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wonijin · 9 months

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DOWNFALL

you just wanted more budget for the soccer team. unbeknownst to you, karina wanted more. and before you know it, you were both knee-deep in a dangerous game of sweet lies and bitter emotions.

TAGS: enemies to less than enemies lovers. 3.2k words. thick juicy sexual tension. slight smut at the end.

WARNINGS: manipulation and sexual themes

the sea of students part as karina walks through. you follow her long graceful strides with your fast march.

“come on, karina. aren’t you supposed to be the president here?” you complained lowly in karina’s ear. people are already whispering because of the unusual sight of you and the student body president, you didn't dare attract more by arguing with her publicly.

“i am. that’s why you’ll regard me as president yoo.” karina replied without sparing a glance at you, her cold eyes trained forward.

“well then, president yoo. the soccer club needs more funds. as the captain, i’d like you to raise our budget just a teensy weensy more.”

this exact line has left your lips too many times these past few days. but who could blame you, the girl beside you refused over and over, leaving you no choice but to insist.

“how many times have i told you? we can't. the budget has already been decided so you’ll have to do with what you have.” you both reached an empty classroom and you closed the door behind you immediately.

“fuck that. we missed championship last time because of your shit budgeting. you think i’d stand for the same shit twice.” your hands flew up in the air in frustration, inhaling a deep breath. karina points her icy glares toward you, freezing you in place.

“if you think you can just get whatever you want, then you’re dead wrong. i’m not like my predecessors who bends to every single one of your whims.”

your brows furrow at her words. before you could reply, she had already opened her mouth.

“so i suggest you either give up or you find another way to get to championships.” with that, karina slams the door shut, leaving you fuming and glaring at her back.

karina knows you. she’d seen firsthand your effect on people. she’d watched you break peoples heart. she’d witnessed your charm work to the previous presidents. only to be reduced to tears when they realize they are but a means to an end.

in her eyes, you tarnished the student council’s reputation. they were branded as your puppets. one word from you, and the most respected students karina knew heeded. all because they found you endearing. oh, how it broke the ever so hard working girl.

but karina won’t turn out like them. she refused to be. in fact, she’s on a mission to get revenge. for her friends and for the council. a mission to restore the student council to its former glory and to destroy you.

this is either the stupidest idea you ever cooked or the cleverest.

the school parking lot was flocked with students despite the scorching weather. while cars of all shapes, color and sizes lodged aimlessly.

“everybody! thank you for coming today!” you shouted at the top of your car, holding a megaphone in one hand. “welcome to the soccer team’s sexy summer car wash! where we wash your car in ways both you and the car will enjoy!” cheers erupted through the crowd. you peer among the people gathered and you think just how much you’ve earned from the participation fee alone.

“let’s get this party started, shall we?” you put down the megaphone beside you. the crowd goes wild as you remove your shirt. your team members followed after. and the parking lot is in chaos.

the party is in full swing with more and more people appearing by the hour.

“i didn’t think washing cars would be this fun.” winter giggled beside you as you fill up buckets of water. it was safe to say winter liked the attention. after all, many are already lining up to take her home tonight.

“of course, when have i ever had a bad idea?” you grinned.

“every idea of yours is bad,” winter’s nose scrunch, remembering all those times you got the team in trouble. “speaking of, are you sure karina won’t just pop up suddenly? i mean look at how many people there is, she’s gonna find out.”

“then, let her. we’re students and this is our school.” you shrugged but both you and winter know it isn’t as simple as that. at least not when it comes to yoo jimin.

“she already thinks you’re the devil who have sex with everyone in exchange for favors. this would only make shit worse between the both of you.” winter’s words rang true to ears. unfortunately, you chose to be deaf to reason, too consumed by your hatred for the president to heed her advice.

“she can do whatever she wants and i could care less, winter.” if karina wants to paint you as the villain, so be it. those girls, her friends and the past council members, they slept with you willingly. they tried to give you what you want in hopes of winning your heart. but they didn't and so they wept.

“and would you really stop all this just because theres a chance little miss president will come?” at that, both you and winter come back to the heart of the mob.

the team didn’t really have to try to be suggestive or anything. walking around shirtless and flexing your muscles every now and then is enough for this sexy car wash to be sexy. after all, who wouldn’t be satisfied with sweaty six pack abs.

you were washing the hood of someones volvo while the owner was flirting with you.

suddenly you hear a murmur ripple through the crowd. you craned your neck to see the sea of people part.

a koenigsegg jesko pierced the population of teenagers. its engines roar over the hush whispers and its ivory skin reflecting the awe-struck faces of the students.

the luxurious car stopped behind you. everybody fell silent and you stood up, each one eager to know who is the driver.

the door opened and everybody broke out in gasps and distinct whispers. you looked at her with wide eyes as you stood frozen in place.

karina sauntered over to you. confidently and slowly, like she owned all the time in the world. strangely, there was no hint of anger in her gorgeous face. but her eyes held something you couldn’t fathom.

imaginary electricity prickle your skin. the air around you gets more charge every step she takes. you try to school your expression once more.

karina stopped in front of you.

“karina-” you started. but her gaze kept your mouth from saying anything further. she raises her hand and a slender finger met your lips delicately. “shush.”

you quietly observe as she face the car you were washing. she inspects it silently. she traced the hood with her fingers without a word. bubbles gathered at the tip of her fingers. she lifts her hand once more and in a blink of an eye she flicked it over to you. the bubbles landing on your cheek.

“what the fuck?” before your hand can wipe your cheek, her hand stopped yours. the other landed on your cheek gently. you feel your throat get clogged up as your wide eyes meet her brown ones.

you inhaled sharply, shakily as she moved her thumb to remove the white foam. her face closer to yours than before, giving you the chance to admire her features. it was nothing short of perfection.

although you were more than certain the foam had long since left you face, her soft hands stayed perched on your face.

“what are you playing here, karina?” you growled lowly. karina smirks at your frustration. how entertaining to see you crumble.

she leaned impossibly closer. expensive perfume invaded your senses. your eyes closed for a second as you gulped. “you forget. this is my parking lot you’re standing on.”

“we’re students here, we’re allowed to use this space.” as if coming back to your senses, your back straightened as your hand flew to her waist. her smile faltered for a blink of an eye but you caught it. and your lips widened at the sight.

“my, why are you so defensive?” she giggled beside your hear. melodious as it sent your bare spine shivering. if that wasn’t enough, she brought her other hand to your abdomen. “i’m not here to stop your fun. i just dropped by to say hi to my favorite student.”

her body pressed against yours. so close, you can feel her ample chest. should your hands go any lower, it would meet her ass.

“what are you playing here, karina?” you ask one more time.

“i’m playing your game. so try not to lose,” each word left her mouth with diction and it registered onto your brain slowly. just as you were about to make a comeback, her lips planted a kiss onto your ear. you feel your body go red, your mind on haywire.

and when her spell has left your system, she was already in her car revving her engine.

the student body president had declared war. and so far, she’s winning.

“watch me get the highest bid. everybody wants a piece of this, no doubt.” giselle twirled, showing off her curves.

“i doubt anyone would even bid at you. they’ll be too busy putting their money on this.” kazuha replied, flexing her muscles.

everybody lined up back stage for the team’s charity dating. in truth, you’ve raised more than enough money for the team. however, you wouldn’t let the threat by the name of yoo jimin pass so easily. and everybody knows when you cross y/n l/n, you cross the whole soccer team.

so you made the perfect stage of revenge for your humiliation. that little scene from the car wash spread like wildfire, everyone who had a mouth were talking about it. good and bad.

“thanks. i owe you and the team.” you pat winter who is fixing her makeup in front of you. you were the last ones in the line.

“what do you mean? this would’ve happened sooner or later, with or without intervention from miss president.” winter laughed. she put down her mirror and turned her body towards you.

“it’s already too late to talk you down whatever insane plan you come up with. so i wish you luck instead” she smiled at you. winter already knew it will work, there wasn’t a time it didn’t. *captain never fails*, that’s the line the team holds onto.

then you heard her name get called on stage. not soon later, loud chants filled your ears.

and you were left with your own thoughts.

you knew karina was somewhere among the crowd. she’d bid for you until she wins. the night starts with the two of you. and that’s where your game begins. your favorite game, the chasing game.

you’ve never lost at this game. and you have no plans to.

“please welcome! consecutive season MVP for three years and of course captain of the soccer team, y/n l/n” the crowd roared your name. it echoes throughout the whole venue. adrenaline pumps throughout your body.

you smile and the crowd goes wild. “okay. we’re starting off 70K WON.” not a bad start, your pride tells you.

“120K WON.” could be better. your eyes scan the crowd. a woman like karina wouldn’t be hard to miss. no matter how many people are here.

“500K WON.” a gentle voice spoke up. everybody turned turned their heads towards the source. a woman holding the number “7” with a gloved hand.

there she is. sitting elegantly, dressed in white that shows of her milky shoulders. her hair down, her eyes piercing and her lips painted red. she looked ethereal just by sitting in a chair.

the crowd murmured as they watch karina throw the highest bid of the night. you were sure another wildfire had just been brought to life.

“going, sold! a date with miss l/n for 500K WON” the announcer clapped and the audience followed.

“well, folks. this officially ends the soccer team’s charity dating. thank you for coming. for those who won a date, enjoy. for those who didn’t, there are other ways and many more chances.”

you walk down the stage to where karina is standing. she patiently waits for you to reach her, eyes never leaving your figure.

“you must like crashing our parties.” you greet. you both know there’s no need to be hostile, for now at least.

“of course. like i would pass up the chance to see your miserable face.” she links your arms together. you hummed in response. “let me buy you a drink then. for bidding 500K WON for this miserable face.”

you let her guide you to the bar where she orders an expensive drink. figuring you wouldn’t be able to go through the night this sober, you settle for a beer.

“barbaric. just like how i imagined you.” she huffs through her nose. what a priss you thought.

“its a classic” you correct.

the bartender passes you the bar. without missing a beat, you drink some and leave some on your mouth. then, you press your lips to karina and passes the beer to her mouth.

the president makes a disgusted face that makes you chuckle. you see her throat bobbed up and down.

your eyes fly back to her face, “tastes better when its from my mouth, yeah?”

you invade her space until her familiar perfume invades your senses again. “you wanna play my game, karina? sure. i don’t mind.”

“but what i don’t understand is what you’re breaking your heart for?” you say like you already know she’s the one who’s going to end up in tears.

“break my own heart? as if you can get even close” she scoffs.

“because your friends cried over me? please, they knew what they were getting into. it was their fault for not paying attention enough.” you ignore her. and while your words ring true, she still felt anger bubbling in her chest.

“or is it because the past council treated me like a queen?” you look at her in the eyes and laugh lightly in disbelief. her brows furrow in a blink of an eye, but it was gone the moment it appeared.

