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thy-lover · 8 months

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"YOU'LL LOVE ME IF I SAY YOU CAN" - Mortal Kombat Characters.

SUMMARY - Mortal Kombat Characters are Fuck Buddies with the Reader(Gender Neutral and Slightly a Villain) who is their ENEMY, In a Brief Moment of Clarity They Realize What They've Done....for the Millionth time

CHARACTERS - Shao Kahn, Johnny Cage, Scorpion, Sub-Zero, Noob Saibot, Jax, Kano, Baraka

WARNINGS - Minors Do Not Interact, Sexually Explicit Descriptions, Foul Language, Spousal Manipulation, What Could Be Considered as Phone Sex, Death Threats

𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔬 𝔨𝔞𝔥𝔫 -

➺ There he sat, on the side of his bed with but a thin white blanket across his lap covering his Manhood. Scratches alongside his back, across his arms, as if he's been clawed at by a wild animal.

➺ Half Moon fingernail prints on the side of his thighs, and bites along his neck. A spent cock between his thighs.

➺ Maybe it was the Sex, maybe it was seeing you walk into the Palace without a care in the world. Spitting on his concubines knowing you could play the great Shao Kahn for a fuckin fiddle. Yeah, it was the sex.

➺ It was the Romanticization of spearing his cock into the enemy that prevented him from taking your head and placing it on a pike. It was the way you fucked him, you fucked him, that made him want more. You were wild, fighting him, testing his restraint, or perhaps encouraging no restraint whatsoever.

➺ Only You. A "Pathetic" Earthrealmer who was a part of the Special Forces and Part Time Leader of a Secret Organization that wished to demolish Outworld. Could make him cum like you did. Not Sindel, not anyone, no one could force him to cum over and over like you.

➺ He was Outworlds Protector...wasn't he? Could he fool himself into believing crawling on top of you every night and fucking you till he could fuck no more, was in a way saving Outworld by possibly preventing the inevitable? No, he couldn't. He could only do as the bad guy does and pretend like this was part of the plan. Like he was the one using you.

➺ Even more so, as you stood up from the bed and began to clean yourself of the cum dripping down your legs and chest. Every time you stood up to leave he could see his handiwork. A fair share of bruises that he gave you from such animalistic sex. With his cum he marked you, with the bruise around your neck he claimed you, with that bite mark on your shoulder you were his. Damn anyone from his council who stood against it, damn anyone who found out. You were not his dirty secret you were his trophy.

➺ You looked fucked in such a delicious way of the term. When you put your clothes on and rearranged your appearance you all but smirked at him in the reflection of his mirror. Shao Kahn would never admit pain. He couldn't, he could never allow himself to be hurt not by you not by anyone. But every time you entered his lair, you hurt him with every kiss, it hurt him, broke him harder than any sword any scratch could ever.

➺ "See ya tomorrow." You said walking over to Shao Kahn and kissing his cheek. "Don't come back." Shao Kahn said not moving to kiss you, how many times had he said that very phrase? "I do what I want. If you don't want me coming back here to fuck you, then I'll come back here to take your throne."

➺ "I loved you....I love you....I'll kill to have you, I'll konquer the world to keep you."

𝔧𝔬𝔥𝔫𝔫𝔶 𝔠𝔞𝔤𝔢 -

➺ Hollywood has always been known to do some sketchy shit but this took the cake. He had sex, or he was having sex or he's been having sex with the same asshole that wiped out half of the Special Forces and damn near killed his own Daughter.

➺ This is why Johnny is laying in this lousy motel room, in fuck knows where. Naked a cigarette hanging from his lips, shit he didn't even smoke! Laying in this bed his eyes subconsciously searching for a blanket to cover his Manhood but to no avail.

➺ Why you? How could you have this power over Johnny Cage? The man who was never that sensible but never in the right mind betrays his friends by sleeping with the enemy.

➺ Even if there were a blanket his mind was too busy forcing his eyes to look back at the doorway where you stood naked staring at your reflection and wiping his cum off your body before slowly getting dressed.

➺ sometimes Johnny wanted to know why he was even here, there wasn't even really a solid reason why every night he snuck around paparazzi, and lied to Cassie and everyone who ever cared for him about where he was going on every night.

➺ But every time he got an anonymous call on his cell and every time he answered and heard your beautiful voice, he would bite his lip, palm his cock through his pants and write down the address to the new hotel to meet at.

➺ All he knew was that when you push him against the door, kiss down his neck. When he grabs your hips. When you push him on the bed and ride him like you'd die tomorrow, was secretly what he lived for.

➺ You made him lose control, you made him bury his head in the pillows like a virgin who's never been fucked, and you made him howl so loud the people next door banged their fists against the wall.

➺ You leave the bathroom and stand next to Johnny, your hand trailing from his calf to his inner thigh, so terribly close to his spent cock that he was so close to being hard again "Buh-bye Johnny boy, I'll be seeing you." You teased. "When?" Johnny asked his head low in shame. Your hands squeezed his thigh, embedding your nails in the muscular flesh "Whenever I fuckin want to."

➺ "I need you....even if you can't be mine."

𝔰𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔭𝔦𝔬𝔫 -

➺ You were his wife's killer...well not exactly actually, you just helped Quan Chi. By selling out the whereabouts of his wife all for a pretty sack of gold which made you smile when Quan Chi handed it to you. You sat upon a hill, tossing the gold sack in your hand, watching the Shirai Ryu burn.

➺ You were supposed to be dead, as dead as his dead wife, he would have made sure of that. Scorpion would have bought front-row tickets to see you roasting in the Netherrealm, but that wasn't the case.

➺ Instead of watching life drain from your eyes, he watched you sit up on the Shikifuton, your lips swollen, your eyes weary and dark. Instead of seeing your skin burn by the Netherrealm flame, he watched your skin currently flush a light pink, you were nude, bare for him. And he was nude, bare for you.

➺ Every night he prayed that whatever elder god who cared for him would cover his dead wife's eyes so that when he joined her in the death, he would not have to experience Harumi's shameful gaze. So that his dead children would not turn their backs to their father.

➺ He wouldn't blame them if they did. How could he? He wouldn't feel so guilty if he had the strength to kill you. But to raise his hands to you would feel wrong....he would feel like he was hurting his lover. But you were not his lover so how could he feel guilty for killing you? There was no love when you entered his home every night.

➺ You did not come into his home to love or make love with him. You came to his home to fuck your brains out. To pin him down, to play with his cock till his cum coated his stomach. To engage in the dirtiest sex and do things Harumi dared not to.

➺ Even now as you stood up, your legs shaking ever so slightly, cum dripping down them, his cum. Every night after you had your fun, he wanted you on your stomach face buried in the pillows fucking you till he came in you more times than he could count. He fooled himself into believing if he did that he would have power over you, but he was wrong. His real purpose for doing that was to claim you as his, though that's what you let him think.

➺ How much lust could you get out of pleasure, before that lust and that pleasure turn to guilt and shame? How could he lie to himself and say that this was the way to gain power over you? Every time that he spilled his seed within you was a bitter deep betrayal to the Shirai Ryu.

➺ When you gave him a dissatisfied glance, not because you were displeased by his performance, as a matter of fact, he gets better at fucking you every night you come back, but dissatisfied because you could hear his thoughts. Not his thoughts about Harumi or his child, no you knew about that so fuck that noise, no you're talking about the thoughts he didn't want to admit the thoughts that made you annoyed "Bye." You said coldly, he hated that, he hated this, he hated you but he hated that blank tone most of all. He watched you leave not saying a word he couldn't bring himself to

➺ "I can change you into something that can be loved."

𝔰𝔲𝔟-𝔷𝔢𝔯𝔬

➺ You helped Quan Chi create his monster of a brother Noob Saibot. And something which isn't a secret not even now and not even then, was that your eyes now aimed to take the Lin Kuei

➺ Sub-Zero is the leader of this clan, he swore an oath to protect and serve the Lin Kuei, and should anything, anyone pose any kind of threat to the clan whatever that threat might be was to be exterminated. Unfortunately, he was the threat. Every time you decided to waltz into the Lin Kuei compound and were granted entrance you posed a threat. And every time you pulled him into your arms he became a threat. For his weakness for the pleasure you could provide put the Lin Keui in constant danger.

➺ He was so pathetic when he was in your arms. With every rough touch you set upon his body, came a guttural groan. You were feral to him. You were festering upon him like a flame. Burning him with every kiss.

➺ He was so....unused to this. A virgin when you first had him. He was unmarried and never married previously. Sex was never a thought in his mind and love came 5th in the Lin Kuei. In the Lin Kuei love was given to you by your parents, not a spouse or a lover.

➺ How could he allow something like this to go on, how could his weakness allow him to let the person who was partially responsible for turning his brother into a revenant take his virginity, and for the next few months allow you to continue this sexual relationship. For months now.

➺ At some point, he encountered his brother Noob Saibot and after the fight, while Noob was about to teleport away he taunted his brother on precisely how he had you first, and that you'd never be his.

➺ Perhaps the sibling rivalry was still there or maybe he was serious. Either way Sub-Zero made it a point to no longer hesitate when having sex with you. Learning all too quickly to fuck you like a pro. He should have killed you all those times you crawled through his window, pushing him against a nearby wall and biting his neck. He should have strangled you the moment you wrapped your own hands around his neck and squeezed it lightly. He should have froze you in time the moment your warm hand grabbed his cock.

➺ Sometimes he wishes you would have killed him to stop or prevent the inevitable shame he brought upon the Lin Kuei by loving a partner who did not love him or the Lin Kuei back. Instead wanted to help Frost take over.

➺ His hands held your hips far more gently than he should have and that began to piss you off. He held you with his eyes with adoration, the first and only body he knows more about than his own. Every scar, every mark, every blemish, and every bit of beauty he held in his hands when he touched you. You growled, grabbed his hand, and pushed them off you, in a swift movement you pushed off of him, Sub-Zero watched with blind fondness as you grabbed your clothes and threw them on "Just stop!" You shouted rushing to the door and slamming it shut behind you. Sub-Zero was lost in a puppy love sort of trance. Could he never love you? Could your heart and his pride never allow it?

➺ "Could you ever allow yourself to obsess over me, as I am obsessed with you?"

𝔫𝔬𝔬𝔟 𝔰𝔞𝔦𝔟𝔬𝔱/𝔟𝔦-𝔥𝔞𝔫 -

➺ He tried to resist your temptation. He tried for the sake of the Lin Kuei to resist you, you were named Quan Chi's Left Hand, often called The Temptor. However, this was different, at least it was different for Bi-Han. You saw the dark ideas that plagued his head, saw his thoughts, and used him against him.

➺ Bi-Han could resist no more. The Lin Kuei felt more like a trap than a clan as the days went on. Bi-Han felt no love and no support from his dead parents' memory or his clan members. He felt nothing but he felt you. He felt your beating heart against the back of his spine. He felt the hand that explored his abs, he felt the hand that wrapped around his cock pumping it with a tight fist.

➺ Bi-Han felt your lips against his neck biting and licking the wound, he heard the sweet whispers in your voice every time you told him to surrender. You told him to surrender his strength, surrender his loyalty to the Lin Kuei, and surrender his identity to your master Quan Chi. But before he surrendered all that, he should surrender himself to you.

➺ Before Bi-Han became Noob Saibot he was mad for you. You had Bi-Han at your feet. You were giving him this intense feeling of something that compensated for the lack of affection he was given. You turned his strength for the Lin Kuei against him. And in turn, gave him the strength to go AWOL on the Lin Kuei.

➺ During those days you knew where to find Bi-Han. He was in your bed for months. He was not exactly a virgin, he had some experience when he and another Lin Kuei member attempted to have sex but unfortunately only ended in both of them being scared out of their wits. You however showed him what you wanted and sometimes waited patiently for him to give it to you.

➺ All was fine for the few months he left your chambers until an encounter with a vengeful scorpion left him to fall into the abyss. And Quan Chi saw an opportunity to use his necromancy for an interesting pet project.

➺ Noob Saibot was born and he felt nothing. Except for an odd feeling in his chest when he saw you walk by alongside Quan Chi. Your eyes were empty, and it was as if Noob Saibot finally realized the game you played with his past self Bi-Han. You looked at him without interest. Like you got what you wanted from him and didn't care to have more. Didn't care for him. You got what you wanted Bi-Hans identity for Quan Chi so he could massacre The Shirai Ryu and pin it on Bi-Han.

➺ You were his enemy for all intents and purposes. Only he had not expected a sliver of Bi-Hans conscious to remain. At night when Noob Saibot attempted to meditate he could hear screams. Not screams of pain. And in the darkness of his imagination he watched himself and Saibot fuck you in his head. Saibot held you to him as Noob used you to chase his high.

➺ He craved you. He needed you to give in to him. He wanted to surrender to you as Bi-Han has. But now, now you've changed you see him as a nuisance and when he managed to catch you before a fight he asked that exact question "You avoid us. Death is unavoidable. So why try to fight it?" He asked twirling his scythe. "Bi-Han loved me because I manipulated him to do so. I sense something in your soul, something that feels something for me, that I did not put there intentionally."

➺ "Life could not dwell in my heart, so the image of you will do just as well."

𝔧𝔞𝔵 -

➺ An enemy of Sonya's was an enemy of his. That's what he told himself when he first met you. The moment your eyes landed on him there was a villainous smirk that crossed your lips. You were Kano's Mad Dog and Jax also hated Kano. Only Jax couldn't bring himself to hate you. Not when your lips looked so pretty on his cock.

➺ Why you? Why Kano's Mad Dog. The sex was just so good. There were days when Jax wanted to fuck you nice and proper, then there were days, usually after he found out the terrible deeds you've done on the news, where he just wanted to fuck you till you couldn't move.

➺ After Jacqui left the house, in came you. You saved him from the sad depressive loneliness that was his home. He put away the beer more than usual so that he was sober when you dropped by and when you eventually find the spare key he attempts to hide and enters his home, scaring him half to death when you enter his bed while he sleeps.

➺ He wakes up with you silently beside or on top of him. He knows what you want, before you even speak, which is usually good because he hates you and more often than not doesn't want you to say anything, as all you usually have to say is something cocky.

➺ After the fact he usually lays down staring at the ceiling with labored breathing, ashamed of what he had done. What if Sonya finds out? What if Jacqui finds out?

➺ Fortunately for you and unfortunately for him the moment you roll over and begin to play with his Manhood all his worries disappear if but for a short while. And his mind fills with thoughts of you. Of your body. Of your sweet voice praising him for giving it to you rough.

➺ With Vera he was always gentle with her, always asking her if he was doing too much, if she was comfortable in this position. He was always so...careful not wanting to hurt her. And Vera was always, always gentle with him. He made love with Vera. But with You, it was rough, it was harsh, you praised him for being almost brutal with his pace and growled at him when he even dared try to be all sweet soft, and loving. You were wild and he was in denial what an interesting match.

➺ When you left more often than not it was in silence because you were never good at goodbyes and you never cared if he had wanted you to say something anything to break the uncomfortable silence because, in the end, you got what you wanted from the Special Forces lap dog. And it always made you just a bit annoyed with him when he looked at you like...like that. Like you were fuckin Vera Incarnate.

➺ When you put on your clothes you sit on the bed. Jax sat on a small table in his room pouring a whiskey and finishing a cigar "You're acting like you expect something more from me." You said coldly. "I do. Y'know, you don't sneak into someone's house and fuck the owner every night if you don't feel something-" "I DON'T FEEL ANYTHING!" You shouted swiftly leaving his room in a flash.

➺ "You're an exotic animal that can't be tied down and won't let any too close. But everything can be tamed."

𝔨𝔞𝔫𝔬 -

➺ The Australian asshole was not new to being Devious and using sex to get what he wanted. He was much like you in a way, only compared to you, you at least had morals to the very least. Kano knew the weak were more susceptible to being used and the strong are most susceptible to abusing the weak he knew this and he lived by it in a silent sort of way.

➺ You were Red Dragon, he was Black Dragon, arch enemies. The only problem is that you both decided to go undercover as Special Forces agents at the same time. Tension grew between you too as you had to play the good neighbor policy not trying to blow your cover.

➺ Kano however was rather lazy with it. Special Forces were starting to look into him but luckily he began to get chummy with Sonya and Sonya was starting to like him during a meeting, You and Kano sat across from each other at the table listening to the debriefing Sonya was giving. Sonya was talking about the Red Dragon and Kano said something that nearly gave up your identity had you not kicked his leg so very hard under that table causing him to yelp.

➺ Let's just say that the very moment he realized your legs were in reach of his crotch had him getting a bit wild.

➺ What started as a game of very risque footsie led to him visiting your room in the barracks and leading you away. Once you defected from the Special Forces and left it wasn't long before Kano decided to do the same only foolishly entering a Mortal Kombat Tournament.

➺ A few days after Kano's initial freedom he sought you out, first as a peace treaty and almost immediately turning into sex as Kano was a rather insatiable man. He knew that no one in the Black Dragon would agree with this, hell, if he were any more foolish he would use this to his gain, killing you and taking over the Red Dragon. Only he liked it too much. He liked you too much and it began messing with his head.

➺ His urges began to become obsessed over you. You were dangerous, he liked dangerous. You fucked him like he would fuck someone who wasn't worth shit. You took your pleasure from him disregarding his needs.

➺ No. No, he couldn't blackmail you he couldn't hurt you. He needed you to satisfy him like only you do. He wasn't one to question why he was so desperately in need of you, he didn't ask why, or how, or what because he was fine with being obsessed with you he's fine. With it. You are his drug and he was perfectly fine with being addicted. No need to wonder or worry. What could anyone really expect Kano's unethical and morally incorrect.

➺ You pushed yourself up off the bar counter as the hard oak rubbed way too harshly on your bare back. Kano groaned and pulled his cock out of you, stumbling backward till he stumbled into a booth. You smirked and jumped off the bar picking up your clothes and walking about in the nude "You're pathetic." You say chugging a bottle of alcohol after. "Mhm. Same time tomorrow?" Kano asks slightly hopefully. "I'm busy. I'll be back whenever I decide to."

➺ "You'll be mine. I don't care what I have to do. I'll kill the special Forces just for you."

𝔟𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔨𝔞 -

➺ You wanted Tarkatans to die. You wanted to cleanse Outworld of them, why? Who knows, most say you just decided to pick the most sadistic pastime and that was to kill the Tarkatans. Others said you were hired by the Great Emperor Shao Kahn to kill the Tarkatans and hopefully Baraka at the same time for....downsizing.

➺ The first time the Fakas of the Tarkatans saw you was when you burned down one of his villages and he was helping his people escape. He saw your silhouette a shadow atop a hill standing there staring at the chaos. He dropped everything he was doing and ran towards the figure but when he got atop the hill no one was there except for this sweet scent that lingered in the air. It smelled like the exotic fruits of Outworld. It also smelled like Tarkatan blood.

➺ When he tracked you down all those days ago he had not expected to get beaten in Kombat and he certainly hadn't expected to find the person who was assaulting him to be so damn attractive and he sure as shit wasn't expecting to find himself harder than all the rocks in hell. When you straddle him during the fight to finish the job you certainly were not counting on whatever was snug between your warm thighs getting bigger with each movement.

➺ That was the initial start of this sexual relationship. You would sneak into the Tarkatans war camp, crawl under the tent flaps, and into bed with him where he would fuck you till the day after tomorrow.

➺ Every time you left his company after having him you were always left with at least 10 permanent scars along your lower back, hips, and thighs. What you did note was that he must have had a breeding kink or some such because by the end of it all he left quite the mess on you.

➺ Tarkatans were territorial so perhaps the first sign of his growing obsession for you was when he bit your neck permanently leaving his mark on your skin that told other Tarkatans you were his.

➺ The second time something was wrong was when he found you flirting with someone, naturally for the sake of gaining information, and when he spotted this he swiftly eliminated the person you attempted to fancy. This caused some wild hate sex that made Baraka growl to the moon and back.

➺ For all these days he gave into his lust for you, left low Morale to his people. They distrusted his leadership, believing he was being controlled by an earthrealmer slut, believing he lost his sense of honor as he had no wish to avenge the fallen Tarkatans that died by your hands. He fought a fellow challenger every day in an attempt to beat his loyalty out of them to which it partially worked. For every fight came another fuck at night. He wondered if he was doing the right thing as a leader....as the Fakas to the Tarkatans. But he couldn't resist you. You brought out the animal in him. Satisfied his lust. He needed you like he needed air.

➺ He attempted to hold you to him. To keep your body close. No matter how sweat-ridden the both of you were. He wanted to breathe in the sweet scent of your skin. Trail his long tongue along your thighs the next time he wakes up. Play with you till you begged him to fuck you. Mark your chest with his cum. But you still pulled away "You think I belong to you." You said. "Don't you? I've ruined you for another man, I spilled my seed in you every day." Baraka growled stroking his cock at the sight of you standing up, your body "Heh. You belong to me. You're mine. I will never be yours. Claim another and I'll bury you with them."

➺ "Don't you know a koin has two sides? I'll hurt you and whatever man or woman dare take you from me. I'll kill them."

.↭

𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: Hey y'all it's Leif here, hope you enjoyed this work! If you like it lemme know. Writing this I was listening to "FU in my head" by Cloudy June. I recommend listening to it while reading!

Gif Credits:

Shao Kahn gif by solidsmax

Johnny Cage gif by mortal-kombat11

Scorpion gif by mortal-kombat 11

Sub-Zero gif by hollywoods-star

Bi-Han from the movie Mortal Kombat gif by temporaryusername2015

Jax gif by thedestinysunknown

Kano gif by fortheloveofaminorcharacter

Baraka gif by raidentalfloss

Anime Cigarette Case by fly-me-to-the-moon

#Spotify #mk baraka #shao kahn #johnny cage #scorpion #sub zero x reader #mortal kombat #mortal kombat headcanons #mk imagine #jax briggs #kano #bi han #noob saibot x reader #scorpion x reader #shao kahn x reader #Jax briggs x reader #Kano x reader

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hellcat8908 · 6 months

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can i please request reader having an affair with azriel, her husband is horrible but she’s scared to leave and azriel is so inlove with her, her father forced reader to marry her husband for a political marriage, az and reader were secretly in love with eachother, but had to break up or her father would be out for blood. Az and reader sneak around for a while, they both want eachother so bad. And after az sees how horrible her husband is and sees the way she’s treated in hewn city, he grabs her and tells her to come back to velaris with him. Reader is scared for herself and azriel at first bc her husband is a known lord and is ruthless, but after azriel tells her that nothing will ever happen to him or her, she flees with him. He then helps her leave him and she moves to velaris with him. After sometime in velaris when the ic go to hewn city for their checkup, reader asks to come, rhys asks if she’s sure but reader is sure bc with az and the ic with her, no one will touch her. She sees her ex husband and family and they confront them👀👀👀

New Beginning Azriel x Female Reader

Warnings: Domestic violence references/injuries, Angry men, Nudity, Language

You stepped into the throne room with your husband by your side. He quickly found an excuse to leave you to socialize with others. You had felt his presence before your eyes found him. He looked as handsome as he always had. You slipped out of the room and down the hallway to your normal meeting spot. You were quickly joined by Azriel.

"You look stunning as ever." He says, raising your hand to kiss it. He notices you wince, and before you can stop him, he pulls the sleeve of your dress up, revealing the bruising on your wrist. His face darkens with anger. "Azriel, don't." You say as you gently stroke your thumb across his hand, "please just stay here with me."

"He's a bastard." Azriel says. "I know, but you confronting him will only make it worse." You tell him softly. "Come with me to Velaris." He says as he gently pulls you close. "I wish Azriel, but Ryker would kill us both if I left with you." You tell him, knowing your husbands status and temper wouldn't allow for such humiliation to go unpunished.

"I promise you'll be safe with me. He won't get a chance to lay a hand on you ever again." Azriel tries to assure you, he seems so confident. The look of hope in his eyes has you agreeing before you can let logic and fear set in. "Do you need to grab anything before we go?" He asks, making sure you can grab any sentimental items, but you have none.

He tells you he will take you shopping and buy you everything you need. The smile on his face is everything all you need in that moment. He carefully picks you up and flies you home to Velaris to the House of Wind. He gives you a quick tour of the shared spaces before showing you to his room.

"This is only temporary until I can secure a place of our own. I hope you don't mind. You are free to make yourself at home and rearrange if you'd like." He says, watching you take in his room, noting all his books and personal belongings strewn about. "It's perfect, Az. I wouldn't want to change a thing." You say with a smile.

"If you'll excuse me for a moment, I have to take care of something. The bathroom is through the door on the left, and you're free to explore." Azriel says before stepping out. You examine Azriel's room closer, noting the annotated books and scattered papers on his desk.

You decide to explore the bathroom, not wanting to walk out into Azriel's business. You open the door and are in awe of the luxury bathroom. The oversized soaker tub has your full attention as you note just how large it is. You notice the various candles around it before feeling Azriel in the doorway.

"I need extra space for my wings, which is why the tub and our bed are so large." He says, taking in the smile on your face. "Makes sense." You say, "and the candles?" He rubs the back of his neck with one hand, "they help me relax after a stressful day or a rough mission." He admits.

"I love them." You say as you keep looking at the tub. "You're more than welcome to enjoy it." He says, indicating towards the tub. "I don't have anything to change into." You say quietly, a little embarrassed. He walks out of the room and brings back one of his shirts, "Will this work for now? Until we can get your clothes replaced?" He asks.

"Of course, it's perfect." You tell him. "I'll leave you to enjoy the amenities." He says before turning to leave and giving you privacy. "Stay with me, please." You ask as you turn on the water. "I don't want to be alone." You admit. He gives you a soft smile before shutting the door. "Anything for you, angel." He says warmly.

You face away from him as you start to undress. He can't help but admire you as you do. Once you expose your back, his body tenses at the scars scattered across your back. You quickly finish undressing and step into the hot bath, trying to hide your scars from him.

He slowly undresses, feeling your eyes on him. The last time you had seen him naked was before your engagement to Ryker. An engagement you had resented because it only served to elevate your father's status. You had become lost to the memories of when you were younger and madly in love with each other.

"Come back to me, angel." Azriel says softly as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. You hadn't noticed him joining you, let alone standing in front of you. "Where did you go just now?" He asks gently as he takes your hand in his. "I was just remembering when we were younger, before my arranged marriage. How deeply we were in love with each other."

He sits down and carefully pulls you into his lap, "I wish I would've saved you sooner." He says as he grabs a sponge and gently starts washing your back and shoulders. "Saved you from all the pain and suffering at the hands of your father then your husband." He says a twinge of anger mixed with guilt in his voice.

"You saved me in other ways, all those stolen moments whenever you'd visit Hewn City." You tell him. "You reminded me that love does exist and that I am worthy of being loved even when at my lowest." You say as your voice starts to break. You feel his arms wrap around you, holding you close.

"I wish I could've done more." He admits painfully. "You did everything you could given the circumstances, and I am grateful to you for everything you have done for me." You say as you leab in and press your lips to his. He deepens the kiss and his fingers tangle in your hair."

He treats you with a gentleness you're not used to as he turns his attention back to taking care of you. He pours shampoo into hands and gently starts washing your hair. You feel your eyes start to water as you become overwhelmed. "Are you okay, angel? Did i get shampoo in your eyes? I'm so sorry I was trying to be careful." He starts apologizing.

"No, you're being so amazing, and I'm not used to being treated like this." You admit through your tears. "After everything you've been through, you deserve to be treated like a high lady." He says as he gently rubs soothing circles along your back. The feel of the raised skin of your scars makes him simmer with anger.

"Can you tilt your head back for me, angel, so I can rinse your hair?" He asks softly as he wipes away your tears. You lean your head back as he gently rinses it, making sure to get all the shampoo out. Once he is done, you curl up in his lap, burying your head in his chest.

He sits in silence with you as he holds you close to him. He gently strokes your back, trying to help you calm down. Once the water cools, he carries you out of the tub and dries you off before helping you into his shirt he brought in for you. You can't help but inhale the scent of him.

He sits you on the bed before grabbing one of his brushes and gently starts brushing your hair, being mindful of the tangles. He gently brushes your hair out, offering you some of Cassians' hair ties to tie it back if you wish to. He puts the brush back before asking if you need anything to eat or drink. You assure him you're fine as you climb under the blankets.

He is about to join you but lets out a sigh, "I will be back in a few moments. Rhys is here." He says. "Do you want me to come with you?" You ask, not sure of what to do. "No, angel. Stay here, and I'll be back before you know it." He says before kissing your forehead. You snuggle under the blankets and get comfortable.

Moments later, you hear raised voices as Azriel and Rhys get into a seemingly heated argument. You don't want to cause friction between them, so you get out of bed. You knew this wouldn't last. You quietly walked out of the bedroom and into the den where you found them. Neither had heard your approach, so you cleared your throat to get their attention.

