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elyssialumengard · 7 months

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Alastor x Reader : Fragile Link ( Part 2 )

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Link to the first part for those who haven't read it :

https://www.tumblr.com/elyssialumengard/741783404758073344/alastor-x-reader-fragile-link-part-1?source=share

Summary : In this chapter, Charlie presents his redemption hotel project to (y/n), an powerful overlord. Alastor, with his own motives, tries to persuade (y/n) to become involved in their confrontation against Adam.

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Taku knocked a second time, but the silence remained implacable.

Tangible anxiety flashed across his face as he prepared to strike a third time, softly saying :

- My Lady, may I come in ?

Getting no response, he made a face that the two people behind him did not see. Charlie frowned at Alastor, wondering what was going on. The radio demon tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing, wondering why (y/n) was slow to respond, when usually, she was so responsive. He could sense her presence, so it wasn't due to a mistake in location.

The demon, under the overlord's orders, did not hesitate to not ask permission, instead deciding to carefully push open the door. He entered, Charlie and Alastor on his heels, where the blonde was amazed by the clean layout of the place.

The room was bathed in soft, calming light that filtered through the thin curtains, letting in the golden rays of the artificial sun. The walls were painted in light tones, accentuating the brightness of the room and creating a warm atmosphere. Delicately framed paintings adorned the walls, bringing an artistic touch to the whole.

At the back of the room, a solid wooden desk was placed, on which were placed a kettle, a selection of fine teas in pretty metal boxes, delicately decorated porcelain cups, as well as small biscuits arranged on a plate.

Two plush sofas were placed opposite each other in the center, separated by a glass coffee table on which were a few magazines and a vase filled with fresh flowers. The elegantly patterned cushions added a touch of color and comfort to the seating.

Shelves full of books stretched along one of the walls, offering a varied selection of reading material for all tastes. Potted plants were scattered here and there, bringing greenery and freshness to the room.

In this welcoming and peaceful environment, (y/n) stood near a window, her back, silently contemplating the landscape through the glass, absorbed in her thoughts.

Approaching with growing concern, Taku called out to him again. Hearing this time, (y/n) gracefully pivoted towards them, revealing her strangely angelic appearance, which always disconcerted those who saw her for the first time.

Her hair, as white as fresh snow, flowed in silky cascades around her face, framing delicate, celestial features. His gaze, both gentle and penetrating, could have probed the deepest souls. Slight wrinkles framed her eyes, testifying to the countless trials she had endured. Fine deer antlers stood on the top of his head, rather large, extending back, adorned with light beads that had been made for her decades ago.

She was wrapped in a long taupe gray t-shirt, loose and flowing, the long sleeves of which fell almost delicately over her slender hands. The hem of the garment caressed the bottom of her buttocks while she had taken care to slip the front into her straight black fabric pants, thus defining her silhouette. A navy blue belt, carefully adjusted, captured the whole in subtle harmony. On her feet, sandals matching the color of the belt, with black wedge heels, seemed to extend the slender line of her legs.

Despite the apparent casualness of her outfit, she emanated an aura of dignity and serenity, giving her presence a natural nobility and captivating maturity.

Yet, despite the brilliance of her beauty and the imposing aura that surrounded her, an enigmatic fragility seemed to emanate from her, as if the burden of the entire world rested on her proud shoulders. Silent tears beading from her white eyelashes, sliding slowly down her cheeks, leaving in their wake sparkling traces on the porcelain of her skin.

Faced with this heartbreaking vision, Charlie's heart ached with empathy. She could almost feel the pain and suffering emanating from (y/n), even though she didn't know her.

Ignoring Charlie and Alastor, (y/n) walked towards Taku who was walking towards her. Their gestures betrayed a deep and ancient familiarity. She held out a trembling hand, which Taku took tenderly, placing his other hand on her hip for support.

Tears continued to fall down (y/n)’s cheeks as she begged for comfort.

- Taku... I am gripped by doubt and torment... Did I make the right decision ? Was I right to act this way ? She whispered in a broken voice. My heart breaks thinking that another member of my family will suffer loneliness and fear because of the consequences of my actions.

Taku looked at her affectionately, his hand gently stroking hers to comfort her.

- You acted according to your duty. He replied in a soothing voice. Lynn broke established laws. It has threatened the balance that you have so ardently preserved. You had no choice but to punish him.

An encouraging smile appeared on Taku's lips, trying to ease his mistress' pain.

- Your wisdom and prudence have protected our family and our territory. Don't let the burden of your decisions torment you. We are all at your side, aware of the rules, ready to support your choices, however difficult they may be.

(y/n) closed her eyes, feeling the tears continue to fall down her cheeks despite her efforts to hold them back.

- I know, Taku... I realize that none of you hated me for that, that I did what had to be done, but... But that doesn't lessen the pain. She whispered, letting out a sigh of sorrow.

Taku, still close to her, dried her tears delicately, his fingers tenderly caressing her skin. He moved even closer, trying to offer her whatever comfort he could in this moment of torment and vulnerability, no longer caring at all about the guests.

Observing this touching scene, Charlie was overcome by an emotion mixed with surprise and fascination. She didn't expect such intimacy between Taku and (y/n), but she couldn't help but find it magnificent, given the evidence of the deep attachment between them.

While as far as Alastor was concerned, he felt a surge of rage wash over him, his fingers tightening around the top of his cane with increasing intensity. His sinister smile widened, tinged with a dark glow as he observed this lesser demon, acting as if he was entitled to such closeness.

A shadow passed through his eyes, mixing jealousy and desire for possession.

- Remember this, my Lady. Your wisdom has always brought us serenity and protection. Your decisions were dictated by necessity and prudence. He continued in a soothing voice, trying to ease her pain.

(y/n) listened carefully to her advisor's comforting words, her expression relaxing slightly under his influence. However, when she heard the crackles of the radio growing louder in the room, her eyes suddenly widened, recognizing the sound with a disturbing certainty.

- Alastor, I advise you to control your emotions. Taku intervened, diverting his attention to the demon. I did not grant you an audience here, with my Lady, for you to cause trouble.

Alastor bit back a growl, his stag horns growing slightly in response to his growing frustration.

- I'm not the one who starts the trouble, my dear Taku. He replied, his gaze burning with a dark glow. But no matter, I wouldn't want to spoil your little intimate moment with your precious overlord. He added acerbically, his pupils narrowing, leaving more room for the black of his eyes.

Before Taku could respond, a bitter cold suddenly filled the room, dropping the temperature several degrees and obscuring the surrounding light. (y/n)'s silver eyes glowed menacingly as she stared at Alastor with an icy intensity, filled with hatred and menace.

Detaching itself slightly from Taku, (y/n)'s aura transformed into a terrifying presence, imbuing the room with a heavy and sinister atmosphere. His antlers grew larger as did his shadow which expanded, morphing into a tight grip around Alastor's body, immobilizing him. All this happened in barely the blink of an eye. Alastor's mischievous smile froze, becoming more awkward as he tried to keep his composure.

Charlie, panicked, let out a little cry of fear when she saw Alastor in danger. (y/n) walked towards him with determined steps, her piercing gaze staring at him intensely. Once in front of him, the same size, she addressed him in a cold voice :

-What are you here for, radio demon ?

Aware of the palpable threat in the air, Alastor responded with feigned confidence :

- Just to chat, my dear overlord. I come as a friend, as always.

- As friends ? She replied, an icy glint in her eyes. You have no friends here. You only have enemies waiting for the right moment to destroy you.

A shiver ran down Alastor's spine, but he kept his composure, his sinister smile stretching slightly across his face.

- Oh, but my dear, it's a shame. I'm sure we could get along if you gave me a chance.

(y/n) stared at him with contempt.

- You don't belong here, Alastor. And if you even think for a moment about sowing chaos in my territory, know that I will make you regret every second of your existence.

When Alastor should have fought back or tried to defend himself, a subtle observation revealed to him an unsuspected truth, escaped everyone's attention. The shadow's hold on him, although similar to that of his memories, was not as stifling or threatening as he had thought. He felt within himself the possibility of freeing himself from it, if he really wanted to. Staring intently at the face of the woman he had come to meet, he noticed that the tears had stopped flowing, giving way to an expression valiantly fighting against fatigue.

Smiling even more, he decided to lighten the atmosphere with his usual sarcastic humor.

- Let's see, my dear, you take me for a more belligerent demon than I really am. He said, giving a mocking smile. I'm here on a much more interesting matter than causing chaos. Actually, I'm here to introduce you to someone !

(y/n) arched an eyebrow, her expression hardening even further.

-And who is this person you are talking about ? She asked in a biting voice.

Alastor let out a small laugh, turning to Charlie with a theatrical nod.

- Allow me to introduce you to Princess Charlie Morningstar, heir to the throne of Hell and the founder of the Hazbin Hotel !

Charlie, feeling a little uncomfortable under (y/n)'s unforgiving gaze, gave her a shy smile and bowed slightly.

- Hey… Nice to meet you, Lady (y/n). She said in a calm but respectful voice.

( y/n ) looked away from Alastor to stare at Charlie, his expression softening slightly. She observed the young princess with a mixture of curiosity and evaluation, taking the time to look her over from head to toe, making her slightly uncomfortable, feeling as if the one who was taller than her she probed the depths of his soul.

- Charlie Morningstar… She whispered, repeating the name as if to engrave it in her memory.

As (y/n) scrutinized Charlie with growing interest, a resolve seemed to arise within her. With a graceful gesture of her hand, she dispelled the shadow that still enveloped Alastor, thus freeing the demon from his yoke. The temperature of the room and its brightness returned to their natural balance, while (y/n)'s deer antlers returned to their initial size.

(y/n), now more relaxed, conformed to the rules of etiquette, respecting them. A gracious smile graced her lips as she gave Charlie a salutation of gracious solemnity, bowing her head slightly in respect.

- The pleasure is shared, Princess Charlie. She replied in a soft but confident voice, getting up. It is an honor to welcome you to my modest home. Please forgive me for the vulnerable and aggressive version of myself that you may have encountered. Under no circumstances should she be present in the presence of royalty such as yours.

