toodelusionalforreality

[toodelusionalforreality]

I REALLY WANNA KNOW THE SECRET

I've read read the chapter 4 times, but I still can't find it 😭😭😭😭

Oh my God, I feel like I've misled you! I'm so sorry.

This is what I meant. Ayla is a passive character until now and the story unravels through the eyes of Azriel who lives in his head a lot. So the things he usually focuses on are his own personal fears or beliefs and the things he ignores tells more about the situation or Ayla's true nature.

Don't worry, it's still not much of a big secret that was right in your face and you missed, instead an off-handed comment that will make sense later in the story. Even if you don't pick up on those, it's absolutely fine.

I can't believe you read it four times! Again I'm so sorry, baby😭

[toodelusionalforreality]

Can I interest you in a playlist for God's Game? The songs are added as I write the chapters and match the vibes of what I am going for. They aren't in any particular order but they have mostly been the inspiration for Azriel's emotions so far. Enjoy!

[toodelusionalforreality]

Azriel x OC | Chapter 10

Azriel

Both his brothers are mated. Both his brothers are happily in love. But after five centuries of rejection, Azriel doesn’t hope for such luxury in his life. When he meets the bar owner who is too mysterious even for the spymaster to decipher, his intrigue turns into more. Lines between mystery and secret blur. The closer he gets to her, the more his instincts warn him to stay away.

Previous Chapter: Whore

Word count: ~2.6k Warning: None [ROMANCE]

A/N: This is an experimental piece of work. I'm testing a writing style, so feedback is welcome. I wanted to post it along with the next one as this is the shortest chapter so far but writing this made me really happy and I couldn't wait to share it. Hope you enjoy!

Soft glow slipped through the cracks and lit the bottom of the stairs. Glasses clinked and clanked. Two familiar voices bantered and laughed, oblivious to the uninvited guest upstairs.

Yet, every one of his senses honed in on the other side of the door. Azriel knocked again. Three short raps.

It was late when he arrived in Velaris. After spending weeks in an enemy territory with nothing but time to mull over the different ways Ayla could be in danger, Azriel looked forward to quieting those fears for good. However, his hope was short-lived.

The summons rang clear in his mind as soon as he breached the wards. For all that Rhys put him through, Azriel hadn’t been eager to face him this soon. It wasn’t a request, though, a High Lord’s order.

He learnt everything there was to learn in less than a day or two, after all, the state of Spring hadn’t improved from what he heard last. Tamlin refusing to take his fae form, wandering through the forests like a mindless predator on the prowl. The lands left unmanned and open to scavengers and vicious creatures alike. Villages lay in ruins as though the people had abandoned the court like their High Lord had done to them. Every now and then, a few Children of the Blessed strays crossed the borders freely without the Wall separating them.

Wilderness consumed the endless meadows, dark and gloomy, the lands devouring everything under the sun as if to cleanse the blood spilt on them. The beauty that once disguised the atrocities for centuries finally cracked, turning into something sinister, unrecognisable. 

If Azriel had any kindness left in him, he would pity Tamlin.

Despite his reports, he was ordered to stay put for weeks. It was a fitting punishment for dismissing a direct command and leaving the city without a word. Deep down, Azriel also knew there was more to it, and his suspicions were confirmed when Rhys insisted on meeting that very night.

His shadows, unwilling to be stalled further, disappeared while he suffered through a long recounting of what he witnessed down to every agonising detail. He expected Rhys to mention Ayla or their altercation at least once, but he didn’t.

No sooner had Azriel stepped out of the River House, a scroll wafted out of the stretch of darkness cast by his stature and inky mists rose up to meet him. Months of restraint that held him together shattered at the sight of the unmistakable sigil of the Court of Nightmares on the concocted seal of black and silver.

Open the door.

There were no names of the victims in the report—each one deemed unimportant, leaving Azriel’s mind churn with fresh fears. The face of the harlot, innocent and hopeful, as flames consumed the vines, the curtains, her red dress, while she waited. Her bright smile as she spoke of the impostor, her Ayla.

Nothing but a husk in her place now. No one to claim or mourn her. 

Azriel shouldn’t have left Velaris. He shouldn’t have left her.

Open the door!

Crimes happened in Hewn City every day, and the pleasure house was an insignificant establishment, to put it mildly. Then why did Keir call upon Rhys? It must have been the impostor’s ploy, too; it had to be.

His knuckles met the wood with a force that bordered on pounding.

Rhys had known of this attack and forbade his early return to keep him out of investigations. Earlier that night, he regarded him with a calculating stare like he was waiting for the right opportunity, a predator waiting for the perfect moment to pick on its prey. Yet, he didn’t utter a word.

Azriel pinched his eyes shut. The air grew thick. Splinters dug into his fingers. Shadows dancing in front of him coiled around his arms and shoulders, pulling him back. For the first time, the silence and darkness he had preferred all his life felt suffocating.

Then, he heard it. Footfalls, the faintest he had ever heard, right before the door swung open.

Ayla stepped out, her eyes on his hand gripping the doorframe with his might, and beyond it down the stairs. Perhaps to find one of her friends, Azriel realised. Her gaze, bright and alert, rose up to his face. A delicate brow lifted in a perfect arc. ‘It’s late.’

The remnant of voices faded. Lights flickered out. A door creaked shut in the distance. And Azriel stood still, every thought eddying out of his mind.

Her pale shirt slipped down the curve of her shoulder, the toggles fastened just enough to hold it together as though she barely managed to pull the crumpled thing on moments ago. Silky tendrils came undone from her braid, teasing her neck, and fluttered under his shuddered breath. Heat radiated from her, warm and real, that even drew his shadows closer. 

Azriel swallowed thickly.

Unimpressed by his silence, Ayla said, ‘What are you doing here?’

There was no anger in her words, nor surprise. Azriel wasn’t sure if she even expected an answer. He asked instead, ‘Are you alone?’

A smile grazed her lips, and Ayla looked away. ‘And what if I were?’ She took a step back, then another, backing into the loft.

Azriel matched her, step for step, his feet carrying him on their own. ‘Tell me it’s over.’

‘What is?’

A soft click echoed behind him. The room plunged into darkness, leaving her trapped alone with him. Her scent, sharp and unadulterated, marking every corner of the room, enveloped him. Azriel drew in another long breath and released it, realising she hadn’t taken anyone while he was gone. ‘You know,’ he said, a mere whisper, ‘The strangers. The late nights.’

Ayla hummed. ‘Why?’

Only a word, and Azriel was speechless. How was he supposed to convince her that the males she brought home were spies? Would she believe the spy of the High Lord she mistrusted? Just a warning should suffice till he fixed this, however, Ayla was too prideful and cynical to accept it from him.

A low chuckle interrupted his thoughts. ‘Which is troubling you? The strangers?’ Her head tipped to the side as she moved deeper and deeper into the chamber. ‘Or the late nights?’

‘It isn’t safe—’

‘You watch me.’ Azriel halted, and so did she, waiting for him to say something. Deny it, admit it. ‘Is that why? For my safety?’

The shadows had always been discreet, or so they made him believe. But as they darted away from his sight, hiding behind his wings, he was convinced Ayla knew more than he did. Azriel couldn’t be blamed for their mischief, and the touches they stole on his behalf were harmless, unlike what the others were capable of.

‘Or is that what you like, shadowsinger?’ Ayla whispered, her voice carrying a sinful note. ‘Do you prefer watching only me or. . .’

Her lips lifted in the way he was familiar with, the way when she was sure she had her opponent deciphered. 

Gods, the insinuation that he was twisted, which Azriel wasn’t far from, but to imply he would crave anyone but her— His throat closed up. A chill went down his spine. It was a trap, a delicious, enticing trap that he wanted to fall prey to. With each ragged breath, his resolve chipped away.

‘This isn’t about me,’ Azriel said more to himself than her, reminding himself of the purpose of his visit. He continued on his path, and she did as well. ‘You shouldn’t be so careless with who you invite in.’

The words came out harsher than he intended, but he couldn’t think past the shrinking distance between them as she slowed her steps or her bared throat as she craned her neck to meet his eyes.

‘I let you in.’

Azriel leaned close, close enough to notice the slight tremble of her lips when she took a breath. ‘End the games, Ayla.’

The finality in his tone rendered her stunned. Ayla blinked twice, and her smile faded. Her lips parted slowly, for a taunt or a threat that never came, as a soft thump interrupted her. Her eyes widening, she stumbled back. She reached forward, fingers grasping at his chest and failing to find purchase in the smooth leathers. 

Azriel slipped his arm around her waist without a thought, the act as easy as breathing. Something knocked into the back of his legs. His wings flared on instinct, but a weight bore them down until he lost his footing and the two fell together.

Holding her close, he braced his weight on his other arm, and his knee sank into plushness. It took him a moment to realise it wasn’t his shadows that broke the fall but her bed. 

The frenzied hum droning in his ears, the heaviness on his back holding him down; Azriel was a fool to trust them around Ayla.

Her heart rattled from their near fall, the sound drowning every rational thought in his mind. Her chest heaved with short, hurried breaths. Ayla was more than capable of getting out of his hold, throwing him off her, and yet, her hands lay by her side as though she had surrendered to fate, to him.

His instincts dictated that he pull away, walk out the door before he did something regrettable.

Maybe he never returned from Spring. Maybe he was poisoned, and maybe this was an elaborate hallucination conjured by his mind to numb its effects. 

But every inch of his body came alive in her presence; achingly aware of her warmth cradling him, her pliant and supple flesh sinking under his fingers, and those eyes. Those damning eyes basking in the glow of his siphons, glimmering like dancing pits of moonless sky, and they shone with something akin to awe as she searched his face. What she saw in him to be worthy of that gaze, Azriel didn’t know.