"I'll go get dressed, and then you can take me back to Hewn City. I didn't mean to come between the two of you and add extra headaches to you, Rhys. I'm sorry." You say before turning to go get changed back into your dress. "We're not letting her go back! Y/n, you're not going back!" You keep walking towards the hallway when you hear Azriel say, "If you send her back, you might as well kill her yourself!"

The sound of the vase shattering against the wall has you dropping to your knees as you shield your head with your arms. Azriel realizes his mistake and quickly kneels in front of you, "I'm so sorry, angel. I wasn't thinking." You focus on the sound of his voice as it brings you back to the present. You focus on Azriel's concerned face before thrusting yourself into his arms.

You bury your face in Azriel's chest as he gathers you in his arms. Upon seeing your reaction, Rhys makes up his mind. "Y/n is staying here as long as she likes, and I will figure out how to deal with Ryker. "Thank you." Azriel says before carrying you back to bed and placing you under the covers. "I've got you. Nothing bad will happen to you while I'm around." He says softly in your hair as he holds you close in his lap.

Eventually, you calm down enough to get some sleep. Azriel holds you all night, making sure you're safe. Somehow, Rhys managed to smooth things over for you. You weren't sure you wanted to know how he had managed that. You felt the weight lift off your chest at his words. The next few months, you settled into your new life with Azriel.

The two of you had found a house that was perfect. He gave you freedom to decorate and buy whatever furniture you wanted. You were truly happy for the first time in a while. Az had slowly helped you rebuild yourself into a better version, helping you to overcome the trauma of your past. You were enjoying lunch with Azriel when he had to leave for a meeting.

You had decided to go with Azriel to his meeting instead of walking home. You joined the others in Rhys's office at Azriel's request. Rhys gave you a reassuring smile that you were welcome. Azriel pulled up a chair for you while he stood behind it.

"At the end of the week, we will be checking in on Hewn City again. You all know the drill." Rhys says as he looks at everyone but you. "Rhys, I would like to go along." You announce, surprising everyone but Azriel. "Are you sure?" Rhys asks, not trying to discourage you. "I'm sure." You say confidently. "It's settled then." Rhys says, "we leave in 2 days."

After the meeting, Azriel takes you home and helps you make dinner. "You sure you're ready to face them?" He asks casually. "I'm sure." You say confidently, "you have helped me in so many ways over the last few months, and this is something I need to do." He wraps his arms around you and kisses you. "I'm so proud of you, angel. I'll be right there with you if you need me." He says with a smile.

The night before the visit, you struggle to sleep. All the memories come rushing back to you. You wake up in a cold sweat with Azriel looking at you concerned. "I'm okay, just nightmares." You say trying to hide your anxiety. He snuggles you close to him, "it's ok, angel. I've got you." He says softly as he rubs your back.

You had laid down for a nap before having to leave. Azriel gently wakes you up, kissing your forehead. "Sorry, angel. I let you rest as much as I could, but it's time to get ready." He says softly while pulling a dress out of the closet. You take in the low-cut neckline and short sleeves with the beautiful blue material, the same color as his siphons. You eagerly get dressed beford admiring yourself in the mirror.

The rest of the inner circle is waiting when you arrive at the river house. You all winnow to Hewn City, entering ahead of Rhys and Feyre. You take your place beside Azriel as Rhys and Feyre enter the throne room and begin their charade. You feel eyes watching you. Scanning the room, you quickly notice the heated glare of Ryker as he stands beside your father.

Azriel senses your tension and strokes his thumb along your hand, grounding you. After formalities, everyone seems to start socializing. It isn't long until they find you, having waited until Azriel was involved in another conversation. "How dare you show your face here after disgracing this family and embarrassing your husband!" Your father says as he and Ryker stand on either side of you.

"Maybe you should've let me marry who I wanted to, and this would've been avoided." You say as you glare between them. You flinch as your fathers cane draws back, causing you to shield yourself, but the blow never comes. You open your eyes and see Azriel behind him, grabbing his cane before he can hit you.

"If either of you cause her harm in any way, I will not be as nice as my high lord when dealing with you." He says evenly, anger flaring in his eyes. "You will not speak to her. You will not look at her, and you will never touch her again." He says before shoving your father back with his cane. He offers you his hand as he pulls you in close. "Now go enjoy your evening before you do something you'll regret." He says to them in a final threat.

Once they leave, you quickly excuse yourself before making a quick exit into the night air. You feel Azriel step behind you, allowing his shadows to gently carress over your arms and back. "Are you alright?" He asks, his voice filled with concern. "I'm okay, I just need some fresh air.

He stands beside you, placing his hand over yours. You both take a few moments to admire the stars. "They aren't nearly as beautiful as the ones in Velaris." You tell him. "There's only one thing more beautiful than the stars in Velaris." He says quietly. "What's that?" You ask while staring at the sky. "You." Azriel answers before you turn to face him and call his bluff, but you see the sincerity in his eyes and know he is being honest.

"You have always been the best part of my life, the one constant source of comfort in the most uncomfortable times. I love you, Azriel." You tell him before stealing a kiss, only to have him deepen it. You feel something slide on your finger and notice the beautiful ring. "Marry me and make me the happiest man in the world." He says.

You had accepted the mating bond shortly after arriving in Velaris but hadn't had the time for a mating ceremony. "Yes, a thousand times, yes." You say as you kiss him again more passionately. You can't wait to share the news with your new found family.

#acotar #batboys #sarah j maas #acotar fanfic #acotar fic #azriel #azriel x reader #shadowsinger x reader #azriel shadowsinger #shadowsinger

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integra1127grimmreaper · 6 months

Text

His Warrior Princess - Part sixteen

Series Masterlist

Part 15

Warning: swearing, mention of sexual content, mention of abortifacient

Your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts after having spoken to your father about the events of the previous night. What in the Seven was Daemon thinking to take Rhaenyra to a brothel? And to be seen openly coupling in said place?

You knew your uncle was a very promiscuous person (there was no denying that), yet to take your sister; an unmarried royal princess and the heir to the throne to such a place to participate in the activities, was utterly moronic. That was why you had done your best to convince your father that what Otto had told him was nothing but lies, (although deep down, you were quite sure that there was some truth to them), you had to make sure that your sister's reputation remained unsullied.

And if it meant getting rid of Otta Hightower to ensure, then even the better. You had to remove the huge influence he had over your father and protect your sister's claim to the throne. Killing two birds with one stone.

Agitated with all that had happened and with Harwin on day duty, you needed another form of distraction so that you wouldn't confront Rhaenyra before your father did.

If Rhaenyra's chambers had a secret doorway, then surely there must be one in each of the other royal chambers?

You were curious to about it when discovering the one in hers and wonder whether there might be one in your own chambers. With that new thought in mind, you sent your handmaidens away with the pretense that you weren't feeling well and not to disturb you for at least an hour whilst you took a nap.

It took quite a bit of searching and rearranging the chamber until you found the secret doorway. It opened onto a stairway the same as Rhaenyra's and as you followed the path, you were quite surprised that was shorter of a distance leading toward the chamber that housed the shrine of Balerion's skull.

Making yourself comfortable upon the floor in the center of the chamber, you silently sat staring mesmerized at what was left of what was once The 'Great' Black Dread.

"The things you had seen and done during your lifespan must have been as magnificent as you were..."

"The battles you fought under the guidance of Aegon the Conquer, the blood shed under Maegor the Cruel, and then peace under my father. Mayhaps that is why you perished, aye?"

You gently tilted your head with a faint smile.

"Being trapped in the Dragonpit, instead of being free along with Vhagar?"

"You should see her now... she has grown far greater than you. A bit grumpy and aged, yet still magnificent in her own right."

A chuckle slips from your lips as you shake your head in amused at your words.

"I have claimed her as her rider, you know? The second Visenya to ride the 'Great' Queen of All Dragons..."

"I believe she misses you at times. She seemed so only in the beginning, spending all those years alone after my grandfather's death."

Getting up from the ground; you dust yourself off, giving him a short nod.

"Do not fear though, I vow to take good care of her."

It was late in the evening when you finally went to see your sister.

"Vi..." she greets from her seat.

"I take it that you have spoken with father" you state matter-of-factly after seeing the look on her face.

"I take it, you have heard of the tales Otto has span then?" she utters, closing the book she had been reading with a heavy sigh.

Nodding your head in response, you take a seat next to her.

"Not only that, but I have also become part of them."

"What?" Rhaenyra scrunches her face in confusion.

"I went to your room, and I found the map Daemon left you" you explain.

"I followed both of you through the streets, though I lost track of you after running into Harwin."

Rhaenyra frowns, even more confused than ever.

"How does this make you part of the tale?"

"It is there where my 'tale' begins" you exhale heavily.

"After Harwin assured me that you were safe with Daemon, we ran into one of the captains of the City Watch. He had been under command of Daemon and I back then and he invited me to join them for a drink at a tavern after the watch."

"And how does this have anything to do with what was said of me?"

"Otto found out, reported it to Father as he did with you" you reply.

"According to the Leech; both the princesses were acting like 'lowly whores'..."

"What?!" Rhaenyra stares flabbergasted at you.

With pursed lips, you nod at her.

"Probably told Father that I was whoring myself off to the entire City Watch, when all I was doing was enjoying a drink with old friends."

"Thats preposterous!" Rhaenyra scoffs.

"Otto Hightower needs to go."

"That is precisely what I told Father", you nod in agreement.

"Do not fear..." Rhaenyra smirks at you then.

"I made an agreement with Father."

Narrowing your eyes, you stare at her.

"What agreement?"

"In agreement that I would marry Laenor Velaryon, he has agreed to remove Otto as Hand of the King" she hastily blurts out.

"What...?" you stared open-mouthed at her.

"But is he not... you know?"

"If you are referring to his affinities for those of the same sex as he? Then yes" Rhaenyra drawls in response.

"It's actually quite perfect. He is in need of a wife, to hide his secret and I am in need of a husband that will not attempt to control me."

Suspicious of her reasoning, you squint at seriously.

"You were quite adamant on not wanting a husband, what has caused this sudden change of heart?"

"Circumstances" she shrugs in response, and then it hits you.

"You really did fuck Daemon?!" you gasp out.

"I did not!" Rhaenyra squawks out.

"You are lying..." your eyes squint even narrower.

"You may be able to lie to Father and Alicent but not me. I can easily tell when you are, which is what you are doing right now..."

"I-" Rhaenyra begins but is interrupt by a knock at the door.

"Come..." Rhaenyra calls out to whomever it is.

"I hope you can forgive the late hour, Princesses..." Grand Maester Mellos greets the both of you upon entering the chambers.

"What may I ask brings you here, Grant Maester?" you stare confusingly at him and the unusual looking jar in his hands.

"I took great care in its preparation" he merely remarks, placing the jar on the table.

"If not brewed properly; it can either ineffective or else bare unpleasant-"

"Brewed properly...?" a confused Rhaenyra comments.

"What is that?"

"A tea... Princess" the Grand Maester responds.

"From the king. It will rid you from any unwanted consequences."

You stared open-mouthed when realizing it was 'moon tea'.

"There is one prepared for you in your chambers as well, Princess" he directs toward you then.

"What?" you stare open-mouthed as the Grand Maester bows, taking his leave thereafter.

"Rhaenyra?" you turn to find her silently staring at the tea.

"Tell be the truth this instance!" you demand then when seeing the concentrated look on her face.

"Did you fuck Daemon that night?"

Snapping out from the trance she had been in; she looks up at you then.

"No."

You exhale loudly in relief.

"Good, then there is no need for the tea..."

Rhaenyra looks back down at tea, then back up at you and back down at the tea yet again. You watch in utter disbelief then as she reaches out to pick it up then.

"What are you... you lied to me?!"

"I did not fuck Daemon" is her only response as she lifts the lid from the jar.

"Rhae..." you sigh out, dropping down next to her and grabbing her hands in your own.

"I am your sister, your twin... we share the same blood, shared the same womb. I truly do not care if fucked Daemon or not, but I need you to tell me the truth so that I may help protect you."

"I did not fuck Daemon that night" she repeats nonchalantly, picking up the tea then.

With furrowed brows, you watch as she lifts the cup to her lips.

"Then who...?"

"Criston" is all she suddenly blurts out, hastily pouring the tea down her throats in one gulp.

You stared bug-eyed at her for a split second.

"Criston...? As in Criston Cole, your sworn shield?

Rhaenyra remains silent after placing the empty cup back down, merely returning your bug-eyed stare back at you in response.

"Rhaenyra!" you scowl at her then.

"How could you be so irresponsible? If the rumours of you and Daemon circling around is not bad enough, you go on to sleep with one that not your husband nor betrothed, not only that; you made a member of the sworn King's Guard break his oath."

"It is not as if he was unwilling..." she scoffs in amusement.

"As if he had a choice?" you scoff in retort.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Rhaenyra remarks, offended at your words.

"You are a royal princess and heir to the throne; he is your sworn shield, your servant... therefore he must obey your commands at all times."

"That is low blow..." Rhaenyra narrows her eyes, glaring at you.

You chuckle at her in response, standing up to tower over her then.

"Nay, what is a low blow; is the act that you think so little of your status as the royal heir. You are just as bad as Daemon; he always thinks with his cock, and you with your cunt."

"How dare you!" Rhaenyra gasps, jumping up to stand even with you.

"As if Harwin and you have not fucked?"

"That is precisely the point!" you bawl out.

"We have not! And do you know why? Because he refuses to taint my reputation. Yet all that was for nothing... because you did that for the both of us! And now Father believes I am just as guilty as you!"

"There is no need to be so dramatic about it..." Rhaenyra rolls her eyes at you.

"The rumour will die out soon enough, especially after my betrothal has been announced."

Taking a step back, you scoff at her nonchalant manner as you shake your head.

"You will have to clean your own mess up this time, Dear Sister... as I must now clean up the one you recreated for me."

Rhaenyra stares at you in bemusement and you shake your head at her once last time before storming out of her chambers.

You could not believe how dense Daemon and Rhaenyra were, if they had wanted to be together then they should have done it the correct way and approach your father on the matter. Now they had doomed themselves with how things had come to be.

You were so utterly furious and lost in thought, that you nearly missed noticing Harwin standing to the side of your chamber's door.

A hand grabs hold of your own as you reach out to open the door, causing you to instantly reach for the Dragon's Eye with the other as your defense reflexes kicks in but the assailant's other hand grasps hold of that one too.

"Easy there, Love..." a familiar voice rasps out against your ear from behind.

"Seven Hells, Harwin!" you wheel around to glare at him.

He smirks at you for a second, frowning then when noticing the stormy look on your face.

"What happened?" Harwin enquires, gently cupping your cheek.

Your eyes flutter close at his touch as you nuzzle into his palm with a soft sigh.

"Speak to me, Love?" Harwin presses, pulling you out from trance.

Opening your eyes, you silently stare at him for a moment.

"Not here" you shake your head, pulling him down to whisper into his ear instructions to meet you at the top landing of the steps that lead out to the Keep which you had followed Daemon had snuck Rhaenyra out of.

Part 17

Tag: @missusnora@alexandra-001@green-lxght@stitchattacks@evyiione@squidscottjeans

#ser harwin strong #ser harwin x reader #ser harwin x targaryen reader #harwin strong #harwin strong x reader #harwin x reader #house of the dragon #fire and blood #harwin breakbones

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tencrushesperday · 1 year

Text

So this it is the part 2 to what i wrote on tuesday, i still don’t really have a name but i was thinking “pulling threads” but i’m not sure. if anyone has any idea for the name i’m opening to hearing it ofc. i’m also thinking of writing a part 3 :) anyway i hope you enjoy it !! how did i get to 1.9k words ? idk don’t ask me

(this has not been proofread)

You stayed next to his bedside for the next few days. As soon as you were alone, you held his hand, needing to feel his pulse, to make sure he was with you. However, you avoided showing too much in front of the others. They haven’t caught up on your feelings for him for centuries and if you didn’t want things to change now you would have to be careful. Even if your soul screamed for you to hold him all the time.

You forced yourself to go to sleep in a guest bedroom at the House of Wind and to go eat every meal in the dining room. But being apart from him even during those few hours was painful. You thought not knowing when, or even if, he would wake up was the worst feeling ever. But then again fate proved you wrong. How dare you underestimate your bad luck?

Azriel woke up when you were having lunch in the dining room and you cursed yourself for not being there when he did. But you were not there. And maybe things would have turned out differently if you were. But again, you were not.

Rhysand and Cassian rushed into his room in front of you. It was a sweet sight to behold : one bringing Azriel a glass of water, the other rearranging his pillow to help him sit up. But you couldn’t enjoy it when a part of you was jealous of them for stealing this from you.

During the hours you spent at his bedside, you often imagine Azriel waking up with you holding his hand, then feeling him squeeze it, the soft sunshine illuminating his beautiful features as he smiled up at you, happy that you were the first person he saw. You planned on finally addressing what you felt in the throne room, if he felt it too, because you didn’t dare face that thought yet, didn’t dare face it alone. How delusional of you…

Once he noticed you he smiled at you and asked if you weren’t injured yourself. At that, you nodded, a timid smile on your lips. His beautiful features were still illuminated by the soft light, a comfortable smile adoring his face. But the smile wasn’t for you. It was not your moment.

Once you came back to your senses, you rushed out of the room on the pretext that you were going to get Mor and Feyre. You had to put distance between the two of you, simply in order to not break down in front of the guys. Every one of your instincts told you to check on him for injuries, to be near him and hold him and kill every person that ever hurt him. But the implications of these feelings were not things you wanted to acknowledge. Not at that moment, and again not alone.

Feyre answered your mental call and she and Mor soon arrived at the House. In the meantime, you went to the kitchen to grab something for Azriel to eat because after an injury like that he needed to regain forces. You got to know him well in all the centuries you’ve known each other. Therefore, you knew he wouldn’t stay in bed for a long time.

It took him only three more days to fully recover. Majda had to argue with him so he’d stay the third one too but she finally won by threatening him to not give him his sleeping pills again. So the third day was reluctantly spent gathering information thanks to his shadows. It was a good way to ease back into work. And the day after that, he acted like nothing ever happened. He picked up work again, with the war looming over us there was certainly business to attend to.

You didn’t do anything about it. If he felt what you’ve felt he would have let you know. So you buried yourself in work just like him, when you actually wanted to close yourself off in your apartment and cry and tear the walls down. Because it didn’t change anything.

After almost losing him, you were more convinced than ever of your feelings for him. You could not live if he died. But he lived and yet you still felt so broken you wondered how you managed to stay on your feet. The pressure on your chest was so tight that it made it hard for you to breathe sometimes.

But you wouldn’t be the one to bring it up.

So you helped reconstruct the city after the attack. It was always your duty to protect this city. Amren might be Rhysand’s second, Mor his third, Cassian his general and Azriel his spymaster, but you have always been responsible for this city. Your job was to administer it and all the paperwork and important decisions, like the construction of new buildings or bridges, went through you. You’ve loved doing this for the past centuries.

Velaris was a beautiful city and you would never forget the moment you first set your eyes on it.

You were only 8 years old when you first arrived here. Your parents had moved here from the Autumn Court as Beron’s reign was starting to feel “suffocating”, as your mother had once nicely put it. You missed the rich colors of your home and its warm and comforting scent at the beginning. But you’ve always seen Velaris’ beauty, even through your teary vision.

They had moved here for a better life and everything was going great until the war happened. Your father volunteered to join the Night Court’s army, he wanted to defend you, and your mother, and the city your family has fallen in love with so quickly. He never came back.

She held on for you, worked day and night at the docks for the merchants that never had enough, that always wanted to make more profit, that overworked her until she caught an illness. It was an illness from the human lands, brought by a merchant that your mother had worked for. It was unheard of in all of Prythian, so nobody knew how to heal it. She did not suffer a lot from it, except in her last moments when she was suffocating because her lungs were collapsing. You cried for days, mourning her for as long as you could afford. Then, once you did not have anything to eat for dinner, you understood you had to work. Your parents didn’t have a lot of savings so you had to pick your mother’s post at the docks. And maybe because you were young and knew how to flatter people, or simply because of your skills, you managed to climb the ladder. Soon enough, your job consisted of identifying every boat that arrived at the port. Then, thanks to a promotion, you were the one who was deciding who was allowed to berth there and who wasn’t.

You first met Rhysand as the new port’s manager after he was freshly crowned High Lord of the Night Court. As novice sensed novice, you bonded over your young age and lack of experience.

After a few times going out for drinks, meeting the Inner circle, and a very chaotic and drunk Starfall celebration where you, Mor and Rhys spilled all your trauma, how difficult it had been for you to move courts, how hard life had been at the Court of Nightmares for Mor, and how Rhys grew up in the Illyrian camp, treated with fear but never respect, you finally felt like you’ve found a new family.

You refused at first but the High Lord soon insisted on promoting you to being the city manager, assuring you that nobody knew the true value of Velaris like you did. So you had accepted. Because this city, who welcomed you when you were a child, who allowed your parents to dream of a brighter future, who had made you feel like you had a place in this world, meant so much for you, you couldn’t just give it because you were afraid of failure.

So then, after the attack, you had to help the people reconstruct it. Being in an office and doing paperwork was impossible as you couldn’t keep still so you went out in the street, with your people. And you thought it would heal you. This city has saved you so many times why wouldn’t it heal a broken heart now.

Well because it got worse.

You always thought Azriel didn’t reciprocate your feelings because he was not ready for a relationship. You knew of his difficult childhood and assumed that pining after Mor, who never answered his feelings for her, loving someone unattainable was a way to protect himself, a defensive mechanism. Maybe you were projecting yourself onto him.

But then lovely and sweet Elain Archeron appeared in the equation. She was mated to Lucien. So once again, she was unattainable in some way.

Yet she reciprocated his attention. Even in her catatonic state, he was the one she answered to. They went on walks together and they spoke and you couldn’t blame her, because Azriel was such a calming force. He could put anyone at ease and even silences were comfortable with him. Whenever he was giving you an ounce of his attention you, too, raveled in it, enjoyed it as much as you could. He did fly you up to the House of Wind sometimes but that was short and most of the time he was busy with the threat of war from Hybern.

Each time he put you down, after flying or winnowing, his arms slowly releasing you, a piece of you left, as if it stuck to him, as if your body and soul didn’t wanna be pulled apart from his. You didn’t know if it was you or maybe him, but you always took your time. His hand lingered on your back when he set you down on the balcony at the House of Wind, or you squeezed his hand a little harder when he winnowed you to your apartment.

Yet he didn’t say anything, his behavior didn’t let anything on and it was driving you crazy.

Maybe you hallucinated what you felt in the throne room. Maybe because he was dying, it was a one time miracle so he could stay alive. Maybe it had merely been wishful thinking. You were in love with him for so long that in your tired and beaten up state you had imagined it to give yourself hope and keep yourself alive.

But none of that changed the way you were feeling towards him. You were hopelessly in love and no amount of work or convincing yourself that it was unrequited would have changed that.

You could not do much to help with the upcoming war apart from trying to keep this city safe. You knew how to hold your ground in combat after being friends with four of the most powerful people in the world for centuries. Cassian has spent a good decade teaching you all the fighting techniques you could master. You were a slow learner, as nothing physical has never been your strength. But once Azriel started with strategy, defense and manipulation to keep your opponent far it got a lot easier.

Because of your logical and strategic mind, Rhys took up to consult you for his military actions, so you participated in meetings alongside him as his strategic advisor. You always thought he gave more credit then due but he listened to you and trusted you and that was priceless. So did everybody else in the Inner Circle.

Until the day you thought you’d really lose Azriel.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel

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spookychick78 · 7 months

Text

End Of The Line

Chapter 18: Take Me Back

Thomas Hewitt X AFAB!OC

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,628

Luda's words had found a permanent place inside of Ronnie and they disrupted that stone cold exterior she had built around herself. They had made her question how swiftly she had shut Thomas out. During her time there, she had learned a thing or two about what hate could do to a person if left unresolved. She herself could feel it rearranging her own moral compass the longer her hatred for Hoyt festered. It had become more prominent what she deemed herself capable of now that it wasn't just her he threatened. After hearing what he'd done to Thomas, she knew in her heart he would want to do ten times worst to her own child. The thought alone conjured up images she hadn't thought possible for her to think. The simple truth was that Ronnie wanted him dead. He had taken her from her life and he had stolen the one she had found there. He was the definition of destruction, unobstructed and unchallenged. Brutality in its truest form and she had grown tired of watching him sit comfortably on his throne. If anyone deserved to be carved, it was him, only Ronnie wanted to be the one to deal his death. She wanted her hands to wield the tools in that basement and she wanted to be the one to rip that prideful expression right off the bone. As she lay in bed, she pictured it. She saw herself down there, transformed. She knew in her heart she could do it, if the opportunity presented itself. She wouldn't think twice in ending his life. She knew it would satisfy her, at least for a moment, but ultimately it wouldn't give her back what he had taken. That was something she was withholding from herself, something she had to reach within to find once more whether Hoyt paid for his sins or not. He had only lit the match, but she was the one who had taken it from his hands and burned the bond that had once existed between her and Thomas. She had given him his victory and she had been the one to cause that permanent grin he wore so frequently. She had allowed him to put her in the position she was in. She had so far removed herself from Thomas she hadn't the slightest idea of how to bridge the conversation she knew she had no choice but to have.

She sat up and didn't bother to check the floor. He always made sure to leave before she woke so she didn't have to look at him. Or perhaps he didn't want to look at her, she wasn't so sure anymore. So much time had passed with so much silence between them, but she couldn't wait any longer. It had already been too long since her conversation with Luda and her clock was ticking faster by the day. Thomas had to know before Hoyt and she feared he was close to uncovering the truth. He had been watching her closely with suspicion not so well hidden within his gaze. The fear of giving birth there was already almost too much for her to bear, but if the conditions in which she would deliver didn't kill her, he would. Luda was right, they had to leave.

She stood, wincing at the way her hips ached under the steadily growing pressure in her womb. Her legs felt brittle already, she couldn't imagine they'd be able to hold her when she inevitably grew heavier. She shook off the discomfort as best she could and began her daily descent down the stairs. She could hear the sound of the front door swinging open and figured it must have been Luda leaving for the day. She hoped whatever chores she'd left for her could be done from the comfort of the couch, standing was something she wished to avoid for awhile longer. She reached the bottom and rounded the corner, but quickly stilled when she saw him. He seemed to be frozen in place just as she was, they hadn't been in the same room in months. He looked as though he wanted to speak, his eyes met her's briefly and for a moment that same old excited gleam was ablaze within them until pain infiltrated, extinguishing any happiness that lingered. He quickly lowered his head and began to turn away from her again, just as he had done the last time he had seen her. Only this time, she spoke.

"Wait," she said softly, almost as if she hadn't intended for him to hear her.

She wasn't sure she did, but he had heard her and he slowly turned back around. The word had come out so quickly she hadn't even begun to think of what she would say next. It wasn't too late for her to turn back and retreat up the stairs, part of her wanted to, but they were alone. A rarity she assumed had to have been granted to them by some higher power that knew her time was limited. She had to tell him, but first she had to find her footing. It was strange to be so close to him after all this time and not reach for him. She was surprised at how much she wanted to, it only confused her further. She knew she missed him, she had come to terms with that, but she had thought herself stronger. Seeing him wait so patiently for her to speak was painful. The news she was about to share should have been something that brought them unfathomable joy. She wanted to find it, she wondered if he would. Thomas watched her mouth open only to close once more as she struggled to find the right words to say. His fists clenched at his sides, standing in front of her only exaggerated that great divide between them. It was beyond apparent that she found it hard to look at him, though she held firm in her saddened gaze.

"Thomas I- god dammit," she said as he watched her own fists ball up.

He lowered his head again in hopes it would make it easier if he wasn't looking at her. He hated to see her so distraught. He knew he was the one that had caused it.

"I have tried so hard to hate you," she said through gritted teeth, "I've tried to forget you in every way. Knowin' what you've done, what you are has been the greatest heartbreak I've ever known, because I have never loved someone the way I loved you, Thomas Hewitt. I would have given up my life to have you and I suppose maybe I did, because I don't know who I am anymore. Tryin' to forget you has been like tryin' to forget how to breathe. You are so deeply embedded in me, I don't think there's a way a remove you, even if you were to cut me open. I lost part of myself to you and the thing that scares me is that I don't know if I want you to give it back. I wanna hate you for that, Thomas."

She paused, her chest rose and fell as she studied him. His eyes were closed as he let her defeat him completely. If she wanted to kill him for it, he would have let her. Whatever she had come to him for he would give her if it meant she would find relief. He wanted so badly to dry those tears that he knew she was shedding. He didn't have to look at her to know they were there, he could hear it. Her voice was shrill, as if each syllable was painful to form. The sound of her labored breath through her nose filled the gap between them as she tried to reign in her emotions, but she couldn't. To look at him should have filled her with disgust as she had thought it would, but it didn't. It was breaking her in ways she hadn't expected, because Luda had been entirely right.