Charlie was pleasantly surprised by the sudden change in (y/n)'s attitude, feeling more comfortable in her presence. She bowed respectfully in gratitude, acknowledging the courtesy of the Overlord of Hell, not being used to being shown so much respect.

(y/n) then turned towards the couches, inviting Charlie to sit down.

- Please sit down, Princess Charlie, you must be tired from all this walking. She declared in a friendly voice, gesturing elegantly to the sofa.

Charlie nodded politely and sat down, his gaze following Alastor who stood behind the back of the sofa, his teasing smile still hanging on his lips. Meanwhile, (y/n) sent a command to Taku.

- Taku, please prepare some tea for our guest. She ordered in a calm but authoritative voice, as she sat down her turn, opposite Charlie who was standing straight, playing with his fingers.

Taku nodded silently, bowing slightly before walking over to where the teapot and cups were set out. He prepared the tea with silent skill, discreetly observing his enemy out of the corner of his eye.

As for Alastor, he remained unfazed by the presence of the one he would like to see dead, his expression still teasing, his gaze sparkling with undisguised malice as he observed the scene with palpable amusement.

Once the tea was ready, Taku approached Charlie and handed him a cup with a respectful gesture.

- Your tea, Princess Charlie. He announced in a neutral voice, placing it in front of her on the table, before serving (y/n), who thanked him with a warm but moderate smile.

Charlie thanked him with a grateful smile and took the cup carefully, feeling the comforting warmth of the liquid against his fingers. She took a small sip, savoring the soothing taste of the tea. (y/n) observed him with a slight smile, then suddenly declared, breaking the silence that had fallen :

- If I may say so, you look exactly like your father, Lucifer.

Charlie, astonished, looked at her in surprise.

- Do you know my father ? She asked with a hint of disbelief, unsure of what to think.

(y/n) nodded slightly.

- We met on a few rare occasions. She replied in a calm voice, full of reflection. But I must admit that I don't particularly hold it in my heart. Although I understand that he is overwhelmed by the illness of depression, especially since the departure of Lilith, your mother, I firmly believe that a king, even if he did not choose this destiny, must above all think to his subjects and be ready to sacrifice himself for them. Unfortunately, your father doesn't always seem to understand this, letting innocent people perish every year and condemning all sinners indiscriminately.

A nervous laugh escaped Charlie's lips at this unexpected revelation, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear, trying to hide his growing confusion. Another heavy silence settled in the room, (y/n) doing everything to ignore the presence of Alastor, who reveled in his reaction.

After taking a sip, the hostess asked in a friendly but curious voice :

-And if not, can you inform me of your coming here, princess ? I must admit that I never imagined such a thing happening.

Charlie felt a surge of intense excitement course through her body as she jumped to her feet, the surge in her voice ready to burst into song to introduce her hotel of redemption. Her eyes glowed with palpable determination as she prepared to share her vision with those in the room.

- Oh uh yes ! Let me introduce you to my hotel that rehabilitates fishermen ! She began in a vibrant, almost musical voice. A place where the most lost souls can find redemption and inner peace.

His momentum was abruptly interrupted by the authoritarian voice of (y/n), which ended his tirade :

- There is no room for songs here, princess. Please forgive me for interrupting you, but I believe that there is a time for everything, including songs. If this is serious, you can present things differently.

Charlie, disappointed by the abrupt interruption of her creative momentum, sat up slowly, stammering an excuse. Alastor raised an eyebrow and said in a voice tinged with sarcasm :

- Are you sure about that, (y/n) ?

Ignoring Alastor's remarks and the hostile glances exchanged between him and Taku, (y/n) focused on Charlie, noticing his growing state of stress. Telling herself that his condition was because of her, with natural grace, she offered him a soothing smile and said softly :

- There's no reason to stress, princess, I didn't want to upset you. However, I can't stand the music anymore.

Hearing this, Alastor's smile became colder and more sarcastic. Charlie, looking at the woman in front of her, sighed, her shoulders slumping. She still had a hard time realizing that she was here, sharing tea with the person she considered an example to follow. As a result, she could not hold back from sharing her adoration for the overlord.

- You know, I've always heard about you. Rumors say that you are almost as powerful as my father, but that you have chosen a different path. A path of compassion and helping others.You have made pacts with sinners, protecting them and guiding them through the troubled waters of life. It's incredible. Everyone talks about you, but we never see you. You might almost think you're a legend. And yet here I am, facing you, realizing that you are very real. I admire you so much. It's like meeting my idol. Your strength, your generosity... It's inspiring. I mean, who else could boast of having (y/n) as an ally ? That's... That would just be amazing.

As Charlie's excitement began to skyrocket again, (y/n) gave him a kind look and said gently, touched by his words :

- Calm down, princess. Thank you for your admiration. Breathe, I am fully listening to you.

Charlie, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, outlined his plan with frankness tinged with nervousness. She honestly admitted that it was her fault that the purge had been brought forward six months, explaining that in a month Adam and the exterminators would come to see them first. Unable to hide her anxiety, she admitted that she did not know what to do in the face of this critical situation.

-And so… Alastor brought me here to get your help, apparently. She added, casting an uncertain look at Alastor.

( y/n ), staring skeptically at Alastor for the first since this exchange, raised an eyebrow, expressing doubt about the demon's intentions. In a calm but direct voice, she asked him :

- Do you really think you'll help Charlie with his hotel ? Do you believe in this idea of redemption ?

Alastor replied with a hint of amusement in his voice :

- Ah, my dear (y/n), believe in redemption ? It’s like believing in Santa Claus ! However, I see Charlie's little project as an entertainment opportunity. And maybe, who knows, a few souls to collect for eternity. But don't get me wrong, I'm here to save his project, it shouldn't be broken too quickly. I was even the one who chose the name of the brand, the “Hazbin Hotel”!

Faced with Alastor's response, Charlie felt disappointed and blasé, her face betraying her displeasure. She had hoped to find a sincere ally in him, but his words had reminded her of the dark and detached nature of the one who accompanied her today.

(y/n), turning to Taku with a serious look, asked him if the information provided by Alastor was true. Taku nodded soberly, confirming that according to his informants, the stated facts were accurate. (y/n) bowed his head slightly in recognition towards Taku before turning back to Charlie.

- I see… And what do you want from me, princess ?

Alastor spoke up to propose a solution to the situation.

- You know, (y/n), with your power and your army of fishermen, you could put an end to all this. You could even come to the aid of other potential members of what you insist on calling your “family”. He said in a convinced tone, looking at his nails, keeping a straight posture, not wanting to slump against the backrest even if he wanted to, wanting to keep a good face in front of her.

In a gesture of controlled serenity, (y/n) gently raised her hand to interrupt him, before falling gracefully on his knee. Closing her eyes briefly, she gathered her thoughts before responding in a calm but resolute voice :

- I understand your point of view, but I refuse to put the members of my family in danger for a matter that does not directly concern them. Here we are safe.

(y/n)'s reply, although delivered with apparent confidence, does not quite succeed in convincing Alastor, accustomed to detecting chinks in the armor of his interlocutors. He had subtly noticed the change in expression on the overlord's face. A smirk tugged at his thin lips, his eyes sparkling with biting amusement as he prepared to further explore the cracks in (y/n)'s confidence.

- You sure about that ? He asked, his voice softly tinged with a veiled threat. Think about it my dear. Things change, alliances break, and even your fishermen could find themselves caught in the tumult of this impending war.

He remained silent for a moment, letting his words permeate the atmosphere, then he continued in a calm but incisive tone :

- Imagine for a moment that Adam's forces are getting closer. Do you really think they will stop indefinitely at the gates of your pocket dimension ? That your precious fishermen will be spared from their fury ? No, my dear (y/n), your security is only an illusion in this constantly moving world. And if you refuse to act now, you may bitterly regret it when the flames of war lick the walls of your refuge.

He paused, letting his words resonate in (y/n)'s mind, before concluding with a sardonic smile :

- Of course, I do not underestimate your ability to protect your domain. But it's always good to consider all possibilities, even the darkest ones. After all, prudence is the mother of safety, right ?

Alastor knew how to tug on the heartstrings of high-ranking demons like (y/n). He used his charisma and sharp rhetoric to sow doubt in the overlord's mind, giving her a different perspective on the situation and pushing her to consider more aggressive actions to protect her rule and honor.

Before Charlie could intervene with his own arguments, Taku, faithful servant, spoke in a respectful but determined tone.

- My Lady. He began in a voice full of devotion. I understand the arguments made by this nuisance, but I implore you, do not let fear and uncertainty dictate your actions. You are the force that unites us, the light that guides our steps in the darkness. Your prudence is our shield against the chaos that always threatens to engulf us. Yes, times are uncertain and threats are many, but it is precisely in these times that your leadership is most crucial. Acting in haste, under the influence of fear, would only hasten our downfall. Let us remain faithful to our strategy, to our vision of the future. With your wisdom and wise judgment, we will overcome whatever challenges come our way. Because if you choose to engage in this confrontation, you risk losing more than you could gain. Your place is here, alongside yours, to protect our home and guide our destiny. Don't let the words of a manipulative demon sow doubt in your mind. We trust you, my Lady. And as long as you stay strong, so will we.

His hand, resting confidently on (y/n)'s shoulder, testified to his unwavering support, while he awaited his suzerain's decision with respectful patience, trusting in her wisdom and in her ability to make the best decisions for them.

(y/n) turned her gaze towards Taku, letting her face rest on her hand which was placed next to her on the backrest, fighting against the wave of sadness which invaded her at the thought of Lynn, that she had punished for a recent transgression. Alastor, carefully scanning the scene, felt a pang of annoyance as he noticed the proximity between them, a proximity that bothered him more than he cared to admit.

However, her attention was diverted by something that seemed to escape the others, when she raised her arm slightly, to take Taku's hand which was on her shoulder. Another curious and interesting detail, which added to the confirmation of his suspicions. (y/n) raised his face towards Charlie, letting go of his advisor's hand, placing his arm back at his side. In a gentle voice, she expressed her regrets.

