It was challenging to focus on his words as Alastor's eyes bore into yours, like embers dancing in the shadows. His impeccable manners and theatrical gestures were a stark contrast to the ominous air that surrounded him.

Collecting yourself, you felt your pulse quicken as you stammered, "W-what gives you that impression?" It was a feeble attempt to challenge his assumptions, but even as the words left your lips, a moment of realization struck, making you feel somewhat foolish. The truth was painfully obvious – you were undeniably human, not a demon. The air around you seemed to tighten with an awkward silence, a palpable acknowledgment of the absurdity that hung in the space between you and Alastor.

"Well, my dear," he said, a glint of amusement in his eyes, "first and foremost, you're alive. There hasn't been a living soul down here in… well, ever, to my knowledge. Your heartbeat practically sings in this abyss of torment!" His tone carried a mix of mischief and genuine fascination as if he had stumbled upon a rare and captivating treasure. "Quite the twist, isn't it?"

Another chill crept up your spine, the realization settling in that Alastor's interest extended far beyond mere pleasantries. Each syllable he uttered bore the weight of a concealed agenda, leaving you to navigate the labyrinth of his enchantment cautiously.

"Secondly," he continued, visibly unfazed by your gawking stare, "You're quite noticeably average. Hell is brimming with anthropomorphic beings. I regret to inform you that you stick out rather drastically. If your intention was to be discreet, it appears you're off your trolley!"

Perplexed, you furrowed your brow. His attempts at communication through outdated terminology failed to resonate and left you even more bewildered. "Sorry, what?"

He laughed heartily in response to your evident confusion, delighting in the disorientation you were experiencing as he playfully tapped the microphone on the top of his staff. "Hello! Is this thing on? Can you read me loud and clear?"

Battered by the relentless onslaught of mayhem and Alastor's nonsensical banter, you felt your sanity teetering on the brink of collapse. The unyielding pandemonium you had continuously endured was reaching its limit, and the existential panic lingering in your mind was now threatening to surface. You felt the unraveling of your composure, desperate for a moment of peace.

Sensing the strain on your waning mental stability, Alastor abruptly ceased his heckling. A sudden stillness replaced the dastardly mirth as he offered assistance, his tone surprisingly gentle. "Forgive me, I've been a bit uncouth. I reckon you've had quite the day with all these novel experiences! What might I fetch for you to aid in a moment of repose? Some giggle water? A gasper, perhaps?"

Once again, the unfamiliar jargon failed to resonate, intensifying your confusion. The unexpected, yet supposedly sincere, offer of abetment from the intimidating demon further disoriented you. The interaction alluded to a hidden layer of complexity within him, contributing to the overall intrigue surrounding his character.

Despite your efforts to remain composed, a heavy sigh escaped you, vocalizing the frustration that had taken place within. Your hands found solace in cradling your head, a physical manifestation of the turmoil that enveloped your thoughts.

"Look, it's Alastor, right?" His nod of confirmation prompted you to proceed as you dropped your hands to a less manic stance. "Okay, Alastor. I'm sensing a disconnect here. I'm not sure if this—" you gestured toward him, observing the quizzical tilt of his head before continuing, "... old-timey persona is your 'shtick' or whatever… But, honestly, I can't deal with this right now. While I appreciate your hospitality, up until earlier today, everything in my life was perfectly normal. Now, I'm trapped in some bizarre cartoon universe filled with humanoid monsters who apparently want me dead, and I'm having a hard time coping. So, could you give me a minute? Please?" The pain in your voice was evident, a desperate request for a moment of calm amidst the surreal madness that had become your reality.

A profound silence settled between you. Alastor's piercing gaze carefully scrutinized you while he pondered your words. While his perpetual smile never faltered, a subtle nuance in how he regarded you conveyed a hint of disappointment. It was as if he feared he had inadvertently damaged his newfound source of entertainment before fully indulging in its potential.

"Dear, I was only–"

"You heard her! Back off!"

You and Alastor swiftly redirected your focus as a commanding voice resonated across the lobby. Emerging from the distance was a feminine figure resembling a moth adorned with long white hair elegantly secured by a vibrant cherry bow. A prominent X marked her left eye, accentuating her distinctive appearance.

As the figure drew closer, you noticed the disapproving scowl etched across her face, which looked pointedly fixed on Alastor. The tension in the air heightened as the unexpected ally intervened, her presence signaling a shift in the unfolding dynamic.

"Vagatha," Alastor greeted with cool nonchalance, an almost dismissive nod accompanying his words. "Right on cue."

"That's not my name," The moth-like woman mumbled under her breath, her narrowed eyes betraying a lingering suspicion. Yet, when her attention turned to you, her demeanor transformed. A warm smile replaced the scowl, and she placed her hands protectively on your shoulders, instantly creating a sense of comfort.

"I'm Vaggie," she introduced herself amicably. "Don't let this guy scare you off. Somehow, he wormed his way into becoming the hotel's Facility Manager, but that's on a probationary period. He's already on thin ice." Vaggie's gaze shot back to Alastor, a glare loaded with unspoken challenges. Alastor, however, seemed to relish in the confrontation, his eyes crinkling in mischievous glee.

"Charlie got held up on an important phone call, so she sent me to help get you settled until she can meet up with us. Come on, we've got a room ready for you upstairs." The promise of sanctuary in the form of a bedroom thrilled you, a welcome reprieve from the brewing storm in the lobby.

"Thank you, that sounds great," you agreed, your response punctuated by a nervous swallow. You were still attempting to stifle any apprehension triggered by Vaggie and Alastor's unique features. Turning back to Alastor, you offered a polite farewell. "It was nice to meet you, Alastor. I guess I'll see you around."

To your astonishment, you recoiled as his teeth seemed to sharpen even further, the unwavering smile on his face widening at your acknowledgment. "Oh, yes, dearest. Sooner than you think," he purred, his words dripping with a subtle menace that left a trail of anticipation in their wake. The air thickened as Alastor's gaze lingered on you, a predator watching its prey, as you turned to follow Vaggie towards the large, creaking staircase.

As you climbed the grand staircase, the glare of the lobby gave way to the soft glow of sconces that adorned the walls, casting flickering shadows along the ornate patterns of the carpet. The plush and intricate designs felt as though they absorbed the echo of your footsteps, creating an atmosphere of subtle refinement.

Vaggie led you through the upper landing, the ambience changing as you ascended. A faint scent of aged wood lingered, intermingled with the distant wails of Hell's tormented souls. It was a disturbing reminder of the realm you found yourself in.

"Your room is just down there," she said, her tone easing into a more casual cadence as she gestured ahead. The subtle tension of the encounter with Alastor seemed to dissipate with each step. "Sorry about that weird thing with Alastor. He's... unique. But don't worry, you're in good hands now."

The hallway unfolded as a corridor of opulence, with ambient lighting casting a vermillion gleam upon the dark, polished wood of the ornate doors that lined either side. Vaggie halted before a particularly imposing door, turning to you with a small, apologetic smile. "This is it. Your new home, at least for the time being." The door's intricate carvings and richly hued finish hinted at the luxury within, offering a glimpse into the mysterious haven that awaited you.

Entering the room, you were met with a surprisingly cozy atmosphere. The large bed dominated the space, adorned in rich crimson and gold bedding. Four beams stood proudly on each corner, supporting a black canopy that added an air of elegance. With their shears drawn, the two giant windows along the wall hinted at consideration for your well-being, shielding you from whatever horrors lurked below. Despite the obscured view, the city's lights cast a warm and inviting glow into the room.

A large, regal dresser stood proudly between the windows, a vast mirror attached on top reflecting the refined atmosphere of the room. Against the opposite wall, an armoire added a touch of vintage charm, and in the corner, a matching vanity whispered of bygone elegance. A door beckoned on the opposite end of the room, leading to your private en-suite bathroom.

Vaggie, her posture casual yet observant, leaned against the wall, her eyes following your every move. "It's not exactly the Ritz, but it's got its own flair."

You turned to face her, the weight of the day's events still etched on your features. "Flair might be an understatement, Vaggie. This place is..." You searched for the right word as you regarded the room. "Impressive."

She chuckled softly, the sound echoing in the quiet space. "Hell has a way of blending horror with splendor, doesn't it? Anyway, make yourself at home." Stepping back to survey the space again, you marveled at how it had met your needs and exceeded them.

Captivated by the allure of your new living space, you nearly missed Charlie's spirited entrance. Bursting through the doorway, her radiant expression illuminated the room like a burst of sunlight, and she greeted you with unbridled enthusiasm. "Welcome!" she exclaimed, extending her arms to accentuate her elation. "I hope that this space will suffice. If you need any other accommodations, I'm sure our gracious Facility Manager will happily assist!"

A derisive snort from Vaggie redirected your attention, her skepticism evident as she shot Charlie a sidelong glance. "Yeah, our 'gracious' Facility Manager has a knack for overstepping boundaries and could learn a thing or two about minding his own damn business. You're better off coming to me or Charlie for anything you need."

Charlie, undeterred by Vaggie's cynicism, chimed in with an eager smile. "Oh, we'd be thrilled to help with whatever you need!" Her eyes sparkled with genuine sincerity as she moved closer to Vaggie, intertwining their fingers as if grounding herself in their shared strength. As she took Vaggie's hand in hers, Charlie's gaze lingered with adoration. "Vaggie has done so much to help get this place up and running. She's not just my right hand; she's my better half."

Vaggie smiled sheepishly, trying to conceal her blush. Charlie planted a delicate kiss on Vaggie's cheek before turning her attention back to you, adopting a more serious tone. "Listen, I know this must all be pretty terrifying, and you must be so scared, but we've got you, I promise."

"Try to keep a low profile," Vaggie encouraged, placing a hand on her hip as she stood confidently. "Keep to yourself, avoid any potentially dangerous situations, and most importantly, stay away from the Shitlord. If you can do that, you should be fine until we can figure out how to get you home."

You blinked, puzzled by the peculiar term. "I'm sorry, the 'Shitlord'?"

"Alastor," she grumbled, ignoring Charlie's subtle scowl. "Our not-so-friendly neighborhood Radio Demon."

"Why should I avoid him?" you inquired, your interest piqued, especially after your earlier encounter. "If he's here helping to redeem sinners, he can't be that bad, right?"

The conflicting responses from Charlie and Vaggie painted a vivid picture of the polarizing figure that was Alastor. Charlie's eyes lit up with loyalty, defending the demon's actions, while Vaggie's glare spoke volumes about her mistrust.

"He's an ass," Vaggie stated bluntly, not mincing her words. It was clear she had little patience for the potentially problematic Radio Demon.

