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#well in the end performance art is performance art
ghostchems · 2 days
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infernal - terzo x f!reader - part four
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art by the amazing @piaart!!
author’s note: HAPPY FUCKING BIRTHDAY @angellayercake!! GO TELL HER HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!
so sorry for the delay on this haha. i've been wrestling with this for a while but i'm pretty happy with it now! it is about 4.4k words. part one/two/three. ao3 linky.
Terzo’s house is different at night. The lights are dim and the shadows are long, every long, creaking corridor seemingly ending in a black void. You’ve never been here this late. In fact, you can’t remember what you were just doing… why are you working late? The hardwood floor rasps beneath your shoes as you turn a corner and see him inside the room at the end of the hallway, sprawled out across a plush purple couch. Terzo immediately perks up at the sight of you, propping himself on his elbows, the usual lop-sided grin sitting handsomely on his face. You feel like you float to him and you’re suddenly standing next to the couch, hovering over him. One of his hands crawls up your waist and then loops his arm around you to pull you down on top of him. It’s much more forward than the careful dance the two of you have been doing since the couch incident. You struggle to breathe in his lap, his hands firmly planted on your waist as he leans up to level his eyes with yours.
“This is what you want, si?” He purrs, his hands snaking up your back to hold you close to him, his face an inch away from you. His paint is sharp, more sharp than usual, and he feels hot to the touch, his fingers nearly burning through your shirt. Your heart flutters and you gasp, your mouth dropping open as his stuttered breath hits your lips. “You like me. You want me. You’ve wanted me from the start, haven’t you, puffetta?” You’ve heard him growl before but not like this, not in a low hum that sends a shiver down your spine. Words fail you but you manage to nod. And nod. And nod again before his large hand grabs the back of your head, his fingers knotting in your hair. You nearly moan in anticipation, wanting and needing this so badly, his lips just about to touch yours — so close to finally tasting him.
Instead, you wake up in a cold sweat, your fingers dug into the sheets and drool on your pillow. Your panting and your cheeks are flushed but you slowly start to cool off once you rip the comforter off of you, throwing it to the ground in frustration. Mostly frustration at yourself for continuing to watch videos of your boss performing. You can’t help it. Terzo let you in. He invited you to sit beside him and take a peak into his world. The memorabilia makes sense now, the posters, the photographs, the everything.
And you want to know more.
“Ah, it is really… coming along, eh?” Terzo sounds so sleepy, brushing the hair out of his eyes and gazing out of the kitchen window while his hip rests against the counter. You take a moment to look up from your laptop and out the window as well, silently taking in the improvements that have been made under your care. The grass is a lush green, a hammock underneath the only tree in the yard, now trimmed and shaped to actually resemble one. A patio with a stylish dark grey conversation set beneath a hardtop gazebo is just to the left of the window, nestled in a corner of the yard. The garden still needs some work but there are two small raised beds in the back corner, where the sun shines the most, and a few spots already reserved for jalapeno peppers at Terzo’s insistence. You turn back to look at him, unable to fight off the blush that rises to your cheeks.
“Do you like it?” There’s a lilt in your voice, lips pulling into a small smile. It makes him melt a little bit.
“Si, yes. It is much nicer than it was before…” He trails off as he slinks closer to you only to keep his gaze settled on the yard. “We must have spritz’s outside one of these nights.”
“Spritz?”
“Ehhh, it’s like rosso arancio — orangey **drink with ice cubes and, uhhhh, ah! Served in a wine glass.” His mannerisms make you smile even more. You feel like a fool and you’re sure you look like one but you can’t help it. Your dream intensified your feelings, making it nearly impossible to hide them at this point. Is it so bad? To have a crush on your weird, retired-rockstar boss?
“Oh, like in White Lotus?” You rest your chin on your hands and flutter your eyes at him. Terzo flashes a bright smile but you can see in his eyes that he has no idea what you’re talking about. Silence lingers with him hovering just above you, your eyes locked. The moment is interrupted by the buzzing of your phone. “Oh shit, the landscaper!” You grab your phone and hurry out of the kitchen and toward the backyard.
Terzo keeps his eyes on the yard, slipping his hands in his robe pockets as he waits for you to appear. You caught him off guard this morning, your dreamlike gaze and easy smile making it impossible for him to be anything other than endeared to you. He’s almost relieved for the interruption because of how close he was to breaking the tension, wanting nothing more than to shove his fingers down your throat and watch those bright eyes widen with shock. You come into view with the landscaper trailing behind you, looking over your shoulder with a smile as you use your hand to sweep across the landscape with your finger ending up pointing to some brush that needs to be cleared. Terzo has spent so much time just watching you operate and he hasn’t tired of it, which is a feat due to his relatively short attention span. In fact, he doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of it.
You’re a natural with people. You always have a cheery smile, a nice greeting and some banter to lighten things up. He’s been so shut-in, his only company either you or his own voice, that watching genuine human interaction makes him swoon hard for you. His mind drifts to the times when he used to be social and how it used to fuel him, how it used to keep him going even after his Papacy fell apart.
What fuels him now? His gaze falls to where you had been sitting and his attention is immediately captured. You left you laptop open.
Terzo has always been nosy, even during his days at the Abbey. He can’t help but allow his eyes to focus on your email inbox that you foolishly left open. How many secrets could be in your inbox? What could he find out about you through what’s there? Terzo resists. He truly does for a split second. But he just cannot help himself. He slinks into the wooden kitchen chair you are set up at and pulls his glasses out from his robe pocket. He clicks on the first thing he sees: Banana Republic and is disappointed that it is only clothes. One of the male models catches his attention, though.
His outfit, specifically. A henley and a cardigan, matched tastefully with a pair of sweatpants. Terzo wonders if this is the kind of style you like. He pulls out his phone and opens the Banana Republic website but freezes when he hears faint footsteps. Terzo scrambles out of your chair, only to settle close by, leaning against a nearby wall and pretending to be hopelessly distracted by his phone (aka, staring at cardigans).
You enter the kitchen and can’t help by eye him suspiciously, the look on his face perhaps just a bit too aloof. He keeps scrolling lazily and starts to lean backward, all too aware of your gaze. It lingers for a moment before you sit back down, knitting your brows together at the email open on your screen. Then, you see that it’s up to 50% off all items which could be combined with clearance items and you’re clicking the link, getting lost in the undeniable pull of online shopping. Terzo gives a dramatic huff and leaves the room, desperately trying to hide how tickled he is.
You stare at yourself in the mirror, unable to hide a grimace. This is silly. Today is date day. You ended up texting Dylan. How could you not? Something you’ve longed for since you were a girl was offered up to you on a silver platter. So — why aren’t you more excited? Instead, Terzo is on the mind. It feels like he’s consumed your whole life as of late, spending your days in his home working for him and now he’s seeped into your home time. You haven’t allowed yourself to fully go down the rabbit hole, sticking only with the videos he had shown you in his home despite your YouTube recommendations now being full of him but also… other videos of different singers and musicians under the same band name. Of course, you couldn’t ask despite your curiosity — it’s obviously something of a sore subject and he’s only just started opening up to you more about that time of his life. The last thing you want to do is press him on something so personal and painful to him.
But now you have to live with this knowledge.
You try to push the thought from the forefront of you mind, instead focusing on yourself in the mirror again. A black shift dress hugs your figure and you have your red scarf, your favorite scarf, loose around your neck. How are you supposed to dress for this occasion? A date after work? It’s impossible to put together an appropriate outfit for both. But also — who are you kidding? The idea of Terzo seeing you in a dress has you anxious in more ways than one. No one needs an excuse to wear a dress but for some reason you feel guilty. Guilty that this dress isn’t for him. Maybe… a little bit disappointed, too. But you should give Dylan a shot, right?
“Right?” Oh, you are anxious.
Something catches your eye in your mirror, your gaze slowly trailing toward it. Your red scarf. You hum in thought for a moment and then turn to snatch it off your dresser, quickly looping it around your neck. Immediate relief washes over you, something about the scarf soothing your nerves. Could be because it makes you think of the way warm knuckles brushed along your cool neck. A shiver runs down your spine and your cheeks flush from the thought. Fuck. You have to pull yourself together. Time to focus on work, on getting shit done to distract yourself from… well everything.
Meanwhile, Terzo is having a similar time looking at himself in disbelief. It’s the most put together he’s tried to be since his days as Papa. He sits on the edge of his bed, one hand on each knee, his toes tapping on the ground in front of him. The amount of thought that has gone into this outfit is silly, even though he basically bought exactly what the model was wearing. Now his thoughts have turned to how should he be sitting when you arrive? See? It’s silly*.* He almost ashamed of how **you’ve wormed your way into his cold, broken heart **when **that was not his plan. You’re supposed to be obsessed with him, waiting on him hand and foot while kissing the ground he walks on. Instead he’s fallen for you. How embarrassing. But how could it have been avoided?
Terzo rests his palms on either side of his bed as he leans back and spreads his legs, sharp eyes examining his position for a beat. Too forward? An amused grin flickers across his face at the thought of you reacting to him like this. Definitely too forward. He tilts his head and adjusts himself with care, back straightening out and he crosses his legs. Closer but not quite. Terzo stares at his own reflection, admiring his paint for the day. Every time he sees himself he wonders why he still applies it everyday. Perhaps it’s a comfort thing, makes him feel like he’s important again. Like he’s Papa.
He wonders if he’ll ever hear you call him that.
Terzo takes a deep breath and exhales with a rumble, his eyes falling shut. You would do anything he asked, wouldn’t you? His mouth splits into a grin as he runs his slender fingers through his hair. Eyes open slowly, gaze focusing on his reflection. Strands of hair had fallen into his face and his head overall looking stylishly unkempt. More giggles.
Perfect.
Some mornings it’s like you blink and you’re at Terzo’s home. Not this morning. You are hyper aware of every stoplight, every Dunkin Donuts as your commute drags out to the second. Too much alone time with your overactive brain plotting out kind of every situation where something could go wrong with the date or work today and coming up with attack plan after attack plan to fix the issue. Not fun. After what feels like an eternity, you pull through the eerie wrought iron gate and travel down the long, tree lined driveway. Tension fills your chest as you come to a slow stop. It’s just one weird day that you have to get through.
You got this.
Terzo is already in the foyer by the time you walk through the door which is unlike him, usually spending most mornings in bed or somewhere else dark and comfy until he can no longer tolerate his caffeine withdrawal headache. He’s balancing his coffee cup on his thigh, one hand resting behind his head while the other scrolls through his phone. Your feet come to a stop, blinking a few times to ensure what you’re seeing is real, having never seen him this clothed before*.* He’s still in sweatpants but they taper down to his ankles and he’s wearing a pair of moccasins, his hair expertly tousled and reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He’s wearing a white henley that is artfully unbuttoned to expose his thick chest hair and a cozy navy blue cardigan draped over his slinky shoulders. Only his eyes are painted — giving you the chance to finally see his bare face, smooth olive skin wrinkled with age. You stare at him silently. He looks like he’s come directly out of a magazine. Terzo head tilts to face you, his eyes still focused on his phone until they unhurriedly drag away from the screen to settle on you.