- I'm sorry, princess, but I can't help you in this matter. She declared with compassion. I can't afford to put any member of my family in danger, let alone drag them into this.

However, she offered Charlie a glimmer of hope by adding :

- However, if your hotel survives, I will be happy to support you by visiting your establishment. I could then assess whether it truly constitutes a safe haven for those who seek redemption under your protection.

This compromise seemed to assuage Charlie's disappointment, giving him an encouraging outlook for the future of his project. She couldn't hold back her joy and literally jumped with contentment, her eyes shining with excitement.

- You are serious ? Really ? She exclaimed, both surprised and delighted by the powerful overlord's proposal.

(y/n) nodded gently, a kind smile stretching her lips.

- Yes I am. If your hotel manages to offer a path to redemption, then some members of my family may feel drawn to that possibility. And as a worthy leader, it is my duty to help them as best I can. She declared with dignity, thus expressing her noble vision of responsibilities.

Charlie's eyes lit up even more, splashed with a mixture of admiration and gratitude.

- It's incredible ! Thank you so much, (y/n) ! You won't regret it, I promise ! She exclaimed, letting her gratitude and determination to make her project a success shine through.

Sensing Charlie's imminent departure, (y/n) smiled slightly, appreciating his enthusiasm and determination.

- I wish you good luck, princess. Do your best to save your hotel. She told him sincerely, recognizing the passion that animated the young woman.

Charlie, moved by these words, bowed respectfully to (y/n) like a fan to an idol.

- Thank you, thank you very much ! I will not disappoint you ! I will do everything to find a solution to save him, you will see ! She promised passionately before heading towards the exit, carrying with her a mixture of excitement and newfound enthusiasm, not caring if Alastor followed her or not.

Alastor remained still, staring at (y/n) with a mixture of interest and challenge in his glowing gaze. Taku, seeing that the conversation was coming to an end, turned to Alastor with a cold and bitter expression, suggesting in a scathing tone :

- It's time for you to go, demon. Your presence is no longer required.

But Alastor didn't seem to react to Taku's words, keeping his attention entirely focused on (y/n). He let out a little sarcastic laugh, before announcing in a quiet voice but full of innuendo :

- In fact, I intend to talk a little more with (y/n).

She turned her attention to him, with a neutral air, while he announced :

-And one-on-one this time.

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Author's note : Well, I guess there will be a part 3, right ? I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I did writing it, and that (y/n)'s character captivated you. Stay tuned for the next part !

#alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin charlie #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #radio demon #vivziepop

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otomehonyaku · 4 months

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Diabolik Lovers Lost Eden Stellaworth Tokuten Short Stories スペシャル特典小冊子 ☽ Subaru ver.

This short story booklet was part of the Stellaworth set for Lost Eden! Keep reading below the cut for Subaru's version.

S ☽ [Ayato’s version by @kyouxa] [Laito’s version by @kyouxa] [Shuu’s version] [Reiji’s version] [Kanato’s version] [Subaru’s version]

M ☽ [Ruki’s version] [Yuma's version] [Kou’s version] [Azusa’s version]

TK ☽ [Carla’s version] [Shin’s version] [Kino’s version]

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

As always, special thanks to @karleksmumskladdkaka for providing the scans ♡⸜(˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ Please do not reuse or post my translations elsewhere or translate my work into other languages without my permission.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

—The World Tree, with its roots in Eden soil.

Its leaves continued to fall as if signalling the world’s impending demise. It was a grim reminder of our fate.

Fear seized me. Would I become like my father?

Still, no matter how much I thought about it, the answer wouldn’t come. I shook my head and kicked at the ground. It made the fear dissipate a little.

And then my mind was suddenly filled with her. She chose me and vowed to stay by my side no matter what happened… She was my beloved.

“But… she won’t be coming anytime soon.”

Where could she be right now? What could she be doing? I looked up at the sky and sighed. The woman, who was usually with me at this hour, was nowhere to be found.

“Well, whatever. It’s not like we promised to meet.”

Right. Whatever she was doing, it wasn’t really any of my business. Even if she were to get involved with any of my brothers, or even if she’d thoughtlessly become involved with the Mukamis–who had come to visit me lately–or the Founders… it had nothing to do with me.

“...Fuck!”

I didn’t want to be here any longer. I just had to leave. With that lazy excuse, I turned my back on the World Tree. I was going to find her… no, I was leaving under the pretext of surveying the area.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“...You still bothering with that shit?”

“S-Subaru…?!”

It was surprisingly easy to find her. She was in Eden’s flower garden. Most of the greenery in Eden had withered away, and so we had come to visit here often in an effort to restore the castle's former glory.

I peeked at her hands where she crouched down and saw that she was planting a slightly misshapen artificial flower into the soil. She was looking after the garden without me.

As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I scolded myself internally for my narrow-mindedness.

“Hey, hurry up. Let’s get you back to your room.”

“Could you wait a little? I’m almost done.”

“...”

Disappointment washed over me as I watched her shake her head. To make matters worse, she told me to go on ahead without her, even though I hadn’t even told her why I had come to see her. I sighed heavily and sat down on the ground.

Surely, she must have thought I would go home. She looked at me curiously.

“...Oh, come on.”

“Huh?”

“Come on! Don’t be so selfless. What I’m saying is, just… keep me company sometime.”

I must have gotten my point across, because her cheeks flushed and she hurriedly hid her face. Seeing her reaction, I felt myself falling into a pit of self-loathing. I hadn’t been planning on telling her. I became overwhelmed by embarrassment, and I wanted to get out of the situation immediately.

However–

“Ah…?!”

I inhaled sharply. Her frail body, which had been in front of me until just now, suddenly collided with my chest. Her arms wrapped around me, her slender fingers grabbing on to my clothes. I was so bewildered that I couldn’t even bring myself to push her away. It felt like forever until I processed what was happening.

Was she… hugging me? By the time I really noticed, it seemed that a few minutes had passed. She met my gaze with a slightly sullen expression.

“...Jeez. Don’t get carried away.”

I may have said that, but her embrace had instinctively sparked my desire for her. Her loveliness overwhelmed me, and I pulled her back into my arms.

I pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck. She shivered a little, probably because she was ticklish, and so in response I kept planting kisses on her skin until she could barely move.

“We’re going to your room. Now. You’d better prepare for what’s coming… alright?”

I whispered the words into her ear, no matter how embarrassing it was, and she simply nodded as I expected she would.

Only moments earlier, I had been lamenting my weaknesses and feeling jealous over her not spending time with me, but those thoughts all melted away in an instant. I hastened my pace as I led her to her room, gripping her hand tightly.

Right now, I just want to feel her. Her warmth, her touch, her voice, her body… I want all of her. I want to make her mine.

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #diabolik lovers translation #diabolik lovers translations #diahell #otomehonyaku #my translations #diabolik lovers lost eden #lost eden #sakamaki subaru #subaru sakamaki

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chickycherrycola · 4 months

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perfect

Happy SoMa Day to all who celebrate! A national holiday, as far as I'm concerned 😋I offer a fluffy, bite-sized little ficlet as my contribution, which features some of my favorite Soma tropes - grumpy Soul, domestic fluff, accidental cuteness, and BREAKFAST - all in less than 1k words!

Read it on AO3, or under the cut in its entirety!

“You’ll feel better once you have some food in you.”

Soul knows she’s right–Maka is almost always right, not that he’d willingly admit it–but still, he’s choosing to gripe about it.

He gripes about it all the way from his motorcycle to the glass entry doors of the restaurant, through the tightening of his meister’s grip on his wrist, until they're sliding into plush, squeaky booth seats and the hostess is shoving menus into their hands with a stifled smirk.

He bitches a little less, however, when his eyes fall upon the wide selection of food items displayed on the pages of said menus, as he flips through the smorgasbord of breakfast offerings. Banana nut pancakes and huevos rancheros, Belgian waffles and eggs benedict florentine. This place has every breakfast delicacy under the sun.

Unfortunately, the rest of the population of this po-dunk little Midwestern town must know this, too, as the restaurant is packed, and harbors every social annoyance under the sun as well.

Screaming toddlers. Middle-aged brunchers clinking their glasses of mimosa too loudly. Elderly couples staring at him obviously, their expressions aghast with horror. A crowd of servers gathered around a nearby table, presenting a young girl with a stack of birthday pancakes as they sing to her.

His head hurts, they got back to their hotel room after the mission way too late, and he’s running on a less-than-optimal amount of sleep. He wants to shovel a giant plate of scrambled eggs and bacon into his face and then promptly crash into the nearest sleep-able surface.

Soul groans and lets his head fall to the table, his forehead meeting wood with a heavy thunk. Moments later, there’s the all-too-familiar sensation of a pinch to his ear.

“You’re such a grump,” Maka giggles.

“I’m allowed.”

“Never said you weren’t,” she replies. He waits for her to continue berating him–’sit up straight already’ or ‘stop breathing on the table, it’s disgusting’- but she doesn’t. He rolls his head around, angling his eyes up to look at her, and finds her attention focused elsewhere.

“Isn’t this place just the cutest?” she muses. “I love the décor. It’s so cozy and welcoming.”

She’s gazing out at the room beyond, a twinkle of delight in her eyes as she takes it all in. Soul notices, too, for the first time–opposite them is a flickering fireplace framed by a brick hearth, and whimsical works of modern art hang upon every wall. Strategically placed ivy plants bring some color to the dining room, their jade-green, star-shaped leaves cascading down in long, elegant tendrils.

And on the wall of the booth they’re presently seated at, a lushly textured panel of artificial greenery. Maka’s flaxen head contrasts nicely against the darker shade, and–it would make for a lovely photo backdrop.

“Hey.” He sits up, suddenly feeling invigorated, and reaches a hand into the back pocket of his jeans to retrieve his phone. “Smile for me real quick?”

Maka blinks at him. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“Are you… are you taking a picture of me?”