"But I can't," she breathed out as she let her eyes close, "I can't hate you, Thomas."

His brow furrowed and he looked up at her, taken aback by her admission. Her head faced up towards the ceiling as she let the weight of it lift off of her.

"I love you, I don't know how not to love you," she cried out as if she was confessing her greatest sin, "I don't wanna live like this anymore, I can't do it, Thomas. I'm not strong enough."

Thomas shook his head before he strode over to her. The idea that she wasn't strong was baffling to him. If she meant what she had said, then she was stronger than anyone he had ever met. He couldn't even forgive himself and yet there she was, pouring it out for him. She was giving herself to him all over again, but in such a brutal way. It was killing her, tearing her apart at the seams, he could see that in the way her body seemed to collapse into him once his arms found her. She was more fragile than ever, stripped bare of all her understanding, all of her being had been drained. He took her face in his hands and kissed her. She clutched the straps of his apron as tightly as she could as she let him breathe life back into her with his touch. She could taste her own tears that had made their way between their lips, he tasted them too and held her tighter.

"I shouldn't love you, Thomas," she said softly against his lips.

Her hands rested on his face and he knew she was right, he felt it in her delicateness. He didn't deserve it, but she had found a way to give it to him, despite what it did to her. He felt more unworthy than he ever had in her presence and if he had to let her go, he would, but not just then. She needed him and he would hold her for as long as she allowed.

"No," he whispered before he pulled back to look at her, thumb brushing against the soft skin of her cheek, "you shouldn't."

She sniffled and nodded her head, "But I do," she said quietly, "I can't help that."

He pulled her in and held her head against his chest. He let his lips rest on the top of her head as he breathed her in. He had been so caught up in comforting her he hadn't even realized the weight that had lifted off of him by just having her against him again.

"And I forgive you," she whispered into his shirt as she pressed a kiss to his chest, "for all of it."

He started to shake his head no, but she stopped him.

"You have to let me," she said firmly.

"I don't deserve it," he whispered.

"You do, Thomas," she reassured him, "I promise you do."

He pulled back so he could question her with his gaze. He wanted badly to understand how she could offer him such a thing and what could have possibly changed after so much time. As he studied her expression he caught a hint of fear hidden somewhere behind it. It was a fear he hadn't seen in her before, one that confused him. She looked down and took his hand in hers. She flipped it over so she could study his palm and traced the callouses that covered the base of his fingers. He took note of how she winced, not at him but whatever was going through her mind. She had had that same expression once before, but she had never explained why she seemed so afraid. He needed her to tell him then, he needed to know so he could fix it. It was all he could offer in return for her forgiveness.

"Ronnie," he whispered.

"I know," she replied quickly as she squeezed his hand in her's, "I know I have to tell you, I just don't know how."

He took her chin in his free hand and lifted her back up to him. Whatever it was, he would be strong for her, she had to know that. Her eyes moved back and forth between his as if she was searching him for the right words. Her grip on his hand was near painful and he could feel her trembling before she quickly placed it over her abdomen. Thomas furrowed his brow as he looked back at her in confusion. She stayed silent, but her gaze begged to be understood without having to speak. He allowed himself a glance down in hope that he would be able to find her meaning. She pressed his hand down firmly and brushed her thumb over his rough skin as she watched him dissect every small movement. He started to shake his head, but stopped as he began to put the pieces together. That far away look that had been in her eyes just before they fell apart, her worsened fear of Hoyt, how sick she'd been. He was ashamed he hadn't figured it out sooner. She watched his expression soften and his eyes began to widen as the knowledge washed over him. He looked back up at her.

"Thomas," Ronnie said softly as his eyes searched hers now, he needed to hear her say it, "I'm pregnant."

She knew better than to expect words, he had already spoken more than she thought him capable of, but part of her was frightened by the shocked expression. There was a chance he would be just as devastated as she had been. Then, he dropped to his knees, unable to keep himself steady as he hugged her to him, both of them. In truth, Thomas was overjoyed, more than he had ever been. He didn't understand how someone like him had been entrusted with something so precious, how he'd been so blessed after everything he'd done. It brought him to tears and he clung to her as she let her hand rest atop his head. They had created life, their story would live on in that child's eyes, smile, in its breath. There would be living, breathing proof throughout history that they had loved each other, no matter the circumstances. And god, did he love her. No one, not even the devil himself could take that from him. As that thought crossed his mind with her in his arms he came to another realization, one far more devastating. He looked up at her and hated that he was about to rid her of the soft smile that had found a place on her lips as she watched him, but it was a matter that had to be addressed.

"Hoyt," he said.

Ronnie nodded, "I know," she said solemnly, "but damn him. He's taken enough from us, don't let him take this."

He stood and pulled her in to kiss her forehead. She was right, he couldn't have this, this happiness wasn't his to take. Thomas knew what had to be done, whether they spoke of it or not. Their time there had to come to an end, they had to get out and quickly. He feared what Hoyt would do if he found out, he knew he wouldn't kill her, not just yet, but once she had served what he deemed to be her purpose. . . No. She couldn't have the child there. Ronnie aside, Thomas felt passionately that that man should never set foot near the babe. His child would not endure what Thomas had, what Ronnie had. That was final.

"We're gonna make it, Tommy," Ronnie said abruptly, "we have to."

#thomas hewitt fanfic #thomas hewitt #slasher #slasher fandom #horror #horror fiction #slasher fanfiction #horror fan #horror fanfiction #tcm #texas chainsaw massacre #tommy hewitt #slasherfic

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vampirelover890 · 26 days

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The Moon’s Favorite (4/?)

"You come with news?" inquired the Queen.

"Yes my, uh, Queen, um I've been told to let you know that Sir. Anderson is arriving to the castle within the hour," responded the knight.

"Oh! I- I see… Well then I must prepare at once, please close the chamber doors on your way out.” The Queen quickly shooed the knight out of her chambers and sat down once more. Her heart was beating… fast… faster… it’s been nearly a month since her encounter with Anders. She had a million questions a minute about whatever it was, there was no time to waste. The Queen prepared herself in the proper manner, which she found to be far too much trouble to go through regularly, however today would be an exception.

As Anders walked towards the Queen’s Castle, he dreaded his confrontation with her. The Gate Guard stopped Anders as he walked up to perform a routine pat down, and gave Anders a sour look as he passed through. Anders wandered about the castle for a few mindless minutes before coming across the Royal Mage’s study once again. What was previously covered with strange formulas Anders knew not the meaning of, creations, and devices the use of which Anders could only imagine, was now covered from top to bottom in paperwork. At the end of the room, Anders could make out a large board covered in parchment clippings and images. Each was connected by multiple threads of red twine, and at the center of it all was Anders himself. Just as he was about to leave to meet with the Queen, the door to the Mage’s chambers swung open, and the Queen announced her presence.

“Sir. Anders Deephall, it’s been a while.” Said the Queen.

“Indeed it has, my Queen.” Replied Anders.

“Please, call me Viridian, we’ve much to discuss and if I have to hear another person speak to me in a formal manner I may have to burn this country down from the inside out.”

“Well then, Miss Viridian, lead the way.”

“What on planes could you mean. We’re already here! You’ve no clue how much I hate that throne. I would much rather speak in here.”

“Alright, well I’ve come here to discuss this,” said Anders, gesturing at Viridian, “and that,” he said, turning towards the board that contained his face at the center.

“Well this,” said Viridian, almost mocking Anders, “has been a mess for a month, especially because my people hate me and think I overthrew the Queen, and also almost died to the hand of an unknown creature, which transitions me directly into that. I have no clue who you are Anders. Are you who you say you are? Do you really know what happened at Marccina? What in the gods’ plane was that thing in the throne room a month ago?”

“Yes, yes, and I know as much as you. Which doesn’t really answer things, so I shall answer you sincerely. I am Anders Deephall, a scholar and researcher of magic and its origins. I was in Marccina to witness a rare astrological event when the town was painted a deep red with the gore of the innocent, which was when I met the subject of your third question. And the third question is a bit of a compl–”

As Anders began to answer the third question, he was suddenly interrupted by a crack in his spine, followed by another, and a third. Anders’ skeleton began to dislocate and rearrange, he screamed in pain as the bones in his body failed his form. He grew in size and stature, filling his previously baggy clothes with muscle and fur. Viridian took a step back, as Anders no longer stood before her as he did yet 10 seconds ago, but the creature that had nigh killed her near 30 moons ago. With a deep, satisfied sigh, it spoke to Viridian.

“As for your third question, and perhaps the many more to come, I believe, I, will be able to answer them, Madame.”

“Well, then you may go ahead, Sir-”

“Prometheus.”

“Sir. Prometheus. You may continue.”

“I lived with the Gods who crafted this very plane of existence, I argued, and drank, and laughed with them like friends; and yet, when I created my own plane, they disapproved. I offered all who lived upon it freedom and knowledge, the knowledge of the Gods. The aforementioned Gods appreciated not the idea of shared knowledge with those inferior creatures of a plane, and so they took it from me, my plane. They crushed it into cosmic ashes and threw it upon the vast black sky of this one. They sealed me away, shattered amongst the fragments of my world, which you call the Stars and the Moon, but on the night of the Marccina Massacre, the celestial figures aligned, and the Gods had grown ignorant. I saw my chance and took it, but I was not complete. As such, I had no body to inhabit, and Anders had looked to me so much when researching the stars, so I thought I’d finally look back.”

“Alright so to summarize, I am speakingwith a being on par of the Gods who formed this very plane of existence, who was banished for giving the people of his plane the knowledge of the Gods, and has come back to this plane to enact revenge in the vessel of the only one who’d shown interest in his prison of eternity?”

“Yes, that is an accurate summary.”

“Oh my God- sorry, I mean, just, this is revolutionary. Me, the nobody witch from downtown, am speaking with a Primordial Creator?”

“No, you the Queen of this nation, are speaking to a Primordial Creator who was banished. You’ve likely lost the favor of the Gods for simply being in the same room as me.”

“May I ask more questions?”

“You may.”

“Anders seems oblivious to your motivation. Why is that?”

“Alas, Deephall is a strange fellow. See, Deephall has a sort of carnal need and want for answers. I co-exist within his mind and know his every thought. At my whim, I am able to assume control of the body and mind, and turn into the creature you see before you. Anders falls into a deep sort of slumber as I fulfill my desires, and when I wish, I allow Anders to control the body once more. This frustrates Anders to no end, and he will do anything to know what goes on at night. I’ve promised him the knowledge which has angered the Gods before, and he would kill to know that which even the Gods have considered taboo. I ask that you do not tell Deephall of what we discuss today, as it will add to the number of things he does not know.”

“Alright, then why kill the Queen?”

“To cause discord and outrage across the continent. It would start a war like none have ever seen before, yes?”

Viridian knew Prometheus spoke the truth. The Queen of Ynsdryth was the most commanding political force on the continent, having signed the Great Ceacefire 50 years ago. With Viridian’s predecessor dead, the political stability of the continent has fallen to shambles, and while she has managed to keep it together enough as to prevent war, the tensions between nations grows every day.

“Finally, what is your end goal?” Viridian inquired.

Prometheus responded, “My goal is to slay the Gods and establish my plane once more. Now, if you will excuse me Queen Viridian.”

Prometheus gave his final answer, and then nodded goodbye, and Viridian saw the man she began this conversation with emerge from the beast. As Anders stood, in his large, baggy clothes, he couldn’t help but wonder what Viridian and Prometheus had discussed.

Viridian spoke.

“Anders, oh my Gods, he’s so hot.

“Pardon?”

“He looks so good in that suit you slump around in.”

“Alright well next time you see him, you can tell him to his face, I don’t wanna hear it,” said Anders, “I’m leaving. I think we’re going to sign up for the local guild soon.”

“Oh? Have any big plans?”

“I think we’re going just to listen to the rabble and rumors.”

“Alright, well if you plan on splattering the city with the flesh of its citizens, let me know in advance.”

As they walked away, Prometheus spoke through Andersd’ normal form, assuring the Queen, “I will.”

#writing #short story #story #writers on tumblr #writing on tumblr #werewolf #magic #fiction #fantasy #character dialogue #werewolves

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where-theres-smoak-2 · 2 years

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Making An Example

(HOTD EP 8 SPOILERS)

So thought dump time again. I’ve been thinking about that scene in the throne room again where Daemon kills Vaemond. It got me thinking about the difference between Rhaenyra dealing with these legitimacy rumours with Daemon compared to how she dealt with them without him.

Ever since we are first introduced to these three boys, Jace, Luke and Joffrey, in ep 6 there has been this issue around their legitimacy. Alicent in particular was very incensed that these boys were not biologically Laenor’s and very much seemed to want to expose Rhaenyra and her boys. Of course as the audience we know that Laenor is gay and this is in large part why Rhaenyra turned else where when trying to provide the realm with heirs as despite trying with Laenor she couldn’t seem to fall pregnant by him. When the rumours and whispers around their sons begin to heat up in ep 6 neither Laenor or Rhaenyra really deal with them. There is tension in their relationship around the issue and I think that is largely in part because they both feel they let the other down. It was obvious that they both had this deep, platonic and familial love for each other and they wanted to stand by each other but they were both weighed down by it all and so their tactic was just to deflect and avoid the issue whenever it came up. When Alicent tells Laenor to keep trying and he might eventually get one that looks like him he doesn’t say anything in response, he doesn’t try to defend himself, his sons or his wife. Maybe I am misinterpreting it but to me they both seemed downtrodden and almost meek when it came to the allegations. Maybe this was because they knew them to be true and they were scared what could happen to their boys but it seemed as if the fire they both had in their youth had gone out. If you compare how they deal with these insinuations about their sons to how they dealt with conflict in the past you can really see a difference. For example when Vaemond was talking about Daemon being the reason they were losing the war in the Step Stones, Laenor spoke out against his uncle despite his uncle being the older and arguably more influential man, he calls his uncle out, what have you done but be master of complaints. In that same episode again when someone blames Daemon for the war in the Step Stones Rhaenyra calls them out asking how they have served the realm, by eating cake. So in their youth they had no qualms about standing up for themselves and for others even to those who were older or more powerful than them. I am not going to go into the debate on whether Rhaenyra having illegitimate children and trying to put them on the throne was right or wrong in this post, the fact is that she is in this situation now and politically speaking what she needs to do to secure her family’s position and her own position as heir is to shut these rumours down. But neither her nor Laenor really do anything to solve the problem instead they run away to Dragonstone. To me, even in the beginning of episode 7 as well, Rhaenyra seemed very subdued and subservient to Alicent when it comes to these allegations. She is always very fidgety when she’s around Alicent even more so when her children are there. Like in that scene at the wake right after Jace talks about being at the Strong’s funeral instead and then Rhaenyra looks over and sees Alicent watching her and she kind of rearranges her clothes and just looks really uncomfortable under Alicent’s scrutiny. It was very unlike the Rhaenyra we had known in the past. She just seemed so passive to me.

However this changes after her reunion with Daemon. It is interesting that the scene on the beach starts out with them first talking about how Laenor is not a sufficient enough support system for Rhaenyra and her sons, that’s not to say that Laenor hasn’t tried or that he doesn’t love his boys, but as Rhaenyra said he was restless and now with the death of his sister his grief only encumbers him further. He can’t be there for Rhaenyra in the way that she needs. Next they talk about how the situation came about where she has three sons with Harwin instead of with Laenor. She is completely honest with Daemon and doesn’t attempt to hide it, which I think shows how much she trusts him, she trusts him in the same way that she trusts Laenor and Harwin the only other two people who knew the truth for sure. Then the conversation moves on to her saying look what her life became without him. She genuinely believes that if he had been with her then life wouldn’t be as difficult for her as it has been which I think shows how much she needed and valued his support and advice. When they get to the hall of nine after the kids’ brawl and Rhaenyra learns that her sons were called bastards again you see her come to a decision, she realises that she can’t keep running from the issue, she has to face it head on and now that she has Daemon at her back she feels she has the confidence and strength to address the issue head on as oppose to running from or avoiding it. What is so good about that scene is you can see the power shift happen in it. Up until now Alicent has very much been the one with the power, and Rhaenyra was the frightened and cornered prey. But when Rhaenyra finally fights back and addresses it you see the power shift to her and now it is Alicent who is scrambling to defend herself trying to pass it off as training yard talk and not a big deal. The result of this play by Rhaenyra which was a risky one is that the King stands up and publicly declares it treason to question the birth of her sons and that there will be severe consequences if they do which is a win for Rhaenyra. The issue Rhaenyra was having was up until this point everyone was talking pretty freely about her sons being bastards and no one was being punished or had any fear of consequences. But in this moment the King does put consequences to speaking about her sons in such a way.

Come episode 8 when Rhaenyra reads the note from Baela she seems genuinely surprised that Vaemond would dare to question Luke’s legitimacy which makes me think that those rumours had died down since the King made that declaration with its punishment attached to it. However with the King ill and the Hightowers in control these rumours are rearing their head again. People are no longer fearing any consequences to their actions because the man who said he would punish them for speaking is dying and no longer in control. This is made clear in the scene with Vaemond and Rhaenys when she says her cousin would have his tongue but he points out that it is Alicent who rules nowadays. Which brings us to Vaemond and that scene where he is killed. I think whilst alot of what made him speak out was his anger, some of it was also because he perceived Viserys as weak. Vaemond speaks very plainly, there is no mixing up his words here. When Daemon kills Vaemond I don’t think he does it just out of anger, though that is part of it. I think it was actually somewhat calculated on Daemon’s part, as was the way he killed him. He was using Vaemond to send a message, this is why he whispers ‘say it’ to Vaemond, he wants to make an example out of him. Daemon made it clear that bringing up this question of the legitimacy of Rhaenyra’s sons will carry a punishment with it and this was it. If you say these things of my family I will kill you. He also kills him but leaves his tongue and thinking on it more I think this also has more meaning to it than just the dark humour. The punishment Viserys states for speaking out is that he will have their tongue, by cutting off Vaemond’s head, killing him, but leaving his tongue he is saying my brother’s punishment was taking your tongue but that won’t be enough for me, this is the punishment I will levy against you, death. I think he does this not to undermine his brother but because he knows his brother is not long for this world and that the protection he offered Rhaenyra and her sons is waning with him. This is Daemon’s way of letting them know that even with the King gone that won’t mean you won’t be punished for speaking out, I will punish you and it will be a worse one than what my brother would have done. Daemon is not just playing the part of the angry husband whose wife and stepsons have been insulted, he is also playing the part of their protector.

#daemon targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #hotd spoilers #house of the dragon #hotd #house of the dragon spoilers

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sacredsanguine · 1 year

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5 Times Amer Doux Dreamt of Killing Nicholas Remington, and 1 Time He Didn’t

Little wonder that later that night, he dreams that Remington blood is as bitter as that chocolate.

Thank you @saviolum-sanguineus for beta-reading this fic for me! @kittenishdelights hope you're onboard the Nicholamer train too! Your pistachio chocolate scene suggestion was so scrumptious, lol!

He haunts Amer’s dreams: a figure of spectral black trailed by the cloying, metallic scent of blood. Nicholas Remington is a reaper whose scythe swings with the flash of his teeth, bared brilliant, searing white after softly swung whispers to a faceless throne. The blood spills whether Nicholas smiles or shouts—and his hands never bear the stains themselves. In his dreams, Amer steps out of the invisible, shadowed line that staff exists in, forces the Imperial Advisor to look at him with that poison-green gaze (not through him, at), feels his blood boil in his veins, and squeezes that black-collared throat until the poison flickers and fails. His scar stings like it’s been torn open when Amer wakes, breathing hard. His hands are clenched into fists in the sheets, crescent moons marking where his nails dig into the swell of flesh. The roar of the kitchen fires is never enough to drown out the screams of his past or the souls he knows will join it soon.

2. Lord Daddano always tests Amer’s patience, but (unfortunately for the chocolatier) he’s grown too accustomed to the sight of Andrey’s tongue swirling wetly around sticky fingers and the sound of entirely too enthusiastic exclamations of gourmet appreciation. It’s the sound of the Imperial Advisor’s voice and his sudden, unexpected appearance that makes Amer wonder if he’s finally tipped over the edge into hallucination.

He’s never known if the presence of Nicholas makes his dreams nightmares or the other way around. Either way, Amer has to lean into the familiar exasperation of watching nobles ignore him in favor of indulging in each other to ground himself. It’s a struggle not to pick up the sweet little knife beside him and drive it into the Advisor’s heart, exposed as it is; instead Amer clenches his jaw and rearranges his features into a smile he knows neither Nicholas nor Andrey will take notice of.

His palm is flat and pointed as the blade he wishes it were when he motions at one of the new pistachio-nougat confections. Its layers are robed in dark, glossy chocolate that’s almost as bitter as Amer feels when he lets himself think too much. Nicholas nods at the recommendation and Amer imagines that pale throat flexing under his grip as Andrey presses the little bite to Nicholas’s lips. Exposed heart indeed.

Nicholas watches—studies—Andrey with a singular intensity that makes Amer’s scar itch. It’s almost enough to make Amer believe his station’s invisibility would last if he lunged across the table and tore Nicholas’s throat out with his teeth.

Little wonder that later that night, he dreams that Remington blood is as bitter as that chocolate.

3. The macarons come out beautifully: smooth, evenly domed tops and tiny, clean feet, not a single crack to be seen in the airy pastel shells that hug rings of velvety buttercream and jam. They take two and a half hours to make, bake, and fill, and a day to mature in a temperature-controlled resting room before Amer hand-wraps them individually in pastel tissue paper and totes them over to the Remington estate in an enchanted silver box worth more than his rented room and the few possessions that fill it.

The cats enjoy them almost as much as Samael does. Amer, robbed somewhat of the perpetual invisibility of his station by his responsibility to introduce each course, despairs quietly in the corner of the room as the friskier of the little white kittens manages to dye himself and half the table pink with ruby chocolate sauce.

He half-expects Nicholas to be as harsh on his son as he is to everyone else in court; the Advisor’s unexpected, radical gentleness is so jarring it slips somehow back into the realm of terror. The same hands that have turned living beings into shapeless, broken bags of blood and bone wield a silver dessert spoon with the careless elegance of a hummingbird feeding from honeysuckle. Samael beams up at Nicholas, showing him some silly thing that the kittens’ pawprints have melded into on the tablecloth, and Nicholas smiles back with the fond, indulgent expression of a stained glass saint.

Amer focuses on the ruby chocolate pawprints until the light makes them gleam red as blood and he tastes his own from where he’s bitten his tongue.

That night, he pins Nicholas to the floor of his own dining room, hands tight around his neck and growing tighter; Amer realises it’s a dream not when green light bursts around him and his blood begins to flow backwards in his veins, but when Nicholas meets his eyes and croaks, “You’d murder a father in front of his son? Very righteous.”

Samael’s eyes are huge and watery, green just as piercing as his father’s magic as he stares at Amer from the doorway. His lip trembles first, followed by his shoulders as he wails, fat tears rolling down his thin face. Amer’s grip loosens, but Nicholas doesn’t move; instead, he begins to laugh—harsh and mocking, more crow-like than the songbirds his son takes after.

Amer’s stomach churns. Beneath Samael’s sobs he can hear the cries of children with dead eyes, the ones he tries to lay out extra blankets and smuggle a few sweets from the kitchens for at every meeting in the teaching hospital basement. Some of them cry at night, others scream in their sleep, and every single one of them would have a fuller family tree if the man laughing on the ground beneath him hadn’t whispered something in the monarch’s ear. He doubts Nicholas doesn’t know—he just doesn’t care.

It isn’t fair. It never has been. It never will be.

Good chocolate snaps when broken, with a loud, clear crack and a clean edge; Amer could identify it in a heartbeat. Maybe that’s why the wet crunch of Nicholas’s neck snapping wakes him up screaming.

4. The Ward trial is a catastrophe. Amer reads the summary of events in the morning paper, launches it into the wastebin furiously, and almost immediately fishes the crumpled ball back out to reread the article in a desperate bid to convince himself that the Butcher of Seraphine Estate would face more than a tap (calling it a slap is too generous) on the wrist.

His despair follows him like smoke billowing out of burnt sugar; it’s only when he shouts at Kezia for a split ganache undeserving of such wrath that he realizes the rest of his kitchen is staring warily at him much like he’d stared at any noble when his scar was still a wound. Amer sets his bowl of frangipane down—it smacks harder than he intended on the counter and he winces—and wipes roughly at his face with the towel at his waist.

“I’m sorry.” Amer can feel the heat of the kitchen fires pressing sweat from his skin, but the pounding dizziness in his head comes with a sensation of being frozen in place. “Send the commis and the dishwashers home for the day—”

“Already did, Chef,” Kezia says flatly; her face is taut with understanding straining at its limits. She’s already chopped the chocolate to fix the ganache; it scrapes off the board and hits the oil layer with a quiet rustle. “Figured it’d be worse for you to see them cowering.”

Amer exhales noisily and nods. Kezia is a better sous-chef than anyone could ask for. Her voice is quiet when she speaks next, still carrying the clipped urgency the kitchens demand. “Go home, Amer. You’re a danger here.”

She could mean anything: distraction around knifes, fires, and the latter two in crowded spaces is all too easy to trip into greater injury, but Kezia pins Amer with a gaze that’s just this side of knowing. She’s a better sous-chef than anyone could ask for, and a better observer too. He’s lucky they’re on the same side.

Amer walks home feeling like he’s fallen into a pale waking nightmare. When he finally falls asleep on a pillow that can’t take much more punching, he sees Nicholas on the stand in the courtroom. There’s blood everywhere; the judge is a headless thing slumped and oozing over a gavel.

There is a sword in Amer’s hand and he can wield it as easy and precise as a dowel spinning sugar for croquembouche; he flies from the benches up to Nicholas, screaming names of people who will never answer him again. The sword finds its target like a lost child running home; there’s a breath of startled resistance before the flesh and muscle parts for Amer’s blade, length sinking in with a wet squelch.

The taste of bitter chocolate interrupts Amer’s litany for the fallen; there’s a moment of silence, sweet as raw sugar, before those green eyes flutter back open and Nicholas bares those scythe teeth at him. It’s soulless, the Advisor’s polished face of personal war, and it burns in Amer’s chest like it’s going to tear him apart—Nicholas clenches his fingers and Amer stumbles forward as the hand buried in his chest rips aorta and vena cava asunder, then plunges deeper and bursts from his back, bloody heart clutched like a pearl; there’s a soft grunt that Amer only knows is his because of the way his lungs ripple around the air driven from them, and Nicholas smiles. It’s a soft in the way moonlight off even the deadliest of poisons is soft, and fixated in a way Amer recognises by the itch that prickles along his scar.

The sword in Amer’s trembling hand sinks in to the hilt, grinding against some fragment of rib when Nicholas squeezes his hand again; Amer’s face is close enough to his that the wet plop of Amer’s heart as Nicholas drops it to the floor is drowned out by his raspy whisper: “My beloved spoke the truth. I’m holding everything else against you.”

Amer wakes violently, hands pressing frantically at his chest as he sucks in air.

5. It would be wise to get to sleep early the night before the Day of Metamorphosis Parade, but Amer’s obligations are apparently dedicated to folly. He isn’t able to leave the kitchens until nearly two in the morning, visions of pastry cream and chocolate butterflies blurring over his vision as he stumbles home through dark streets. He falls into bed and sleep almost instantly, but the peace of a dreamless night escapes him.

It begins in the kitchens: cocoa butter melting while he scrapes pigments into powder with a curved knife, the smell of chocolate making his mouth and eyes water as he works. It tempers easily, eagerly popping out of the molds in glossy, perfect curves, and Amer smiles.

Nicholas is leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, when Amer turns around; the tray of quenelles clatters to the ground, painted white chocolate shells rattling like chips of bone. Nicholas doesn’t so much as blink at the mess, boredom carved harsh and haughty into his face.

“Two dozen dolorosas,” he says; his voice is as strident as ever, demanding in the way of a man who’s seldom been denied and accustomed to making examples of those who do.

He watches Amer work, green eyes hovering over his shoulder like the fangs of a beast as he whisks and melts and whisks again. It’s enough of a reminder of Daddano that Amer’s dream shifts around him for a moment, melting into slick shades of grey and pearly white before he finds himself at the dark, cool shelves of extracts and herbs kept away from the fires. Nicholas hasn’t followed him; Amer’s heart pounds in his chest as his fingers close around an unmarked, dark glass bottle. The liquid inside glimmers clear; even in his dreams, Amer knows that poison is rarely as obvious as storybooks make it out to be.

It will do nothing more than perfume the air with almonds until the chocolate crystallizes and turns its fragrance into fatality. This Amer knows in the watertight, ineffable way of dreams; it’s that same logic that presses him forward against Nicholas, holding the open bottle up between them as fire burns in his gut. He will slip his hand into the mouth of the beast to watch it choke; dignity is a small price to pay.