"He's not!" Charlie interjected, her tone almost pleading. "He… has a certain reputation, is all. I can't just assume that every demon that walks through our doors has bad intentions. We've got to give him a chance. He's been nothing but helpful since he's arrived."

Quirking your brow, you glanced back and forth between them as Vaggie rolled her eyes. "Charlie is endearingly optimistic."

As you observed the dynamic between Charlie and Vaggie, you noticed the subtle interplay of emotions – Charlie's infectious optimism and Vaggie's more cautious demeanor. The room's atmosphere shifted, transitioning from the initial excitement to a more serious undertone. The warmth of the welcome clashed with the ominous warning about the unpredictable Radio Demon.

Vaggie's gaze hardened as she met your eyes, a stern expression on her face. "Seriously, it's for your own safety. Alastor might come off as charming, but there's a reason other demons keep their distance. He's one of Hell's most feared Overlords. He's unpredictable, and you never know what he's up to. Just steer clear of him, okay?"

Charlie tried to diffuse the tension with a comforting smile. "We're just looking out for you. The Hotel can be hectic, and we want you to feel at home." Her words carried a gentle reassurance, attempting to balance Vaggie's wariness and her own hopefulness.

Vaggie sighed, a hint of frustration in her voice. "Just trust me on this one. He isn't just a happy face; he's a creep we've reluctantly allowed to help us. And the last thing we need is an innocent, unsuspecting soul falling under his influence."

A momentary flicker of doubt passed over Charlie's expressive eyes, but she swiftly regained her composure. "Alright, let's not dwell on this too much tonight. You must be exhausted," she said, her concern palpable. "We'll talk more tomorrow. If you need anything else, Vaggie and I are just down the hall, last door on the left."

"Got it," you affirmed, inclining your head in gratitude.

"Oh! And don't be alarmed if you cross paths with some of the other hotel staff," Charlie resumed, her enthusiasm returning. "Niffty is our diligent housekeeper, and Husk is our skilled bartender."

"At the moment, we only have two other guests," Vaggie chimed in, her tone more pragmatic. "Sir Pentious is usually occupied with his little minions and shouldn't be too much of a nuisance. Angel Dust is another story. If he bothers you, just ignore him. Or strangle him. Either one works."

"Will do," you chuckled, her attempt at humor injecting a welcome lightness into the atmosphere. "Thank you so much. I don't know what else to say. I'd probably be dead by now if you hadn't found me. It means a lot that you'd go through so much trouble for someone you don't know."

"Happy to help," Charlie replied, her sympathetic smile providing tender reassurance. "Get some rest!"

With those words, the two exited the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts. Eager for a distraction, you sauntered to the windows, drawing back the curtain and peering through the grimy glass.

Hell unfolded its macabre grandeur before your eyes. The twisted, decrepit structures that lined the streets challenged the laws of architecture. Each building, crooked and battered, exuded an eerie magnetism that hinted at the horrors within. The air was tinged with a paranormal quality, a discordant symphony of colors and shadows playing on the blood-splattered streets.

As you contemplated the surreal spectacle, a question involuntarily danced through your mind—what form would encapsulate your essence in this infernal realm? Would you morph into a whimsical creature, an embodiment of the anarchy that defined Hell, or perhaps manifest as an object reflecting the remnants of your earthly existence? The sheer absurdity of the thought evoked a quiet laughter that bubbled up from deep within, a coping mechanism against the overwhelming horror surrounding you.

"Remarkable, isn't it?"

The unexpected voice, a sinister melody that sliced through the eerie silence, prompted an involuntary yelp. You spun around with a start, almost stumbling over yourself, only to find Alastor standing in your bedroom doorway. The unnerving permanence of his smile rattled you while his eyes, gleaming with an otherworldly intelligence, seemed to leer at you.

"Jesus Christ!" you choked out, a hand instinctively clutching your chest to steady the frantic beat of your heart.

"Hmm… not quite," Alastor replied, his grin deepening, causing his eyes to crease with malevolent cheerfulness. "Forgive me, miss. A gentleman should refrain from intruding upon a lady's private domain. However, our earlier conversation was abruptly cut short, and I am not one to leave matters unresolved," he continued, twirling his staff with a casual flourish. "I would be remiss if I did not take advantage of this rare opportunity. Would you grant me the pleasure of your company, perhaps for a brisk stroll?"

Your eyes narrowed, wrestling with the uncertainty of his intentions. On one hand, curiosity was a shared sentiment; however, Vaggie had explicitly warned against spending any time with Alastor. Additionally, your suspicion that Alastor's interest in you concealed darker motives had only intensified since your previous encounter.

Observing your hesitation, Alastor's low, rumbling chuckle reverberated through the air like an ominous prelude, the static overlay even more prevalent than before. He casually leaned against the doorframe, his dark silhouette swallowing the feeble light in the room.

"No need to be so guarded, sweetheart," Alastor drawled, his voice an unnatural blend of charisma and menace. "I'm merely captivated by the anomaly of a living soul gracing Hell's grounds. You see, it's not every day we welcome a newcomer like yourself." Despite his attempt at reassurance, the room felt suffocating, as if his presence tainted the entire space. "You couldn't have arrived at a more intriguing time," Alastor continued, his eyes glinting with a vicious spark. "It seems fate has a sense of humor, placing a delicate creature like you amidst the chaos of Hell–and so soon after an extermination!"

Your eyebrows furrowed, skepticism etching lines on your face as you shot him a look that bordered on irritation. "Am I supposed to know what an 'extermination' is?"

"Sweet girl, an extermination is a grand spectacle of Hellish proportions! It's a symphony of destruction orchestrated to cleanse and reset the infernal balance," Alastor explained, his words dripping with macabre enthusiasm. The way he spoke made it sound like he reveled in the mayhem. "And you, my unsuspecting guest, have stepped directly into the aftermath."

Your arms crossed tightly over your chest, a mix of defiance and fear lacing your words. "Is this your idea of a sick joke?"

Alastor leaned back, a wicked grin still playing on his lips as if savoring the fear dancing in your eyes. "Who's joking?" he jested, his voice resonating with a chilling levity.

You eyed him warily, the manic in his eyes intensifying. "So, what's your role in all of this? Are you some kind of demonic tour guide or a sadistic host?"

He hummed softly as he mused. "Oh, you could say I wear many hats. But most importantly, for the time being, I'm here to make your stay in Hell as... entertaining as possible."

His words dripped with a malicious promise, each syllable carrying the weight of an unspoken threat. As he spoke, the air around you seemed to thicken with an unsettling energy, and you couldn't shake the feeling that you were just beginning to scratch the surface of the twisted game that Alastor had set before you.

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Chapter End Notes: Okay, I'm seeking honest opinions here... is my writing TOO complex? I feel like I'm using a lot of words that aren't used in everyday conversation, and I worry about any unsuspecting readers whose first language isn't English. It concerns me that they might struggle with comprehension and have it take away from their experience. I don't want to stress anyone out. Does that make sense? I'm an overthinker, so any feedback is appreciated!

#alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazin hotel imaginary #fanfiction #hazbinhotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction

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putellas11 · 2 years

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A/N: Part 2 of Revenge is Sweet! All I can is say is that there's a very thin line between love and hate... Hope you enjoy!

Play Nice (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

Parked under a flickering streetlight, your fingers tap impatiently against the steering wheel. The clock on the dashboard indicates that another minute has passed and yet, Alexia is nowhere to be seen. She knows perfectly well that you’re outside waiting for her, but it seems she’s determined to keep you waiting for as long as possible.

While certainty not eager to take Alexia out on a date, you’re not someone who likes to be kept waiting, and there’s no doubt in your mind that she’s well aware of that. Tonight, however, there’s no chance of her getting under your skin.

The cards up your sleeves are calling out to you, desperate to be played. The plan is very simple — tease Alexia mercilessly. It will take a lot of effort on your part, but tonight, she will know what it’s like to be the object of your affection. Alexia hates you — that you know for a fact, so you can’t imagine a worse fate for her.

A tap, tap on the glass snaps you out of your thoughts.

“Open the door,” a muffled voice calls out from the street.

Inside the car, you can barely make out her words but you can still pick up on the annoyance behind them. You fight the urge to roll your eyes and with a breath, remind yourself to stick to the plan.

“God, she’s so annoying,” you mutter under your breath and unlock the passenger door.

Without any sort of greeting or acknowledgement of your presence, Alexia gets in the car and slams the door shut. The first thing you notice is her dress. Thin burgundy silk skims over her every curve; a view capable of stirring up desire in any mind. Very much aware of your eyes on her, Alexia, with her arms crossed over her chest, refuses to look at you.

“Nice to see you too, babe,” you break the silence, unphased by her cold demeanor.

Alexia sinks into the seat, turning her body even more away from you. “Can we just get this over with, please.”

And so, the game begins.

“Look at me.”

Alexia insists on looking out the window, refusing to comply with your request.

A smirk tugs on your lips at her defiance. You’re left with no choice but to lean and reach over to take her by the chin, tugging it — and her — towards you. Alexia’s eyes widen and pupils darken, her mouth open in a gasp in response to your touch. A mix of emotions flashes across her face—anger, frustration, and surprisingly, maybe even a little bit of desire. But it can't be.

“Better play nice tonight, babe” you relinquish your hold on her chin, running caressing fingers over her parted lips, “or I’ll have no choice but to find someone else to keep me company.”

You don’t have to give a name for Alexia to know who you’re talking about.

Alexia wraps a hand around your wrist and makes it a point to dig her nails into your skin. “Fine,” she says, forcing your hand away, “I’ll play nice.”

Satisfied that you’ve won the first battle in tonight’s war, you lean back into your seat and start the car. A burning sensation begins to spread on your wrist originating from the crescent-shaped marks of Alexia’s nails. Instead of pain, however, all you feel is pleasure.

You might have won the battle, but she certainly left her mark.

After that, the silence in the car is thick. It’s almost as if there is a sheet of plexiglass between you and yet, there is much being said. You dare to glance over at Alexia from the corner of your eye from time to time and sometimes, you catch her looking at you too.

Stopped at a red light, you glance at Alexia one more time and prepare to make your next move. With her legs crossed, her dress has hiked a few extra inches up her thighs and the temptation is too strong for you to ignore. Alexia is more than aware that you’re looking right at her, but her stubbornness refuses to allow her to meet your gaze.

Unlike the first time, when you reach over again you do so with a tenderness. Your fingers delicately brushes against Alexia’s knee. This gets her attention.