‘I can’t believe you let me do it,’ said Ayla, any trace of amusement gone. ‘When you didn’t return, I thought you changed your mind.’ A note of sincerity tinged her quiet confession.

‘You wanted to make it fair,’ argued Azriel.

Ayla chuckled almost in disbelief. ‘You let me bed them for fairness?’ Her breaths warmed his skin, and his own rose to match hers.

‘It’s what you wanted,’ Azriel voiced the mantra that kept him sane through this insanity, though in that moment, he hardly believed those words himself.

Unable to hold her gaze anymore, he stared at her pulse fluttering at the base of her neck. The mesmerising beat, a contrast to his raging thoughts, grounded him. Would a taste hurt? He could cherish it for the remainder of his life when this eventually came to an end.

His head barely dipped, her breath hitched.

‘Were you—’ a sigh left Ayla’s lips, tickling the shell of his ear. ‘You wanted to be chosen over the others.’

Azriel stilled. The accusation hung heavy and thick between them, and he almost fell for it. He looked up, expecting another one of that triumphant quirk of her lips; instead, he found naked observation in her eyes, curious even. Like she had been the one plagued with inescapable need and ache for months, the one in fear’s clutches helplessly caged in this wickedness.

Breathless, Ayla glanced at his lips.

Or maybe, she was right.

Azriel panted after the one who never desired him and the other who wasn’t meant to be his. Centuries wasted yearning for this. It was all he knew, to live in the distance, to pray for a swift end so he wasn’t riddled with hope. A part of him wondered if Ayla longed for him, if she sought him without the intervention of fate, he could be worthy of this.

Ayla drew another long breath. ‘Azriel.’

A shiver rolled down his spine. Azriel had dreamt of this moment before. Their first time, he had stolen the kiss from her. He had vowed to make it right the next time. He would stare into her eyes, watch the desire pool in them, trace the curve of her jaw with his scarred fingers. He would make her anticipate more, ask for more. When she was a blushing mess for him, he would kiss her gently. Taste her slowly. First, her lips. Then, her skin. And if she allowed, maybe more. That’s what his mate deserved.

But when Ayla whispered his name with intent—testing it on her tongue, savouring it—Azriel crashed his lips on hers.

And this time, there was no hesitation.

Ayla wrapped her legs around his waist and tugged him flush against her, while her hands smoothed over his chest. When Azriel tried to restore some distance between them again, she slipped her fingers into the collar of his leathers and pulled him back.

Azriel sucked on her lip. Ayla flicked his with the tip of her tongue.

Azriel tightened his arm around her. Ayla sighed against him.

Azriel trailed a path down her jaw, where his blade had once left a bruise, each kiss an apology due. Through the sharpness of her fragrance he adored, he scented something else, something so, so sweet that it fractured his mind, nearly ripping a pathetic moan out of him. He licked a long strip up her neck, wanting to taste something, anything.

Ayla arched her back, allowing him to mark her to his content. Her hands wandered all over him, gripping his shoulder, feeling his back, easing in between them and—

Azriel choked on his breath. Prying her hands off him, he pinned them by her sides. Her greedy little act sobered him before he let it get too far. He couldn’t do it, not with her.

‘Not yet,’ he mumbled into her skin. His forehead pressed against her cheek, he inhaled deeply. ‘Not like this.’

The words he itched to say—ones that singed his tongue—Not like those males. And Ayla nodded like she understood.

And in the moments of their waning desires, Azriel revelled in the sound of her heart calming to a steady beat, his lips ghosting over her skin, sneaking unsuspecting kisses.

‘What are they doing?’ Ayla asked quietly, her voice laced with curiosity.

Azriel looked up to find her attention drawn to something behind him. Shadows darted back and forth, teetering over his shoulders. ‘They want to touch you.’

Ayla blinked. Her brows pulled together as she turned to him. ‘You mean you want to touch me?’

‘I’m not denying it,’ Azriel chuckled at her unabashed words and unflinching gaze. A familiar buzz rang in his ears, angry and impatient. ‘The shadows can think for themselves. Right now, they are feeling neglected.’

Ayla stared at them for a moment, studying their movements. The wisps of darkness coloured smoky blue under the siphons’ light. She raised a tentative hand, and the shadows reached back. First, barely a touch to her finger and when she held still, they engulfed her hand. Ayla gasped a laugh at the sensation, her chest sinking under him. She glided her hand through the air, and they swayed along, chasing her skin.

‘They are beautiful,’ said Ayla, enthralled by the ribbons of misty darkness weaving through her fingers.

The shadows went silent, frozen for a beat before writhing down her forearm as if to indulge her, chanting her word like a badge of honour.

‘They feel the same about you,’ said Azriel. One of the rare few things they agreed on lately.

Ayla blinked, then broke into laughter, the sweetest melody he had ever heard, and draped the shadow-gloved hand over his shoulder. ‘There were more than eight, weren’t there?’

Resisting a smile, Azriel pecked her cheek. It didn’t matter anymore.

[toodelusionalforreality]

Want to rip my hair out because no one is picking up on the nuggets I left about the characters😭 How do you not see it? Why won't you see it? I want to spell it out for you but that isn't fun either!!

[toodelusionalforreality]

Azriel x OC | Chapter 10

Azriel

Both his brothers are mated. Both his brothers are happily in love. But after five centuries of rejection, Azriel doesn’t hope for such luxury in his life. When he meets the bar owner who is too mysterious even for the spymaster to decipher, his intrigue turns into more. Lines between mystery and secret blur. The closer he gets to her, the more his instincts warn him to stay away.

Previous Chapter: Whore

Word count: ~2.6k Warning: None [ROMANCE]

A/N: This is an experimental piece of work. I'm testing a writing style, so feedback is welcome. I wanted to post it along with the next one as this is the shortest chapter so far but writing this made me really happy and I couldn't wait to share it. Hope you enjoy!

Soft glow slipped through the cracks and lit the bottom of the stairs. Glasses clinked and clanked. Two familiar voices bantered and laughed, oblivious to the uninvited guest upstairs.

Yet, every one of his senses honed in on the other side of the door. Azriel knocked again. Three short raps.

It was late when he arrived in Velaris. After spending weeks in an enemy territory with nothing but time to mull over the different ways Ayla could be in danger, Azriel looked forward to quieting those fears for good. However, his hope was short-lived.

The summons rang clear in his mind as soon as he breached the wards. For all that Rhys put him through, Azriel hadn’t been eager to face him this soon. It wasn’t a request, though, a High Lord’s order.

He learnt everything there was to learn in less than a day or two, after all, the state of Spring hadn’t improved from what he heard last. Tamlin refusing to take his fae form, wandering through the forests like a mindless predator on the prowl. The lands left unmanned and open to scavengers and vicious creatures alike. Villages lay in ruins as though the people had abandoned the court like their High Lord had done to them. Every now and then, a few Children of the Blessed strays crossed the borders freely without the Wall separating them.

Wilderness consumed the endless meadows, dark and gloomy, the lands devouring everything under the sun as if to cleanse the blood spilt on them. The beauty that once disguised the atrocities for centuries finally cracked, turning into something sinister, unrecognisable. 

If Azriel had any kindness left in him, he would pity Tamlin.

Despite his reports, he was ordered to stay put for weeks. It was a fitting punishment for dismissing a direct command and leaving the city without a word. Deep down, Azriel also knew there was more to it, and his suspicions were confirmed when Rhys insisted on meeting that very night.

His shadows, unwilling to be stalled further, disappeared while he suffered through a long recounting of what he witnessed down to every agonising detail. He expected Rhys to mention Ayla or their altercation at least once, but he didn’t.

No sooner had Azriel stepped out of the River House, a scroll wafted out of the stretch of darkness cast by his stature and inky mists rose up to meet him. Months of restraint that held him together shattered at the sight of the unmistakable sigil of the Court of Nightmares on the concocted seal of black and silver.

Open the door.

There were no names of the victims in the report—each one deemed unimportant, leaving Azriel’s mind churn with fresh fears. The face of the harlot, innocent and hopeful, as flames consumed the vines, the curtains, her red dress, while she waited. Her bright smile as she spoke of the impostor, her Ayla.

Nothing but a husk in her place now. No one to claim or mourn her. 

Azriel shouldn’t have left Velaris. He shouldn’t have left her.

Open the door!

Crimes happened in Hewn City every day, and the pleasure house was an insignificant establishment, to put it mildly. Then why did Keir call upon Rhys? It must have been the impostor’s ploy, too; it had to be.

His knuckles met the wood with a force that bordered on pounding.

Rhys had known of this attack and forbade his early return to keep him out of investigations. Earlier that night, he regarded him with a calculating stare like he was waiting for the right opportunity, a predator waiting for the perfect moment to pick on its prey. Yet, he didn’t utter a word.

Azriel pinched his eyes shut. The air grew thick. Splinters dug into his fingers. Shadows dancing in front of him coiled around his arms and shoulders, pulling him back. For the first time, the silence and darkness he had preferred all his life felt suffocating.

Then, he heard it. Footfalls, the faintest he had ever heard, right before the door swung open.

Ayla stepped out, her eyes on his hand gripping the doorframe with his might, and beyond it down the stairs. Perhaps to find one of her friends, Azriel realised. Her gaze, bright and alert, rose up to his face. A delicate brow lifted in a perfect arc. ‘It’s late.’

The remnant of voices faded. Lights flickered out. A door creaked shut in the distance. And Azriel stood still, every thought eddying out of his mind.