“i didn’t tell them to do anything. everything they did, they did on their own accord. maybe that’s precisely why it pisses you.i just butter them up a little and suddenly all my wishes come true.”

you had struck a nerve. it was why she’s in this crusade to end you. she worked hard for her seat in the council, fought for her reputation and earned people’s respect. meanwhile, you didn’t do anything and people still kiss the ground you walk on.

people fail to see you. the true you. manipulative and toxic. only she does and it frustrates her.

“but that’s why i like you. while others were blind, you saw reason. they were too busy winning my favor but you were plotting my downfall.” you tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear.

suddenly, she grabbed you by your tie and crashes your lips together. her lips were soft as they looked. they contrast her aggressiveness. for a moment, both of you were list in your world full of hatred and anger for each other.

your teeth clashed and your tongues intertwine. when you pull away, a string of saliva connects both your lips.

karina takes your hand and lead you outside the venue where her expensive car is parked. both of you wastes no time getting in.

you don’t know how long the drive took but when you did arrive at her mansion, you were drowning in your own lust. in the blink of an eye, you were pinned in the door of her room.

your hands roam all over her, feeling every inch. her lips move from your lips to your jaw to your neck. while her hands reach lower and lower until she’s palming you. you throw your back.

“you think you’re so mighty.” she bites the skin beneath your ear.

“know what i like about being president?” she asks you even though shes aware you’re head is stuck in ecstasy to answer. “i get to put people like you in their place.”

karina rubs circles through your pants. your body burns at her touch, like there’s flames at her fingertips.

“why don’t i show you what your friends saw in me?”you breath out and she laughs at how stupid you sound. how could say that while you writhe under her fingertips.

“after all, you paid for a good time. let me show what your money is worth.” you you reach on to her back for the zipper of her dress. you pull it down, leaving her in her undergarments. your eyes feasts upon everything before you.

“like what you see?” she puts a finger on your chin, forcing your eyes to meet hers. she smirks before kissing you again, slowly this time. her hands quickly unbuttons your shirt and you shrugged it off, not breaking the kiss. you were about to remove your tie but she stops you. “keep it on.” she says firmly.

karina grabs you by the tie and pushes you onto her bed by your shoulders. she climbs onto top of your abdomen. her once more before she pulls away and puts hand on your chest to keep you down. with one hand, she takes off her bra. her boobs spilling for you too see. your eyes meet as her hands massages her voluptuous tits, moaning. she bit her lower lip and threw her head back, just to tease you.

unable to resist any longer, your hands reach out to touch. but her hands were faster, she removes the tie around your neck and binds your hands. “you can touch next time.”

“right now. all of you is mine.” her lips attack your neck until they’re red and purple. hands explore your body until they stop at your chest. squeezing them before removing your bra. her lips move onto them next. she pinched, sucked and you ached for more.

next, she removes your pants and your panties, leaving you bare before her. she admires and for the first time you feel your face flare from someone looking at your body.

as if testing the waters, she puts her knees between your thighs and raises them until her knees barely touch your bare core. “fuck.” you let out a breath.

“don’t worry. i won’t make you beg.” this time, the unsaid words hang on her tongue.

“i’ll give you everything you want tonight. until you’re too drunk to remember anything else but me.” your breath hitch as her hands rub circles on your thighs.

‘by the end of the night, you’re going to be wrapped around my finger’ the thought makes karina smirk.

she gives you one last kiss before diving down, disappearing between your thighs.

#aespa x reader #aespa x you #aespa imagine #aespa imagines #karina x reader #karina x you #karina imagines #karina imagine #yoo jimin #yoo jimin x reader

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louventcavaliersx · 6 months

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𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐈𝐓.

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Prior to the Dance of the Dragon, the vow between Daemon and his paramour lingered without knowing if it will last.

Inspired by the Song of Achilles, Patrochilles. Credit to Madeline Miller for the quote.

fanfiction | House of the Dragon

When Rhaenyra had received the tidings of Lucerys' demise, she crumpled at her place, unable to rein in her sorrow. The passing of her offspring, now her cherished child that she held so close to her heart. All hastened to her side, tending to her as she sought solace in her chamber.

The remnants of the young boy and his dragon washed ashore on Dragonstone.

Dread seized you as you bathed in the balmy waters. You chewed at your lower lip, grappling with the impending storm that loomed over all. None shall emerge unscathed. The dragons shall clash and waltz until one prevails and the other succumbs.

The downfall of the dragons was imminent.

Lost in reverie, you failed to perceive the door creaking open, heralding the entrance of the man. Only when his hand alighted on your shoulder did you startle with a soft gasp.

"'It is me, my love." His rich voice banished the tumultuous thoughts. You lifted your gaze to meet his, discerning the unease mirrored in his eyes; he too foresaw the looming conflict.

A hush fell upon you both as you reclined against his embrace, swallowing the lump formed in your throat. You prayed that neither of you shall meet a grim fate. The throne could fall to the Greens, yet your sole concern was your beloved.

Daemon tenderly kissed your temple. "You are tense," he observed, caressing your shoulder blade. "Tell me your worries." A gentle plea. He had never been unkind to you. Never.

You spoke, "Daemon, war is on the coming. Lucerys shall be avenged one way or another, and I dread it shall claim us both." The chamber was filled with a hushed breeze, engulfing the palpable tension and fear that gripped you so tightly. The water now felt icy to the touch, unlike its previous warmth, unlike his touch.

The Prince remained silent, pressing another kiss on your temple. After a pause, he murmured, "In the end, we all meet our demise, my love. Such fears need not consume you. War was inevitable when that drunk cunt of a king seized Rhaenyra's throne in our absence." Yet his words failed to offer solace as intended.

Turning towards him, you twisted your body to face his. Tears once concealed now brimmed in your eyes as you clasped his hands. "I care not for the Greens or the throne. Death does not faze me. It is our parting that I dread. I cannot bear to be parted from you, plagued daily by fear for our safety." Your words were a soft whisper, tinged with regret at the tremor in your voice. How could you rein in your emotions when his life hung by a thread much like yours?

The Prince knelt closer, his eyes reflecting a love unmatched. "The gods are cruel. They shall never grant you lasting joy and triumph."

Drawing nearer, relishing his words, you leaned into his gaze.

"I'll tell you a secret" he raised your chin, locking eyes with you. "I shall be the first." Boldness shimmered in his gaze, deepening your affection for him. "Swear it."

"Why me?"

"You are the reason. Swear it."

Enveloped in fervent love and unwavering devotion to him, you uttered a vow that would alter your lives forever. "I swear it."

A grin played upon his lips.

"I feel like I could eat the world raw."

#daemon targaryen #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen x reader #the rogue prince #house of the dragon #asoiaf #x reader

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seriiousgiirl · 4 months

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𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝕴𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖂𝖎𝖓𝖊.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁𝓛𝓸𝓻𝓭!𝓐𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝔁 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻. ⊹ ₊ ݁.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. ❛ You lied to me! I did. You poisoned me! I did. You said you loved me! I do. ❜ After the death of your father, you are thrown into the bustling town of Baldur's Gate, leaving behind the peaceful country manor you called home. Eager for a taste of freedom, you slip away one night and find yourself rescued by the enigmatic Lord Ancunin. As you spend more time with him, you learn of his links with the mysterious Duke Szarr and his own secrets. As a result, you find yourself entangled in a web of deceit and betrayal. But as the truth unfolds, amid whispers of scandal and echoes of forgotten secrets, lies the key to your salvation - or your downfall. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔱. ⊹ ₊ ݁. regency!au, strangers to lovers, slow burn, tension, mutual pining, angst, smut will happen later, age difference, forced marriage, gothic setting. Hello everyone! It's been a while since I've written for the public, but I hope it'll be OK. :) After binge watching Bridgerton and rewatching Crimson Peak, I thought an AU with Astarion would be perfect. Enjoy!!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The grand oak doors of Thornfield Manor creak open for what you know will be the last time. A gust of wind, carrying the chill of an early spring morning, sweeps through the entrance hall. You clutch your mother’s hand, seeking comfort in the warmth of her touch, though her face is a mask of composure, betraying no hint of the turmoil you know brews within her.

After all, Father's sudden passing has left you in a state of shock and uncertainty.

The estate, with its sprawling gardens and serene countryside views, is now a mere memory, a chapter of your life that has been abruptly closed. With your elder brother away on military duty and the estate debts proving insurmountable, there was no choice but to seek refuge in the city.

And for that, your mother had plans, and the most important one was to find you a husband. If you were honest with yourself, you would have preferred that your mother had died instead, but that thought was forbidden. You knew that your father who had always shown you warmth and kindness, would have never wished for that kind of marriage for his beloved daughter—but he wasn’t here anymore to contest your mother’s decision.

As the carriage rattled down the cobblestone path leading away from your beloved Thornfield, you cast one last, lingering glance at the manor. The ivy-clad walls seem to whisper farewells, and the distant hills, where you had spent countless afternoons in joyous exploration, stand as silent sentinels of a life left behind.

Your destination is Baldur's Gate, a bustling city known for its mercantile prowess and vibrant social scene. The city looms ahead, a stark contrast to the tranquility of your rural home. You had visited Baldur's Gate but once before, as a child, and the memory of its crowded streets and imposing architecture fills you with a mix of trepidation and reluctant curiosity.

Mother squeezes your hand, pulling you from your reverie. "We must be strong, Y/n," she says, her voice steady yet tinged with a sorrow that mirrors your own. "Baldur's Gate may not hold the peace of Thornfield, but it will offer us opportunities.” By ‘opportunities,’ you knew she meant a noble man to marry. And, you also knew that you had little or no say in who it’ll be.

“We shall endure this, together."

“Yes, mother.” You nodded, though your heart ached with the weight of your loss.

The city, with its promise of new beginnings, felt both a blessing and a burden. What awaited you in the bustling streets of Baldur's Gate, however, you could not say…

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It had been a week since you arrived at your new house in the city, and to your surprise, integrating into high society wasn't as hard as you might have imagined. Your father had left a positive impact on his Thornfield wine business, which smoothed many social pathways. Your family name carried weight, opening doors that might have otherwise remained closed.

The house itself was grand, located in a prosperous district, with wide windows that overlooked bustling streets. From the confines of your room, you observed the city’s vibrant life. Baldur's Gate was a place of diversity and wonder. Elves with their ethereal grace, dwarves bustling about their trades, drows with their mysterious allure, and even Tieflings, with their exotic and often misunderstood appearances, filled the streets below. Yet, you experienced this only as a distant observer, confined by your mother's strict rules.

Your mother, with her cold demeanor, had forbidden you to venture outside until the wedding season began. "It wouldn't do for you to be seen mingling with common folk," she had said, her tone brooking no argument.

The days were monotonous and long—very long, filled with preparations for the social season. You spent hours with dressmakers, trying on elaborate gowns, and with tutors, brushing up on etiquette and dance.