Alexia snaps her head in your direction and you wait for an objection that never comes. So, with confidence, your hand traces higher and higher up her thigh, feeling the goosebumps beginning to form on her skin.

“You look beautiful tonight.”

Her jaw clenches in reaction to your compliment. A compliment you’ve never given her until now. She doesn’t say anything in response, but you can tell there’s something she so desperately wants to say. No words are exchanged, just silent back-and-forth through locked eyes and neither of you are in a hurry to concede.

But then the light turns green and it forces you to break eye contact. You have every intention of moving your hand away but Alexia rests her hand on tops of yours, keeping it right where it is.

This time, you’re not too sure if you won.

The rest of the car ride is spent in silence. You wanted to tease Alexia a little more, but she threw you off your game with her sudden acceptance to your touch. Her change in behavior can only be attributed to her doing everything in her power to keep you as far away as possible from Alba. You asked her to play nice, and that’s what she’s doing but you have no intentions of making it for her.

Arriving at the private and exclusive district of Sarria-Sant Gervasi, headlights shine on a modern villa that is most definitely out of your price range. Your late-night antics have given you the opportunity to brush shoulders with some of the wealthiest people in the city and every so often, you get an invitation very few have the pleasure of ever receiving. Some of your friends — who Alexia would certainly deem to be a bad influence on you, have also been invited.

Inside, the party is well underway. Laughter, music, and chatter fills the air but it’s impossible to make out a single syllable. All one can hear is noise. You, of course, feel right at home in this environment. Alexia, on the other hand, is incredibly tense. She stands awkwardly by your side, her body stiff. She may have thrown you off your game back in the car, but now you have the upper hand.

“Come on, let’s go say hi,” you say.

“To?” Alexia’s eyes scan the room hoping to see a familiar face.

“You’ll see,” With a light chuckle, you rest your hand on her lower back and give her a little nudge towards the outside area.

With the city lights in the background, you find your friends gathered by the infinity pool with glasses held loosely in their hands and heads thrown back in laughter. Despite being given a heads up that Alexia would be your date for tonight, the group is still taken slightly off-guard at the sight of you two together. They have been audience to many of your rants about Alexia and whatever she did that day to upset you and now, here you are, with your arm around her waist.

“Everyone, this is Alexia.”

Their initial shock goes away in a blink and of an eye and they welcome Alexia with open arms. You notice the little looks you get from your friends after they greet her. They’re all wondering what you hope to achieve with this little stunt. Wondering where it will all lead.

Alexia is not quite sure what to do with herself. She’s yet to take a single step away from you and if it were not for the fact that you know she’s just playing along, you might think she genuinely likes having you close.

“I’ll go get us a drink,” you say to Alexia, who’s eyes immediately go wide in a panic at the thought of being left alone with your friends.

Her hand reaches out to stop you, “stay.”

Looking down at your joined hands you realize you have to let go if your plan is to succeed. If she wants you to stay, you must go.

“I’ll just be a minute,” you reassure her with a light chuckle and a wink.

You start taking a few steps backwards and Alexia doesn’t let go of your hand until the last possible second. It’s not until you mix into the crowd that you stop feeling her gaze on your back.

Alexia may be feeling out of place, but you’re not feeling all that comfortable either. You expected more of a resistance, more of a fight from Alexia. Instead, she’s decided to try and beat you at your own game. It’s a good thing you’re up for the challenge.

With the drinks in your hand, you make your way back to Alexia more determined than ever.

“I got this…” you say to yourself.

Surprisingly, no one is where you left them. You stand in the same spot looking around with furrowed brows. It’s not until you hear a familiar voice calling out to you that you see Alexia and the rest of the group gathered around by the marble fire pit table.

Everyone is laughing and enjoying the moment but there’s Alexia, sitting in the corner fiddling with her fingers on her lap. But the second she spots you; she gives you a look that almost stops you in your tracks. You were gone only a few minutes, but she’s looking at you like she hasn’t seen you in forever.

Without you even having to ask, she scoots a little bit to make some room for you.

“Hi,” she says with a breath, reaching out for the drink in your hand.

The softness of her voice draws your near to her. The heat emitting from flickering flames is nothing compared to her warmth.

“Miss me?” you ask with a sly smile as it’s a question you already know the answer to. Of course not. Still, you reach up to tuck the loose the strand of hair behind her ear, allowing your fingers to trail lightly down the side of her neck.

Alexia’s eyes eyelids flutter and close, her body swaying towards you almost involuntarily.

“Why are you doing this?” she asks, with her eyes still closed and an undeniable hint of sadness in her voice.

“Doing what?”

Her lips part in preparation to explain herself but she hesitates and instead, shakes her head and focuses her attention on the flames. “Never mind,” she says.

Once again, you take two steps forward to victory but she forces you to take one back. She’s certainly not making this easy. Instead of forcing an answer from her, you take a sip of your drink and decide it’s best to be patient. The night is still young and there are still cards left to be played.

Slowly but surely, Alexia starts to loosen up and actually participates and interacts with the others. You watch her carefully, waiting for just the right moment to make your next move.

With everyone else lost in conversation, you know it’s now or never.

In an effort to not draw any attention, you slowly slip your hand under the fabric of her dress, where it drapes open down her back. Alexia pulls her shoulders back with a soft hiss, the muscles in her back moving and tightening under your touch.

Her hand grips your thigh and you begin to feel that similar sensation you felt back in the car. Nails digging into your skin. A sign of encouragement or a warning, you do not know.

As far as you know, no one is aware of the battle that is raging right in front of them. You and Alexia are in your own little world. A world where the battle lines have been drawn and you’re doing everything in your power to win.

Cruising your hands up over her shoulder blades, you take it slow, testing her response but also testing your own, wondering just how far you’re willing to go. Her hold on you tightens when your hand begins to trail down her spine, lower and lower…

“Stop,” Alexia turns to you, “I can’t… take this anymore,” she says but it’s almost like she has to force the words out.

Before you know it, she’s standing up from the seat and walking away from you. Now, there are certainly more than a few pairs of eyes focused on the scene that’s unfolding. One thing is for certain, you definitely have a lot of explaining to do after tonight.

Before you can lose Alexia in the crowd, you go after her. Alexia stands out from all the rest so you’re able to keep up with her. There’s no point in calling out to her over the music. Wherever she goes, you will follow.

A big group blocks the entrance and Alexia doesn’t seem to have the energy to force her way through. She has no other option but to go up the stairs to the second floor. You get a few angry looks as you push and shove your way through, but you couldn’t care less.

You make it up to the second floor just in time to see her turn a corner. The second floor is considerably less crowded so you’re able to pick up the pace. The farther she goes, the less people you have to shove out of the way. Eventually, it feels like you’re the only to two people left.

“Alexia!” you call out to her.

Alexia stops at the sound of your voice. She has her hands balled up into fists and you can tell she’s angry even with her back turned to you. This is the Alexia you know.

“No more playing nice, huh?”

It takes her a second to do so but when she does, you see something in her eyes that you’ve never seen before.

In an instant, she lunges at you, her hands grab on to your shoulders and pins your body to the wall with her own.

With one breath, her lips collide with yours. No time to react or question her motives. Alexia takes control, her hands pulling you by the hair, closing every inch of distance even when there isn’t any left.

A kiss you never expected but the moment the shock wears off, it’s a kiss you return with the same fervor. There’s nothing gentle or caressing about it. It’s hot and hard and it sucks the air from your lungs and yet, Alexia is not satisfied. She wants more. Her hands run up and down your body as if savoring every curve. Her tongue plays inside your mouth, searching, spreading a fiery craving within you.

But you can only allow her the pleasure of being in control for so long. With your arms around her waist, you use all your strength to turn her around, hard against the wall. Alexia’s gasp gets lost somewhere as your mouth closes over her lips, hard and punishing.

Alexia yanks your head back by the hair and it sends sparks of dull, pleasuring pain through you. To counter, you wrap your hand around her neck and apply just enough pressure to make her gasp and remind her of who is in charge.

“Play nice,” you warn her, but deep down you love her fighting back for control.

Alexia loosens her grip on your hair and that’s all you need to lean back in. But she stops you, pushing you away with force causing you to stumble back.

Just like you, Alexia is out of breath. Her chest rising up and down with frantic attempts to regain control of herself.

“This isn’t real,” she finally says, but not to you— to herself.

There are so many thoughts running through your head that it’s no wonder you can’t make sense of her words. “What?” you ask, breathlessly.

“This is all a game for you, isn’t it?” With her hands flat against the wall, Alexia’s guard starts coming up around her. “You don’t want me — not really,” she says with tears gathering in her eyes and trembling lips.

Overwhelmed by Alexia and her words, you cover your face with the palms of your hands and rub your eyes in frustration. “What are you talking about?”

“Why do you think I agreed to this?” the first tear falls but she quickly wipes it away, “I didn’t want you to go out with my sister because I hate you,” another tear rolls down her cheek, “joder!” she hisses, seemingly angrier at herself than at you. “I didn’t want you to go on a date with her because I-” she stops, the words caught in her throat.

“Because you what?”

Alexia runs her fingers through the tangled mess that is her hair and lets out a dry chuckle, “forget it,” she says, shaking her head. “You couldn’t care less,” she says, giving you icy look before pushing herself off the wall.

Before she can walk away, you reach out to grab her by the wrist. “Because you what, Alexia?”

Alexia yanks her hand loose from your grasp, “because I have feelings for you, damn it!”

A confession fueled by anger causing thunderous vibration to slip between your ribs, shaking your heart unlike ever before.

“I played along tonight so I could feel-,” Alexia looks up at the ceiling, lips forming into a tight, sad smile, “so I could feel what it’s like for you to want me,” her eyes fall back down to you, “want me like I want you.”

Your heart is beating so fast you can feel it drumming in your ears. When the room starts to spin, you have to remind yourself to breathe but it’s difficult with the weight of Alexia’s words weighing down on your chest.

“Congratulations,” she says, lips in a tight smile, “you won.”

Alexia turns her back to you and this time; you know better than to try and stop her.

Standing with your back against the wall for what feels like forever, you replay every memory you have of Alexia. The first moment you laid eyes on her, the first time you shook your hand, the first time you fought.

But then, you start remembering the little moments. How in the beginning she always wanted to be your training partner. Her being the very first one to run and jump in your arms after a goal. The few times you caught her staring for a little too long whenever you would strip off your jersey.

Little by little you put the pieces together and once the puzzle is complete, the reality of the situation hits you like a ton of bricks.