“Ammazza…” The word is an impassioned whisper. He’s stunned, eyes wide as he looks over your figure with such a deliberate slowness it makes your cheeks burn. Dark eyes settle on your scarf, a smirk tugging on his lips, then his gaze flickers to meet yours. He rises from his seat, one hand clumsily snatching his coffee from his lap to stop himself from spilling, trying to hide his clumsiness with a cough. “Buongiorno mio toppolino… eh, you are wearing a dress?”
“I am. You’re wearing a cardigan.”
“I am.” Terzo purrs and slinks closer to you as he slips his phone into his cardigan pocket. His clumsiness is now replaced by that irresistible lazy swagger you are so familiar with. He lets his eyes wander again, tilting his head while regarding you. You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest but it’s impossible to hide the blush that creeps up your cheeks. “I do not think I can let you start work without a dance, not when you are wearing such a beautiful dress, puffetta.” There’s an undeniable heat in his words. It’s too early for this.
“It’s too early for this, Terzo.” You huff as you avert his eyes, a desperate attempt to not fall under his spell.
“Come now… I don’t want to pull the “boss” card but, eh…?” He sets his coffee down on the table as his other arm brazenly snakes around your waist. Your face is fully red now and your brain is in a deep state of fart but you manage to move with him. This is the exact opposite of what you wanted for today but you find your stress slipping away to focus on the warmth of his fingers from having held his mug of coffee. He guides your hand to his chest then slips his bare hand along your other arm until he laces his fingers in yours and raises them to lead the way. Terzo is taller than you, not by much but he still looms over you, those piercing eyes never leaving yours. He starts to slowly sway to imaginary music as your cheeks burn, your chest impossibly warm but you start to loosen up, especially as his movements grow more fluid. “There is always time for a little dance, eh?” Terzo leans in close enough that you can feel his warm breath on your lips then rests his cheek against your temple with a hum.
And you thought cuddling on the couch was intimate. You feel every inhale and exhale, his humming gradually growing stronger in your ear. His cool lips and warm breath giving you goosebumps. Cirice. You recognize it from your be various videos you’ve watched but bite your tongue and enjoy him. This may not be a stage in front of thousands of people but it definitely feels like a demonstration of some kind. Or he could just be pushing the boundary like the creeper he is and you’re eating. it. up. The last time you slow danced was at your senior prom with your date who was on probation — unbeknownst to you at the time he asked you. Somehow this is far less awkward than that. His arm around your waist starts to shift upward, his large hand pressing up your back. He lifts his head but is still only a breath away, his smile lines deep as his gaze meets yours. Your heart stirs in your chest, air caught in your lungs but before you get swept up in the moment he changes the tone.
Terzo starts singing, more energetic and loud as he leads you from the foyer into the den. You nearly trip over yourself when he twirls you, picking up the pace to be more jaunty, more goofy. But even with the fun movements you are extremely aware of his hand on the small of your back, fingertips pressing against you every so often. He’s smiling so wide that it makes it hard for you to hold it together. All of your worries about the day are gone, though — replaced by being completely entranced by him. You know just how special this song is to him, the moments he had on stage with fans, holding their hands and kissing their knuckles. And now he has you in his arms.
“I am going to dip you now.”
“You’re going to wha--?!” You squeal as he dips you, your hand frantically gripping onto his shoulder. He doesn’t drop you though, instead pulling you back to your feet with his toned arms curling around your back. You stop breathing, your chests touching and a strand of his hair brushing against your forehead from how close the two of you are.
“Mm… you are a good dance partner, you know? Easy to lead.” Is he trying to kill you today? Terzo gives you some space but still sways with you, the dance feeling more like… more like standing very close to one another waiting for something to happen. “You spoiled me today with wearing this dress.”
And a punch to your gut. Extreme guilt builds inside you and you can’t stop the distress from being all over your face.
“Oh…oh, puffetta, I am sorry, am I making you uncomfortable or—?” You cut him off with a sigh and take a step away from him, your eyes closing to give yourself time to collect your feelings while his arms fall from around you.
“No, I’m sorry. Ugh, this is so weird. I’m… I have a date after work today. So that’s what the dress is for.” There is no air in your lungs. Everything is so strained. “But you… this…” A flutter in your chest. “I like it. I’m… sorry this dress isn’t for you.” Do you even need to be apologizing? The answer would be no if it was anyone else other than him.
His face is stone cold, so different than the joy that had radiated from him just moments ago. The smile is gone and his brows are furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. You think you’re going to, ummm, die? All you can do is stare back at him, eyes incredibly wide and worry etched across your face. What is he thinking? Why is he taking so long?
One of Terzo’s hands lunges forward and grabs you by the back of your neck, his thumb pressed hard right below your ear. A surprised yelp, grasping for his sleeve and his shirt as his grip on you only tightens. His lips crush against your mouth, tongue forcing it’s way inside. He tastes like spiced coffee. The kiss is ferocious, you feel like you’re disappearing into it, mind blank but fingers digging into the fabric of his cardigan. Terzo’s teeth graze your bottom lip as he pulls away, a fiery look in his eyes.
“Do not forget who you belong too.” A low, vicious growl with bared teeth, pointed fangs glistening in the morning light. He uses his strength to push you down to your knees by your neck, your legs now trembling beneath. Speechless, you can’t look away from him now. Silence stretches between you. And then… he leaves and doesn’t spare you another glance.
You think you are broken. There’s an ache, a primal ache between your legs that burns hotter than you’ve ever felt before. Your skin is on fire, your cheeks burning and numb. What the fuck? He kissed you. Your boss kissed you and then spoke to you as if you are his possession. And it makes you want him more than ever before.
How are you going to be able to think about anything else?
Lucky for you, Terzo is MIA for the rest of the day.
You work as if he is standing over you, watching your every move. You don’t want to disappoint him, not now. Not after he kissed you. But the date. Dylan. Oh, Dylan. Caught in the middle of something there is no way he will ever understand. You hover in your text chat with him a few times with intent to cancel on him… but you can’t. He’s the one who got away, the one who you pined for like an idiot throughout half your life. This date could close that book. Or it could be the prologue. You won’t know unless you follow through.
The end of the day rolls around and you can’t help but pause in the foyer on your way out. Your chest tightens. Such a pleasant start to the day only to spiral out of control. You’re almost happy he kissed you before you were able to tell him that your date was picking you up from his house. The front porch creaks beneath your feet, the rotting wood the focus of your work today. Dylan is already there, leaning against his car and he gives you a big wave. You smile and wave back, light on your feet as you head toward him.
“Ma che cazzo…?” Terzo stares in disbelief, watching from his bedroom window as your date opens the passenger side door for you. Rage boils up within him, his hands clutching at the hem of his cardigan. A ceiling light POPS! behind him, green electricity illuminates the room but only for a second. Flames light up the bottom of the curtains, slowly eating away at them until they are completely engulfed. He’s too angry to care. The shy smile you gave your date eats him up inside, churning his stomach and making his nerves spark. The car fades from view and he unleashes an anguished scream as his hands seemingly grow claws, tearing and ripping the cardigan he had so carefully styled that morning. He doesn’t stop until he’s shirtless and surrounded by shreds of fabric. A sloppy wave of his hand somehow extinguishes the flames, leaving him in his room in the dark.
The nerve of you. To flirt, to giggle, to flutter your beautiful, delicate eyelashes at him while entertaining the idea of another man in your mind. A whore for attention, aren’t you? Pain in his chest. He shouldn’t call you a whore. You don’t deserve that. But it hurts, puffetta. Is it because he slacked off? Or that he had gone soft on you? Terzo groans as he sits on his bed, lasting less than a second before he flops onto the mattress and sinks into the mess of covers. He has been too soft, fucking twirling you around the foyer like a lovesick puppy. A romantic at heart always, eh? It was worth it — seeing you smile and blush gives him life, a reason to wake up the next morning because he has nothing else to do. You’ve made this shithole the Ministry saddled him with into a place that actually makes him feel at home. So… maybe he could be somewhat lenient with your punishment.
Electricity crackles in his bones. He is going to spend the rest of the night here, he thinks, casting a glance at his ancient alarm clock. 5:30pm. What else could possibly get him out of bed at this point? Terzo huffs and swings one of his legs over his body to lazily roll over, dragging the covers along with him to successfully burrito himself with a scoff. Another instance in which someone stole the spotlight from him. At least this time it isn’t his decrepit father. He breaks into a wild chuckle.
That would be fucked.
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sizzleissues · 2 days
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Gift (Core 4 and Adrien thinks, writing exercise)
“You didn’t have to!” Marinette says, squealing as she turns the t-shirt over in her hands. On its front is the visualiser art for Jagged Stones obscure first release, faded now by years of love and soap. Alya beams, leaning forward to see the gift through Marinette’s ecstatic eyes.
“It really wasn’t that big of a deal. You just happened to mention you’d discovered Crocodile Mania on the phone as I passed the second-hand store. It was fate really.” She shrugs but her pleasure in a successful gifting is betrayed by her smile.
Adrien can’t but feel slightly envious of her fortune. Marinette had loved the various gifts he’d given her (for example the blanket draped across her knees. While he couldn’t knit or sew, he knew that she was in dire need of something to keep her warm during the night because she kept shivering and denying it. He’d ironed on a few cat themed patches to the front and she’d glowed upon receiving it.) But nothing had quite elicited the same reaction (well, nothing material at least…)
Marinette puts the t-shirt to her face, giggling and falling back. As Nino hands his gift to Alya, she slips it on, cradling her arms around her chest. It fits perfectly.
“This is really nice Alya, I hope you didn’t spend too much. Memorabilia like this is usually-.”
Alya turns, her new set of earmuffs in her hands, and shakes her head. “It’s fine Marinette, it really wasn’t that much.”
“Alya,” she complains.
Adrien sighs internally. Always eager to give but chronically unable to receive, as Ladybug or as Marinette. At some point he’d figured out as Chat Noir that his roses weren’t rejected out of apathy or lack of feelings but by her inability to accept them. At first because she didn’t feel he was sincere, and then because she despised the money spent on it.
“It’s just too much,” she’d say. “Money better spent elsewhere.”
“It’s just too much,” she says to Alya now. “Money better spent elsewhere.”
“But for the look on your face? Priceless,” Alya assuages and partially convinces Marinette to relax her anxious frown. Adrien huffs, when he’d used that line last year she’d balked at him.
Money is it. The insecurity of it. The lack of it. Something he has in spades but his friends do not. That was the source.