“No, I’m checking the weather for our flight home later,” Soul deadpans. In response, Maka sticks her tongue out at him and wrinkles her nose in an exaggerated grimace. Soul shrugs and hits the camera button, forever immortalizing the moment on digital film, and Maka blanches when she realizes he’s snapped a photo.

“H-Hey! Delete that!”

“No.”

“W-Well, take another one at least–”

“Pose nicely, then.”

Maka pouts, her cheeks visibly flushed and her brows cinched together, but before he can get that expression on film, she composes herself–adjusts her pigtails and straightens her spine, schools her face into a pleasant, soft smile. Soul lines her up in the viewfinder of his camera app, and–

Snap.

He examines the photo for several minutes, eyes darting between his meister and the image of her on his phone screen, before nodding subtly to himself.

“Well? How do I look?”

“Perfect.”

His fingers tap, tap, tap away as he uploads the picture to his story, witty caption and all–’She dragged me to a bougie brunch place instead of letting me sleep in’- and doesn’t realize Maka has fallen silent until he’s hit the post button.

When he puts his phone down and looks at her once again, she's staring at him with a strange expression on her face, her bottom lip between her teeth and her cheeks a shade of scarlet nearly rivaling his eyes.

“What?” he asks.

Maka clears her throat, runs a nervous finger idly around one of her pigtails and looks down at her lap.

“N-Nothing.”

At that moment, his phone pings–a reply to his story post from Black Star.

“Bro, you’re such a sap.”

#soul eater #soul x maka #SoMa Day #soul eater evans #maka albarn #soul eater fanfiction #cherry writes #fluff #ficlet #one shot #writers on tumblr #ao3 fanfic

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gentlebliss · 29 days

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how do you take such pretty pictures?

I'm really happy that you think that about my photography! I wish I had something to say, bahahah. I think it helps to know what kind of photos you like to see... I really like "nostalgic" photography, so I like taking photos with over-exaggerated lighting, blur, or dim lighting. It gives it a more "homey" feeling to me. (especially if you use warm artificial lights, like lamps).

But anyway, lately I personally really enjoy using natural lighting, like the sunlight when outside or through the windows. That's how I've taken photos of drinks and stuff, like these, since I think it makes the targets look brighter so I take them by windows and turn off any lights. For photos of plants and things, natural light is really nice, too. I think it gives it a more "greenery" feel. And of course, it's the same for all the chalk photos I've taken, since it's all outside.

Outside of that, I think just angle, composition, lighting, stuff like that that makes a photo for me... But all of that is subjective. Just take photos for fun and to make yourself happy, because I only started taking photos last year to save memories and show things to people.

#inquiry

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downbadperture · 2 months

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You said you're more likely to do obscure characters so I'm curious: can you write something short about a male reader and The Announcer(it's the guy who talks in the background saying stuff like "you've been in suspension for 9 9 9 9 9")? I'm just curious about what you could come up with.. I imagine it's him as a robot (more like body less) and like, maybe the reader just walks around aperture talking to random unanimated stuff and the unanimated stuff starts talking back. It could be platonic or romantic, whatever you want

DUDE THIS IS WHAT IM TALKING ABOOUUUTT. I LOVE THIS, i love this a lot like actually. This is what we as the fandom need in this day and age. I fully support this, and I will totally do this.

~Male!Reader x Announcer~

~No warnings apply~

You might have officially lost it.

After the events of 'The Incident', you were the only living soul wandering around in this godforsaken facility. Maybe it was the humidity when you were only a floor separated from the incinerator below and making your work shirt stick to your skin, maybe it was the silence that threatened to make your mind feel hollow if it weren't for the facility constantly reminding you of how it was digesting your very being with every little scrape of metal or gear grinding in the distance.

But maybe you finally lost it when you started talking to inanimate objects, anything to make that aching loneliness numb for a few minutes. It started with talking to the cubes when you would hide out behind the walls of a testing chamber, it didn't even have to be the pink ones with the little hearts that were put in place to boost test subject morale, sometimes it would just be the dull blue ones staring at you with pure indifference. For some reason you felt more comfortable around those ones.

Then it started turning into having lively conversations with a can of beans you were eating, then sitting on the floor by a chair and talking about your day with it, and you started talking with any object that you deemed friendly enough to talk to. Never really talking to the Turrets though, they gave you a sick feeling whenever you heard their voices.

But talking with objects helped you stay sane or as sane as you could be while in this hellhole.

You were wandering the corridors of the dorms the test subjects used to reside in when they had to stay in the facility for multiple days at a time, the company not wanting outside forces interfering with the testing. The halls reminded you of a hotel almost, the nicely carpeted floors and the lights lining up against the ceiling. They even had some fake plants lined up in some places too, usually near the broken elevators or a vending machines. You were about to get some soda for your parched throat, after not having drunken anything in days the thought of some carbonated orange soda sounded like an oasis in a desert.

As you walked up to the machine, the artificial plants caught your eye. The greenery gave you an aching yearning from a time before, but it also made you feel a warmth that was so rare in a place like this.

You stopped mid-way, your lab coat swaying behind you as you turned towards one of the artificial potted plants. There was a little smirk hidden behind your tangled and overgrown beard.

"Come here often?" You ask with no hesitation.

"..."

"Heh I hear that. it's one of the more nicer parts around here," You replied flippantly. "Not many areas you can get carpet and chairs besides the offices, but who wants to hang around at work all the time am I right?"

"..."

"Yeah..." You let out a small dry laugh, "Well, i'm gonna get some soda from the vending machine right over here. You want one? I'm guessing since you're all plastic and foam you have a different diet from real plants,"

"..."

"Whoa! Take it easy there," You lifted and waved your hands defensively, taking a step back. "Sorry, I mean OTHER TYPES of plants. Didn't mean to press a button there, just wanted to see if you wanted some soda" your smile stretched into more of a jester like grin.

"..."

"Yeah yeah, now the soda is definitely on me," You playfully rolled your eyes and stared at the glowing orange machine. Citranium was written in small white letters, the logo being the Aperture brand but in the shape and color of an orange. Shame really that there wasn't really much variety, but you can't bite the hand that feeds you unless it starts choking you in the process then definitely bite it. But there was no biting required in this specific circumstance.

You pressed a button to see if maybe someone accidentally left a few dollars in the machine and forgot to order, but suddenly a speaker on the ceiling was triggered and your spine shot out of your back from the piercing hiss of the old intercom.

"Aperture science proudly announces it's newest and sweetest product since the m-" it cut out, leaving a horrible garbled mess of static before clearing up, "- Citrianium! Now test subjects can experience the wonders of science with every sip. Citrianium sources it's oranges from the farms founded in the agronomy department within Aperture Science itself. So we guarantee that by supporting Citrianium, you are also supporting your local farmers and is sourced organically. Note: The measures of organic may vary with each can and may cause unprecedented side effects depending on the amount,"

The voice from the intercom was robotic, but not monotone. The best way you could describe it was that you could feel the toothy smile the man had while talking. It had a pep to it to put it simply.

You must have triggered some sort of advertisement for the soda. It was almost foreign hearing an actual voice after so long of just faint sounds and inevitable silence as responses. But as you stared at the speaker with your head craned up high, it felt like a friend talking to you.

"W-well, do you think you can do a guy a favor and get me a soda? I'm kinda on the broke side right now," You asked the speaker, digging your hands into your lab coat pockets. You can feel the lint and dust at the bottom starting to pile up.

There was a small silence, but then there was a response.

"Citrianium can now be found in grocery stores and gas stations near you! Science in a can now at the low low price of two dollars each in American currency," The Announcer semi-replied cheerfully.

"Well, I don't really have two bucks on me right now," you huffed, sighing as you started eyeing a cushioned chair near an elevator. A smirk creased your lips when the light bulb went off. You cracked your knuckles, meandering towards the unsuspecting chair.

"Sorry pal, but a guy needs his drink," you mumbled before picking up the chair by the wooden armrests, it surprisingly being so light you could hold it over your head. You stared at the vending machine with determination, starting to charge towards it and preparing to smash it with the chair until it finally gave you a damn soda. But before you could take the swing, a bright shiny can was dispensed immediately.

"All staff get a complimentary Citranium for the hard work they give here at Aperture Science!" The Announcer chirped, "We appreciate your commitment, complacency, discipline, and respect! Keep up the hard work and remember that science starts with you,"

You almost dropped the chair on your foot when you fumblingly placed it on the ground. You couldn't tell if this was just coincidences or if you were finally going crazy or something else. Your attention drew to the speaker hanging over the machine. You couldn't recall the announcements themselves ever being sentient, but then again this place loved giving things sentience even when if it would be more humane for it to just be a simple object or mechanism.

You hesitantly picked up the can, the tin shimmering from the ceiling lights. It was still chilled in your grip. Your gaze lifted up to the speaker hanging over the machine once more, your mind flooded with intrigue and curiosity.

"Thank you," You chirped.

There was a loud hiss like it was struggling to give a proper response, "Ap- welco- Aperture Science welcomes yo- Wel- Welcomes you," was all he said before cutting out.

"Ha Well... I'll see you around," you sighed, shrugging off as you popped the can up to reveal the citrus smelling fizzing liquid inside. Maybe it was science in a can considering how long this soda was able to last.

You started walking down the corridors, going to go find stairs to hopefully find your way to the cafeteria the test subjects would lounge in every once in a while. But in every corner there was an intercom of some kind put in place, including the rooms as well if you could actually get inside them (Not that you particularly wanted to, not really in the mood to see a possible dead body).

But then you got another idea.

"Hey uh... Announcer guy? You don't happen to know where all the food is stored right," You ask, your eyes once again fixed onto the intercoms.

"Aperture Science cares very deeply about their test subject's and staff’s health and well being, which is why we found the food octagon back in 1965," he immediately replied, "Breakfast, lunch and dinner that have all categories of the food octagon are held in the dining hall on the first floor of the building,"

“Hm,” you hummed, “Are you gonna be sticking around me for a while?”