“What have I done…”

———————

Part 3

#alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #woso x reader #woso x imagine #woso imagine

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hopeforkitten · 5 months

Text

I want a senseless abuse from Raphael to Tav, preferably on an industrial scale, so here's some dirt. smut

You were told not to make any noise.

You have a new assignment today. He usually likes to listen to your sounds, but now the master needs to focus, honey, don't bother me.Only soft sobs carry through the room or drown in Raphael's skin when you cling to his hand. He is sitting at the head of the bed in his red housecoat, in his other hand he holds an open book, to which all his attention is directed. It seems that he does not follow your efforts at all while you are lying on your side, and Haarlep is attached to you.

He pushes into you lightly, and keeps his hands on your hips. It's too hot between them, too close, but you were told not to make any noise.

In the beginning, you were not good at holding back sounds, but a short adaptation period, a few disapproving comments from the devils and you began to make progress. Haarlep kept bringing you to the edge and it became more difficult.

The sounds of slapping were not in your power, but your breathing near Raphael's skin was too loud. He didn't even see how your beautiful face was distorted, how you squint, frown and squeeze your lips until they turn white. Your little hands diligently hugged his forearm, leaving small crescents on the dense burgundy skin. It hardly brings significant sensations to the devil. Through your efforts, you have erased the entire smell of the rose from this area of the body and you have discovered the real smell of Raphael's skin. It was like that... Is it pleasant? Intoxicating?

A short thought in this little head. Haarlep moves more and more impatiently and the tension becomes pleasant, at the same time making your task of maintaining silence more difficult. The peak of pleasure comes and you do not hold back the scream, which you immediately shyly hide in your own hand. This sound scares you, which makes you shrink even more on Haarlep. A few moments of delay and he comes out of you, quietly chuckling at your reaction. It's empty, but it's definitely easy to keep quiet now.

"Is this decent behavior, master?"

You don't see him behind your back, still stunned by your own failure. But you can clearly imagine him sitting on the bed, playfully tilting his head in his question and waves of contractions rolling along his tail.

"Have a seat"

Raphael says indifferently. You get up, wiping the sweat from your forehead on your hand in parallel, crawling closer to the head of the bed to sit next to him. The mouse is glad to finally close her legs and feel more protected considering the naked lower part of her body. You bring your knees together and even lean on Raphael, leaning your head on his shoulder and ignoring any instincts of self-preservation. Your body and mind craved care and tenderness after such treatment, and this weakness could not be resisted.

"This is not decent behavior at all, little mouse."

The book deftly snapped shut in his hands and fell onto the bed. His somewhat inspired face finally turned to you.

He took you by the chin and turned your face towards him, forcing you to look into his eyes.

"This is no good, you were interfering with your master. In the meantime, I'll have to find another place to read, and you think about your behavior. We'll work on that, won't we, little mouse?"

You could only raise your eyebrows and look at him in fear, knowing that nothing you said would change his plans. You watched helplessly as he left the boudoir and Haarlep waved at you before disappearing into a cloud of sparks.

Left alone again on this big bed, alone with the desire for care and participation, alone with the eerie sounds of hell outside and alone with the frightening green glow and transparent silhouettes of souls in the corridor, from which you were separated by a magical barrier. You would like someone to come to you, no matter how much trouble it costs, but all you could do was get under the thin sheet on the bed and continue to hypnotize the familiar painfully environment