“Does this please you?” Amer asks, voice low and raspy—partially a conscious attempt to mimic Andrey’s forwardness but mostly thanks to histamines.

Nicholas’s face is still, a mask sculpted out of ice and disdain; he doesn’t bother inhaling before his words are sliding over Amer’s skin like the burning thaw of icicles. “You’ve forgotten yourself.”

But he doesn’t push Amer away; Nicholas raises a hand, looking rather like a cat toying with some bird trapped in a corner, and lets his fingers crawl up the edge of Amer’s jaw, gripping a little too tight for comfort. His eyes are clear, green boring into green like a candle held between two mirrors. “Get back to work.”

The hunger in his voice is cold enough to raise goosebumps on Amer’s skin, even with the heat of the kitchens.

Death, it turns out, dreams of itself wrapped in the delicate scent of almonds and a glossy coat of chocolate so dark it’s nearly black. Amer rolls out twenty-four perfect spheres of bitter chocolate—how fitting, that they’re already in mourning colors—and holds one up between thumb and middle finger.

Nicholas doesn’t part his lips; he raises a brow imperiously until Amer lifts the dolorosa to his mouth, then smiles that scythe-like smile, malicious in the way of a beautiful thing meant to hurt. His tongue is warm, teeth blunt but unforgiving as he holds the tip of Amer’s finger between them and rolls the chocolate deeper into his mouth; the tip of his tongue flicks against Amer’s fingertip, oddly whip-like, and for a moment the dream imagines that the skin there splits, blood sizzling.

Amer draws his hand back and smiles at the sharp crack of chocolate; there will be an instant of smooth pistachio and salt on the Advisor’s tongue before the bitterness blooms into eternity—Nicholas lunges forward, one hand curling harshly around the back of Amer’s neck, dragging him down so Nicholas can slant his mouth over Amer’s, fingers digging in enough to force a gasp out—

His tongue is hot, slicked with chocolate that tastes of blood or blood that tastes of chocolate; Amer bites down and tastes bitter iron and smoke, swallows down Nicholas and his death as they fall together to the floor, hunger and rage twitching between them.

Green holds its reflection captive until both mirrors shutter, emerald candle between them snuffed out as suddenly as waking from a nightmare—Amer jolts upright in bed, every breath and muscle in his body throbbing hard.

That afternoon, when he crunches the detonator in a sweaty fist, he can’t help but think of the way Nicholas laughs—sharp and splintered.

+1. Amer has never been particularly devout, but it does strike him as a sign that it was the third dream of his in which Samael appeared, and that it’s Samael who saves him, even if his life is paid for by the blood of those he’s torn from and a batch of pastel macarons. Kezia’s mutterings about what kind of man names his child “Poison of God” flash through his mind and Amer’s scar screams from its silent throne beneath the curve of his eye.

He pours himself into work as much as he can, hoping that exhaustion will be the end of the specter in his dreams: Amer’s nights know no such kindness. Every night, he finds himself on his knees with the taste of blood in his mouth, looking up at Nicholas and Samael like some corrupted version of La Pietà in Kezia’s church. The scent of gore holds him down, green burning into green; Amer finds himself in a wretched loop of looking up and meeting Nicholas’s dry gaze—to be seen by him in waking life carries only a dilute cousin of the satisfaction it does in dreams, the majority of its power turned to the induction of pitiless, fathomless rage.

Samael gazes down at Amer but does not speak. Amer is impaled by matching green gazes, his own rendered useless in the face of destruction; Nicholas is impassive as he looks down the bridge of his nose at Amer, and for a moment, monstrous, ravenous hunger roars above the pounding of blood around them. Amer cannot move. He cannot speak. All he can do is wait for the reaper to bring his scythe swinging down.

It never comes.

#nicholamer #s2g formatting this post was harder than writing the fic #written in nectar

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sunlightwoo · 3 years

Text

Come Back Home

☀︎ pairing: hidden king!Sunwoo x queen!fem.reader

☀︎ genre: there’s fluff for a small part of this, but there is more angst because of the inspo that I got this idea from hehee. WARNING: there are mentions of blood, wounds, and killing in terms of it being a war and a major character death will happen in this.

☀︎ wc: 4.7k

☀︎ plot: The king that the people see in the kingdom that is ruled by him is not the true king, but rather someone else. However, when the life of the king that has been playing the role for his friend’s life is endangered at the stake of a war, what will Sunwoo choose when he knows that he’d have to come back home to you unscathed somehow?

☀︎ a/n: i’ve had this idea back when the music video dropped for Come Back Home by Oneus last july, and loved it as this plot has been collecting dust since then from the switching and changing characters to stopping the kingdom come series that this originally would’ve been for. however after watching the road to kingdom stages i thought that this was fitting after their mama stage too and decided to post it for Sunwoo. anyways happy sunwoo day and hope you guys enjoy this one!!

[ gina is listening to: Come Back Home - Oneus ] [ the spinoff ]

Here comes the king!, the familiar four words that he was used to hearing all the time when he looks over to the man that was walking towards the throne that was on the other side of the ballroom. He watches from a balcony up above, watching the grand man closely as he waited for today’s round of laws to pass by for today.

As though, he was the true king after all hiding in disguise.

His eyes are cast upon his companion, Juyeon who regally sits on his throne for him and connects a short gaze as he goes on with his day helping him out with more laws to go through and be signed. The reason for it; his own safety from the general public.

Ever since the early days of the previous king and queen’s announcement of the regal heir that was yet to take over their place when they passed, nobody knew who the individual was as it was kept a secret in fear that the enemies would use him as a leverage. It was up until he had turned the age of 18, a month after a war that his parents bravely fought in and died in honor of the kingdom that he had to step up and play the role of the king.

However, he couldn’t risk his own identity just yet because he knew that there were enemy lines speculating his friend’s true identity. Hence why he had never revealed his true identity as the king with the royal bloodline that ran in his name, nor had he acted like he was the king whenever he was in the castle since he disguised himself as the royal guard to keep an eye out on the front lines of the kingdom.

Until he had met you.

It was quite coincidental that you, the adopted sibling sister of a friend of Juyeon’s, had walked into the office one day to overhear their plans of making Juyeon play the role as the king until his time was done and you were the least to say shocked. Your reaction to finding your brother negotiating with the true king, Sunwoo, was rather confusing considering you had no other input towards the matter after being in the same room as the man that you had thought to be the royal guard.

Truth be told, you had always thought of him very highly from afar as you thought that for a person that had such high standards and sight in the kingdom, he was rather playful and had lots of charisma for someone that was raised as a king in secret. It took him three months since then to finally court you and eventually marry after having to somehow find a way to have you be Juyeon’s fake queen for the kingdom to rely on when they needed one.

All of the plans were perfectly planned to the brim and executed well, where Sunwoo was rather happy with where he was in the present today, even if he had to hide in secret like he was at the moment on a balcony. It wasn’t until hours later when Juyeon finishes that he looks out the window, noticing how the sun was already on the brink of sundown that he remembers today’s plans with you as he rushes to your bedroom almost immediately.

He makes it into your bedroom after knocking first, hearing a soft hum to allow him inside while he enters to see you sitting on your balcony with a smile on your face as you look at him. Sunwoo lets out a soft chuckle at your idea of a date for this evening as he walks over to where you were sitting on top of a blanket that you had prepared, a quiet picnic just for you two to enjoy.

“You seemed to have remembered about our date this time.” You say as he playfully rolls his eyes at your words and the raised eyebrow look that you were currently giving him.

The golden yellow hues of the sun setting were perfectly reflecting against Sunwoo’s skin, you thought to yourself, as you admired how he looked at this hour. You weren’t sure how you had gotten lucky with having to marry the king, as you were once a noble woman that came from a family that wasn’t as well off as the other ones that you had known of. However you could recall that night when he was supposed to pick who he had wanted his queen to be, as though the flower festival of the week for him to get to know all the other women had been tossed to the side as he chose you that night.

“I was helping Juyeon wrap up the last of the laws that had to be seen out tonight. Have I kept you waiting long?” He asks sitting as you shook your head in response, smiling as he already found purchase in laying his head into your lap, curling his body up into a ball as you were finding yourself playing with his hair out of habit.

“Long enough for my stomach to grumble because I wanted to be nice and wait for you,” You grin and look down at him as he was already staring back up at you with a soft smile on his face, “But I guess I can make some exceptions for you, your majesty.”

For whatever reason it may be, whether it was the stars and fate or even the coincidences that you both were given, Sunwoo felt as though everything was perfect even if it may be a bit misfortunate on his end. Although he could not properly tell the world that you were his, he knew that he was still yours in moments like these when it was just you two and the golden hues of the sun that were setting on you both.

“I love you.”

His random confession of love takes you off guard while heat is already rushing to your cheeks as you look at him, looking into his lovestruck eyes that were boring right into your very own gently but deeply. You think that this must be what it was like to fall in love with your soulmate, feeling happy that Sunwoo was the one person that you could only want in this life and the next. However, it had caught you off guard because he was rather someone that showed his love language through touch instead of words of affirmation, which made you confused at the sudden confession.

“I love you too, my love. Why the sudden confession?” You say to him teasingly with an undertone of confusion, continuing to play with his hair as he lets out a soft breath while holding your hands that were now no longer playing with it.

“Moments like today makes me really want to tell you, rather than just showing you that I do since I don’t say it enough. I love you, Y/N, and I’d rearrange the stars and the universe into your eyes and heart if I could to show you that I do.” He says, leaving small kisses right on your knuckles until he reaches your ring finger and leaves a soft, but lingering kiss right on the ring that he had proposed to you with just about a year or two ago.

There was a warm feeling in your chest as his hand was still holding onto yours, as if you were to leave at any moment now but you felt like you were at home. With him you felt like you were continuously falling in love with him more than the last sunset, and with the warm golden hues that the sun was giving off at this time, you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else if it wasn’t with him by your side.

“Cheesy.” You mumbled jokingly and suddenly felt your weight being shifted to where you were now sitting in his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist securely as he rests his head on top of your shoulder so that you wouldn’t go anywhere.

“That may be true, but you love it anyways,” He says while grinning widely and you turned your head to give him the same look that you always gave him when he started to get greasy, up until he suddenly steals a kiss from your lips that made you blink from the spontaneous act.

“Come on, let’s finish up the food before it gets too cold and the sun leaves us alone in the dark.”

He was the gift that you never expected to receive in your life.

Today you felt as though there was a heavy feeling on your chest. You were currently sitting at the throne next to Juyeon, listening to your scribe explain to you what has been going on with the surrounding kingdoms around you both from the last few weeks and you could’ve sworn that you were going to give out from boredom right in that moment.

It was one of the rare occasions that you had to be seen with Juyeon, considering you had finished up your financial affairs with the ambassadors that came from those foreign kingdoms days ago after your picnic date with Sunwoo. However you weren’t sure what this could mean for the future of your own kingdom, considering the events of then did not exactly end up on completely good terms.

“Your majesties!”

The sound of the door being barged open to the chambers echoed as the person who had interrupted your meeting, not that you had minded, came in rushing in with hurried feet. You notice Juyeon rise to his feet with a stern look on his face and grabbed his wrist as it made him turn to look at you with a confused look, however you made a small notion for him to leave it as a gesture of boredom was passed onto him from the thoughts that were forming in your head.

Your eyes turn back to the individual rushing in and you noticed that it was one of your generals and good friends, Changmin, and you knew that he wouldn’t have arrived frantically if it weren’t an emergency. His eyes screamed urgency as he attempted to catch his breath and you were almost concerned for how crazed he had seemed, which meant that this was bad.

“King Hyunjin has declared war on us.” He breathes out and there was silence as your stomach churned at the words he had mentioned.

War.

You were almost certain that you had been allies with the kingdom that King Hyunjin had ruled, knowing that he had been a good friend of yours with the rest of the Hwang family. However, an unexpected war seemed almost conspired as you turned to look at Juyeon with a scared look on your face. He seems almost taken aback had he not composed himself from the sudden news, eyes looking off to a distance that you knew was a hidden balcony for Sunwoo to sit in and listen.

But there was no telling what the two could think of, because it was all so sudden.

“Did he say why, or have sent for someone that he wants to declare a war?” You say while standing up from where you were sitting, not caring about how improper you might’ve seen at the moment because of how fast your mind was already racing at the speed of light.

It wasn’t until he motions for you to go with him that you realize it must’ve been even more serious, and you could only assume the worst from the situation. Bidding a muttered excuse from Juyeon and the scribe, you head out of the royal chambers to head out and walk with Changmin towards your office quarters knowing that you could only get privacy there, even with the rambling inevitables that were making you spiral from how anxious you were progressively getting.

With the door shut behind you, you noticed that Sunwoo had already met you there as he stood in front of the chairs that were in front of your desk with his arms crossed in front of his chest. Both of you looked over towards where Changmin was still looking distressed and it wasn’t until he locked eyes with you that you knew why.

“He knows about Sunwoo’s true status, doesn’t he?” You whisper quietly and he nods in response, nervously looking between you both with so much stress that you could’ve sworn he would’ve exploded right then and there in front of you.

“He wants the war to happen in a week’s time.” Changmin whispered, and that was when the atmosphere fell into a deadly silent room, if it were even possible from how much tension that was also being put into it.

Sunwoo’s identity wasn’t meant to be exposed, which was why you felt a wave of emotions that included fear and betrayal from how someone would stoop so low that they would risk a king’s life for their own. You knew that, and there was also the acknowledgement of Sunwoo having the urge to leave as well knowing that his pride wouldn’t let him just sit back and let the war happen because of him.

However you had your reasons this time around for him to not leave, and you were adament on him not leaving, especially after Changmin mumbles to himself that he was going to dismiss himself after the loud silence engulfing the atmosphere.

“Sunwoo, you can’t go out there into the war, no matter how serious it may be.” You say, sternly looking at him the moment that Changmin shuts the door behind him while crossing your arms in front of your chest assertively.

“Y/N, I know you’re scared-”

“No, I mean it this time, Kim Sunwoo. At all costs, I’m not going to let you go out there and risk your life dying, when you could be safer here. What if going out there is a trap to get you to get into your coffin?” You retort and you could tell that he was thinking about it from how quiet he was being.

The war was due in a week’s time, and only time could tell what could happen in a span of a week because of everything. You blink for a second to realize that Sunwoo is walking up to you with a heavy heart in his hand, the same hand that cups your face momentarily before stroking your cheek for a moment and it took everything in you to not give into his warm and gentle touch. No matter how much you loved him, you still had to stand your ground and be selfish by telling him to not go.

“I won’t go, only because I love you.” He concludes, making your heart feel a bit at ease in the moment as you looked into his eyes for that clarity that he had meant it.

However it was in the time that he kisses you with the same amount of love and passionate that you were so used to feeling everyday that surpassed all the negative thoughts and placed them onto a shelf. He was here now, the kiss seemed to express, and you wanted to hold onto that grain of hope that was filling into your thoughts, but you could only wish that it were true until then.

“I love you too, idiot. Just stay here a little longer… with me.”

“Do you think she’d actually let me go?”

Sunwoo looks over to Changmin with a pained look on his face, one that expressed how dangerous the plan that they had in mind was going to be, but it had to be done. It had been three days into the war that King Hyunjin had declared onto your kingdom and it wasn’t until one of the soldiers that was a close friend of theirs, Jacob, had come back scathed to tell that Juyeon had been killed off after being ambushed during the first night full of snow.

“I don’t think we have a choice… He won’t stop killing our numbers, unless you’re there.” Changmin says as the written paper that was in Sunwoo’s hand felt heavier than earlier.

The written note that he recognized to be Hyunjin’s handwriting demanded that he should show up, along with the additional information that had passed on by Changmin that he had Juyeon at hostage in the snow. The thought of his friends’ lives being put on the line of life and death made him sick and guilty, knowing that this war was specifically targeted towards him and that he wouldn’t be able to do anything if he were to stay back and watched it all happen from the sidelines as he usually would.

“Give me an hour and I’ll meet you outside with my gear.” Sunwoo mumbles almost inaudibly, avoiding the eyes of his best friend with his head in his hands as he could hear him let out a hum in response, feet heading towards the door of Sunwoo’s office while leaving.

In that moment, he felt as though he had just been set up for inevitable death. There were hundreds of thoughts as to how betrayed he had felt about the fact that the war was happening, along with the mourning emotions that filled his heart because he knew that Juyeon might die because of him. However there was still you, who was still waiting for him to fall asleep with you in bed because it was nearly three in the morning.

He was fearful, scared of the fact that he would lose you in the end of all this.

He knew that you didn’t want him to go because he would leave you alone with a king to rule by your side, and that wasn’t seen to be fit for any kingdom whatsoever considering it would be considered unruly. Yet he also felt as though he had to go off and stop the war once and for all against Hyunjin, to find the real answer as to why he was so insistent on exposing Sunwoo’s status to the rest of the kingdom as it was.

The stuff that Sunwoo would’ve needed was just in the room next to his office with a letter that was ready to be addressed to you, everything already having been packed since the first day of war in case Juyeon had died, and he felt his chest grow heavy at the thought of it. He gets up from where he sits in his office to head over towards the room when he flickers on the light to see you standing next to all of his packed gear with the letter opened in your hand.

“You almost forgot something.” You mumbled quietly and tossed him a small item that was in your hand over towards him, and it was the sight of it that made his heart drop into his stomach as you were already on your way to leave the room.

“Love, wait-”

“When were you going to tell me that you were leaving, Sunwoo? Before or after I had found out that you took off the ring and left without another word?”

The ring that was in his hand was accompanied by the one that he had once placed on your hand, both small objects having such a large impact on how everything was going downhill from here and it was like he was caught red handed. You were beyond livid at the fact that he had taken off the ring in the first place when you had gotten up to get a drink of water, seeing as though a letter of his writing saying that he had to make things right had accompanied it, and you felt it get worse as your thoughts were everywhere because of the anger and hurt that you were ready to unleash onto him.

“I thought we trusted each other enough to the point where we could tell anything, Sunwoo, but you lied to me. You said you weren’t even going to leave, but here you are getting ready to go ahead and hurt yourself because you’re scared-”

“I’m not scared of anything-”

“Then let’s just skip our excuses and divorce, if you’re willing to give up your ring so fast.”

Tears had already been glossing in your eyes as the evident twisted pain in your heart was pounding loudly in your chest, your breath not even wavering in the slightest as you looked at him. In his eyes, he felt as though he had already been stabbed in the heart because of those three simple words, because he never would’ve thought that you would actually want to divorce him after everything that the two of you had gone through.

“You wouldn’t-”

“Then don’t leave me here alone without you,” Your voice cracked, tears finally streaming down your face as you could already feel yourself slowly breaking away from the fact that he was going to go anyways.

“If you leave right now, then don’t bother coming back home if you lived to see the light of day.”

Sunwoo wants to reach out to you, to wipe away the tears that were falling down the apples of your cheeks because of the pain that he had caused. He wants to tell you that he was going to make it home safely and that he promises to come home, but he couldn’t find it within himself to hold such an empty promise as he moves almost past you to hoist his bag over his shoulder and turns to look at you with a heartbroken expression on his face.

He takes in every inch of your face one last time, every curvature that he has kissed once in this lifetime and the eyes that he came to love every time that they looked at him with such love, outlasting the entire galaxy and universes that could possibly shine brighter than yours. With a heavy breath that brushes past his lips, he walks over to you with a shaky movement of his hands holding your cheeks with fragility, fear as he is scared for himself.

He knew was going to lose you to the universe in this life, and he doesn’t want you to be taken away from him.

With a final kiss against your lips, he lets out a final breath as he leaves while placing both rings into your hands as he closes the door behind him, blocking out the sobs that he was able to hear from you in the closed room that he just left. He meets with Changmin outside on his own stallion and leaves with him as the two went off into the wintery night to where the war was yet to be finished in this night of time.

He didn’t even say ‘I love you’, when he had left for good.

“Y/N, we need you to make an announcement today.” You hear Chanhee, one of your close friends say from behind you and there was a beat of silence as you were staring off past your window to look at the crowd of people gathered in front of the palace.

“He’s going to come home soon, I know it.” You muttered back, more toned to convince yourself that he was actually coming back as you hugged your stomach closely to yourself.

A week has gone by since he had left, you noted to yourself since then as you had been awake for endless nights waiting for the soldiers to come back home; at least someone to make sure that they were alive. You grew anxious as you fumbled with the necklace that was around your neck, a simple string with a wedding band attached to it as the growing fear of him actually not making it back home continued to settle in your stomach.

It was over, you remember hearing as the scribes from Hyunjin’s kingdom had come to say as you were on the edge waiting for any sign of life. However, nobody has come home as you could feel the tears prick at the corners of your eyes. He had to be alive, you tried to convince yourself as you turned to look at Chanhee, who had been giving you a solemn expression on his face with something in his hand.

“Y/N…”

The feeling of dread suddenly fills your heart as you noticed that the letter in his hand was addressed to you in a familiar handwriting, one that you never wanted to see once again. There was a sharp intake of a breath that you made, realizing what it must’ve been considering there were blood stains on it as you looked up at the latter with teary eyes.

“Changmin was the only survivor… He came back home last night when you slept, and wanted me to give you this.” Chanhee says, walking over towards you with caution as you glanced between both him and the letter.

He leaves you alone in the room with the letter in your hand, your own instincts debating on whether or not you should open it as you knew what this had meant. Your hands were shaky as the weight of the light parchment felt heavy in your own possession, not wanting to open the blood stained letter that can only mean one thing.

Sunwoo’s last words.

The moment that he had written them was one of the most unforgettable memories that he would definitely remember in his next life. The night that he had faced Hyunjin in the snow, the strength that he gathered from the anger of seeing his friends and soldier’s brave deaths because of him, he went down in pride and in pain knowing that he had used you as a way to unleash the last few moments of life and death between the war.

“It’s a shame that you won’t be able to see your beloved queen again, Kim. Maybe she’d be better if she were with me, wouldn’t it?” Hyunjin’s words taunt him just as Sunwoo finally paints his blood onto the snow, his breaths uneven as he finishes him off and looks at his lifeless eyes staring back at him.

“Never in a million years, will I ever lose to you again, Hwang.”

Sunwoo stumbles back to his tent, seeing Changmin already there healing and his friend was ready to treat his injuries when he shakes his head in response. Both Changmin and Sunwoo share a glance of unspoken words that were exchanged, until Sunwoo grabs a sheet of parchment and ink to write down everything that he had been meaning to say to you even if he was bleeding out on that winter morning.

“Sunwoo, you have to save your energy and let me-”

“I’m bleeding out too much, Changmin… Just let me do this and die in peace,” Sunwoo murmurs, already feeling his life being taken away from him as he grew weaker while ending his letter that was supposed to be addressed to you.

“Just make sure that she gets this.”

To you who has always been the golden highlight of my life, the hues of love and adoration in the confinements of the yellow sun to my dark shades of the moon…

I knew what I had forgotten that night., and I should’ve said it before leaving.

I’m not coming back home, my love… and I’m sorry.

We won, and I know that if I were to see light of day tomorrow, you would still let me in despite the fact that you probably hate me at the moment. But you have my ring and that’s all that matters, because only Changmin will come home, and I made him promise that he would take care of you no matter what.

You don’t need a king to prove that you are strong, Y/N, and I know that you are the greatest queen that this kingdom will be ruled under, because you are the strongest person that I’ve ever met in my life.

I don’t regret loving you, marrying you, spending all of our picnics in the hues of the golden sunset in secret, because I knew that I was yours, just like you knew that you were mine.

But don't miss me too much, please. For us.

And I knew what I forgot to say,

I love you.

We will meet again.

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bang-fantansies · 3 years

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Yandere! God! Jungkook - Profile

Human Amongst Gods [TEASER] - upcoming fic

Warning: fem!reader, obsessive behaviour, possessive behaviour, implications of stalking, exile, dehumanisation, objectification, destructive!JK, sadistic!JK, cold!JK, mentions of natural disasters, mentions of death of people and planets, fire, soulmate material.

I did my best to include any triggering topics mentioned in this post, but if you see any more potentially sensitive topics I may have missed, please let me know!

This does not represent Bangtan as people or a business, nor does it represent anyone/anything associated with them. This is purely fictional and was made for entertainment purposes only; not to slander anyone or any company.

Name: Jeon Jungkook Occupation: God of the Suns

With a birthright most would kill for, Jeon Jungkook inherited his father’s title as God of the Suns, destined to become the keeper of all the suns held within the entirety of the Universe.

He was marveled at, worshiped, envied far and wide by gods and disciples alike. But such praise meant nothing to him, built upon the foundations of false pretenses.

He knew the extent of his powers - how he could crush a god’s head with his bare hands if he so wished - and turned them to his own personal projects.

He’d force crops to grow and cattle to thrive in the bleak winter months, only to have them wither the second a mortal’s hand touched them.

Of course, the members of his court did little to help him.

Their serpentine commendments made his ego swell, insatiable even with the copious amount of lies he was fed.

With such praise and privilege handed to him on a silver platter, Jungkook failed to acquire the need to succeed in life, much the the dismay of his parents.

Instead of learning the values of what it meant to be a fair ruler, Jungkook took to meddling in mortal affairs: destroying the lives of disciples only to rebuild them and watch them crumble again.

He’d taken it too far one day when his parents walked into his study, only to find the remains of a once prosperous galaxy strewn about his room.

The same galaxy they’d allowed Jungkook to oversee as a test run for the rest of the Universe.

Where mobiles once hung from the ceiling, representing clusters of planets, all swarming with life, branches empty and void of such life were all that remained.

Some planets were cracked down the centre, their life essence seeping out as a gold liquid across the marble floor.

Others had been reduced to ashes so dark and bloodied with malice that no phoenix could hope to rise from them.

And there Jungkook stood at the centre of it all, eyes ablaze with gold as he burned out the last star in the fiery embrace of his fingers, watching as it crumbled to ashes in his hand.

His parents, devastated to have brought a creature of torment into the world, revoked him of his title and his powers, casting him out into the abyss of the universe.

Stripped of his former glory and the promises of conquest fed to him by his peers, Jungkook sought to reclaim his rightful place on the throne and prove to his parents that he was more worthy than any other god could hope to be of inheriting their duty.

And so began his journey to capture something so exquisite - so rare - that his parents would have no choice but to let him back onto the throne.

And thousands of years later, he met you.

Well, saw you.

He’d been inspecting a peculiar little planet named Earth, home to the Humans.

He played around with it for a little while, causing floods and fires, deaths and injustices, when something sparked in his periphery.

He dragged his gaze to a blur of light that had erupted outside the field of view of his crystal ball, and though he was unmoved, the light was persistent.

With nothing better to do, Jungkook rearranged the focus of the ball, sweeping the street for the source of the commotion.

And his eyes came to rest upon you.

You were walking down the street, oblivious to the halo sparking above your head, dousing you in a fervent golden glow.

One could easily pass you off as being an angel or messenger of sorts, providing another god with an outlet to carry out good deeds towards loyal followers.

But Jungkook knew this sign well.

He’d heard whispers of it on the winds of the Universe his entire life.

It was a soulmate symbol - an indication of one’s potential binding to a god.

Not all souls were compatible with a god’s: in fact, most of them weren’t. And with good reason.

Those bearing a godly soulmate symbol were destined for great power, whether they were aware of their status or not. Such power varied, of course. Some had the power to grant life while others had the power to take it, harnessing another’s life force to boost their own capabilities.

Such a rarity was widely-believed to be a myth - a fabrication a group of gods had decided to spread as gospel one drunken evening for their own amusement.

But here you were - in the flesh!

You had yet to be claimed, as was apparent by the translucence of your halo.

Only when you had found a god to bind your soul to would the halo beam an impassioned gold.

Though he did not seek the company of a lover, Jungkook knew that you were the key - his key - to get back home.

His parents would certainly have no choice but to allow him back into the palace, as well as grant him his lost powers upon seeing how he’d handled a fragile human soulmate - though one of extreme power.

Form that day forward, he kept a close watch on you, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, claim you as his own and make you his queen.

He invested many days into discovering more about you - more specifically, trying to discover what your power was.

As were six other gods, manic and determined to reach you before anyone else did.

Little do they know that they should all meet under such varied circumstances.

I don’t own the pictures used in the cover, but I did make the cover myself.