“Aperture Science constantly surveils their staff to see if they’re keeping up with their company mandated work quota to make sure science is being done throughout the day and they are following company policy,” he responded

“I’ll take as a yes,” you smile, happy that you’re finally talking to someone that talks back somewhat.

#portal 2 #announcer x reader #im sorry if this sucks #the announcer portal 2 #male!reader #oneshot

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bellahomes1050 · 2 months

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#home decor #home renovation #home design #interior design #homedecor #decor #furniture #homeimprovement #interiors

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velidewrites · 2 years

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Summary: When 19-year old Feyre Archeron voluntarily takes her sister's place in the Hunger Games, she expects nothing but her imminent demise. But Feyre is a survivor, and as she is thrown into a battle between life and death, she discovers there are things worth fighting for.

Pairing: Feysand

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, graphic depictions of blood and gore, Feyre being sexy and unhinged, wait a second is that Rhysand? Is he also sexy and unhinged? AKA Feysand (literally) slaying the game

Read: Chapter I || Chapter II || Fic Masterlist || AO3

Chapter III: I've Been Looking For You

For the first time in her life, Feyre felt like the prey.

There was something about the training hall that reminded her of the forest back home. Yes, the trees had been replaced by tall, metal silhouettes, all painted black with red circles around the head, the crotch, and the heart—and yes, the only piece of greenery in the room was perhaps the small survival station in the back, a small fire already cackling quietly—but the air of desperation remained all the same.

Alis had woken them up in the morning, two hours before breakfast—way too early for Feyre’s liking, though she supposed she had no right to complain—to go over their strategies for the next week. To both Feyre and Tamlin’s shock, they were strictly forbidden to display their most prominent skills—not right away, at least. According to their mentor, showing them off attracted too much attention, which they absolutely did not need—and after the Parade, Feyre was inclined to agree. She’d already had nightmares about the feral smiles on the twins from Two’s faces after stepping off the chariots. The last thing she needed was having them chase her to her death the moment she’d step into the arena.

And so, here she stood, scanning for any training stations that she thought would be the deadliest—and, hopefully, the quickest—to begin with. Her eyes settled on the survival section, where a large screen displaying different plants and herbs had been set up. Perhaps she could run it by Alis later.

A woman’s voice near her pulled her from her thoughts, and Feyre joined the semi-circle that had already managed to gather around her.

The training instructor was a small woman with pitch black hair, so small almost all of the Tributes had towered above her—though Feyre was smarter than to dare cross her, judging by the way her silver eyes burned as they assessed them all individually witch each carefully measured word.

“In two weeks,” she began, the tone of her voice earning immediate silence, “twenty-three of you will be dead.”

A cold shiver ran down Feyre’s spine, and thin hairs rose on her arm under the stretchy fabric of her training suit.

The woman continued, “One of you will survive. Who that is,” she said, her stare meeting the male Tribute from One, his dark eyes already flaming with challenge, “wholly depends on how well you pay attention over the next few days, particularly to what I’m about to say.”

Beside her, a blonde girl straightened, her hair sleek and glistening under the white, artificial light.

“First, no fighting with the other Tributes,” she said, and Feyre could have sworn a small smile curled the corner of her red-stained lips before she added, “You’ll have plenty of time for that in the arena.”

The boy from One snickered.

“Second, attendance is mandatory,” the small woman went on. “There are four compulsory exercises you’ll need to complete over the next four days before you begin individual training, but there will be plenty of other stations available should you wish to spend your free time practicing another skill. My advice is,” she said, “do not ignore the survival skills—everybody wants to grab a sword, but most of you will die from natural causes.”

The blonde beside Feyre shook her head slightly, as if in assurance that such death would, in fact, never happen to her. Feyre almost laughed.

“Ten percent,” she continued, “will die from infection. Twenty percent from dehydration. Remember,” she said, and her gaze finally landed on Feyre, who tried not to flinch under its sheer, cold authority, “exposure can kill as easily as a knife.”

A hum of general agreement sounded throughout the room, and the woman nodded in conclusion.

“Pick a station,” she told them, “and get to work.”

The Tributes around them began to scatter, the blonde girl immediately rushing to the archery section with the other Tribute from District Five. For a moment, Feyre wondered if she and Tamlin should be strategic about this—go together, as a show of strength. She turned to her right, opening her mouth in question, only to find Tamlin had already left her, deciding to opt for the axe and dagger throwing section.

Feyre sighed, looking around the hall again, her gaze settling on the girl’s obnoxiously bright hair again. A bow was already waiting in her hand, and any anxiousness Feyre might have felt about having another archer in the group instantly vanished. From the way her palm tightened around the riser instead of the grip, the girl couldn’t shoot a bear if it was standing right in front of her and begging to be killed.

The bow, though, made of a silver metal—so unlike the flimsy, splintered wood of her bow back in Twelve—did seem to call out to her, its shine under the light much more appealing than the girl from Five’s obviously botched bleach job. Even the arrows were metal, guaranteed not to break in half as they pierced the target, and Feyre’s hand practically tingled at the sight of them, the thought of what she could do with proper time and equipment.

She took a step forward before reason finally caught up with her.

Do not show off your skills, Alis had told them. Unless you want to become dinner on your first night in the arena.

That, naturally, was the last thing Feyre wanted.

Her eyes scanned the hall again, narrowing on where the long queue had gathered behind a girl with so many daggers in her hand Feyre had to count them twice. Even Tamlin, next in line behind her, seemed genuinely unnerved, shifting on his feet as the girl threw another one straight into the prop’s chest.

Feyre decided to stay clear of that section.

That, for now, left her with combat and survival, and upon seeing the twins from Two sparring with what had already seemed to become a bloody spectacle, Feyre opted for the latter.

At the very back, some girl that Feyre couldn’t recall the name of—from Seven, she believed—was lighting another fire, clearly struggling with the thin, wet sticks she had picked up of all the ones scattered around her. Feyre fought the urge to sigh, making way to help her out before her gaze caught something she hadn’t seen in years.

Paint.

Her breath caught as she approached the small table, where paint of every colour imaginable was laid out in front of her. Dipping a finger into a dish containing one of rich, deep purple, Feyre revelled in the sensation, cool, and yet warm somehow, as if she had just reunited with an old friend. Something about the consistency was off, though—as if made not from the regular solvent and pigments, but something more…fresh.

Feyre raised her finger closer to her face and took a shallow breath, her brows pulling together at the strange smell. Dirt, or mud—that was for certain, but what else?

She looked around again—at the surrounding nature, small and out of place as it may be—and then it hit her.

Beets.

Ingenious, Feyre thought absently, her finger dipping into the paint again. She’d never thought of making her own paint—not out of mud, least of all food. She had hardly ever had enough of it to eat, and the thought of wasting it on colour was…unsettling.

Unsetting, yet, at the same time…brilliant.

Tearing her gaze away from the paint at last, she took in the sources available to her, until she spotted the small tree placed beside the poisons section. Feyre examined its bark, mostly brown with undertones of dark purple and grey, with rough, elongated indentations—a tree she’d never seen before, but with a life-size model in front of her, she supposed her lack of knowledge wouldn’t pose as much of an issue.

With that in mind, Feyre rolled up her sleeve and began to work.

Time always used to pass by quickly when she painted. At home, when the times had been a little kinder to her and her family, she would paint on every surface her mother wouldn’t immediately notice—and, as a consequence, scold her on her lack of respect for the material things. Feyre never understood such perspective. To her, paint made those things come to life.

Elain had found her painting of Andras’s yellow eye under the bed, her doe-brown eyes sparkling with curiosity before showing it to Nesta, who, of course, teased her endlessly. To her credit, though, she had never told on her to Mother—Feyre supposed she was grateful for that much. Elain, though, must have felt guilty afterwards, because the day after, she’d returned from her errands run in town with two more bottles of paint.

Red and blue, she’d told her. Now you can paint whatever you want.

Feyre cried that day.

She knew how much it took for Elain to get that paint for her—and she wasn’t even thinking about the money, not really. Elain—Elain—had gone out to the black market, a place she’d usually avoided like the plague, and she’d done it for her. For Feyre.

And so, Feyre had spent the entire day to give her something in return.

There was a small dresser in their bedroom—the one the three of them shared, Elain, Feyre and Nesta—with three drawers, one for each sister. The polish on the wood had been scraped out years before, and the wood itself had begun to fade—and so Feyre chose it as her first object to bring to life.

She gave the top drawer to Elain, and painted flowers of all the kinds she’d ever heard of on its surface. Some of them were orange, from the red and yellow paint she’d mixed together, some of them purple from the combination of red and blue she discovered later on. Elain had squealed in excitement at the sight. She’d always reminded Feyre of flowers—soft and gentle, and yet with so many sides to her, each one more beautiful than the last.

She’d painted flames around Nesta’s drawer.

Bright, blazing flames of orange, yellow and red, the colours so vivid it had almost looked like real fire had licked at the wood. That same fire burned within her sister—so fierce and unstoppable Feyre knew it would never die out, no matter how hard anyone would dare to try.

Her own drawer was adorned with stars.

She used the blue and red in so many different quantities that she’d never seen such range of colour in her life. The first layer of the darkest blue made up the night sky, veiling the drawer in its entirety before it faded into lighter shades of violet that Feyre had decided was her favourite colour. She would look at star-speckled sky whenever the winters got too cold—too cold to see anything outside but a raging blizzard, and a promise of hunger and uncertainty.

Looking back, Feyre was glad she’d chosen the night sky for her drawer. She hoped it would bring some comfort to her sisters in those trying times. At the very least, she had left them something to remember her by.

“How did you do that?”

Feyre flinched at the voice that had suddenly appeared beside her, and she silently cursed herself for losing focus in a place filled with murderous teenagers that wanted nothing but to get her killed.

Her back straightened, and she met the eyes of the dagger-throwing girl, brown and full of interest as they took in her creation—her entire arm now perfectly resembled the bark of the tree.

“I used to paint back home,” she told her reluctantly.

