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hazelfoureyes · 3 days

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A Doe in Fall (part 10)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds 📍

Part 10 Good Deeds

Alastor takes you out as promised, but work/hobbies call him away. Not that you mind, you have your own hobbies to pick up.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem!Reader, references to racial violence, reference to a word that’s now very much a slur, Hate for Aubrey, inaccurate portrayal of how easy it was to drink, oh yeah murder, mentions of a dismembered body, bloody shoes, physics hijinks with a corpse, these idiots in love, gators aaaaaye baby, domestic fluff?? Kind of?? Did I do it?!」

I think about Emmett Till often. Though his heinous murder came after the time this story is set, what happened to him wasn’t an isolated incident. So it is referenced here in a sense, because I can’t stop thinking about him when I think about racial violence in the south both what it looked like before and what it looks like now. I don’t say anything explicit and change the act, but it is still important to warn you. If you don’t know about the tragic death of Emmett, here’s a site with links to articles and essays. Be careful, it is awful and his deceased and battered face will come up on some links, as his mother wanted the world to see what they did to her baby. It’s an image I cannot forget and I rightfully shouldn’t. I know it’s off to have such a heavy topic before this love story but this case is the kind that would motivate such a killer as Alastor, and I don’t want to miss an opportunity to remind us of Emmett’s short life even if it’s done in a silly fanfic surrounded by nonsense. So forgive me for perhaps an odd real life addition, I’d be disappointed in myself for not addressing it when Emmett has been on my mind every time I think about the era someone like Alastor could have lived in. An era that did exist and people did live and suffer in. An era not far removed from us, my father was alive when this happened.

Part 10 - Good Deeds

minors if you interact I will interpret that as a deep hate for me as a person so MDNI 👌🏼

“I’ve got to speak with the valet, go on ahead and find a table you like.”

You didn’t want to do that at all, but knew Alastor wouldn’t ask if he didn’t want it. Well, he didn’t really ask, did he? He was certainly in his element, the shining and towering hotel every bit as pristine as his own public image.

It was as if every head in the room spun around to look at you. Everyone’s hair freshly styled, jewelry shiny and heavy, clothes immaculate. Your dress was lovely, no doubt, but no one looks at the elephant in her tutu at the circus and proclaims, “A ballerina!” This was, rather obviously, not your scene.

Alastor had presented the dress to you so sweetly, though. You woke up to find it hanging on the closet door hook, the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes. He had either waited for you to fall asleep to hang it or woken up before you for just the reason. It was red, his favorite color for you. The latest fashion, loose and straight. No corset. The neckline showcased a large, flat bow.

“Partly a gift for me,” he had said as his hands slid down your sides when you had gotten dressed, “Such softness shouldn’t be hidden behind rigid boning.”

You settled into a large seashell shaped booth, the back coming up and over like you were the speck of sand yet to form into a pearl. The table was small, a glittering pattern under its shiny veneer. Everything was…glistening. Even the darkness past the windows seemed to be sparkling back at you. A few people turned to look you up and down, smiling and beginning to speak to their group before even turning back to them.

You could wither, or bloom. So you learned back as if you were bored, legs crossed and feet gently shaking with anxiety or boredom, you hoped no one could sus out which.

It was so odd. In your usual haunts, newcomers were greeted with curious smiles and maybe the tiniest suspicions. You were being picked apart to the bone by sharp stares and even sharper tongues, no matter how silent their jabs were to you.

“They’re probably jealous.” Your head snapped up, when had Alastor made it in? “They look at you and know, ‘oh, that’s the kind of woman my husband would rather have a conversation with.’” You laughed, you absolutely could have stolen the attention and more from at least one of these women’s husbands.

“Perhaps they recognize these earrings, gone missing from their jewelry box earlier this year.” You weren’t above accepting a woman’s stolen jewelry. It was her husband's fault anyway, might as well enjoy it.

Alastor’s finger came to your chin, lifting your face further into the light, “Give em a good look, darling. I want them to eat their hearts out.” The blush that swept across your features was so fierce, the difference in temperature between your cheeks and your arms caused a chill to run down to your shins. He took a seat beside you, scooting up close and flashing that smile. A smile that had you chasing him into dark alleys and grabbing dead men by the ankles.

A waiter came by, placing a drink in front of Alastor and asking what you’d like. You were so used to being in such spaces with the kind of men who answered for you that you didn’t reply immediately. When Alastor brought his drink to his lips, you realized it was you who was expected to speak.

“Oh! A corpse reviver please.”

The man smiled and left with a nod. Alastor choked, hitting his chest with the fleshy part of his palm, “That was intentional, wasn’t it?”

You danced in your seat, “I’ve never been somewhere that has the stock for it that I was…allowed to order what I want.”

Alastor set his drink down and leaned back, shoulder pressing into yours teasingly, “I can’t imagine anyone disallowing you a thing.” With a sigh, you reminded him of the things you did to get your marks drunk and off their guard. You were surprised when he nodded like he remembered. “I saw that! You would sit so quietly on their laps. I remember thinking you were much more boring than you had initially made me believe.” You recoiled, and he shot you a look, “Who stalked who first, hm?”

With a huff, you let it go. You weren’t actually sure the answer to that anyway. Focus let free from Alastor, you began to notice the looks were back. But no longer cutting into you, but wide and devouring. A few smiled at Alastor, some tipped their heads to him and offered a look of recognition. “Aren’t you popular.”

“I haven’t been out in awhile. They’re probably curious.” He took another sip, “Should be, atleast.”

A prideful smile slid up your face. You uselessly tried to mask it by licking your teeth.

Something that happened when in public with Alastor that was unlike you was the tendency to become small. Not shrinking to provide him space; it was a turning in of your shoulders and touching of your knees in a subconscious effort to curl into a little ball of joy. Actively fighting the tug, you leaned back and opened your chest. An exercise in mental focus.

“It’s weird. How you can be friends with my kind of people and….well, whatever is happening here.” Your hand waved at the room before you both.

“My friendship with these people compared to our friends at the dives is…. A light bulb compared to a fire. One was manufactured to fit a need, one exists somewhat naturally.”

Tall and slim, body flat from collar bones to knees, a slip of a woman entered the room and you felt a shift in the atmosphere. Her hair was short and pitch black, fashionable to say the least. A few heads turned, a few upturned lips shifted into sneers. Side glances, hushed words, intentionally heard huffs. You turned to Alastor to find his face was as confused as your own.

“Who is that?” You said it low, not knowing if she was friend or foe.

“That would be Mrs. Aubrey Debreaux. Popular socialite and frequent hostess.” A sip of his drink, speaking about her like a character in a novel. “This icy reception is news to me though. She’s usually the life of the party.”

“She’s a real wet blanket now…Your circles seem really fickle. Always a bit of gossip.” You realized as soon as you said it that, well, that was the point. Alastor needed the gossip, and, well, he clearly enjoyed it.

“That’s what the wealthy do. Gossip and pretend the drama is as stressful as someone looking for their next meal.” Swirling his drink absentmindedly, his eyes followed Aubrey through the hotel bar. When you asked if he knew everyone there, he said it was his job to know people.

“Your job is in radio. You host a show, Alastor.” You laughed through your nose.

“Well, my other job.”

“I’d call that a passionate hobby.” Your hand came to rest half on his and half on the booth bench low and hidden, not wanting to monopolize, but he quickly took it and held it on the table. Another struggle to keep your shoulders from drawing inward.

The room moved on, forgetting you both were there and eventually about Aubrey too. Or so you had thought. When you drink was starting to mellow you, you turned to Alastor to admire the view. You’d come to enjoy that silence, the kind that only existed between people comfortable enough to know they didn’t need to entertain each other to enjoy each other’s company.

He was scanning the bar still, elbow on the table as he rested his chin there. From a distance of space or familiarity it could be seen as boredom. But up close and personal, you could see the wheels spinning behind his eyes.

“Golly, when in Rome!” Alastor hooted and grabbed you by the hand with one of his and carried his drink in the other, “Let’s go gossip. Bring your drink.”

He pulled you into a group of four people in a circle talking. They opened and let you both in, smiles warm. A clamor of excited ‘how long has it been’s, ‘how are you’s, and ‘you look well’s.

You’d expected him to ask for gossip like he’d said, but realized that’d be pretty conspicuous. Instead he waited, and when Aubrey passed by one of them rolled their eyes and he had his opportunity.

“What’s that look for?” He asked.

Everyone got quiet and passed a glance between them. Finally a woman in a beaded dress and finger wave bob piped up.

“She reported a young boy touched her on the street.” Alastor watched Aubrey cycle through the groups as the friend spoke. “Grazed her hip with his hands, made a comment about white women as he did it.”

Alastor’s head whipped back around. “He got taken away that night.”

You gasped, hand coming to your mouth in sincere horror, “Just for touching her? Is he still in jail?”

The woman’s lips pursed together, no one looking at you.

“Bless your heart. He didn’t touch her and he didn’t make it to the jailhouse, sugar.”

Suddenly the way everyone was looking everywhere but at each other sunk in.

Panicked, you looked to Alastor. His expression was still, like the calm waters of a deep and foreboding bay. What horrors lie underneath? His tongue wiped across his teeth, and you reached out to take his drink from his hand. The action snapped him out of his daze for a second, expression softening a tad as he nodded a thank you.

If he shattered that glass now, people would remember. And when Aubrey went missing they may recall Alastor’s dramatic reaction. You knew his smiles intimately, the ones that were true and the ones that were illusions. The expressions of joy and the mask for his rage. The smile painted on his face now was nothing short of shallow.

You spent so many days in a bubble with Alastor, shielded by his grace or by the accepting and illegal circles you ran in that you sometimes forgot the reality of life. A dark privilege you hadn’t seen until you were the one looking naive for once.

That’s right. The world was a bad place, of cruelty and injustice. Not just for you, or for parts of you, or for sides of you. Not just for women with smart mouths or a love of dance. No matter how safe the comfort of your friends and the dark halls you all commiserate in, no matter the like minds and mixed complexions of your peers, you were all just one cruel voice from being dragged into the night. Just a single accusation from being a whispered story in a glittering hotel bar. A headline no one would write.

And some of you would be mourned more than others.

You took a second, blinking rapidly to dry your eyes.

“Apparently, she did it to get Hubert to leave his mistress’s apartment and come home.” A short man whose name you never got took a drag of his cigarette, “Worked. He’s been yapping all week about the state of New Orleans society and the importance of protecting the fairer among us.”

Alastor was quiet still, lips tight. You’d seen the photos in his home. You’d never discussed it, no need. Things can’t become normal if you’re always pointing them out. Plus, that was his piece to share.

“Glad to see most of us here aren’t too keen to welcome her. I’d hate to have to find another bar.” Someone said, glancing around the room. “George just started making my martinis right.”

“Care to dance?” Alastor abruptly turned his entire body to you with a slick swivel on his heels.

You nodded, offering small polite goodbyes and setting your drinks back on the table before turning to him.

His open palm was outstretched and offering you a dance. You spread your hand over his and felt him hold you firmly before pulling you into him.

He held you so close, much closer than anyone else on the dance floor. A scandalous lack of distance between you two. Quiet, Alastor’s eyes were distant. You were in front of him but he wasn’t seeing you. You let the song carry on a little longer for appearances before sighing into a smile.

“Why are we dancing when you have work to do? You have your tools.” Looking up at a man was rarely a view you enjoyed but the way his eyes slid down his nose and landed so sharply on you made it worth it. A look that said he’d devour you if he didn’t adore you so much. Your hand snaked behind his back to touch the hidden outline of this trusty little knife. He briefly wondered if this could be considered foreplay, the way he felt your hand on his lower back and running over his weapon. Much more intimate than he’d ever let anyone else be.

As your bodies swayed, the lights slid across the curve of his eyes and lit that bright honey brown color like a diamond twirling in the sun. The facets of his irises mesmerizing you.

How terribly did you love him?

How far would you fall for him?

“This would be a long one. You’d be waiting… could be a couple of hours. I need to be out of sight before she leaves.” A chill. Oh, you’d forgotten for a second, Alastor was a killer. He didn’t do it for ‘justice’ alone, he enjoyed what he did. Immensely. His voice had a note of giddiness and anger that didn’t mix well, but was oddly arousing.

“Correction, I’d be dancing for hours. Drinking. Letting handsome men waste their money on me.”

“Oh? Can they buy me a drink, too?”

You brought up your pointer finger, “You remind her of her humanity, and I’ll get a man to buy you a drink.”

He linked his finger with yours. “I’ll need to give her special attention. She’s earned it.”

You loosely understood this wasn’t attention like you’d be given. This was attention that ran opposite affection.

“I’m not here to be in your way, Alastor.” A quick kiss to your hand, one you hoped no one else saw. While no one here would be bothered by Brady, you still wanted to keep some semblance of confusion on what you two were to onlookers.