#raphael x tav #raphael bg3 #haarlep #raphael x reader #haarlep × tav #bg3 smut

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th0rns-n-r0ses · 5 months

Text

slow dance ~

axl rose ~ fluff ~ female reader ~ 1024 words ~

~~~~~ On New Year’s Day for a celebration, you’re at the record label’s New Year’s party. You really have no reason to be there, but plus-ones are allowed, and how could you say no to your boyfriend when he offers things like this?

You’re casually talking to a few people from the label, smiling and laughing. You then feel someone grab your hand and drag you away. You’d normally yelp out of surprise, but this time, you know exactly who’s hand it is. A little bony, slightly cold and much larger than yours, you know right away it’s Axl’s hand. You nearly stumble to the ground, but you feel his other arm catch you.

“Don’t trip and fall on me now, beautiful.” Axl gives you a bright smile. Oh, God, that smile. It’s such a pretty smile that looks like the bright crescent moon that always makes your heart beat faster and your entire body go warm. You simply chuckle at his sweet comment as he stands you back up on your feet.

“I found something cool. Want me to show you, honey?” Axl holds your hand while smiling at you, his bright blue eyes blazing like icy fire.

“You think I’m gonna say no? I always love what you have to show me, Axy.” You set your mostly empty glass of champagne down on a tray full of empty glasses and follow him as he drags you along by your hand. You scan his body up and down. It’s a little odd seeing him in such formal attire like a suit, but he always looks so dashing when he dresses up like this. It just makes your heart flutter!

Axl pulls you outside and into a rose garden. Your eyes wander around, taking in the scenery. There’s a gazebo in the middle of the garden with rose vines wrapping around it, little rosebuds dotting it, partnered by fully grown and bright red roses. There were colors all around. Orange, white, pink, red, and burgundy. Your jaw falls open as you look around at the place. If it was a completely sunny day, it would’ve taken your breath away more than it already did. But it isn’t, it’s a cloudy day at 11:00 PM. Yet, it still looks so incredibly beautiful and gorgeous, the dim lights spilling out of the windows and onto the roses.

“Oh, Axl, this is just beautiful..” You move your eyes away from the roses to his face. His ginger hair was done and slicked back, and he has those glasses on. God, he always looks so adorable yet handsome in those circle glasses he wears from time to time.

His eyes travel up and down your body, taking in your figure in the long red dress you have on. How it flows around your body, and that cut up the side that goes to your thigh.. Axl’s head is in the clouds. You’re just so pretty to him, and every little thing you do makes his heart beat a little faster.

“God, you’re so pretty. I just..” One of his hands moves to your waist and snakes around it a little, holding you by the small of your back. The other hand travels down your arm and to your hand, holding it in his. “I just love you so much.”

Your free hand instinctively moves to his shoulder, and your other hand moves up a little, still holding his. You give him a gentle smile, and he gives you a smile back. His eyes just look like a calm sea shore right now, and how his soft lips curl into that smile.. God, he’s adorable. He looks down at you with love in his heart and your eyes making contact. You both begin to slow dance together, your bodies moving with each other. The whole outside world feels blotted out now, and it’s just you and Axl in that rose garden dancing together, your eyes never moving away from each other.

About a minute into dancing with him, you feel little raindrops in your hair and one on the tip of your nose and all over your arms and body. But you don’t dare stop dancing with him, as this moment is just too perfect to let go of. You both dance your way deeper into the rose garden as the rain falls harder. The few people who were outside before rush inside quickly, seeking cover from the rain. But not you and Axl, no, you two just keep smiling at each other and slow dancing. He twirls you, smiling down at how your dress moves, even as it’s sopping wet from the rain. You two continue to dance and the rain pours, drenching his suit and your dress. Axl’s hair, which was slicked back before, is now falling in front of his face and clinging to his skin. You move your hand off of his shoulder and brush the hair away from his face and rest your hand on his cheek for a moment, and he leans into the palm a little. Your smiles only grow wider, and you move your hand back to his shoulder. The rain sticks to your skin, making you look all shiny and sparkly. Your hair is dripping and drenched, but you couldn’t care less. The fact your dress might be ruined doesn’t even cross your mind, as all that you care about at this moment is just Axl. That’s all you can even conjure in this moment, your boyfriend and how your heart beats for him.

You dance out in the rain for what feels like about 3 minutes, but has been around nearly 15 minutes. Axl’s hand moves away from yours, and both of his hands travel to your waist. He hoists you up, holding you in the air as he spins the both of you in circles. A moment or two later, he sets you back down and his hand moves to your cheek, cupping your face. He pulls you close, and the two of you close your eyes and kiss as the rain pours on the two of you. ~~~~~

[The opportunity was too perfect, I couldn't not use this photo]

#axl rose #axl gnr #guns n roses #glam rock #hard rock #80s rock #80s music #ir0nr0se

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eggbunni · 1 year

Text

Pen: Conklin Mark Twain Crescent Filler in Black Chase with Rose Gold Trim

Ink: Monteverde USA Chameleon

Paper: Leuchtturm 1917 & Tomoe River Paper 52gsm (Old Stock from Hobonichi)

How cool is it that Conklin Pens revived one of their most famous vintage pens, the Crescent Filler, complete with a rubber sac + spring loaded filler system and all?! This exact design (from the chase pattern to the filling system) is over a century old, and the original crescent filler was legendary American author Mark Twain’s daily carry.

“I prefer it because it is a profanity saver; it cannot roll off the desk." - Mark Twain 😂

I have mine in an Extra Fine, and it is wetttt. 💦 But then, most sac filling systems are! It’s just so COOL to see a modern sac-filling pen with upgraded materials. The only downside to a sac-filler is I wouldn’t recommend this pen-type for air travel as the latex sac can compress during elevation and cause leaks. But it makes the perfect daily carry! Especially since the clip is so easy to maneuver + attach to your shirt lapel, pen pocket, or stow away in a bag nib-side up!

Plus, I mean… It’s pretty. And it’s a replica of the exact pen Mark Twain used. Cool points all around. 😎

Ink is Monteverde USA Chameleon! It’s a DEEP burgundy grape red/purple. You’d mistake it for black very easily if it wasn’t side by side with actual black ink. Thus, it makes an excellent ink for work, school, and other situations which call for a saturated, readable, and well-behaved wet ink. Can definitely recommend if you’re in the market for something with a little character!

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restlessmaknae · 1 year

Text

love roulette | theo

It's a casual uni party, and you meet three very different guys that night: Keeho, the chatty bartender; Jiung, the cute vocalist of the band that's playing that night; Taeyang, the guy who's there for the gig just like you.

Who ends up walking you home depends on your choice.

🎲 This is the ending with THEO.

🎲 To read the general setting, go back to the start.

♦️ Pairing: female!reader/you x uni student!theo

♦️ Genre: fluff, romance, uni au

♦️ Warning: mentions of alcohol, a dude who doesn't understand no

♦️ Word count: 2.1k

♦️ Dedicated to: @dat-town ❤️

♦️ P1Harmony taglist: @tranquilpetrichor, @laaylaazyy, @americanokisses, @kuleo26, @hyu-won, @bamboongi, @syrxiee2, @wccycc, @littlestartonightsposts, @sunooslover, @chang-ryul, @dat-town

🎲 READ FURTHER FOR THEO'S ENDING

You couldn't help feeling a bit like a burden for Taeyang while he was standing there beside you, but you deemed that he wouldn't have offered to accompany you and proceed to stay beside you if he hadn't been in the slightest interested in the band's play. Right?

Nevertheless, it was a funny feeling, you couldn't describe it any other way. There was this boy who had practically saved you from that weird, probably tipsy dude, and he had not only done that, but he had suggested staying together to find your friend and had stood beside you ever since. You felt touched by his gesture, and also a bit vulnerable - like a child who needed someone to look over her. You didn't usually like depending on other people, but you realised that you didn't feel uncomfortable beside Taeyang. In fact, you felt rather safe.

You kept glancing at him during the concert to see if he was enjoying himself, and sometimes, you caught him already looking at you which made you blush. Gosh, you were probably overreacting, but at least, the lights around were dim, so he might not have seen the pink hue of your cheeks. The thought was definitely helping to pacify the crazy beating of your heart, faster than the song the band was currently playing.

The second part of the gig seemed to go by in a blink of an eye, and even though you were ready to explain the whole situation from earlier to Gaeul right away, she didn't seem interested in that. Instead, she asked Taeyang about his opinion on the band, and the boy took his time to give an elaborated answer which was very much appreciated by the girl. Gaeul was proud of not only her boyfriend but the whole band, no wonder she practically beamed when the boy admitted that he had come specifically for them.

"The bassist is my boyfriend, by the way," she donned a proud smile, flipping her hair as if to show off, but she started giggling in the next second. "Sorry. I'm just super happy when people like their music."

Taeyang, who might have seemed pretty rigid so far, appeared almost gentle as the ends of his lips curled upwards. He was so much softer this way, his eyes turning smaller, narrower like little crescents, and a dimple popped off around his lips. He might have looked elegant and chic with his chin-length, burgundy hair, but when he was smiling, he seemed a lot more approachable than before.

"It's okay. You have every right to be proud of them," he mentioned in a friendly manner, and Gaeul turned to you, raising an eyebrow in question.

"So how did you two meet in those rare minutes when my introverted friend was away from me?"

There it was, the Gaeul you knew. If it hadn't been for her, you might have felt like she was throwing you under the bus, but Gaeul was your friend who might have been a lot more outgoing than you were, but she had only good intentions. So you took that as a compliment instead.

"Oh well, Taeyang helped me out when a random guy grabbed my wrist to make me stay with him after telling him no.”

"Whaaat?" Now the girl was absolutely horrified, her hands balled into fists. Since she had had a rather unfortunate encounter with a rude guy last time, she was even more worked up than usual, but you - as in you and Taeyang - managed to reassure her that nothing had actually happened because the boy had shown up in time. “Thank god though. You’re her knight in shining armour. Especially with your hair, it’s really prince-like,” Gaeul blabbered in a more joyful tone, and if you had thought that there was a more heart-warming sight than Taeyang smiling, it was definitely him getting shy, his ears turning slightly red.

You were sure that you could get lost in the sight, but someone slid into your vision at that time.

“Who’s prince-like?” A low voice inquired, mischief hiding in his tone. “Were you talking about me?” Intak wiggled his eyebrows at his girlfriend, throwing his arms around her shoulder. The girl smacked him in the chest in return, and the bassist jumped back, but only a bit. He leaned into her as fast as he had stepped away.

What was more amusing than this sight was the way Intak immediately befriended Taeyang, especially after he heard that the burgundy-haired boy was there for their gig. Just half an hour ago, you didn’t even know that he existed, and now, him and Intak were talking as if they had been best friends, and you weren’t blind to not notice Gaeul’s glances in your direction. You pleaded with your eyes to not hear any teasing from her, and she actually didn’t do so. Instead, she just left you there with Taeyang once Intak started whining that he was hungry (and that he already had a place in mind because it was their 7-month anniversary). It was as if she had waited for her boyfriend to give her the green light, and bamm, they were already out.

"Would you like to grab something, too?" Taeyang inquired before the awkward silence could fall upon the two of you. You nodded swiftly, giving in without thinking twice.

"Yeah, sure. That's a good idea," you replied with a smile. The truth is, you hadn't had dinner before the gig because you hadn't been hungry, but now you definitely were. Even though you had expected to have dinner with Gaeul and maybe her boyfriend or the whole band, it seemed that they wanted to have dinner only with the two of them in their lovey-dovey atmosphere (or that they wanted to leave you two there together after Gaeul had classified the burgundy-haired boy your knight in shining armour).

Since the boy didn't seem shy about it or anything of the sort, it was easier to not think too much into it. After all, he didn't appear rude or as someone who had ulterior motives, so even though he was still practically a stranger, you didn't feel weirded out by the idea that you were having dinner together. It wasn't even a fancy place you opted for either, it was a casual tteokbokki place, and you had a corner table to yourselves, so it was all good. The place was packed, but the noise wasn't that bad compared to the concert, so you could converse as normal people without shouting over your warming bowls of food.

While talking, you actually realised that you had much more in common with the boy than you would have thought so. Firstly, he not only went to the same uni and department as you did, but he was also living in the dorms. Considering that Gaeul said that it was a uni get-together (well, she did advertise it on the uni's social media sites as Evergreen's so-called social media manager), it shouldn't have come as a surprise, but anyone could have come to the venue that day, so it wasn't like you were destined to bump into someone who was studying a similar field as you, at the same uni on top of that. Still, it gave you plenty of topics to talk about such as the professor you both despised because of his robotic voice, the vending machines that never seemed to work in one of the buildings, the park on campus that was a true beauty but had ducks with killing stares, and your favourite foodie places around. Your conversation flew naturally, and after a while, you didn't talk only about uni, but everything that came to mind from your family to places on your bucket list.