Perhaps if your mother had been more aware of your need to see the outside world, you would have never found yourself in this situation. Late at night, as the city slumbered, you found yourself wandering the unfamiliar streets alone, without a chaperon or a maid to accompany you.

It was a reckless act, one born out of a desperate longing for freedom.

You had always been like that, even in the peaceful countryside surrounding Thornfield Manor. An adventurous spirit, yearning to explore beyond the familiar boundaries of home, you often found solace in wandering the forests alone and in the dappled sunlight filtering through the tree.

But the city was a different beast altogether.

The streets of Baldur's Gate took on a different character under the cloak of darkness. Shadows danced along the cobblestones, and the faint glow of lanterns cast eerie shapes against the walls of the surrounding buildings. It was dangerous, you knew, for a young woman of your standing to venture out unaccompanied.

You told yourself it was curiosity that led you here, a desire to explore the streets that had been forbidden to you by day. But in truth, it was something deeper, a yearning for independence…

The city was a maze of winding alleys and hidden courtyards. You passed taverns alive with music and laughter, and dimly lit shops adorned with treasures from distant lands. The air was heavy with the scent of spices and sea salt. As you turned down a narrow alleyway, you caught sight of movement in the shadows ahead.

Instinctively, you froze, your heart pounding in your chest.

A ragtag group of drunken men emerged from the shadows, their laughter loud and lewd. They were a motley crew indeed, their clothes stained, their faces red and flushed from excessive consumption. At their head stood a particularly large man, his arms bulging with muscle, a thick beard hiding the lower half of his face.

Their eyes raked over your body, appraising you in a way that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You could almost feel their filthy thoughts, a cold shiver snaking its way down your spine.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" the large man bellowed, his voice thick with drink.

"Hey there, sweetheart,"another one of them slurred, reaching out a hand to grab at your arm. "What's a pretty thing like you doing out here all alone?" The others chuckled, closing in around you, their foul breath making you recoil.

Their hands reached for you, grasping and groping, their touch repulsive and unwanted. “No, let me go!” You tried to push them away, but they were relentless. You felt your heart sink, fear gripping you like a vice. Just as you thought all hope was lost, a shadow detached itself from the wall behind you, a tall figure emerging from the darkness.

His gaze was hard and unyielding as he surveyed the scene before him. His clothes were finely made, a stark contrast to the ragged group that surrounded you. He was handsome, his features sharp and angular, his eyes as red as ruby itself.

"Step aside, gentlemen," he said, his voice low and commanding.

The men snarled, but his demeanor was intimidating, and they reluctantly parted, allowing him to stand before you, his hands finding their place on your hips. "Are you alright, miss?" he asked, his concern dramatic but evident.

You nodded, swallowing hard, your heart still pounding in your chest. You could feel the heat of his body, the warmth of it a comforting contrast to the cold hand that had moments ago crept up your thigh.

"Thank you," you whispered, the words barely audible.

He offered you his arm, helping you to slip yours through it. "Let us take our leave from this place before further trouble arrives, it would be embarrassing for a lady like you to see more of this world of debauchery, wouldn't it?”

You nodded, grateful for his intervention and eager to put the unsettling encounter behind you. "Yes, please," you agreed, clinging to his arm as he guided you away from the shadows and back towards the safety of the main thoroughfare.

As you walked, he turned to you with a charming smile, his gaze warm and inquisitive. "Forgive me for prying, but are you new to the city?" he asked, his tone light with curiosity. "I feel certain I would have remembered such a pretty face."

You couldn't help but blush at the compliment, flustered by his attention. "Yes, we just arrived," you admitted, a hint of uncertainty in your voice. "We're staying in the...uh...West End district."

His smile widened, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Ah, the West End," he remarked. "A fine choice. It's fortunate for you that our paths crossed tonight. Allow me to see you safely home."

You hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to trust this stranger, but the sincerity in his gaze reassured you. "Thank you," you said again, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over you. "I would appreciate that."

The walk through the quiet streets of Baldur's Gate was surprisingly calm, the tension from the alley fading with each step. As you strolled, the distinctive scent of his cologne filled the air—a mix of bergamot, brandy, and rosemary that was both intriguing and comforting.

The gentleman beside you hummed a gentle tune, the melody soothing in the stillness of the night.

You found yourself relaxing in his presence, the fear and anxiety of earlier moments melting away. He maintained a respectful silence, his humming the only sound breaking the night's tranquility. As the familiar sight of your new home came into view, you felt a mixture of relief and disappointment—the walk had been unexpectedly pleasant.

Pausing at the gate of your residence, he turned to you with a concerned expression. "You should be more careful next time," he advised, his tone teasing but warm. He casually reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief to gently wipe a smudge of dirt from your cheek. His touch was light, almost tender, and when he smiled, you thought you saw a flash of something unusual—were those fangs? You blinked, and the moment passed, leaving you to wonder if your imagination was playing tricks on you.

Then, with a gesture both casual and deliberate, he placed the handkerchief in your hand.

You felt the cool, smooth fabric of his glove brush against your skin as he pressed the handkerchief into your palm. The contact was brief, but the sensation of his fingers grazing yours sent an unexpected shiver down your spine. His touch was light yet lingering, creating a moment of intimate connection that left you breathless.

"You can keep it," he said, his voice soft but firm, the authority in his tone leaving no room for refusal.

"Thank you," you murmured, feeling a flush of embarrassment at the fuss he was making over you. Your fingers tightened around the handkerchief, the delicate fabric still warm from his touch. "For everything."

"It was my pleasure," he replied, his smile widening into a grin that was both charming and slightly unsettling. "I couldn't leave a lady in distress. Now, go inside and rest. The city can be a treacherous place after dark."

You nodded, grateful for his kindness despite the lingering mystery about him. As you turned to enter your home, you glanced back one last time. He stood there, bathed in the soft glow of the streetlamps, watching you with an unreadable expression.

"I didn't catch your name," you said, your curiosity piqued despite the urgency to retreat indoors.

He merely smiled in response, a knowing glint in his eyes. "It won't be necessary," he replied cryptically.

With a final nod, you slipped inside, bolting the door behind you.

Safe within the familiar walls, you leaned against the door, your mind racing with the events of the night.

Who was he?

❛ masterlist ⋅ ao3 ❜

#astarion x reader #astarion #astarion ancunin #balgur's gate 3 #alternate universe #crimson peak #regency #astarion x tav #cazador szarr

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twstowo · 7 months

Text

They End Up In a Universe Where The Two Of You Hate Each Other [Twst]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗SYNOPSIS: The two of are are happily dating and he couldn’t have asked for anything else, however one day he finds himself in a strange place only to find that in here the two of you are enemies.

♡︎Includes: Malleus

[AU Masterlist]

[Riddle and Leona] ☆[Azul and Jamil] ☆[Vil and Idia] ☆[Here]

⋆⋅☆Malleus

The fate of this Malleus had been written, excluded from a party, he cast a kingdom-wide sleeping spell. However, an unknown knight seeking justice would strike him down, breaking the spell.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

What a pitiful display of rage, Malleus thought, but deep down he knew that he if struck in a bad mood, he could end up doing such a thing. He got the hang of things in this universe, as the king of the Briar Valley he found himself filled with work, not having much free time. Along his days he finds himself travelling from time to time to different lands, Sebek and Silver always companioning him as his guards.

After a while, he finds himself receiving news of a party being hosted to which he hadn’t been invited. He heard the news, remaining as calm as ever, for he knew that this party would have been his downfall if he didn’t act as such. However, he questioned why the Malleus in this universe was so mad that they hadn’t invited him to this specific party. All along the year, he had been aware of others who had never even thought about sending him an invitation, so why would this one, in particular, make him lose his mind? Out of curiosity, he decided to check it for himself.

That was when he saw you for the first time in this universe. You were dressed in splendid white clothes with golden patterns, a sight blessing his tired eyes. You were the center of the party for him and everyone else. In fact, you had been the one planning the party and had been the one who didn't invite him. Oh, how bittersweet. He felt his heart clench. Did you hate him here? He found himself spacing out, almost as if heartbroken, not noticing the stares that he started to gain from the party members who had spotted him.

“Malleus Draconia, I don’t remember inviting you.” Hearing those words come out of your mouth, when the you he loved from his universe would never dare to forget him or exclude him from any party. The way you looked at him, cold eyes piercing his gaze as you slowly walked to him, everyone else at the party staring with mouths agape. “I have already stated that I’m not interested in you. Leave me alone.” He could hear the murmurs of everyone around him, some even daring to laugh at him, the audacity.

There he realized why the Malleus from this universe had cast such a spell on the entire kingdom, for he himself was having a hard time controlling his impulses in such a situation. “I had no intention of intruding. Since my presence is unwanted, I shall depart.” and with a last glance at you he left the party.

#twst #twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst reader #twst x reader #x reader #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia #twst malleus #malleus x reader #twisted wonderland malleus

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sfehvn · 9 months

Text

new religion part 7

A/N: Thank you all for being so patient! This has been sitting in my drafts half-done for a looong time. Hope you enjoy! Xx

Rating: M (18+ minors DNI)

CW: Pregnancy

Word count: 2,347

Characters: soft!ascended!Astarion x fem!au!Tav

━─━────༺༻────━─━

The agony that coursed through cold veins was not unfounded. Astarion watched on with helpless eyes as you lay in bed, your condition only worsening through the days that had passed. Skin that had previously whispered the touch of light seemed much paler than it had before this sickness befell you. Hadn’t it? Yes, he was certain of it. Deep bags kissed under your eyes like bruises of a cruel fate, hair once silken to the touch had become brittle and flat. An emaciated picture of what you had been just days prior lay curled on the bed. If Astarion hadn’t known better, he would assume you hadn’t moved at all from your position since climbing into that bed after returning from the boutique. He had been the one to force you to bathe and stroll through the garden; of course you’d moved. The pain hung deep in his stomach but he refused to let it take him prey. What you were experiencing was far worse than any discomfort he may be feeling.

Three days.

It had only been three days, yet it felt like an eternity. It felt as if he had borne witness to your undoing in such a mercilessly short amount of time. A sadistic reminder of how fragile mortals were. Of how fragile his flower was. How barbarous the outcome; Astarion finally felt so deeply for a being other than himself, only to have it ripped away from tightly grasped hands. He had restrained the urge to maim and destroy you, allowed his love for you to flourish in its haste, yet had still proved to be your inevitable downfall. The wretched thing dwelled in your womb. The disgust ebbed and flowed deep in his gut. All the while he knew the culprit of your condition; he wouldn’t dare utter a word until it had been confirmed. An unspoken battle; should he be forthright with the circumstance? No doubt you would wish to brave the godsforsaken gestation, your longing for motherhood had been made abundantly clear. Stubbornness had been one of the many traits that had made Astarion’s unbeating heart grow fonder of you; in this plight, it very well may be your undoing.