His laugh was louder than you expected, a few heads turning, “Impossible. I’m always going wherever you are, dear.”

Would you never get up again?

“I’ll stay at the bar. If they close, I’ll just go to Beth’s.” Your fingers lingered in his, “Be careful. The best good deeds are done in the dark.”

A kiss to your nose. So gentle despite the topic. You could imagine it, the violent death of a woman. You could hear the sounds. Hers, his, the knife’s. A pang of guilt set in before you could remind yourself why this woman was going to die. A tiny smile settled on your face, he offered you a gentle command in return, “Understood, honey. Be safe.”

You let him kiss your hand again and bow out of the dance. You were doing it, it dawned on you as you watched him walk away. Truly kissing him goodbye at the door as he went off to work. The closest you’d ever gotten, atleast.

He stopped by a group and said some quick goodbyes, apologies for leaving early, and left the hotel bar.

You knew he had killed women before, Alastor was all for equality, but a part of you worried. Women tend to scream louder, and be heard more often, than men. A man screams and people just…keep walking. What would he do? Where would he do it?

With a sniffle, you let the jealousy of just what he would need to do to get her alone flutter away. Taking a seat back at your table, you sipped your drink and watched the others dance and chat. How odd, they could sway in such large places with big windows and bright lights with no fear of cops. Your scenes were dark, dusty, never seeing the sky.

“He left ya?” One of the earlier women came by, someone you vaguely remember him nodding a ‘hello’ to at some point in the evening.

Thankfully you were still quick on your feet. “Well, we came separately, of course we’d leave separately.”

A laughed, “Of course.” She leaned down, touching at your hair for a second, curiously, “Don’t hold your breath. But, it is nice he got you in here, huh? Must be a treat for you.”

Your own laugh was just as abrupt as Alastor’s earlier, your hand coming to hide your smile. All you could muster was a nod. Yes, you stood out. Yes, you didn’t fit in with these people for many reasons. But, it wasn’t your first time in nice spaces. First time not pressed into a man who’d been made to believe he was more important the whole time, but still.

It took two more drinks for Aubrey to leave. But there was a problem. As she was trying to bow out of the room, a man kept hooking his fingers under the loose belt of her boxy drop waist dress.

With practiced skill, you took note of where her eyes lingered on him, how her hand came to his arm but didn’t actually press him away. Not earnestly.

The pushy man saw it too, every little soft ‘no’ was a half ‘yes’. And Aubrey seemed to like that. It was almost ironic, given what she had done, how she egged on the younger man before her now by pretending she didn’t want him. His hand landed on her hip forcefully, her hand on his chest gingerly. He leaned in close, she pulled away barely.

The next act was the most classic to women of your era. The false exit.

Aubrey whispered something, he nodded eagerly and his many hands returned to himself.

She smiled at the back of everyone’s heads, as nearly no one would look her way, and she slipped out the doors.

You couldn’t stop yourself from shimmying as you slid from your booth. Barely a step away, you leaned back and grabbed the last sip in your glass. You swished it around your mouth like listerine, and swallowed it. Before you got too close, you pinched your cheeks until your eyes began to water.

You’d just found a way to make yourself useful.

“Whoopsie Daisy!” You giggled, shoulder colliding with the man’s chest as you stumbled past.

“Watch - ooh, hey,” the free hand that had come to keep you from getting closer quickly softened, curling around your waist. The same hand that’d just been on the socialite. You were sure to look up and sigh into him, your breath soaked in alcohol. “You okay, doll? Had a bit too much?”

With glassy eyes you nodded, closing them and letting your head nod lazily, “I lost my thing!” You laughed, hitting his chest.

“Your what? I happen to be a thing.”

How quickly he forgot his target when easier to pick fruit appeared.

“No, silly!” A practiced hiccup, “my little…”

“Your little…?”

Your fingers wiggled in the direction of your hip.

“Purse!” A beaming grin. He asked if you needed help finding it. “Well, how else am I gonna get another drink!” The hand on your waist fell to your hip and slunk lower.

“Oh well, I could help ya with that.” He leaned in, looking around first as if he had a secret, “I have a room upstairs.”

You tutted, “No no, I am a married woman!” He lifted your left hand, turning it over in a dramatic search for a ring. “Well, engaged…” you diverted your gaze. He lifted his hand to his brow then and scanned the room like a sailor to the horizon. “He’s working late.” You whined.

Why did his kind of man always want the taken woman? Did they think the chase was more meaningful then? Did they feel like they’d won some tug-of-war with an invisible, unaware opponent?

Maybe they were hardwired to hoard resources.

You let him seat you at the bar, and when he ordered you a drink you asked to know your savior’s name. William.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Alastor was none the wiser, smoking a cigarette under the streetlamp just off to the side of the hotel awning. He didn’t smoke often before you, but he found the lure of sitting on the porch passing a pill between you both too hard to fight. And soon enough the habit grew from a drinking pastime to just… something to do with his hands.

As Aubrey appeared, waiting for her driver to retrieve the car, Alastor tossed the butt to the street and walked up on her.

“I’m quite cross with you, Aubrey.” His tone was smiling as his hand slid behind her neck and tugged her away from the safety and lights of the awning.

“Oh! Alastor, I’m actually waiting for my car.” She struggled to keep up with his pace in her heels, weakly pointing back to where the valet had stood earlier. She resisted a little, the palm on the nape of her neck silently shutting her down.

“Nonsense. We have business together.” Alastor let his hand fall to her upper arm as he yanked her into the closest side street. “I hear you’ve been a very bad girl.”

Aubrey huffed, pulling back against him once, then twice, but ultimately acquiesced when she could see his car down the street.

“Fine, you can drive me home then.” A misplaced giggle, her survival skills dulled by ego.

He tossed her roughly against the car, hand gripping her face tightly. She tried to say his name, but his hold was so firm her jaw was locked.

“You’re going to get into my car now.” Alastor’s eyes had lost their pupil, an expanse of a seemingly endless dark brown in the heavy shadows left by the lamp’s light. When he let her face go, she rolled her eyes and pulled open the back seat door.

That wasn’t what he had meant, not there, but he closed the door behind her and got into the driver’s seat. He hadn’t brought the tarp tonight, not expecting to need it, so maybe the backseat was his best option regardless.

When he pulled away, she reminded him he didn’t know her address.

“I’m not taking you home. I told you. I have a bone to pick with you.” Alastor found himself incapable of putting on a ruse for her. His patience was entirely lost in his unraveling anger.

“Oooh? A bone, you say. Well, well.” Aubrey leaned forward onto the front seat, hands snaking down his shoulders and chest so she could nip at his ear, “Finally letting me have a ride.”

He had to set his right hand in the darkness of his lap to hide the tremble, a disgusted rage manifesting in uncommon ways.

As her fingers found the buttons of his waist coat, Alastor struggled to see the road in front of him. His vision was going white, and then red. His blood pressure was so high he was nearly blind.

And when two hot fingers broached the small space between buttons of his dress shirt and touched the bare skin of his chest, the car came to an abrupt halt. The force threw her into the backseat.

Alastor slammed the front seat door shut before opening the back and caging her in. “I can’t stand another second of your existence.” She crawled backward, making room for him. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Aubrey settled her back against the opposite door, “Oh, the petit mort.”

His head hung low in frustration, a growled “No, the big one.” as he raked his fingers through his hair to keep from punching his own car seat.

“So I’ve heard.” She pulled up the hem of her dress slowly.

“For fucks sake Aubrey! I’m not using double entendre!” His hands wrapped around her neck. “Must I really remind you of what wrongs you’ve committed?!”

A brief panic finally came, “Wrongs?? Excuse you.”

He could have sworn the snap in his brain had been audible to her as he lost his last bit of patience.

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“Excuse me.” You settled back into the seat, having taken a bathroom break to down some water in secret. You weren’t trying to actually end up blacked out.

“Anyway, that's how we secured the riverside house.” William leaned into you. You tried to sip your drink and found it empty, having managed to finish it absentmindedly while he rambled on about himself earlier. As you stared at him you let your eyes lose focus and drift into plans for the morning. You’d like biscuits. Alastor had some sausage he’d picked up the other day, maybe a little gravy and some eggs. It’d be like a Sunday meal nice families ate after church. You assumed. Out of the peripheral of your daydream you saw him tap the bar twice and hold up two fingers. “Charge to 1033.” He said. With the clarity of someone who wasn’t pretending to be drunk you quickly held up three.

William shot you a confused look.

“One for my darling.” He made a show of looking around, the bartender pausing. You gave him a confirmation nod, “Three, please.”

“And is he in the room with us now, Helen? I’m beginning to think he’s imaginary.”

It seemed a fine enough name to give him.

“No! But I made a promise. Or…,” you returned the lean, head resting on his shoulder, “are three drinks a little steep for you?“ With a huff, he pulled out a pair of C notes and set them on the bar. The bartender nodded, reaching for the top shelf. You whistled at the sight. Too much money for the total seven drinks he’d ordered, if you weren’t somewhere Alastor frequented you’d have slipped them under the lip of your stockings when the man wasn’t looking. He was charging the room anyway, the large bills were just for show…

“One reviver for the miss, one brandy for the sir, and a rye whiskey neat for the beau.” The bartender set the drinks down on red napkins. The whiskey sat between you both, and after a beat you realized you hadn’t actually told him what to make for Alastor. And come to think of it, your last drink hadn’t been a reviver at all but a brandy ordered by William.

“Ya know I stood up another woman to help you,” he said it into your cheek, stealing your attention by breaking your line of thought. His arm around your shoulder curled to hold you closer, “Don’t I get a reward for that?”

His breath reeked of sickeningly sweet brandy, the taste sticking to the back of your throat. Your head tilted back so you could look at him down your nose, right hand coming to rest on his thigh.

The heat of his body was radiating through the fabric of his pants and made your stomach turn. How many hot and sweaty bodies had you had the pleasure and displeasure of touching?

A smirk painted your face, remembering seeing sweat sticking to Alastor’s forehead the last time he fucked you. What had you done for that reward? Ah right, the somehow shocking act of not withholding praise for how well planned out his greenhouse was. How impressive he was to you in so many ways. You could have lingered on that recollection, on how Alastor set down his coffee and kissed you. And how he didn’t stop until you were both left undone and flustered. But movement stirred away the pleasant memory to bring you back to an unpleasant reality.

His hand roamed down your arm, uncomfortably warm palm on your exposed skin.

“Oh, I know you did.” You said.

William chuckled, absolutely no idea what you were talking about and not particularly giving a shit. “Did I mention I have a room here?”

“Ten thirty three.” You repeated.

He looked genuinely shocked, “How’d you know that?” The man was absolutely mystified.

“I— you just…,” your mask slipped in the face of such abject stupidity, “Lucky guess.” William drank his brandy slowly, mentioning you should bet on the ponies together. You nodded.

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Alastor didn’t care for strangulation. It took so much time and wasn’t particularly satisfying. No pleading, no screaming, no blood and gore. Just…. someone flailing beneath you and turning purple. Boring.

He brought up the accusations before he began to squeeze, and her panic transformed to relief. “Oh that?” She tried to sit up, but he pushed her back down, “Are you really miffed at me about that?”

“Yes, Aubrey! You condemned an innocent child to a horrid death!” His hands loosened, all of his neurons firing off to feel pain in his own heart.

She rolled her eyes, “I wouldn’t call them children. You seem so upset, hun. Did you have a mam-?”

The rest of the word was barely squeaked out of her, he couldn’t let her finish it. He wasn’t sure what face he made. But whatever it was, it scared her. The carefree way she’d been handling the interaction finally died, and he could register actual fear in her eyes then.

But the rage just … withered. How many children had his mother loved and doted on before her last, much kinder position? How many Aubreys had she raised. It was nothing short of an overwhelmingly violent sadness that laced his finger together around her neck and tightened, the full weight of his body coming down to crush her airways. He wanted such sentiments to be smothered out of the world like the air in her lungs. If he killed enough, could he make a dent in their influence? He could try. For her. For his mother.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Ya know, I could take real good care of you. If that’s what’s stopping you from coming upstairs.”

With a deep breath, you gulped the drink halfway down. “Your fella doesn’t need to know. I could even get you your own place, you could wait for me there when he’s late with work. Have dinner ready. Slip off my shoes like a good girl.”

“Trust me; you’ve got a better chance of her smacking you with your shoes than slipping them off like a maid.” Alastor was resting his elbow on the bar behind you, head leaning on his hand. “Hey doll. That one mine?” He pointed at the glass.

“Oh? Alastor is the fiancé?,” William gave off a snide laugh as he was interrupted, Alastor standing up and walking to come between you two, “This guy?! Everyone knows he’s a frigid bitch. You must be a dive alley-cat if you’re—,” Alastor’s fist connected with the man’s jaw, eliciting a sickening crack. He needed both hands to keep himself from falling down with William as he was knocked back out of his bar stool. Alastor’s feet slipped on the spilt brandy, causing him to seize the stool for momentary support.