Taeyang had a natural conversational side to him, but as opposed to the chatty bartender, he had a more serious air to him, too. It didn't mean that he didn't like joking around because he did, but most of the time, you giggled at his reactions (judging stare, wide eyes and all that) instead of what he said. Seriously, he had such hilarious reactions, you weren't surprised that his friends liked to tease him about it.

Plus, you realised that just as much as you were an introvert, you didn't mind talking to him. In fact, you enjoyed getting to know him, and your usual overthinking self didn't decide to kick you in the ass either while having dinner, so really, it went a lot better than you had expected.

As you were walking back to the dorms together, you felt your gratitude washing over you again, so you decided to thank him again for his help back at the club. To that, the boy didn't blush or freeze. Instead, he explained why he had opted to assist you.

"It was only right of me. I have a little sister, and I would hate for her to go through something similar with douchebags like the guy at the bar," he reasoned firmly, but there was an edge to his words. He was frustrated, but not only with what had happened, but also how it could happen to his sister as well, and that truly warmed your heart. He must have loved his little sister a lot.

"How old is she?"

"17. At an age where she couldn't think of a better activity than going outside with her friends late at night," he shook his head like a nagging mother would do, but there was softness in his action.

"You didn't spend time outside at her age?" You mused out loud, a semi-teasing smile making its way to your face. Taeyang, the ever so judging, looked at you as if you had thought that he had killed a man.

"I was a good kid, okay? I knew when to go outside and when not to."

"Okay, okay, I was just asking," you raised your arms in front of your chest, a bit of a peace offering, and as he looked at your reaction, he let out a wholehearted laughter. His laugh was pretty amusing in itself, so you soon found yourself laughing along with him.

This way, the trip back to the dorms was a joyous one, and you realised as you stepped foot inside the building that you could have listened to him some more. It was a bit too bad that the tteokbokki place was so close to the dorms, you deemed.

You stepped in front of the elevator, and while waiting for it to come down, you felt uncertainty bubbling up inside of you. Did he feel the same way? Was he disheartened that you were already at the dorms? Did he want to talk more to you, too? What if he didn't, and you were the only one who was glad to have bumped into him at the bar?

Your doubts were nullified the moment Taeyang broke the silence.

"Do you want to exchange numbers?"

You felt like your head suffered whiplash, you turned towards him so quickly. The smile that bloomed on your lips was rather swift as well.

"Sure. In case there's another gig at the bar or something at the dorms."

"I mean, we can stay in touch for other reasons, too," he suggested casually with a shrug of his shoulders, and you didn't even have time to be bewildered. The elevator arrived right then, and you hopped in, quickly exchanging numbers before you halted at your floor.

"Thank you for everything today. Take care!" You bid your goodbye as you stepped out. You might have been silly, but you even waved at the boy who dropped a charming, almost touched smile.

"See you around," he said before the elevator doors closed on him, before he could see the pink hue painting your cheeks.

If somebody had told you that you would end up walking back to the dorms with a boy like him, you wouldn't have believed them. That night, however, was full of surprises, and meeting Taeyang was the best of all.

🎲 CONGRATS! THIS IS THE END OF THE GAME

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🍀JIUNG

🍀KEEHO

A/N: Thank you so much for reading my story! I hope you’ve enjoyed it! ❤️

At first, I was pretty scared to get cracking on this series because I've never written anything like this before, but I think each ending has its own charm, so I'm happy that I could finish it. *-* I'm always fascinated by the idea of chance encounters and many different possibilities leading to a certain ending, so that's what I wanted to show here, too.

Let me know what you think! Did you like the idea behind the series?

On another note, if you’re interested in other fics of mine or other P1Harmony stories, consider signing up for my taglist here.

Hope you have a lovely day/night! ❤️

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mommyofkittens · 1 month

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A Court of Fallen Heroes: Chapter 9- The Third One

𓆩✴𓆪

Author's POV:

Venom... A chilled shadow crept through his sweat-soaked hair, whispering velvety in his ear. Azriel turned his weary gaze to the obsidian weapons, hanging at the guard's hips. Their equally dark armor, probably made of the same cursed material, glowed faintly as they passed any candles or windows. The moon watched over him like a stern mother, hoping for the best for her son.

Faebane... Another companion spoke directly into his mind, snaking quickly down his searing spine. He subconsciously thanked her for the icy path she left on his clammy skin, cooling him enough to allow his mind to think more clearly.

It had been more than twenty hours since he had eaten or had ten minutes of deep, uninterrupted sleep. He was used to these episodes of insomnia, he knew where his limits were and he knew how to help his body survive exhaustion, but with the hunger gnawing at his stomach he could hardly cope.

He was so getting a vacation after he went back to the Night Court.

Azriel stumbled to keep up with the guards escorting him from the gate. They were a head shorter than him, and perhaps those bulky armors hindered them in every way. Still, they were probably cleaner than his Illyrian skins, which seemed to mold over the film of sweat that had formed underneath. Azriel refrained from wrinkling his nose. He hated feeling stinky.

As he considered the color mismatch between the exceptionally clean burgundy carpet and the brown velvet curtains, he also noticed the way the mosaic on the windows and ceiling changed as they moved through different areas of the palace. It smelled nauseatingly of burning incense, sage, and something rotten and damp. Azriel searched until he reached the corners of the marble floors, where he noticed the musty flowers they tried to hide.

There was death inside the palace.

Azriel thought about the list of dangers he had made up in his head that would prevent him from getting out of the royal court alive if he had to escape. Not even his wings would help him, as they would be the first target of all the trained archers in the outer court.

He didn't have to turn around to count the scars that stretched like a mosaic along the hard Illyrian membrane, the way the brown was patched with dark red spots, aerodynamically weaker than the rest of the healthy tissue. He could still feel some of them, running deep into the marrow, like a ghostly rash that constantly reminded him of past nefarious circumstances. It sounded like he was adding another five hundred centuries to the ones he already had. Azriel knew that torn ligaments and sword wounds could heal too tightly and viciously, restricting certain movements. All of this ached during training, or in his prematurely short hours of sleep, even when it rained, thanks to changes in barometric pressure. He knew with frightening accuracy how, for whom, and when he got al those scars. He liked to keep track of everything, it was in his nature.

Azriel felt his wings a few pounds heavier, and he fought to keep his tired shoulders straight so as not to drag his bony tips across the marble floor. He wouldn't have minded scratching at the perfection of this palace, but to the Illyrians it was a sign of weakness he would not allow.

Turning his gaze back to the glass, he saw them again, shining under the crescent moon. Four pairs of towers surrounded the main hall of the palace, and as far as he could tell, the archers were only mounted in the outer towers, relying more on being useful over a longer radius. In the smaller towers, huge bells lay black as night, no natural light reflecting in the darkness of the material. In Azriel's mind, the worst-case scenario emerged. He imagined that the sound it produced would be loud enough to overwhelm the delicate hearing of a fae, loud enough that any danger in the vicinity would be killed in seconds by guards on the walls armed with sharp spears, swords, and daggers.

And he hadn't seen their magic system yet.

These were just a few of the small details that made Azriel sit as stiff as a bow and as still as a river, ready to turn at any moment. He was pleased with himself, his plan had worked. It had been easier than he had expected, setting himself up as a target in front of the bridge and allowing himself to be escorted by six guards into the heart of the palace, relying perhaps too much on the fact that those in charge had been tipped off by the winged man haunting the surrounding villages. His ego seemed a bit bruised, considering the small number of guards around him.

He counted the curves and doors that stretched from side to side, analyzed the thick glass and the type of fastenings in the walls, and made sure that all the ropes tied to the ceiling were there to support the heavy chandeliers and not for some who-knows-what trap. He was sure his shadows would have warned him of any imminent danger, but now they were just as vigilant, listening, watching, like hunting dogs.

Azriel knew the rules: he was to be presented to an emergency council unless they had time to raise another king to the throne. He had everything ready, the letter from Rhysand was his ticket in, but the problem was how to escape and how to find the so-called Comet Woman. He hoped no one else knew about her, knew what she could become. If someone found out in the meantime, things could get very, very problematic. It meant he wouldn't be coming home with his hands clean.

The man knew she lived here for the past month, retracing all her steps by the scent of amber that lingered in the atmosphere. There were certain areas so much more concentrated, so much more filled with her presence, so tangible that Azriel could almost see her faded face, as if he were standing behind a curtain in which he could just make out her outline. The shadows had led him to a wooden threshold with a barely legible sign carved with the simple word 'Potions'. Azriel caught the humor and almost snorted: the one he sought was indeed a sorcerer, which was why it had been so easy for her to slip past their protection, to sneak into the house when he slept so soundly, to haunt him for weeks.

He wouldn't have left without her, after getting so close that he could feel her brittle bones crumbling under his strong fingers. If he played his cards right, like a true diplomat and not a thirsty assassin, he could walk out of the wolf's mouth with his head still on his shoulders and the great trophy won.

He paused for a few seconds in front of a polished wooden door, surrounded by ancient phrases carved into the holster. There was a brief exchange of glances between the man to his right and the guard in the hallway. He allowed himself to roll his stiff neck. He had been in the palace for more than ten minutes and still no sound, no servant, no Fae of any rank. What was everyone doing?

" Raise your arms! " The man to his left commands as he rests his hand on the scabbard of his sword, his eyes quickly scanning Azriel's body. " Remove your cloak and slowly present your weapons. "

Azriel made no gesture as he nimbly unbuttoned the gold button that held his traveling cloak, then removed his knives and swords from his armor and placed them according to size on the low table by the door.

A guard comes too close for Azriel's liking, counting the equipment in the torchlight. He lifts his eye shield over his head, revealing tawny irises and the smell of sour wine. " Are you planning an uprising? You brought an arsenal. ''

'' No. '' Azriel said casually, rearranging the crooked line of daggers with a finger, '' I just can't sleep without them. ''

The guard gave him a puzzled look, sensing Azriel's wry humor, then shook his head and put the torch away. He hoped there was no spell inside that would block his access to the other realm, where he had left allof his most important tools, undetectable and ready to use at a moment's notice. The colleague, who smelled of cheap wine, took his hand off the sword and pulled on his gloves, then began to search Azriel's body.

''Don't touch my wings,'' he warned them coldly, watching their slow movements closely.

The individual paused for a second, trying to decide whether or not to take the mountain of a man in front of him seriously, then seemed to make the right decision and carefully circled the base of his wings on his back. He was aware that his life was not important enough to be judged by the royal court if the famous Shadowsinger decided to break his neck with his bare hands. Besides, there was his reputation: no one wanted to mess with the fragile nerves of a torturer.

The Shadowsinger didn't take his fierce gaze away from the guard's curious hands. In fact, he was annoyed that they were hovering too long over places he certainly did not want to be touched, but he could not afford to lose control when he was so close to fulfilling his plan. No one could test his iron patience. He could feel his skin soaking with sweat and dust as it ate away at his equipment. He hadn't had a hot bath in days and craved the feeling of cleanliness. And this touchy-feely examination was making it worse.

After making sure he didn't bring in a butter knife to slit the throats of the entire council, the door was opened and Azriel stepped through, this time accompanied by only two of the six guards.

He paused for a moment to take in the new scenery. Surely he had entered the gilded palace street, where the king's closest allies made their home, judging by the imperial colors of bright red, the spotless view and, of course, the lack of musty odors. Gold chandeliers and scented candles were screwed into the marble walls, along with dozens of paintings of portraits and battle scenes.

A couple of women, the first Azriel had seen in the fifteen minutes he had been in the palace, emerged from a side room and did not shy away from looking at him from head to toe. Azriel refrained from rolling his eyes, content to look straight ahead without giving them any meaning. The ladies whispered to each other long enough for him to realize that he was the subject of the discussion, more specifically his tights and something about his waist. Even though Azriel was more than used to female attention, even male attention, that didn't mean he wanted it from everyone and everywhere.