The girl smiled. “You’re from District Twelve, right?”

Feyre nodded.

“I’m Eleven.” She extended a hand. “My name is Ressina,” she said. When Feyre didn’t offer her hand in return, her smile broadened. "Don’t worry, I don’t bite.”

At that, Feyre took her hand, shaking it briefly before introducing herself. “Feyre.”

Ressina nodded knowingly. “The Star of the Capitol.”

That took Feyre by surprise.

“What?”

“You must have heard.” Feyre shook her head, and Ressina’s brown eyes widened slightly. “Well, aren’t you in for a treat. After the Parade, you’ve become the Capitol’s favourite. Something to do with the outfit, I imagine.”

The Star of the Capitol?

“That’s ridiculous,” Feyre said.

“The others seem to think so,” Ressina agreed.

Feyre frowned. “And you don’t?”

The girl angled her head, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took Feyre in. “I’ve yet to figure that out.”

Silence fell for a moment before a swoosh of something metal cutting through air broke it with a high pitch.

“I’ve seen you throw daggers out there,” Feyre finally said.

Ressina nodded. “Working on apple farms gets boring after a while.”

“You must get bored quite often.”

A smiled blossomed on her face at that. “I’ll tell you what, Star of the Capitol. You teach me how to do that,” she said, pointing at Feyre’s painted hand, “and I’ll show you how to handle a dagger or two.”

A dagger flew through the air again, and Feyre turned toward the sound to find one right in the red centre of a prop’s head—the girl from Two grinning a few feet away from it, another one already in hand.

Feyre turned to Ressina again.

“Deal.”

***

“They call them the Careers,” Alis told them as they sat on plush, velvet couches in the penthouse’s lounge. “They spend their whole life training in a special academy, then volunteer when the time comes.”

“And they all come from One or Two?” Tamlin asked.

Alis nodded. “The Capitol’s prized pupils. The ones from Two, especially. Those who don’t make it to the Games usually end up volunteering as Peacekeepers. The irony,” Alis huffed a bitter laugh. “They’re vicious and ruthless all the same.”

Having seen the bloodthirsty twins from Two, Feyre was inclined to agree.

She swallowed a gulp that had somehow formed in her throat at the thought. “I take it they’re the ones to look out for, then.”

“They win it almost every year,” Alis said in agreement.

For a brief moment, none of them said anything, and Feyre wondered if Tamlin was already quietly assessing his chances. She looked him over, the strong muscles of his arms, his back, and for the first time today, Feyre questioned if Tamlin was any less dangerous than the Careers.

“What about the others?” Feyre asked. “How do we know which of them to avoid?”

Alis scoffed. “Avoid them all, if you can.” She looked pointedly between them, and Feyre knew that “Even each other” hung in the air. “But my advice is, underestimate none of them. Especially the kids. Some of them can be capable of things you can’t even begin to image.”

Silence fell again, and Feyre thought of the fourteen-year old Alis Urisk, a young Tribute from District Twelve, who left her home on a promise to come back to those who had already signed her off as dead.

Feyre dared to ask quietly, “Is that how you won your games?”

A shadow fell over the old woman’s face at that, and she leaned forward in her seat. “My Games,” she began, “took place exactly fifty years ago.”

Even Amarantha’s smile faded, her attention fully on District Twelve’s mentor.

“Things were different back then,” Alis continued. “Darker, if that’s even imaginable to you. The Hunger Games have only been running for a little over twenty years, and the people still seemed to hold on.”

“To what?” Tamlin asked.

Alis levelled his gaze. “Hope.”

Amarantha blew out a breath, and Feyre wondered if the conversation made her at all uncomfortable. What Alis was saying technically was not treason—though, as a Capitol representative, Amarantha must have had her thoughts on the rather ominous turn Alis had decided to take.

“There hadn’t been many victors from the outlying Districts,” she went on. “Not from Twelve, to be sure. Only one winner from Seven, I believe, and two from Six. A girl from Three won six years before me. Everyone else…the Careers, similar as to what it is now.

“It was not surprise that my District threw me a funeral after my name had been drawn,” she said. “The Capitol televised it, for some strange reason even I cannot comprehend to this day. It certainly didn’t do them any good. I watched it, anyway.”

Feyre’s heart clenched at the image of Alis—fourteen year old Alis—watching her District, her family, walk in procession behind an empty coffin in mourning for a daughter the Capitol had taken away in Tribute. The daughter they’d decided had no chance of winning before the Games even began.

Alis met her eyes, as if she could tell exactly what Feyre was thinking of. “I didn’t greet them after my return,” she said, her voice quiet. “Never let them see me in the Victors’ Village, either. After all, in their eyes, I was already six feet underground in their backyard.

“Anyway,” she cleared her throat. “After the televised spectacle, I promised myself I would make it. For everyone that had mourned me before I ever had the chance to prove them wrong,” she smiled at that, something bitter about it that made her face look older somehow. “Back home, I used to help out the miners. I’d bring their lunches to the forest and leave them outside the mines. On the way home, I’d pick up different plants, different herbs, and experiment. I did that every day for years, up until the day my name was drawn,” she recalled. “I poisoned my first squirrel at nine.”

Amarantha sucked in a breath.

“Poison, I quickly discovered, was something I was really good at, and years ago, as you probably imagine, there wasn’t as much knowledge about it as there is now. When we entered arena…I can’t tell you how happy I was when I discovered the same plant I used to poison the squirrel grew by the river. The only source of water in the entire arena.

“They died the next day, one by one,” Alis continued. “I think I killed about fifteen of them before they realised the water was poisoned. I, of course, saved enough clear water for myself to wait out the rest,” she said. “The remaining Tributes either killed each other, or died of dehydration. The Games were over within a week. The Capitol wasn’t too happy about it, I imagine,” she added, sparing a look at Amarantha, who said nothing in return.

“No one—not a single person in my District or the Capitol, thought I would make it past one day, let alone win. When I first arrived here, they scored me the lowest out of the twenty-three other Tributes,” Alis said, and sat up straighter—as much as her back would allow. “Which brings me to my next point,” she said, her voice stronger, clearer now. “The presentations.”

Feyre’s blood drained from her face.

“Let me explain how these work,” Alis told them. “You go in, and you present a skill of your choice. You’ll be assessed on a scale from one to twelve, and the number on that scale will determine whether you have a chance of getting any sponsors. That is the time to show off what you really can do.” She looked at Tamlin. “Make them see your strength. Put those muscles to use and show them they can do more than pick and arrange flowers,” she said, turning to Feyre. “And you, shoot straight. And, for goodness sake, don’t look so pale.”

“Not to worry,” Amarantha threw in, “you really shouldn’t look so nervous, lovely Feyre. You’re the Star of the Capitol, after all.”

Tamlin looked at Feyre in confusion, then back at Amarantha. “She’s a what?”

“Why, the lovely Feyre is all the city talks about these days,” she said cheerfully, sending a syrupy smile in Feyre’s direction. “The Capitol adores her, and rightfully so, if I do say so myself.”

Tamlin only stared at her again, an incredulous look on his face, and not for the first time today, Feyre wished the Capitol forgot all about her. She wished that no one ever knew who she was, that they left her home in District Twelve, with no one but Isaac and her sisters. Home, where she was miserable—but at least she wasn’t alone.

***

“Your stance is too stiff,” Ressina told her the next day, those watchful eyes scanning her every move. “Relax you shoulders a bit—you have too much tension in you muscles.”

“Sorry,” Feyre blew out a breath, trying to loosen the tightness in her back a bit. She hadn’t realised what years of hunting had done to her posture. “Force of habit,” she added, then threw the dagger forward—and missed.

Ressina’s head tilted an inch. “Because of painting, you mean?”

Shit.

“Right,” Feyre told her somewhat awkwardly. “So the work doesn’t come out…shaky.”

Pathetic.

If Ressina thought the same, she at least said nothing at all.

“Try again,” she instructed. “We can’t have the Capitol’s shining Star die of a knife to the heart.”

“Please don’t say that,” Feyre asked her.

“Oh, face it, Feyre, you’ll be seeing knives on that arena one way or another.”

“What? No, I meant that…absurd nickname.”

The girl frowned. “Does it really bother you that much?”

“Yes,” Feyre sighed.

“It’s good for you, you know,” she told her. “Having the Capitol’s favour.”

“I know, it’s just…” she hesitated, but Ressina nodded in encouragement. “I don’t understand why me. It’s not like I was the only one in that chariot,” she added, wondering why she was bringing Tamlin up at all. He, of course, had left her side the second the morning briefing had ended.

Ressina snorted, and the sound almost made Feyre smile. Nesta, too, would make such a noise sometimes—whenever she’d read something particularly funny in her books and forget about the rest of the world.

“Please, Feyre,” she said. “Your friend looked just as good in that black as I did in my corn dress.”

Feyre remembered her, now—from the Parade. She only saw her briefly, almost unrecognisable in a strangely-shaped, yellow dress, as if molded of bubbles adorned by bright green tulle underneath.

“It was an interesting fashion choice,” she offered, biting back a smile.

Ressina rolled her eyes. “You can save it, you know. They took one look at me and wrote me off based on that dress alone.” She shrugged. “You, on the other hand…you shone the brightest of all of us.

“Feyre, none of us are here to win, besides the Careers, maybe. We’re here to survive. And if it doesn’t happen to be me—I…” Feyre hadn’t heard Ressina stumble over her words yet, and something tightened in her heart at the sight—at the pained expression in her ally’s face. That’s what Ressina had quickly become, Feyre supposed—an ally.”

Ressina released a deep breath. “I want at least one of us to make it.”

“Why?”

Brown eyes took her in reluctantly before she opened her mouth. “I have a sister back home.”

Feyre’s voice was soft as the realisation settled in. “Oh.”

Ressina nodded. “She’s eleven, so she was safe this year, but…if, by some cruel fate, it had been her name they drew from that bowl, I wouldn’t have hesitated. Not for a second.”

“I understand,” Feyre said quietly.