Alastor took the glass of whiskey with his non-dominant hand and downed it. He cooed, “Top shelf, Georgie?” The bartender nodded. “Good choice. Picked a worthy sucker, sweetheart. Ready to peel?”

You watched William try to stand, glass stuck to his palm. He did manage to get on his knees, shouting at the staff who stood motionless and unphased behind the counter. They didn’t say anything at all, oddly, until Alastor extended his swelling hand to you.

“Have a good evening, sir.”

Alastor flashed his signature smile and guided you out of the hotel bar. You only got a few steps before quickly running back and snatching one of the 100$ bills from the counter. William would’ve taken it back from the bar anyway. What a waste!

When a waiter offered Alastor a warm and familiar look you had to wonder, did people really not know what he did in the darkness of the New Orlean’s alleys? Did a part of them not feel some kind of debt to him? Or was he just painfully friendly when socializing?

“Just to be clear,” Alastor let the doorman open the lobby door, “It’s not the accusation of sex work that compelled me to sock him. It’s the implication you’d be cheap.” He waved the valet from the car and opened the door for you, “If you chose to sell your companionship at true worth, his daddy’s money couldn’t even buy him a kiss.”

“Aww,” you smiled at him through the thin windowpane, “Would you really be so cavalier about such a job if I did?”

“Would I? Gosh that’d make retirement much quicker for me.” He slid into the driver's seat and the door shut with a sharp ting. As he took hold of the wheel he reclined to let his hand settle behind you on the backrest, and then you three were off.

“Oh by the way, Aubrey’s in the backseat.”

You turned slowly, first coming into view were her tiny, shining silver shoes. Your eyes kept traveling; stocking covered calves and then the bottom of her dress just past her knees.

Alastor’s coat draped over her torso and shoulders caused you to flit to him, confirming his jacket was gone, and back to her.

Her face looked like that of a sleeping passenger.

No blood.

When the car was a few blocks from the hotel, you leaned back and lifted the jacket. Her abdomen was clean, the white of her dress pristine. At first her neck seemed clear of cuts or abrasions until you rode past a streetlamp and a beam of light revealed the slowly forming collar of bruises.

Special attention.

For a hair of a moment you began to gently cover her again, before remembering her crimes and dropping it on her unceremoniously.

“Trunk not good enough for her?”

“Got interrupted. Booked it back to you.” He shook his head and patted the seat in tandem.

What luck that just as he felt sure she was too far gone for revival, he let go over her neck and sat up in time for someone to notice him. Fishing in his jacket draped over the seat, he found his cigarette case just as—

“What exactly are you two doing?” An officer was flashing his light through the passenger side back window.

Alastor froze, Aubrey motionless between his legs and a cigarette dangling unlit between his lips. “You startled me, officer! We were just canoodling. But she’s gone and fallen asleep before the main event.”

The officer’s brass light shone down but couldn’t reach the dead woman’s face past the shadow cast by the car door and glass. “She alright?”

Alastor’s eyes drifted down to the deceased socialite, “Truth be told sir, she’s had a bit too much of the giggle water.” Fishing your lighter from his waistcoat pocket, he lit this cigarette before setting the jacket over Aubrey like a gentleman.

“Alright y'all better get lost. Tell your moll this ain’t ladylike.” The officer tapped the window with his knuckle and when she didn’t stir just left with a huff.

Alastor was quick to leave the backseat and drive off, circling around at the next block to head back to the hotel.

“Is… everything alright?” You asked, very obviously concerned.

“Peachy! I just said we were necking before she passed out drunk.“ he leaned over and kissed your cheek, “Anything exciting on your end?”

Patting his leg you beamed up at him, “Always so quick on your feet! I don’t know why I worry so much.” His face lit up and you wanted nothing more than to launch into a praise filled rant that fueled his smile. But, you moved on to the question at hand. After a moment to think, you remembered ‘the best good deeds are done in the dark’. “Nope! Just got tipsy on William’s dime. An odd woman did touch my hair…,” you recounted every second, leaving out why you chose William, to Alastor. You hadn’t meant to, and he hadn’t actually asked, the evening’s events just seemed to flow out of you. The way he always added little comments and nodded made it feel like a conversation and not just you rambling.

When the car was pulling into the driveway, you asked Alastor if you could drive it behind the house. Puzzled, he put it in park and let you sit between his legs. You started slowly, but quickly began to accelerate. As you approached the house you turned sharply to the left, right side tires ever so slightly leaving the ground. A sharp correction to the right to straighten out. One of his hands clutched you at the waist, the other gripping the seat.

He tried to form some kind of words but they came out a jumbled and panicked mash of sounds as you barreled toward the greenhouse.

You slammed your foot on the brakes and Aubrey flew off the back seat and hit the floor with a loud thud.

“Ha!” You slapped the wheel, “I’ve been wanting to hear that sound the whole drive!”

He used both arms now to squeeze you appreciatively, “You’re just the bee’s knees.” Alastor nuzzled into the back of your neck, truly feeling his heart flutter. You made him skip a beat. So many days and nights not even imagining such a pairing.

The best scenario he could think up was a partner who wouldn’t ask questions, who didn’t care to know, who was maybe a little too naive but otherwise capable. Even in his wildest dreams he hadn’t dared to think someone would exist who could support him.

And not just in the killing, which was a hurdle of course, but the other parts of him. The little sacrifices you made for him without complaint.

What did he do for you, he worried. Your body was his on the occasions he wanted but never did you ask for him. You shared the housework equally. Yes he drove you around but your skills with the car were still new. Insignificant things, like making your coffee when he awoke first and waiting for you after work. With the detective still looking for connections, he couldn’t even properly introduce you or flaunt you around to his circles.

Like a flash of lightning taking down a tree, insecurity shook him. What on earth was keeping you there? Of all the people in New Orleans, how was he any more worth your time than the next?

If anything, he was nothing short of troublesome. His hold on you twisted from thankful to desperate.

Even the lovely evening out he had promised you, he’d left you alone in a strange place. A stranger had bought you more drinks than he had.

“Would you like to go to the woods with me tonight? To dispose of Aubrey?” His lips swiped across the fabric of your dress as he said it.

The sudden advancement into his hobby took you by surprise. You hugged his arms against you, “Really? Are you sure?”

“If you don’t want to…”

“Is that what I said?”

“Well, no….”

“Don’t put words in my mouth! I absolutely want to go!” Your arms squeezed his.

He chuckled into your shoulder and gave your hip a pat, “Let me get her packaged up. You go rest your feet and I’ll come get you when I’m ready to go.”

You watched from the kitchen, the light he hung from the greenhouse ceiling setting the entire space aglow. When he finally emerged, his sleeves were rolled up past his elbows and his hair was falling into his face, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose before he could push it back into place. He waved from the porch, and when you made it out to him he was already pulling out small bundles.

“We’ll bury the pieces in separate places.” He dragged out a small trash tin with the lid already clapped down. “And this goes into the water.”

The packages were like Tommy’s, but smaller. They fit easily into the trunk, and beside them he snuggly fit the metal bucket.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The Ford was parked down a dirt road far from sight, taking a parcel at a time and a shovel, you followed him into the woods.

You had to ask, why not just his land? Wasn’t that safer? Easier?

“Well, a skull found out here is easier to act shocked about than on my property.”

The ground was still soft, but you could imagine it was rock solid in winter. “Isn’t this dangerous? Aren’t you slowed down in the colder months?” You kept your eyes open wide, adjusting to the pitch black of the forest. The trees were too close and too full still to see the stars. But soon they’d brown and die, revealing the sky’s light. Revealing Alastor.

“Eh it’s mostly busy during mating season because the hunters come out in numbers. But in general I avoid being here in the very early morning hours.” He paused and you reached out for the shovel for your turn, “It’s not too bad overall.”

“They mate in fall. It’s almost fall now.” You widened your stance for balance and began to dig.

“Yeeees but I’m not alone!” He chirped.

“Fine… just, don’t come out when I’m not able to join you. Just wait or, I don’t know, burn them or something.” You tried to dig fast, wanting to spare his injured hand another turn.

“Very ineffective, brings too much attention and the body never burns all the way. It’s still identifiable in many cases.” Alastor said it quickly, as he’d had nearly a lifetime to think of these things and test them.

You huffed, “Well, fuck. Okay. Still.” You leaned over and offered your index finger, not looking at him as you did. He laughed before wiping his hand clean on his pants and hooking his with yours.

A small scream erupted from you, startling him. Your short heel sunk into the dirt when you leaned to lock fingers. The sudden loss of balance startled you. “Sorry… flat shoes. I need flat shoes…these are gonna be the death of me.”

Alastor’s hand came to his heart, pounding in his chest, “Of us. My heart nearly stopped.”

You dug many holes, all of them quite small in radius, just wide enough to slip in what you needed to. After each was deep enough by some standard you didn’t know, he would untie the twine around the package and let the contents spill out and down into the little cylinderical pocket of dirt.

The first package had her hands. Then next was her feet. Her arms in pieces and then later her legs. The hips, the chest and shoulders, and finally, her head. You were grateful for the darkness, not wanting to see her face now that it was no longer attached to her body.

The brush was so thick and the woods so dense that you found it hard to distinguish the burial spots once they’d been filled in and covered up. He explained most people came out there with a purpose, not really noticing some disturbed dirt here and there. It’s not like they’re people sized.

“You’re just something else, ya know that?” You said it into the shadows and didn’t see him wince. But you somehow, accidentally, knew to clarify, “I’m always so impressed by your way of doing things. You’ve really thought it out well huh? I know I should worry less but it’s hard.”

Because of the shade you didn’t see the way his shoulders relaxed. You never made him regret your inclusion.

Alastor carried the bucket as you slowly made your way through the darkness. You could hear the sounds of bugs, though you couldn’t see any. The water surprised you, his arm coming to stop you from walking into the bayou.

“In winter they’ll get really still, so I slow down then too. But we still have time, it’s not too cold yet for them.” He took off the lid, the smell of copper blossoming from the tin.

With practiced moves, he tossed the viscera as far as he could into the small inlet marsh of the river.

Within seconds the water frothed and rolled with the snapping of powerful jaws.

“Gosh they’re so neat.” You said, reaching out into the darkness for his hand. You couldn’t see him looking at you as you watched the prehistoric animals dispose of his crimes.

He wanted to kiss you. To confess every little happiness you filled his formerly hollow chest with. But he held back. He knew better. He’d tried before, once. When he thought settling was better than nothing. It ended terribly. It was better to just exist beside you for as long as you’d entertain his company. If you knew, he thought, of all the futures he imagined with you, you’d just feel tied down by his hopes. You weren’t a small bird he could hold in his home.

You promised to not get in his way. The least he could do was not cage you with his love. He wouldn’t hold you back.

“Alastor.”

“Yeah?” He said dreamily.

“I think… ” You fought the urge to scream at the sensation between your toes, “Aubrey dripped into my shoes.”

Alastor yanked the bucket away from you, the angle he haphazardly held at it with a single finger to hold your hand having caused the liquid remains to leak out.

“Ankle boots. Ankle boots, no heel.” You muttered, the shoe rinsed off in the water with a paranoid speed now squishing under your sole. The action was enough to draw attention to your shore, long and round snouts moving toward you in the night as you got rid of Aubrey. It was time to go.

The drive home was dark and silent. The bucket and tarps rinsed with the gas can full of water he always kept in the oversized, custom built trunk. It had taken longer than you had realized, which just brought up renewed worry for his sleep schedule.

When you finally made it home and into the bedroom, he mumbled it was too late to shower. A coordinated grumble between you that you’d both just wash the sheets in the morning. Alastor sat on the end of the bed and bent down, your hand coming to his shoulder to stop him.

Exhausted, aching, and quite confident you smelled of sweat coated dirt with the tiniest hint of dead Aubrey mixed with alive William (blood and brandy, respectively), you lowered yourself to your knees. You untied the waxed laces of the right shoe, made of a shiny brown leather, and slipped it off.

Alastor felt his throat tighten as he had to blink to keep tears away. You always seemed to listen when he spoke. Really listened, even when he was just being playful. Another tiny sweetness piled onto the mountain you were currently burying him under. Another ounce of inadequacy tipped on his self measured scales.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Hush, I don’t have to do anything.” You said it and he laughed breathlessly knowing he’d heard it before and praying he’d hear it forever. “I want to.”

You set the left shoe beside the right. When you didn’t stand but instead stared at him patiently, Alastor undid his pants and lifted his hips to push them down. You folded them neatly beside his shoes. Feeling up his legs as if you couldn’t see them there in front of you, you found his sock garters.

“Keep the socks, please. It’s getting chilly.” He undid his shirt and folded it on his lap.

When he was in just his underwear and socks, you looked up at him and wondered if he knew. That this was the closest to expressing “I love you” you had ever been. The act itself perhaps far louder than any words could be.