Her pale shirt slipped down the curve of her shoulder, the toggles fastened just enough to hold it together as though she barely managed to pull the crumpled thing on moments ago. Silky tendrils came undone from her braid, teasing her neck, and fluttered under his shuddered breath. Heat radiated from her, warm and real, that even drew his shadows closer. 

Azriel swallowed thickly.

Unimpressed by his silence, Ayla said, ‘What are you doing here?’

There was no anger in her words, nor surprise. Azriel wasn’t sure if she even expected an answer. He asked instead, ‘Are you alone?’

A smile grazed her lips, and Ayla looked away. ‘And what if I were?’ She took a step back, then another, backing into the loft.

Azriel matched her, step for step, his feet carrying him on their own. ‘Tell me it’s over.’

‘What is?’

A soft click echoed behind him. The room plunged into darkness, leaving her trapped alone with him. Her scent, sharp and unadulterated, marking every corner of the room, enveloped him. Azriel drew in another long breath and released it, realising she hadn’t taken anyone while he was gone. ‘You know,’ he said, a mere whisper, ‘The strangers. The late nights.’

Ayla hummed. ‘Why?’

Only a word, and Azriel was speechless. How was he supposed to convince her that the males she brought home were spies? Would she believe the spy of the High Lord she mistrusted? Just a warning should suffice till he fixed this, however, Ayla was too prideful and cynical to accept it from him.

A low chuckle interrupted his thoughts. ‘Which is troubling you? The strangers?’ Her head tipped to the side as she moved deeper and deeper into the chamber. ‘Or the late nights?’

‘It isn’t safe—’

‘You watch me.’ Azriel halted, and so did she, waiting for him to say something. Deny it, admit it. ‘Is that why? For my safety?’

The shadows had always been discreet, or so they made him believe. But as they darted away from his sight, hiding behind his wings, he was convinced Ayla knew more than he did. Azriel couldn’t be blamed for their mischief, and the touches they stole on his behalf were harmless, unlike what the others were capable of.

‘Or is that what you like, shadowsinger?’ Ayla whispered, her voice carrying a sinful note. ‘Do you prefer watching only me or. . .’

Her lips lifted in the way he was familiar with, the way when she was sure she had her opponent deciphered. 

Gods, the insinuation that he was twisted, which Azriel wasn’t far from, but to imply he would crave anyone but her— His throat closed up. A chill went down his spine. It was a trap, a delicious, enticing trap that he wanted to fall prey to. With each ragged breath, his resolve chipped away.

‘This isn’t about me,’ Azriel said more to himself than her, reminding himself of the purpose of his visit. He continued on his path, and she did as well. ‘You shouldn’t be so careless with who you invite in.’

The words came out harsher than he intended, but he couldn’t think past the shrinking distance between them as she slowed her steps or her bared throat as she craned her neck to meet his eyes.

‘I let you in.’

Azriel leaned close, close enough to notice the slight tremble of her lips when she took a breath. ‘End the games, Ayla.’

The finality in his tone rendered her stunned. Ayla blinked twice, and her smile faded. Her lips parted slowly, for a taunt or a threat that never came, as a soft thump interrupted her. Her eyes widening, she stumbled back. She reached forward, fingers grasping at his chest and failing to find purchase in the smooth leathers. 

Azriel slipped his arm around her waist without a thought, the act as easy as breathing. Something knocked into the back of his legs. His wings flared on instinct, but a weight bore them down until he lost his footing and the two fell together.

Holding her close, he braced his weight on his other arm, and his knee sank into plushness. It took him a moment to realise it wasn’t his shadows that broke the fall but her bed. 

The frenzied hum droning in his ears, the heaviness on his back holding him down; Azriel was a fool to trust them around Ayla.

Her heart rattled from their near fall, the sound drowning every rational thought in his mind. Her chest heaved with short, hurried breaths. Ayla was more than capable of getting out of his hold, throwing him off her, and yet, her hands lay by her side as though she had surrendered to fate, to him.

His instincts dictated that he pull away, walk out the door before he did something regrettable.

Maybe he never returned from Spring. Maybe he was poisoned, and maybe this was an elaborate hallucination conjured by his mind to numb its effects. 

But every inch of his body came alive in her presence; achingly aware of her warmth cradling him, her pliant and supple flesh sinking under his fingers, and those eyes. Those damning eyes basking in the glow of his siphons, glimmering like dancing pits of moonless sky, and they shone with something akin to awe as she searched his face. What she saw in him to be worthy of that gaze, Azriel didn’t know.

‘I can’t believe you let me do it,’ said Ayla, any trace of amusement gone. ‘When you didn’t return, I thought you changed your mind.’ A note of sincerity tinged her quiet confession.

‘You wanted to make it fair,’ argued Azriel.

Ayla chuckled almost in disbelief. ‘You let me bed them for fairness?’ Her breaths warmed his skin, and his own rose to match hers.

‘It’s what you wanted,’ Azriel voiced the mantra that kept him sane through this insanity, though in that moment, he hardly believed those words himself.

Unable to hold her gaze anymore, he stared at her pulse fluttering at the base of her neck. The mesmerising beat, a contrast to his raging thoughts, grounded him. Would a taste hurt? He could cherish it for the remainder of his life when this eventually came to an end.

His head barely dipped, her breath hitched.

‘Were you—’ a sigh left Ayla’s lips, tickling the shell of his ear. ‘You wanted to be chosen over the others.’

Azriel stilled. The accusation hung heavy and thick between them, and he almost fell for it. He looked up, expecting another one of that triumphant quirk of her lips; instead, he found naked observation in her eyes, curious even. Like she had been the one plagued with inescapable need and ache for months, the one in fear’s clutches helplessly caged in this wickedness.

Breathless, Ayla glanced at his lips.

Or maybe, she was right.

Azriel panted after the one who never desired him and the other who wasn’t meant to be his. Centuries wasted yearning for this. It was all he knew, to live in the distance, to pray for a swift end so he wasn’t riddled with hope. A part of him wondered if Ayla longed for him, if she sought him without the intervention of fate, he could be worthy of this.

Ayla drew another long breath. ‘Azriel.’

A shiver rolled down his spine. Azriel had dreamt of this moment before. Their first time, he had stolen the kiss from her. He had vowed to make it right the next time. He would stare into her eyes, watch the desire pool in them, trace the curve of her jaw with his scarred fingers. He would make her anticipate more, ask for more. When she was a blushing mess for him, he would kiss her gently. Taste her slowly. First, her lips. Then, her skin. And if she allowed, maybe more. That’s what his mate deserved.

But when Ayla whispered his name with intent—testing it on her tongue, savouring it—Azriel crashed his lips on hers.

And this time, there was no hesitation.

Ayla wrapped her legs around his waist and tugged him flush against her, while her hands smoothed over his chest. When Azriel tried to restore some distance between them again, she slipped her fingers into the collar of his leathers and pulled him back.

Azriel sucked on her lip. Ayla flicked his with the tip of her tongue.

Azriel tightened his arm around her. Ayla sighed against him.

Azriel trailed a path down her jaw, where his blade had once left a bruise, each kiss an apology due. Through the sharpness of her fragrance he adored, he scented something else, something so, so sweet that it fractured his mind, nearly ripping a pathetic moan out of him. He licked a long strip up her neck, wanting to taste something, anything.

Ayla arched her back, allowing him to mark her to his content. Her hands wandered all over him, gripping his shoulder, feeling his back, easing in between them and—

Azriel choked on his breath. Prying her hands off him, he pinned them by her sides. Her greedy little act sobered him before he let it get too far. He couldn’t do it, not with her.

‘Not yet,’ he mumbled into her skin. His forehead pressed against her cheek, he inhaled deeply. ‘Not like this.’

The words he itched to say—ones that singed his tongue—Not like those males. And Ayla nodded like she understood.

And in the moments of their waning desires, Azriel revelled in the sound of her heart calming to a steady beat, his lips ghosting over her skin, sneaking unsuspecting kisses.

‘What are they doing?’ Ayla asked quietly, her voice laced with curiosity.

Azriel looked up to find her attention drawn to something behind him. Shadows darted back and forth, teetering over his shoulders. ‘They want to touch you.’

Ayla blinked. Her brows pulled together as she turned to him. ‘You mean you want to touch me?’

‘I’m not denying it,’ Azriel chuckled at her unabashed words and unflinching gaze. A familiar buzz rang in his ears, angry and impatient. ‘The shadows can think for themselves. Right now, they are feeling neglected.’

Ayla stared at them for a moment, studying their movements. The wisps of darkness coloured smoky blue under the siphons’ light. She raised a tentative hand, and the shadows reached back. First, barely a touch to her finger and when she held still, they engulfed her hand. Ayla gasped a laugh at the sensation, her chest sinking under him. She glided her hand through the air, and they swayed along, chasing her skin.

‘They are beautiful,’ said Ayla, enthralled by the ribbons of misty darkness weaving through her fingers.

The shadows went silent, frozen for a beat before writhing down her forearm as if to indulge her, chanting her word like a badge of honour.

‘They feel the same about you,’ said Azriel. One of the rare few things they agreed on lately.

Ayla blinked, then broke into laughter, the sweetest melody he had ever heard, and draped the shadow-gloved hand over his shoulder. ‘There were more than eight, weren’t there?’

Resisting a smile, Azriel pecked her cheek. It didn’t matter anymore.

[toodelusionalforreality]

literally me with my oc right now😭

Writer: Adds a super obscure detail no one will notice. Also writer: Gets mad when no one notices.

[toodelusionalforreality]

There's something needs to be said about writers using ai for banners and facecard too.

Just stop.

The moment I see an ai generated image anywhere on your post or blog, I am out. I WILL assume you used it for writing too.