From Astarion’s peripheral, a chambermaid enters the room, awaiting permission to address him. He nods silently in approval, eyes never leaving your debilitated form. “Master, he is here. Shall I see him here?”

His eyes falter from you to glance at the thrall. “You may. Clear the halls on your way out. I expect not a single interruption from anyone while he works. I trust you’ll let the others know of the agonizing centuries to follow if my request is disobeyed.” Though his voice was firm, there was a hint of fear masked beneath the threats. Fear of what fate awaits his lover, fear of what has yet to come, fear of the unknown.

“Yes, master.” She agreed before swiftly seeing her way out. There were no games when it came to Astarion and she did not wish to be in his line of fire if the matter at hand didn’t resolve to his liking.

Astarion steps up to the bed, stroking disheveled pieces of hair from your sunken face. “He is here, my treasure.” Soft words were met with a weak nod, eyes shut in an attempt to stop the spinning you felt in your head. An unwelcome thought made its way into his mind, which he hastily pushed down as far as he could. A corpse you began to resemble.

A tall lanky man makes his entrance. Dressed in a robe that looked centuries too old, wiry hair wisped from the sides of a misshapen ignoble hat, and shoes that seemed to be worn through the soles. He looked every bit a beggar who Astarion would pay no mind to under typical circumstances. Magic radiated in powerful lulls from the stranger, an aura of importance despite his unseemly appearance. “Sir Ancunin, a pleasure.” The man regards him nasally, though his eyes are fixed on you. They seemed to scatter over your frail body in assessment. “May I?”

Edvund Luoguarde. Every piece of unbiased literature regarding dhampirs Astarion had managed to scrounge up had been written by the man in front of him. Not a stone was left unturned in search of the scholar; all the while he had been holed up in a makeshift home on the edge of Rivington. The notoriety Edvund possessed had not affected his simple way of life. It was something Astarion might have found humor in if he had come across the strange man under different conditions. The man slinks towards the bed once Astarion approves, lips pursed as he looms over your unmoving figure.

“Poor child, barely hanging by a thread.” Edvund muses out loud. While there is empathy in his words, the firmness spoke to the weight they held. Astarion eyes his hand cautiously as it comes to hover over your midsection. “I will need her on her back.” He states. “Are you able to move, dear?”

Your eyes open barely a sliver in response. You open your mouth to respond but your voice is lost to the dry ache in your throat and on your tongue. Looking to Astarion in a silent bid for help, he obliges by carefully moving your body into position.

“This will do nicely. You’re doing wonderful, dear.” Edvund reassures. He places his hand on your clothed stomach, a pale blue light illuminating from his palm. His eyes bear the same blue light as he stares distantly at the wall. “Very interesting.” He murmurs after a few minutes pass, but does not remove his hand. It shifts purposefully from your sacrum up towards your ribcage. It was a brief moment of relief, as if whatever magic he yielded offered numbing to the visceral blows you had been experiencing.

Edvund removes his hand and the light in his eyes flickers in tandem. “You would be wise to rest while you can.” He pats the hand that lay lifelessly at your side. Unsure if it was a trance or from the fleeting comfort you finally had after three days of torture, you drifted away. The man turns his attention to Astarion once he’s sure you’re asleep. “A dhampir of not one, but two.” He riddles. “To be born of fruitful womb and abject seed. To shed light as great as thee.”

“What in the hells are you saying?” Astarion’s brow creased. It seemed more likely that Edvund was reciting poetry rather than providing a diagnosis.

“A dhampire of not one but two; to be born of fruitful womb, abject seed. To shed light as great as thee. Cast darkness into light, and light into lead. A union thick as thieves.” His hands move in an unfounded performance, fingers coming to lock in front of his chin once he is finished. “A prophecy greater in age than you or I.” He clarified, bringing his hands to rest on the edge of the bed. “It was foretold a pair of dhampirs would be born to a pure soul and a heinous….” He trails, eyeing Astarion before continuing. “They will materialize to our plane of existence. The gods have willed it so and so it will be.”

“Are you suggesting there are two?” Astarion’s jaw clenched as he eyes Edvund. “Remove them.”

“I cannot.” Edvund was unphased by Astarion’s aggressive demand, instead he stared him down with the same determined look in response.

“You will. This will kill her. Are you mad?”

“She will recover.” Edvund muses, looking back down at your sleeping form; no doubt the most divine rest you’ve had in your life with the help of his own magic.

Astarion steps around the foot of the bed, making his way toward the man with a fire blazing in his red eyes. Edvund glances at him, whispering a quiet incantation that seemingly relaxed every nerve in Astarion’s body. In a daze, he sits limply in the chaise at the end of the bed. He felt powerless. For the first time in his many years, he was indeed. Completely, utterly, entirely not in control.

Edvund steps in front of him, crouching until he is eye-to-eye with him. “You’ve felt this is destiny, yes? You and the girl?”

Astarion feels that blaze return, but it is quickly simmered once more. Edvund effortlessly defies his rage, pouring his own magic into keeping Astarion sedated. “Get out of my head.” Astarion murmurs, gritting his teeth uncomfortably.

Edvund proceeds; he already knew the answer to his question. “You do not want to anger the gods, Sir Ancunin. This has been foretold. Of course, nothing is stopping you from finding someone else to get the job done; I for one will have no part of it. I’d rather not deal with the wrath of any all powerful deity, let alone all of them. I suggest you heed this warning. It will not be pretty if you interfere.” He purses his lips tightly, furrowing his fluffy brows together as he speaks.

Astarion’s mind felt convoluted as the reality of the situation weighed heavy on his shoulders. This was bigger than you or him, but he refused to stand by and watch you crumble.

The air in the room hung heavy with the weight of destiny as Astarion grappled with the revelation. Edvund's cryptic warnings and the ominous prophecy left Astarion torn between the fate dictated by higher powers and the desperate need to protect you. The clash of emotions within him mirrored the conflict that unfolded in the dimly lit chamber.

Astarion's eyes, once ablaze with defiance, now flickered with uncertainty as he considered the implications. The revelation of a dual heritage, the prophecy, and the insistence on non-interference pressed upon him. Yet, the fierce love he felt for you surged as a counterforce, compelling him to challenge the preordained path.

The room bore witness to a silent struggle—one man navigating the treacherous waters of divine prophecy, the other tethered to the mortal realm by love's unyielding grip. As Edvund continued his mystical work, Astarion's internal turmoil mirrored the external tension, a tempest brewing in the shadow of fate.

In the midst of this cosmic chess game, your frail form lay suspended, caught between realms. A pawn in a game played by unseen hands, her fate intricately woven into the fabric of prophecy. The dichotomy of despair and determination etched across Astarion's face painted a poignant picture of a soul at war with itself.

The room, once a sanctuary for quiet moments and stolen glances, now bore witness to a profound struggle that transcended the mortal and the divine. It was a clash of wills, a dance of destiny, and a tableau of emotions that would shape the course of lives entwined in a tapestry woven by forces beyond mortal comprehension.

“The gods have orchestrated this all, Astarion.” Edvund loosened the invisible grip he had on Astarion, allowing a sliver of distance between them as he stood. “I’d heard of you, you know. The ruthless vampire lord.” Edvund quirks his head. He didn’t need to say it aloud as it was unspoken; love had made Astarion soft in a lot of ways. Specifically for you, but for the way you lived life as well. The way you simply loved.

For a brief moment, Astarion wondered if you would have been anything more than a meal and quick fuck without the interference of higher powers. He couldn’t dwell on the thought, though. It made him sick to think about.

Edvund's words cut through the tangled web of Astarion's conflicted thoughts. The acknowledgment of his reputation as a ruthless vampire lord served as a stark reminder of the life he led before you entered it. The juxtaposition of his past and the vulnerability that love had brought forth in him loomed over the room.

As Astarion grappled with the unsettling realization, Edvund's gaze lingered on him, a silent understanding passing between them. The enigmatic scholar seemed to grasp the intricacies of Astarion's transformation, not just as a vampire but as a being touched by the profound force of love.

“I hope you don’t mind, I’m not really in the mood for chit chat.” Astarion replied back coldly, his eyes stone as he looked at Edvund. Edvund held his hands up in a show of understanding.

“I’d better get going. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, but see to it that she rests adequately. There will be days where she feels like she can conquer the world, but she mustn’t overexert herself.” Edvund states as he walks towards the door. He leaves with a parting reassurance. “She will live. The gods are not as cruel as you would believe them to be right now.”

With that, Astarion sat alone. The air hung thick with magic and tension.

Astarion's gaze remained fixed on your slumbering form, the delicate rise and fall of your chest a comfort amidst the tumult within him. The cold, stoic exterior he had worn for centuries cracked, revealing the vulnerability that love had etched into his undead heart.

As he sat in the quiet chamber, a myriad of emotions churned within Astarion—fear, love, defiance, and an unsettling acceptance of the cosmic forces at play. The room, once a witness to stolen moments of intimacy, now bore witness to a solitary figure grappling with the intricacies of mortality and the influence of gods.

Time seemed suspended in that moment, the force of the future pressing down on Astarion. The journey ahead, fraught with uncertainties and divine machinations, loomed large. Yet, in the hushed solitude of the room, Astarion found a quiet resolve to face the impending challenges.

The vampire lord, once driven solely by self-preservation, now stood on the precipice of a destiny entwined with love and sacrifice. As the shadows deepened and the room embraced its newfound solitude, Astarion remained a sentinel, guarding not only the frail form on the bed but also the fragile threads of a fate spun by gods themselves.

#astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion #x reader #bg3 #tav #reader #ascended astarion #ascended!astarion x reader #ascended!astarion x tav

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tadpolesonalgae · 1 year

Text

Azriel x reader: please…

A/N: just me laying my heart bare, don’t worry

Summary: Set when Azriel leaves to retrieve the Veritas orb from the Hewn City. He sneaks away, only to find you to be the guard, lazing on an antique chaise, swathed in cotton covers. Utterly naked.

-Part 2- -Part 3-

“You’re moving a little too quickly for someone who supposedly has the right to be in here, Spymaster.”

You prop your chin on your forearm, peering at him from the reclined seat, stomach flat against the velvet cushioning. He slows to a stop in the large room that’s brimming with antiquities and wonders—the kind that’s kept away from the rest of the Court, by declaration of your father.

“I am here by order of the High Lord,” he speaks softly—lethal quiet.

“Indeed you are,” you murmur, settling further into your nest of covers, “but that’s not your whole truth, is it?”

Displeasure circles in his chest, but he’s careful to keep it from his face. This is bad. You shouldn’t be in here, but he supposes Kier must have been on edge with the relatively impromptu drop in.

You’re such a nasty thing to deal with. Too knowing.

He steadies his thoughts. No matter your powers, you can only tell truth from lie, not their contents. You’re hazarding a guess - an educated one - that he’s keeping something from you. Which he most certainly is.