Sitting back, he patted between his legs like he had in the car. As you sat, he undid the buttons down the back of your dress. Why were so many women’s clothing items made in a way that required two people?

In the mirror above the dresser you took in the sight. When the dress fell to your waist he kissed your shoulder and met you in the reflection.

“Quite a pretty couple, if I do say so myself.” He rested his chin where he had just kissed and smiled at you. “What did I do to deserve your attention?”

“Affection,” you corrected. “Aubrey got attention.” He nodded slightly. “I think it’s karma.” You watched his brow arch. “You’ve earned me. Whatever that means, or looks like. We were put together for a reason.”

It was the sappiest thing you’d ever said and a year ago you’d have laughed in someone’s face for saying it. If a character in a novel spewed it out in a confession you’d have closed the book. But you meant it. Every single word was part of the fact this was supposed to happen. The idea that any timeline existed where your paths never crossed gave you the shivers.

Alastor closed his eyes, exhaustion catching up quickly as comfort opened the door for it. That didn’t make any sense to him at all. Why would anyone, god or the devil, give him something good just for the sake of being a good thing. He was very plainly bad. There must be a catch. That fear he felt before, the fear of wanting something too much, reappeared. Turning its ugly head to him as if called by name.

Why? He could feel something, someone, setting their sights on him.

When he opened his eyes, you were there still, looking at him. A smile too sweet. He felt the compulsion to tell you to run. That if this was his karma, it would end the way he deserved. And he didn’t deserve happiness. He didn’t deserve you.

But instead he leaned down, lifted your dress, and unclamped your garters. He wanted to be selfish. He wanted to cling to what good he had now. Even knowing he couldn’t possibly get to keep it. His fingertips delighted in rolling down the delicate nylon. He watched the red stained end loosen around your toes, a mental note to burn them before he continued his undressing.

“Lift your hips, my love. I’ll get you all ready for bed.” As he pressed forward and bent into you so he could slip off the stockings he turned to look at the you in front of him, “And I’ll keep you warm.”

⋅˚₊‧ ଳ⋆Masterlist.ೃ࿔*:･

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

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#hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #human alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin alastor #alastor #fanfiction

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fr0stf4ll · 1 month

Text

Forge of Starlight - Part 4

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the heart of Velaris, a skilled blacksmith's quiet life is turned upside down when unexpected bonds begin to form with the enigmatic Spymaster of the Night Court. As she navigates the challenges of her craft and the complexities of newfound relationships, she discovers that love and loyalty may be the strongest forces of all in a world where darkness often lingers just beyond the light.

word count ; 5k

warning; /

notes; heyy, I hope that all of you are doing fine ! Here is part 4, pretty calm chapter but I think that you will like it ;))) To be honest I'm already done writing the story, I might change some details because I'm still not really happy about some parts but the overall storyline is finished. Otherwise don't hesitate to comment or ask to be on the tag list ;)) I'm always super happy to see your feedbacks and comments on the story. See you soon, bisous bisoussss

here is the link for part 3 or part 5

---

Wrapped in the warmth of a thick, fur-lined cape, you made your way through the vast and unforgiving landscape that led to the Winter Court. The journey had been long, the cold biting at your skin despite the layers of wool and leather beneath your armor. Your boots crunched through the snow with every step, the sound a constant reminder of the icy terrain you traversed. The fur trim of your cape brushed against your face, shielding you from the harsh winds that howled through the mountains.

Your outfit was designed for both warmth and practicality—leather pants tucked into sturdy boots, a long-sleeved woolen tunic layered under a thick, high-collared vest, and over it all, the heavy cape that provided not just warmth, but protection from the elements. The fur-lined hood of the cape was pulled low over your brow, keeping the icy wind from nipping at your face. Gloves made of soft, supple leather protected your hands, though your fingers itched for the familiar feel of your weapons.

The landscape around you was breathtakingly beautiful, despite its harshness. The snow-covered mountains rose like jagged teeth against the clear, cold sky, their peaks piercing the heavens. The ground beneath your feet was a blanket of pristine white, unmarked by any sign of life save for the occasional tracks of a snow hare or a fox. The air was crisp and clean, filling your lungs with a chill that was both invigorating and biting.

As you neared the Winter Court, the terrain began to change subtly. The trees, tall and ancient, were dusted with snow, their branches heavy with the weight of winter. The air grew colder, the wind sharper, as you approached the heart of Kallias’s domain. The palace, when it came into view, was a marvel of ice and stone, a structure that seemed to rise organically from the frozen earth itself. Its spires glistened in the weak sunlight, the walls shimmering as if carved from a single massive block of ice. It was both awe-inspiring and foreboding, a testament to the power of the High Lord who ruled within.

As you entered the grand hall, the cold air seemed to intensify, but you were prepared for it. Your breath misted before you as you walked, the sound of your footsteps echoing off the ice-encrusted walls. The interior of the palace was no less magnificent than its exterior—glittering chandeliers of ice hung from the ceiling, casting a cool, ethereal light across the room. The floors were a mosaic of frosted tiles, and the walls were adorned with intricate carvings that depicted the history and power of the Winter Court.

Kallias awaited you at the far end of the hall, his tall, imposing figure clad in robes of pure white, trimmed with silver. His eyes, as cold and sharp as the winter wind, met yours as you approached, and he offered a nod of acknowledgment.

"Y/N," he greeted, his voice as icy as his surroundings. "I trust your journey was without incident?"

You inclined your head in respect. "It was, High Lord. The Winter Court is as beautiful as ever."

Kallias’s lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile. "It is. And I am eager to see the weapon you have forged for me."

With a practiced motion, you unclasped the leather strap that secured the long, narrow case at your side. Carefully, you lifted the lid, revealing the weapon within—a glaive, forged from the finest steel, its blade gleaming with an icy blue sheen that seemed to capture the essence of winter itself. The hilt was intricately designed, resembling the ancient, snow-laden trees of the Winter Court, with delicate, frost-like etchings that trailed along its length. At the base of the hilt, a crystal embedded in the pommel caught the light, glittering like freshly fallen snow.

Kallias’s eyes gleamed with appreciation as he took in the sight of the weapon. He stepped forward, his gloved hand reaching out to grasp the hilt. The glaive fit perfectly in his hand, its weight balanced, its craftsmanship flawless. He swung it once, the blade cutting through the air with a sharp, crisp sound that resonated through the hall.

"It’s exquisite," Kallias said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "You’ve outdone yourself, Y/N."

You bowed your head slightly, a smile tugging at your lips. "I’m glad it meets your expectations, High Lord. It was an honor to craft something for the Winter Court."

Kallias’s gaze lingered on the weapon for a moment longer before he turned his icy eyes back to you. "It more than meets my expectations. It surpasses them. You have a gift, Y/N, and I’m fortunate to have been able to commission such a weapon from you."

There was a moment of silence as Kallias continued to study the glaive, the air between you filled with the mutual respect of two artisans—one of ice, one of steel. Finally, he nodded, his expression softening just slightly.

"You must be tired from your journey," Kallias said, his tone shifting to something more cordial. "Please, stay as my guest. You are welcome in the Winter Court as long as you wish."

You inclined your head again, appreciating the offer. "Thank you, High Lord. I may take you up on that, but I must return to the Night Court soon. There are other matters that require my attention."

Kallias nodded in understanding. "Of course. But for now, rest. My stewards will see to your needs."

With that, he handed the glaive back to you, and you secured it once more in its case. As you followed the steward who had been summoned to lead you to your quarters, you couldn’t help but marvel at the power and grace of the Winter Court—its beauty, its cold, unyielding strength. The journey had been long, but the successful delivery of such a finely crafted weapon made it all worthwhile.

As you were led to your quarters, you wondered what the days ahead would bring, knowing that whatever challenges lay before you, you were more than prepared to face them.

After a much-needed rest in the luxurious quarters provided by Kallias, you found yourself summoned to dinner with the High Lord and his wife, Viviane. The invitation was delivered with the same formality and grace that characterized the Winter Court, and you dressed accordingly, choosing an outfit that was both practical for the cold and respectful of the occasion. You opted for a tailored, high-collared tunic in deep blue, paired with fitted leather pants and sturdy boots designed for both warmth and movement. Over the tunic, you wore a vest of finely stitched leather, its dark hue matching the rich blue of your tunic, and lined with fur for added warmth. A thick, fur-lined cloak draped over your shoulders, adding the final touch of protection against the biting cold.

The dining hall itself was as magnificent as the rest of the palace, with walls of ice that seemed to glow in the soft candlelight. A grand table made of polished, dark wood stood at the center, set with fine crystal and silverware that sparkled under the light. Kallias and Viviane were already seated when you arrived, their regal presence filling the room with an aura of quiet power.

Viviane greeted you with a warm smile, her blue eyes sparkling with kindness. “Y/N, it’s a pleasure to have you join us. Please, sit. I hope the accommodations were to your liking?”

You returned her smile, inclining your head respectfully as you took the seat offered to you. “Thank you, Lady Viviane. The accommodations were perfect—your hospitality is most generous.”

Kallias nodded in agreement, his expression calm and composed. “We are glad to hear that. You’ve traveled far, and your work has been extraordinary. You deserve the best.”

As the first course was served—a delicate soup made with winter vegetables and fragrant herbs—you found yourself relaxing into the atmosphere. The warmth of the fire crackling in the hearth, combined with the rich scents of the food, created a sense of comfort that was almost surprising in the cold grandeur of the palace.

As the meal progressed, Kallias leaned back slightly, regarding you with an inquisitive gaze. “Tell me, Y/N,” he began, his voice casual but laced with curiosity, “are you finally settling down? It’s not often we hear of someone as skilled as you staying in one place for long.”

You smiled softly, nodding as you set down your spoon. “Yes, I’ve returned to my roots. I’ve settled back in the Night Court, where I grew up. It feels right to be back home, even after all the years of traveling.”

Kallias’s eyes sharpened with interest, though he remained composed. “The Night Court, you say? And how has that been? Is it… a unique place, from what I’ve heard.”

You nodded again, careful with your words. “It’s been a good experience, returning to the Night Court. It has its own charm, and I’ve found a certain peace there that I didn’t realize I was missing.”

Viviane, ever the gracious hostess, leaned forward slightly, her gaze warm. “It must be wonderful to return to your roots after so long. I can imagine it offers a sense of stability, something to hold onto.”

“It does,” you agreed. “After years of traveling and crafting for different courts, it’s good to have a place to call home again.”

Kallias seemed to consider this for a moment before his expression shifted slightly, a more contemplative look in his eyes. “Y/N, do you see yourself as a blacksmith for the rest of your life?”

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated for a moment before responding. “I’ve dedicated most of my life to the craft. It’s something I’m deeply passionate about. But… I’ve also wondered if there’s more I could do, especially now that I’m settled in one place.”

Kallias nodded thoughtfully, as if weighing something in his mind. “With your skills and the relationships you’ve built across the courts, have you ever considered becoming an emissary? You already have a good rapport with most of the High Lords, and your experience is invaluable.”

You blinked in surprise, the idea not one you had expected to hear. “An emissary?” you repeated, trying to imagine the shift from blacksmith to diplomat. “It’s not something I’ve considered before… but I suppose it could be an interesting path.”

Kallias was about to continue when he seemed to catch himself, a small, knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Of course, that’s a matter for Rhysand to consider. While our relations with the Night Court are… decent, I’m not one to aid in growing another court’s power.”

There was a hint of amusement in his tone, and you couldn’t help but smile in return. “I understand, High Lord. And I appreciate the suggestion, though. It’s something I’ll have to think about.”

Viviane reached out, placing a gentle hand on Kallias’s arm. “Don’t mind him, Y/N. He’s always thinking three steps ahead, even during a simple dinner.”

Kallias chuckled softly, inclining his head. “Indeed, but it’s worth considering. Your talents shouldn’t be confined to one craft alone, no matter how extraordinary it may be.”

The conversation continued in a more relaxed manner as the evening wore on, the three of you discussing everything from the beauty of the Winter Court to tales of your travels. Despite the formality of the setting, there was an ease to the dinner that you hadn’t anticipated—a warmth that contrasted pleasantly with the cold elegance of the palace.

As the dinner came to an end, you felt a sense of satisfaction not just from the meal, but from the knowledge that you were appreciated here in the Winter Court. The suggestion of becoming an emissary lingered in your mind, a seed planted by Kallias that you knew would take root in the days to come.

For now, though, you allowed yourself to enjoy the moment, grateful for the hospitality of the Winter Court and the new possibilities that lay ahead.

Later that evening, after the dinner with Kallias and Viviane, you found yourself back in the comfort of your room. The luxurious quarters were warm and inviting, the fire crackling softly in the hearth as you settled into a plush chair by the window. The view outside was breathtaking—a serene expanse of snow-covered mountains under a clear, starlit sky. The quiet beauty of the Winter Court seemed almost surreal after the intense conversations of the day.