I know you want the *perfect* visual to get your point across, but it's not worth ruining your credibility for it.

i’m going to hold your hands when i say this and i am only going to be kind about it once: ai does not belong in fandom spaces, ever. not in writing, not in art, not in video, not at all. it does not matter how bad you want to see your favourite characters kiss, or how much you need a bit of help finishing a chapter, or whatever.

make friends with artists. commission somebody. learn to draw yourself. ask for a beta read. try a writing partnership. fandom spaces are communities, so engage with them! it is about the journey and the fact that we all love something enough to create and build together about that thing.

spending 30 seconds to kill a tree and get an AI to push out some soulless empty piece of “content” is antithetical to the entire point of being engaged with fandom, and if you’ve taken to doing this you should really reconsider if you belong in these spaces with the rest of us.

[toodelusionalforreality]

I know it's been a while but I'd like to know what your thoughts on the characters are so far. I left a few clues in some of the scenes and interactions but I'm not sure if they are too subtle to be picked up on them yet and I should work on making them more obvious. Appreciate all feedback even if they are not related to the characters!!

[toodelusionalforreality]

Azriel x OC | Chapter 9

Whore

Both his brothers are mated. Both his brothers are happily in love. But after five centuries of rejection, Azriel doesn’t hope for such luxury in his life. When he meets the bar owner who is too mysterious even for the spymaster to decipher, his intrigue turns into more. Lines between mystery and secret blur. The closer he gets to her, the more his instincts warn him to stay away.

Previous Chapter: Vice

Word count: ~4.5k Warning: Multiple POV. Mild description of gore and blood. [PLOT]

A/N: This is an experimental piece of work. I'm testing a writing style, so feedback is welcome. Going forward I'm removing taglist after this chapter as I've turned off notifications and I won't be available to answer any requests. My updates are sporadic anyway, it shouldn't be much of an issue. Hope you enjoy!

Vines curled and climbed up the gates; thick foliage covered every inch of the iron bars, blooming roses dotted them like rubies, brighter than Cassian’s siphons even in the never-ending dark. Glow worms crept along the polished dome carved above, their light faint and distant as stars in the night sky. Surrounded by lush gardens trimmed to perfection, the mansion stood majestic in the pit. From afar, one wouldn’t suspect signs of life in the depths of these caverns.

It took two days and nights to pry the location from one of Keir’s servants. If not for his station in the court, Azriel doubted he’d been ���invited”. 

A high fae waited at the door with a lantern in her hand. A heavy velvet robe slung over her shoulders trailed behind her with each step. Along the maze of corridors, Azriel saw no one, heard no one. But he knew wards were positioned in hidden passages in such places. The chamber on the upper floor was secluded and away from the rest. It seemed to be carved out of the very mountain and yet the walls carried a note of elegance with glossy swirls running along them. His boots sank into the plush carpet that lined the entire floor. A long table split the room in two; a lounge on one side and a bed on the other. Candles were mounted on every ledge and sconce, and the fae lit them one by one. 

Noticing his stare on the flames, she smiled, ‘A little something to enhance your experience.’

Azriel knew it to be a lie. Everything had a steep price in Hewn City, even something as simple as faelights. A soft trilling rung in the air but that wasn’t peculiar where magic was the only way of life. More vines crept through the windows and framed every doorway. The petals were cool to the touch, soft as a real bloom. They couldn’t be, he was certain until one of the thorns pierced his skin. 

Greenhouses were erected throughout the city for vegetation—without the sun, this became their means of sustenance. However, these fae wouldn’t waste their powers on what they called vain luxuries, while the females used what was left of theirs for a smidgen of beauty to forget the truth that they were trapped underground. To cast as much an elaborate glamour as this, his host had to be as powerful as Keir herself.

‘You aren’t the first to mistake them for an illusion,’ her voice drifted close, but Azriel couldn’t tear his gaze from the blood beading on his finger. ‘Everything you find here is as real as the pleasure you seek, Spymaster.’  

Her hair was pinned in a tight coil at the back of her head, not a strand out of place. Though the candlelight poured some warmth into her pale skin, it failed to mask the cunning in her blood. Her name was as much a forbidden secret as this place. She had the respect of no male in the city, and yet, they would crawl on their knees if she demanded. 

Mindlessly, Azriel rubbed his fingers together smearing the blood on his skin. A sly smile stretched her lips. ‘I was told of your afflictions. You will find my choice satisfactory.’

He didn’t care what she had heard of him, nor how. Two days was a long time away from Velaris. It felt right at the moment to find the source of all threats and eliminate it. Now, he wasn’t so sure. After months of searching, this was too easy—sending a male from the mountain city, that ridiculous riddle for anyone to decipher. However, Azriel had to admit, she was clever. Never in his right mind would he have looked for her in a pleasure house. 

But this fae in front of him was not her. 

No amount of money would suffice to loosen her lips about her merchandise either. Slipping his hands into lined leather gloves, Azriel turned to leave. The door opened slowly on a silent wind and he froze.

‘Like I said, I know what you desire,’ purred the fae. With one final look cast his way, she left him with the dame who took her time to observe him from a distance.

Azriel had only been to a pleasure house here on rare occasions when he desperately needed a distraction. An unspoken understanding still remained: His deeds were to be kept a secret, always. Yet, the uncanny resemblance in that innocent face, those warm brown eyes, and pale golden hair gutted him. Had they all looked like her? Was he so wretched that, even after decades, no one expected any better from him?

A smile curled her thin, red-painted lips as the harlot approached him. Unlike the other, she preferred a red lacy gown to display her fair skin underneath. Her eyes flicked to his hands as she reached for him, her shoulders sagged a bit finding them concealed. She knew exactly who he was. Azriel held in his sigh when her fingers wrapped around his and she led him to the lounge instead of the bed—he wouldn’t let this get that far anyway.

Her voice was thinner than Mor’s. ‘Madame says you don’t speak much. You don’t have to,’ she pressed into his side, draping an arm so boldly over his chest, ‘except for telling me what you’d like me to do.’ 

Shadows wavered by his heels and along the corners of the room. If not for Ayla, they would have abandoned him the moment he set foot in this place. Azriel wanted to leave too. But this was the first time he had been this close to the truth.

‘Have you been working here for long?’ he asked, peeling himself away from her. Everything reeked of roses. The candles, the wine carafe on the table, her hair.

His question left her puzzled for a breath. Then her smile returned. ‘I’m experienced if that’s what you’re asking.’

Turning away, Azriel closed his eyes. He couldn’t explain what made him stay, nor the feeling that this female was the path to all his answers. It’s just another mission, he told himself. He had done this before. He was doing this to protect Ayla. This wasn’t wrong—then why did it feel so? 

‘They never said you were shy,’ her fingers trailed to his collar and he eased it away with as much gentleness he could muster.

‘What is your name?’ Azriel tried again. Before she spoke, he added, ‘Your real name.’

She let out a giggle. ‘That doesn’t matter within these walls. The question is, what do you want to call me?’

This was a waste of time. His mind returned to Pharus. To the dark alley beside it, the empty streets after midnight with lurkers seeking a place without bounds. To any male invited upstairs in those two days. Azriel needed to leave. He would stand watch by the door every night if he had to, and it was better than this, but his body wouldn’t move.

Listen, a voice whispered in his ear. His shadows. They tethered him to the present and the task he wrought upon himself.

‘There was a male here before,’ said Azriel slowly.

Dark, doe eyes rose to his face, ‘I don’t mind sharing but the only males here are the guards.’ The harlot leaned into him and her hand caressed his thigh—up and down and up—eliciting an ache in his chest. Only, not the kind he was used to.

Her lips almost met his skin when Azriel spoke. ‘Dark hair, dark skin. He was likely a noble and new. He must’ve visited in the past two weeks.’ 

The hand on his knee froze. The harlot wrapped her arms around herself and pulled away, mumbling under her breath. ‘You’re not here for pleasure.’ 

The brazenness from before vanished from her face. She made to stand and Azriel grabbed her wrist, that touch alone searing his soul worse than any perverseness he committed in his life. He softened his tone knowing threats yielded him nothing in places like this. ‘He is dangerous. He could’ve hurt someone here. All I want to know is who he met with.’

The harlot pressed her lips together, jaw tightening. ‘Madame won’t let them touch us that way.’

‘But you don’t always tell Madame what they do to you, do you?’ 

Azriel gambled. These females owed loyalty to their masters and mistresses that couldn’t be broken by measly words. It was their first lesson, after all. A voice in his mind reminded him that he was none the better for knowing this and the things he had done.

His companion swallowed thickly, meeting his eyes again. ‘We don’t see them until they walk into our chambers.’

And this was hers. The room was twice as big as his in House of Wind, perhaps even bigger. Given the refinement of decor and attention to comfort, she was reserved for the elite. ‘Are you close with the others?’

A shoulder rose delicately and the harlot twisted towards him. ‘The girls?’ Azriel nodded. ‘Hmm, Madame makes us share the new girls the first few nights and I’ve been here the longest. So, I suppose you could say that.’

The tiniest spark of hope flared in his chest. ‘They must talk to you then. Did they mention anyone?’

Sighing, the harlot rested her head by his shoulder. ‘Only if they’re memorable.’ Her fingers traced the curve of the siphon on his arm. A blush tinted her cheeks, ‘I’ve heard about you.’

Apparently, so did the rest of Prythian. ‘That male was with someone new. He wouldn’t have visited before but often after her.’

‘New?’ She bit her lip. 

Azriel held his breath.

‘Madame trained only one this year. But she can’t be’ Certainty rang in her voice. ‘She is exclusive and expensive. Madame picks her partners herself.’