“You doubt my truth?” Careful. He has to be so careful.

You tilt your head, as if you’re sizing him up. “Gift me another and I shall tell you whether I doubt it.” It’s unnerving to be around you. One wrong word will have you alerting the guards in the hall he’d easily slipped by. All because of your blood’s power.

“The High Lord has tasked me with retrieving something precious from these chambers.” He supplies, beginning to inch toward you, lest things fall to chaos.

Your eyes narrow, marking the movement, but for now you remain sprawled across the chaise. He realises, with concealed discomfort, there’s not a strap of fabric to be seen across your shoulders, nor around your nape. You’re bare beneath that cotton cover—you hadn’t been expecting someone.

He’s taken you by surprise.

“Something precious,” you echo, eyes sliding shut as you rest your cheek over your arm, relaxing into the warm embrace of the pillows, the velvet cushions that brush your naked skin. Good. He can work with this. Your arrogance will be your downfall. So confident in your ability to verify truth, you underestimate his skills in silence, and silencing.

“And what might this precious item be? Perhaps I can help you locate it.”

Foolish. So foolish of you to close your eyes.

When he reaches your chaise, your gaze lifts to his. “Does my father know you’re here, Spymaster?”

Dammit.

“He does.” He takes a step closer, within reaching distance. He could seal his hand over your mouth, bring his blade out to keep you silent. Get his information, then have Rhys wipe your memory.

“Does he know you’re in these chambers, searching for your precious as of this moment?” You slide the detailed question to him, waiting to find what he’ll do with it. What cunning words he’ll select—even if his mind has already given him away.

A sudden surge of violent intent is the only warning your receive before his hand is gripping your hair, lifting you from the chaise, Truth Teller poised just before you. A warning not to move, but not quite a threat.

“Where is the Veritas?”

Your eyes widen at the closeness of the cool steel, then flick to his.

“Why do you seek the Veritas?”

His fist tightens in your hair and the blade presses against your lower lip, any harder and he’ll cut into you. “That’s not an answer.” He’s already reaching for Rhys in his mind, feeling for the silent pathway his brother keeps open whenever completing missions like this. He reaches, and falls blind. His High Lord is not there.

A slight wave of panic crests him. He needs Rhys to wipe your mind, to ensure you won’t tell anyone. Shit.

He has to think on his feet. “You can answer my question - truthfully - and have your High Lord deal with you.” He wouldn’t need to even be watching you to know how you stiffen at that promise. “Or you can make a deal with me, and Rhysand will stay out of it.” Or you can scream for guards, and I’ll be knee deep in trouble, he thinks.

Hopefully you won’t pick up on the omission—he’s never had the chance, nor particularly cared to test the perimeters of your power. Never particularly felt an urge to be around you any longer than necessary.

You swallow, eyes piercing into his. “What sort of deal?”

Promising.

“Tell me the precise location of the Veritas at this moment, swear not to tell a soul that you know I came here, and I’ll release you, unharmed.” He hopes you won’t question it.

“A bit unfair, wouldn’t you say, Spymaster?”

Damn you.

You watch as his eyes gleam with something indecipherable. “Is there something you want from me?” You fight to keep your expression neutral. “I have everything I want at my fingertips.” But you’re not the only one who has a nose for lies.

He watches you silently, lowering his blade the slightest amount. “No? Nothing you can think of?” He remains still as your too-knowing eyes run over him, almost examining him, with clinical scrutiny, checking—searching for something.

It seems you don’t find whatever hitch it is you’re looking for, because when your gaze rises to his, he knows he’s got you. Now all that’s left is hearing your secret want, and fulfilling it.

Why isn’t Rhys responding? He shouldn’t be away for this long.

He shouldn’t be away full stop. Not during something so precarious.

“I…” you breathe, running your eyes over him again, searching for anything that might convince you not to trust him with this part of yourself. But the air is still around him, calm and peaceful, although a little aggravated.

“Touch me…” you whisper to the air between you. “Then I’ll reveal it to you.”

His mind goes quiet. He hadn’t thought you would ask for something like that. With how strict the laws of this court are for females… You shouldn’t even be entertaining the idea if you want to survive. Horror coils in his gut. You’re hardly into your second decade…far too young for him to—

Is this what Rhys felt like when Amarantha first…? The same writhing dread?

He can’t very well say no. Not without an alarm being raised. He’s backed himself into a corner, and he hadn’t even seen it forming.

Fine. It’s fine.

He can give another shard of himself for the Court. For his brothers. Shred one more fragment of his already worn morals. Damn just one more tiny piece of his soul to hell.

After those fifty years Rhysand sacrificed, he can manage this. Simple.

“It’s a deal.”

You both feel the sting of the bargain being struck, but only you wince, feeling the prickling sensation over your heart. Azriel isn’t as lucky. The ink appears on the palm of his hand, right in its centre.

“Where is it?”

You shake your head. “Me first, Spymaster. You made no promise to when you would fulfil your end.” He shows no signs of frustration, but the air spasms briefly around him, before settling back to its innate rhythm.

He nods, the slightest dip of his head. “Remove yourself from the covers.” His heartbeat increases, despite his will to slow it, despite the calming breathing techniques. You’re going to use him. In such a degrading way. He wonders if you truly wish for pleasure, or if it’s solely for the purpose of demeaning him.

Your cheeks warm, subconsciously shifting further beneath the cotton, shaking your head. “No…” you breathe, “not like that.” Your eyes flick away from his, regretting your decision to reveal your deepest wish to him. It was a foolish act, no matter how desperate you were.

Azriel watches as you extend your hand, for him to lay his own to.

He follows, not knowing if the bargain will punish him for refusing. Not willing to jeopardise his mission over a lack of care and concern.

“Like…this.” You bring his palm closer, hesitating, eyes watching his carefully, before you press your cheek to his hand. So softly, so reverently…almost fearfully.

It begins to click into place. The pieces slotting together. Why you were laying bare beneath those cotton covers—to feel the warmth against your skin. He doesn’t know why he hadn’t considered it before. How touch-starved a creature like you must be beneath this hewn rock, having been born to such a brutal family.

It’s all you yearn for. The gentle caress of heat. The brush of fingers over your skin, like beams of sunlight kissing your features.

Your eyes slide closed as he takes initiative, cupping your jaw lightly.

Darkness fills your vision, and for a few minutes, you allow your power to dissipate, will it to silence. To fully indulge in the decadence of his touch. Every nerve is keyed in to the feel of him, his thumb brushing the crest of your cheek.

You could weep when the pads of his scarred fingers brush hair from your face, hooking it over your pointed ear.

His free hand lifts your jaw, holding you with a care that makes your heart shudder. You follow him willingly, allowing the fingers that are touching you to trace across your skin.

You preen into him as his middle finger drags over your brow bone, trailing to the space between your eyes, meandering down the bridge of your nose. You raise your chin, urging the pad to tip over the bump and fall to your lips. He senses your direction and follows, thumb lowering to trace over your lower lip, then settle into the dip beneath it, swiping against the skin.

Again, his hand moves to cup your cheek, and you press against it, keeping your eyes closed as you memorise the feel. How cruel it is that creatures can touch each other so softly, without the harsh jab of bone or the cracking whip of leather.

He notes how calm your breathing is, and for a moment, wonders if you’re more like your sister than you let on.

When both his hands brace your jaw, you nearly melt, a desperate sound dragging from your throat as your brows curve together, memorising their warmth, the affection—even if you know it’s fake. His fingers squeeze lightly, and the noise repeats itself. You feel emotion welling behind your eyes, but refuse to let it out.

You could pass away as one hand lowers to the side of your neck, wrapping around your nape, tucking beneath your hair. His thumb rubs at a space beneath your ear, and you lift into him. He pulls back, only to thread his fingers through your hair, and a quiet, pleased sound purrs in your chest.

He watches you silently, noting how you come apart beneath the gentlest touch. How many secrets would you spill if he promised his hands to you? The possibilities sprawl before him, tripping over themselves as they fall to his feet.

When he rubs the palm of his hand across the skin of your neck, you lightly grasp him by the wrist, and he wonders if you’d fear him going further. Not that he would. The very idea makes even him want to pull away.

You’re so young, and yet he wonders how many brutalities you’ve witnessed. How normal they must be in this Court of Nightmares.

He keeps his exterior calm, and unruffled as you nose along the dip of his palm. He flinches internally when your lips press to the scarred skin with painful reverence. As if he’s the first person to not raise his hands in order to harm you.

Azriel pulls away when you make to press a second kiss to his wrist, remembering his mission.

Your eyes take a moment to open, slowly realising he’s fulfilled his side of the bargain. He observes how your gaze traces his hands as they pull back to his sides. He’d returned Truth Teller to it’s scabbard at some point, too.

“The Veritas.” His voice is as cold and emotionless as it was before, but the air is calmer…infinitely more peaceful. Your waves no longer colliding with one another.

You raise your hand, and the orb appears, dropping into your palm.

He takes it from you, and you both take care not to brush fingers. You’re not sure you could handle more. You had been so close to fracturing. After all these years, and that could have been your shattering point.

“I want you to return it to me once you’re finished with it.” You say, and even to your own ears you sound somewhat breathless. He doesn’t nod, but you get the sense he’ll follow your instructions as he turns.

“Spymaster,” you call. “I want it to be you. Not one of your shadows or wraiths.” You settle back down into the chaise, beginning to make the descent into your persona crafted for the Hewn City.

“You’re much more pleasing to the eye.” You croon, though it lacks the necessary venom for it to be believable.

You silently plead he’ll return.

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

#Azriel #Azriel fluff #acotar #azriel shadowsinger

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alice-angel12x · 2 years

Text

Death is always around the Corner

Vil + Death!Reader

Riddle, Leona, Azul, Jamil, Vil,Idia, Malleus

Masterlist

Let's set the scene:

"Magic Mirror on the wall. Tell me, who is the fairest of them all," The Beautiful queen asked her magic mirror. " I see the figure of your fair stepdaughter. With her lips as red as a rose, hair as black as ebony, and skin as white as snow," The mirror said. " Snow White…!" The Queen scowled.

Death stood in the shadows as they watched the vain queen glare and curse the young princess.

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

Reading Vil's book brought back memories of the terrible women. Y/n could only hope that history is not about to repeat itself, but they knew. Just by the patterns of what has been happening around this school, they knew that was most likely.

"Wha—?! Don’t just stop and stare, Yuu! I hit my nose on your leg, yanno?" Grim groaned.

"You’re staring intently at the Great Seven’s statue, Y/n. Something up?" Ace asked.

"It's... It's strange seeing all these people. Being looked up to and aspired as such," Y/n said simply.

"Why is that? Did you know them personally?" Deuce asked.

"Not personally, but I was there to witness their prime and watch their downfall," Y/n explained.