As you stared out at the snow-draped landscape, your thoughts began to drift back to the events that had transpired before your journey here—specifically, the night with Cassian. The memory of his broken wings and the dark curse that had infested his body sent a shiver down your spine. You had dealt with injuries before, but nothing quite like that. The sight of Cassian in such a vulnerable state, combined with the pressure of having to save him, had shaken you more than you cared to admit.

You couldn’t help but wonder how Cassian was doing now. Madja was a skilled healer, but the curse had been something different—something darker and more insidious. You hoped that your efforts, combined with Madja’s expertise, would be enough to see him fully recovered.

But your thoughts didn’t linger on Cassian for long. Instead, they wandered to Azriel—his overprotective reaction when you mentioned your journey to the Winter Court. You had been taken aback by the intensity in his eyes, the way his voice had tightened with worry when he insisted that you couldn’t go alone. It was unlike him, or at least unlike the composed, stoic Azriel you had come to know.

A small blush crept up your cheeks as you recalled the way he had draped his jacket over your shoulders before flying you home. The warmth of the leather, combined with his proximity, had stirred something in you—a feeling you hadn’t allowed yourself to acknowledge until now. Azriel was undeniably attractive, with his dark, brooding looks and those piercing hazel eyes that seemed to see right through you. But more than that, he was one of the most skilled warriors in Prythian, a member of the Inner Circle, and someone who carried a weight of responsibility that few could comprehend.

You let out a small sigh, feeling a mixture of admiration and frustration. Azriel was everything you weren’t—an elite warrior, trusted confidant of the High Lord, and part of a circle that wielded immense power and influence. What were you, in comparison? A blacksmith, skilled in your craft, but still just someone who worked with metal and fire. You had traveled far and gained respect across the courts, but it was hard to shake the feeling that Azriel was somehow out of your league.

You couldn’t deny the attraction, though. Every time you thought of him—his calm presence, his quiet strength—it sent your heart fluttering in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying. But you reminded yourself that someone like Azriel wouldn’t be interested in you, not in that way. He was dedicated to his duties, and you… you were just a blacksmith.

Still, the memory of his protective concern lingered, the way his eyes had softened slightly when he insisted on flying you home. It was a gesture that spoke of something deeper, something that made your heart ache with longing.

You shook your head, trying to push the thoughts away. It was foolish to dwell on such things. Azriel was a friend, and that was enough. There was no sense in imagining something that could never be.

But even as you told yourself that, you couldn’t help the small, wistful smile that tugged at your lips. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was more to Azriel’s concern than simple duty. Perhaps there was a connection there, one that went beyond the roles you both played.

With a sigh, you stood and walked over to the window, staring out at the endless expanse of snow and stars. The Winter Court was beautiful, but your mind was already drifting back to Velaris, to the Night Court, and to the people who had become an unexpected but welcome part of your life.

And as you stood there, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, you couldn’t help but wonder what the future held—for you and perhaps most of all, for Azriel.

——

Back in Velaris, the shop was quieter than usual. Without the rhythmic clang of metal on metal or the hum of the forge, the space felt almost too still, the usual lively energy dampened by your absence. But that didn’t stop Alex from doing his best to keep things running smoothly. He was darting between customers, expertly answering questions and showcasing various weapons with the kind of enthusiasm that belied his young age. Stellan, your faithful direwolf, was sprawled out near the counter, watching the activity with an expression that could only be described as long-suffering patience.

A particularly persistent client had been lingering in the shop for the better part of an hour, his eyes darting around as if expecting to spot you at any moment. He was a tall, lanky man with a nervous energy, and he had been pestering Alex incessantly.

“Are you sure she’s not here?” the man asked for what felt like the hundredth time, his tone edging on desperation. “I need to speak with Y/N directly.”

Alex, who had been maintaining his polite demeanor with admirable restraint, forced a smile that was beginning to strain at the edges. “As I’ve already mentioned, sir, Y/N is currently away on business. She won’t be back until next week.”

The man’s eyes narrowed as if Alex were trying to trick him. “But I really need to speak with her. Can’t you just call her? Or maybe she’s in the back?”

Alex’s forced smile twitched, and he muttered under his breath, “On the name of the goddamn Mother, I’m going to hit him.” He forced his voice back to a more polite tone as he said, “I’ve already checked, sir. She’s definitely not in the back. And no, I can’t call her—she’s in the Winter Court. They don’t exactly have a postal service for emergencies.”

The client frowned, clearly dissatisfied with the answer. “But this is important! Can’t you at least take a message?”

“Sir,” Alex said, his voice straining to maintain its politeness, “I’ve taken five messages from you already. I promise I’ll give them all to Y/N when she returns. But for now, there’s really nothing more I can do.”

The man didn’t seem convinced and opened his mouth to argue again, but Alex had reached his limit. He could feel his frustration bubbling up, and he was just about ready to scream when the shop door swung open with a loud creak.

In walked Cassian and Azriel, both of them cutting imposing figures as they strode into the shop. Cassian’s broad shoulders filled the doorway, and Azriel’s intense gaze swept over the scene, quickly taking in the situation.

The persistent client froze, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of the two warriors. Cassian’s expression was one of barely concealed amusement, while Azriel’s was much cooler, a silent but clear warning to the man that he was pushing his luck.

“Is there a problem here?” Azriel asked, his voice light but with an edge that sent a shiver down the man’s spine.

The client swallowed hard, his resolve crumbling under the weight of Azriel’s presence. “N-No, no problem at all,” he stammered, his previous determination evaporating. “I was just… uh… I’ll come back later.”

With that, the man all but bolted for the door, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to leave the shop. The door slammed shut behind him, and the shop was suddenly filled with silence, save for the faint crackling of the forge in the background.

Alex let out a long, relieved sigh and leaned against the counter, wiping a hand across his brow. “Thank the Mother for that,” he muttered.

Cassian chuckled, walking over to ruffle Alex’s hair. “You handled that well, kid. He was lucky he didn’t push you any further—looked like you were about to go feral.”

Alex grinned up at him, his earlier frustration melting away. “I was close, really close. But thanks for the help! Can I interest either of you in a fine sword? Or perhaps a dagger? We’ve got some new arrivals that are really top-notch.”

Azriel, who had been leaning casually against the counter, let out a soft chuckle. “Not today, Alex. We’re not here to shop.”

Cassian, still grinning, shook his head. “Yeah, as tempting as it is, we’re actually here to see if Y/N’s back yet. We wanted to check in and see how things are going.”

Alex’s face brightened at the mention of your name. “Oh! No, she’s not back yet. She should be here by tomorrow, though. I haven’t heard anything from her, but she always keeps her word.”

Cassian nodded, his expression softening slightly. “Good to hear. We’ve been worried about her, especially after everything that happened before she left.”

Azriel’s eyes darkened slightly at the mention of recent events, but he remained quiet, his gaze drifting around the shop as if lost in thought.

Alex, ever the perceptive one, caught the shift in Azriel’s demeanor and quickly changed the subject. “But hey, if you want, I can show you some of the stuff she’s been working on! I know she’s got some special orders that are almost ready. You might even find something you like.”

Cassian laughed, clearly charmed by the boy’s enthusiasm. “Maybe another time, Alex. We’ll just wait for her to get back. But thanks for the offer.”

Alex nodded, a little disappointed that he couldn’t make a sale but still pleased that the two warriors had stopped by. “No problem! I’ll let her know you were here as soon as she gets back.”

“Thanks, Alex,” Cassian said, giving the boy another affectionate ruffle of his hair before turning to leave. Azriel followed, but not before giving Alex a small, almost imperceptible nod of appreciation.

As they walked out the door, Alex watched them go, a satisfied grin on his face. Stellan, who had been observing the entire exchange with his usual calm, gave a soft huff as if to say, “Finally, some peace and quiet.”

Alex glanced down at the wolf, chuckling softly. “Yeah, I know, boy. It’s never boring around here, is it?”

Stellan’s only response was to close his eyes and settle back down, clearly content now that the shop had returned to its usual, slightly chaotic but always interesting, routine.

As Cassian and Azriel stepped out of your shop and into the bustling streets of Velaris, the evening air was cool and refreshing, carrying with it the scents of the city—freshly baked bread, the distant aroma of spiced meats, and the crisp tang of the Sidra River. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden hue over the cobblestone streets and the elegantly curved buildings.

Cassian glanced over at Azriel, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know, you didn’t have to scare the poor guy so much back there. He practically ran out of the shop.”

Azriel shrugged, his expression unreadable as usual, though there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “He was being persistent. Alexander was close to losing his patience.”

Cassian laughed, the sound rich and full of life. “True, true. That kid’s got more fire in him than most people twice his age. But I have to admit, it was fun watching you in action. You’ve always had a knack for that brooding intimidation.”

Azriel rolled his eyes, though the corners of his lips twitched slightly. “It wasn’t intentional. I just wanted to make sure the shop was running smoothly while Y/N is away.”

Cassian’s grin widened, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Speaking of Y/N… you’ve been pretty protective of her lately, haven’t you?”

Azriel’s step faltered for just a moment, but he quickly recovered, keeping his gaze focused ahead. “She’s been through a lot. We all have. I’m just making sure she’s safe.”

Cassian chuckled, clearly enjoying this line of questioning. “Come on, Az. We’ve all noticed how you’ve been watching out for her. And don’t think Rhys didn’t told me the way you reacted when she mentioned going to the Winter Court alone.”

Azriel’s expression remained impassive, though his eyes darkened slightly. “It’s my job to protect the people in this court, Cassian. You know that.”

“Sure, sure,” Cassian replied, waving a hand dismissively. “But this feels a little more personal, don’t you think? You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

Azriel remained silent, his gaze focused straight ahead as they continued walking. The streets of Velaris were alive with activity—couples strolling hand in hand, children playing, vendors calling out their wares—but the conversation between the two warriors seemed to create a bubble of quiet tension around them. Cassian, always one to lighten the mood, decided to press a little further.

“You know, Az,” Cassian started, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, “it’s not like that little kiss she gave me means you’re out of the running.”

Azriel shot him a sharp look, his eyes narrowing. “That wasn’t a kiss, Cassian. She was removing a curse. You know that.”

Cassian laughed, the sound rich and full of amusement. “Hey, I’m just saying—if you’re worried about competition, don’t be. That ‘kiss’ doesn’t mean you’ve lost your chance.”

Azriel shook his head, resuming his walk. "It's not about that. Y/N deserves someone... better.”

Cassian rolled his eyes dramatically, catching up to Azriel with a few quick strides. "Oh, here we go. The 'I'm not good enough' spiel. Az, you’re one of the most honorable males I know. You're brave, loyal, and let's not forget, you have that brooding mysterious thing going on that females seem to love."

Azriel shot him a skeptical look. "Being 'brooding and mysterious' isn't exactly a selling point."

"Maybe not for you," Cassian quipped, "but trust me, it's working. Besides, Y/N isn't the type to be swayed by titles or power. She values character, integrity, and someone who sees her for who she truly is."

Azriel sighed, his gaze distant. "Even so, with everything in my past, the things I've done... I don't want to burden her with that."

Cassian placed a firm hand on Azriel's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. "Listen to me. We all have our demons, our shadows. Y/N included. But that doesn't mean we don't deserve happiness. You can't keep punishing yourself forever.”

"She is… different. She’s strong, independent. She’s been through so much, yet she doesn’t let it define her. I admire that.”

Cassian nodded, his expression softening slightly. “She is all of those things. And she’s got a good heart. But, Az, you know it’s okay to feel something more. You don’t have to keep everything locked away.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, it seemed as if he might brush off the conversation entirely. But then he sighed, a sound that was barely audible but heavy with unspoken thoughts. “It’s not that simple, Cass. She’s… well, she’s remarkable. But she’s also tied to things I don’t fully understand. And after everything… I’m not sure it’s right to complicate things further.”

Cassian looked at him, his expression serious for once. “You’re overthinking it, as usual. Sometimes, it’s okay to just… let things happen. If there’s something there, you’ll figure it out. And if there’s not, well, at least you won’t have any regrets.”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, but Cassian could see the conflict in his eyes. Finally, Azriel murmured, “I don’t want to be a distraction for her. She’s got enough to deal with, especially after what happened.”

Cassian grinned, though there was a note of understanding in his voice. “You’re not a distraction, Az. If anything, you’re probably one of the few people who can help her with whatever she’s dealing with. And, just so you know, she’s not out of your league, no matter what you think.”

Azriel remained silent, the internal battle evident in his eyes. The bustling sounds of Velaris seemed to fade as the two friends stood in the midst of the crowd, locked in a moment of understanding.

After a beat, Cassian grinned, attempting to lighten the mood. "And besides, if you don't make a move, I might just have to swoop in. You know, for the sake of not letting such a wonderful female go unappreciated."