The conversation moves on, the ‘friend exchange gifts in a circle with a STRICT spending limit’ over because none of them could agree what to call it. White elephant was too ostentatious according to Alya, sick of its results in her own family. She’d ended up with a bag of baby carrots, three golden Easter eggs the size of her head and a miniature chicken carved out of broccoli over the course of the years. Secret Santa deemed pointless by Nino because there were so little of them around they’d figure it out immediately. Finally Marinette vetoed grab bag for similar reasons to Nino. In the end, it mostly resembled regular gift giving.
“Speaking of Jagged Stone, did you see he’s performing in a few weeks. Tickets are crazy.” Nino lifts up his phone to show the dates and ticket price.
“That’s insane.”
“Who can afford that?”
“That’s not too bad-,” Adrien pauses, realising his response didn’t fit the other ones yelled out by the others. “That’s awful,” he corrects. Luckily, he only receives one odd glance from Marinette against his chest.
“Like maybe if it was later, but that’s so close. No one commissions me during January,” Marinette muses, playing with his arm as she speaks. Her hands make their way to his, intertwining and twisting until settling together. It’s quite distracting.
“Same here. Work doesn’t really pick back up until after they’ll be sold out. And then there’s definitely no getting them.” Alya groans and flops against the back of the couch. Balancing university and work had become the main struggle for many of them. To afford it they needed to work but to pass class they needed to study.
Notably not Adrien. The difference had become ever more starkly present since leaving collegé. While his friends took up odd jobs and dived for spare change, he continued modelling only because the evenings became incredibly boring with his friends often scattered across Paris, being more adult than him. He could quit, he should quit after everything, but then it was just be more obvious the free time his financial status afforded him. It wasn’t like he didn’t offer to help. But from there you ran into a different problem. Pride.
Case and point.
“I could get the tickets-,” he begins.
“ABSOLUTELY NOT!”
“Adrien no. Bad.”
“Don’t even suggest it.”
“And you can pay it back once things pick up again.” He finishes. Marinette relaxes her sudden iron grip on his hand.
“Oh.” The let out collectively.
From under his head Marinette hums. “That could work. I usually get work in February anyway.”
“Exactly,” he says. “It has no downsides.”
-
Wow. I can write again. Unfortunately it’s the present tense calling to me which isn’t my usual. Forgive, I’m stretching my bones.
Anyway this is sort of based off the discussions I’ve been seeing about Adrien and gift giving. Idk if it really hits it but I had fun and it was nice to play around in these characters heads again after so long.
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barananduen · 1 day
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Art Advice: The Misconception Behind "Study Realism"
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Most people who draw anime/cartoons have, while asking for ways to improve, at one point or another been told to "study realism." A common response to this is, "But I don't want to draw realism!"
But, did you know that the purpose behind this suggestion is NOT so that you draw realism? They're not suggesting you change to a more realistic style. What, then?
Let's look at this through an analogy:
Say you don't know music yet and decide you want to learn how to play the Happy Birthday song. You're not interested in playing anything else, just the HB song, and you haven't started learning anything related to music at this point. OK, that's fine, and now we have our situation set up. Once you've decided this, you set yourself to learning the sequence of notes to the HB song. You practice and practice, and, after a while, you can play it really well without a hitch. After a few years, it starts feeling bland to you, and you ask, "How can I make my HB song better?" And someone tells you, "Learn all the other music notes," and "Study classical and other genres of music." And you reply, "But I don't want to play that type of music; I want to play the HB song!" (And that's FINE! It's valid; it's what you want to do.[*Footnote 1]) But without having learned all the other notes and other types of music, you can't make a remix of the HB song, or an "epic version," or a hip-hop-fusion version; you've capped at the end of the first paragraph of this story.
So drawing anime or cartoons is like playing the HB song, or any one song in our example.
And here's where our misunderstanding comes in:
"Study Realism" DOES NOT MEAN "Draw Realism"
Yes, you'll have to draw it to study it (not only your brain, but also your hand needs to learn the skill), but it doesn't mean that's what all your artwork will look like. It is meant to give you more tools to make your anime and cartoon work stronger, more appealing, and more unique.
How will it do that? The more music notes you know, the more types of music you understand and can play, the more original a remix /version of the Happy Birthday song you'll be able to make - and it will be unique. Because you will be able to take all that diverse knowledge and apply it to your song, making it stand out, and the next time you play the HB song, people will go, "Wow! This is a really cool version!"
So now we can be clear: There is a difference between learning something and performing it. You can perform whatever you choose, but by learning all the things, your performance of your "Thing of Choice" will be stronger.
What, Exactly, Will Studying Realism Teach You, Then?
I. VALUES
If you learn how to paint/shade with a full range of values (by learning realistic shading) that properly depict both volume and lighting, you will have no trouble simplifying that to cel-shading or gradient-shading in your anime or cartoon drawings, because you will at once spot when something is undershaded or the shadows are in the wrong spot.
On the other hand, if you try to do cel- or gradient-shading first, you are way more likely to a) undershade, and b) have an inconsistent light source. And when these things happen, you won't be able to tell *why* your drawing looks "off" or bland.
II. COLOR
By studying realistic coloring, you'll be able to learn how color varies across an item (say, a shirt) that is a "solid color." Example: you're drawing a character with a pink t-shirt, standing in the sun, at the end of the school day. The t-shirt is solid pink, however, the colors on it will vary from orange-ish to purple-gray, with some areas almost a bright red (and that's not even considering items around the shirt that would bounce light back onto the shirt and change its color). But you'll only know this (and how to do it) if you study realistic coloring.
Then you can apply that knowledge to your stylized artwork and make it stand out more.
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Painting of a stylized pear, where I studied real pears to understand their coloring and texture. See how studying realism can enhance your cartoon work.
III. MAKE BETTER STYLIZED ANATOMY
By studying and learning realistic anatomy, you will be able to make stylized art that, for example, doesn't have one arm longer than the other, because you will have learned how to measure proportions, even if you don't draw realistic proportions. So that if you decide you want to draw unrealistically long legs (eg: Sailor Moon), you'll be able to make them look good and keep them consistent.
You will also be able to draw figures in any position, because you will have learned how body parts are made up and how they move, as well as foreshortening/perspective. Then, when you go to draw a pose you haven't drawn before, it will be WAY easier.
IV. UNDERLYING SHAPES
Although this is one of the least-mentioned aspects of art-learning, it is, in my opinion, one of the most important, because when you learn to see underlying shapes (the quasi-geometrical shapes that build up a figure), coupled with learning how to measure a form using other parts of the same form as reference (measuring the length of one body part by the number of times another body part fits in it, as mentioned in Section III, above), you will be able to DRAW. (Period.) You won't be able to draw just people. Or just wolves. Or just cats. You will be able to break down a new subject into its building blocks and come up with a very reasonable likeness. And whatever's different, you'll easily be able to make relative measurements to spot why and fix it.
Once you learn to identify underlying shapes and how to measure proportions in anything, you will also be able to pick up and reproduce any existing style without much trouble.
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[link to Tumblr post with this artwork]
For example, this was my first time drawing anything Peanuts. I didn't have to do practice sketches for it (though there's nothing wrong with doing that). But I knew, from realism, that to achieve a good likeness, you need to measure body parts relative to other body parts, so I looked at Schulz's drawings and was able to determine: OK, Charlie Brown's head is roughly this shape, his body is so many heads tall, his eyes are this % of the head, the ears are this far in, the arms reach down to here, etc. I knew what to look for.
V. FOR THOSE WHO WANT SEMI-REALISM
If you want to do "semi-realism," you'll have a way easier time of it by learning realism and then stripping it down as much as you like, than by starting off with "100% anime" and trying to build it up without knowledge of realism. People think the latter is easier, because it *seems* less intimidating, but it's like trying to drive to a store you've never been to without knowing its address: you'll be driving around forever trying to find it, and it will be frustrating. What people call "semi-realism" is stylized realism, and you can't really hit it without knowing how realism works.
CLOSING NOTES
It also doesn't mean you should stop drawing anime/cartoons and focus solely on realism for X amount of time - you can do both concurrently. In fact, the most fun way to study realism is to do so on your favorite subjects; you can even turn your reference into your favorite character!
Studying realism is also one of the best ways to help develop your OWN, unique style; one which, when people look at it, say, "Oh, that's [your name]'s work!"
[*]Footnote 1: It is fine as long as you are drawing for yourself. As soon as art is a job and you're drawing for an employer, you have to draw in the style they tell you to. So, in this case, it's to your advantage to be flexible.
I hope this was helpful and helps clear up a common misunderstanding people go through when receiving feedback. 💞
MORE ART ADVICE ARTICLES
You can find the index to all Art Advice Articles [here] including:
How to Deal with Art Block
How to Have a Positive Outlook
How to Develop Your Own Style (coming soon!)
etc.
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lolathepeacocklord · 7 months
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if they started a band together I think it should be called Triple A, representing their combined power of autism adhd and autism again
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akkivee · 4 months
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imitation is a form of flattery, fling posse said once
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higherhell · 2 months
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Ryoichi Endo - Soft Ballet, Vietnam (January 23, 2024 - Clip Studio Paint)
Rough around the edges, but I was overcome with feelings about That One Performance of Vietnam by Soft Ballet yesterday (as I often am) and had to finally do something with it after wanting to for ages. Call it an exploratory test I suppose, as I definitely intend to return to this subject later, my work here is not done... (would love to go for a more dramatic angle for example, and higher detail...there are so many breathtaking shots in that performance it's overwhelming) But for now I figure I may as well share, since so little of my work lately has been share-able, haha (perils of ambitious secret personal projects, rip lol)
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th3-0bjectivist · 1 year
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“Wavelengx” - Animated painting
Original acrylic painting currently on sale for a pittance (15 $) on Poshmark at https://poshmark.com/closet/galleryofluke
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tedhead · 5 months
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jesus christ pauline???????????????
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citrongarde · 9 months
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STILL thinking of cherenverse the wall like graaaah raahhauguh gragh hgraaagh. screaming crying throwing up /pos it’s SO interesting and SO fun to read but also SO viscerally horrifying....auauauugh. the SYMBOLISM the HORROR the CYCLICAL NATURE OF IT ALL AND THE ILLUSION AND THE TORMENT. yeah
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incandescent-eden · 1 year
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31 Days of Horror Day 16: Theatre
Content warnings: death, descriptions of corpses and decaying
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    The Lasalle name held no prestige even when the family’s grand theater by the city square blazed with lamplight every night. It hung faded over a boarded-up entrance with cracking, peeling letters, and crass graffiti on the right wall facing the street.
    The chandeliers still hang from the entrance hall, dripping with cobwebs swaying like wraiths. The mirrors have largely fractured, the gilded paint on their frames cracked and chipped. Beer bottles and cigarette butts litter the old tiles with scuffed flower motifs.
    Callista alone remembers the grandeur of the theater. She sits patiently in the audience (although she must admit her patience is wearing as thin as the threadbare seats) pulling the cotton that spills out, the once-rich burgundy chairs now a dull brown. She pays no mind; only, she sighs loudly when a large rat skitters by her feet.