‘And why is that?’

The harlot chuckled. ‘She’s that good, silly.’ Her breath fanned against his neck as she laid a hand on his chest again, firm and curious. ‘She taught me a few tricks. Want me to show you?’

Azriel stopped her from venturing further. ‘Is she working tonight?’

‘She left.’

‘Left?’

Sensing his interest, the harlot perked up. ‘I think so. The last we heard, she was sent to her chamber with a client. He’d paid only for an hour but Madame didn’t trust him. When the guards went to fetch him, they found him tied to the bed and she was gone.’ A gasp tore from her, ‘Do you think he tried to hurt her?’

‘When did this happen?’

‘Two nights ago.’

The day Azriel found the spy. This chase was just another game.

‘Did she tell anyone she was leaving?’

‘No, Madame didn’t believe she was gone until yesterday. She was eager to work here. Like she wanted to. She made so much in a night that she had privileges within a week.’ Azriel’s brow furrowed and she added, ‘Like what she wears. See the clients first. Deny. . .servicing. Go to the city alone.’

Azriel looked away with a heavy sigh. In other words, this was a mistake. She could have found her spy anywhere in a city full of people who hated him and his family at her disposal, and no one knew what she had been plotting all this time.

‘Don’t,’ warned Azriel and the harlot’s hand froze an inch short from his wing. She offered a guilty smile when his gaze shifted to her again. ‘That must've made the others angry,’ he mumbled to himself, loud enough to pique the curiosity of his company. 

‘Like who?’ She stared at him wide-eyed.

‘You said she was new but clearly Madame favoured her over everyone. Wouldn’t you hate her?’

She shook her head violently. ‘No, everybody likes her!’ She scooted closer, her robe sliding down her shoulder exposing the smooth skin, and she whispered, ‘The nights she worked, we didn’t have to. Madame even let us rest. And she gave us her earnings and brought us souvenirs from the city. She took care of us.’

‘Why would she do that if she never talked to you?’

‘Not about males.’

‘What else did she talk about?’

The harlot sat in silence for a long minute. Her brows pulled together in thought. ‘Her friend. No, that’s not right. Her sister?’ She nodded once, ‘Yes, a sister.’ 

Azriel watched her reach for the wine on the table with a trembling hand but ignore the glasses. She mumbled the words like a chant as if she couldn’t stop herself. Wine dripped from the corner of her mouth and she finally set the carafe down, not bothering to clean herself. 

Her voice was steady this time. ‘She is going to bring her sister home. The time is just not right yet.’

If she did this for Hamra, it explained why the female left Hewn City. But Azriel needed to be sure. ‘What is the sister’s name?’

The harlot barely blinked at the wine staining her chest, instead, she resorted to tracing the lace of her dress. ‘Ayla wouldn’t tell us.’

Azriel stiffened. His shadows froze over his shoulders. ‘Ayla?’

She nodded without looking up, ‘The whore you’ve been asking about.’

Air thickened around him. 

Whore. Whore. Whore. 

Azriel had been stabbed before, but nothing compared to what he felt at that moment. 

Lie. Finally, the shadows’ song forced him to breathe. Yes, that must be it. A lie. It couldn’t be Ayla. 

His shadows kept watch over her every night and the wraiths reported her whereabouts during the days. Ayla never stepped out of Velaris. She was safe where she belonged. And she was not a who— She was not.

Smoky tendrils caressed the back of his neck, coaxing him to steady himself. Taking a deep breath, Azriel asked, ‘What did she look like?’

‘I don’t know.’ The harlot muttered. Red-painted nails dug through the fabric and into her thigh. Her words were quieter, hesitant. ‘She has a beautiful smile. And red hair, I think. I just saw her. Why can’t I remember?’

Until then, the harlot had been forthcoming about her life, the secrets of this place. Was she instructed to entertain him? This confirmed his suspicions about his opponent being a daemati. How many others had fallen her victim so far?

Worse, how many crimes had she committed in Ayla’s name? He needed to find what she had been up to before word reached Mor or Rhys. 

With the shadows darting ahead of him, Azriel headed for the door. ‘Forget this conversation,’ he said, although he was sure the daemati had taken care of it as well.

‘Wait!’ The harlot rose with him. ‘You paid for the entire night. They’ll know if you leave now.’

Under his silent, scrutinising eyes, she clenched the collar of the robe together in a fist. She refused to look at him but stood her ground.

What must her life be if she was more afraid of her Madame than the Spymaster of the Night Court?

‘Are you content with this life?’ 

‘What?’ The harlot breathed, her eyes wide and void.

‘If you were offered a life away from—’ Azriel looked around the chamber, a cheap imitation of love and connection ‘—all this, would you take it?’

A long silence ensued. Then the harlot barked out a laugh, dark and cruel. ‘You judge me. You of all people judge me. You think you are better because you throw your gold around for your pick of girls for the night?’ 

Azriel gritted his teeth. It wasn’t what he meant.

‘What should I do after you’re done “saving” me? I will forever be a whore in their eyes. In here, they can touch me for what their money is worth. Out there, they’ll take me whenever they want, wherever they want.’ Her voice cracked yet she carried on, ‘Madame protected me when no one else did. And you think I’ll leave her because you pity me?’

Every second drudged on letting the gravity of her confession sink in. Once the realisation dawned on her, blood drained from her face. Tears filled those warm eyes and she wiped them away before they spilled. ‘I shouldn’t have said that,’ her fingers pressed against her lips. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll be good, I’ll do whatever you want. Please, don’t leave yet.’

Resignation shadowed her face, the kind he was familiar with. One that whispered misery was better than living with a hopeless dream. One that insisted the world outside was bleaker than a dark cell. 

And for the first time, Azriel truly saw the harlot. Young and scared, that’s what she was. He remembered why he never learnt of the ones he took to bed. This was Hewn City—land for the evil and the vicious. He never stopped to wonder otherwise. 

Shadows swirled around him, raring to leave, and Azriel placed a pouch in her hand. Anger simmered in her eyes briefly. ‘This is for the information,’ he closed her fingers around the weight. ‘For your help tonight.’

‘Please,’ the harlot gazed up at him, ‘they will punish me.’

When Azriel didn’t say a word, a broken breath left her lips as though his silence had just marked her fate.

.

Keir walked in a stiff stride, sentries flanking him on either side as if someone would dare attack him during the day—well, Rhys supposed it didn’t matter where one couldn’t tell day from night. From the scrunch of his nose and subtle tilt to his chin, the steward didn’t disguise his disdain for this part of his city, like he were above these people, like their money didn’t fill the city’s coffers and his pockets.

‘How do you know of this place?’ Mor paused to glance over her shoulder when the footsteps ceased behind them.

‘Az took an interest,’ was all Rhys could say. He hadn’t expected to hear the name this soon. Night’s Caress. The name he pried from the spy’s mind.

The orb of light swerved to their left and Mor followed its path. In the lonesome, the impulse was undeniable. A beckoning of sorts spoke to him, insisting to venture up the grand staircase. If only for a peek. Rhys almost gave in when Mor returned and he wondered if she felt it too. She instead rushed past him and out the front door. The stomping of heels on polished rock was replaced by violent retching. Neither her father nor his army uttered a word at the display of such “weakness”.

Rhys cast another long glance at the stairs before he followed the fading trail of light. Stifling his urge to show concern in their present company, he reached to Mor’s mind but she hardly let him in.

Gusts of wind streamed along the tunnels carved throughout the mountain, their rumble accompanying his steps. Every door and window hung open. A draft crept through secret vents. Satin curtains rustled. The orb floated above, swaying beneath the chandelier in the middle of the room—teardrop crystals forming an elegant rose clanking against each other. Light scattered in every which way like fireflies dancing with a breeze, a rare beauty in the most heinous of places.

Rhys stared at the face by his foot. Where the eyes should have been, hollowness met him. Its jaw pried open from a scream or the absence of sinew, he couldn’t tell. No wonder Keir remained outside rather than reliving this. A true nightmare, even for the city of nightmares.

‘What was Az doing here anyway?’ said Mor, stepping beside him. Her voice was still hoarse. For someone who had seen worse on a battlefield and gutted her opponents with no mercy, this shook her.

More bodies lay strewn across the room—one on the loveseat to the west; two at the mouth of a secret passageway to the east, the door half-open; and five crumpled around a table at the centre. Nothing remained except bones, and the flesh, reduced to a sheen coat of black residue, still dripping onto the velvet carpet like wax.

Rhys walked around the corpses and marked their positions. Molten steel pooled beside one of them. Armed and ready to attack. ‘He’s been on edge lately.’ He barely noted his words before they slipped past his lips. 

Mor huffed a breath. ‘It’s her, isn’t it? What did she do now?’

Oh, this was fun. 

If five centuries weren’t enough for Mor to come around, she would never find love in the shadowsinger. However, she could be a tad territorial. Whatever warmth she had felt for the bar owner the first night or the many more they teased Az together was long lost.

Rhys flashed her a grin. An unabashed, wicked one. ‘We may have underestimated her. She might be a perfect match for Az in the art of torture.’ Mor cocked her head and laid her hands on her hips, a clear sign of her leashed fury. She wasn’t up for games. ‘Our little weaponsmith seems to have an appetite for nightly activities. Only, she prefers it with anyone but Az.’

Mor scrunched her nose and tipped her chin up in a way that eliminated any doubt about whose blood ran in her veins. Her lips parted to speak her mind, instead, she stared at him for a long minute. 

Her words softened in surprise, ‘You think of her as one of us already, don’t you?’

It was Rhys’s turn to scowl. He had done it again. The first time he did it, it was in front of Az, and for a moment, Rhys believed his brother was about to employ one of his methods on him. Or, at least try.