Azriel snorted, a rare genuine laugh escaping his lips. "I'd like to see you try."

Cassian winked, clapping Azriel on the back. "That's the spirit! Now, how about we head to Rita's and grab a drink? Maybe by the time Y/N returns, you'll have mustered up the courage to tell her how you feel."

Azriel smirked, his shadows swirling playfully around him. "Only if you're buying."

"Deal," Cassian replied, leading the way with a swagger in his step. "But remember, the next round's on you, especially if it gives you the liquid courage you clearly need."

As they made their way towards the river, laughter and camaraderie enveloped them. Yet, beneath the teasing and banter, the seeds of self-reflection had been sown in Azriel's heart, leaving him to ponder the possibilities that awaited with your impending return.

tag list: @annamariereads16 @hanatsuki-hime @elsie-bells @shizukestar @rose-girls-world @brit-broskis-cole-fanfic @faridathefairy @elsie-bells @faridathefairy @wolfbc97 @rcarbo1 @kitsunetori @hufflepuff-pa55 @proclivity-for-fantasy-97 @sometimeseverythingsucks @dream-alittlebiggerdarling

don't hesitate to comment if you want to be added to the tag list ;)))

#a court of thorns and roses #azriel acotar #azriel fic #azriel #azriel fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar #cassian #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #rhysand

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fic-recs-for-readers · 6 months

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Stray Kids

Tumblr - Recommendations

Bang Chan

Beyond The Lense (Mulit-Part Series) by @jonespicy [18+ SMAU]

Bang Chan is very much Chris in this 🥵 Great little series to binge! [Includes SMUT so MDNI]

Safe Haven (Multi-Part Series) by @therhythmafterthesummer [18+]

If you’re into sci-fi, then this is a series for you! Even if you’re not I still recommend it!!! This was a brilliantly written piece of work! I had such a good time reading it and could hardly put it down! [Includes SMUT so MDNI]

The Heart Of The Sea by @comet-falls

Siren Reader helps Chan after the sinking of his ship, a great story to binge! So fluffy!!

Nothing But You/Evergreen by @violetsiren90 [18+]

Part One | Part Two

A lovely little story of understanding and romance, include a supernatural element and I’m gonna eat that shit up! [MDNI]

Dimple by @forlix [18+]

Chan surprised his friends, falling in love was something he definitely didn't do... a cute lil' one-shot that I'm sure you'll love! [Implied SMUT so MDNI]

Lee Know

Hello Stranger (SMAU) by @mintquokka

Y/N moves into her new place, the previous tenent hasn't moved on... This was a great series 😁 Couldn't get enough!!

Lost In Translation by @moonjxsung [18+]

An unexpected guy enters your life… the older brother of the kid you babysit! Follow the story of adoration and love… [Includes SMUT so MDNI]

Enchanted To Meet You (SMAU) by @f9clementine

This is a 25-part masterpiece! I loved the magical element and as a cat lover the fact that Lee Know is a cat for part of it is the funniest thing! Honestly I loved this story and could'nt get enough of it! [It has written parts as well which really fleshes out the story!]

Body Language by @moonlightndaydreams [18+]

Reader has some physical disabilities, Minho is a very attentive person. They find a spark, even through a language barrier! This story felt so personal and was written so well; I loved it so much! [Includes SMUT so MDNI]

Changbin

Promise Not To Tell by @cbini [18+]

Prince!Changbin just can't keep his hands off of you, even in a moving carriage where his staff can here you both... This fic was great to read, and so, so funny! [Includes SMUT so MDNI]

Hyunjin

Sunrise by @leggomylino

When I tell you this was so beautifully written, I mean I almost cried. The ambiguous ending was a surprise but very well done!

Two Types Of Fireworks by @chanluster

A retelling of Tangled, a Flynn Rider inspired Hyunjin along with apperences of all our favourite boys! The little details was very endering and an overall great read 😁

Worn Out Jackets (2-Part Series) by @scxrlettwxtches

One // Two

Hyunjin has a bad boy persona but seems to surprise reader with a little show of brains! 😘 Very Fluffy!

Cam Star by @baby-yongbok [18+]

Hyunjin and Reader decide to go live together... 🥵 [SMUT so MDNI]

The Strange Man Of Monterrey Manor by @quokkacore [18+]

One // Two // Three

Forced to marry a strange man, Reader has to decide whether she's going to push herself into his life or leave it... 🤩 This was a great read, so well written! [Includes SMUT so MDNI]

Riptide by @xxkissesforchanniexx [18+]

Forbidden romance + supernatural characters = a beautifully written story! Honestly couldn’t get enough of this! [Includes SMUT so MDNI]

My Favourite Princess by @valkyriexo

Dad!Hyunjin, I mean what else do I have to say to catch your attention?! This is fluffy as all hell 🤩 Hyunjin (and friends) come to save the day after a small mishap at his daughters birthday party...

Han

Let's Fall In Love, IRL ... (SMAU) by @feelbokkie

Han is a sweetheart and Reader learns to let him in! A great little series to read, I thoroughly enjoyed this 🥰

Felix

Bodyguard by @skzdarlings [18+]

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 (Finale) // A03 Link

A cute series about acceptance and love, reader is the daughter of an awful man. Felix is her bodygaurd. They have to survive, thats their only goal... I honestly loved this series, its written really well! [Includes SMUT so MDNI]

Seungmin

coming soon...

I.N

4U (SMAU) by @minniesmutt

This was such a great multipart SMAU, I was literally waiting for the next part every step of the way! I.N and Reader go on a great little rollercoaster ride, which results in the cutest little friend! [Includes SMUT so MDNI]

Multiple

WereRoomies (Multi-Part Series) by @therhythmafterthesummer [18+]

This is a cute little A/B/O au! 🐺🐺 Very sweet stories! {OT8} [Includes SMUT so MDNI]

Soft Launch (Multi-Part Series) by @mnwrld

A small series of soft launching your 'boyfriend', very cute! {OT8}

Uninvited (Multi-Part Series) by @jinxhallows [18+]

What do you get if you mix a Witch, two Vampires and a Hybrid? A fucking great time! This series is brilliant, I was honestly hooked from the start and I can't wait to read the sequel! You just know I'm gonna love it if it has supernatural themes! [Includes SMUT so MDNI] {Bang Chan, Hyunjin & Felix}

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tocomplainfriend · 6 months

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TW: antisemitism

(links)

Posting this cause Viv and people lying about Mimzy's design, it's crazy. Literally no bird here (the feathers are from flappers already). She is not a chicken, she is just based in Antisemitic stuff. This has being said a lot, it is crazy to ignore that! And also if Mimzy is supposed to be a fucking chicken, you are awful at designing animal elements into character, bro.

#vivziepop critical #vivziepop critique #hazbin hotel critical #helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #hazbin hotel criticism #helluva boss critique #hazbin hotel critique #vivziepop criticism #anti vivziepop

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mauesartetc · 9 months

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If y'all are hungry for a character design challenge, might I recommend the "ideas grid" section in "Fundamentals of Character Design"? (Seriously, read this book. It's GOOD.)

The book encourages the reader to choose some themes from the categories provided, but that seems a bit easy for my taste. I figure I'll just gravitate toward the design elements I'm already fond of, and where's the fun in that? Where's the challenge in doing something I've done a hundred times before?

Thus, I'm adding a component of randomization. I'll number the items in each list from 1 to 20 and use a random number generator to pick one from each (using the first selected number for the first category, the second number for the second category, and so on). Then I'll design a character based on the results, and so can you!

Category 1: Anatomy

Tall

Tiny

Muscular

Short

Angular

Soft

Broad

Adolescent

Square

Strong

Slim

Elderly

Athletic

Curvy

Infant

Petite

Elongated

Average

Round

Middle-aged

Category 2: Style

Colorful

Plain

Practical

Severe

Fashionable (the book had "stylish" here but I felt a stylish style would be too vague lol)

Minimalist

Eccentric

Vintage

Neat

Sporty

Mismatched

Alternative

Cozy

Outdated

Smart

Messy

Boring

Comfortable

Expensive

Simple

Category 3: Emotion

Cheerful

Afraid

Eager

Sad

Shy

Annoyed

Curious

Worried

Overjoyed

Awkward

Relaxed

Disgusted

Tired

Surprised

Wistful

Bored

Pitying (the book had "kind" here, but that's more a personality trait than it is an emotion. So I went with an emotion that would lead someone to acts of kindness.)

Awed

Excited

Furious

Category 4: Color

Warm

Dark

Vibrant

Pale

Cool

Autumnal

Contrasting

Nocturnal

Neutral

Deep

Faded

Tropical

Clashing

Pastel

Analogous

Bright

Natural

Monochrome

Neon

Light

Category 5: Role

Hero

Explorer

Learner

Entertainer

Guardian

Worker

Villain

Helper

Troublemaker

Fighter

Parent

Royalty

Henchman

Thinker

Wanderer

Rebel

Companion

Teacher

Trickster

Civilian

Category 6: Item

Book

Hat

Phone

Scarf

Weapon

Necklace

Cloak

Spectacles

Briefcase

Artifact

Torch

Coat

Spade

Rucksack

Cane

Key

Map

Belt

Glove

Earring

Category 7: Setting

Magical

Modern

Aquatic

Castle

Garden

Vehicle

Urban

Historical (might pull out the random date generator for this one)

Library

Spooky

Futuristic

Beach

School

Forest

Zoo

Shop

Dystopian

Street

Office

Mountain

Obviously these are just starting points and you don't have to include something from every category, though doing so in a natural, cohesive way would be an impressive flex of your design skills. Let me know which words y'all got, and if you design a character based on them, drop a link!

#character design #challenge #art challenge #exercise #prompt

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a-little-ray-of-fantasy · 8 months

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CherriSnake, as a couple, most likely wasn't in the plans, if you only saw the pilot, but honestly, I personally really enjoyed their dynamic in the show, regardless.

There's a reason why people shipped Cherri Bomb and Sir Pentious all these years: rivals to lovers is always a win. Plus, the confident, spunky powerhouse and the battle oriented, dorky edgelord? It really made sense!

So let's talk about them in the series proper!

Cherri Bomb was never against the idea of dating Sir Pentious. Maybe unimpressed by his awkward attempts, but never really rebuffed them.

If anything she kinda pokes fun at him for trying so hard with her: you say you're my arch nemesis, but then you try to flirt with me?

What, YOU want to make sex with me? Care to explain why?

They've been rivals for years by now, Cherri KNOWS Pentious tends to put up a front to impress, and most likely would've given him a chance if he had the confidence to be true about his intentions.

Sadly, this is Sir Pentious we're talking about: a very insecure man who struggles with socializing and pleasing others. So he blunders his own attempts at flirting to avoid being rejected by buying everyone drinks or wanting to have sex with everyone.

Speaking of that, Sir Pentious, of all people, wanting to have sex? It's really not him, it's not something he'd do under normal circumstances, but he's drunk, all his previous attempts have failed, so he might as well be bold. But even then you can tell by the way he says "Do a sex with me." that he has NO idea what he's talking about.

And she's quick to call him out. Again, not with annoyance but with humor.

Sir Pentious was completely out of his element here, and, being the insecure man he is, instead of going with his strengths (which we're going to talk about in a minute), he went for what HE believed Cherri wanted, and he payed the price: she wasn't impressed, he lost his chance.

Also, I totally believe that the reason behind his struggles to come to terms with his crush is also linked to the fact that... he's a man of science, war and machines! He just can't get a crush, it doesn't work like that! So of course he'd try to mask it!

Of course he engages with Cherri Bomb: she's his arch nemesis! Nothing more! He would never buy drinks for her specifically! ...except nobody will ever buy his lie, and he wouldn't notice how obvious he is.

Next time, we see Pentious trying, and fail once again, to confess to Cherri, but something has changed. He talked to Charlie about it. And while we don't see WHAT they've said to each other, we know for a fact that Charlie totally encouraged him to be himself and confess his feelings.

Heck, if you watch closely, Vaggie even puts a hand on Pentious' own as if to wish him good luck! She's really come to trust him, aw!

And this time, while Sir Pentious still is too nervous to fully confess his feelings, he still goes about it by actually sticking to his strengths, the reason why he fell for Cherri in the first place.

Sir Pentious is an inventor, a warrior, he works with machines. He has engaged in turf wars against Cherri for years and by now he knows her: she's destructive, unpredictable, and unstoppable. She most likely often beat him too, but both gave their all in the battle. And Sir Pentious definitely was impressed by that.

He's not blind, of course he finds Cherri pretty (and let's face it, she is!). But that's the reason he fell for her, something on his league he could recognize and actively engage in: her prowess in battle, her creativity with her explosives, and her determination. And he fully told her that, with clear admiration in his voice.

And this time, Cherri, while still a bit confused on how he's still being awkward about it, this time shows a positive response: she thanks him, she smiles, she genuinely appreciates his compliments.