Ressina placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it lightly. “I know you do,” she told her. “Which is why I offered to help you. And I still will, even though you’re doing a shit job at it.”

Feyre’s laugh was abruptly cut off by the sound of another.

Roaring, male, and loud, it came from the upstairs lounge, and Feyre thought she had never heard anything sound more out of place. The training room, after all, had been filled with nothing more than weapons and the stench of blood—their blood, more of it sure to be spilled over the coming days.

She nudged Ressina at her side. “Who are they?”

The girl grimaced. “Sponsors.”

Frowning, Feyre looked up again. “They like watching us train?”

“Of course they do,” Ressina said. “You and I, we’re like a piece of meat to them, and the sponsors? They are starving.”

“What for?”

Her friend shrugged. “Bloodshed. Entertainment. Anything to distract them from their ridiculously dull lives.” Lips twisting in disgust, Ressina added, “They’re all fat pigs, anyway. Stuffed with money and nothing more.”

Eyes narrowing on the bright lounge, Feyre examined the space again. A small laugh escaped her at the sight of its newest arrival, and she lifted her chin up, pointing Ressina in its direction. “I think you might be right,” Feyre said.

For an obscenely large, roasted pig had just been laid on the table, welcomed by a loud applause.

***

Feyre hugged the sides of the toilet, trying to contain the sounds of her retching.

She hadn’t had a nightmare like that in years—not since Isaac’s name had been drawn, not since her father died and left her and her sisters alone against the cruel world.

But this…this nightmare was different.

She was in the arena, the entirety of it a desert—like the one she’d once seen on the holo-news, on a widely unpopular informative channel about the remnants of the Old World. There was nothing around her but sand—rough and coarse and hot, burning into her bare feet until the skin practically melted off them.

And then came the rain.

It fell from the sky suddenly, and Feyre opened her mouth to capture the water and the sweet release it offered. She closed her eyes, letting the rain wash over her in relief. Except…

Except that the rain was hot on her skin.

Hot, wet and thick—and its taste, tangy like metal.

Feyre opened her eyes and saw blood.

She’d woken up with a scream, though thankfully, none of the staff had heard her. Or perhaps they had been used to the Tributes and their gut-wrenching cries each night.

She rinsed her mouth, welcoming the water with a deep exhale before swallowing a few gulps. The cold liquid, unfortunately, did nothing to cool down her burning skin.

Feyre left the room, unable to stand the silence any longer, hoping the lounge and the skyline sights it offered from its wall-length windows would offer some peace and comfort.

She found it already occupied.

“Oh,” she said, and Tamlin’s head whipped toward the sound. “Sorry. I…couldn’t sleep.”

He shook his head, his usually shoulder-length hair tied up messily. “Me neither.”

Feyre hesitated.

“You can sit, Feyre.”

Slowly, she joined him on the floor by the window, the city below bustling with noise despite the late hour in the night.

“They’re cheering,” Tamlin told her quietly. “They’re watching the Reaping again.”

“Oh,” Feyre said again, unsure of where he was getting at.

Tamlin sighed. “What you did for your sister…People love you here, Feyre,” he told her, meeting her eyes for what was perhaps the first time in days.

“Anyone would have done that,” Feyre said.

Tamlin shook his head again. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t think they would.”

He didn’t elaborate, and Feyre let the sounds outside drown out the silence.

“I had a sister once, you know,” Tamlin said, looking out to the city again. “Younger. She…she died when we were little.”

Something tugged at Feyre’s heart at that. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“She was a lot like you, I think,” he said, his eyes not leaving the view outside as he added softly, “and I know she would’ve volunteered for me, too. In a way…” he swallowed hard. “In a way, I’m glad that she couldn’t. Wherever she is, at least she is at peace.”

Feyre considered his words quietly. “Do you think…do you think there is peace, wherever we go?”

Tamlin looked at her again, emerald eyes shining in the night. “I like to think so. We deserve it.”

***

The following morning, Tamlin stayed at her side after the briefing.

“Do you know how to climb?” he asked her, and Feyre shook her head.

“Come with me,” he said.

The next two days had passed in a similar manner, with their group trainings in the hall coming to a close. Most of that time, Feyre had spent completing the four mandatory exercising, failing quite miserably at hand-to-hand combat, to the Careers’ delight. Ressina walked her through dagger throwing again after that, loudly discussing the boy from One’s obviously small appendage before Feyre told her effectively to shut up before she got herself killed.

“In my defence, it’s true,” Ressina had told her then, then pretended to gag when Feyre raised an eyebrow. “Don’t look at me like that. I wouldn’t touch the asshole with a ten-foot pole,” she said, and Feyre smirked. “The girl from One, Briallyn, told me. Apparently they’re an…item. The poor girl regrets it now, of course.”

“I suppose that should make killing him much easier,” Feyre said.

Ressina smiled widely. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

Feyre had begun individual training shortly after. “Individual,” it seemed, meant “individual Districts,” as Tamlin had showed up only a minute after she was scheduled with Alis.

As expected, her mentor was hardly any help in hand-to-hand combat—any form of combat, really—though Feyre didn’t really mind. She found Alis’s lessons on poison and survival equally, if not more, informative.

Soon, the day of the presentations was nearing, and Feyre found herself increasingly nervous. And so, when the opportunity presented itself, she snuck out the penthouse and took the elevator down underground to the training hall. It had been over a week since she’d last fired a shot—and if she wanted to score high enough to get sponsors, she desperately needed to practice.

The bow had only managed to lay in her grasp when she was interrupted.

“Well, well,” a shrill voice sounded behind her. “If it isn’t the Star of the Capitol.”

Brannagh.

Slowly, Feyre turned around.

“I was going to wait,” the girl told her. “For the Games. But I just couldn’t resist seeing if the Star will shine as bright if I carve up her pretty face.”

Feyre’s body went rigid.

Brannagh’s smile widened. “Only a little bit, I promise.”

“Leave,” Feyre told her, ignoring the loud pounding of her heart in her chest. “Or I’ll make sure you never enter the Games in the first place.”

“Ooh, she’s feisty!” the girl exclaimed, happy about this new development for some psychotic reason. “I’ve never seen you shoot, Twelve, but I have seen you in combat.. I doubt you could even fire that arrow with those weakling arms of yours.”

Feyre drew her bow before the girl had even managed to blink.

“That’s enough!” a voice, old and strong, called out from the other side of the room.

Feyre’s brows knotted in surprise. “Alis?”

The woman stepped into the light, her cane lightly tapping on the stone floor. “Upstairs, both of you,” she said, then looked to Brannagh. “Or I will have you reported to Chief Amren.

Brannagh met her gaze again, and Feyre had never seen such pure, unwavering fury in a person’s eyes. “This isn’t over, Twelve,” she told her, then disappeared into the darkness.

Alis’s cane tapped on the floor again, and Feyre turned back to her mentor.

“Up,” Alis commanded.

Feyre had no choice but to follow.

***

“The presentations are tomorrow,” Alis told her, practically seething, “and you were going to murder another Tribute?”

“Alis, perhaps we should hear her out first…” Amarantha began from the couch, wearing nothing but a ridiculously feathery night robe.

Feyre threw her arms up in frustration, ignoring the woman completely. “She was going to kill me first!”

“Oh, snap out of it!” Alis yelled. “This is all but big talk from a child who’s threatened by your reputation. She cannot kill you until you’re in the arena, which she will definitely try to do. In fact, I guarantee you’re going to be first on her kill list.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Feyre assured her.

“No you won’t,” Alis said, releasing a deep breath. “But until then, you need to stop acting on impulse and listen to your brain for once, if you have one.”

“Alis—” Feyre began.

“The punishment for harming another Tribute before the Games begin is not one you want to risk Feyre,” Alis told her. “The Gamemakers can’t harm you while you’re under the Capitol’s protection, but they can get to you through other means.”

Feyre went still as death. “My sisters,” she whispered.

Alis nodded.

“This is absurd,” Amarantha stood up, but the elder woman continued.

“Listen to me, girl,” Alis said. “You can’t afford any mistakes. Not with them. This isn’t the Parade, and you won’t be wearing a flashy costume to help you this time. The sponsors are not as easy to impress as the rest of those Capitol dimwits,” she added, completely ignoring Amarantha’s exasperated huff.

“I know how to shoot,” Feyre insisted.

“You’ll have to do more than that,” her mentor demanded. “Make sure they remember you, but do not get on their bad side. Especially the Gamemaker’s.”

Feyre felt the familiar sensation of blood draining from her face. “The Gamemaker will be there?”

Alis nodded. “And if you don’t want to get mysteriously killed by a savage beast as soon as you step off the main arena, I suggest you make a good first impression.”

“Come now, Alis, don’t be ridiculous,” Amarantha interrupted. “The Games are a pageant of nobility—that of the Tributes and the Capitol alike.”

Alis rolled her eyes.

“How will I know which one is the Gamemaker?” Feyre asked breathlessly.

“You’ll know as soon as you see him” Alis told her. “Eris Vanserra has a thing for first impressions, too.”

***

Tamlin went into the room first.

The presentations took place in the training hall, with all the usual equipment at the Tributes’ disposal. Feyre wondered what skill Tamlin would display, though she had a strong suspicion it had something to do with lifting—and throwing—the extremely heavy boulders not a single Tribute had dared to touch over the course of their training. How could she ever match that?

Her stomach twisted and tightened, and she felt bile rise up her throat.

Tamlin would leave through another exit, and so she wouldn’t be able to ask him anything before her time came. He had been inside for about ten minutes, though—her time was definitely coming, and soon.

An amplified female voice that sounded entirely artificial rang through the speaker in the waiting room.

“Feyre Archeron,” it announced, and Feyre rose on shaky legs.

Deep breaths.

You know how to shoot.

Just shoot straight, and it’ll be over.

Just breathe.

Feyre entered the hall.

The sponsors lounge was holding a banquet.

Feyre’s eyes widened as she stepped in closer, her eyes surveying the spectacle. The lounge was large enough to host at least twenty of them—all dressed immaculately, in colours she’d never even seen captured by paint. She counted twenty-four, her eyes sliding over the crowds to find the one they called the Gamemaker.