‘She’s his mate. What choice do we have?’

‘Have you forgotten the last time we let this happen?’ Mor gave him a withering look. ‘One Nesta was too many.’

A quiet laugh escaped Rhys. ‘Don’t let Az hear you.’

‘About Ayla or Nesta?’ 

‘Both.’ When his cousin didn’t find humour in his words or the situation, Rhys sighed, ‘This is different. She means no harm by it.’

Mor balled her fists, her glare boring into the empty sockets of the corpse lounging on the chaise. Lucky, he was already dead, or was it a she? ‘Az doesn’t deserve this. You said it yourself.’

‘But he deserves a chance to figure it on his own terms.’

Rhys wouldn’t admit it; he had his reservations. But he knew not to question Mother, for if he did, he would be unravelling a knot so deeply entwined as his own fate. He also knew that pull—that maddening, inexplicable tug pulling him apart every damn minute until he found his missing piece. 

Feyre. The sun must have barely risen above the mountains. Which meant, right now, she must be nursing his child. Rhys had left before either of them had woken. His instincts screamed at him to reach her mind and ensure they were still home. And he would, as soon as he left this city.

The tinkling of metal brought his attention back to the room. Mor carded her fingers through her hair again and again, the chains on her wrist rattled with the movement.

‘Besides,’ said Rhys to soothe her nerves, ‘can we really blame her after our reputation?’ He chuckled to himself remembering the vision of a tongue-tied Az that night. His brother, who won females without uttering a word, with only his brooding looks and mysterious aura and rare smiles, trapped in his own twisted games. His thoughts were so loud that Rhys heard them from across the room without trying.

‘Your.’ Mor amended flipping her hair over her shoulder. A lightness returned to her eyes and steps as she inspected the velveteen walls. ‘Don’t include me in your debauchery.’

‘Of course, you call yours diplomacy.’

Mor’s breath hitched. If he hadn’t seen the pained look on her face, Rhys would have laughed again. Why was he so callous today? First, defending Ayla, and now, this. It was like he had no sense of his thoughts until they spilled from his mouth.

The silence that stretched between them reminded him why they had come to this forsaken city. Rhys crouched beside the table. There were no scorch marks on the cushion or carpet. Only two of the victims managed to attempt escape. Skin burnt to a crisp, the remains rotting for hours, and yet, all there was a delicate fragrance clinging to them. Fresh and pleasant.

‘Do you think one of them did it?’ Mor said, tracing a finger along the curtain. Her head hung low, her face only a silhouette in the dark room. ‘Got tired of this life and decided to destroy it.’

There was no emotion to her words. Rhys hadn’t been too eager to lament these deaths. If Mor was right, if this was an act of retaliation, they had all the more reason to let Keir deal with his ward.  

‘Hard to tell until we know who the dead are.’

Mor’s lips trembled as her gaze flitted from one vacant face to the next. She backed towards the door, ‘I can’t do this.’

Rhys was familiar with that look too. He grabbed her arm before she made it to the exit. ‘Eris is incapable of this. He isn’t a fool to leave his mark in a place like this.’

‘I know,’ hissed Mor, twisting out of his grasp. Her eyes burned with a raw hatred at the mention of his name. With a deep exhale, she poised herself. ‘I can’t look at them anymore. You should’ve brought Cass, not me.’

The Spymaster would have been Rhys’s first choice. Guilt had weighed heavy on him for defying the order and Az left for Spring two days later. There had been no word from him since. Before getting him involved, given their last conversation, Rhys decided to get the facts straight for himself.

Az was skilled at pulling secrets from anyone but, despite the rumours, he never took pleasure in his means. He never toyed with them or harmed them more than necessary. It was his unrelenting patience that broke the victims, not the pain. 

But, that night in the alley, that Az was different. He relished in every drop of blood he drew. He wanted the male to suffer. The thirst in his eyes alarmed Rhys enough to drive him out of the court for a while. 

Rhys wasn’t blind to reason. He didn’t intend to intervene with fate, but if this was Az with the bond intact and his mate so close, he refused to imagine what would become of his brother if something were to happen to Ayla. 

Seeing the bodies molten inside out, a long-forgotten threat crept to his mind, the one he had dismissed as empty words spewed out of spite.

‘He won’t be able to keep this to himself,’ said Rhys finally.

A frown creased between Mor’s brows as the words settled in. ‘We are telling Az, aren’t we?’

His spies were still in the city. Az would find it one way or another. The question was when.

[toodelusionalforreality]

Azriel x OC | Chapter 9

Whore

Both his brothers are mated. Both his brothers are happily in love. But after five centuries of rejection, Azriel doesn’t hope for such luxury in his life. When he meets the bar owner who is too mysterious even for the spymaster to decipher, his intrigue turns into more. Lines between mystery and secret blur. The closer he gets to her, the more his instincts warn him to stay away.

Previous Chapter: Vice

Word count: ~4.5k Warning: Multiple POV. Mild description of gore and blood. [PLOT]

A/N: This is an experimental piece of work. I'm testing a writing style, so feedback is welcome. Going forward I'm removing taglist after this chapter as I've turned off notifications and I won't be available to answer any requests. My updates are sporadic anyway, it shouldn't be much of an issue. Hope you enjoy!

Vines curled and climbed up the gates; thick foliage covered every inch of the iron bars, blooming roses dotted them like rubies, brighter than Cassian’s siphons even in the never-ending dark. Glow worms crept along the polished dome carved above, their light faint and distant as stars in the night sky. Surrounded by lush gardens trimmed to perfection, the mansion stood majestic in the pit. From afar, one wouldn’t suspect signs of life in the depths of these caverns.

It took two days and nights to pry the location from one of Keir’s servants. If not for his station in the court, Azriel doubted he’d been “invited”. 

A high fae waited at the door with a lantern in her hand. A heavy velvet robe slung over her shoulders trailed behind her with each step. Along the maze of corridors, Azriel saw no one, heard no one. But he knew wards were positioned in hidden passages in such places. The chamber on the upper floor was secluded and away from the rest. It seemed to be carved out of the very mountain and yet the walls carried a note of elegance with glossy swirls running along them. His boots sank into the plush carpet that lined the entire floor. A long table split the room in two; a lounge on one side and a bed on the other. Candles were mounted on every ledge and sconce, and the fae lit them one by one. 

Noticing his stare on the flames, she smiled, ‘A little something to enhance your experience.’

Azriel knew it to be a lie. Everything had a steep price in Hewn City, even something as simple as faelights. A soft trilling rung in the air but that wasn’t peculiar where magic was the only way of life. More vines crept through the windows and framed every doorway. The petals were cool to the touch, soft as a real bloom. They couldn’t be, he was certain until one of the thorns pierced his skin. 

Greenhouses were erected throughout the city for vegetation—without the sun, this became their means of sustenance. However, these fae wouldn’t waste their powers on what they called vain luxuries, while the females used what was left of theirs for a smidgen of beauty to forget the truth that they were trapped underground. To cast as much an elaborate glamour as this, his host had to be as powerful as Keir herself.

‘You aren’t the first to mistake them for an illusion,’ her voice drifted close, but Azriel couldn’t tear his gaze from the blood beading on his finger. ‘Everything you find here is as real as the pleasure you seek, Spymaster.’  

Her hair was pinned in a tight coil at the back of her head, not a strand out of place. Though the candlelight poured some warmth into her pale skin, it failed to mask the cunning in her blood. Her name was as much a forbidden secret as this place. She had the respect of no male in the city, and yet, they would crawl on their knees if she demanded. 

Mindlessly, Azriel rubbed his fingers together smearing the blood on his skin. A sly smile stretched her lips. ‘I was told of your afflictions. You will find my choice satisfactory.’

He didn’t care what she had heard of him, nor how. Two days was a long time away from Velaris. It felt right at the moment to find the source of all threats and eliminate it. Now, he wasn’t so sure. After months of searching, this was too easy—sending a male from the mountain city, that ridiculous riddle for anyone to decipher. However, Azriel had to admit, she was clever. Never in his right mind would he have looked for her in a pleasure house. 

But this fae in front of him was not her. 

No amount of money would suffice to loosen her lips about her merchandise either. Slipping his hands into lined leather gloves, Azriel turned to leave. The door opened slowly on a silent wind and he froze.

‘Like I said, I know what you desire,’ purred the fae. With one final look cast his way, she left him with the dame who took her time to observe him from a distance.

Azriel had only been to a pleasure house here on rare occasions when he desperately needed a distraction. An unspoken understanding still remained: His deeds were to be kept a secret, always. Yet, the uncanny resemblance in that innocent face, those warm brown eyes, and pale golden hair gutted him. Had they all looked like her? Was he so wretched that, even after decades, no one expected any better from him?

A smile curled her thin, red-painted lips as the harlot approached him. Unlike the other, she preferred a red lacy gown to display her fair skin underneath. Her eyes flicked to his hands as she reached for him, her shoulders sagged a bit finding them concealed. She knew exactly who he was. Azriel held in his sigh when her fingers wrapped around his and she led him to the lounge instead of the bed—he wouldn’t let this get that far anyway.

Her voice was thinner than Mor’s. ‘Madame says you don’t speak much. You don’t have to,’ she pressed into his side, draping an arm so boldly over his chest, ‘except for telling me what you’d like me to do.’ 

Shadows wavered by his heels and along the corners of the room. If not for Ayla, they would have abandoned him the moment he set foot in this place. Azriel wanted to leave too. But this was the first time he had been this close to the truth.

‘Have you been working here for long?’ he asked, peeling himself away from her. Everything reeked of roses. The candles, the wine carafe on the table, her hair.