"Really?! So what was the Queen of Hearts like?" Ace asked."

"A hypocritical tyrant. She would enforce the rules on everyone, but herself. She would even make up laws on the fly just to have an excuse to behead people. 60% of the rules in Heartsybuyl were ''on the fly'' made ruled," Y/n explained.

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

After that Ace and Deuce certainly had a new perspective of the queen of hearts. But school continued as normal, and Y/n could already feel the presence of a growing blot. It Has Begun.

Later that day an announcement was posted in the cafeteria. An audition for the Joint Cultural Festival’s Vocal & Dance Championship.

“Come and join us! Aspiring singers and dancers, this is your chance for stardom! You shall represent our glorious school! In the case that you are chosen to be part of the finalists. The prize money of 5 million Madol will be divided among the participating members."

This certainly caught the boy's attention. As the group walked through the courtyard expressing their excitement. They were interrupted by singing, a lovely voice too.

That voice belongs to none other than Epel Felmier. As those boys began talking, Epel noticed that Y/n seemed to be left out. Sadly before he could reach.

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

"Goodness, Epel. Are you neglecting your lessons to talk to some pigeons?" asked a smug voice.

"Vil-san!" Epel gasped.

"Wha—?! Is he talking about us?" Grim asked nervesly.

"Who else is there? This is an important lesson for our Epel. There are less than two months before the VDC. He does not have the time to be fraternizing with lowlifes like you," Vil said with a prideful smirk. " Please do not bother him while he is doing his lessons."

"We weren’t bothering him at all—," "Vil-san, don’t shout at them! This’s—This is my fault—," Epel said, cutting Deuce off.

"Epel, how many times must I tell you to stop with that vulgar way of speaking? It is not befitting a person of your standard. Surely you do not want to be referred to as a “Poisonous Red Apple,” do you?" Vil continued.

"But I—I don’t really want to do this—!" Epel stuttered

"Have you forgotten your promise with me already? Come along now," Vil commanded.

"Hey, you. I don’t care whether you’re a Prefect or not, but you just look like you’re bullying him," Ace glared.

" H-hey, you two…! Didn’t the Headmaster tell you both not to pick fights anymore?!" Deuce said nervesly.

"Hmph, pretty bold of you nobodies to challenge me. This will be perfect exercise after a meal. Come now, I’ll turn you into mashed potatoes," Vil smirked.

Sadly Adeuce and Grim were not on the same level as Vil, so Y/n eventually decided to step in. Just as Vil was about to throw a blow at the First Years, Y/n effortlessly caught his fist.

"Abusing your authority as a Prefect is not a good look. I thought you were better than that, but I guess I was wrong," Y/n smirked as they tossed Vil into the air. Only to grab him by his collar and slam hard onto the stone below. Vil had the wind knocked out of him.

"I'd give you a... 5 points out of 100," Y/n smirked at Vil's gasping form.

"Instant kill!" Grim and Ace cheered.

"S-so cool," Epel awed quietly.

______________________________________________________

After that one-sided fight, Epel asked Y/n if it would be possible to be as strong as them. They answered "That is for you to decide, but don't focus only on the strength. Or is trying to be a muscle head the only thing about you?"

With that Y/n and the Adeuce group left. After some days of dance training with Kalim and Jamil. The group had to sign up by talking to Rook. The school stalker, who was all to happy to lurt random info on the group. Though he didn't have much on Y/n

So Y/n returned in kind.

"Greetings Rook hunt from Class 3-A, seat number 10. Your height is 177cm, whose unique magic is "I see you," Y/n smirked as Rook froze. For the first time being on the receiving end of his action.

But Rook would smile it off and tells them to come to Pomfiore in three days' time. And thankfully Adeuce was accepted into the group. Along with Kalim and Jamil.

But unfortunately, Y/n and Grim were forced to house the new VDC group. for the next 2 months, and While Grim was easily won over with money and tuna. Y/n didn't want to share their temporary home.

So with much back and forth Crowley ignored Y/n and gave the boys the green light. So Y/n was not the happiest when they came. especially when Vil starts making demands and setting down his own rules. And order them around.

Sadly not only did Y/n have to house them, but also help assist them with their training.

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

"Of course. Manager, please play the song for us," Vil said expectantly.

"Who?" Y/n asked as they leaned against the windowsill.

"Who else is there? Didn’t the Headmaster ask you to support us? If you want to get paid, then work yourself to the bone for us, too," Vil said.

"Well, I don't need your currency," Y/n answered simply.

"What?!" Grim Gasped. "B-But my Tuna!"

"Grim I cook fresh fish for you for Breakfast and Dinner. You have no reason to complain. I even get the certain types of fish you like," Y/n scolded.

But Grim wants that money so he did follow Vil's command. As the Video was about to play an Ad of Neige popped up. And As Y/n watched they could see Vil crumble inside.

"He is very Lovable," Y/n commented, throwing salt into the wound.

"Gentlemen, stop focusing on the wrong things and watch the dance video, for god’s sake! This time for sure… I promise that we will not lose," Vil promised.

"Good. Well, I wish you luck. Don't cause trouble Grim," Y/n said as they left the dance room.

"W-where are you going?" Vil asked, but was ignored.

Practice went well, all the way to sunset, But Vil began to rear his head. As his ugly tendency surfaced.

" I… I don’t want to do it…" Epel stuttered.

"Pardon? “Meandering and girly? Are you sleep-talking, my dear? Well, even then I still will not tolerate such brashness," Vil scoffed as he grabbed and yanked harshly on Epel's ear. "Let me explain. This “meandering” dance trains the inner muscles so that our movements look clean and beautiful. Clothes and dancing should not be categorized into “girly” or “manly.” You are absolutely being close-minded if you think you shouldn’t do “girly” dances just because you’re a boy."

Suddenly Vil yelped in pain as a strong pair of fingers grabbed his ear. He was pulled down to Y/n's level by his ear as Y/n began to talk directly into it.

"And You should know that Boy or Girl, you have no right to place your hands on another individual. Or have you thrown out common human decency?" Y/n asked. "Since we're on the trend of pointing out flaws, I have many of yours to point out."

"Like how you drag unwilling people into your goals. Aren't you ashamed of forcing your dreams onto Epel? What are you incapable of reaching your goals on your own, and need someone else to succeed for you?"

__________________________________________

Y/n called the first day of training to a close. Vil wasn't feeling too chatty after that earful with Y/n.

Y/n sensing that Vil had enough, they left the group alone Till everyone went to bed. Kalim was surprised to See y/n outside. They gave Kalim a small pep talk and sent him back to bed.

Since Y/n death Didn't need sleep, they continued to do work. Like Removing Vil's curse on the baked goods Trey made. Before anyone could get hurt, reaping unfortunate souls, and Catching fish for Grim to eat.

Vil was not happy when he caught Ace and Deuce eating sweets, but was infuriated to learn that Y/n removed his curse. And Y/n would continue to be a thorn in Vil's side.

But sadly Vil's tune didn't change over the few days. And Eventually, it Got to the group. Epel quits, Deuce with a massive loss of confidence, and Ace becomes more of a jerk.

________________________________________

" Well only after a few days, you're out of a team. Seems like you are well on your way to losing after all," Y/n laughed.

"Those potatoes didn't have what it takes," Vil glared.

"Oh, just like you don't have what it takes to beat Neige?" Y/n asked with a knowing and cruel smile.

"Gaining what you want by means of pure effort is a thing of dreams," Vil muttered to himself. "And I do have what it takes, I will be the fairest of them all."

"Will you, or are just repeating words of people telling you are beautiful?" Y/n asked. " find something else to do with your time. Like becoming a better teacher or instructor."

"Do you just enjoy insulting me?" Vil glared.

"I just act how you act when you do when you are around people you think are beneath you. Time 5 of course,' Y/n said. " And yes, I do find it amusing how fail to be an influencer. Like how you fail to influence Epel into seeing the benefits of being pretty. You just Sqwaked and screeched at him the whole time."

"Then what would you do?" Vil scoffed, as he nervesly watched Y/n polish their blades.

_________________________________________

Y/n recommended trying to appeal to Epel, like helping his family with their business. This helped ease things over with Epel, and Vil was a bit nicer. And soon 2 months were a breeze.

Things were looking up for the group and Vil, spirits were high, and confidence was through the roof. Til Vil got cold feet after seeing Neige's performance. And the story of the evil queen replayed once again.

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

"Where am I?" Vil wondered as walked in the darkness.

As he did he found a backstage vanity, the lights were bright and the station was pristine. There was a book on the table, it was about Him. He read through the script-like text, and memories began to surface. And it was strange seeing it from a new perspective.

"Ah, your here Mr.Vil. Are you ready for your makeup session?" Asked a voice.

Vil turned in his seat to see Y/n dressed like a makeup artist. The boy nodded slowly as Y/n began to recline his chair.

"So what do you think of the script. Do you like the Vil Shoenheit character?" Y/n asked as they began to soak Vil's hair with warm water.

"I just wanted to stand on the stage till the very end," Was all he could say.

"Everyone one does, and you just wanted more then what you got," Y/n agreed as they began to shampoo his hair. " You didn't want to be seen as the Villain any more."

"Exactly, but no matter how much I try and Improve... I don't want to be just that, that villain character. I'm sure the Queen of beauty would look upon me with disappointment," Vil sighed.

"The queen of beauty wouldn't give a flying feather about your struggles. If she were in your passion, she would have killed Neige back in high school. And eat his heart, thinking she would gain his beauty," Y/n said as they rinsed Vil's hair.

"Do not mock the Queen of beauty, and how could you possibly know who she was?" Vil spat as Y/n conditioned his hair.

"I know you very well, I wrote the script in your book," Y/n answered.

"Y-you did. How did you know such personal details about me? Who are you Y/n?" Vil asked slowly.

"I am always near, but never quite here, I am feared by most, yet always appear. I take life from the living, with one final breath. Who am I?" Y/n asked as they rinsed and dried his hair.

Vil looked back at the mirror, but instead of seeing a style artist. There stood a black-robed figure with two razor-sharp scythes.

"Y-your Death. So... You were there during The queens time?" Vil asked as Y/n brushed his hair.

Flashes of Y/n's memories of the Evil queen appeared in the vanity mirror. Showing the queen's true color. Vil slumped into his chair as his idol, everything he knew of her... Was a lie.

"If you were to ask me, you outshine the queen far more than snow white," Y/n said as he turned his chair to face them, applying the makeup. "The queen never cared about improving her own beauty. She simply would not allow more beautiful people to live. You on the other hand worked har to improve your beauty."

"You really mean that?" Vil asked as he looked back at his book, only to see a wanted poster on top of it.

"Yes, straight from death's lips. You are everything, you thought the queen embodied. Sadly you would have never known that, because you really on strangers to inform your worth. When only you can truly know what your value is," Y/n said as they finished their work and turned Vil around to face the Vanity.