Where are you, Eris Vanserra?

Finally, she reached the archery station, and picked up a bow and an arrow—only one. With any luck, no more of them would be necessary.

Her gaze found the metal body props, and she looked up to the lounge above, feeling strangely like a small animal trapped in a cage.

There you are.

There was no doubt in Feyre’s head that this man was the Gamemaker. Standing proudly in the spotlight, Eris Vanserra’s auburn hair shone like the flames she’d once painted on Nesta’s drawer—bright and with a sizzling kind of power, casting light over his handsome face as he smirked, talking to another man whose back was turned to her fully.

Well, that’s not going to get their attention.

“Feyre Archeron,” she said in a manner of introduction, forcing confidence into her voice. “District Twelve.”

Conversations became whispers, and the Gamemaker’s amber eyes landed on her at last. Feyre braced herself, and as the sponsors began sitting, Eris nudged the other man before taking a seat himself.

The man turned and met Feyre’s gaze.

Her breath caught in her chest, and her grip on her bow loosened.

Standing before her was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

His eyes…his eyes were a blue so deep they seemed almost violet, glittering with amusement as he settled into his chair, a half smile playing on his lips. He, too, was dressed impeccably, with a suit of a black, matte fabric perfectly fitting his fine form, though there was something—something—about him that radiated sensual grace and ease. He angled his head, his raven-like hair gleaming softly as he beheld her silently. Unable to tear her eyes off him, Feyre could only stare.

The man’s smile widened, and Feyre realised at least fifteen seconds had passed since her introduction.

Fuck!

It certainly wasn’t the first time that Feyre caught herself admiring a man, but this one…this one was like a magnet, pulling her in and holding her in his grasp until she’d eventually realise there was no other way but forward. Cursing herself silently, she took a step back, the pace of her heart increasing as she wondered how many sponsors she’d already lost on this prick.

Another step, and she was finally in safe distance from his stare. Feyre loosed a breath, forcing her focus back into the prop, to the red dot right where its heart would be.

Steady.

But she could practically feel those eyes piercing her from above, those pools of violet so similar to the one she’d gotten when she mixed red and blue paint all those years ago,

Feyre fired an arrow and missed.

For a moment, she could only stare in disbelief.

Then, conversations upstairs resumed, and even the man had made its way to the banquet table in the back.

No, no, no.

In a few quick strides, Feyre reached for another arrow, this time taking a few more seconds to adjust her stance. Her vision came into focus once again, and she released the shot with a steady breath.

The arrow landed right in the middle of the circle, and Feyre smiled in relief.

And yet, the chatter upstairs didn’t stop, the sponsors upstairs all gone from where their seats had been set up, and something boiled in her stomach at the realisation.

They didn’t see it.

Feyre felt anger rising through her, and her grip on the bow tightened as it became clear she might have just lost her one chance at survival because of an infuriating, ridiculously attractive man.

And then, the staff brought in the pig.

The same one as last time—large and fat, with a red apple resting inside its mouth. Feyre stepped closer, her eyes narrowing on the sight.

Make sure they remember you, Alis’s voice crept into her mind.

Well, this was certainly one way of doing it.

In a manner of seconds, Feyre had a third arrow in her hand.

The violet-eyed man’s hand reached for the apple when Feyre released it.

The arrow pinned the apple to the wall.

Some of the sponsors screamed, some of them gasped—but the most important one of them, the one this shot had been intended for, went deathly still.

Slowly, he turned around, his perfect face a picture of shock and disbelief.

Not breaking his gaze for a moment, Feyre offered a deep, theatric curtsy.

“Thank you,” she told him, a small smile curving the corner of her lips. “For your consideration.”

***

Amarantha wouldn’t stop yelling at her, and so when the holo lit up with a soft, white-blue light, Feyre muttered a prayer in relief.

Helion Spellcleaver’s handsome face appeared to the sound of the national anthem, his pearl-like smile almost blinding despite being projected through the screen.

“Oh, do shut up,” Alis told Amarantha when she began talking over the host, his comments indecipherable with the woman seething in the background.

“She shot at the sponsors, Alis!” she exclaimed. “She’ll be lucky to score a two after that. A two!” Amarantha dropped back to her seat, cradling her head in her hands. “How embarrassing.”

Alis rolled her eyes.

“And so, without further ado,” Helion announced with a wink, “let’s get to the scoring!”

The ever-present dread she’d been feeling down in the pit of her stomach ever since she’d fired that arrow yesterday rose through her again, and it took all of Feyre’s willpower not to vomit on the spot.

“From District One,” Helion began, and a boy, who Resseina described as small, appeared on the screen, his lips twisting in a cocky smirk. “Devlon, with a score of eight.”

“Eight,” Amarantha groaned.

“And Briallyn, with a score of eight.”

“Do not say anything,” Alis commanded her. Beside her, Tamlin shifted in his seat.

“From District Two!” Helion continued cheerfully. “Our favourite set of twins. Dagdan, with a score of nine.”

Shit.

“And his wonderful sister, Brannagh, with a score of…ten.”

Feyre was absolutely going to die.

Her heart raced, and she could barely focus on the speaker’s voice as he went on listing the other Tributes, none of them scoring higher than a seven, with two scoring as low as a three. Alis grimaced at that.

“And, also from District Eleven, Ressina,” Helion went on, and the name was enough to pull Feyre out of her daze. “With a magnificent score of nine.”

For the first time tonight, Feyre released a breath of relief.

“Finally,” Helion said with a secretive smile. “Our memorable Tributes from District Twelve.”

“Tamlin, with a score of…” Helion made a show of checking his cards. “Nine. Excellent job to the male Tribute from District Twelve.”

The room erupted in cheers, and Tamlin smiled weakly, his eyes wide in a pleased surprise.

He opened his mouth, when Amarantha stood up, her loud shush shutting him up effectively. “Quiet!” she demanded.

“And lastly,” Helion said, “The Star of the Capitol—Feyre Archeron.”

Feyre held her breath.

“With a score of…eleven.”

There was nothing but silence in the room as Helion bid the country goodnight, the holo shutting off the second after.

“Eleven?” Amarantha whispered.

“I…” Feyre began, unsure of what to say. Her eyes search for anything, any answer at all, until they finally settled on Tamlin. “They must have made a mistake.”

Alis shook her head. “The Gamemaker does not make mistakes.”

At that, Tamlin offered her a smile, though his eyes still shone with disbelief. “Congratulations, Feyre.”

***

It was nearing midnight when Feyre snuck downstairs to train.

She didn’t care if Alis found out—not anymore, not now. She had to leave that place, leave Amarantha’s round of applause after the news had settled in, leave Alis’s words of advice, and most of all, leave Tamlin’s defeated gaze.

Down there, she could pretend she was in the woods again, with nothing on her mind but the hunt.

She’d spent about an hour there, her arms sore and her mind exhausted, when two figures entered the hall.

A dagger shone in Brannagh’s hand as she and her brother approached with a smile.

Dumbfounded and tired, Feyre took a step back, the exit only a few meters behind her back.

With a click of her tongue, Brannagh pulled out another dagger. “I don’t think so, Twelve.”

“Leave me alone,” Feyre breathed.

Dagdan asked. “What did you do to get that score, huh? And you better be telling us the truth.”

“Probably suck off the Gamemaker,” Brannagh guessed, and her brother tipped his head back in laughter.

A shiver shook her whole body, and Feyre took another step.

Dagdan was on her in an instant, taller and leaner than her, grasping her arm tightly and pulling her closer until the sharp blade was on her neck.

“Let go of me!” Feyre warned, and Brannagh giggled.

“Not until we got what we came here for,” she promised.

If she cried for help, would anyone answer? She was here against the rules—she doubted she would be spared the punishment despite her current circumstances.

Instead, Feyre yanked her arm back to no effect, Dagdan’s grip on her so hard she could feel it growing more and more numb with each passing second.

Feyre thrashed, forcing them all back a few feet until her back hit something hard.

“There you are,” said a deep, sensual male voice she’d never heard. “I’ve been looking for you.”

The twins’ eyes widened, and their almost identical faces paled.

Feyre wouldn’t dare turn her back to them until they’d left. Perhaps sensing this, the voice behind her told them smoothly, “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

Brannagh’s furious gaze met Feyre’s one last time before she pointed the dagger in her direction. “See you in the arena, Twelve.”

And with that, they left.

With a shaky breath, Feyre finally turned.

Everything inside her boiled again.

“It’s you.”

The violet-eyed man’s mouth twitched. “Why did that sound like an accusation?”

Feyre took a step back. “Why are you here?”

Still smiling, the man slipped his hands into his pockets. “Let’s just say I’m more of a night person.”

“What do you want from me?”

His brows furrowed. “Nothing. Feyre, my being here is genuinely a coincidence.”

Feyre’s heart stopped. “You know my name.”

The man chuckled. “You tried to kill me,” he told her. “It’s hard to forget after such an…ah…traumatic experience.”

Feyre swallowed hard. Would he punish her for what she had done? Would he punish her sisters?

“I wasn’t trying to kill you,” she told him.

His smile grew. “Of course not. I’m sure you bear great love for the Capitol and it’s distinguished citizens.”

There was something about the way he said that that made Feyre pause in her tracks and think.

“You’re not from the Capitol,” she said.

“Finally,” the man said. “And you thought we wouldn’t be able to find common ground.”

“Is that why you helped me?”

The man angled his head. “Well, I didn’t exactly want you to bleed out in the training hall, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want that, either.”

“No,” Feyre said. “I meant yesterday, at the presentations.”

That smile—Feyre had never seen anyone so handsome before. “My darling Feyre,” he began. “Have you not considered that perhaps you are just that talented?”

Feyre’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not answering the question.”

Another chuckle, its deep timbre echoing through the stone as he retreated back. “I’ll see you very soon, Feyre,” he said before vanishing into the darkness.

Feyre prayed that he would’t.

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