His question left her puzzled for a breath. Then her smile returned. ‘I’m experienced if that’s what you’re asking.’

Turning away, Azriel closed his eyes. He couldn’t explain what made him stay, nor the feeling that this female was the path to all his answers. It’s just another mission, he told himself. He had done this before. He was doing this to protect Ayla. This wasn’t wrong—then why did it feel so? 

‘They never said you were shy,’ her fingers trailed to his collar and he eased it away with as much gentleness he could muster.

‘What is your name?’ Azriel tried again. Before she spoke, he added, ‘Your real name.’

She let out a giggle. ‘That doesn’t matter within these walls. The question is, what do you want to call me?’

This was a waste of time. His mind returned to Pharus. To the dark alley beside it, the empty streets after midnight with lurkers seeking a place without bounds. To any male invited upstairs in those two days. Azriel needed to leave. He would stand watch by the door every night if he had to, and it was better than this, but his body wouldn’t move.

Listen, a voice whispered in his ear. His shadows. They tethered him to the present and the task he wrought upon himself.

‘There was a male here before,’ said Azriel slowly.

Dark, doe eyes rose to his face, ‘I don’t mind sharing but the only males here are the guards.’ The harlot leaned into him and her hand caressed his thigh—up and down and up—eliciting an ache in his chest. Only, not the kind he was used to.

Her lips almost met his skin when Azriel spoke. ‘Dark hair, dark skin. He was likely a noble and new. He must’ve visited in the past two weeks.’ 

The hand on his knee froze. The harlot wrapped her arms around herself and pulled away, mumbling under her breath. ‘You’re not here for pleasure.’ 

The brazenness from before vanished from her face. She made to stand and Azriel grabbed her wrist, that touch alone searing his soul worse than any perverseness he committed in his life. He softened his tone knowing threats yielded him nothing in places like this. ‘He is dangerous. He could’ve hurt someone here. All I want to know is who he met with.’

The harlot pressed her lips together, jaw tightening. ‘Madame won’t let them touch us that way.’

‘But you don’t always tell Madame what they do to you, do you?’ 

Azriel gambled. These females owed loyalty to their masters and mistresses that couldn’t be broken by measly words. It was their first lesson, after all. A voice in his mind reminded him that he was none the better for knowing this and the things he had done.

His companion swallowed thickly, meeting his eyes again. ‘We don’t see them until they walk into our chambers.’

And this was hers. The room was twice as big as his in House of Wind, perhaps even bigger. Given the refinement of decor and attention to comfort, she was reserved for the elite. ‘Are you close with the others?’

A shoulder rose delicately and the harlot twisted towards him. ‘The girls?’ Azriel nodded. ‘Hmm, Madame makes us share the new girls the first few nights and I’ve been here the longest. So, I suppose you could say that.’

The tiniest spark of hope flared in his chest. ‘They must talk to you then. Did they mention anyone?’

Sighing, the harlot rested her head by his shoulder. ‘Only if they’re memorable.’ Her fingers traced the curve of the siphon on his arm. A blush tinted her cheeks, ‘I’ve heard about you.’

Apparently, so did the rest of Prythian. ‘That male was with someone new. He wouldn’t have visited before but often after her.’

‘New?’ She bit her lip. 

Azriel held his breath.

‘Madame trained only one this year. But she can’t be’ Certainty rang in her voice. ‘She is exclusive and expensive. Madame picks her partners herself.’

‘And why is that?’

The harlot chuckled. ‘She’s that good, silly.’ Her breath fanned against his neck as she laid a hand on his chest again, firm and curious. ‘She taught me a few tricks. Want me to show you?’

Azriel stopped her from venturing further. ‘Is she working tonight?’

‘She left.’

‘Left?’

Sensing his interest, the harlot perked up. ‘I think so. The last we heard, she was sent to her chamber with a client. He’d paid only for an hour but Madame didn’t trust him. When the guards went to fetch him, they found him tied to the bed and she was gone.’ A gasp tore from her, ‘Do you think he tried to hurt her?’

‘When did this happen?’

‘Two nights ago.’

The day Azriel found the spy. This chase was just another game.

‘Did she tell anyone she was leaving?’

‘No, Madame didn’t believe she was gone until yesterday. She was eager to work here. Like she wanted to. She made so much in a night that she had privileges within a week.’ Azriel’s brow furrowed and she added, ‘Like what she wears. See the clients first. Deny. . .servicing. Go to the city alone.’

Azriel looked away with a heavy sigh. In other words, this was a mistake. She could have found her spy anywhere in a city full of people who hated him and his family at her disposal, and no one knew what she had been plotting all this time.

‘Don’t,’ warned Azriel and the harlot’s hand froze an inch short from his wing. She offered a guilty smile when his gaze shifted to her again. ‘That must've made the others angry,’ he mumbled to himself, loud enough to pique the curiosity of his company. 

‘Like who?’ She stared at him wide-eyed.

‘You said she was new but clearly Madame favoured her over everyone. Wouldn’t you hate her?’

She shook her head violently. ‘No, everybody likes her!’ She scooted closer, her robe sliding down her shoulder exposing the smooth skin, and she whispered, ‘The nights she worked, we didn’t have to. Madame even let us rest. And she gave us her earnings and brought us souvenirs from the city. She took care of us.’

‘Why would she do that if she never talked to you?’

‘Not about males.’

‘What else did she talk about?’

The harlot sat in silence for a long minute. Her brows pulled together in thought. ‘Her friend. No, that’s not right. Her sister?’ She nodded once, ‘Yes, a sister.’ 

Azriel watched her reach for the wine on the table with a trembling hand but ignore the glasses. She mumbled the words like a chant as if she couldn’t stop herself. Wine dripped from the corner of her mouth and she finally set the carafe down, not bothering to clean herself. 

Her voice was steady this time. ‘She is going to bring her sister home. The time is just not right yet.’

If she did this for Hamra, it explained why the female left Hewn City. But Azriel needed to be sure. ‘What is the sister’s name?’

The harlot barely blinked at the wine staining her chest, instead, she resorted to tracing the lace of her dress. ‘Ayla wouldn’t tell us.’

Azriel stiffened. His shadows froze over his shoulders. ‘Ayla?’

She nodded without looking up, ‘The whore you’ve been asking about.’

Air thickened around him. 

Whore. Whore. Whore. 

Azriel had been stabbed before, but nothing compared to what he felt at that moment. 

Lie. Finally, the shadows’ song forced him to breathe. Yes, that must be it. A lie. It couldn’t be Ayla. 

His shadows kept watch over her every night and the wraiths reported her whereabouts during the days. Ayla never stepped out of Velaris. She was safe where she belonged. And she was not a who— She was not.

Smoky tendrils caressed the back of his neck, coaxing him to steady himself. Taking a deep breath, Azriel asked, ‘What did she look like?’

‘I don’t know.’ The harlot muttered. Red-painted nails dug through the fabric and into her thigh. Her words were quieter, hesitant. ‘She has a beautiful smile. And red hair, I think. I just saw her. Why can’t I remember?’

Until then, the harlot had been forthcoming about her life, the secrets of this place. Was she instructed to entertain him? This confirmed his suspicions about his opponent being a daemati. How many others had fallen her victim so far?

Worse, how many crimes had she committed in Ayla’s name? He needed to find what she had been up to before word reached Mor or Rhys. 

With the shadows darting ahead of him, Azriel headed for the door. ‘Forget this conversation,’ he said, although he was sure the daemati had taken care of it as well.

‘Wait!’ The harlot rose with him. ‘You paid for the entire night. They’ll know if you leave now.’

Under his silent, scrutinising eyes, she clenched the collar of the robe together in a fist. She refused to look at him but stood her ground.

What must her life be if she was more afraid of her Madame than the Spymaster of the Night Court?

‘Are you content with this life?’ 

‘What?’ The harlot breathed, her eyes wide and void.

‘If you were offered a life away from—’ Azriel looked around the chamber, a cheap imitation of love and connection ‘—all this, would you take it?’

A long silence ensued. Then the harlot barked out a laugh, dark and cruel. ‘You judge me. You of all people judge me. You think you are better because you throw your gold around for your pick of girls for the night?’ 

Azriel gritted his teeth. It wasn’t what he meant.

‘What should I do after you’re done “saving” me? I will forever be a whore in their eyes. In here, they can touch me for what their money is worth. Out there, they’ll take me whenever they want, wherever they want.’ Her voice cracked yet she carried on, ‘Madame protected me when no one else did. And you think I’ll leave her because you pity me?’

Every second drudged on letting the gravity of her confession sink in. Once the realisation dawned on her, blood drained from her face. Tears filled those warm eyes and she wiped them away before they spilled. ‘I shouldn’t have said that,’ her fingers pressed against her lips. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll be good, I’ll do whatever you want. Please, don’t leave yet.’

Resignation shadowed her face, the kind he was familiar with. One that whispered misery was better than living with a hopeless dream. One that insisted the world outside was bleaker than a dark cell. 

And for the first time, Azriel truly saw the harlot. Young and scared, that’s what she was. He remembered why he never learnt of the ones he took to bed. This was Hewn City—land for the evil and the vicious. He never stopped to wonder otherwise. 

Shadows swirled around him, raring to leave, and Azriel placed a pouch in her hand. Anger simmered in her eyes briefly. ‘This is for the information,’ he closed her fingers around the weight. ‘For your help tonight.’

‘Please,’ the harlot gazed up at him, ‘they will punish me.’

When Azriel didn’t say a word, a broken breath left her lips as though his silence had just marked her fate.

.