    It does a double take when it sees her - rats are such intelligent creatures - but, discerning no harm, it runs away, no doubt back to its partner and many, many rat children.
    The audiences found the rats dreadful. The ladies would clutch at the pearls that choked them, fainting when one ran by, and the gentlemen would oh so gallantly (gentlemen always considered themselves gallant, as if it was such a tremendous task, this calming after seeing rats in a crowded city) catch them, holding them stiffly upright. Callista used to peek out from the doors on the side of the amphitheater if the manager wasn’t looking.
    She remembers Viola most all, with eyes like spotlights from the back of the theater, trained on Callista.
    There are no simpering young ladies and their chivalrous escorts to mind the rats now. What is theatre with no audience?
    The orchestra plays silently tonight, as every night. It still brings the hair on the back of her neck to a stiff stand, goose prickles up and down her arms, a quickening heartbeat. Or at least, she remembers these sensations.
    The flesh forgets, but perhaps, tonight, it remembers. Perhaps tonight, as with every night before, or so Callista hopes, there is a bit of land outside of town where wild clover dances, and underneath, the bones try to clasp their fingers together, and the descendants of worms from decades ago constrict unknowingly compelled by some small part of a diaphragm their ancestors pushed through.
    She pushes her skirts under her legs, leaning stubbornly back into the chair. Presses her lips together as hard as she can. Somewhere, maybe, there’s a fox who lives only because her starving great-great-great-grandmother, through sheer luck, dug up the body of a contralto and, because nature loves irony, tore out her throat. Perhaps that fox makes small, low whimpers as it dreams, the echoes of a song passed down in time.
    The stage, empty and dusty, and obscured by shadow, beckons her still. If she snuck into the wings, she would find the floorboards decayed with gaping holes through which a person could fall. The smell of face powder and perfume would be replaced by mildew, and the rustling of skirts and gleeful, sheepish shushing would be nothing but insects and rodents running and fighting in the walls.
    If she stood on that stage, no spotlight would save her from the consuming, frigid dark that enveloped the building.
    It used to be: no matter how hard she practiced, she could still feel the pounding of her heart in her throat when the audience’s eyes and ears focused in on her hotter than any spotlight.
    Callista looks to her left, to her right, behind her, above to the mezzanine. Empty. Empty. Empty. A one-woman audience with no show to watch.
She touches her throat (metaphorically, of course. She hasn’t had a throat or a sense of touch in decades), and turns her attention back to the empty stage.   
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chrispy3 · 11 months
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im your biggest fan, ill follow you until you love me
[Image Description: A digital drawing of my character, Persi. The scene is a cityscape at night. She stands in the light of a streetlamp, frozen as a shadowy figure behind her stabs her in the back with a large knife that protrudes through the front of her abdomen. The wound is bleeding decently. Her head is just out of the streetlight’s light, and she wears an expression of pain and confusion. The only features that can be made out on the shadowy figure are a single eye staring down at her as it towers over her and the arm holding the knife. The background around her is a cityscape, but it appears warped and seems to spin with her disorientation. There are abstract windows scattered along buildings with eye designs that watch her. End Description]
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bravevolunteer · 10 months
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the only high school teacher michael ever got along with was his art teacher
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mariocki · 2 years
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Infinite list of favourite lyrics: 212/?
George Michael - Freedom! '90 (1990)
"But today the way I play the game
Is not the same, no way;
Think I'm gonna get myself happy.
I think there's something you should know,
I think it's time I told you so,
There's something deep inside of me -
There's someone else I've got to be.
Take back your picture in a frame,
Take back your singing in the rain,
I just hope you understand
Sometimes the clothes do not make the man."
#favourite lyrics#george michael#freedom!#freedom! '90#1990#listen without prejudice vol. 1#known variously as just Freedom! or with the '90 addition to differentiate it from the Wham track by the same title#an absolute anthem from Michael which became one of his signature tracks in live performance (he'd perform it at the 2012 Olympic closing#ceremony‚ among other high profile moments). the third single from Listen Without Prejudice‚ the song is an outlier on that album#there's a lot to take into account contextually here so forgive me if i go off a little. in 1990 George was still (as unlikely as it may#seem in 2022) publicly recognised as a straight pop idol and sex idol for teen girls everywhere. although his homosexuality was well known#in the industry he wouldn't be outed until the end of the decade (against his choice). privately tho here was a gay man dealing with the#fallout of the AIDS epidemic‚ still at its height. he was losing friends and colleagues. the following year he'd meet Anselmo Feleppa and#fall in love; the next year Feleppa would discover he was HIV positive‚ and the year after that he would die. these were dark‚ awful times#and gay culture was reflecting that. after the pop disco triumph of 1987's Faith‚ Listen was a sombre reckoning with modern life‚ with the#state of George's career‚ with his conflict over his personal life and his fears and guilt around AIDS and the rock star life he'd been#living. the album is a stripped down largely acoustic affair which reflected the artist's subdued mood; Freedom is the exception. an out#and out dance track‚ it's also perhaps the most openly and brazenly personal track‚ at least lyrically. on one level GM was making his#statement on his future and his art: Wham was dead‚ the easy pop rocker was dead‚ George Michael was here to stay. with barbed shots at MTV#and a pointed message to the mourning Wham fans to get over it and move on‚ this is a mission statement and a fuck you rolled into one#you don't like it? i don't care. this is me‚ sings George‚ and I want to be me. it's also very much a coming out song only a coming out#song that works in secret; again‚ publicly‚ GM was straight. it's hard not to be moved by his lyrics ('I think it's time I told you so') as#he nakedly equates honesty with happiness; he talks about the early years ('I guess it was good enough for me') but also his need to move#forwards; a very literal and metaphorical change of outfits. there's no direct allusion to his sexuality but the hints are there#('the way i play the game is not the same'). it's a powerful‚ deeply personal assertion of self‚ and all the sadder for the fact that it#couldn't (or wouldn't) be the whole truth. lyrically GM keeps a tightly wound rhyme scheme that at times becomes almost hypnotically#rhythmic ('toDAY the WAY i PLAY the GAME is not the SAME') and take on an almost prayer like chant quality. George wrote and produced the#entire album almost single handed and never was his wealth of talent or breadth of ability clearer. this was an artist at their very prime#who nonetheless was struggling with issues of identity and personality and place within popular culture; but who translated all that doubt#and pain and worry into one of the best albums and one of the all time greatest queer anthems of a generation. rip George.
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naptimeclown · 11 months
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Watching the greatest showman for the second time ever just so I can make myself mad enough to motivate me to clean
#i have a big love/hate relationship with this movie#the music is so good but the actual movie is ass in terms of historical accuracy which im not expecting out of it#but i cant help thinking about it while watching it and it makes me so mad i could chew through a leather boot#pt barnumb was an asshole and a bigot and a terrible human being i dont need this movie presenting him as a misguided but good father and#proprietor of arts like 'oh yeah i hired the 'freaks' and paraded them around in bad faith but i realized this and now im sowwy'#man was a shithead through and through not to mention the lack if mention of how animals were trained back them#also how the circus would basically BUY the 'freaks' from their families in some cases and they were basically stuck with the circus till#they died and the only reason the sideshow was discontined with ringlings (which was in 1950s-60s i dont remember specifically) was to cut#costs when irvin feld bought RB&B in 1967 (he was also the first person not associated with any of the namesakes familes to own the circus)#i mention all this as a lover of circus history and a clown but i cant stand this movie#i do love watching the scene where the performers beat the shit out of those racists though even if it is pandering and glosses over it in#kinda self congradulatory way that also makes me mad but basically this wholeovie can be summed up with#they gloss over the actual shitty happenings of the circus in that time to present you with this fantastical timeline where everythig works#out in the end and everyone has cotton candy and peanuts#which honestly sums up the circus very well too#i should start making posts about circus history that makes me angry but i dint want someone taking it wrong which ik is inevitable on here#ramblings
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vixstarria · 2 months
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Seeing stars
Welp, I wrote more porn.
Astarion x F!Tav/F!Reader
18+, smut, porn with plot, porn with feelings, jealous Astarion, soft dom Astarion, dirty talk, fingering, PIV, elf ears and more! Humour, banter and fluff mixed in per usual. Tav failing several insight checks in the process.
I also poke fun at the in-game romance mechanics, and Wyll's Act 2 scene in particular.
This is the last time they have sex before the "I want us to be something real" conversation.
Approx. 2,900 words
“You won’t believe the ludicrous encounter I just had with Wyll.” 
You burst into Astarion’s tent. Well, it was ‘Astarion’s’ tent only notionally at this point. Yours still stood, but it now served solely as storage space for your assorted junk. You had effectively moved in with Astarion, having first coerced him into replacing the wooden plank and bloodstained rags he slept on with some sensible rugs and blankets. 
Astarion lounged half-naked on one of the bedrolls, reading something by candlelight. 
“Oh?” he looked up at you. “Do tell.” 
“First the massage you promised earlier,” you said sinking down onto the floor of the tent and stripping off most of your clothes. “My back is killing me after carrying everyone all day.” 
“Oh please...” he rolled his eyes. “I recall you nearly walked into your own cloud of daggers, again, and would have if I hadn’t pulled you away in time. And then you blasted Lae’zel off a cliff. It’s a wonder we haven’t kicked you out yet.” He shook his head. “And if you’re carrying anyone, I’m the one carrying you.” 
Still, he sat up as you laid down on your stomach.  
“Who do you think you’re fooling with this modesty, darling?” he murmured, noticing that you’d kept your underwear on. “Just lose it now,” he added, as he slid it off, leaving you completely naked, before he settled over you, his fingers commencing work on your shoulders. “So what happened with Wyll?” 
“I was making my way back here, and found him... performing some kind of jig by the campfire, pretending like he didn’t know I was there.” 
“The ‘Blade of Frontiers’, dancing alone in the middle of camp?” Astarion snickered. “Did you mock him? Please tell me you mocked him.”  
“Well... I was going to, but then he asked me to dance with him, very earnestly.” 
“That scoundrel...” he mused. “And let me guess - you agreed, didn’t you?” 
“Oh trust me, at that point it would have been more awkward not to dance with him, I had to play along.” 
Astarion scoffed, with a chuckle. 
“Do you always go along with whatever people want from you just because it would be too awkward to say no?” 
"I try not to – last time I did, I ended up with a vampire who won’t stop sucking me dry,” you deflected. “I figured there was no harm in indulging him. Besides, I don’t see you dancing with me. It was kind of nice,” you teased. 
“I hate dancing,” he said. 
“Right,” you said. “I’m sure you hate dancing just as much as you hate poetry, flowers, art, cats... What else?” 
“Children,” he answered. “I also can’t stand children.” 
“No, that one I could see being true,” you grinned. 
“So anyway, you two dolts pranced around the fire to the sound of crickets, then what?” 
“And then he tried to kiss me,” you admitted, with a sigh. 
Astarion’s hands paused for a moment before resuming their work, slightly harder than before. 