#bts #yandere bts #bts x reader #yandere bts x reader #jungkook x reader #yandere jungkook #yandere jungkook x reader #jungkook #bts smut #yandere bts smut

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vladdocs · 3 years

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The First Reign of Dracula - Investigation of the Boyar Conspiracy Original in Russian: http://samlib.ru/l/lyzhina_s_s/dracula_ziznvzrosl_1448.shtml Annotation: Dracula's first reign turned out to be so short that sometimes this period is simply forgotten-not mentioned in biographical articles or on monuments. It would seem that one month spent in power does not allow for anything, so it can be ignored, but Dracula managed enough during this time. He found out the names of the boyars, who betrayed his father and older brother, and about how everything was found out, and who exactly was in the list of traitors, we will talk in this article... To begin with, let us outline the situation in which Dracula found himself when he first ascended the throne. On the ruins. Autumn 1448. Dracula entered the Romanian capital of Targoviste with Turkish troops on loan from the Sultan. Almost 2 years had passed since Dracula's father and older brother were killed, but our hero had not forgotten anything and was eager for revenge, and above all he wanted to free the throne from the Romanian prince Vladislav, whom he had never seen, but knew a lot about him. Vladislav had a direct connection to the murder of Father Dracula, because he put on the Romanian crown after the events of December 1446 - after Janos had come to Romania with an army of mercenaries and ordered the beheading of Father Dracula. It is possible to change power without bloodshed, but Janos wanted to kill father Dracula in order to give his protégé Vladislav a quiet rule, and the latter did not hesitate to step over the corpse and he was undoubtedly to blame for that. The nobles were also to blame for this, for handing over Dracula's father to Janos Hunyadi and then burying his elder brother alive, and the second murder was committed for the same reason as the first - so that Vladislav could sit more comfortably on the throne. Of course, thinking about all this, Dracula himself was seething with hatred, but in 1448, when he captured Targoviste, there was no one to take revenge on. The town was half-empty, as all the nobles had left for fear that the Turks, who had come with Dracula, would rob them. The palace mansions were also deserted. The only thing left there was Vladislav's traces of his stay, who in two years had time to renovate the rooms and rearrange the furniture to his liking, which made the mansion look not quite as it was remembered by Dracula, who had been away from home for a long time. He did not find the servants he knew, because they, too, when they heard about the Turks, scattered and hid. Even Dracula's stepmother, who (let me remind you) was called Koltsuna, was absent. She was no longer in Targoviste, but in a certain monastery and was preparing to take the veil. With her lived her son - the youngest brother of Dracula, the future prince Vlad Monk, who at that time was not even 7 years old. After a while this Vlad will also find himself in the veil, but he will escape from the cloister, go on a wandering journey and even compete with Dracula for power, but for now he disappeared from the sight of his older brother, just like everyone else. It turned out that Dracula, having returned to his native places, found himself on the ruins of the life he led before his departure for Turkey. What to do in such a situation? First of all, gather information about what has happened here lately - Janos's invasion, the traitor boyars, etc. Dracula, at the beginning of his first reign, knew about these events only in general terms, while he needed details and, of course, names. Clearly, Janos Hunyadi and Vladislav were at the top of that list of names, but beyond that... It was difficult to find witnesses immediately who could tell which of the Romanian nobles supported Janos and Vladislav, because (I remind you) all possible witnesses ran away, afraid of the Turks, and Dracula was anxious to know the truth, and then he ordered to raise the archives of the state chancellery. Dracula's Investigation Many people know the anecdote in which Dracula

invites the Romanian nobles to a feast and asks: "And tell me, kind people, how many sovereigns do you remember? And at the same time explain why sovereigns change on the throne, while you are still in your seats". This anecdote is directly related to the investigation of the boyar plot, which Dracula conducted in the autumn of 1448, because even then our hero saw that the boyars are suspiciously long-lived, and decided to examine this circumstance more closely. When Dracula ordered to lift the archives, he was first of all interested not in the content of the documents, but in their output data. Due to his position, he was well acquainted with the rules of drawing up state papers and therefore knew that at the end of each letter there is usually a list of nobles who were present when it was drawn up. These lists were very important, because they included only people who were in the princely council or occupied court positions, so that by reading any state paper, one could know the "composition of the government" under the prince. If one took several documents with dates distant from each other, one could trace how the composition of the government changed during the change of princes. This is exactly what Dracula did - he compared which of the nobles who served his father, began to serve Vladislav, and which did not - and here our hero had reason to think: "My father died, Vladislav ascended the throne, and many of the boyars sat in the sovereign's council, and continued to sit. In addition, some of them received new positions at court, and some - new estates. The question is - for what services?!!!" In this article we will try to reproduce the course of the investigation, which was carried out by Dracula, that is, we will calculate the boyars-traitors. Contrary to popular belief, from the 15th century, quite a lot of documents on the history of Romania, including - princely letters and decrees, and with them survived the names of the boyars. So it is possible to act. List of traitors In the anecdote about the long-lived boyars, which I mentioned above, it is said that Dracula in response to his question (how many sovereigns do you remember?) heard impressive numbers. Some of the boyars remembered 20 sovereigns, and some - 30, and even if this is an exaggeration, inherent in all anecdotal stories, but it reflects the essence. In those days, it was normal for a Romanian boyar to serve 2 or 3 sovereigns in his career, and the rest, as luck would have it. The average length of a boyar's POLITICAL life was 15 years, but it could also be longer. There were dynasties among Romanian boyars. For example, when looking at the letters of 1420-1450 you can clearly see the change of generations in the princely council: - In the 1420s the boyar Borcia, and in the 1430s the boyar Radul Borchev (i.e., Borchev's son) - In the 1420s the boyar Khanesh, and in the 1430s the boyar Stanchul Honoy (son) - In the 1420s the boyar Mircea, and in the 1430s another boyar Stanchul, who is called "Mircea's brother - In the 1420s the boyar Utmesh, and in the 1450s the boyar Koiko Utmeshov (son) - In the 1420s the boyar Krestia, and in the 1450s the boyar Kazan Kretsul (son) - Boyar Nagril in the 1420s, and boyar Stan Nagril (son) in the 1450s - In the 1430s boyar Radul Sahakov, and in the 1450s boyar Kazan Sahakov (brother of Radul) There were also cases when two boyar brothers sat on the council at the same time: - In the 1420s-1440s the boyar Stanchul and his brother Yurchul - In the 1440s-1450s, the boyar Mane Udrisce and his brother Stoyan And yet the council under the Romanian prince was not like the House of Lords in the English parliament, to which one entered by birthright. In the Romanian prince's council, the people who were present were usually determined by the prince's own will, so their seats were by no means guaranteed, and the boyars did their best to wriggle out of them. Quite naturally, it was those boyars, who were not part of the "dynasty", who were twiddling their thumbs the most. There was no one to rely on for

these "loners", so they had to quickly adjust to changing conditions. The list of nobles who betrayed Dracula's father consists of such opportunists: 1) Tudor owes his rise to Dracula's father, but in December 1446 he still preferred to go over to Vladislav's side. 2) Mane in the mid 1420s was in charge of the princely table at Prince Dan, in 1437-1446 sat on the council of his father Dracula and for a time was even the manager of the court. He was rewarded for his treachery by Vladislav by becoming head of the stables, a position he held until 1456. 3) Stanciul in the 1420s was a member of the council of duke Radu the Bald, then of Dan, then of Alexander Alda, in the early 1440s of Dracula's father, and when this boyar defected to Vladislav, he became a steward of the court and held that position until 1456. 4) Jurchul - Stanchul's brother, passed from sovereign to sovereign together with his brother, sat on the council, and did not hold any special posts. 5) Dimitar owed his career to the father of Dracula, whose post he held as head of the cavalry, but in December 1446 he defected to Vladislav, thanks to which he retained his post until 1456. 6) Michael under Dracula's father served as a scribe in the prince's office, and under Vladislav he headed the office. 7) Niegoe shortly before the events of 1446 got into the council of Dracula's father. He did not manage to get attached to the new prince, so he easily replaced him with another one, i.e. Vladislav, who had been in charge of the princely table until 1453 (not 1456). Also mentioned in the charter of August 5, 1451 as a recipient of grants from Vladislav. This is the list Dracula had to get during the investigation in the autumn of 1448. Perhaps there were other names as well. We do not know this because 450 years later we have at our disposal far fewer letters and decrees than Dracula had at his disposal when he raided the archives. However, looking ahead, it should be said that in 1456, when Dracula came to power for the second time, the list of traitors expanded, as the investigation continued, and in 8 years (from 1448 to 1456) there were new documents that showed that Vladislav showered favors on the former servants of Father Dracula. So, the continuation of the list of traitors: 📷 Radu was briefly a cupbearer for Prince Dan in the late 1420s, was chief tax collector for Prince Alexandru Aldea in the 1430s, held the same position for Father Dracula in the mid 1440s, and held the position of bedmaster for Vladislav in the 1450s. Also mentioned in the charter of August 5, 1452 as the recipient of grants from Vladislav. 9) Vleksan Florev in the early 1420s sat on the council of Radu Lysyi, in the 1430s - with Aleksandru Alda, in the early 1440s - with his father Dracula, and Vladislav mentioned in the charters of August 5, 1451 as the recipient of grants. 10) Tatul Srebul sat on the council of Dan in the late 1420s, Alexander Aldea in the first half of the 1430s, then passed to Dracula's father and then betrayed him, so he was ennobled by Vladislav in two letters of grant: from July 1451 and from 5 August 1451. 11) Sherban held the position of chief tax collector for Dracula's father. Vladislav mentioned as a recipient of grants in two letters of endowment: from August 5, 1451 and from September 30, 1454 (or 1455). 12) Bade in the early 1420s sat in the council of Radu Lysyi, in the early 1430s was chief steward of the court of Dan, then served as head of the stables at his father Dracula, and Vladislav is mentioned in the letter of August 5, 1452 as the recipient of grants. As can be seen from this list, the political life of the Romanian nobles was well documented and this makes us look very differently at the famous anecdote about Dracula asking the nobles, "How many sovereigns do each of you remember?" If Dracula was really asking this question to this or that boyar, it was not out of curiosity, for the answer was already known. Moreover, if any of the boyars had lied, Dracula would have been able to catch the liar, because he had the documents on

hand. If the question "how many sovereigns do you remember?" was still asked, it should have been understood as follows: "Do you remember my father, whom you yourself gave to the Hungarian to be killed? And do you remember my older brother, who was buried alive by you? Was it not for these services that Vladislav appointed you to good positions and gave you estates?" Unfortunately, we can only guess how the roles were distributed among the conspirators. Apparently, the main work was done by Radu and Sherban, because of all the boyar-traitors they escaped from Dracula the longest, and therefore - they did something after which they could not count on forgiveness even theoretically. These two were hiding in Transylvania in Brasov, and retribution did not come upon them until the spring of 1460, when the other traitors had long since been executed (staked). Witnesses for the prosecution Once again I would like to remind you that all this information is given to us by charters, i.e. written sources, and for the real investigation Dracula needed not only material evidence, but also living witnesses, which, in the end, were found. In judicial practice, a scheme is often used in which one of the criminals testifies against his accomplices in exchange for the dropping of all charges. Dracula's investigation also used such a scheme. The Boyar Mane Udrische (not to be confused with the other Mane) and his brother Stoyan turned from defendants into witnesses - that is why these boyars cannot be included in the general list of traitors. Although these two betrayed Dracula's father, but then sincerely repented and on their own initiative, to repair the damage, helped Dracula himself to come to power. From these very repentant traitors Dracula learned who of the nobles behaved during the events of December 1446. It is a pity we do not have Mane and Stoian's written testimony - it would be interesting to read. The list of the faithful In this story it is also important to note that however long the list of traitors is, there were some servants in Father Dracula's entourage who remained loyal to him. For example, a boyar named Nan (Nanul) was among the faithful, although his previous biography did not suggest such noble behavior at all. In the 1420s he sat in the council of Radu the Bald, then was cupbearer of Dan, in the early 1430s he was in the council of Alexandru Aldea, then served the father of Dracula. In short, he survived many sovereigns and could easily have served Vladislav, but he never became a traitor. Another worthy example is the boyar Stanchul Honoi. This boyar rose at the height of Dracula's father and remained grateful to his prince for favors to the end - he did not exchange him for another. So did the boyar Semyon, who all his life was in charge of the princely table at the court of Dracula's father. It was Dracula's father who elevated Semen, for which the boyar remained loyal to the end. Another example is Radul Borchev. As previously mentioned, he was a noble boyar whose father also once sat on the princely council. Radul himself rose in the reign of Prince Alexander Aldea, then began to serve Dracula's father, but did not go to the service of Vladislav. One may also note another boyar, whose name was Nan Pascal. His fate is similar to that of another Nan. At the end of 1420th he sat in the council of Dan, then - in Alexandru Aldea, then - in father Dracula, however he did not become the traitor, though he was not used to the change of power. Neither in the letters of Vladislav, nor later are these boyars mentioned. Perhaps they died at the same time as Dracula's father and his elder brother, in December, 1446. If so, then happy memories to them!

#Vlad voda #Vlad Tepes #Vlad Dracula #vlad the impaler #Ladislau Dragkwlya #history #wallachia #romania #vlad dracula tepes #article #documents #The First Reign of Dracula

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sergeantsporks · 3 years

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Day After Day

Rating: Teen and Up, Gen

Life in the coven seems glamorous on the surface, but there's a lot of work in being a coven leader. Hunter can handle it. He CAN.

Ao3

Alarm. Shut it off.

Hunter blinked blearily at the tiny demon determinedly chomping his arm. He flicked its eye to get it to stop and peeled it off, tossing it to his counter. He rubbed his eyes, lying in bed for just a second—just one more minute.

Okay. That was enough. It was time to get up.

He needed to get up.

Up, or you’re late, and Kikimora will notice, and Belos will notice, and the whole coven will notice.

Technically, he was up an hour earlier than he had to be. Technically, he wasn’t even close to being late, because the rest of the coven wouldn’t even begin to get up for another hour.

Get up.

Hunter rolled off of his bed, flipping on the lights, because the sun hadn’t risen yet. His alarm demon had gone back to sleep.

Wish that were me.

Tunic, on, armor, on, cloak, on, pinned with the symbol of the emperor’s coven. Shoulder pad, on. Hunter picked up his mask, and a sick feeling swept over him.

I don’t want to put it on. I’m so sick of it. I just want to leave it off and breathe without it tasting like metal.

No. It kept him safe. It was protection from the outside world. He needed it.

Mask on. Hood up.

Down to the mess hall. No one else was up, and that included the chef demons—they’d wake up in about half an hour to start cooking breakfast for the coven scouts and guards. Hunter turned on the lights. Half an hour to cook something up, eat, clean, put everything back.

He set on a kettle, grabbing a mug and a tea ball. Too tired to make breakfast. He usually was. So, tea it was, and he’d get lunch with the rest of the coven—no avoiding that.

The kettle whistled, and Hunter poured the water. Wait awkwardly for the tea to steep. Pour the rest of the water out of the kettle, return it to its place, wipe off the counter where the mug had been to avoid spillage, take tea to cafeteria.

Just like every other day.

Titan.

Sit alone at the table, his mask pulled up just enough that he could fit the mug under, sipping tea that was just a little too hot and a little too bitter.

Good, it would wake him up.

Just like every other morning.

Finish the tea. Ten minutes until the kitchen staff showed up. Wipe off table, clean mug, return it to cabinet. Turn off lights. It was like he’d never been there.

Go to the center office and check for the night patrol reports. There were 2, one for each shift. Both were a quick read and a quick file. Nothing eventful.

The coven was starting to stir, a few early risers up and about. They gave respectful nods to him as he passed them in the hallway, and he gave them acknowledgement nods back.

Wish I had time for a nap.

But it was just about time for him to designate the day’s patrols, and after that he had guard duty in the Emperor’s throne room for matters of state, and then it would be time for lunch, and then the first round of reports would be in, and he’d have to read those, and then he’d have his own patrol, and then it would be time for his daily exercise routine and then it would be dinner time, and then finally he’d have just a little bit of time to himself, but at that point it would be too late to take a nap, because that would mean he wouldn’t fall asleep later, and anyway, he’d need to be awake to read and file the last set of reports before the night shift, and then it would be time to do a sweep of the castle before everything settled down and then it would be time to go to sleep so that he could get an adequate amount of rest for tomorrow.

Obviously he didn’t have any time to take a nap right now.

And the day progressed exactly as he knew it would. Organize the scouts, guard the emperor, lunch, reports, patrol (nothing eventful), training, dinner. And then he was in his room, and he could finally take off the mask completely and breathe freely.

Hunter flipped the cover of a book back and forth. Opened it up to the page he’d left out on. Sighed. Set it aside. Picked up a different book. Set it down. Picked up his staff, starting to polish it, then setting that aside, too. Picked up the first book again, and stared at the page he’d been on for a few minutes without reading it. Closed it again.

He really just wanted to go to sleep. But he couldn’t, or he wouldn’t sleep tonight.

You like reading. Just read a book. It’ll make you happy.

He picked up the book, flipping the cover back and forth again, staring at the page.

He just couldn’t summon the willpower to actually read it.

You’ve been looking forward to it all day, what’s wrong with you? You like to read, just read the book!

I just don’t have the energy.

And then it was time to look at the patrol reports. Mask back on, trudge back to the office.

See, you didn’t really have the time to read anyway.

Hunter flipped through reports without reading them, putting his head down on the desk.

I’m too tired for this.

I should have taken that nap.

He flicked himself in the head. “Focus, you need to get this done. You said you’d get it done, you came down here to do it, no getting distracted, just do it.”

One of the reports contained a demon sighting, a real nasty large one.

Huh. He’d have to make sure the patrols to that area were briefed on the possible danger, maybe assign larger patrols. He felt sick just thinking about rearranging the size, changing the routine of the coven—it was a lot of work.

Sounds like a tomorrow problem.

Yes. It was too late to worry about it now—there was nothing he could do at the moment, he’d just have to figure out the change tomorrow, when he assigned patrols.

Nightly inspection.

Nothing wrong. Everything in order. No problems.

Hunter unpinned his cape, hanging it up neatly. Tunic left for laundry, armor and belt hung up with cape. Helmet on the bedside table.

Teeth brushed, face washed, all in order.

Hunter was asleep when his head hit the pillow.

Alarm. Shut it off.

Hunter didn’t for a minute, until the biting of the alarm demon got too painful to ignore. He flicked it away.

Titan. Just. Let me lie here for a second.

No. You put off redesigning those patrols, so you have to get an extra early start, now get up.

Uniform.

Tea.

Night shift reports—a little faster than usual, mostly skimming. No sighting of that demon.

Figure out those patrols.

Hunter thumped his head against the desk repeatedly.

Figure out the patrols.

Come on, stupid brain, focus.

Okay. He could make the patrols not going through the area with the sighting a bit smaller—there hadn’t been any incidents in those sectors, so they didn’t need a full patrol. And then he could just add those extra people to the patrols going through the hot spot, warn all patrols to be on the lookout, and… the new patrols needed to be particularly well-balanced, with a mix of defense and offense. So he couldn’t just shift patrol members from one side to another, he had to redesign the entire schedule to make the best teams.

Should have looked at this last night.

Well, you didn’t, because you never learn this lesson, now redesign the patrols.

He was late out of the office to see the early risers, hurrying to the briefing room where he explained the situation, handed out the new assignments, warned the scouts to be on their guard and to call for backup if necessary, then hurried off to the throne room.

This was the closest thing he got to a break until after dinner. Sure, he had to stand ramrod straight and hold still unless it was necessary to move, but at least he didn’t have to think, at least not the way he had to when he was designing patrols. He just had to be alert.

Lunch.

Reports.

Patrol was nice. He finally got to be alone, no one looking for direction or asking him to do something.

Lilith had never done patrols when she was coven head—but then, she’d had her special assignment of capturing the owl lady.

Oh. Oh, right, Lilith had also had to organize Covention, which would… now be his job. He should probably get on that—except he didn’t really have the time to organize Covention, because he only barely had enough time to get the DAILY things done, he didn’t have time for a major project like Covention!

Whatever. Whatever, he’d just have to get ahead on some patrol schedules, and then he’d have the time. It would be fine, he just had to work a little harder now, and start planning early. He could use some of his free time, it wasn’t like he was managing to do anything he actually wanted to do anyway.

Hunter finished the patrol—nothing to report, nothing of note.

Training.

Dinner—he just grabbed some food from the mess hall and headed up to his room, scarfing down a piece of bread while he planned the next week’s worth of patrols.

He could skip the nightly check tonight—it technically wasn’t one of his official duties, it just made him feel safer. But tonight he was too busy, he lost track of time looking at old covention shows and speeches.

Hunter rubbed his eyes with a yawn, clearing away his plate. Time… time to go to sleep.

Titan.

Alarm. Shut it off.

I don’t want to.

Get up. Get up, get up, get up.

Hunter ripped the alarm demon off of his arm with a groan, sitting up and scattering old covention records. Titan.

He stacked the papers neatly.

Mask on.

Tea.

Reports.

The patrol reports he’d missed from yesterday marked another demon sighting—and there were a few citizen reports, too, the creature was destroying local shops. Not just a watch anymore, then—he needed to put a price on its head, which meant he needed to take a look at the coven budget.

Later problem.

Shift assignments.

Emperor’s guard.

Titan. Was this it? Doing this for the rest of his life? Was that what he wanted?

Of course it was. Of course it was, of course it was. This was a bright future—looked up to, in command of the most powerful coven, right hand man to his uncle. So what if it got a little monotonous, a little stressful? There were plenty of people who would kill to be in his position.

Public time over. The throne room doors closed. “Golden Guard. It has come to my attention that we have a bit of a demon problem.”

Hunter inclined his head. “Yes, sir. I’ve increased patrol size, and was planning to put out a reward for its capture or destruction.”

“I would prefer if you oversaw this one personally.”

“Personally?” Whoops—he hadn’t meant for that to come out questioning.

“Personally. I know you have a lot on your plate, managing the coven. But I’m certain you can handle this as well, yes?”

Yes, he could handle it. Of course he could handle it, it just meant shifting priorities, and taking up the time he’d set aside for planning covention, and maybe getting behind on the reports for a couple of days while he solved this problem. He could handle it, but that didn’t mean he wanted to. You don’t have to. You could outsource the job to scouts, or put that reward up.

But Emperor Belos wanted him to do it, and Emperor Belos believed he could do it—which he could, no problem—so of course he would, because he couldn’t disappoint the emperor, no matter how much he wished he could just have one focus.

“Of course, Emperor Belos. You can rely on me.”

Okay, okay, okay, he just had to find and kill this thing quick. He skipped lunch, re-reading the reports of the demon. It always appeared in the same spot at around the same time—luckily during his report-reading time, not in the time he would be in the throne room. Simple, easy, go to spot, kill monster, get on with life.

Hunter took a deep breath. Okay. He’d just go with the patrol tomorrow. No big deal.

Patrol, reading a few more reports as roamed his set area.

You wished for something new to break up the monotony, he scolded himself, tucking reports away on his way back.

Training—nope, he was too tired. Not today. He was hungry, too, but mostly he was just. Exhausted. He kept himself together long enough to get to his room, then passed out on his bed.

What time is it?

Hunter blinked blearily at the setting sun outside—past dinner, then. That was fine, he was fine. He’d gotten sleep, and that was what really mattered.

Alarm. Shut it off.

Hunter peeled himself off of his bed with a groan. He didn’t remember falling asleep again.

Maybe I should leave the demon hunt for tomorrow.

No. Nope. He’d put it off long enough, waiting for its normal appearance time instead of tracking it down. He just needed to grit his teeth and get it done.

So after his time guarding the emperor, he went out with the next patrol. And then, there it was, a giant cat-like creature with bat wings and the tail of a scorpion. The rest of the patrol assumed defensive positions, and Hunter zipped forward, shooting bolts of magic at the creature. It yowled, swiping a paw at him. Hunter just barely dodged it—his mind was fuzzy, slow. Maybe he should have made an effort to eat something this morning. Another blast of magic—but that just seemed to be irritating it. Hunter zipped to the side, hitting a tree with his magic instead. It crashed down on top of the demon, pinning it, and he came in for a closer look. Where was its weak—

Hunter rolled to the side as its tail stabbed down towards him. It grazed his leg, and hot pain flooded from the wound.

Too slow, too slow, too slow.

Wait—

Hunter dodged the next tail strike, then slammed his staff against the creature’s tail, using a burst of magic to send the tip of the tail into the creature’s eye. It howled, thrashing.

The scouts jogged up, binding the demon. Some help they’d been—no wonder this thing had been terrorizing people. “Sir! Are you alright?”

Hunter waved them away. “Fine. Just a scratch. Can you handle this?”

“Sir!”

“Good.”

Hunter climbed onto his staff, warping away. Ow—that stung. It was just a scratch, but the creature’s venom made the whole thing throb and itch. He didn’t think it was deadly—none of its attacks on citizens had been fatal, and even stabbing itself in the eye hadn’t killed it. But it sure did hurt.

It’s fine, it’s fine.

Back to the coven. Wrap up the leg, sew up the rip in his pant leg, slap a healing patch on to stop the pain so he could carry through the rest of the day.

Finally eat a meal—but not scarf it down like he wanted to, because other coven members were there, so slow and dignified it was.

Those reports were piling up—I’ll do them later.

Pass out, barely managing to hang up his uniform.

Alarm. Shut it off.

Hunter didn’t move, just staring up at the ceiling, his leg throbbing and pulsing.

Come on. You can do it. Just like every other day. Just… get up.

Just five more minutes. Five more minutes, and then we’ll get up.

No. You have to catch up on all of those reports—because if you can’t get the reports done, you won’t even be caught up to today, and it will just pile up, and you won’t be able to do Covention plans.

Hunter pulled the alarm demon off.

You can do it.

No one will notice if you’re struggling as long as you continue to succeed.

One day at a time.

#i am #i am so tired and burned out #so it's time to project on the 16 year old #hrnglmble #toh #the owl house #toh fanfiction #the golden guard #toh hunter #emperor belos #my writing

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 3 years

Text

Visibility (Good Omens Fic)

Written for Lesbian Visibility Day, 2021

(26 April, 1972)

“What did you szzay?”

Beelzebub glared at the empty space before zir throne, listening to a pair of feet shuffle awkwardly.

“I just…woke up like this,” Crowley explained, in what was probably supposed to be a casual voice. “At first, I thought I was coming down with something. Flu. Hangover. Allergies. All very contagious this time of year. Really, if you haven’t been to Earth before, April is – just wait at least another month. But then I realized, s’not going away, and I thought: curse. Definitely a curse. Probably one of those angels, thwarting and all, you know how they are.”

“An angel.” The Prince of Hell tapped one finger on the arm of the throne, swarm of flies flitting around, trying to make sense of what zir own eyes weren’t telling zir. “Iszzn’t that hideouszz pieczze of real esztate you live in warded?”

“Probably. You know how it is. Get home late, really tired, swear you locked the door, but…” The footsteps – echoing as those ridiculous heeled boots struck the ground – began to circle the room. Beelzebub didn’t keep many possessions – at least, not the material sort – but Crowley seemed determined to touch them all. “Anyway, you know angels. Clever bastards.” An ornate dagger on the far table began to spin. “Or witches. Not quite as bastardly, but they cause trouble. Oh, or a cursed artifact.” Papers began rearranging themselves. “I just…I haven’t been thrift shopping in years, you know, not really my scene, not anyone’s scene anymore, but I saw this really spectacular jacket, I thought, what the Heaven? Might have some age-old horrific curse, or bedbugs, but it’s going to look stunning on the dance floor.”

Pinching zir nose, Beelzebub tried not to imagine the foolish way she was probably grinning. “And by complete coinczzidenzze,this angel, witch or…garment, juszzt happened to make you completely inviszzible on the day of your department budget review?”

“Yup.” A selection of goblets toppled to the floor with a clatter, bouncing and spinning across the floor. One rolled as if kicked, but not even Beelzebub’s cleverest flies could locate the blasted demon who had caused the mess. “I mean, not just a coincidence. Plenty of reasons. Er. The angel. Just last week, that – uh, that Aziraphale, I foiled one of her plans. Thoroughly. Foiled like…like leftover chicken. So. This could be revenge. Very unfortunately timed, but you know.”

“Indeed.” Beelzebub rose, stalking from zir throne across the floor to the spot that most strongly radiated incompetence. “And the curszze breakerszz haven’t been able to turn you back?”

“I mean, they tried.” More footsteps, hastier now, so that the echoes made them harder to track. “Course they tried. But,” she clicked her tongue, “couldn’t do it. Said they’d never seen anything like it before.” Ze would have to speak with them. No, too much trouble. Beelzebub would send the Hellhounds to take care of those idiots. “But, they did say it should wear off in…twenty-four to forty-eight hours. You know. With bed rest. Pity about the budgetary review.”

“How szzo?” Ze asked, lip curling. Every twenty-five years, like clockwork, like the courses of the blessed stars, the day of Crowley’s review, something – something highly improbably – tried to disrupt things.