Reminder that Cherri is much more upfront about, uhm, going out with people. She has slept around, did quick things, and if lore is still the same for her, her love life wasn't a happy one. She's used to have people wanting her for her body, or having surface level attraction to her.

But this is her long time rival, the one man she often faced in turf wars, the edgelord who always put up a front of a grandiose villain when he really was an awkward nerd from the Victorian times that was easy to rattle. And maybe she didn't develop feelings for him the same way he did for her, but it's clear she never held animosity against him. She does care for this lovable loser, deep down, so his compliments are genuinely appreciated.

So when the battle begins, and Adam has started showing the big guns, Sir Pentious gives a quick glance at his blimp, knowing what has to be done, and with the feeling there's a high chance he won't make it.

And so he does the one thing he's always been afraid to do. It's now or never: if he has to go down, he shall do it with no regrets. To heck with fears and insecurities: he loves Cherri, and this time he will show it the way he knows how.

An awkward but completely sweet kiss in the middle of the battle, as her bomb goes off in the background. A gesture that REALLY represents their bond.

Sadly it's short lived. Sir Pentious finally declares his love and runs away to save the day, but still emotional about what happened: the only request he has for her before the deed is simply to remember him.

And I'm positive Cherri will definitely remember this. Him, the kiss, the battle. Everything.

#Vivziepop #Hazbin Hotel #Cherri Bomb #Sir Pentious #Fave Character #Comfort Character #CherriSnake #My OTP #Personal Rambles #Character Analysis #Analysis

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shannonsketches · 9 months

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I noticed that the element of the triforce that the individual characters are supposed to represent, is also their weakness. Zelda's wisdom is being stifled by doubt and lack of experience; she's eager to learn, but her zeal is not enough and relies on faith and Link to save the day. I'm not implying that wisdom and faith cannot go hand in hand, but she needs to be able to represent her element more. Maybe her wisdom is knowing when to wait and allow someone else to bear the task? But it takes away too much initiative from her. Ganon's element is power but he's the one who ends up losing almost every time. And Ganondorf on his own, isn't powerless! He's a king, he knows magic, he can wield almost any weapon, he's patient, conniving and intelligent and knows how to make best with what he has. He isn't weak! And yet, the whole split happened, because he was feeling powerless.

They locked themselves in a self-sabotaging cycle that's powered by doubt.

Yeah! So one of the reasons I really love the Triforce lore is that it’s a three-way mirror that reflects both what the user has and also what they need (very wizard of oz).

Ganondorf is a very powerful man, physically, and magically.

Politically, though, he’s next to helpless, which is an awful thing for a king to be. He’s a king of thieves in OoT, because the Gerudo are not a wealthy or thriving nation there. In-Game they don’t have a local living area like the other regions (or even a store — just one floating bombchu salesman in the middle of the desert) — they’ve got a post-war fortress full of guards, and a temple that is being used as a secret base Hylians can’t get to.

Consider also, Ganondorf is the most highly decorated of the Gerudo, and he’s not decked out in gold. He’s wearing mostly iron and topaz. Nabooru and Twinrova are the only ones who have gold fixtures/jewelry along with the higher ranked guards for their protective elements (which is why I think it could arguably be pale bronze or yellow brass, which is a common and highly durable gold alternative).

The Gerudo are implicitly just surviving in OoT, and Hyrule speaks of them like they’re monsters (except for the one guy in town who has a fetish). More than that, WW establishes that his real grief comes from the weather, which any mortal is powerless to control.

So Ganondorf is powerful as a person, but powerless as a king, which is literally the only thing he was born to be.

Be that as it may, though, he is a well-loved king, and a survivor, and a thief, so he also has to embody both wisdom and courage too!

Zelda is the most obvious mirror to Ganondorf. She is a very powerful woman politically and magically, but physically-- compared to Ganondorf -- she's terribly meek. That's the obvious read, that they're 1:1 Parallels, but her real weakness lies in her courage.

Zelda (in OoT) leans on her massive political power -- In the child timeline, she literally sees a foreign dignitary executed before he does anything wrong, based on a recurring dream she has.

Do you know how insane that is? Do you realize how powerful she is?

Ganondorf is not just some guy -- he's a foreign KING. He's a KING that a TEN YEAR OLD had EXECUTED based on VIBES.

And we think she embodies wisdom because her vibes were (as we, the audience know) correct. But it's actually because as an adult, she understands that none of it needed to happen that way. That the only reason Ganondorf was able to pull off his stunt and get the Triforce at all was because she tried to control the situation, sending Link to gather everything Ganondorf couldn't get himself and put it all precisely where Ganondorf needed it to be.

Despite being a child at the time, by the end of the story, by the time she's Sheik, Zelda is taking full responsibility for what happened, and is doing everything in her now extremely limited power to fix it. She's so sorry to need Link, and at the end of it all is desperate to give him another chance to be a kid, and to be innocent, and to be happy, because she realized so quickly that she never should've involved him, visions be damned. She knows none of it was his fault or his business, and she's mortified that she dragged him into it in her own attempt to control the weather.

These other two items shift in other games -- WW and Twilight Princess show us a Zelda with tremendous courage and very little power, physical or political. And then the Wild's era, despite removing the Triforce narrative, shows us a Zelda with immense power and terrible guilt and insecurity -- her power locked behind her fear, and she is only able to access both when she embraces courage.

Which brings us to Link.

Link, on the surface, is a third wheel in a chess game between ancients. But the reality is that he's the base of the prism. He's the foundation that reflects both of the others.

There are MANY different personalities for Link, and personally my favorite gag is that Link is simply too stupid to be scared, but that's just a gag -- because something I've come to really enjoy and respect about him is that he consistently displays fear. Link embodies courage because he is full of fear and chooses to fight anyway. Link leads a good life. He is comfortable, he has family, he has friends, he knows peace. What makes Link courageous is that he is willing to give up his access to all of that if it means that everyone else keeps theirs.

Link will lock himself in a room with the apocalypse if it means he's the only one who gets hurt, and it's not because he believes this is his sacred duty, or his life's purpose -- he'd much rather be at home chasing chickens around or riding his pony through some pretty scenic route -- it's because he is so full of love for other people that he's willing to give up anything to keep them safe.

Link's not very powerful, but he is also unburdened by any desire to be powerful. Link's not very wise, but he is unburdened by any desire to be wise. Link is content in who he is, Link is happy to keep things simple. But Link is so brave that he becomes a leader, which actually makes him the most dangerous of the three.

Courage, unburdened, is fucking terrifying. To both Wisdom and Power. Because, unlike Wisdom and Power, Courage is contagious.

Link can empower and inspire and reveal truths others might not have been able to find on their own. Link doesn't need charisma or brutality. Link can build armies just by being observed.

"But Sketches, you haven't really said anything about how Link reflects the other two." It's subtle! But he does. I see it like this:

• Ganondorf reflects Link's relentless determination, refusing to stand down in the face of impossible odds. In this way, they're connected by their power and courage. • Zelda reflects Ganondorf's burden of being born in a crown, forcing them to learn leadership, and how to use their recklessness strategically, as children. In this way, they're connected by their power and wisdom. • Link reflects Zelda's sense of love for the faceless innocent, and her dedication to protecting all who can't protect themselves. In this way, they're connected by their courage and wisdom.

Because the inherent configuration of the triforce requires those connections to be balanced -- Separately they are overwhelmed by their traits. Ganondorf is willing to sacrifice everything he is in order to reach his goals, Zelda is so pre-occupied with preventing prophecy she ends up instigating it, and Link is so ready to step in and help that he never considers the consequences.

Every single one of them, left to their own devices, would rather see themselves destroyed than fail those who may or may not be relying on their success. They're all very similar, highly reflective characters who all represent compelling foils for each other and yes, display how their unfettered strengths are also the thing that damage them most.

#i LOVE triforce plot #I will never stop loving triforce mythos #FUCK good versus evil give me people being desperate and flawed #lozhc #oot eidolon #this is a very sloppy disorganized essay but I'm done looking at it I'm setting it free laksjdla

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miraculouslbcnreactions · 2 months

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Watching Miraculous, I feel that the show is written that no matter what Marinette decides to do, she would be in the wrong - she is in the wrong for not telling Chat about Chat Blanc (ignoring her own trauma in the matter), but if she told him, the show would make it the wrong choice...

The head writer has publicly stated that one of the show's guiding rules is that Marinette has to do something wrong in every episode, so I'd say that you don't just have a feeling. You've actually picked up on one of the show's not-so-subtle core tenets. It's also a core tenet that I strongly disagree with because - as I said in the linked post - when it comes to shows like Miraculous, the only characters who are always in the wrong are the villains.

If Miraculous was a different type show and Marinette's blunders were more comedic, low-stakes, sitcom-type stuff, then it could work. Two examples that come to mind are:

That's So Raven - this is an old Disney Channel show where the main character was a psychic who randomly got visions of the future. A lot of the episodes focused on her having a vision, interpreting that vision wrong, and then doing something foolish as a result. So Raven was usually in the wrong, but she was wrong in a way that rarely hurt others. If memory serves, she most just caused herself unnecessary stress.

Phineas and Ferb - another Disney Channel show about two imaginative and inventive young boys who have fun doing crazy things like building a roller coaster in their backyard. They do these things without parental permission so their older sister - Candace - is always trying to get them in trouble. In spite of this, the general viewer feeling towards Candace seems to be one of amusement, not hatred. This is probably because she never causes pain for anyone but herself, making it hard to look at her as a negative force. If Candace was written more like Marinette, then people would probably hate her, too.

While we're on the topic, it's worth pointing out that, while Candace isn't a villain, she is the antagonist. Her presence causes much needed tension. Since she's always out to ruin her brothers' fun, every episode has the low-key stakes of, "Will the boys get caught this time?" Without Candace, you lose those stakes and Phineas and Ferb becomes a lesser show because even sitcoms need stakes.

Semi-serious magical girl shows don't need characters like Candace to add stakes to the story. This is because semi-serious magical girl shows have built in stakes from the presence of villains and evil magic. It is the height of absurdity to make a rule like "Marinette is always wrong" in a show with an evil villain who is out to steal Marinette's magical earrings and use them to rewrite the universe.

The presence of the "Marinette is always wrong" rule shows a fundamental misunderstanding of the type of show they're writing. You only make rules like that in low-stakes shows like the ones I listed above. And even those shows understood that, if you have this rule, then you also make sure that the only person who usually suffers is the one making the mistakes. The writers of Miraculous really haven't done that because of course they haven't! This isn't a low-stakes teen drama. Marinette has too much for responsibility and the narrative stakes are far to high for her mistakes to come across as minor.

This is especially true because they keep picking mistakes that should lead to character growth and then not actually writing any character growth. Once again, that style of writing can work in sitcoms*, but Miraculous has way too many serious elements to be written like a pure sitcom. That doesn't change the fact that the writers are writing it like one, but it does explain why the writing leads to so much frustration for fans.

*I wanted to note that even sitcoms often make the audience hate the leads because it's hard to write anything where the leads keep making endless mistakes without making the leads look awful and sitcoms run off of every episode containing a mistake. This is why long running sitcoms tend to have a good number fans who hate at least one member of the core cast. Ted and Lily from How I Met Your Mother are great examples of this and it happens because the mistakes they make usually effect others. If the show had only been two seasons long like originally planned, then they would have been fine.

#anon ask #ml writing critical #ml writing salt #marinette deserves better #I figured that I should acknowledge that you CAN write your main character as always in the wrong without making them a villain #But only in very specific types of stories #I don't think it works in anything but sitcoms and even sitcoms have to be careful as it's easy to make your audience hate your lead #That's why a lot of long running sitcoms end up with people hating the leads #Because sitcoms often run on the leads doing something wrong so you have to keep making the leads mess up #Miraculous should have been able to escape that issue because it has a villain to create problems but they decided to not use that #And fall back on a writing style that's basically guaranteed to make people hate the lead #It's fascinating

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bearlytolerant · 2 months

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Fandom: Star Wars: The Acolyte

Pairing: Qimir x fReader

Fic Rating: E

Chapter Rating: E (choking, force choking, vaginal sex, brief blowjob, mild dom elements)

AO3

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE

SIX

A composition crafted by the insatiable craving for Qimir, a dream descends upon you. Layered with softness and simulated sensory aphrodisiacs, you step into your dream with wanton expectations for the stranger who knows exactly how to touch you.

Should be troubling. Would be if not for the comforting reassurance of sleep.

Here in the dark where stars shimmer through the black backlit canopy, there is a bed and the outline of the helmeted stranger who inhabits your dreams sitting on the edge of it. His upper half is disrobed and in the flicker of that campfire in the distance that’s always in your dreams now, your eyes drink in the muscle but drift to the scars. Slightly lifted on his skin, they meld one into the other and you know them for what they are. Naked and vulnerable, you step toward him. Briefly your fingers dust along similar scars lining your right side.