“Well look at you, receiving the Duke Ravengard’s heir’s attention. Moving up in the world, hmm?” 
“I didn’t let him.” 
He laughed. 
“Is there even a single person left in camp that hasn’t tried to get into your pants, darling?” 
You had to think for a moment.  
“Are we counting Volo?” 
“Sure.” 
“Then just Karlach and Withers.” 
“Gods, I fucking love Karlach,” he murmured. “Don’t tell her I said that.” 
“Why? Getting jealous all of a sudden?” 
Astarion was silent for a few moments. 
“I just don’t understand it,” he said. “You’re with me every night. I’m at your side every day. They see us. They hear us. Still, they don’t take me – or you and me – seriously. Tell me, is there something about me that screams: ‘Please, go ahead and take my lover for yourself. Come on in and snatch her right out from under me, I don’t mind’?”  
Perhaps you’d made a bad judgment call when you thought Astarion would find the absurdity of the situation humorous rather than offensive. Still, you had to bite your cheek to keep from laughing at the dramatics he added to the delivery of the last few lines that left his mouth. 
“Stop laughing,” he said.  
“I’m not laughing,” you laughed.  
“I can feel your back muscles twitching in your efforts.” 
“Well, they’re aware this all started as a joke. Perhaps they never realised that it’s long stopped being one?” you offered. 
Astarion’s hands had been moving lower and lower along your back. They had now reached your ass and continued to rub, stroke and squeeze, as you let out a soft groan. 
“That’s not my back, Astarion.” 
One of his hands kept squeezing an ass cheek, while the other dipped to stroke you between your legs. He gave a satisfied hum when two of his fingers entered you effortlessly. 
“Maybe if they could see how wet I can make you just by rubbing your back they’d reconsider how much of a joke this is,” he said, his voice low. He continued to pump his fingers in and out – you were almost embarrassed by the loud squelching sounds that came out of you. You moaned and tried to lift your hips higher, but your legs were encased between his thighs, pinned down on the bedroll. “Do you think you’d be reacting this way to young Ravengard, darling?” 
“Stop it,” you hissed. “You know I don’t want anyone but you.” 
“Stop?” he pulled his fingers out, to your dissatisfied whine. You looked back to see him studying your slick on his fingers. “I should go smear this on his face right now... The audacity to try to get his hands on what is not his.” He licked his fingers clean instead. He turned his attention back to you.  
“Maybe if you were more vocal about your devotion to me the others wouldn’t make these mistakes.” 
His hand returned between your legs, spreading your wetness and slipping lower to tease your clit.  
“I could be... encouraged... to be more vocal about it,” you breathed, trying to grind against his hand.  
“Yes... I should make you scream my name, so they all know who you belong to.” 
His fingers returned inside you, teasing you with shallow strokes.  
“You can try,” you taunted him. 
Astarion let out an indignant huff and shifted to spread your legs open with his knees, simultaneously placing a hand on your back to firmly hold you down. You expect to feel his cock enter you, but he continued to stroke you with his fingers, turning his hand to curl them downwards.  
“Is that a challenge, darling?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “You should know better by now than to bet against me,” he said, continuing to flex his fingers inside you. 
It started off pleasant enough, but rapidly grew into... more. And more. You weren’t sure what he was doing but whatever it was, it was just about making you see stars. 
You sputtered as the new sensation started to take hold of your whole being.  
“Ast… what..”  
You couldn't manage anything coherent, as his fingers continued to dig into you, gradually picking up speed and pressure. You started to squirm to try to get away despite yourself, but he simply put more weight against the hand on your back, securely pinning you to the bedroll. 
“Always getting yourself into situations you're not prepared for…" he murmured. "You're not talking your way out of this one.”
His fingers were relentless. You were worried you really would scream and wake everyone in camp. All you could do was bite down on the pillow, hoping that it would muffle your drawn-out moans. 
“Let go, darling... I know you want to.” 
It's not so much that you let go – rather, all your decorum was ripped from you, as your muscles convulsed, the orgasm rolling through your entire body. You panted and shuddered, trying to keep quiet, your hands clutching desperately at the covers beneath you, trying to hold on to anything like your life depended on it. 
Once the feeling subsided, you came back to your senses to find Astarion hovering over you, kissing the back of your neck and shoulders, grazing them with his fangs, almost but not quite hard enough to draw blood. You felt his erection rubbing against your hip. 
“Has anyone fucked you like this before?” he whispered hoarsely into your ear, his breath ragged from his own arousal. “Tell me.” 
“No,” you gasped, trying to catch your own breath.  
“I thought so,” he whispered with a smile, kissing your neck before he sat back up. 
You turned back to look at him over your shoulder. He watched you with a self-satisfied grin, his fingers returning to stroke you lightly between your legs once more. 
“Do you want me to do it again?” he purred. 
A part of you wanted to wipe that smug grin off his face after what he just put you through. Another, much larger part, wanted nothing more than to submit yourself to whatever he would do to you.  
“Yes,” you admitted sheepishly. 
“Turn around...” he narrowed his eyes mischievously. “I want to see your face this time.” 
You flipped around onto your back, under his watchful gaze. His eyes never left yours as he stroked your slit, teasing your engorged clit with his thumb, before his fingers slipped back inside you. 
You found yourself mewling in anticipation before he really even started doing anything.  
“So eager,” he smirked. “So wanton...” 
He curled his fingers again, moving his whole hand to mercilessly claw into a sweet spot you didn’t even know existed inside you.  
You tried to relax into and accept this sensation, now that you were familiar with it. A growing pressure kept building at the bottom of your stomach. It was too much. It was entirely too much. You couldn’t take more of it. You couldn’t- 
“Let go, I’ve got you...” His whisper sounded so tender in sharp contrast to the depraved way he was handling your body. 
You sobbed as what you hoped was cum gushed out of you, your legs quivering.  
“Good girl”, Astarion laughed with glee, bending down to place a kiss on your lips, continuing to stroke you lightly, “Your body reacts so perfectly to me... Do you want more?” 
“You... I want you...” you groaned, biting his lip. 
“If that’s what my good girl wants,” he purred, discarding what was left of his clothes.  
You groaned as his cock entered you, rocking your hips against his, trying to find that feeling again. 
“So wet and needy for me...” he goaded you. “I’ve completely ruined you for anyone else, haven’t I?” 
He held absolutely nothing back as he fucked you, lewd insistent sounds of skin slapping on skin combined with your shared grunts and moans disturbing what was likely otherwise a silent night. 
“Anyone awake knows exactly what I’m doing to you right now,” he rasped, voice thick.  
Your walls clenched at the thought, making him shudder and sigh as well. 
“You like that thought, don’t you..? I know you do,” he continued. “So shameless...” 
Despite yourself, you whimpered, clenching again as another orgasm started threatening to overtake you. 
“That’s it... Come for me again,” he groaned. “Come for me, my love.” 
‘My love’..? Just a figure of speech, you thought. You’d thrown that phrase around, jokingly, but it’s never sounded so... raw. You wanted to hear it again. You wanted to keep hearing it.  
“Your what?” you gasped.  
He didn’t answer. Instead he caught your lips in a deep, devouring kiss, pinning your arms over your head.  
Your body gave in and you trembled under him, caught up in waves of pleasure again.  
He released your arms and eased his movements once you rode out your high, but kept kissing you, hungrily, unwilling to release your lips from his.  
Clearly, no further words of love would follow, you thought to yourself with a tinge of both relief and disappointment, deciding to let it go. 
“You’re so good to me,” you managed, breaking your lips from his. 
“Aren’t I just?” he groaned, speeding up again to chase his own release.  
You kissed your way up his jaw to his ear, pausing to nibble on his earlobe.  
You couldn’t see it, but a ditsy, open-mouthed smile started to play on his face. 
Astarion gasped with a sharp intake of breath as you continued further, running your tongue over the inside of the shell of his ear. 
“Oh sweet hells,” he sighed with pleasure, immediately grinding into your harder. 
You smiled as he tilted his head, just about pressing his ear against your lips. 
“Do you like that?” you whispered in his ear, running your tongue over it again, lifting your hands to run your fingers through his hair. You knew he did. You just wanted to hear him say it.  
“Yes... Don’t stop...” His words sounded like a desperate plea. 
You continued to gently nibble on the edge of his ear, soft moans escaping you from his movements. 
“That’s it, take what’s yours” you groaned, as his hips crashed into yours harder. 
His breathing and movements were becoming more and more frantic.  
“Astarion...” you whispered, grazing the shell of his ear with your lips. 
He let out an uncharacteristic whimper, all his usual composure slipping from him, as he bucked his hips, fucking you with quick, shallow thrusts.  
“My sweet...” you breathed against his ear. 
He came completely undone, spilling into you with forceful, jagged thrusts, before finally stilling. His whole body seemed to melt into yours as he stayed on top of you, trying to regain his breath. 
You wrapped your legs around his hips, not wanting to let go of him yet, but he didn’t seem to be in a hurry to lift himself from you either. Instead he trailed light, tender kisses from your neck up to your lips.  
You delicately traced the contours of Astarion’s face with your fingertips, running them from his cheekbone down to his jaw, as he leaned into your caress, gazing into your eyes.  
Astarion parted his lips slightly, as though to say something, only to seal them again. He tilted his head to kiss your knuckles as your fingers gradually made their way back up, to run through his hair. Eventually he spoke. 
“You would really choose me over the more... blatantly obvious options you have at your disposal here?” he asked quietly.  
“Haven’t I made that abundantly clear already..?” 
“Well of course you have – no one else is this good,” he said with a tired smirk. 
“I’m not talking about the...” you blinked. “You know I’m not with you just for the sex, right..?” you frowned, looking into his eyes. 
He looked away, slipping out of you and moving to lie down next to you.  
“Is that so?” he said softly.  
You found yourself suddenly feeling rattled. Was he simply fishing for compliments again, or had you been utterly oblivious to just how deep his insecurities ran this whole time..? 
“You have a wealth of other qualities that I... enjoy and appreciate,” you said, somewhat lamely.  
Astarion propped his head up on his hand and raised an eyebrow at you quizzically. There was a hint of vulnerability in his eyes despite his outward nonchalance.  
Oh for fuck’s sake, you thought. I’m not ready for any serious conversations now, especially not with cum running down my thighs.  
You turned away to grab something to wipe yourself down with. 
“A gentleman would clean up his own mess, by the way. Not one of your strong points. But you do have some virtues that make up for it. For instance... I can leave cheese unattended around you, knowing you won’t eat it.” 
Astarion went to pinch the bridge of his nose, sighing.  
“You’re a treasure trove of useless information,” you continued. “But unlike some of our companions you usually keep it to yourself.” A hint of a smile played on his lips at that.  
“Your hand feels nice and cold on my forehead when I have a headache.” You laid back down next to him, mirroring the way he was lying. 
“You always smell nice, especially for a dead guy. You never hog the mirror.”   