“Well. I mean. Bed rest. Suggested by your curse breakers. And anyway. Can’t go like this, can I?” One of the goblets floated up from the floor, spinning in an unseen hand. “Might be disruptive.Wouldn’t want to draw attention away from Dagon – I heard, she has some fantastic charts this year. Pie graphs. One of those ones with the dots and the lines. Look at this!” From behind Beelzebub’s throne floated a ceramic pot filled with tall green plants, three dozen flies happily flitting around the attractively scented leaves. “Is this dill? Excellent choice. I’ve been doing some gardening lately, too, and let me tell you—”

“I cannot imagine anything” Beelzebub snapped, snatching the plant out of her invisible hands, “that could make you more diszzzruptive than you already are. But it appearszz you can szztill szzee, hear, and – unfortunately – szzpeak.”

“Just lucky I guess.” More pacing.

“Szzo. Dagon will be exzzpecting you in…four and a half minuteszz. I’m czzertain everyone iszz eagerly awaiting your planszz for the coming quarter-czzentury. Dagon, at leaszzt, could probably uszze the…amuszzement.”

“Course. Right. Perfect.” The footsteps began to lead towards the door. “I’ll just—”

“Szztop.” Beelzebub’s hand flew out, snapping tight around the demon’s wrist exactly as she walked past. “The otherszz will need to szzee where you are.”

“I could whistle,” she volunteered, launching into something that sounded like a tortured bird.

The Prince considered ripping her arm off and stuffing it down her throat, but the last time ze did that, the satisfaction hadn’t been worth the days of cleanup.

“Juszzt put on a hat or szzomething.”

A snap of fingers, and a band of glittering silver cloth appeared around where her waist should be. “Better? Can I go now? I’m…extremely eager to start my presentation. Ngk. Everyone is going to be impressed. This – this decade is going to put me on the map.”

“Go.”

The silver band of cloth sauntered out of the room, echoing the moronic way the demon walked. Checking the dill plant for damage, Beelzebub lowered zirself back onto the throne.

Which had, inexplicably, moved several inches back, causing zir to fall onto the floor, the potted plant shattering. “Crowley!”

“Brilliant, just brilliant,” Crowley muttered, stalking down the hall towards the meeting room. She’d spent a week putting this curse together, combining ones from six of Aziraphale’s most obscure grimoires, and yet she still had to make her bloody presentation. “Next time, I’ll just give myself the plague.” That had almost worked in the fourteenth century. Just needed a more impressive plague.

Ahead on the right, a door with a piece of paper taped on it reading Temptation Department Budget Group Lambda. She hesitated, fingers hovering just short of pushing it the rest of the way open. Had Beelzebub warned everyone she was invisible? More often, ze expected demons to take care of such things themselves, on pain of pain. Two minutes to spare; might as well try.

Crowley dropped the silver belt on the floor outside and slipped through the partially-open door, transforming her extremely cool boots into a pair of quieter slippers. That, at least, she could do without being sensed; shifting the shape of her feet didn’t alert the other demons the way a real miracle would.

A dozen of them sat in chairs around the conference table, grumbling about their project proposals, miracle allotments, and soul quotas. An overhead projector sat at the front of the room. It was the one with the cracked glass, projecting a broken circle of light onto a white wall. Dagon stood beside it, shuffling papers.

Crowley could try writing dirty words on a couple of the pre-made transparencies, but that didn’t seem properly demonic. Scanning the room, she spotted the wheeled coffee cart tucked in the corner, laden with a coffee pot, Styrofoam cups, plate of pastries and various flavorings. Horrid stuff. All demons were required to drink three cups of it per meeting, and to eat one of the scones, which this time appeared to be…pickled herring flavored? With orange marmalade?

There wasn’t much she could do to make that worse. She grabbed a few anyway, tucking them down the front of her shirt, and dumped the marmalade into the molten coffee, turning the temperature up as high as it would go. She’d managed to grab a fistful of wet soil and some dill from Beelzebub’s plant. Most of that went into the coffee pot, a little into the sour creamer, and the rest into the alleged sugar – probably an artificial sweetener, those were all the rage lately.

What else? She stole all the spoons, then pulled off an earring and started poking holes in the bottom of the cups with it.

With the perfect sense of timing honed from millennia of avoiding one more second in the company of her coworkers than necessary, Crowley managed to slip out the door, put on the belt, and waltz back in exactly as Dagon demanded, “Where is the demon Crowley?”

“Sorry, sorry. Feeling a bit under the weather today.” Only about three demons glanced her way with some level of surprise; the rest just got up and headed over to get their first requisite cup of coffee. “You wouldn’t believe the morning I’ve had. And the traffic! The roads just get worse every year. Anyway, here now. Ready and eager. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She snagged an empty seat and dropped into it, crossing her boots on the table with a heavy thud.

Dagon sighed. “Do I even want to know what happened this time?”

“Pissed off an angel. Utterly ruined her plans. Cursed me out in the most unbelievable language, and then, well, you see. Or don’t see.”

It was certainly true enough. Aziraphale had been very upset when the “fine dining establishment” Crowley had selected for their meet-up turned out to be the hottest disco in the city. And the way she managed to express her disappointment while technically not swearing certainly strained credulity.

“Did you kill her?” Ligur asked. So unimaginative.

“No, I did something much worse.” She’d dragged Aziraphale onto the dance floor and managed almost twenty-three seconds of enthusiastic disco next to her before the angel – now bright red and flustered – had stormed out entirely. “But, we’re not here to talk about me. Let’s have it. Numbers. Spreadsheets. I heard a rumor we might see that climate change graph.”

A general groan ran around the table.

“Shut up,” Dagon snapped. “Listen up, you lot – all you idiots, and Crowley in particular. Every one of you worthless wastes of matter needs to explain what you’re going to do in the next quarter-century, how that’s going to secure souls for our Master, and why we should waste any number of miracles on your pathetic hides. Until then—”

With an icy shiver, Crowley felt her miracles vanish.

“Now. Let’s start on the success rate of last quarter-century, and if I hear one word of complaint, you can scream it from the bottom of a sulfur pool. And don’t forget your blessed coffee.”

As Dagon started her presentation, Crowley watched the coffee cart. Someone had helpfully wheeled it next to the conference table, so the demons could more easily torture themselves. Seven managed to soak their shirts and trousers from leaking cups before the marmalade clogged the pot entirely. That, however, would never be enough to cancel the meeting. Heaven, a few of them even said it tasted better than usual. Should have seen that coming.

Still. It was a start.

Crowley played with her earring, then grinned, thinking of a possibility.

“Ow!” she shouted dramatically. “Something bit me!”

“Wasn’t me,” Hastur said sullenly.

“W—no, I mean. Some kind of insect.”

“Don’t see one,” grunted another demon called Krang, sitting right beside Crowley.

“It’s right there!” Silence. Oh, right, no one could see her pointing. “There! On the coffee pot!”

Eyes narrowing, Krang leaned forward, glaring across the table at the pot, which was rattling slightly. Crowley jabbed them in the back of the neck with her earring.

“Arg! It got me!” Krang slapped at the spot, leaping out of their chair. “Did you see where it went?”

“There! On Hastur’s head!”

“Where—?” Hastur managed before Ligur swatted him so hard he fell out of his chair.

“Ah, shit!” Crowley shouted. “It got me again! No, wait, I think it’s a different one.” The demons anxiously glanced at each other, but no one else stood up. Not enough. “Oh, no! My…my hand!” Crowley tried to think of something suitable “It’s burning! Like Holy Water!” She jabbed the earring into the arm of the demon on her other side.

“Bloody—It got me too!” He was on his feet in an instant. “I can feel it burning already!”

“And me!” That demon wasn’t even near Crowley. She grinned. It was working.

“What are these things?”

“I can feel it crawling on my leg.”

“My neck is swelling up!”

“Sit down!” Dagon snapped, baring her teeth. “I don’t want to hear another word about bloody insects. You’re demons. Act like it! Or I’ll make it four cups.”

The room froze – silent, apart from the now-continuous rattle of the coffee pot – as a dozen demons weighed the fear of some sort of terrifying unseen holy insect versus drinking more of the vile brew.

So Crowley ripped a handful of scone out of her top and crumbled it. “What – my hair!” She tossed the crumbs across the table. “Are – are those larvae?”

Everyone shuffled back a few steps.

“I don’t think you heard me—” Dagon started, in a tone that suggested Crowley was about to lose the room. So she went all in.

“Oh, Satan!” She shouted, falling dramatically from her chair. “They’re – they’re crawling into my ears!” That earned a few nervous glances, so she took a deep breath and gave her best horror-movie scream. “That angel! She did something to me!”

“Crowley!” Dagon shouted. “Stop acting out right now,or I swear to Satan, I’ll—”

She never found out what Dagon wanted to do to her, though, because at that moment the coffee pot exploded, lid flying off, scalding brown liquid splashing in every direction, along with blobs of now-runny marmalade.

Never one to let an opportunity go by, no matter how unexpected, Crowley cried, “Eggs! They’re nesting in the coffee! Who drank that?”

A perfect panic set in, and there was nothing Dagon could do to stop all the demons – including Crowley – from evacuating the room.

In the confusion that followed, everyone lost track of a certain invisible demon. How sad. And totally unexpected, Crowley thought, climbing into the Bentley. Too bad I kept the radio off and didn’t go to the cinema. Otherwise, they could summon me back. If she were careful, she could have days to finish coming up with her proposal.

But first, a little fun. Grinning, she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, wondering what kind of trouble she could get into next.

Well. One way to find out.

The London police were extremely disappointing that morning. It took nearly eight minutes of driving around at top speed, running red lights, and blaring her horn outside rich-looking homes before one finally started chasing her.

Slamming into top gear, she raced down the busiest streets, whipping around corners, weaving through traffic, making sure not to get too far ahead. The second patrol car joined in somewhere near Oxford Street, the third during a quick jaunt up towards Regent’s Park. When she’d collected four, sirens blaring as they struggled to keep up with her flawless driving, she spotted a side street and lurched into it with a complicated 270-degree-spin finished with the nose of the Bentley facing the approaching cars.

Then she settled back in her seat and waited.

The black monstrosity finally slid to a stop. Officer Mills kept her eyes on it while her partner slowed their own car to a stop.

“We sure he’s not just going to run?” She asked, trying to spot the driver. The glare off the windshield must be playing tricks on her eyes; she couldn’t see a thing.

“We surround it,” Harmon said. “Got to be enough of us, even if they try to make trouble.”

Six officers eased out of their cars, silently trying to decide who should approach the window. Mills won – or lost – and took the lead, Harmon close behind her. He was the only one armed; she felt a little better for that, in case the driver turned out to be dangerous, though most likely she figured he would try to plow through the police cars to get away. They couldn’t do much in that case apart from try to kick the tires in passing.

“Think it’s stolen?” Harmon asked as a few others moved to try and block the street beyond the idling nightmare. “Teenagers messing around?”

“Could be,” Mills said doubtfully. “It’s vintage, though. Really old. And whoever was driving knows what they’re doing.”

Anderson waved from the far side of the vehicle. Everyone was in position. Mills nodded and walked up to the window, prepared for a lunatic – or a drunk – or someone on an awful lot of drugs.

Instead, it was completely empty.

“What…” She glanced back at Harmon. “No one. Did he bail out?”

“We’d have seen. Check the back seat.”

“Nothing. Wait. There’s…a tin of biscuits. That’s all.”

Down the street, Anderson crouched, checking underneath. Nothing there, apparently. Slowly, the police approached, one by one relaxing as they confirmed that yes – the car was empty.

The driver side window was open. Mills stuck her head in, glancing up and down. Nothing. No sign of what had happened to the driver. The engine still gently rumbled, and the door was locked. She definitely would have noticed if someone had stayed there long enough to lock it through the window.

“I’ll call to have it towed,” Harmon said, stepping back. She could hear the confused frown in his voice. “Maybe we’ll find…something…when we search it.”

By this point, even the officers who had waited in the patrol cars had joined them, crowded along the sides of the black vintage monster, testing doors and peering through windows. Mills leaned in to unlock the driver side door. “But where could he have gone?”

“She,” a soft voice said near Mills’s ear, and something tapped against her nose. “And I haven’t gone anywhere.”

Mills stumbled back as the radio burst to life.

You know the day destroys the night Night divides the day…

Everyone spun in place, looking for the source of the music from a nearby window or door, shouting at shadows, so only Mills was watching as the pedals and gear stick moved themselves.

Tried to run Tried to hide Break on through to the other side Break on through to the other side…

The ghost car – what else could she be? – shot backwards up the street, faster than should have been possible, spun a full 360-degree turn, then straightened up and drove away, blending into traffic with a cheerful toot of the horn.

Mills finally blinked.

“Harmon?” She called. “You do the paperwork on this one. I need a drink.”

Crowley danced in her seat far more than she usually would, but for once no one could see her.

Made the scene Week to week Day to day Hour to – Crowley!

She nearly slammed on the brakes as Jim Morrison began to sound an awful lot like Dagon. Shit. Forgot about that.

“Ahhhh…speaking?”

“Who, exactly, gave you permission to leave?”

“Oh. Ahhh.” She glanced out the window at a row of businesses and pulled over in front of some kind of barber shop. “I thought, what with all the insects—”

“There were no insects!”

“There weren’t?” Crowley really needed to work on her innocent voice. “I must be hallucinating. Better go home and lie down until it passes.”

“Crowley. Your budget proposal is due by the end of the day. Do you want to be stranded up there without miracles? Do you know what we do to demons who fail to meet their quotas?”

She knew that. She’d been told, several times, exactly what to expect. “Nnnnnh…I’ve got – it’s going to be a big project. Very big. More souls than…than wasps have larvae. Just need to work on my proposal in a secure, bug-free location.”

“Crowley! Do you think for one second—”

“Ah! They’re coming out of the radio!” Crowley cut the sound.

She sat in the Bentley, tapping her fingers on the wheel.

I just hung up on Dagon. They’re going to kill me. Worse, they’re going to send me down to file in the archives for a thousand years.

Then again, they’d have to find her first.

And, she was finding, her current state presented the kind of temptations even a demon couldn’t ignore…

Graham Palmer had been trying to get into the barber shop for twenty minutes.

The door was stuck fast. No matter how he rattled and pulled, it wouldn’t budge, as if something enormous had pinned it shut. And yet, every time he stepped back to let other patrons try, the door opened easily, but slammed as if pulled shut whenever he approached. He even tried slipping through behind another customer, but then it stayed shut until Graham stepped back. There was just no way in.

Now he hammered on the window, trying to get his barber’s attention. “Stuart! Stuart! What the hell are you trying to pull?”

The barber looked up from his current customer, blinking in confusion, and jerked his head towards the door.

“I tried that, it doesn’t bloody work!” A young man half his age walked past, giving Graham a funny look, and pulled open the shop door. Graham dove to follow him, but again it snapped shut, almost catching his nose. He pounded the door with his fist, glaring at the customers inside. “I’m going to be late!”

Across the shop, Stuart put down his scissors and shouted something. All Graham caught was “…break my glass…”

There was an idea.

He crossed the pavement to where an ancient black car was parked, removing his jacket. Wrapping it around his arm for protection, he charged forward, bracing himself for impact.

The door swung open in front of him and before he could stop himself, Graham tripped over – something – there didn’t appear to be anything – and sprawled on his face, sliding across the linoleum floor.

“Watch yourself, dearie,” a cheerful woman’s voice said, but when he looked up, no one was there.

Crowley strolled around the park, her new domain, another time.

Over there, at the edge of the path, was the Strange Chill area. Anyone who paused there, perhaps studying the slightly askew sign that seemed to indicate the exit was in the fountain, would feel a touch on their shoulder, a tickle on the back of their neck, or hear heavy breathing with no source.

Over here, near the ice cream cart, was the Creepy Bush. Originally just generic ghost noises, Crowley eventually discovered what really freaked humans out was a disembodied voice whispering their name, or something they’d said in private a few minutes before. She followed strolling couples around, listening in on anything good, and when one stopped to by the other ice cream, just really let loose on the one standing by the bushes. They usually started clinging much more closely to their partner after that, so really, Crowley was doing them a favor. Instant relationship counseling.

Across from the fountain sat the Haunted Bench. Crowley really went wild with that one. Children’s songs in a creepy voice. Branches shaking with no wind. Possessions floating away from wherever they’d been set down. Really, anything was allowed.

The narrow path leading through the tulips was the Asshole Road. Anyone Crowley caught being an asshole in her park was subtly sent that direction, pickpocketed, and then beset by bees, or at least a very convincing humming and a few pricks from an invisible earring.

The fountain itself was Rare Coins and Lost Items. Her third pickpocket victim had been carrying a tube of very powerful epoxy, and it turns out the coin-stuck-to-the-sidewalk trick was even better when you glued it underwater. A few pieces of jewelry at the bottom were also glued in place, but most of the valuables were simply tossed in or – if they weren’t waterproof – hung from the sculpture of frolicking animals in an amusing way. Crowley mostly just kept the cash, and even then only if the Assholes had been particularly cruel. So far, she’d accumulated almost five hundred pounds.

It was either the best park in London, or the worst.

She leaned against the clock – now set forty-eight and a half minutes slow – and surveyed the chaos. Two teenagers were frantically trying to get something out of the fountain, while the Asshole who’d sworn at that lovely gay couple was now soaked through, desperately trying to get his watch back from the ear of a sculpted rabbit seven feet high. That had been hard to get into place, but certainly worth it. The couple, meanwhile, were hand-in-hand, clutching ice creams and hurrying away from what had been for them the Creepy but Oddly Affirming Bush. The lady with the dog that had made a mess by the roses was trying to report the Haunted Bench to a cop, who tiredly insisted it was her lunch break and that the lady would not believe the morning she’d had.

Crowley grinned up at the sky. This – this was what it was all about. Forget budget meetings and presentations. Who did that make miserable, apart from the demons themselves? This park had everything: temptation, fear, frustration, justice, ice cream, and perfect weather.

“Hey. Hey you feathered wankers,” someone shouted, followed by the sound of rattling pebbles and angry quacking.

Tipping down her invisible shades, Crowley spotted some young idiot chucking handfuls of rocks at the ducks. Most were fleeing, but one flapped her wings, panicked and possessive, over a nest. One of the eggs had already been broken.

Looks like another volunteer for Asshole Road. Crowley was already eying their watch.

Every bakery has that one customer. Probably every place that sold food.

The one that demands impossible standards, not because of any particular love of fine cuisine, but just because they can.

The one that counts the blueberries in their muffin and lets you know if there aren’t enough.

The one who spends five minutes shouting, “No, not that one, that one,” while providing no other information, until their server had touched everything in the display case.

The one who complains that their brownie is too chocolatey.

The customer who somehow gets away with murder on account of being someone’s spouse, or sibling, or old school friend.

Victoria Lockwood was that customer, and as Riley watched her approach, they held their breath in trepidation.

“This scone,” she snapped, dropping her plate onto the counter, “is not right.” Then she glared at Bailey, waiting for a response.

“Is it…” Bailey’s mind raced, trying to work out what might be wrong. “The wrong flavor?” Victoria’s face only darkened. “Um. Is – is it dry?” But most of that batch had sold without a single complaint. “Did you want…more lemon curd? Or—”

“It is not hot enough.”

“Ah.” Of course. They’d taken that batch out nearly an hour ago; the next was ready to go in. “If you’re willing to wait, um…twenty minutes? I can give you the first—”

“Twenty minutes? What kind of service is that? I want my scone now.” She glanced at the tray coming out of the oven. “Why are you making me wait? What are those?”

Bailey glanced back and relaxed for a moment. “Oh – yes, I can get you one right now. They’re Raspberry Almond Butterm—”

“Disgusting!” Victoria rapped her hand against the counter. “That is not what I ordered! I demand you warm this one up, immediately.”

“I…” Bailey glanced at their coworkers, but everyone was avoiding eye contact. “That’s…I can put it back in the oven but that would probably dry—”

“Fine.” She shoved the plate towards them. “Be quick about it, young lady, I don’t like to wait.” She clearly noticed the way Bailey flinched. “If you don’t want to be mistaken for a girl, I suggest you get a proper haircut. And not that hideous shade of pink.”

“Y’s ma’am,” Bailey muttered, because some arguments would never be worth it. They took back the scone and put it on a baking tray. Maybe if it was only in the oven for a minute or two—

“Victoria Lockwood!” Bailey spun around, searching for who had called out. Not anyone else behind the counter, they all had their heads ducked, concentrating on some other tasks. But there – on the counter – a scone sat on Victoria’s plate.

She looked up from her makeup compact, smiled triumphantly, and took a bite out of it.

Her face immediately went green, and she dropped plate and pastry, running out of the bakery faster than Bailey had ever seen anyone move. They rushed forward, ready to call after her, but very much not wanting to, and picked up the discarded scone – it smelled awful, like vinegar and fish.

There was also an enormous wad of banknotes on the counter, wrapped up in a scrap of paper with a note: Kid – Don’t take that shit from anyone. Flip off your boss when you quit. <3 C

The bakery door opened and shut on its own.

Well, there was an entire day’s pickpocketing gone in a moment, but it wasn’t like Crowley had a better use for it. She still had a few rare coins, but after the fountain, sticking them to the ground seemed an anticlimax. She’d had some fun modifying the haunting routine for the bus or Underground, but both would be filled with commuters now a ghost that swears when you elbow her in the ribs on a crowded train is…not as impressive.

Still. Not a bad day overall. The most expensive foods in the corner marked had all been re-priced, several examples of hostile architecture had been mysteriously destroyed, enough people would be sharing stories of “hauntings” that the whole city would need to be exorcised, and – just for the Heaven of it – she’d followed a particularly annoying human for almost an hour, up and down the streets, buzzing in his ear.

Really, it was the simple pleasures that made the world so enjoyable.

And speaking of simple pleasures, Crowley had left one particular part of the city for last.

Strolling down the streets of Soho, which was just waking up while more respectable – but far less fun – parts of the city were winding down, she kept her eyes open for anyone who might make a good target. A few possibilities presented themselves, but in the end her destination proved the stronger draw.

A. Z. Fell’s Bookshop.

It was just the right time of day, when the customers would still be bothering Aziraphale, and she would be running short of patient ways to refuse them and start turning to biting sarcasm and, on occasion, outright threats. She’d probably appreciate a little haunting to help chase them off, once Crowley had finished stealing her cocoa, moving her bookmarks, and changing the record in the gramophone.

But, glancing in the window, Crowley saw something that poured cold water all over her brilliant day.

Gabriel.

Michael and Uriel, too. Probably Sandalphon lurking around.

Aziraphale stood before her bosses, hands clutched anxiously, that eager, ready-to-please face that made Crowley’s chest ache. Some, when faced with the beings who had hurt them so many times, became afraid, or angry, or distressed. But Aziraphale…just wanted approval. A kind word.

Crowley glared at Gabriel. The Heaven are you up to this time?

For once, she would be able to find out.

“And, I really think,” Aziraphale said, hands twisting like captured rodents as she rambled, “that this past decade in particular,I’ve – I’ve accomplished many things. Um. I – I prepared a list…somewhere…” her eyes darted to the disaster she called a desk, and she started shifting material objects around, smiling nervously. Guiltily.

“Is this going to take long?” Gabriel asked with a pointed sigh.

“No! I just…one moment…”

“We’re already running late,” Uriel commented. “We’d expected you to be better prepared.”

“Of course.” Aziraphale snatched up a book and began flipping through it frantically, as if it might contain the answers she needed. “Only, ah, you didn’t actually say when you would be coming…”

“We did say between the 3rd of January and 28th of October,” Michael pointed out reasonably.

“Oh. Um. I…”

“Something doesn’t seem…right,” Sandalphon said, stepping close to Aziraphale, putting a hand on her shoulder. The book she held tumbled from her fingers. “This whole place has a…smell about it.”

The door slammed behind them. Gabriel glanced back, but couldn’t see it from where he stood. Sandalphon gave Aziraphale’s shoulder another squeeze, then headed over to check on it.

“I thought,” Gabriel said slowly, making sure the slow-witted Principality heard every word, “I told you to lock the door.”

“It was.” Aziraphale’s eyes had gone wide. “I – I mean I did.”

Gabriel pursed his lips and shook his head. This had been a particularly disappointing review. Disappointing in the sense that their agent had once again conclusively failed to present evidence of meaningful victories towards Heaven’s cause. Less disappointing in that, whether she knew it or not, Aziraphale had already given him what he needed to take the arrogant fool down a few pegs.

In six thousand years, she’d barely managed to do a single thing right, yet somehow always came to him simpering and smiling like she deserved all the accolades of Heaven. Well, he’d been patient, as suited an Archangel, as patient as he could. But once per century, he had the opportunity to make his opinion perfectly clear.

Take away her miracles for a start, he thought. Though that didn’t seem to work nearly as well as it had a few centuries ago. Maybe recall her to Heaven for a year or two, re-educate her on the basics of her duty. There might be enough for a period of isolation. With restraints. They’d done that once, about three thousand years before, after a particularly poor review. Seven years chained up in an empty corner of Heaven, and Aziraphale had been wonderfully pliable for centuries after. Perhaps it was time to revisit.

“Look – look here, I have a list of…oh.” Aziraphale held out her book again, which seemed to be filled with irregular scrawl instead of the usual neatly printed words. “I started a list of accomplishments, but ah…I became busy the last few years. Um. Quite a lot has happened since…”

Uriel took the book and studied it, face impressively calm. “Interesting,” they said, not giving anything away as they turned the pages over. Gabriel trusted them to spot anything useful.

As the Archangels waited in pointed silence, Michael walked her fingers across a table. She pressed a thumb against a book, sliding it to the edge. Aziraphale stared as it teetered, then found its balance again. Michael watched it, disinterested, then moved on to another book, sliding that forward as well.

Sandalphon stepped back beside Gabriel, shrugging his shoulders. No sign of anything. Well. More questions for later.

Uriel reached the final page.

“What happened in 1967?”

“Nothing!” At the panic in Aziraphale’s tone, all four Archangels raised their eyebrows. “I – I – I mean, yes, lots, many – many—” One of the books beside Michael fell to the floor with a slap. The Principality winced. “I – I’m terribly sorry, could you be more specific?”

“Your final entry,” Uriel held the book out to Aziraphale, “says 1967 – Prevented… Prevented what?”

“Ahhhhhh.” Aziraphale squirmed. “Well, I…I…there was…ummm…”

“As I recall,” Michael said slowly, “you briefly visited Heaven that year, but didn’t officially report to any of us. And then didn’t return for at least…six months? Very unusual.”

“You haven’t been hiding something, have you?” Gabriel smiled, his heart rising. More than isolation. He could probably take away this shop, for a start, give it to a more trustworthy angel.

“Nnnnno.” Aziraphale gave that particular smile, the one that meant she thought she was about to get away with something. The one she thought Gabriel didn’t know about. “But, ahhh, if you could, um, quite a lot happened in the world in the…the last ten years or so.”

Something crashed on the other side of the building. No, he’d have the place demolished. It was falling apart already. Aziraphale could watch. Maybe he could order her to help. An eminently suitable punishment for wasting his time. “As I understand it,” he said, taking a step forward, “the last decade saw…war, riots, assassinations…”

“Well, well, yes, I…but, if you look at progress with, um, civil rights, ahh…anticolonialism…”

More made-up human terms. Gabriel and Michael shared a pained glance. “Look. Aziraphale.” Gabriel pressed his hands together. “It’s not that we don’t appreciate you taking the initiative, but…what does any of this have to do with your orders?”

“Or, for that matter, with your visit to Heaven?” Michael moved her fingers across the table again, coming to rest on one of those stupid little figurines Aziraphale had accumulated. Like a packrat. A human depiction of an angel, as some kind of soft, happy baby with wings. Not a warrior at all. Michael’s finger tapped against it. “What were you trying to prevent?”

“Did it have something to do with…Holy Water?” Sandalphon suddenly asked.

“That’s right,” Gabriel said. Something clicking in his mind. “There was that storage jar that went missing.” Did Aziraphale look more guilty than usual? “What year was that?”

“1967,” Uriel said.

He couldn’t hold back the smile. If he could prove Aziraphale had taken Holy Water for some sort of personal use, well.

He’d pretty much be justified whatever he decided to do.

“I – I – I can explain.” The Principality tried to back away, but was stopped by her own desk. “There – there was this demon, an – an especially, ah, wily, cunning, um, crafty demon—”

“Was there?” Michael’s finger twitched, sending the false angel off the table. It fell—

Then hovered, halfway to the floor.

Slowly, it lifted, rightening itself in the air before them. There was no trace of a miracle, no power of any kind. It simply…floated. Drifting through the air to land on the desk beside Aziraphale.

“Clever,” said Gabriel, watching the Principality’s face for any sign of deception. “How did you do that?”

“I…”

The pages of a book, laid out on the stand behind her, began to turn, flipping faster and faster, slamming shut.

“This…isn’t me.” Aziraphale said.

Behind her, books began to float off their shelves. One rocketed across the room towards Gabriel. He dodged it easily, but it was followed by another, and another. The lights flickered overhead.

“If it isn’t you,” Gabriel began, but a small table by the door to the next room began to rattle. Atop it lay a black-and-white board covered with formless carvings, which lifted into the air, then exploded, pieces flying at the Archangels. Gabriel easily batted them aside, but now one of the armchairs began to shift.