"Vil? Who is the fairest of them all?" Death asked.

As he looked in the mirror, images of his life achievements flashed in the vanity. Vil smiled as turned to face Death.

"I am the fairest," Vil said.

"Are you sure?" Death asked as they bored into Vil's eyes.

Vil stood from his chair and stood face to face with Death. " Yes, I'm very certain."

"Good," Y/n smiled as they stepped aside. "Well, you better hurry. You're going Live in 30 seconds. Your public awaits."

Vil looked ahead to see the stage doors open, as a blinding light showed through. With confidence, he stepped back into the living.

#twisted wonderland #Twisted wonderland x reader #Death au #Death!reader #vil shoenheit #vil x reader

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colormepurplex2 · 8 months

Text

Did It Hurt? | Prologue: The Fall

↳ FallenAngel!Taehyung x LostSoul!f.Reader ⤜ Fallen Angel AU, Strangers to Lovers ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 880 ⚠️ Violence, injury, judgement and punishment

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Taehyung, Sometime around the end of the 20th century, in the Divine Chamber of Justice, Heaven

“Why are we even bothering with this trial?” Phanuel asks, crossing his arms and giving his Brother a pitying look. “Is it fair to hold ourselves to a higher standard than the ones we protect?”

Amitiel harrumphs softly. “Of course we are to hold ourselves to a higher standard. We are Divine Protectors of the Heavens, pointedly above those we protect.”

“I think what Phanuel is trying to say,” comments Mitzrael, “is that there is nothing in the Doctrine about what Brother Taehyung did being unforgivable. If those we protect can be forgiven through Grace, shouldn’t we afford our Brother that same Grace?”

“I say we hand him over to our Fallen Brothers in Hell,” mutters Kushiel, ever the rigid purveyor of punishment.

Gabriel shifts where he sits at the pinnacle of the Judgement dias. “The spilling of one’s Holy Seed is different from that of a mortal’s seed. We all are aware of this. The creation of Nephilim has been strictly forbidden since the fall of Lucifer. Therefore, the act that can potentially create such a monstrosity should be punished to the fullest extent. After all, Taehyung may not have created a Nephilim, but to even act in pleasures of the flesh where that is a possibility is worthy enough of our ire. Imagine the destruction he would have wrought, untold devastation.”

There is a quiet murmur around the chamber, soft echoes of fear and agreement, Sarathiel loudest of them all.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, Brother Taehyung?” Zadkiel asks, speaking over the hushed clamor.

Taehyung prostrates himself before his gathered Brothers, pressing his forehead to the smooth surface of the floor, wings splayed out behind him. Holding the position for a few precious moments, he gathers his thoughts before looking up and meeting all their gazes one by one until he’s focused on Gabriel. His Brother might not be the Angel of Judgement, but he’s the Leader of all Angels, which Taehyung knows holds far more sway over all the others than anyone else; he’s a leader for a reason.

“Brothers,” he begins, “I would not ask for forgiveness for such an unforgivable act. As Brother Gabriel has stated, what I did was careless, not just to myself but to all others. I endangered all that we hold Divine and Holy here. I endangered our home. But I would ask for your leniency, your guidance and deliverance. Treat me as one of the flock. Let me seek righteousness and serve a penance for my disgrace. Do not cast me into oblivion. Let me prove myself worthy.”

“We shall take that into consideration.” Sarathiel eyes Taehyung with a cold appraisal. Fear and pain burn hot in Taehyung’s chest. The few stolen moments he sought with–he can’t even think of their name without wanting to wail in mourning–have proven to be what might be his downfall; literally.

The Counsel gathers, cloistering themselves behind a hazy wall of silence. All Taehyung can do is watch them, trying to discern what words lips are forming and what the emotions flashing across his Brothers’ faces mean. Gabriel and Sarathiel seem to be leading the conversation. He can only hope they both remember their love for him in their hearts.

It could be hours, or just minutes, before the shield falls and noise eases back into the chamber, sounding far too loud after the silence. Taehyung thinks he might sickup on the floor if that’s even something Angels can do; he’s seemingly forgotten how to function at all.

The Angel of Justice, his Brother, Raquel, steps forward and gives Taehyung a sad, soft smile before beginning, “It is with heavy hearts that we, the Council of Grace and Purity, hereby sentence you, Brother Taehyung, to one hundred years of exile for breaking your Oath of Holy Divinity by seeking pleasures of the flesh and spilling Holy Seed. At the end of your one hundred years, if and only if you have found a soul seeking absolution and deliver them unto a path of justice and redemption, will you be granted back within the sanctity of this Kingdom and your wings restored. If you fail in your penance, you will feel the wrath of Divine Smite. May the Lord have mercy on your everlasting soul.”

Always so regal and poised, Michael steps forward, the tip of his great sword trailing just a breath above the floor. Taehyung couldn’t bear to look his brother in the eye for fear of seeing the disappointment there.

“Let it be known,” Michael whispers over Taehyung’s bowed head, “I take no pleasure in this, Brother.” With one felling sweep of Michael’s blade, Taehyung is rendered incomplete, severed from his proper form. White feathers fill the air, softening the cry that rips itself from Taehyung’s throat.

His Brothers watch as he plummets from the Heavens, entering a fiery free fall into an existence none of them envy. If only he had the Grace to keep his hands to himself. Though not all Angels are meant for the Heavens, that much is clear. They can only hope Taehyung finds his way once again, or Lucifer damn him, they’ll lose another to the darkness.

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#kim taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #taehyung angst #taehyung fluff #taehyung fanfic #taehyung imagines #taehyung fanfiction #bts taehyung #fallenangeltaehyung #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts angst #bangtanwhq #btscreaturecoven

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patrophthia · 1 year

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hi, can i please request ravenclaw!hijabi!indian!fem! reader giving theo something she doesn't find spicy at all but he almost dies when he eats bc he's an european white boy and the only seasoning he knows is salt pls?? thanks xx

the way you worded this is so funny!!! ily omg and as an asian who cannot handle spice well i feel for this european white boy, but you asked so i shall deliver!!

too spicy for your heart | theo. nott

pairing: theodore nott x fem!reader

yeah the title is an aespa lyric so what 🤨🤨

You’ve been crunching on your snacks for a good fifteen minutes now, your fingers slightly tinged orange. Theodore has been eyeing you and your snacks —not that you aren’t one in his eyes, for an even better twenty minutes.

Based off of the packaging, the smell, and from what seems to be textures of the snack. He concludes that he’s never had it before, and though the redness of the snack scares him a little, he decides to be brave (a trait Slytherins —like him, tends to lack) and ask you about it. “What’s that?”

“Just something my mum sent me,” you answered, tilting the bag in his direction whilst watching him. “Want some?”

His eyes narrows onto the bag, his hand moving from where it was resting and onto his thighs: a safe distance from the potential threat (is it really though?). “Is it spicy?” He asks slowly.

“No?” You answer him slowly, not too slow for him to be suspicious yet not too quick for him not to be either. “I used to eat all the time when I was little so I doubt it’s spicy, just try it.”

You nudge it towards his direction once more and when it seemed as though he wasn’t going to try it on his own accord anytime soon. You took one of your chips and held it out for him. “Come on,” you say; having half a mind to tease him about being such a big baby about it. “Trust me it’s not spicy.”

Theodore eyes drift between you and the snack in your hand and took in a deep breath. He trusts you, he knows you won’t lie to him, especially when it comes to things like these. His lips part, and let you feed him your snack. His lips close and it takes him a second before his bites into it.

It’s okay, flavorful; that’s what he thought of it on his initial bite. It’s definitely flavorful, that’s what he registers when he begins chewing it. It’s so so incredibly flavor— ah fuck, what the fuck. Theodore coughs, choking slightly at the sudden heat.

He’s polite though, so he shuts his mouth as his hand flails aimlessly, silently hoping that you’d get his message and get him something to spit it out on. You do get his message and grabs him a tissue with a concern look. He takes it gratefully —though you can’t really tell just how grateful he was from how often he was coughing.

He spits out the snack, staring at you with wide eyes —as if you were something mythical he could only imagined as a child because how on earth could someone have been digging into the bag as much as you have and have no reaction to the spices at all.

“Are you okay?” You ask after a bit, a hand gliding up and down his back soothingly.

“No,” he croaks out, “my girlfriend’s witch.”

You bite back a smile, trying not to point out you were in one of the four houses within a wizarding school. You fail though: “and you’re a wizard, Theodore. What’s your point here?”

His eyes is still wide as saucers, still recovering as he glared at your bag of snacks —and this time you laugh, you actually laugh at his downfall. “How can you eat that? How can you say that it’s not spicy it’s so—”

“It’s as mild paprika.” You baffle him. Theodore shuffles away from you, sure he’s never heard of —or fully had a taste of paprika in his life (he doesn’t even want to try it), but he’s certain that he shouldn’t trust you on this.

“I don’t care if it’s mild as paprika,” he murmurs, “I can’t believe I’m dating someone who eats that because she wants to.”

You laugh again, and though it normally soften his heart; Theodore is frowning this time around. “What are we supposed to do when we live together? How are we supposed to feed one another?”

Theodore doesn’t pay attention to how his heart skips a beat at your words; not letting the idea of the two of you living together get to him. “You cook your own food,” he huffs, “and I mine.”

“And season it with what?” You have a smile on your face that he hates —it’s too pretty to look at, you’re too gorgeous for your own good and he hates it. “Salt?”

“Yeah,” Theodore mutters, “and pepper if I feel like adding a bit of heat.”

When you giggle at his words this time around, he doesn’t even bother to pretend hating how your glee comes from his suffering. Maybe you’re a bit too spicy for his heart, but he’ll learn to build up his spice tolerance for you.

#theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #Theodore nott scenarios #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott crack #theodore nott blurbs #theodore nott imagines #theodore nott humor #theodore nott fanfic #🧳: my writing #🍰: 600 with patro!

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fancifulplaguerat · 6 months

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I want to talk about Georgiy Kain. Fr find that miserable old man so compelling. Imo the best way to analyze Georgiy is through his attitude surrounding Simon’s death, which is whole-hearted denial clearly predicated on Georgiy’s symbolic interpretation of Simon’s death. This is repeated ad nauseam in Georgiy’s dialogue with Clara and Daniil in their respective routes, and I shall start with Daniil.

Georgiy insists to Daniil that “Simon could not have died a natural death, so murder is the only feasible explanation” and “under no circumstances could my brother die a natural death.” When Daniil explains that Simon died of plague, Georgiy pushes back and insists that without tangible proof he won’t credit Daniil. He says, “If what you say is true, doctor, the labour of our life is condemned. We will seek a different answer till the very end.” This introduces that Simon’s death denotes the Kains’ downfall to Georgiy, and his apparent desperation towards this is evident in his emphatic denial and repetition of this sentiment. For instance, he tells Daniil “Till the very last moment I will hope that the murderer does exist […] if you’re right, that is a death sentence for us all. Look for the murderer as long as you can.” Georgiy somewhat shows his hand here, given that he will “hope” a murder exists and accordingly implores that Daniil look for a murderer “as long as he can.”