“What about my hair, won’t you mention that?” he smiled. 
“No, fuck your hair, it makes mine look awful in comparison.”  
He chuckled at that. 
“I do rather adore the garnet puppy eyes though,” you murmured. “What else... You make me laugh, and, more importantly, I make you laugh – which is great for my ego,” you continued.  
“As long as you understand that I’m usually laughing at you,” he countered. 
“Prick... Then there’s the fact you’ve saved my life four times.”  
“Seven,” he said quietly, looking into your eyes.  
“Five.”  
“It’s seven, dear, I counted.” 
“Whatever. When it comes to battle, you’re silent but deadly,” you said. “Like a-” 
Astarion’s hand covered your mouth.  
“Do not finish that thought, darling.” 
You grinned from behind his palm.  
“I think we can be done with this conversation,” he said.  
“Wait, wait, one more...” you laughed. “You’re eccentric, unpredictable, often irrational. I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth.”  
You smiled as Astarion groaned dramatically, covering his face with one hand.  
“Knowing I’ll get to spend another day in your mad company gives me a reason to get up in the morning,” you added, softly. 
“Come here, you sweet fool,” he whispered, drawing you against him.  
You hugged him tightly. It took so long for him to start initiating these embraces that wouldn’t lead to sex... You relished each one.  
Tomorrow, Astarion thought to himself, unbeknown to you. I have to tell her tomorrow.  
~~~~~
Follow up bonus scene
This work is part of a series - here is the master list
Next in series - Confession
AO3
Tags: @littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tallymonster @tragedybunny @spunky-89
@spacebarbarianweird @kittenintheden - hey, I heard you like elf ears
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serpentandlily · 5 months
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Mystique - Azriel x Reader
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Mystique - Azriel x Reader
Summary: When the whole family is dragged to the new ballet show in Velaris, Mystique, Azriel never imagined a mating bond snapping into place...but as soon as she stepped on stage, he knew his life was about to change forever.
Warnings: mention of strict dieting of a dancer
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Going to see a ballet show was not how Azriel planned to spend his Saturday night, or any night really. Arts and theater were not something he was usually interested in. But Feyre had begged the whole family to go, claiming she had bought a private booth in the gallery for them to watch their opening night show. 
Elain had been the first to agree, so he followed along. If only to spend some time with her, to watch her face light up as she watched the performance. 
Mystique. That was the name of the show they were seeing tonight. He had no idea what it was about or what to expect. But he didn’t care. Not as he snagged the seat next to Elain and brushed his fingers against hers as she gave him a secret smile. 
The lights had dimmed and the audience fell quiet. It was a full house tonight, no seat below in the orchestra empty. Even the other private booths in the gallery were filled with rich nobles. 
He understood the name of the ballet once it started. All the dancers were wearing masquerade masks. That was about the only interesting thing about it. His eyes flickered from the stage to Elain every so often, more enthralled with her than the dancers. 
But then she came on stage. The main dancer partnered with some male. Her costume was a light pink, bejeweled with gems and flowers, with a tutu that showed off her long legs. It was the gleam of the jewels that had caught his attention, shining brightly in the faelights. 
And then his eyes had drifted up, to the pink mask that matched the costume and the dancer beneath it. 
He knew she was special the moment he laid eyes on her. Not because of the elegant, graceful way she moved on stage, or how she seemed to have captured the rapt attention of the audience. No, she was special because she was her. 
His eyes didn’t leave her figure after that. Constantly following her movements as she danced around the stage alongside the male and the other dancers, always standing out. 
When the show ended and the performers came out for applause and shouts from the house, he knew his life was about to change forever.
Because when she came out holding hands with her partner, bowing before the crowd masks off, a gold thread from his chest unraveled and the mating bond snapped into place. 
If it wasn’t for his years of training, of all the time he perfected his craft as the spymaster, he wouldn’t have been able to keep such a cool demeanor. He gave no indication to his family, said nothing as the dancers disappeared behind the curtains and everyone rose to leave.
“That was beautiful!” Elain chirped from next to him and he almost jumped. He had forgotten she was there. 
All he could think about was her. The dancer. His mate. His beautiful, beautiful mate. 
꒰ა❤︎໒꒱ 
Opening night had been a success and the second show had gone off without a hitch as well. Your legs and feet were so sore as you made your way back to the dressing rooms with the other gaggle of girls, already yanking the pins out of your hair. 
You rubbed at your scalp, soothing the tightness from the bun your hair had been in, as you walked up to your mirror on the long vanity table. You paused for a moment at the sight of a single rose lying beneath the mirror on the table. That had definitely not been there at the beginning of the show tonight.
You picked it up, twirling the stem in your fingers. The faintest scent still clinging to it was foreign from the sweet smell of rose. A hint of cedar and night-chilled mist, a very masculine smell. 
“What’s that?” your friend, Lena, asked, peering over your shoulder at the rose in your hand. 
“I’m not sure,” you mumbled.  
“Oooohhh,” some of the girls around you giggled and your cheeks turned pink at all the attention. “Are you hiding a male from us, y/n?”
You shook your head. “No, no. It must’ve been for one of the other girls. Probably didn’t know which mirror was hers.”
Your dismissal had the other girls turning back around, no longer interested now that there was no gossip to be shared. You wished you knew who the rose was for so you could give it to her but there was no note or anything—just that faint smell. 
The next night you were met with another rose beneath your mirror. You frowned as all the girls giggled behind you. Had the male still not realized his girlfriend had never gotten his rose?
“I think you might have a secret admirer,” Lena said, grinning at you.
“I don’t think so. Maybe we should all label our mirrors,” you suggested. “I’d hate for these roses to keep going to the wrong girl.”
“I think Lena is right,” one of the other girls said. “I think y/n has a secret admirer!”
You rolled your eyes, plopping down in your chair to start the long process of ripping the pins from your hair and taking off your stage make-up. “How would they even know where I sat? And a stranger would never be allowed back here.”
“Let’s do what you said then and write our names on the mirrors. Then we can find out who’s the true owner of the roses,” Lena said. She pulled out a tube of lipstick and wrote her name on the corner of the mirror before spreading the lipstick on her lips and kissing the spot she had just signed.
She handed the tube of lipstick over to you and you laughed, doing the same as her. 
꒰ა❤︎໒꒱
"Alright, it's official. Y/n has a secret admirer!"
Your mouth dropped open as the group of girls giggling around your mirror parted and you saw another red rose on the vanity. You picked it up carefully, glancing up at your mirror to make sure your name was still written there.
The girls around you were still giggling, some making kissy noises as your cheeks lit up with embarrassment. That scent was clinging to the rose, the cedar and night-chilled mist. You took a small inhale, finding the smell to be so tantalizing. 
"Any idea who it could be?" Lena asked from beside you.
You shook your head. "No, it's not like I've had time to go out between rehearsals and the show. I haven't met anyone new in the past few months."
It was true. Your mother, one of the ballet teachers here in Velaris, kept you on a tight leash. Between classes, rehearsals and show nights, you didn't go out. Mother always said anything else was a distraction and that ballet involved sacrifices if you wanted to be a principal dancer. A role you had finally landed this season, which meant you were even more busy.
Besides, you hadn't ever been with a male like that. You had barely just turned twenty and had spent your whole childhood in ballet studios with your mother. The males that were part of those classes usually swung for the other team and the few that were into girls were usually snatched up quickly by the others. 
"How do you think he's even getting into the dressing rooms?" you mumbled to Lena, who shrugged before a mischievous grin spread on her face.
"Maybe we should ask one of the understudies to hang around here during the next show so they can catch him in the act. I'm dying to know who it is," she said.
"Not a bad idea," one of the other girls chimed in. 
"I’ll ask Helena. She's still nursing her sore ankle from her fall,” you replied, placing the rose into your satchel to take home. Pretty soon you’d have a whole bouquet.
꒰ა❤︎໒꒱
“No one?! But how is that even possible?”
You stared at the new rose on the vanity before you. Helena had stalked out the dressing room but she claimed no one had ever entered.
“I don’t know, but I’m telling you, no one came in here,” Helena said back to Lena.
“And you stayed in here the whole time?”
Helena rubbed the back of her neck. “Well, I stepped out at one point to talk to Nicholas but I swear, my eyes were on the door the whole time! No one went in or came out!”
“Maybe they winnowed?” One of the girls suggested.
You shook your head. “This place is warded from that. Set up by our High Lord himself. There’s no way someone could break through those.”
“Perhaps we have a phantom on our hands,” one of the other girls laughed. “A romantic with a crush on y/n.”
All the girls fell into a fit of giggles as your cheeks turned bright red. You scowled at them, feeling a little embarrassed. 
Maybe someone was pulling a prank on you? But who would do that? You didn’t think any of the girls would be that cruel but…
Your mind was not going to rest until you found out who was putting these roses here. 
꒰ა❤︎໒꒱
The next day you were rushing through the very busy streets of Velaris, trying to get to the ballet studio. You had slept in on accident and you were going to be late for rehearsal, something that might lead to your understudy taking over your role. Ballet teachers were strict like that, would see being late as a lack of self discipline and an uncaring attitude.
You sprinted around a corner only to smack right into the chest of someone. You let out a gasp, your ballet bag falling to the floor along with your folder full of sheet music for the pianist. 
“Watch where you’re going!” The Fae you had run into hissed, stepping over the strewn papers on the floor.
You were definitely going to be late now. You bit your lip, trying to fight back tears as you bent down and started to collect everything. You were so in your head that you didn’t notice the person kneeling in front of you until they were holding out a stack of the music sheets for you. 
“Thank you so much!” You said quickly, grabbing the papers and looking up to see who had stopped to help you.
Your eyes widened at the sight of the most beautiful male you had ever laid eyes on. His piercing hazel eyes bore into yours, his dark hair brushing against his forehead as he looked down at you, despite both of you kneeling on the ground. Giant wings sprouted from his back, hiding the sight of the bustling crowd. 
“Are you okay?” 
His voice was dark, just like the shadows that were now curling around his shoulders. Your breath caught in your throat as you realized who he was. The shadowsinger. One of the fae in Rhysand’s inner court. 
You cleared your throat when you realized you had been staring at him for a minute too long, your cheeks turning pink.
You shoved the papers back into the folder and grabbed your bag off the ground, standing back up. “Yes, thank you, I’m fine. It was my fault anyways. I was rushing because I’m late for rehearsal and my mother is going to kill me if I lose my role and—”
You shut your mouth as you realized you had started rambling. To his credit, Azriel didn’t seem annoyed. No, he looked more concerned as he stared down at you and Gods, now you were realizing how tall he was. 
“Sorry, I’m rambling. I’m y/n,” you said, hugging your folder against your chest. “You’re Azriel, right, the spymaster?”
He nodded in answer, his shadows dancing on his shoulders. 
“Would you like me to take you wherever it is you need to go? I can get you there faster.”