Still, he threw a bone to the dogs and bowed his head like a courtier, eyeing the ladies like a predator disguised under the skin of a gentleman. Oh my, how the perfume of the hallway had changed to something sweeter, more... enticing. Azriel's lips curled just a little as a loud giggle escaped them, enchanted by his attention.

Azriel doesn't get to take a few steps before an all-too-familiar smell hits his senses hard: nutmeg and... burning coals. Azriel sighs deeply and prays to the Mother that he won't find what he already expected to find somewhere nearby. His instincts rarely failed him. Maybe he'd finally found the reason to end this male's existence after the meeting of the High Lords months ago. His discovery would only add fuel to an already smoldering fire that could reignite any second back in Prythian, And possibly make Azriel's job a little more difficult if this redhead started sticking his nose into his affairs.

The muffled voices seemed to contradict each other just after the left turn where the smell of fresh food came from. There were many more people on this side of the palace, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to locate the source. The scent, which could only have come from a fae, given how strong it was, began to intertwine with something softer, barely tangible, as if this person had no personality or will of their own. It had a subtle hue, barely discernible, like plants and leaves. No, not just the kind you grow everywhere, but the ones that love dry summers and cool winters, a plant that only the most special person in the world would know how to plant and grow for him. Saffron, he concluded, a plant that lives in the mountains and that for him meant freedom, however temporary.

He didn't dare close his eyes to block out the memories. Every moment of weakness was just another knife between his shoulder blades. Azriel gritted his teeth and pushed every thought away. He subtly sniffed the bittersweet scent that took him to the same place where those sunken voices could be heard.

The first guard stopped in front of him as he rounded the corner, probably slightly startled by the image he saw in the next corridor. Azriel stepped cautiously, his eyes taking in every detail of the stained glass until he came to a familiar clump of red hair. He couldn't help but sigh.

An awkward moment of silence fell over all the participants. Azriel felt the urge to hit someone, especially the one who was now standing there nonchalantly, as if he had done nothing wrong.

'' Well, I see Rhysand has sent his brutes out to play. '' His words, laced with mocking humour, did him no good as Azriel tried hard not to step on his throat again. '' What wind blows you here, Shadowsinger? ''

The raven-haired man didn't respond to his challenge at first, watching the intimate scene unfold before them: an insultingly small body trapped between Vanserra's tall frame and the marble sculpture of a naked fairy. The woman struggled to cover her face with the red mask he knew all palace servants wore for some reason, then pulled the folds of her dress tighter, waiting for the awkward moment to pass. In his mind, he guessed the reason they were forced to wear that uniform. It was easier not to know who was disappearing, it was easier to kill someone who was lost in a landscape where a thousand others looked the same. It was easier to get murdered.

'' Are you all right, girl? '' Azriel deliberately ignored Eris, any conversation with this traitor would only end in blood and not otherwise.

The woman didn't answer, didn't even look at him, as if she hadn't heard him at all. He was slightly offended by the lack of response, but overlooked it as she was probably on edge from whatever magic Vanserra had put on her.

One of the guards approached the maid menacingly, ready to strike. " Our guest gives you permission to speak by engaging you in conversation and you dare not answer? You disgusting human! "

Eris jumps up to stand between the guard and the woman, smiling sardonically. " She can't speak, Draegan cut out her tongue. "

" Of course King Draegan cut out her tongue if she doesn't know when and how to use it! " The other man shouts from behind his mask.

" Calm down! There's no need to throw a tantrum because a woman rejects you. " Azriel intervenes, freeing himself from captivity. " I think I can find my way from here. "

" I don't think is wise... "

" You're not here to think, you're here to guard, and I'm inoffensive. Lord Vanserra can vouch for that. " Azriel intensifies his look, turning his back to the guards. " And I left my entire arsenal by the doors, remember? "

" I'll take care of him, don't worry. " Eris grunted, crossing his hands over his green tunic. " Men like him are as harmless as a bear: they don't bite unless you find their lair. "

The men nodded sceptically and turned back. He felt Eris stiffen beside him, as if he'd been waiting for someone to catch him cheating at cards.

" Let the girl go. " Azriel spoke grimly, not turning to look at them. " She shouldn't be here. "

" She's where she's supposed to be. " Eris replied dryly, already irritated by Azriel's tendency to twist his words, then left a theatrical kiss on the woman's cheek.

The girl seems to push him away for a second, then pulls her hand back, hiding it between the thick folds of her black dress.

" I don't think you're where you're supposed to be. " Azriel didn't seem to want to back down, so he turned his full attention to the Heir of the Autumn Court, irritated by his idiotic answers.

" True. " Eris admitted, covering the woman almost completely. " But I could say the same about you. King Draegan is waiting for both of us in the dining hall. "

" Oh, you already share a bond with these criminals. " The man concluded, nodding slightly. " You still haven't told me why you're here. "

" Go, little human, I'll find you later. " Vanserra hugged her too lovingly, resting his huge palm on the woman's small face.

A violent feeling ran through Azriel as he watched these gestures: fear, fear for this woman who didn't know what she was getting into, who was always in danger of being crushed by Eris or someone else from this cruel continent. A fragile human once again caught between the fingers of a fae. These stories caused a sick feeling of anxiety in his stomach, not because he cared, but because he knew history was about to repeat itself. He watched her short legs move hastily to the servant's door, avoiding eye contact with the fae around her, trying her best to pass unnoticed. Azriel was almost nervous for her.

Don't be clumsy. Don't be loud. Leave as soon as you can. I'll pay you ten times your salary if you just leave. Azriel sang in his head, but it was in vain, she couldn't hear him and he couldn't do much more for now.

" Do you hear me? " Eris's voice grows a little louder, but something else catches Azriel's attention.

The woman stops suddenly, eyes wide with shock as if she had seen someone naked, and looks around in confusion. Azriel frowns, Eris' words flying past him. She turns slightly toward them, and for a brief moment Azriel can finally see her troubled eyes: round as a full moon and fiery as a burning sun, but their color was what set them apart - gray, like an inviting sea that hides treacherous dangers.

Then she disappeared, like a ghost between the walls.

A few moments later, he realized that his shadows had become silent, resting, waiting, as if they were hoping, and then vanished from his surroundings completely. It seemed bizarre to Azriel, and he felt lonelier than he would have liked.

" What are you doing here, Eris? "

" Same as you - business. I know you're not here for pleasure or anything, you won't find a happy place here. " Eris Vanserra seemed to slap him as he gave him a tight smile. Azriel stiffened his mental, emotional and psychic shields and the shadows reappeared. " I want to know more about Hybern. They are weak and few. I want to have an advantage when the time comes. "

" Just say you're here to spy on them and cut the crap. " Azriel strode after Eris, who knew the palace corridors disturbingly well. " Except I still wouldn't believe anything that came out of your mouth. "

" I don't need you to believe me or the approval of the Night Court. This isn't about the Morrigan anymore. " Eris turned abruptly, almost bumping into Azriel who was behind him. " Another war is coming, something worse is happening right now, and I want to know how we can win. If we can. "

Azriel's alarm rang in his ears. Did Eris know more about the Fallen Star than he was letting on?

" Hybern was our enemy months ago, don't tell me you want to have them as allies. It's like trusting a rabid animal. " Azriel stopped him with a gloved hand before they stepped through another huge door. " They are the reason more than half of our armies have been destroyed. "

He wanted to say a few more words to Eris, but that was a discussion he would have another time, in a much more secluded place and under more permissible circumstances, where he could use acts of physical violence. He couldn't ask him enough questions to find out what he knew, or if he knew anything.

" I'm aware of that, but they don't have the Cauldron to do that kind of damage again. Anyway, this is not the place to discuss the matter in detail. Give me more time before you turn me in. "

He didn't want Rhysand to find out that Eris was here, actively betraying everyone. He couldn't do that, it was a luxury he couldn't afford.

" This new king, Draegan. He knows something we do not. He may have an advantage we do not. Let me find out what it is. "

As another pair of huge doors opened before their eyes, Azriel suddenly felt tired. A huge table lay before him, decorated with plates and glasses far too full for his taste. Oriental flavors and far too much food awaited him, and the servants - both women and men - moved around in disturbing circles of clattering, chattering, and chopping.

Dozens of pairs of eyes turned to them, hidden in that semi-obscure atmosphere of burning candles and the barely audible strains of a violin. Azriel wanted to turn around and leave, he didn't have the energy to go through all that was about to come, but he had no other choice.

" Sometimes I hate it too. " Eris whispered, with the same smile that now seemed forced, and started to walk to the only two empty seats that were too close to the already occupied one at the end of the table. The big chair that actually mattered.

Azriel couldn't really see him, the king, hiding behind all this charade of music and dimmed lights and fae. But he could feel the sudden change in the air around him, too heavy to breathe and full of something evil. His shadows circled his vital points like a vise, shielding him as best as they could.

" Glad to hear it. " Azriel spits back at Eris and turns away, unfazed by the reproachful looks.

Azriel noticed the ladies from the hallway, watching him with lustful glances and scandalous promises. The creatures already seated at the table, all different kinds of fae, smiled at them all knowingly, bowed their glasses to them like hyenas tempting their prey. Indecent dresses, precious stones, tunics sewn with gold and silver thread, violinists with handcuffs on their feet and pianists with bandaged fingers. An unpleasant and painful sight. Someone proposed a toast and silence fell over the room. The two suddenly stopped, side by side, as if they had been caught sneaking into the banquet.

" My dear friends and advisors... Tonight I'd like to introduce two special guests. Two soldiers who are willing to present their offers of peace for our kingdom, offers that I intend to accept. " A dark-haired man with square features rose from the imperial chair at the end of the table and gestured for them to sit beside him.

Draegan... The brave shadow crawled through his hair, sitting on his head like a crown of darkness.

Azriel takes a deep breath. How stupid of him to think that the Night Court would try to win a place next to those abominations of faes. He hated talking to men of high rank. They were far too full of themselves, they spoke coded most of the time, and the part that really drove him crazy was their facade. Far too much politeness, far too many fake smiles, and duplicitous opinions. He was too old for all the political games, but tonight he had to get into his role.

" So you're here to make peace with these? " Azriel whispered so quietly that only Eris could hear, and began to push himself toward the red velvet chair. " They slaughtered our people. "

" You slaughter people for fun. At least I'm productive. "

" I hope your productivity kills you. " Azriel almost pointed his sharp canines at Eris, but refrained at the last moment. "And I hope it kills you before you leave this place. "

Azriel walks to the farthest place from the so-called king. This man seemed unfit for such a title: too young, too vulgar, and too innovative for a land deeply rooted in tradition.

" At least you're here with me and I won't feel alone in my dying moments. " Eris smiled jockingly and bowed his head.

" I am more than happy to find you in such a festive mood, King Draegan. " Azriel bowed very slightly, as if any bowing would cause him terrible knee pain. " May all the year be as prosperous as you are at this moment. "

A muscle twitches in Draegan's face. If he had made it this far without anyone standing between him and the throne, he had convinced his people that he would be a trustworthy leader. Who knows what means of persuasion he had actually used.

Draegan smiled knowingly and gestured for Eris to take a seat at the table. " May all your blades be at hand when you need them the most. " A wry smile almost crept across Azriel's face. The game started earlier than expected.

" You have no idea how pleased I am to have not one, but two emissaries from Prythian at my table. " The man smiled, showing his straight teeth, and poured the red wine into the golden cups himself. " You must be Azriel, the trustworthy and last of his kind Shadowsinger. I've heard enough about you and... your loyal companions. "

" All wounds heal. " Someone from the table interjected, raising his cup. " May this meeting heal us all. "

" Indeed, Lord Charon. " Vanserra agreed with the former, older participant, then turned back to watch Draegan.

His shadows swirled around Azriel's neck, stirred by the ease with which the king spoke about them. The Shadowsinger eyed the speaker, noting his many medals and muscular frame. In return, Lord Charon gave him a compassionate smile, toothy and wide, showing all the wrinkles on his round face.

By the Mother, Eris Vanserra seduced half the court of Hybern.

" After hearing so much about my business, I find it hard to believe that you are very excited about my unannounced arrival. " Azriel replied monotonously, placing a gloved hand on his crystal goblet. His boldest shadow jumped from his forearms and surrounded the glass.

" No poison. " Draegan announced displeasedly, drawing his dark gaze to the dark tongue of shadow circling the freshly poured wine. " This is no way to greet your guests. "