Without a word, the four prepared for battle, Gabriel stepping back, Michael and Sandalphon moving to the front. At least, that was the plan – the moment he tried to move, Gabriel fell, his feet somehow tightly bound together. The same happened to Sandalphon and Uriel, and even Michael stumbled, knocking over a table in her haste to stay upright.

Glass rattled in the back of the shop.

“It’s…” Aziraphale cleared her throat. “It’s that same demon again! I thought I’d banished her!”

“What?” Banishing wasn’t exactly something angels did.

“The – the Holy Water!” A bottle of something hovered out from the back room, moving slowly but threateningly. “Did you bring any? It’s the only thing that can stop her.”

“What are you talking about?” Michael’s sword manifested in her hand. “What demon?”

“Crowley! She – she seems to have grown even more powerful!”

“Crowley?” Not that worthless snake again. How many times had he been assured – through Michael’s secret back-channel sources – that Crowley was the most useless, incompetent, lazy demon in Hell? And yet somehow, not a single angel had ever successfully dealt with her – except Aziraphale.

“I thought I smelled a demon,” Sandalphon said, pulling his shoes off and tossing them aside. “But I can’t sense demonic power.”

“Obviously not!” Aziraphale’s wings burst from her back, and she held out a hand towards the hovering bottle. It slowly lowered itself to the ground. “Why do you think she’s so difficult to defeat? The power she uses – it’s not of Heaven or Hell! I – I can barely counter it!”

“Let me, then,” Michael said, predatory gleam in her eyes. Like Sandalphon, she’d removed her shoes; Gabriel was working on his own, but somehow the laces had become wound together like snakes, something sticky sealing the knot shut.

Sandalphon and Michael stepped forward, swords at the ready. “No!” Aziraphale turned to block them, and immediately the rattling started up again – this time from the metal stairs to the upper floor. “You – you don’t understand! Wh – when she gets like this – the fires would only make her stronger.”

Something – horrible, screeching noises – began emanating from the back room, like some animal being torn apart.

“That’s – that’s why I need the Holy Water! In the proper ritual, it – it – it’s too complicated to explain!”

A cupboard burst open, revealing a display of holy items – consecrated Bibles, holy symbols, sticks of incense and jars of oil. “No!” Aziraphale shouted, genuine panic in her voice.

The largest, heaviest of the Bibles lifted and shot across the room. It didn’t reach the Archangels, but Gabriel could see smoke rising from its cover.

Next came a crucifix, spinning end over end, which Michael caught out of the air. The wood was burned all along one side.

“Don’t you see?” Aziraphale said, eyes round. “Nothing I have in there can stop her! What could a flaming sword even do? I need more Holy Water.” A jar of oil fell to the ground and immediately began to boil, bubbling and steaming. “I’ll try to hold her back as long as I can.” Aziraphale’s face furrowed in concentration as she walked across the shop. “Please, it – it’s far too dangerous for you here…”

“Right.” Gabriel glanced at the other Archangels. Something wasn’t right. But they couldn’t risk themselves against an unknown force. “We’ll…we’ll get some Holy Water. You do what you can.”

With a thought, the ascended to Heaven.

Gabriel quickly stood up, brushing down his clothing and trying to school his expression. “Well. I think the best course of action is to wait a day or two, then go see what the damage is.”

“And Aziraphale’s review?” Uriel asked, face somehow still calm, despite everything that had happened.

“I just hope we don’t have to give her a damn commendation again.”

The Arch-Wankers vanished in a shimmer of blue light.

“Ow, ow, fuck that hurts!” Crowley gasped, stumbling away from the spilled oil and shaking her hands. “What kind of stuff do you keep in there?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale started to rush forward, then froze. “Where are you? Can’t you – reveal yourself, or whatever?”

“Nnnnnnnnope. Rrrrrgh, how does this hurt more than walking in a church?”

“I…I’m sorry, my dear girl,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve been worried lately that if – if your side realized what was happening…I thought it best to have a little insurance of my own.”

“Well it works.” Crowley managed to reach one of the shop chairs and sank into it. “Over here…no, here! Where’s…” She nudged the rug with her least-burnt toe, folding a bit of it up. Aziraphale immediately ran over.

“That was – well, that was clever, Crowley, but highly unnecessary. I – I was only having my performance review. I thought I was doing quite well.” Her soft hands found one of Crowley’s and picked it up, fingers tracing across the palm.

“I…” Crowley had seen the way Gabriel’s eyes lit up at the mention of Holy Water, while she was on the ground gluing his shoelaces together, and she counted it among the most terrifying things she’d ever seen. “I’m sure you were, but vanquishing some super-powerful demon? Saving the Archangels? Well, that’s only going to help, right?”

“Hmmm.” Another brush of her fingers, and the sting started to go out of Crowley’s palms. “And, I’m sure, spark a few rumors that might help you?”

“Oh.” Crowley grimaced, looking out the windows. “Unless those rumors spread really fast, I doubt I’m going to get much benefit.”

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale sank to the ground, patting around until she found one of Crowley’s feet. She gently lifted it, stroking from ankle to toe and giving it the same healing treatment. “And why are you like this?”

“Just lucky, I guess.”

“Crowley.”

“Right. Um. I…may have…borrowed a few of your books and…designed a curse to get out of my quarter-century budget review. But in my defense – it’s so boring.”

Aziraphale sighed – or possibly blew a healing breath across Crowley’s feet. No, probably the sigh, but at least they felt a bit better. “My dear, it’s only a meeting. There’s no need for these – these histrionics.”

“Histri—Angel, that is – I am not – can you grab a dictionary? I need to know how upset I should be.”

“Extremely.”

“Right. I am. And…I thought it would only last a few hours. Have a bit of fun. But…I need my miracles for, you know, ambient healing, and…look, they cut off our miracles during the review, and only give them back once you’ve wowed them with your project idea.”

“And you don’t have one, do you?”

“Not…as such.” Crowley hung her head. “I…I thought I could get an extension. Just long enough to think of something.”

“So you cursed yourself.” That pained look, the I-hate-to-tell-you-how-much-you-failed-but-also-I-love-it look. Only slightly ruined by the fact that it was aimed somewhere over the demon’s left shoulder. “Crowley, did it never occur to you that in the time it took you create such a thing, you could just as easily have come up with a project?”

“Nh.”

“And did you come up with your brilliant idea during your delay?”

“Nnnh.”

“Well. At least you’re sorry now, I assume?”

“Nope.” If she hadn’t skipped out, Crowley wouldn’t have been here to help Aziraphale. She’d saved her friend countless times over six thousand years, but sometimes…she was quite happy the angel didn’t notice. “No, demons don’t get sorry. We get…” she grunted. “We get annoyed at ourselves for…ngk…for hanginupndagonnpissinheroff.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“For hanging up on Dagon and pissing her off.” Crowley rubbed her face. “Unless I can think of the greatest project any demon ever came up with…” Her stomach dropped as the reality of it hit. A thousand years in filing meant a thousand years without Aziraphale’s bastard looks and gentle touches. “I’m…probably going to be gone for a while.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale stroked her fingers across Crowley’s foot one more time. “No, that won’t do at all.” She looked up with that icy, determined look. The let-me-speak-to-your-manager expression that made Crowley go completely light-headed. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to do something about all this.”

“Like what?”

“How are your feet?”

“F—hmm? Oh, fine.” They were – Aziraphale seemed to have removed all the pain. Or at least, she’d removed some of the pain, and the fluttery feeling in Crowley’s chest allowed her to ignore the rest. “So. Um. What did you have in mind? Oh!” A grin stretched across her face. “Dagon and Beelzebub already think you cursed me. Maybe we can stage a second fight where they see it. I’ll definitely get an extension that way.”

“Or.” Aziraphale found Crowley’s hands again and laced their fingers together, pulling her to her feet. “We can go for a drive in that beastly car of yours and actually come up with a proper idea. Something convoluted, demonic, and with that…Crowley style.”

“I have a style now?”

“Hmmm. Yes. Not as refined as mine, but I think we can make it work.” Her right hand squeezed Crowley’s, and her left slid up the demon’s arm to her shoulder. “You know, I had a little over a century apart from you. And I have absolutely no desire to repeat that. In fact I…I rather think I prefer your company to, well. Anyone’s.”

“Nnnnh.” Crowley shuffled her feet and clutched Aziraphale’s hand back, guiding the angel to stand just a little closer. Needing to say something. Afraid to say too much. “Ssssss. Mmmm. Yeah. I, uh. I like it better up here, too. Y’know. Where you are.”

“Yes, I know.” Aziraphale’s left hand slid further up, coming to rest on the back of her neck. “I can see right through you. My dear Crowley.” With the lightest pressure, she tipped the demon’s head down.

And kissed her, soft lips covering Crowley’s shocked mouth.

“Oh…” Aziraphale gasped, pulling back slightly, hardly at all. “I, ah…I meant to…” Her breath still tickled Crowley’s lips. “I…forehead…”

“Nrrh.” Crowley’s free hand drifted forward, finding Aziraphale’s hip, resting on it, barely a touch. It was all she dared. “Ah…?”

Neither of them moved. Or both did. Or they stood still and the world around them shifted. Whichever way it was, their lips touched again, and held this time. Slowly, they drifted closer, caught in each other’s gravity, a decaying orbit. Crowley would surely burn up on approach, but it was worth every moment.

Eventually they parted, once more just enough to breathe, to speak, to remember that they were two beings and not a single, burning soul.

“Not…” Crowley swallowed. “Not too fast?”

“I…” Aziraphale bit her lip. “I don’t know. But…Crowley…I know…where I want to go. Eventually.”

Their foreheads pressed together. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Aziraphale nodded, dropping left hand falling away, right thumb rubbing the back of Crowley’s hand. Her eyes fluttered open and she gasped. “Oh, my word!”

“What?” Crowley glanced at herself, black cloth trousers flared wide at the legs, tight red sleeveless shirt cut scandalously low in the front and back, boots with heels that made her even taller than usual—

She was visible again.

“I…I suppose I was still healing you when we…oh…oh, Crowley…what are you wearing?”

“Angel, it’s – I look fashionable, you look – have you changed anything in the last century?”

“I…a few things! Were you honestly planning to give a presentation like that?”

“I was going to be invisible, yeah!”

“You…are…” Aziraphale pressed her eyes shut. “I am going to get my jacket. And then I’m going to get you a jacket, because it’s cold at night, and you are cold-blooded.”

“M’not,” Crowley muttered.

“And then we will go for our ride and determine what evil, dastardly plan I will spend the next twenty-five years thwarting. Is that clear?”

“Yes.” After a moment, Crowley said, “Ah, Aziraphale?”

“What is it now?”

“At some point, are you going to let go of my hand?”

Aziraphale glanced down. “Oh. Hmm. I suppose we’ll find out.”

(Fifty Years Later)

Crowley sat beneath the apple tree, her hand clutched tightly in Aziraphale’s, leaning back against her angel’s chest. “And that,” she concluded, “is why we call the 26th of April Lesbian Visibility Day.”

The Them stared at the two supernatural beings, mouths slightly open.

“You…” Pepper started, “are full of so much shit.”

“Oi!”

“Actually,” Wensley said, “that’s…one of the worst stories I’ve ever heard. How are you supposed to budget miracles?”

“If they could cut you off that easy,” Brian jumped in, “why didn’t they do it when you left Hell?”

“Oh, ummm,” she glanced up at Aziraphale.

“Tactics,” the angel said enigmatically.

Pepper didn’t even seem to be listening. “How did you know what all those people were thinking?”

“That’s right,” Wensley nodded. “Particularly Gabriel.”

“He…he has a very expressive face,” Crowley argued.

“How’d you actually move around like that, without anyone hearing you? The whole day?”

“Shouldn’t you’ve been, you know, way more worried about getting killed?”

“At least one of those bookshop attacks wasn’t even possible, unless you were in two places at once.”

“And how d’you accidentally leave your healing on?”

“How could you possibly mistake her lips for her forehead?”

“This was rubbish.”

“What do you think, Adam?”

The former Antichrist looked up from where he was playing with Dog. “I think…” He gave the angel and demon a penetrating look, then shook his head, smiling as if he’d just seen the joke at the center of the universe, and it had turned out to be a truly terrible pun. “I think you should just tell us the next story.”

“Which one’s that?” Crowley asked, settling back into the curve of her angel’s arm, fingers still twined together.

“The one with the greatest project any demon ever came up with.”

“Oh.” Grinning, Crowley tipped her head to meet Aziraphale’s shining eyes. “Wahoo.”

The song is "Break on Through (To the Other Side)" by the Doors, because Queen had not yet put out their first album, though there was a lot of pressure in the Discord to have Crowley dancing to Abba instead.

Final scene set next year because we'll all be sitting together under apple trees with our loved ones and telling BS stories to kids before we know it.

For everyone who contributed non-anonymous suggestions:

@amidst-innumerable-stars @tangle5ancer @fenrislorsrai @feuerkindjana @bowser14456 @taksez @yeahhiyellow @infinitevariety @gargelyfloof118 @lourek @soft-forest-rain @undertaker991 @jules-al-c @lov-lyness2 @thisleadstohollyhocks @marianrios33 @aux-barricades @lostmemimi @joybones @derederest @myusernameispie @mothmans-favorite-lamp and @n0nb1narydemon (yes I did find a way to level up the coin gluing!) and of course @5ftjewishcactus who encouraged me when you really shouldn't. Sorry I couldn't fit in everyone's suggestions!

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deltas-writing-corner · 3 years

Text

Courtship: Together

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland (Malleus x GN!reader)

Author note: Thank you all for your patience and happy reading!

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and alcohol consumption.

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AO3 version

“Really, I insist.”

“And I insist you sit down and relax while we finish preparing your party,” Lilia says as he pushes Malleus back down in his seat; the grand stone throne at the top of the double staircase in Diasomnia’s main lounge room. “We’re nearly done, anyway!”

Malleus tries to argue that setting out a few plates of food or lighting a few candles himself is no big issue, but Lilia skips away before he can get another word in. He continues to watch as the rest of his dorm mates decorate and rearrange the lounge into a grand venue befitting a birthday bash. Every so often, he checks his phone and rereads the last few messages you sent to him. You wrote you would arrive soon and would inform him when you were outside. He was getting antsy the longer he waits. There was even a moment where he was unsure if you knew the way to his dorm and panic-offered to escort you just in case. He snuck out for you once, and he’d do it again if you only asked.

The somber doorbell rings, and he immediately shoots up onto his feet. Lilia excuses himself so he can answer the door, but Malleus quickly descends the stairs and catches him by the shoulder before he can leave the room. “I’ll get it,” he says, leaving no room for a rebuttal from his caretaker. He hears several shouts of his name and approaching footsteps, but no one completely follows him into the halls, most likely thanks to Lilia holding them back. Even as he puts more and more distance between him and the venue, he swears he can hear the elder fae’s playful giggles echoing in the distance.

He picks up his already hurried pace at the sound of the bell ringing again. He’s a bit out of breath by the time he reaches the door and takes a few moments to straighten up and calm his pounding heart before welcoming you in. His efforts to appear calm and collected are all for naught, as he feels his breath being taken away when he opens the door and sees you. While you’re always wonderfully dressed, seeing you dressed in attire that is just a smidge more formal and fanciful strikes a carnal chord he didn’t know existed till this very moment. Black and green are the signature colors of Diasomnia. While your dress shirt isn’t the traditional vibrant green, instead it is a dark and rich hue, he can’t help but wonder if it would be too rude or outright ridiculous to ask you to wear it more often.

“Hey!” you greet with a bright smile on your face. “See? I made it here just fine.”

“Thank goodness,” he lets out a relieved sigh. “I thought I may have had to pick you out of a thorn bush.”

You let out a hearty laugh at his comment as he ushers you inside. He observes you as you look around and take in the decor of his dorm. While the architecture of Diasomnia is a typical design within the Valley of Thorns, his own home especially, he knows from a few off-handed comments that some students find the dorm gloomy and even downright unwelcoming. He supposes the green flames that bathe the walls and windows in an ominous glow can be a bit intimidating to those not used to them, but you don’t appear bothered by it at all. In fact, you’re dragging him in the opposite direction of the lounge and insisting that he show you around his dorm.

“I’m not leaving ‘till I see your room,” you firmly state.

“Why would you want to see my room?” he asks.

“Y’know?” You point back and forth between him and yourself. “You’ve seen my room, so now I get to see your room.”

That sounds awfully familiar.

“What is your name, child of man?”

“Depends on who’s asking,” you answer nonchalantly, completely unintimidated or disturbed by his presence. “What’s yours?”

His eyebrows furrow with annoyance. “It is proper to give your name when asked.”

“That isn’t how mutual introductions work where I’m from,” you scoff. “You’re supposed to give me your name, and then I give you mine.” you point back and forth between you and himself to better emphasize your explanation. As if you were trying to make sense of the difference between right and wrong to a child.

He feels the urge to growl in the back of his throat. “You’re rather ill-mannered, human.”

“I don't think any reasonable person would feel safe giving out their name to a tall guy with horns, wandering around an abandoned dorm that’s seen better days,” you bite back. “You aren’t making a great case for yourself either.”

After his mind finishes playing back the very first memory and conversation he has of you, he gently grabs you by the shoulder and leads you in the opposite direction. “Very well,” he concedes.

He guides you down several long halls, past the other standard-sized dorm rooms and other empty rooms. The large double doors of his room eventually come into full view, and when you turn and ask him if that was his room, you give him a giddy smile when he confirms it is. His room is rather plain. The only personal items he has are a few pennants above his desk given to him by Lilia many decades ago, and a giant statue shaped as the Witch of Thorn’s dragon form. While there isn’t anything in particular that he’s embarrassed by you seeing, he worries you might find the lack of personal decor boring, upsetting even. You have little else in your room as well, but compared to his it may as well be a treasure trove.

“Huh,” you step in and look back and forth, taking in his private space in all its unassuming glory. “So this is what a dorm leader’s room is like!”

The first place that catches your interest is the bed, which you unashamedly fall back on, arms spread out to bask in the space underneath you. If seeing you on his bed wasn’t enough to stir his heart, it would be the fact that another one of your shirt buttons came undone, exposing more of your collarbones and the middle of your chest to his obsessive gaze.

“Damn, I’d kill for a bed this big,” you grumble. “Do you know how much of a pain it is, sleeping with a bunch of full-grown wolves, four newborn pups, and a steadily growing deer?”

“You can always order them out of your room at night,” he suggests.

You fall back on his bed again with a groan. “Believe me, I’ve tried! They nearly scratched my door off and kept me up all night with their loud howling.”

You and your deep, unspoken love for animals. It seems it’s coming back to bite you in small ways. “You’re much more pliable than I thought!” he says, laughing behind his palm.

“Whatever,” you lift yourself and give a dismissive wave with your hand. Something catches your eye, as you look him up and down before tilting your head inquisitively. “Aren’t you supposed to have a sash with your outfit?”

He is, but what you don’t know is that he purposely left it in his closet, hoping you would notice and bring it up as you did just now. The reason and overall style of this birthday suit perplexed Malleus, but he’ll admit that it wasn’t an unwelcome surprise when the headmaster dropped it off the other day. He was actually hoping it would be you that presented it to him as you did with Lilia’s identical outfit on his birthday. However, that one time was because the headmaster had another obligation and handed the task to you last minute. It was the first time Malleus saw you since the end of the winter break, when his love confession went awry. It was awkward and nerve-racking, as to be expected considering how things went. But when you smiled and called him “tsunotarou” (much to Sebek’s disdain), it helped affirm the words the two of you had been exchanging over the phone, that you and he are still friends and that you still cared about him.

As he had hoped, you quickly offer to put the sash on for him when he mentions it still being somewhere in his wooden wardrobe. Your movements are swift and unassuming, but he can’t help the way his shoulders tense up when you put your arm around him to wrap the sash around his torso. Once the strip of fabric is properly secured, you run your hands over his clothes to smooth out the small wrinkles and bunched-up fabric. Your actions feel like a burst of electricity against his skin, even though there were several layers of clothes separating your bare flesh from his.

You casually wipe your thumb over the purple gem on his lapel pin before saying, “White suits you.”

“Is that so?” He timidly raises his hands to button up your dress shirt, just the one button that was undone earlier. He knows you hate having it buttoned up all the way. “I thought you said red suited me best?”

“I still think it does!” you chuckle. “But I’ve never considered you in something white until now. I guess I have to make you a white coat now.”

“You don’t have to,” he insists. “The one you made for me is fine as it is.”

“That’s good,” you smile. “All those years of helping my aunt sew and mend clothes for my cousins finally came in handy.”

“That would be your second aunt, correct?”

You’re visibly surprised at his comment, but you quickly give him a rather adorable smile. “That’s right!” you chant. When he asks you why you’re smiling so sincerely, you answer, “You’re the first person who’s been able to tell which of my aunts I’m talking about without naming them.”

“You speak of them often, so it’s expected that I’d be able to distinguish who you’re referring to after some time.”

“Well, shut me up if I mention them one too many times,” you insist, eyes averted from his own as you fidget with the ribbon tails of his celebratory bow near his breast pocket, his birth month and day were written with shimmering gold foil.

“Nonsense,” he frowns, redirecting your gaze to him so he can look you in the eyes. “They’re your family. If they’re important to you, then they are to me as well.”

While it’s true that you speak or make a frequent mention of your aunts during your many late-night strolls with him, Malleus’s ability to tell which one you’re referring to is mostly due to him carefully listening to each of your stories like they were gospels, writing seemingly rudimentary information down in his private journal to later read back by himself. Initially, he kept a record because your stories about the life you’ve lived alongside your rather rambunctious human family intrigued him. As his infatuation for you grew, he hoped that by showing you he remembers these moments of your life that you’ve shared with him, it would be a clear sign that he deeply cared not just about you, but also the family you deeply care for.

“Honestly,” you sigh and give him a playful look. “You really know how to tug on my heartstrings, don’t you?”

Malleus has done his best to remain calm and composed in your presence ever since he came to terms with his feelings towards you. As always, you shatter his efforts completely just by being your genuine self, open and honest with your thoughts. You seem to relish his red-faced meltdown, pulling him into a comforting hug while also laughing at him. He hopes you don’t think it strange, the way he seamlessly leans against you and melts in your arms. There’s a pleasant fragrant he picks up in your hair, fresh and floral, specifically like roses. He knows you like to make and use rose water every once in a while to keep your skin moisturized and your hair healthy. His heart is on the verge of bursting through his chest, thinking about you using it specifically with him in mind.

Is this your way of enticing him? It’s not much, but it’s working.

You pull away from him when your phone briefly rings. “Looks like they finished,” you announce as you skim over the newly received message, most likely from Lilia. “We should probably head there now before Sebek gets impatient and hunts you down like a rabbit.”

At the mention of his well-meaning, but loud retainer, Malleus and you leave his room and walk back to the venue together. Along the way, he acts bold and grabs your hand as you hurriedly walk side by side. You don’t pull away when his fingers interlock with yours. Instead, you squeeze and swipe the callus pad of your thumb over his knuckles, a silent assertion that his gesture is okay with you. A shy smile adorns his face. When he spares a glance over at you, he sees one as well.

“I know it’s only been 5 days,” he nervously mentions aloud. “But is it safe for me to presume that you already have an answer?”

“Pretty much,” you casually answer, but you still sounding quite sure of yourself. It sends his heart, mind, and body into a hopeful frenzy. “But as you said, it’s only been 5 days. I still have 2 more days left before my deadline hits and I’m taking all the time I’ve given myself.”

That cheeky tone of yours doesn’t go amiss. In normal Ramshackle fashion, you’re going to keep him at his wits’ end for your own amusement. He doesn’t know if he should feel more annoyed or more enchanted by you. Perhaps a mix of both? Truly, only you can make him feel this way.

“Honestly,” he shakes his head in disbelief. “You are by far the most troublesome human I’ve ever met.”

He halts his hurried pace. And you do as well. He grasps your still intertwined hands together with his other hand, holding it carefully like they were as fragile as glass. Your skin is covered in scars, both recent and old, that came from years of foraging and enduring the natural difficulties of mother nature. However, to him, these permanent markings are more precious than the rarest gem or the finest silk. Your hand is neither too large nor too small within his. It sits just right within his grasp like they were made for him to hold and caress as he is doing now.

“I suppose that makes you the person that you are,” he smiles down at you after letting out a curt laugh. “and it is you who I love and cherish immensely, with all that I am and ever will be.”

Perhaps it is in poor taste to repeat the same words he first told you during his initial confession, but there are no other words he could weave together that can equally convey to you the extent of his feelings other than these. He knows he’s getting ahead of himself. He knows that he’s agreed to abide by the time you’ve asked of him. His words are his bond, literally and figuratively.

He’s just so damn in love with you. He’s willing to act a bit more reckless than he usually is just to expedite the days where he can have you by his side and be together with you at last.

He barely catches it, but thanks to the quiet halls, he’s able to pick up the mumbled words you speak. “You’re making me lose my sense of patience, dammit.”

“Young master!” Sebek’s booming voice echoes down the hallways before Malleus can press your comment further on. His impending presence is enough to make you let go of one of him and take a step back to set some space between you and him. “Where are you?!”

He was much closer than he sounded, as you and Sebek nearly topple over each other when you both turn down the same corner. Thankfully, Malleus acts quickly enough and catches you before you could fall to the ground, and you thank him shortly after you’ve righted yourself up.

Malleus looks up at Sebek and asks, “Why on earth are you sprinting down the halls?”

“The human has failed to respond to Sir Lilia’s message, so he sent me to retrieve you both!” Sebek states, a bit too loudly for your liking as you click your tongue and rub your temples to relieve the growing headache. Malleus has assured you that Sebek’s volume is something you’ll grow accustomed to. It seems the day has yet to come.

“Well, we’re here,” you halfheartedly try to reassure the boy. “So can you please use your inside voice?”

“You!” now it was Sebek’s eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. “Did I not give you an hour-long lecture on proper attire for the occasion?! Today is Master Malleus’s birthday, and you look no different from what you look like any other day!”

“What?!” you look at his retainer with utter bewilderment. “I am dressed up! I even went out and bought a damn blazer just to fall in line with your strict rules!”

“You’re not wearing it properly!” Sebek gestures to your rolled-up sleeves and the two undone buttons of your dress shirt. “Honestly, I expected better conduct from you, prefect!”

“Just shut up and walk, Zigvolt!” you fume and push the young fae down the hall, ignoring his continuous strings of scoldings and high expectations of you. “I’m not in the mood!”

You turn back to Malleus, who silently follows a few steps behind Sebek and you ahead of him. Malleus has to bite his tongue as you make a choking gesture, most likely directed towards Sebek, with one of your hands. He puts his hand up in defense, not wanting to get involved in your ongoing argument with his retainer. Whenever you and Sebek are together, willingly or otherwise, the two of you often butt heads. Your arguments are never too serious. Malleus knows that if he gives you two some space, you’ll both work out whatever it is you’re arguing about and go back to respectfully tolerating each other as per usual.

He wants to ask you about this supposed lecture Sebek gave you about how you should dress. It sounds equally intriguing as it does ridiculous. Unlike Sebek, he thinks you’re dressed rather well tonight.

The scent of roses in your hair is proof enough that you’ve taken some of Sebek’s words to heart, even if he says otherwise.

The food is delicious despite its unusual colors. The cake, although baked by Lilia, was fluffy and not overly sweet like you expected it to be. Your biggest fear of the night was walking into a dorm full of faes who are just as headache-inducing and strict as Sebek is, but thankfully there’s only one of him in the entire dorm! Some students were still standoffish and threw you a few too many nasty looks than you would normally tolerate. Thankfully, there were some students you remember helping out of their dubious contract with Azul during exams week and welcomed you with open arms. They followed you around like a bunch of ducklings, eagerly insisting you try some dishes they specifically made for tonight’s festivities. Whether they genuinely admired you or simply wanted to make even with you for your help, they are a pleasant distraction from your interactions with Malleus earlier.

Love is a strange thing. Unlike a deer, you can’t predict its next movements or manipulate it to a point of disadvantage. Whether you love someone poorly or properly, love isn’t the same across the board. The love you have for your ghostly dorm mates back in ramshackle is comparable to the love you have for your family, precious and irreplaceable. You can share the same sentiments for your flourishing entourage of forest animals you take care of. You even have a bit of love for Grim, even if he wears your patience thin every other day with his dim-witted cockiness.

You’ve been in a few relationships before, but they went nowhere meaningful. They were relationships built upon a foundation of opportunity and convenience, not of mutual affection and a desire for lifelong companionship. You’re also a creature of habit, so the idea of breaking your hard-fought routines puts you on edge, even if it’s for someone you care about. There’s also the fact that you’ve sworn to yourself to not get too involved with the people in this strange world. You don’t want anyone, or even yourself, to feel saddened or at a loss when it comes time for you to depart. You don’t want to inconvenience anyone if you can avoid it. When you return home, you just want to brush this entire experience off as a long and complex dream.