Scars of the past.

Scars of the saber.

Scars of the discarded.

Was he discarded too?

You reach out to him, chest squeezing tight with a longing for him. It’s easier to be brave in dreams. Easier still when you share something in common.

You dare to rest your hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he says.

“Aw, you missed me.”

“And you missed me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he says. “Even if your mind drifts to—what’s his name?”

Qimir.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter. To you.”

He’s right but you’re still not willing to gift the name. Makes it too real. But it is real isn’t it?

Not here. Not in a dream.

“I had the opportunity to take him,” you say quietly, unprompted, rubbing your thumb gently across the skin of his shoulder. “We were a heap on the floor, chests beating in synchronization. I still remember his breath on my lips, the way his hand fit in mine. Couldn’t treasure the touch. The want—the want was so overpowering—like being dragged underneath tumultuous waves. I couldn’t breathe.”

“So you came up for air.”

“I gasped for air. But that want—” Your eyes flutter closed.

“It persists.”

“Yes.” A whisper. “And I knew you could accept it. Maybe even mutually want it too. And here—in my dreams—it’s safer. Maybe even allowed.” Your eyes open again.

He stands, your hand slipping away from his shoulder, and reaches out, grasping your wrist tight as he whirls you into him. Practically a possession clutched against his chest, your back presses against the warmth of his skin. It’s been some time since you’ve been held in this way. Strongly. Tightly. Safely. A sigh of relief slips from your lips. His hand wraps around your waist, fingers sprawling as they gradually climb up your body. You awake to the current of his touch. Mapping out the curve of your breasts, he squeezes once and then trails his fingers over your shoulder and dusts them down your arm. Crawls them across your fingers and entangles them with his own before he lifts them to your sternum. Gently, he slides them further upward, caressing your throat.

That shame tugs at you. Memories of certain hands around your throat can induce panic but his hands—his hands induce thrill and excitement. You want more of it but you feel like you shouldn’t.

“Is this why you came?” His words break through your thought spiral and pull you back to him.

“No—and yes,” you admit. “I need you—to guide me. Teach me.”

There’s a shaky, modulated breath as his other hand smooths down your side and around your hip, pulling you tighter against his body. The helmet is cool against your temple as he rests his head against yours.

“But you still deny it. Suppress it.”

You swallow, your linked hands still lingering at the skin of your neck. Deny what? Suppress what? It can’t possibly be desire as it pools between your legs. You realize he’s speaking of the force.

“But I want—I want—”

His hand slips down your body, finger beginning to worry at your clit and the words you were going to say are lost in a small moan.

“Not enough. Not yet.”

“How do you—”

“Mmm. Your shame betrays you.” His voice robotically rumbles at a slowed cadence in your ear. “It holds you back. It’s why you still just stand here, not asking and especially not taking what you want.”

“I don’t know—” A small whine escapes as he circles your clit, the steady pressure of his firm cock bumping into your ass as he grinds against you. “—how to let go,” you whisper.

“Don’t know how or won’t?” His hand stills.

“Please—please don’t stop.”

“Release your shame. Loose your desire.”

“I—can’t.”

He untangles himself from you. Grasping you by the shoulders, he twists you to face him. Your heart hammers erratically as your eyes fall to his body as his hands slip from your shoulders. Sculpted arms dangling at his sides, he flexes his fingers as he holds himself tall and patient. His breathing is as ragged as yours, and in the lift of his chest, you spy a faint mole and search out more of them. They reveal themselves on his collarbone and further down his body where you instinctively reach out and skim along his side, thumbing downward along the angular line that defines his abs. You brush your index against the mole there. You want to kiss each of them but you don’t. You withdraw your hand and glance back up to the helmet.

A tilt of his head and those metal teeth mock you, tease you, smile at the pathetic way you waver between who you are and who you long to be. Or you imagine that must be what he thinks of you. But then he gently takes your hand and places it on his chest, assisting you in tracing his skin.

“You can,” he says, voice low and almost soft. “You are free here.” Of your own volition, your other hand traverses his body, fingers tucking in around his waistband. “That’s it. Keep going.” A sharp intake of breath. “Show me what else you can do.”

Enthusiasm builds in your chest and you remember what it’s like to have the force at your fingertips. It wouldn’t be so bad to use it here, right? You’re not really using it. Closing your eyes, you grasp at it with an open palm against his chest. A slight tug in your mind and his pants are on the ground. A push and he’s falling backwards onto the sheets. They wrinkle as he rights himself into a better position while your eyes drink in his whole appearance. His body is gorgeous and you can assume his face must be too and if not, it’s easy to picture Qimir’s easy smile and flirtatious eyes. His cock throbs in anticipation as you crawl onto the bed and briefly cup his balls, eliciting an expelled sigh. You run your tongue along the taut skin, tasting the salt from the bit of precum on his tip before you wrap your lips around and suck. He groans, then jerks impulsively, the head of his shaft hitting the back of your throat before you grin and withdraw. He pulls up on elbows, that helmet tilted as his chest heaves. You know he watches you eagerly but impatient now.

You straddle him. Slumping over his chest, knees against each of his hips, hovering just above his enthusiastic cock, you palm his chest. It’s just as you had imagined doing to Qimir—only better. Slipping up and back down his body, you carve out the lines and curves with your hands. Your fingers inch along his skin, savoring every placement and touch. Shudder and spasm of his muscles. The stillness he maintains as he allows you to explore all of him and act out what once was a fantasy of Qimir, quickly becomes a reality of this helmeted stranger who lives in your dream and he’s all that resides in your mind now.

“That’s it. Good,” he praises, tone dipping deeper and you swallow. “Don’t put that on a leash now.”

Bending over his chest, you press your lips to his skin, teeth dragging down to his nipple. You swirl your tongue across the peak, drawing it into your mouth. His modulated moan sends a thrill through your core and you bite down.

“Fuck,” he murmurs.

Your eyes flick up to where his would be without the helmet. “Too much?”

“Hardly. I was merely expressing my surprise. Didn’t think you had it in—”

You bite his other nipple before he can finish that sentence and his words are replaced by a hiss and swear as you run your fingernails down his skin, relishing in the way the flesh blossoms pink in parallel streaks.

This isn’t what you had planned for Qimir.

Those fantasies were laced with butter and sweetness—sculpted soft. Tender.

But something about this man makes you feel possessively primal. Like he can handle the claw and bite of every one of your demons. Thrive in the shroud of your shadow. Revel in your darkest impulses. Accept every part of you that you can’t even imagine accepting yourself. It’s the certainty that he will teach you in time that makes you need him even more.

You sink down onto him, unhurried, as every girthy inch fills your wet cunt. The thought of chasing pleasure is all that consumes you.

A curse. Yours or his? Doesn’t matter.

A praise. An encouragement. He utters words that coax out every raw desire that resides in you. Rolling your hips, your hand inches up to his neck, fingers clamping tight but not too tight, knuckles accessorizing the jutting line of that cortosis covered jaw.

“Do you like that?” You ask, as he thrusts upward from beneath you.

Your hips slam him back down, thighs squeezing tight to keep him steady. To keep control.

This is your dream. Your desire.

“Yes,” he breathes, stilted and shaking. There’s a bead of sweat gathered at the base of his neck. His own hand rises, cupped in a half moon and the force vibrates through your body, becoming a vise around your own neck. “Do you?”

Eyes darkening, you rise and sink down on him again in answer. “More,” you demand.

He obliges as you squeeze him tighter too. He lets out a groan as breathing becomes more difficult, driving you to ride him harder. A choked, almost pained moan slips from your lips.

“Better?”

You manage a nod, self-control snapping as you continue to ride the warmth of his cock, chasing your own pleasure heightened by his rattled, strained sighs. Faster. Rougher. Barely breathing but driven by greed. Chest nearly bursting. Your hips rise and fall with the rhythm of his harried breaths and the silent repetition of how good his cock feels stretching you.

Or you thought it was silent.

Until he responds, “you take it so well.”

Another curse spills from your lips.

That’s it,” he says in a ragged coo. “Keep with it. A little more. Just a little more.”

Your hands slip from his neck and dig into the soft skin of his chest, knuckles knocking against the tautness of his muscle as he meets your fervor with his own eager, swift thrusts from below. One hand falls to your thigh and he grasps tight as your air is still constrained in your lungs. It’s a new kind of feverish high. An ecstasy as your eyes roll back, whimpers buried deep in your chest as each thrust from him and grinding of your hips guides you to that climatic precipice.

You hover there in that plane of almost—almost—almost—

His hand skims up your thigh and he circles your clit with his thumb.

“Mmm, you are doing so well. Feels good doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” you answer, the syllable drawn out and dissipating into a whimpering sigh.

He stills and that force chokehold he has on you is used to his advantage as he angles himself deeper, hitting that sweet spot that jolts pleasure through every nerve of your body, constricting your airflow more. You’re afraid you might shatter. But still you fuck him, fast and fierce and freely.

“Yes, that’s it. Come for me,” he beckons.

That voice of his, those practiced hands, and the warm fullness of his cock extracts a broken and guttural cry. Hands flying back, digging into the flesh of his thighs as your walls constrict, your back arches with the internal coil of your body.

“Now,” he commands. “Let yourself go.”

Another thrust and you groan, all tension relenting and washing away with a few more staccatoed sighs and sputtered breaths. Eyes shut tight, you steady your breathing, settling into silent streams of satisfaction. Stars dot your eyelids and you drift—drift—drift in a thoughtless sea. The stars fade. The drifting ceases. Slowly, your fingers spread out, rubbing soothing circles into his skin.

“Mmm, such a good girl,” he says and relinquishes the force grip on your throat. “You did so well.”

Gulping in air, your eyes fly open as you crumple over his chest and his fingers thread through your hair.

—

“Stay with me,” he says, grasping your wrist and pulling you closer. His fingers skim across yours and he toys with them, helmet resting on top of your head. “Don’t withdraw into yourself.”

You press your lips against his collarbone and trail them along his neck, where he tilts his chin up just enough to give you better access under his helmet. You push away the questions that beg for an answer with the placement of kisses against his cooled skin. You can save them for another dream. Throwing your leg up over his, you note he’s still surprisingly hard. He commanded your pleasure but held back on his.

“Don’t you think it’s a little hypocritical,” you mumble against his chest.

His fingers scrawl amatory letters across the back of your hands. “What?”

“You tell me to unleash my desire while you hold onto yours.”

“Is it hypocritical if the reasons for denying such desires vastly differ? I feel no shame. Controlled denial for the sake of the exciting and inevitable release over a long course of time is rewarding. I don’t punish myself. You and I are not the same.”

“Why couldn’t you just say you enjoy edging?”

“Semantics.”

A chuckle against his chest and you wonder if you can work him back up into a frenzy with the tug of the force. It hums for you, begging you to access it again in the enclosure of the stranger’s arms. If he wasn’t wearing that helmet, you could give him a fuller, more exhilarating experience. Or at least you tell yourself that’s the reason when really you just want to see his face. Your desires have shifted. You now seek equitable vulnerability in this exchange of intimacy.

Skimming your fingers up his chest and hovering just under his chin, they curl around the edge of the helmet. Slowly, gauging his reaction, you lift. You spy the faintest glimpse of some facial hair. But his hands curl around your wrists; a plea.

“I want to see you. Your face,” you mumble.

“It seems you understand the lesson.”

“Do I? I unleashed desire, as you said, but the want has returned.”

His fingers are gentle on your wrists as he continues to hold them, thumbing up and down. “Desire can never be satiated. Not fully. When you thirst, you drink. When you hunger, you eat. But that want only goes away for a short time. You see, desire is a need. You need to want. Without it, you waste away. With it, you find passion. And passion—is your strength.”

“I was taught there can be no contentment if you chase every want. No gratitude. Taught that I must free myself from my emotions and find peace only in what is destined to come to me by a greater will than my own.”

“Peace is a lie,” he says. “There is only passion.”

Such a simple statement, yet very much against what you were told all your life. You were taught to suppress everything. Abide by a million rules and be over criticized when you break one. That untamed passion, the kind he speaks of, is the path to the dark side. But here, in the stranger’s arms, it doesn’t feel dark to be guided by passion.

No.

It feels unburdensome.

Warm. Safe. Light.

Though you will still abide by what you know best by day, you realize the numbness is all but gone here in his arms by night. And you're drawn to this man and his lessons. Sworn to them.

Your desire to see his face is even greater now.

Bargaining for more than you deserve, maybe even taking advantage of the lesson, you yank up on the helmet. But before you can register his face, the haze shifts and the screaming of your name tears you from sleep.

#bear writes #qimir #the acolyte #the acolyte fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #star wars acolyte #nsft #smut #mind the content warning at the top of the fic #qimir x reader #the stranger x reader #qimir the acolyte

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