I think my dearest Victor provides further evidence for Georgiy’s desperation-informed denial, as if Daniil asks whether Simon’s death resulted from his experiments, Victor says, “I think, between me and you, that this is precisely what my brother Georgiy fears.” But even rational Victor echoes Georgiy’s interpretation of Simon’s death: “the cause of Simon’s death is much too significant. It seems we are on the brink of a realization that will be a death warrant to all of us—and, more importantly, to our life’s work. Georgiy wants to exhaust all possibilities of finding proof that he is mistaken.” Georgiy seemingly explains this potential death warrant under Clara Oath, in a confession which contains the same sentiments as his exhortations to Daniil. That is, Georgiy claims that “if [Simon’s] death was not a tragic accident but the ruling of some remorseless law, it will mean that our family's entire cause has been condemned. The town will perish. […] I will try to keep believing that his death was an accident. For as long as I can keep this belief alive, I'll be able to strive for our creation to flourish as it always did.”

So, I think this reflects Patho Classic’s broader narrative as presented in Clara’s Route; that the Plague is the Law attempting to correct itself as the Utopians broke it with the Polyhedron. The Kains appear aware that some calamity was looming, as Maria claimed that they had expected it, and with all the Kains’ manipulation of Daniil as a successor I think the Kains knew they were fucked to Hell and back and that Simon’s “death” (infection) was the nail in the coffin. Especially since Georgiy characterises Simon’s death as the “ruling of some remorseless law” if it were not murder, which Imo evokes characters like Katerina, Griff, and Anna in the Bachelor Route, who claim that Simon’s death was inevitable. This appears further supplement through another dialogue between Georgiy and Daniil:

Georgiy Kain: We will fight... until the very end. I will personally persecute those who would dare describe this disease as some kind of preordained divine retribution! I will attack anyone who would say Simon got what he deserved! Finally, I will not allow anyone to say that what Simon has built by ceaseless labour is subject to inevitable destruction. Bachelor: Retribution for what? [or] Is it really inevitable? So this omnipresent fatalism is in your nature too? Georgiy Kain: Sooner or later the one who dares challenge the mechanics of nature will pay the price. But this is not something we'd want to believe, is it? This is a conclusion drawn by people who tend to mistake their exhaustion for wisdom. However, even an echo would sometimes grow to become deafening noise. If people keep saying we're doomed, they might well bring about our extinction.

Two main points here. Firstly, Georgiy directly addresses disease as divine retribution, and his impassioned claim to persecute anyone who describes it as such again exemplifies his apparent desperation. Likewise Georgiy’s response to Simon references the inevitable destruction which Simon’s death apparently heralds. Yet I think this dialogue also suggests that Georgiy’s denial is not truly denial in the conventional sense, but an attempt to rewrite what has happened. That is, I find it pertinent that Georgiy claims that people may doom themselves if they *say* so—Georgiy apparently believes in performative utterance, or that speech can change reality. Thus perhaps he holds that if he empathetically claims that Simon died of murder, he could somehow manifest this in reality and preclude the inevitable downfall of his family and their labours. Georgiy thus echoes a consistent theme I’ve noticed in Patho (particularly in Clara’s Route) that individuals’ beliefs can influence reality’s course. Yulia even addresses this in respect to Simon: “People like [Simon] are a natural hazard. Their mission exists as long as they believe in it, and others suffer from its consequences.” Yulia’s dialogue suggests to me that Georgiy’s denial is an attempt at a performative speech act—that as long as he *believes* in Simon’s murder, his death was neither inevitable nor divine retribution, and thus the Kains are not doomed.

I am presenting for the jury my main evidence Georgiy’s admission that “Till the very last moment I hoped that my brother’s demise was of… mechanical nature. That he had suffered a violent death. I was waiting so eagerly for it to be proven. The cause of his death will undoubtedly become the reason all of us will die. So it’s the Plague after all…” Which Imo confirmed that the Plague is indeed the Law attempting to put the utopians back in line. This also seems apparent in Victor/Georgiy’s contrasting perspectives on Simon’s death and how they view Clara: Georgiy clings to his conviction that Clara is Simon’s murderer, and Victor is more merciful towards her. Victor’s mercy could ofc be personality difference, but there seems more to it, as he tells Clara, “Saddened though I am on Simon’s account, I am nonetheless not so foolish as to be angry with you. Only a fool would curse and threaten the wind that has torn the sail off his mast. Besides, unlike Georgiy, I profoundly doubt the imminence of your victory.” Victor apparently doubts the plague necessarily means the Kains’ downfall—perhaps he has more faith in another way out, presumably through Daniil and Maria.

Victor also interestingly claims that “I’m doing everything I can to make [Georgiy] face the terrible truth. Simon wasn’t immortal” but Georgiy claims “Immortality is the greatest secret humanity is forbidden to posses. Still, my brother managed to break the seal that locked it away from everyone else.” I have no precise explanation for this disparity, but I have a Theory based in Georgiy’s dynamic with Simon. That is, Georgiy is particularly concerned with Simon’s soul rather than Simon as his brother. This somewhat manifests in how Georgiy’s denial seemingly rests in what Simon’s death represents, but is dragged out into the open through Clara’s “hook” for Georgiy’s soul: “Georgiy, oh Georgiy, I know of you this: you didn’t love* Simon, and you were no twin of his.” (*The translation is “you didn’t like” Simon, but the Russian uses любил and frankly that is too catastrophic a difference in meaning). This initially seems somewhat counterintuitive given how Georgiy’s relationship to Simon is defined by other characters; Victor claims “There’s no tradition Georgiy wouldn’t disregard for Simon’s sake” and Nina (as Victor) says “Georgiy Kain, who so ardently desired eternal life for his brother, has committed himself in entirety to Simon’s Memory.” In combination with Georgiy’s little denial-sponsored murder mystery, it seems somewhat out of left field, but ! I think it suggests the point I want to make that Georgiy’s care for Simon is for his soul, not his brother.

For my damning I-rest-my-case evidence I offer Rubin’s claim that “I won’t be able to bring Simon back, but I might try to discover his secret. If Georgiy cares more about his brother’s mission than his person, he’ll agree.” Because Georgiy does just that !! Even though Rubin and others are bewildered that Georgiy chooses to forgive him rather than smite him dead for snatching Simon’s body. This seems more likely given that Georgiy explicitly tells Daniil that “It isn’t Simon himself that we [the Kains] need—but the power of creation he wields. We live for its sake. Simon is not the Polyhedron’s purpose; rather, Simon’s purpose was to allow such Polyhedrons to spring up in this world.” Another circumstantial detail is that Georgiy is routinely described a fanatic above anyone else in the Kain family, apparently obsessed with their mission.

Now everyone stay with me but. I do think that Simon Kain was a living breathing twin of Georgiy, but that he is potentially holding an immortal soul passed down through the Kain family, since the Kains have practiced reincarnation for five generations and Georgiy routinely discusses Simon’s soul as its own entity. Also how the game complicates whether Simon *really* exists, because on the one hand, Rubin and Victor’s dialogues indicate that he did. When Daniil asks whether Simon truly existed, Victor claims: “There is indeed a spark of genius to you. Alas… yes. Yes, he did […] Alas—for that would be too simple an explanation. Simon well and truly did exist.” Likewise Rubin: “You think I don’t know what Simon looked like? You think his greatness, his noble visage, is comparable to his brother or anyone else?” This may explain the contrast between Victor and Georgiy’s conceptions of him—that Victor thinks of Simon more as his brother, and Georgiy as the “soul of creation” for which the Kains live, capable of becoming quasi-divine or an udurgh, with the Polyhedron as his new body. I mean. This theory is not perfect but it helps me sleep at night.

On that note of “comparable to his brother,” I also want to examine some possible jealousy of Georgiy’s. In particular because Patho insists that Georgiy cannot replace Simon, which seemingly seeks to suggest that Georgiy was lesser to Simon. Clara can ask Georgiy outright whether he will replace Simon, and Georgiy claims “None of us [the Kains] would be able to advance and sustain the town in the way Simon did,” which suggests that he recognizes an inferiority to Simon. Then there is all that Victor Lore which I will throw on the table again, where the Stamatins claim that Victor could succeed Simon. Peter says, “I think [Victor’s] waiting for Georgiy to make an unpopular move to finally show his real face. Just kidding,” and Andrey claims, “Victor was a good disciple to Simon. He’ll manage to renew his achievement. Georgiy won’t,” and “Victor is a natural born ruler; he could be doing it all by himself. It’s Victor, not Georgiy, who is Simon’s true heir.” Even goddamn Daniil is framed as an heir for Simon over Georgiy. Now. I DO NOT think this is literal, that Victor or Daniil (<3) are capable of what Simon was. Rather, this is more about Victor’s leadership and that Victor is pragmatic and Georgiy too fanatic. In fact, it seems like Georgiy’s Achilles’ heel is indeed his fanaticism; that is why he could never replace Simon, because he is just oh so obsessed. BUT. I think it’s interesting that there is one way Georgiy was apparently Simon’s intellectual superior: he created the philosophy of Focus and Memory.

Victor explicitly informs the player that Georgiy “had rather simplistic views on the connection between the human body and the soul. Disregarding the opinions of theologians and philosophers, and ignoring serious studies on the subject, he worked out a doctrine of his own. Try to imagine our shock when it turned out to be true. […] We don't understand it ourselves. This necrosophy was probably the only area in which Georgiy had surpassed his great brother. No one knows why, but his recipes for communicating with the dead did work. All this terminology—‘Memory', 'the Focus’—is of his coinage.” The phrasing of “surpassed” is what again suggests some potential competition between Georgiy and Simon. Then Georgiy elucidates his methodology in dialogues with Daniil, which I am compelled to include for my personal reference:

“Dealing with the dead calls for scientific precision, doctor. I reality there is neither magic, nor necromancy. […] There is life after death. That much is certain. A man most certainly has a soul. And that soul certainly belongs to a better world—more so than to the one it leaves behind. Trying to prolong the time the soul has to stay here is not doing it any favours” and “To bring one’s dearly departed back to life [….] The fact of the matter is that the dead linger inside us—their living counterparts […] the dead may be brought back to life by the focussed emotions of the living.” Given that the Kains have apparently practiced reincarnation for centuries, Georgiy thus appears to have innovated or improved upon this methodology, and in so doing did one thing Simon could not, but still in service Simon—or rather, Simon’s immortal soul.

#sorry for longposting about this cringefail old man but he's just so interesting #pathologic #georgiy kain #patho.txt

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