But how can you brush someone like Malleus off as a figment of your imagination? How can you simply forget all those nights you spent talking with him, laughing with him, genuinely connecting and bonding with another person outside your immediate family for the first time in a long while? How can you continue to tell yourself that you won’t get too involved or become attached to anyone in this twisted world after you’ve gone and fallen in love with one of its inhabitants?

You love Malleus, truly, wholeheartedly, and for far longer than you initially thought. You love him, but not to a blind point where you cannot realize that loving him isn’t as simple as acting upon your innermost desire. Even if the feelings you have for one another are mutual, what then? What will a relationship with a fae, a royal fae, entail? Few think highly of humans. Sebek is a living example that there are even faes who actively dislike and look down upon humans. Malleus is at the very top of the social hierarchy, while you are on the very bottom; a magicless human from a completely different world. That’s another problem! What happens once the way back to your home is finally unearthed?

You love Malleus, but no matter how you look at it, a relationship with him sounds nothing more than an outlandish fairytale. Your friendship with him is still a rather delicate issue. You aren’t particular about what others think of your involvement with him, but he can’t exercise the same amount of dismissal of public opinion as you do. He has to worry about what others think of him, because eventually he’s going to be king, and a king can’t flourish if his people think ill of him.

It makes you wonder why he fell in love with you, the most perilous person he could have ever met and involved in his delicate lifestyle.

“Having fun over here?” A playful voice interrupts your deep thinking. Lilia has one of his arms thrown over your shoulder, a gloved hand firmly squeezing you for comfort and bringing you closer to his side.

Despite his petite stature and his boyish looks, you knew from the moment you locked eyes with him on the first day of the school year that he was much older and wiser than he let on. In fact, he’s old enough that he’s been mentioned in a few footnotes in a history book or two. You even cited him as a source for a thesis essay just for a few laughs. He even has a copy in his room. It wouldn’t surprise you if he has it framed and hung on his wall. He’s a very sentimental man.

“Do you need a moment to breathe?” he asks, concern discernible in his voice.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” you plead.

“Not at all,” he nods assuringly before excusing him and yourself from the small group of boys you’ve been entertaining for the past hour. He leads you out to a quiet balcony and you bask in the cool night air once the doors behind you are closed. Once outside, you take in a much-needed deep breath and lean yourself against the balustrade railing. He quickly excuses himself again and returns with two flutes filled with a bubbly drink.

“What is this?” you ask, swirling the contents around with caution.

“It’s champagne,” he answers.

You give a quick sniff. It certainly smells like it. “Isn’t everyone here too young to drink?”

“Yes.” He clinks his glass against yours before throwing you a cheeky wink. “But we aren’t.”

That’s good enough of an explanation to have you down the much-needed alcohol in one shot. Lilia takes careful sips instead, but once he finishes his drink, he heads back and brings the entire bottle of bubbly wine for you to finish with him. It’s been a while since the two of you drank together. Lilia has an expensive palette, so you’ve quickly learned to cherish each selection he brings for these monthly get-togethers.

You gesture to the dark bottle. “How old is this?”

“Half a decade. Nothing too fancy,” he tells you while pouring himself another glass. “It’s certainly better than whatever it is you brought last time we got together.”

“Unlike you, I like a little kick in my drinks,” you explain.

“Well, I’m not exactly fond of the sensation of my throat burning up with searing pain,” As if you emphasize his point, he massages around his small Adam’s apple. “No wonder you’re so rough around the edges.”

“That’s a low blow and you know it Vanrouge,” you pour the last bit of champagne in your glass before setting the bottle down by your feet.

“How low?”

”Right in my gut.”

“Then I suppose I’ll need to make it up to you over another bottle,” he subtlety suggests. “Are you in the mood for anything in particular?”

“Not really,” you shrug. “Nothing too strong. I’d rather not get hammered in front of a bunch of teenagers.”

He offers a bottle of red wine he’s been meaning to pop open for a while and you accept without a fuss. He takes the empty bottle of wine and tells you to hang tight while he gets the next one. You’re left alone for a few minutes before someone enters the area and settles right next to you. It’s Malleus, who looks just as out of sorts as you certainly look and feel.

“Needed a moment to breathe?” you ask.

“Yes, but I also noticed you were missing and came to find you,” he admits. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you smile reassuringly at him. “Just out of my element a bit.”

“I’m sorry,” he looks so downtrodden that it makes your heart sink. “I had every intention of being close by you for most of the evening, but I’ve been busy speaking with the others that I-“

“Hey, relax!” you stop him before he can devolve any further. “Today’s your day, not mine. Besides,” you lift your empty glass for him to see. “Lilia is keeping me company.”

“Why is it that whenever I see you two together, there’s alcohol involved?”

“In my defense, he’s the one who offered,” you explain, but he doesn’t seem that convinced or assured. “It’s been a while since I’ve had champagne! And it’s a special occasion!”

“I’m not opposed to you drinking, but after what happened last time, I can’t exactly trust you two to pace yourselves or get your hands on something far too potent than either of you can handle.”

He’s talking about the last time you and Lilia drank. You’re not sure what it is the old man brought, but whatever it was, neither of you could stop drinking it even after you two were well past your limits. You both blacked out early in the evening and woke up with one of the worst hangovers in your life. Malleus knew well beforehand that you and his caretaker drank together. He’s even joined a few of your drinking sessions, despite not being fond of alcohol himself. But he certainly did not expect to deal with not only one, but two easily agitated and out of touch individuals the next day.

You still don’t know what was in that bottle.

“Malleus!” A newly arrived Lilia perks up when he sees the man of the hour next to you. “Have you come to drink with us?”

“I’m afraid not,” he answers, immediately followed by the two of you whining in disappointment. “Seriously, what is it with you two and alcohol?”

“You make it sound like we’re alcoholics. Which we aren’t!” you protest, eagerly watching as Lilia opens the bottle and pours you both the first glass of many more to come. “We only get together like this once a month.”

“We used to share a few glasses once a week at some point,” Lilia says as he hands your drink. “But that’s a bit too frequent for these old bones.”

“Says the man that downed half a dozen bottles of beer back in September,” you purposely bring up.

“I didn’t know it was alcohol!” Lilia shrills. “If I did, I would have paced myself better.”

You look over to Malleus and shake your head in disapproval. Your action makes him chuckle, and the urge to fidget with the stem of your glass comes down on you. He really does a great laugh. You’re not sure if it’s your genuine feelings or the alcohol that’s making your heartbeat faster after hearing it. For the sake of your sanity, you’re just going to blame the wine for making you feel more infatuated than usual.

As you and Lilia steadily empty another bottle together, the older fae feels compelled to tell you a story or two about Malleus when he was younger. Despite the latter’s protests, you insist and listen intently about the many times Malleus singed Lilia’s hair as a baby with his fire hiccups or the few instances he’s gotten lost on his quest to sightsee every single gargoyle around the castle. It’s never a proper birthday party without a relative sharing embarrassing baby stories with random guests.

After the second battle goes empty, Malleus suddenly asks you if you would like to walk around the dorm grounds for some much-needed air, Since he’s the birthday boy, you agree right off the bat, only after you get a glass of water in you to help stave off the wine a bit. Lilia gently reminds you both not to stay out for too long, otherwise, Sebek’s worrisome nature might get the better of him and he’ll put together a makeshift search party. If you hadn’t had a few glasses of wine, you wouldn’t have found Lilia’s comment as funny as you did at the moment. You’re a tad tipsy, but not drunk enough that you feel yourself acting or thinking too out of character or lose your sense of balance and trip over your own two feet.

“So, where are we going birthday boy?” you nudge him with your elbow. “Are you going to push me into that thorn bush now?”

“But of course,” he laughs. “I just wish for further respite, that’s all.”

Just as you’re about to mention that people usually like to step away from a crowd by themselves, you feel his smooth fingers interlock with your hand once again. He takes you around the back of the dorm where the expansive and well-attended hedge garden is located. The dark-colored bushes are blanketed in blankets of snow, and more green fires are flickering atop the lantern poles lined along the stone pathways. It’s been a while since the two of you went on a nightly stroll like this. They started out as either you or Malleus running into each other by pure chance and just going along with the lucky encounters. Soon your run-ins became much more intentional and a regular part of your schedules.

He’s the first to break the silence. “May I ask you a strange question?”

“Of course you can,” you nod your head, admiring the wooden gazebo the two of you have now settled underneath for a moment. “Isn’t that why we go on these walks, to ask each other a bunch of odd questions?”

It goes without saying that, due to your racial differences, there were a lot of questions burning in each of your minds about your differing ways of life and upbringings. Most of your questions were innocent and came from a place of wanting to learn and take into consideration his boundaries as a fae. As you grew more comfortable with each other, thus more open and honest, the more comfortable you felt to ask him more personable questions. However, you usually have to answer your own question first before he gives his response in return. You find that this is usually the case when conversing with a Fae. They won’t give until you give back something of equal value.

“In my defense, your blunt answers are refreshing,” he admits, almost gratefully. “No one other than Lilia speaks to me with such genuine honesty. Yet even then, he tends to shroud his words in some layer of vagueness.”

“My aunts were like that when I first moved in with them. Something about ‘learning things on your own,” you recollect. “But I was really quiet and withdrawn when I first moved in with them. They had to lead me by the hand and pummel me with lots of encouragement just to get me to do basic things.”

“You and the concept of quietness don’t mix well together,” Malleus laughs. “In fact, much of how you describe yourself as a child doesn’t seem to match up to how you behave now.”

His comment, while true and most likely just a casual observation, is treading into somewhat dangerous territory for you. “You really pay attention to everything I say, don’t you?” you comment in an attempt to divert the conversation elsewhere.

“I do,” he admits with an unashamed expression “But seeing as you now know of all of my embarrassing mishaps as a child, I think it’s only fair that I get to hear a story or two about yours.”

He leans closer to you, something you normally do to him whenever he gets all quiet and reluctant to say what’s on his mind. You don’t exactly mind telling Malleus about your early childhood, but it’s not as grandiose or as pleasant as he may think it is. What’s a friendship without revealing a few stories about your crappy childhood to each other? What happened to you is unfortunate, and you’re not ashamed to talk about it, not anymore at least. Considering the state of your friendship with him and the ongoing issue about whether you’re going to pursue something more with him or not, you’re not too sure if sharing stories of your past should be preserved for later or if doing so now is alright.

“Can I ask you something first?” you hesitantly ask.

“Anything.”

You turn your body towards him more, easily noticing the way he sits up a little more straight. The faint chirps of crickets and windswept leaves fill the silent void you’ve set in place. He remains quiet, tightening his grip around your hand, still interlocked with his, brushing the back of it with the thumb of his other. The gesture is small, but it’s obviously his way of letting you know that he’s patiently waiting and encouraging you to take all the time you need to sort your thoughts out. He’s looking at you with that concerned expression of his. The one he makes when he feels as though he’s made some sort of mistake or said something that was ill-spoken against you.

He tends to critical of himself, only because there is a lot of expectation set upon his shoulders for someone of his station. It is during moments like this that you understand what Lilia meant when he says Malleus still has much to learn and experience before he can truly take on the mantle of a king. He may be many decades older than you, but his maturity is probably not too far from your own; well put together than most, but still in need of opportunities to grow and learn some more.

That’s the purpose of these walks, to learn and grow from each other. All it takes is a question. But your question, the one that has been swirling in your mind for days, isn’t as innocent as wondering if his horns have nerve endings or not.

Your teeth are on the verge of biting your tongue hard enough to draw blood when finally, you will yourself to ask the burning question on your mind.

“What do you plan to get out of a relationship with me?”

He’s visibly taken aback by your question. If you squint really hard, your question is almost an affirmation that his feelings towards you are mutual, but it is only a minuscule part of a much greater whole. There can not, will not, be any do-overs for either of you. Before you pass a point where there is no return, you need to make sure neither of you is setting yourself up for disaster later down the line. You love Malleus, but you will not tell him what your genuine feelings are just to make him feel better. If word gets out about your relationship and it’s ill-received by his family or, heaven forbid, his own people, you’d never forgive yourself. Becoming King of the Valley of Thorns is his only desire in life. You couldn’t possibly understand why he would want to put himself into such a demanding position. You still don’t understand, but he remains firm that becoming king is what he truly desires in the entire world.

You’d rather die with these unpursued feelings of yours than to allow yourself to be the reason he loses his unwavering purpose in life.

“A relationship, with you,” he tests the words, the very concept, out loud. As if he’s trying to gauge the reaction of the world itself. “It certainly wouldn’t be a dull one.”

That look he gives you, the one that is so painstakingly painted in so much love and affection that can give you several tooth-rotting cavities, directed to none other than you, makes your heart do all sorts of acrobatic twirls and lunges. Your hands seek out the nearest object to fidget with, a piece of hair that fell out of place from your hairstyle. There’s a moment of panic that overcomes him and he goes to pull his hand out of your firm grip, but you tighten it just before his hand can slip away. You like holding his hand, you realize.

“Something’s troubling you,” he remarks. “Whatever it is, tell me.”

“This isn’t the best time to bring it up,” you argue. It really isn’t. Not when there’s alcohol in your body that makes you incredibly pessimistic and impulsive. And it’s his birthday. You really don’t want to make this day suddenly about you. You’re slowly regretting having that second bottle.

“Perhaps not, but it’s going to be brought up eventually, I imagine.” He gently cups the side of your face and forces you to look up at him, right into those green eyes that have always mesmerized you. “Speak to me,” he insists once more.

“I…” you start, but the words die in your mouth before you can speak them. There’s an instance where you nearly pull away from him and are ready to just book it back to your dorm and forget this ever happened, but he keeps you in place almost desperately. He wants you to speak your mind. He wants to know what’s eating up inside you. He wants you, all of you.

But like his desire to become king, you can’t understand why it’s you sitting across from him.

The edges of your vision wobble, and you know that if you’re pushed over the edge enough, you’re going to start sobbing. You hate crying, especially when you feel you don’t deserve to. Who are you to get all emotional when you’re the one who’s overcomplicating things? You’re the one who kick-started this conversation, so why are you the one getting all emotional? Shouldn’t Malleus be the one on the verge of breaking down? He’s the one with the most to lose. The most suffering you’ll likely be subjected to is a bunch of scrutinization and disapproval.

“You know this isn’t going to be easy, right?”

He reaches up with a folded handkerchief in hand, dabbing the corners of your tear-stricken eyes. “I know.”

“I can take a judgemental comment or two. I just don’t want you to be on that receiving end of it because of me.”

“People will always find something to pin blame on or direct their judgment towards, even if the detail is as insignificant as my decision to be with a human.” he calmly explains. It almost pisses you off that he’s remaining calm through all this while you’re going through many ranges of emotions. Malleus is a prince, and it's fragile moments like these that he’s been carefully taught how to navigate and work through. Now you’re just mad at yourself for forgetting something so obvious and vital. Damn that second bottle of wine!

“I’m the worst human you could have picked,” you proclaimed with utmost certainty. “I’m not even from the same world as you. What the hell can I possibly offer you?”

“Well,” He leans even closer to you, closer than he’s ever purposely been and you’re almost compelled to move away from him due to your nervousness. There was a brief moment where you thought that he might kiss you, that’s how little space there is between you and him. While a kiss from him sounds both amazing and absolutely terrifying, you let out an audible sigh of relief when he stops at pressing his forehead against yours. “What are you willing to give me?”

Oh, he’s slick and he knows it. The answer is so obvious now. You’ve made it obvious well before your first glass of champagne. You’re practically wearing your heart on your sleeves, but it’s not enough for him. He wants you to say it out loud so that what he assumes is mutual is in fact irrefutable. He won’t settle for anything less, you’re sure of it.

“All I can give you is my love,” you offer, in a hushed, almost embarrassed manner. “If you’ll have it. If it’s what you want.”

“It is,” he answers immediately, without a shred of doubt or hesitancy. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted from you.”

If this is truly all he wants from you, then he can have it. He can have every bit of it.

“Are you sure you can make it back to Ramshackle without issue?”

“I’ll be fine,” you reassure him for likely the 20th time. “I’m not that buzzed, and you look just as tired as I am.”

You’re right. Malleus is well beyond himself now. His social batteries are thoroughly drained. He needs a nice, long rest to fully process this long evening.

As he thinks about his conversation with you under the gazebo, he reaches out and tenderly caresses the side of your face. Your hands immediately reach up to tug and twist one of your shirt buttons. He once thought your habit to fidget with the nearest object meant you were uncomfortable. A dainty smile etches into his face now that he knows that this habit of yours was a sign that you were flustered by his actions.

He thinks it’s an adorable habit and very befitting of your person.

“What?” you look up at him with a nervous gaze. “Is there something on my face?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Your face is all clean.”

Despite his statement, you wipe at your puffy eyes to ensure there are no visible tears left. Would you think him strange if he told you he finds you endearing like this, your eyes somewhat droopy and your voice hushed despite the lack of need to control your volume? You probably would, but your presumed disdain wouldn’t stop him even if you told him off. He can’t help it. He’s drunk as well, though not because of any wine.

“Are you busy this weekend?” you say into his open palm.

“Not particularly.”

“Good,” you smile against his skin. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Do you now?” He looks at you, intrigued by the sudden presentation of a surprise for him. “Is it safe to assume this surprise is my present?”

“Yup, it’s your birthday present,” you admit. “I found something on the island that you’ll absolutely love. The walk is long, but trust me, it’ll be worth it.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he says, beaming as he thinks about where exactly you’re going to take him. You have a knack for finding interesting spots on the island. Whatever this hidden wonder is, you seem quite confident that it’ll trump all the others.

“Meet me early in the morning, and dress warmly. It’s going to snow a bit.” you disclose before regrettably pulling away from him. “Goodnight, and happy birthday!” you call out to him one last time.

“Thank you! Please be careful on your way back!” he pleads, but you’ve already passed through the mirror back to the college’s main campus. Hopefully, you heard him. If not, he can always send you a letter through his charmed envelope or message you over the phone.

When he returns to his room to dress down and ready himself for bed, he finds that his desk is occupied by a hefty pile of presents that he had yet to open. While they vary in size, most are wrapped in identical gift wrapping and bows. Presents on the larger scale are fully exposed and have a card set over top of it or tucked in between the gift wherever possible.

He opens some gifts before calling it a night, specifically the smaller-sized ones. Most of them are centered on his skill for stringed instruments; new violin strings, fresh rosin for his bow, and even some sheet music for songs he’s never played before. If it weren’t so late, he’d practice a few stanzas. It’s probably best if he saves his awkward first time playing for another day.

Perhaps he can play for you someday? However, the mere thought of more physical activity causes a surge of tiredness throughout his body and he lets out a deep, bellowing yawn. Playing as host for his own party required much more listening than conversing than he had initially expected. He was also juggling his attention from his guests to you, who was always across the room from where he found himself. There’s a great divide in opinions regarding your friendship with him that, unfortunately, skews more negatively rather than positively. He cannot speak for all faes, but he did not want you to develop any poor opinions or experiences with his people, especially his dorm mates. Seeing the small group of first years keeping you company and even show a bit of reverence towards you was assuring.

You deserve as much praise and admiration as he receives, for you are someone who has well earned his respect and his love.

You weren’t exaggerating when you told him to dress warmly. Malleus doesn’t hate the cold, but he can’t say he likes the way it bites and numbs his minimally exposed skin. Thankfully, the coat you made for him helps stave off the cold rather well. Now if only his gloves could do the same for his needle-pricking fingers.

“Your master sure has the gall to leave me waiting outside in this weather.” He looks down at Gunter, the pack leader of your small bunch of wolves. He doesn’t seem bothered by the snow at all, what with his thick winter coat protecting him from the cold air and the scarf he wears around his neck. Not only did you think to make and put on a scarf for the rugged canine, you even secured it by tying the ends into a neat bow. “I wonder where exactly they’re taking me. Perhaps you have a clue?”

Gunter turns away from Malleus, as if to tell him he’s sworn to total secrecy on your behalf. Malleus can’t help but reach down and pat him on the top of his head. Loyal without a fault. He can see why you keep the wild dog around.

“Are you trying to interrogate my wolf?” He jumps a bit at your unannounced and undetected arrival. He didn’t even hear the crunching of snow and rocks from your heavy boots as you snuck up behind him. If he were wild game, he’d likely have a bullet lodged in his heart by now. “Whatever you promise him, it won’t work. He’s pretty tight-lipped.”

“I can see that,” he quips back. “Are the others staying behind?”

“They can’t stand the cold. Not like this one can,” you explain to him while proudly scratching behind the wolf’s fluffy ears. “The woods are still dangerous, even during the winter. He’ll scout ahead and let us know if we need to change directions and chase off any predators. I also promised I’d share some of our food if he came along, so there’s that.”

“You prepared food for us?”

“Of course I did!” you jostle your pack basket to reiterate your statement. “Did you really think I wouldn’t feed you?”

“You never fail to stuff me with food, so no, I didn’t think you wouldn’t,” he laughs. “Besides, without me, you’d end up with more leftovers than you’d know what to do with.”

“I lived with 11 people back home,” you grunt as you push open the metal gates that enclose the front of the Ramshackle dorm. “So what if I make too much food? You’re really pushing it for someone who gobbles it up all the same.”

“I rather enjoy the way you flavor your meals,” he remarks. “And you know that I’m very particular about my food.”

“Is that why you want me around?” you inquire with a cheeky grin. “So I can satisfy that silver-spooned appetite of yours?”

“What about you?” he questions back with just as much playfulness. “Without me, you’d have no gardening partner.”

“Damn,” you kick a twig and it tumbles down a small incline and into the half-frozen stream at the bottom. “and I thought I was being stealthy about it too.”

Malleus erupts into a loud fit of laughter, with you joining him as he sputters out how strange your shared senses of humor are. This right here. This is why he loves you. You just make him so damn happy! Your companionship and the bond you and him have built with each other is all he’s ever wanted, all he’s ever dreamed of since he was a young boy. There was a point in his life where he had nearly resigned himself to a life of loneliness. Now, look at him, out on a stroll with one of his closest friends. Although now you are not only his friend, you are now his partner as well.

His partner. His.

He involuntarily reaches over and squeezes your hand in his small bout of prideful possession. His enamored smile must have caught your attention as you reach out and poke the side of his face with your free hand.

“And just what are you thinking about, your highness ?"

He has to hold back the snort that he nearly lets out. How kind of you to layout the perfect opportunity to tease you. “Why, I’m thinking about you, of course,” he says, throwing a wink in for added measure.

You let out a huff of air that turns misty as your warm breath mixes and condenses in the cool air. “You should think of something else,” you retort, pulling the hood of your dark cloak closer to your face to cover the side that Malleus can see without strain.

“You seem a bit flustered,” Malleus continues to tease you.

“And you sure are talkative this morning,” you harshly say, but he knows it’s only because he’s “pushing your buttons" as you would say. You do it plenty of times towards him and your friends. This is nothing but well-deserved revenge for all those times you push him and get him all flustered. He’ll need to watch his back in the future. You won’t let him get away with this, not without avenging yourself first.

Oh, if only humans and Faes could get along as well as you two have. Malleus was born right at the end of the last war between his people and many defunct human nobility houses. Relations with the remaining human nobility are better with passaging time, but there is much room for improvement before there can ever truly be a declared peace between both species. A relationship between a human and fae is hardly anything new, the interaction between the two races as old as time itself. As overly optimistic and opportunistic as it surely sounds, he hopes that his relationship with you, no matter how it works out in the end, can be a proper example to his people and onlookers of any other kind than the harmony they once had with humans is still obtainable.

“What you said the other day,” he suddenly mentions. “I feel it would be in poor taste if I didn’t fully address the concerns you clearly have about us regarding my status as a member of the nobility.”

At the mention of your conversation a couple of days ago, your hand grips around tight around him for a moment. “I don’t like facing too many uncertainties,” you admit. “It probably sounds weird, but I do better in situations I have some control over. Being with you. Well, for lack of better words, it scares the living daylight out of me the more I think about it. I don’t even think you know what’s in store for both of us the further we get into this.”

“I have some idea, but to say that I fully understand what’s at stake would be untruthful,” he admits as well. When the court eventually finds out about who he has taken as his partner, he will receive some amount of scrutiny and his decision will be heavily questioned. "However, that would happened no matter who I chose to be with, so long as the person was not someone the court saw as diplomatically advantageous."

“Have you even told anyone about us yet?”

“No. Not even Lilia knows, but I'm sure he has an inkling by now,” he expresses. “As childish as this may sound, but I’d like to keep our relationship a secret as long as possible.”

“And when people start to connect the dots, what then?”

“The only way they’ll confirm their suspicions is to confront either one of us,” he answers matter-of-factly. “But whatever difficulties may be lined up for me in the future. So long as you’re by my side to support me, I'll endure whatever it is that is put forth in front of me."

“You’re right, you sound really childish,” you sigh. “But you also sound so damn sure yourself,” you grumble under your breath, but his pointed ears pick up on your comment despite your hushed volume. “I can’t say I feel the same way just yet. But I hope that, whatever comes up, we can do what we always do and just… talk it out.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he smiles. “After all, isn’t that the purpose for these walks of ours? So we may work through these difficult conversations with each other?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, a clear lopsided smile on your lips despite you not facing directly towards him. “I guess they are.”

Just as Malleus is about to say something else, you suddenly stop when a distant howl sounds. “We’re close,” you tell him.

“Now, where exactly are you taking me?” he finally asks you.

“Sorry,” you shake your head. “I can’t tell you just yet.”

“Not even after I asked so politely?”

“Nope!” you beam.

Still curious about this supposed wonder you’re escorting to, he continues to pester you with questions, trying to pull some sort of hint out of you. You’re not usually as tight-lipped as you are now. Your persistent secrecy only excites him the further you two travel.

Apparently, what you constitute as nearby is much further than what he would consider close. While still within the woods, he can faintly hear ocean waves crashing and a few seabirds cawing about. You’re taking him towards the southern part of the isle, clear by his now unbutton coat because of the warmer temperatures and the tuffs of green grass poking out through the half-melted snow the further you take him. The place finally appears before him, with tall brick walls and a metal gate, both of which are covered in thick, frosted ivy leaves. He can make out of a few shapes past the gate, but not enough to confidently guess what they are exactly.

“Will you tell me now?” Malleus asks once more while you busy yourself by giving Gunter some well-deserved ear scratches.

“What do you think?” you look down and ask Gunter. He makes a deep grunting sound in response to your question. “I guess you’re right,” you nod in understanding before looking up towards Malleus and saying, “The locals call it a gargoyle graveyard.”

“Gargoyles?” he says with clear excitement, like a young boy being told that a pile of candies and toys awaits him in the other room. "You took me out to see gargoyles?"

“Yes, but also no,” you say. “They would have been if they weren’t sculpted incorrectly.”

“So it’s a place where inoperable gargoyles are put?” he asks, still intruiged.

“The family who owns this piece of land mentioned that they also put gargoyles in here that were made purely for art’s sake,” you added. “But can it really be called a gargoyle if they weren’t made to act as a gutter in the first place?”

Malleus’s heart always skips and beats faster whenever he’s around you. That last comment you made nearly stopped his heart altogether. He once had a conversation with Silver regarding the stark difference between gargoyles and statues. The boy couldn’t fully grasp the difference, but it seems you can right out of the blue. By the Great Seven, is your ability to tell the difference between a purposeful gargoyle and a mere decorative grotesque really what’s making him go red in the face?

Yes. Yes, it is.

You easily notice this as well, as you comment how his complexion is almost the shade of a ripe tomato, although you’ve been busying yourself with undoing the many locks and chains secured around the front gate and didn’t even look over to him since. “I can see the tips of your ears getting all pink in my peripheral,” you explain with a hint of laughter arising in your voice. You’re clearly amused by all this. “Who knew my basic understanding of gargoyles is enough to set a fire in your loins!”

“Must you tease me at every opportunity?” he groans. "And so crudely too."

“What? Are you having second thoughts about me?” you jokingly ask.

“Somewhat,” he answers back, though it’s only a half-serious answer.

You toss aside the last chainlink and rusted lock keeping the front gate secured before saying, “I won’t be mad if you bail out now. It’ll save Sebek the future anguish when he finds out.”

“Sebek is already at odds with our friendship as it is,” Malleus clarifies. “Besides, I think the boy is rather endearing when he’s upset.”

“Endearing,” you mockingly repeat. “More like a pain in my ass.”

“Give him some time. He’ll grow on you,” Malleus encourages.

“For your sake, he better,” you glare at him for a moment. “Alright, that’s enough relationship talk for the day. These gargoyles won’t ogle themselves!”

No, they won’t, and it’s music to his ears that you want to appreciate them together.

Together, with him.

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