You were still mesmerized by his elegant beauty; he was so devastating to look at. You hadn’t even heard a word he had just said. Gods, you were absolutely embarrassing yourself. “Huh?”
He seemed amused now, faint color on his cheeks. “I asked if you would like me to take you wherever you need to go. My shadows let me travel faster than most fae.”
“Oh please, if you could! I just need to get to the ballet studio.”
You didn’t have time to deny his request, didn’t think twice of it through the panic of running late. He held out his arm for you and you placed your hand in the crevice of his elbow. His shadows surrounded you both until you were in complete darkness. 
It was a different feeling than winnowing, something you still had yet to learn how to do. But the feeling of traveling through Azriel’s shadows was slightly calming. 
Not a second later, the two of you appeared in front of the ballet studio, saving you the ten minute walk. You let out a breath of relief knowing that you weren’t going to be late anymore.
“Thank you so much! You’re a lifesaver!” you chimed, untangling your arm from his. 
He gave you a small dip of the head when suddenly a familiar scent washed over you. It took you a second to place it but…No, it couldn’t be, right? It wasn’t the same smell as the one that lingered on the roses?
But that cedar and night-chilled mist smell was unmistakable.
Azriel was disappearing in a swarm of shadows when you waved a hand at him, shouting at him to wait so you could ask him about the roses but he vanished from view, leaving you standing on the side of the street alone with a million questions running through your head.
꒰ა❤︎໒꒱
Another week went by and still every night after the show, a rose was waiting for you at your vanity. The same scent of cedar and night-chilled mist still faintly clinging to them. You hadn’t seen Azriel again since that day and part of you was certain you had mistakenly thought he smelled like the mysterious stranger leaving you roses. 
You were stretching your feet out, getting ready to do your warm-up before the show when the Head Teacher walked in, clapping her hands to get everyone’s attention.
“Listen up, girls!” she shouted so everyone could hear her. “I have an important announcement to make. The High Lady loved our show so much she’s inviting the entirety of the Royal Ballet to a dinner at The House of Wind to celebrate our hard work. This is an honor and I expect you all to treat it as such. Next rehearsal, you all need to bring a dress that you plan to wear to the dinner so they can be approved by me. Now, back to work, girls!” 
As soon as she left the room, the chattering began. Everyone was excited about the news, mostly to have an excuse to dress up but your thoughts were stuck on the shadowsinger, at the chance to see him again and as weird as it sounded, see if his scent matched the stranger who was leaving you roses. 
꒰ა❤︎໒꒱
You stared at yourself in the mirror, twirling around. Your mother had picked your dress like the controlling person she was, but for once, you actually liked her choice. It was a light pink gown, with a long A line tulle skirt and a corseted bodice with off the shoulder straps. The fabric was covered with stars that shined like diamonds and some pearl detailing. 
“Come, y/n,” your mother called out from the living room of the apartment you both lived in. “We’re going to be late if we don’t leave now.” 
You met the rest of the girls at the bottom of the stairs that led up to the House of Wind. The High Lord and Lady had assured you guys that transportation up to the House would be provided. The girls were all giggling with anticipation, gossiping together about what to expect. 
Four winged figures swept down in front of your group. The High Lord was one of them, dressed finely in all black with his huge wings held high behind him. The High Lady was next to him, dressed in dark blue harem pants with a matching crop top, both decorated with sparkling jewels. The General, Cassian, stood behind them wearing his Illyrian leathers, arms crossed with a friendly smile on his face.
And lastly, the Spymaster. He stood next to his fellow Illyrian, also in his leathers, and looked just as devastatingly beautiful as that day he had taken you to the ballet studio. His wings were giant, even more so than the other three, making him look like a dark angel. Your cheeks turned pink as his gaze met yours and you bit your lip, looking away. 
“Ladies,” the High Lord purred in greeting. “We are pleased that you accepted our invitation. The House of Wind is warded against winnowing, so we are here to fly you up. It is a short flight, but if any of you are uncomfortable with the idea, we will try to accommodate you.” 
You watched as the girls exchanged looks with each other, giggling and turning a bit red at the idea. You found your eyes going back to the shadowsinger, jolting as you realized he was still staring at you. Something jumped in your chest, causing your pulse to spike. 
“Now, who wants to be the first to go?” The High Lord stepped forward and held out his hand. 
Lena winked at you and was the first to volunteer. The High Lady also held out her hand with a smile. “I can also fly some of you up. I promise I’m just as strong as the boys.” 
Slowly, one by one, the girls from your company paired with the four winged faes, letting them fly them up to the House. It was a quick process; Rhysand hadn’t lied when he said it was a short flight. You hung around in the back of the group, feeling a bit nervous as you watched them disappear into the sky each time. 
You had never been that high up in the air before, a bit of anxiety curling in your stomach. 
“Lady,” the General was in front of you now and you realized you were one of the only girls left to go. “Are you ready to be flown up?”
He held out a hand to you but you bit your lip, looking up at the House of Wind again. “I-I’m just a bit nervous.” 
“It’ll be over quick, I promise,” he grinned, trying to settle your nerves. 
You hesitated again and suddenly the Spymaster was there, gently nudging his brother to the side. Cassian glanced at him in question. 
“I’ll take her, Cass,” Azriel said, looking at you. Something about his hazel eyes had your shoulders falling. “I can use my shadows so she doesn’t have to fly.” 
That seemed like enough of an explanation for Cassian because he stepped aside and moved on to the next girl who was still waiting. 
“Your shadows can get past the wards?” you asked, curiously. You glanced at the shadows that seemed to be dancing around his shoulders. 
“Yes, they can,” he answered simply. Azriel held out his arm to you, just as he had that day. You took it gently and waited for the shadows to cover you.
If his shadows could get past the wards of one of the High Lord’s residences, then they could absolutely get past the ones around the theater’s dressing rooms. Which could mean he really was the stranger leaving you roses. 
“I just want you to know I didn’t want to fly not because your wings scare me but because of the height,” you said, feeling the need to make that clear. Azriel glanced down at you with an unreadable expression and you suddenly felt even more nervous. “In fact, I think your wings are quite beautiful and I would never—”
You closed your mouth sharply, realizing that you were both rambling again and also that you guys were now in the dining room, where everyone else was taking a seat. You blushed and stepped away from him. “Thank you.”
He dipped his head and gestured towards the dining table without a word. You gave him a nervous smile as you scurried past him and to the seat next to where your mother was sitting, already saving you a chair. As you passed by him, you were met with that scent again. The cedar and night-chilled mist. 
This time it was so unmistakable that you whirled around to look at him. But he had disappeared already, likely helping the remaining girls down below. You let out a sigh and continued on your way to your seat. 
When everyone was accounted for, Azriel slid into the seat across from you and you had to keep your eyes glued to your plate to stop yourself from blatantly staring at him. Should you find a moment to ask him about the roses? Should you let him come to you? Or maybe he had been leaving the roses for you as a favor for a friend? That theory almost made more sense because the idea of the shadowsinger leaving you roses seemed so far-fetched. 
All throughout dinner you managed to sneak glances at Azriel as you ate. You joined in the conversations around you but noticed that the shadowsinger didn’t talk that much, seeming much more content in just observing. 
Once everyone seemed done with dinner, the High Lord snapped his fingers and it was all replaced by a huge spread of different desserts. Cakes, pastries, custards, tarts. Everything you could imagine. You didn’t get to indulge in sweets much, your mother was strict about your diet to keep you in shape as a dancer, so your eyes lit up at the sight. 
You started to reach for the closest thing to you, a tiny fruit tart, but your mother slapped your hand with a hiss under her breath, “You’ve had enough to eat tonight. You know the rule about sweets.”
Your brows furrowed, upset. You placed your hands on your lap under the table, nodding. “Sorry, mother.” 
She pressed her lips together and placed her napkin on her own empty plate. Your eyes lingered on what looked like a peach pie, longingly. You felt a ping of envy as you watched all the other girls trying everything. 
“You should try the pie.” Azriel’s voice had your head whipping up and his eyes connected with yours. “It’s the High Lady’s favorite.”
You glanced at your mother, opening your mouth to politely decline but she cut you off. 
“Well, go on,” she said, nodding towards the pie. “Don’t insult them by not eating any.” 
You ground your teeth together, turning a bit pink. As if she hadn’t been the one to literally stop you from having any just a second ago. You looked back at Azriel, noting the way a muscle in his jaw clenched, and nodded your head. 
“I will, thank you,” you said, eagerly taking a slice of the pie. 
It was delectable and you nearly moaned as you ate it. A small smile lit up your face as you tried it. 
“The High Lady has good taste,” you said to Azriel, who was still staring at you. “The pie is delicious.” 
He gave you the smallest of smiles and it warmed something in your chest. 
Once everyone was finished eating, the High Lord cleared the table and moved everyone towards the large sitting room. There were some servants walking around with champagne and wine, which kept the party going steady. It was exciting to be able to socialize like this and you were having a good time, especially now that you didn’t have to be glued to your mother’s side. 
Your eyes roamed the room, trying to find the shadowsinger. The glass of champagne you had made you feel a bit more brave. You wanted to talk to him, wanted to ask him about the roses. It took you a minute of walking around to finally catch sight of him. He was resting against the railing outside on one of the many balconies. You glanced around, making sure no one was watching you, before you stepped outside.
He didn’t turn to look at you, not even as the door shut behind you, cutting off the noise that came from inside. It was like he already knew who had stepped out. You fiddled with your fingers, staring at his back. Some of the liquid courage was chased away by the cold breeze, but you refused to back down now that you were out here. 
“You are the one who has been leaving me roses every night,” you said, quietly, walking towards him. 
“I am,” he answered as you slid up next to him, grabbing the railing to keep your hands from shaking. 
You were surprised at how quickly he admitted it. You were silent for a moment, staring at his profile. Under the moonlight, he was truly a vision to be seen. Your breath caught in your throat when he finally looked at you. 
“I apologize if it has made you uncomfortable,” he said, his shadows seemed to hide behind his wings as if they were scared of what your response might be. 
“It hasn’t,” you replied, gently. You gave him a soft smile. “They are quite beautiful. But I must ask why.” 
His shadows eased, cascading down his shoulders. His lips twitched, amused by your question. 
“I cannot lie to you,” Azriel said, his voice low and dark like his shadows. It sent a shiver down your spine. “I find you very beautiful, y/n. And I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since I watched your show.”
Your eyes widened, your cheeks turning bright red. You hadn’t been expecting him to be so forthcoming. You hadn’t had much experience with males, so you fumbled with what to say back.
“Oh,” you squeaked out. 
That only seemed to amuse him even more. 
“Has no one told you that before?”
“Perhaps not quite so… candidly.” 
His lips twitched and you felt that spark in your chest again. He shook his head a bit, tousling his hair as he turned his body fully towards you, still leaning on the railing. 
“Well, now that my identity has been exposed,” Azriel said. “May I take you out to dinner tomorrow night?” 