Safe...

The Shadowsinger turned his head cautiously, looking for some food on the table, which was barely holding together due to the numerous dishes. Did the people outside the palace have as many goods as those inside?

" What determined your unannounced visit? " Draegan leaned back and gestured for the others to continue their conversation. " I must admit, I was intrigued by the rumors. "

Azriel knew that though they all seemed to be deep in their own discussions of land, property, and business, their hungry ears were tuned to the three of them, their senses were intoxicated by his ominous presence, and every fleeting corner of their eyes was focused on him.

" My High Lord and High Lady wish to send you a letter - of peace. " Azriel rolled out the words as sweetly as possible and handed him the envelope marked with the royal court seal.

" So many offers. " The king chuckled lightly, but didn't open the envelope. " Why didn't they come themselves? "

Among the many candles melting on the tablecloth, he caught the glances of the diners around him. He noticed the cautious way they had begun to behave: eating in silence, wearing straight smiles and speaking in hushed tones. Some glanced at him out of the corners of their eyes, while others dared to admire him fully, allowing Azriel to sniff their disgusting fear.

" Well, it's no secret that everyone is rebuilding their kingdoms after the devastating war. Politics and people can't wait, their homes are ruined and laws are old and terrible, they don't apply anymore. So they're doing their best to solve these problems. "

" What about Velaris? The Hidden Treasure, is it as destroyed as the rest of the Night Court? " A question flies across the table, raising the hairs on Azriel's neck.

" Who determines what people can live there? It's unfair for some to get the chance to stay safe and happy and other innocent lives to pay the price of not being lucky enough. " Lord Charon throws the hardest question at Azriel,

Azriel bites back an angry reply. These people were talking about innocent lives when they were killing dozens every day, not to mention that bitch, Amarantha, their own, worse than all of them.

" Like I said, the laws are old, the city is as old as the law. Everything needs to be rebuilt. Everyone needs a chance to survive, to be happy, to be safe. The Night Court is working hard to rebuild everything from the ground. "

Vanserra almost spits his food on the table, trying to hold back a laugh. " Let's not dig up the graves. Both continents made mistakes. The Night Court is working hard. " Eris backs Azriel up only to speak under his breath, using the music so only the winged male can hear. " That's why the Night Court is divided into the one of Nightmares and the one made for Dreamers. "

Icy rage fills Azriel's veins, and it takes everything he has not to stab Eris with a real butter knife found on the table. He knew that the way people were allowed to live in Velaris was a flawed system, as were the Illyrian camps and the way women were treated there. But his words on these matters meant next to nothing if no one actually listened to his or Cassian's opinions.

" Everyone needs a second chance, I think. " Draegan interjects as he raises his goblet to his mouth. " It's better to have friends, not enemies. I'd like to visit this place once. If I'm allowed, of course. "

The Shadowsinger only nods, drinking heavily from that shitty wine, hoping to calm his stretched nerves.

" To what occasion do we dedicate this meal, Draegan? " Eris began as he eagerly carved a piece of lemon-glazed lamb, trying to ease the tension around the table.

Azriel plunged his fork into a well-browned potato, passing through numerous spicy condiments. He'd forgotten the etiquette of high society, so he'd forgotten how polite it was to actually take food, not just look at it. He sniffed the piece of vegetable lightly, guessing pepper and something resembling turmeric, a spice grown exclusively in the Montessere. He popped the potato into his mouth and enjoyed the burst of flavor.

He was starving, but he couldn't afford to eat everything on the table. If there was the slightest chance of being poisoned, at least the vegetables would have been digested faster and everything would have been disposed of even faster.

The king laughed. Azriel cringed. " Well, aside from celebrating new bonds... Remember I told you today that someone broke into my room? "

Azriel raised an eyebrow and looked at the man at the head of the table. He was glad the topic of conversation had changed. Shadows continued to swirl around him, clinging to his thighs and forearms, seemingly ready to draw his daggers at any moment.

Draegan's golden crown decorated with rubies sat on his head full of brown curls. The burgundy tunic he wore and the shadows cast on his face by the candles seemed to send him into a realm of madness.

There was a sudden movement as the guards closed the doors and the diners began to stir, startled by the turn of events.

Eris stopped eating and resigned himself to look around, stunned and dumbfounded. More guards appeared from behind the stone columns holding up the balcony above, pointing crossbows at everyone's head.

Azriel, though stiff, leans back in his chair, like a deadly weapon latently waiting to be used. He knew from the moment he walked inside that something would go wrong, that someone would die tonight. Maybe that's why he felt this urge to save the servant, this pity for her.

A few screams rang out in the high room as the guards ruthlessly grabbed the maids who were bringing wine and food to the table and ordered them in a line down the hall. The silver trays tumbled to the floor with a dizzying high-pitched clatter, the cups now empty, and the red wine that had once filled them quickly spread everywhere, soaking the carpets and seeping through the cracks in the marble.

" Dear participants, I don't want to give you a bad first impression, but I despise stealing. You see, one of those whores came into my room looking for something. " Draegan rose from his velvet chair and took a few steps toward the women, who were trembling. " You stole from me. "

Suddenly, he slapped the first servant in line so hard that the silly hat she was wearing flew off her head, revealing her aged, white hair. The woman was off balance for a second, stunned by the powerful blow, but did not react. Her legs had turned to jelly and she was now hovering above the floor in a half genuflection, so the guard behind her tightened his grip on her forearms, forced to support her.

The armored man behind her was as cold as this entire palace. Azriel felt no hint of guilt emanating from him, not even reproach, not even pleasure. Azriel quickly realized that there was something different about the guards here: the material of the armor was covered in onyx from head to toe, a trick to keep the Daemati out of their minds, but also to keep the smells they gave off from being detected.

The Shadowsinger clenches his fists under his chair. " Shouldn't Your Highness solve your problem somewhere private? ". Azriel tries to ease the tension and give these women a chance to get as far away from the palace as possible tonight, but he doubted they would make it out alive. He looked at the burgundy stain of drink that was now all over the place and horror gripped him, there was really nothing he could do to stop the next events from unfolding.

He couldn't do much without losing his own credibility. His mission was at stake, to find the Fallen Star, and that was more important than anything else at the moment. Once again, he felt like a child trapped in a dungeon.

" Or perhaps more diplomatically, given the presence of our new guest? " Eris also jumped to Azriel's aid, standing up as if to climb out of his chair.

Azriel watched where Vanserra tended to peer from time to time, as if hoping to find an escape hatch for the person in question. Glancing carefully over all the participants in this atrocity, he sensed that something was off: there was a disturbing sense of calm among them, but who could be so.... detached?

" Don't you dare tell me how to run my kingdom! " Draegan's head turned like a whip on their table, his pointed gaze raised in accusation. " I have been nothing but kind, and everyone seems eager to step over me! "

For a second, he would have thought the king was the calm one, but he smelled like a sewer on a hot day, as if his irritation was boiling up all the hatred inside him. Vanserra hid his panic all too well, but his eyes usually spoke louder than his smart mouth, so all he could feel were smoldering coals, red as burning lava. Azriel put a gloved finger to his lips and calculated again. The participants at the table, though technically accustomed to such excursions, were as frightened as lambs at the sight of a wolf for the first time, sweat and mischief dripping from every pore.

Oh, that was it. Azriel tapped his forefinger against his lower lip in satisfaction. A devastating storm of sea-blue smoke was about to drown Draegan and drag him into the deepest oceans.

" Please, my king... " The first woman wriggled, palms outstretched and rosy cheeks pleading for mercy. " I would never do such a thing. I have children to feed. I wouldn't dare. "

" Charon, bring me her eldest child. " Draegan ordered grimly, without a second thought. " Lock them both in the dungeon, without food or water. I will give you further instructions. "

The woman wailed uncontrollably, falling to her knees and soaking the king's leather shoes with her salty tears. The guard could not restrain her, but Draegan did, sending her into a deep sleep with a boot in her jaw.

Eris closed her eyes at the breaking sound and took a deep breath. Azriel didn't allow himself to close them anymore, he needed enough hate to annihilate them all at the first opportunity.

He noticed the reason for Eris's panic as she stood one woman away from what was now a pile of flesh on the ground. Curiously, he rolled his eyes restlessly over the six women until he reached the third in line. She now shifted her gaze, keeping her head in the ground as if trying to burn a hole in the thick marble and get underneath. He studied her for a long moment, never taking his eyes off her reactions. Her heartbeat was so tightly controlled that neither the scent of fear, nor stress came from her. Azriel was slightly impressed. This woman could control herself very well, but he could see through her, the way her wrists were tense, the way her thick eyebrows were raised to her forehead, the agony she went through to keep her steamy eyes from rising, how difficult it was for her to control herself.

Azriel's eyebrows rose slightly. This was where that dangerous, deaf, wild oasis of calm came from. She looked as if she knew what everyone's next move would be, waiting for the inevitable to happen and free her from her torment. Could she be the woman he was looking for?

Azriel rested his elbows on the table and kept his eyes on her. A helpless, small woman, without courage, without the strength to save the situation, too slow to save herself, too timid, too weak. Disappointing, he thought, he expected more from a myth.

" What were you looking for? Sex? " Draegan clung to the second with all his might and began to fondle her breasts thirstily. " You wanted to have fun with me? You see brothers, the news that I have a big dick sends these ladies into a frenzy, looking for trouble. "

Azriel was deeply disgusted, and so was Eris, who took a generous sip of wine without taking his eyes off the third maid. A bond formed between the two as the woman raised her head briefly, generously giving him permission to be calm, as if everything was under control. The Shadowsinger almost snorted. It was as if he could hear those burning coals eagerly leaping from the fire, waiting to be summoned.

If Eris wanted to start a second war here and now, he had every reason to do so. And the worst part was that Azriel would help him, no matter what. Faes like that just cast a shadow on the ground for nothing.

The rest of the guests begin to laugh, making indecent jokes that seem to feed Draegan's ego.

" Be in my room after dinner. " Draegan made a show of whispering something in her ear, loud enough to be humiliating to the second girl, who was shivering like she was getting hypothermia by the second. " And bring the blonde, Aoife. She'll teach you what I like. "

Tears as bitter as the first woman's began to wet her burgundy mask. Azriel was beginning to feel he couldn't take it anymore, but something caught his attention. The third lifted her head fully and glared at Draegan with the most venomous gaze. It looked as if she wanted to tear the sky in two above the new king's head. So this Aoife was special for her and wanted revenge for whatever she had done to her friend.

When the king finally reached her, he was met by those gray, icy, murderous eyes. He stumbled over his words, as if he'd actually hit a wall of ice, and stared at her for a few seconds, as if he couldn't believe what the madwoman in front of him had just done. There was a silent conversation between them that lasted so long that even the roar from the table stopped to watch.

Eris swallowed dryly and covered his mouth with a hand. Azriel could swear he was trembling with impatience. Obviously he had warned her about her behavior.

Draegan tilts his head to the side, intrigued by her bold gesture. " You have pretty eyes. You should be more careful if you want to keep them. " He spoke after a moment, aggressively grabbing her jaw and bending her head enough to leave a wet kiss on her mask. " You're next tomorrow night. "

Vanserra looked lividly at her, at that disgusting stain of saliva on her mask. His agitation vanished, as if Draegan had poured water over the smoldering coals. She looked back at him with blank eyes and nodded slightly. She could handle it.

There will be no tomorrow night, Azriel suspected, either Eris will do something that will cost him his head, or this woman will do something that will burn the palace to the ground. Or maybe both. He was running out of time.

When Draegan moved on to the next woman, the third one no longer looked down, but stared at Azriel with her huge eyes. Azriel held her gaze for a long time until Draegan pulled a necklace from the fourth woman's pocket. None of the three looked at the stunning discovery. It did not shock any of them.

Eris dropped his head, tired of watching the next bloody minutes unfold among them. Guilt was written everywhere: on Vanserra's face, on Azriel's actions, in the eyes of the third servant, even on these damned walls. They all watched as that innocent woman was mercilessly killed for something she didn't do.

Another burden to carry, another soul wasted. No one was going to notice, they all looked the same after all. That cursed uniform... But Azriel knew immediately that the third woman was the one who stole from Draegan's room. And that Eris Vanserra was her accomplice.

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