“Y-yes,” you managed to stutter out, butterflies exploding in your stomach. Never in your dreams would you have imagined being courted by the Night Court’s spymaster. 
He smiled this time and the sight of it almost knocked you off your feet. 
“Good,” he said, then his hand flicked into his shadows and he pulled out a single, red rose. “For you. Since I wasn’t able to leave one tonight.”
Your heart was thumping in your chest as you reached out and took the flower from his hands. He dipped his head at you before disappearing into his shadows, leaving you alone on the balcony, twirling the rose in your hand with red cheeks and a warm feeling in your heart. 
꒰ა❤︎໒꒱
A month had passed since that night on the balcony. Azriel had continued leaving you roses after each show, something the girls all cooed over. You had also found out that he had charmed them to make sure they never died. So now you had a beautiful bouquet of never-ending roses in a vase on your vanity in the dressing room and even one in your room at home. 
Your first date went very well. You were surprised by how much the two of you had in common. And soon he had taken you on a second, a third, a fourth…and so on. 
You found yourself falling for him….hard. He was different around you than he was with most others. More talkative, more charming and funny. His wit never failed to impress you. 
Your mother wasn’t very pleased at first, especially since you hadn’t consulted her before agreeing to that first date. But once she found out it was Azriel who had asked you, she seemed pleased considering he was a high-ranking member of your court. You hated how superficial your mother was, but was happy she didn’t try to prevent you from seeing him. 
You hadn’t told him just how inexperienced you were, but he was a polite and kind male. He hadn’t even tried to kiss you yet. It was like he knew your hesitations and the need to take things slow with you despite you ever telling him that. But then again, he seemed to know everything you felt, at all times. Sometimes you even wondered if he was a daemati like the High Lord, but he had only laughed when you accused him of it. 
Today, Azriel had taken you out for some coffee and a small lunch after your morning rehearsal. Now the two of you were pushing through the bustling crowds on the streets, taking in the sights of the city. Your eyes lingered on a flower shop you passed by often, at the lovely moonflowers they had on display outside. 
Azriel noticed what had drawn your attention and pulled you over to the shop. You took a sniff of the moonflowers, basking in their sweet scent. “So beautiful.” 
“Would you like one?” Azriel asked in that voice of his that still sent shivers down your spine. 
You smiled up at him, nodding your head. 
“Azriel?”
You pulled your eyes away from him to look at the person who had just called out his name. The High Lady’s sister stood on the small steps leading up into the shop, a large pot in her arms and a bag full of seeds. 
Her doe eyes flickered between you and Azriel, until they dropped to something below. You followed her gaze to look at your conjoined hands. You quickly let go, face turning a bit pink. You had no idea why you suddenly felt as though you had been caught doing something wrong. 
“Hello Elain,” Azriel said, his voice polite but flat. 
She studied him and then turned that gaze on you, her eyes narrowing a bit. You looked between her and Azriel, not really sure what was going on.
“Oh, you’re that ballerina,” she said. “I remember you, from the show.”
“This is y/n. She is my…” He paused and you shifted from foot to foot. “She is my…friend.”
Friend.
His Friend.
Something about that sentence made your heart crack into two. A weird, unpleasant feeling curled in your stomach and your smile dropped.
Friends.
Elain seemed to ignore your presence, her gaze still stuck on Azriel. “I haven’t seen you in three weeks. Where have you been?”
Azriel went to answer but you tuned the conversation out, your thoughts whirling in your mind. Friends. He said you were his friend. 
Were…were you not something more? 
Had you completely misjudged his intentions? 
Or maybe he was tired of waiting for you to be ready for more? 
Maybe he was like all the males your mother warned you about. Only interested in females if they knew they could get sex out of it. 
Your heart dropped into your stomach, your breath catching in your throat. Suddenly, being here with him seemed so suffocating. Especially as he stood talking to some other girl that clearly knew him…clearly had feelings for him. 
You felt like you were going to vomit. You needed to leave. Needed to catch your breath. 
“Sorry to interrupt,” you managed to get out, causing the two of them to look at you. “I’m just going to go look in the shop while you guys catch up.” 
You darted away before either of them could say anything, only letting out a breath when the door closed behind you.  You rushed through the aisles, past the shopkeeper who was busy with another customer, until you spotted the door along the back wall. You slipped through it, into the small alleyway behind the shop. 
You felt bad for ditching Azriel but he had just crushed your heart, even if he didn’t know he had it. You wiped at a tear that spilled from your eye, almost laughing at how awful you felt. You had only known him for a short period of time. Maybe it was never his intention to make you fall for him, but you did and what had been a beautiful, all-consuming joy in your chest was now suddenly an ache that made it hard to even breath. 
You walked down the alleyway until you were back in the streets, sweeping through the crowd as quickly as you could to make it back to your apartment. You just wanted to get home. Just get home and then you could wallow in your own self-pity. Could cry as much as you wanted. 
The crowd thinned out the closer you got to the residential area until the street was empty. 
You let out a sigh, wiping yet another tear, just as your apartment building came into view. You hoisted your dance bag further up your shoulder and began the last few feet home. But a flapping of wings above you made you still, your heart lurching in your chest. 
Azriel landed in front of you with a small thud, his brows furrowed with confusion and his eyes unreadable. In his hand, he held a small bunching of moonflowers. 
“Y/n? Why did you leave like that?” he asked. 
You bit your lip, looking away from his face.
“Hey,” he said, grabbing your chin and turning your face back to him. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying? Did something happen?” 
You wiped at your tears, frustrated that you couldn’t keep it together long enough to make him leave. You shook your head, staring at the ground. “No, nothing happened. I-I just don’t…feel good.” 
Azriel studied you, his thumb swiping your cheek. You hated how much the small gesture soothed you. 
“Don’t lie to me,” he said. “I know something upset you. I can feel it. What happened? Please, tell me.” 
“It’s n-nothing,” you stuttered. 
“Please,” he repeated, his arms falling limp at his sides. “It pains me to see you cry. What happened? You can tell me.”
You looked away from him again, rubbing your arm in discomfort. “It’s stupid. Seriously, Azriel, I’m fine. Just…just leave. Please.” 
He stood up fully, his wings stretching out behind him. He crossed his arms, his expression stern. “No, I’m not going anywhere. Not until you tell me what’s wrong. Did I…Did I do something?” 
Another tear slipped down your cheek and you took a deep breath. “You called me your friend.”
Azriel blinked a few times. “What?”
“To that girl you were talking to. The one you clearly have some sort of history with,” you said, begrudgingly. “You told her I was your friend and I thought…well, maybe I’m an idiot. But I thought we were more than that.” 
Realization dawned over Azriel’s face and then to your surprise, the tension in his body dropped and he let out a small laugh. Your eyes narrowed at him. Was he truly going to laugh in your face after your admittance of feelings for him?
“I don’t understand what’s so funny. You’ve been taking me out on dates, leaving me roses. What else was I supposed to think—”
“No, it’s not funny,” Azriel cut you off, but he was still smiling which only pissed you off. “I mean, it is. Just not in the way you’re thinking.” 
More tears slipped down your cheeks and Azriel lurched forward, placing a hand on the side of your face. “Don’t cry, please. Let me explain. You're right, y/n, you are not my friend. You are so much more than that. You have been since the day I laid eyes on you. You consume my every single thought, y/n, truly. I am relieved to hear that you share my feelings. You have no idea how much I’ve prayed to the Mother that you would feel for me, what I feel for you.”
You took a moment to fully soak in his words, the pressure in your chest easing a bit. 
“Then why did you call me your friend? Who was that girl to you?”
“She’s no one, I promise you that,” he said, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “And I called you my friend because I almost slipped up and called you my—”
He stopped suddenly and you looked up at him in questions. “Called me your what?” 
It was his turn to let out a long breath, his cheeks coloring. “My mate. My mate, y/n. You are my mate.”
Your eyes went wide, your heart frantically beating in your chest. Mate? You were his mate?
Something snapped in you then. Something that had been with you since the moment you could remember, unraveled in your chest. Your mouth dropped open as a gold thread shot out between the two of you, linking you together. You looked back up at him, at those beautiful hazel eyes that were full of joy, love and apprehension. Such vulnerability that you weren’t used to when it came to the shadowsinger. 
“Mate,” you whispered. “You’re my…mate.”
He nodded, his eyes flickering back and forth between yours, waiting for your reaction. That warm feeling in your chest spread throughout your whole body and you couldn’t stop the smile that bloomed on your face. 
Mate. 
Azriel was your mate!
You threw your arms around his neck and pulled him into a crushing hug. Azriel let out a breath of relief, his arms grabbing you around the waist and pulling you even closer. It felt so right being in his arms. Your heart sang at your connection, at the feeling he sent down the bond. 
Everything made sense now. The way he was able to always know how you were feeling, the accelerated feelings between the two of you, how right it felt to be with him—like he had been made for you and you for him. 
He pulled back, holding you at arm's length so he could stare down at you. 
“I have wanted you from the minute I saw you, even before the bond snapped into place,” Azriel said. “I have been searching for you my whole life, y/n. I never thought I would be blessed with a mate, and especially not you. You are so beautiful and so much more than I was expecting. There will be no one else, even if you decide you don’t want this bond. All I see is you, all I want is you. I’m sorry I made you doubt that, even for a second.” 
“I want it! Of course I want it, Azriel!” You were smiling so hard, your cheeks were beginning to ache. “I…I am already falling in love with you and it has only been a month. I can’t even imagine what a lifetime might bring us.”
Azriel was smiling now too, a rare sight that had the bond in your chest glowing. He rested his forehead against yours, shutting his eyes. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I will thank the Mother every single day I get to call you mine.”
You placed a hand on his chest, smiling up at him as he opened his eyes again to stare at you. Butterflies swarmed your stomach, your heart was pounding drums in your chest. 
You needed him so much closer now. You needed to hold him, to kiss him, to hear him call you his. You were ready for that next step, ready to jump right into it. 
“Kiss me,” you whispered, your eyes fluttering to his lips. “Please.”
Azriel let out a small growl. “Do you mean it?”
You nodded, shyly, staring up at him from under your lashes. 
Azriel didn’t waste one more second, he leaned in and captured your lips with his. His lips were softer than you imagined, warm and tantalizing. The world seemed to fade away as you shared your first kiss with him, your heart pounding in your chest, your mind buzzing with need. 
His kiss was soft and tender, making you feel at ease with him. His arm wrapped around your waist and he yanked you even closer, deepening the kiss. Time slowed down. The bond between the two of you glowed. 
Finally, Azriel pulled back, locking eyes with you. He held up the moonflowers he was still holding, letting you take them as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.
“Flowers for the pretty lady,” he teased, causing you to giggle. 
He was still holding you around the waist, his other hand now slipping up into your hair. His hard body was pressed against yours, the flowers nearly crushed. He kissed you again and you felt it then, the promise he was making. 
You were his mate. 
And he would make sure you were his to have and to hold for the rest of eternity.
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