Keir walked in a stiff stride, sentries flanking him on either side as if someone would dare attack him during the day—well, Rhys supposed it didn’t matter where one couldn’t tell day from night. From the scrunch of his nose and subtle tilt to his chin, the steward didn’t disguise his disdain for this part of his city, like he were above these people, like their money didn’t fill the city’s coffers and his pockets.

‘How do you know of this place?’ Mor paused to glance over her shoulder when the footsteps ceased behind them.

‘Az took an interest,’ was all Rhys could say. He hadn’t expected to hear the name this soon. Night’s Caress. The name he pried from the spy’s mind.

The orb of light swerved to their left and Mor followed its path. In the lonesome, the impulse was undeniable. A beckoning of sorts spoke to him, insisting to venture up the grand staircase. If only for a peek. Rhys almost gave in when Mor returned and he wondered if she felt it too. She instead rushed past him and out the front door. The stomping of heels on polished rock was replaced by violent retching. Neither her father nor his army uttered a word at the display of such “weakness”.

Rhys cast another long glance at the stairs before he followed the fading trail of light. Stifling his urge to show concern in their present company, he reached to Mor’s mind but she hardly let him in.

Gusts of wind streamed along the tunnels carved throughout the mountain, their rumble accompanying his steps. Every door and window hung open. A draft crept through secret vents. Satin curtains rustled. The orb floated above, swaying beneath the chandelier in the middle of the room—teardrop crystals forming an elegant rose clanking against each other. Light scattered in every which way like fireflies dancing with a breeze, a rare beauty in the most heinous of places.

Rhys stared at the face by his foot. Where the eyes should have been, hollowness met him. Its jaw pried open from a scream or the absence of sinew, he couldn’t tell. No wonder Keir remained outside rather than reliving this. A true nightmare, even for the city of nightmares.

‘What was Az doing here anyway?’ said Mor, stepping beside him. Her voice was still hoarse. For someone who had seen worse on a battlefield and gutted her opponents with no mercy, this shook her.

More bodies lay strewn across the room—one on the loveseat to the west; two at the mouth of a secret passageway to the east, the door half-open; and five crumpled around a table at the centre. Nothing remained except bones, and the flesh, reduced to a sheen coat of black residue, still dripping onto the velvet carpet like wax.

Rhys walked around the corpses and marked their positions. Molten steel pooled beside one of them. Armed and ready to attack. ‘He’s been on edge lately.’ He barely noted his words before they slipped past his lips. 

Mor huffed a breath. ‘It’s her, isn’t it? What did she do now?’

Oh, this was fun. 

If five centuries weren’t enough for Mor to come around, she would never find love in the shadowsinger. However, she could be a tad territorial. Whatever warmth she had felt for the bar owner the first night or the many more they teased Az together was long lost.

Rhys flashed her a grin. An unabashed, wicked one. ‘We may have underestimated her. She might be a perfect match for Az in the art of torture.’ Mor cocked her head and laid her hands on her hips, a clear sign of her leashed fury. She wasn’t up for games. ‘Our little weaponsmith seems to have an appetite for nightly activities. Only, she prefers it with anyone but Az.’

Mor scrunched her nose and tipped her chin up in a way that eliminated any doubt about whose blood ran in her veins. Her lips parted to speak her mind, instead, she stared at him for a long minute. 

Her words softened in surprise, ‘You think of her as one of us already, don’t you?’

It was Rhys’s turn to scowl. He had done it again. The first time he did it, it was in front of Az, and for a moment, Rhys believed his brother was about to employ one of his methods on him. Or, at least try.

‘She’s his mate. What choice do we have?’

‘Have you forgotten the last time we let this happen?’ Mor gave him a withering look. ‘One Nesta was too many.’

A quiet laugh escaped Rhys. ‘Don’t let Az hear you.’

‘About Ayla or Nesta?’ 

‘Both.’ When his cousin didn’t find humour in his words or the situation, Rhys sighed, ‘This is different. She means no harm by it.’

Mor balled her fists, her glare boring into the empty sockets of the corpse lounging on the chaise. Lucky, he was already dead, or was it a she? ‘Az doesn’t deserve this. You said it yourself.’

‘But he deserves a chance to figure it on his own terms.’

Rhys wouldn’t admit it; he had his reservations. But he knew not to question Mother, for if he did, he would be unravelling a knot so deeply entwined as his own fate. He also knew that pull—that maddening, inexplicable tug pulling him apart every damn minute until he found his missing piece. 

Feyre. The sun must have barely risen above the mountains. Which meant, right now, she must be nursing his child. Rhys had left before either of them had woken. His instincts screamed at him to reach her mind and ensure they were still home. And he would, as soon as he left this city.

The tinkling of metal brought his attention back to the room. Mor carded her fingers through her hair again and again, the chains on her wrist rattled with the movement.

‘Besides,’ said Rhys to soothe her nerves, ‘can we really blame her after our reputation?’ He chuckled to himself remembering the vision of a tongue-tied Az that night. His brother, who won females without uttering a word, with only his brooding looks and mysterious aura and rare smiles, trapped in his own twisted games. His thoughts were so loud that Rhys heard them from across the room without trying.

‘Your.’ Mor amended flipping her hair over her shoulder. A lightness returned to her eyes and steps as she inspected the velveteen walls. ‘Don’t include me in your debauchery.’

‘Of course, you call yours diplomacy.’

Mor’s breath hitched. If he hadn’t seen the pained look on her face, Rhys would have laughed again. Why was he so callous today? First, defending Ayla, and now, this. It was like he had no sense of his thoughts until they spilled from his mouth.

The silence that stretched between them reminded him why they had come to this forsaken city. Rhys crouched beside the table. There were no scorch marks on the cushion or carpet. Only two of the victims managed to attempt escape. Skin burnt to a crisp, the remains rotting for hours, and yet, all there was a delicate fragrance clinging to them. Fresh and pleasant.

‘Do you think one of them did it?’ Mor said, tracing a finger along the curtain. Her head hung low, her face only a silhouette in the dark room. ‘Got tired of this life and decided to destroy it.’

There was no emotion to her words. Rhys hadn’t been too eager to lament these deaths. If Mor was right, if this was an act of retaliation, they had all the more reason to let Keir deal with his ward.  

‘Hard to tell until we know who the dead are.’

Mor’s lips trembled as her gaze flitted from one vacant face to the next. She backed towards the door, ‘I can’t do this.’

Rhys was familiar with that look too. He grabbed her arm before she made it to the exit. ‘Eris is incapable of this. He isn’t a fool to leave his mark in a place like this.’

‘I know,’ hissed Mor, twisting out of his grasp. Her eyes burned with a raw hatred at the mention of his name. With a deep exhale, she poised herself. ‘I can’t look at them anymore. You should’ve brought Cass, not me.’

The Spymaster would have been Rhys’s first choice. Guilt had weighed heavy on him for defying the order and Az left for Spring two days later. There had been no word from him since. Before getting him involved, given their last conversation, Rhys decided to get the facts straight for himself.

Az was skilled at pulling secrets from anyone but, despite the rumours, he never took pleasure in his means. He never toyed with them or harmed them more than necessary. It was his unrelenting patience that broke the victims, not the pain. 

But, that night in the alley, that Az was different. He relished in every drop of blood he drew. He wanted the male to suffer. The thirst in his eyes alarmed Rhys enough to drive him out of the court for a while. 

Rhys wasn’t blind to reason. He didn’t intend to intervene with fate, but if this was Az with the bond intact and his mate so close, he refused to imagine what would become of his brother if something were to happen to Ayla. 

Seeing the bodies molten inside out, a long-forgotten threat crept to his mind, the one he had dismissed as empty words spewed out of spite.

‘He won’t be able to keep this to himself,’ said Rhys finally.

A frown creased between Mor’s brows as the words settled in. ‘We are telling Az, aren’t we?’

His spies were still in the city. Az would find it one way or another. The question was when.

Next Chapter: Azriel

[toodelusionalforreality]

if it's good enough for you, then it deserves to be made. don't let anyone else decide if your story is worth it or not.

[toodelusionalforreality]

This.

It's as simple as this. I understand you want easily digestible blurbs for a burst of dopamine and there's nothing wrong with that. But at the end of the day, every writer, og or fanfic, one-shots or full fleshed plot, they all LOVE comments and feedback.

I recently switched to AO3 because it's more welcoming and people who stumble upon your fics do it intentionally. The same can't be said about tumblr especially when you limit or don't write smut.

There are days when I write for hours because I get one comment stating how much the reader loved a chapter. And the others, I wonder if this is even worth it. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely adore writing but I have a real life which I put on hold for this and I can't figure out if this is all a waste of time.

People sometimes don't understand how long it takes to meticulously connect the ideas you get into a cohesive string of chapters. I can get the same rush writing a series as from random disjointed snippets. But publishing a fic requires much more effort and the comments and reblogs are the reassurances that what I do counts for something. I am not a professional writer making money but a simple person sharing my work for others' enjoyment. And unless someone explicitly states they are actually having a good time too, I will always doubt it.

So yes, we love to hear what others think about our thought process and writing more than the heart count.

Just putting this out there, and if you're shy to comment or let yourself known, anon asks are always welcome too!!

So I've decided to make a point. I know hundreds of writers on here have been trying to bring this to the attention of audiences, but it doesn't seem to be getting through. So I'm gonna try. These are the likes, comments, and reblog ratios on some of my fics.

I don't get as many notes as some authors do on here for most of my work, but you can see how out of 447 people that it's underwhelming to receive no comments.

Even on my more popular fanfictions, the comments and reblogs don't even compare to the amount of likes on a post.

And here is a fact that might startle some of you;

Likes mean nothing. They mean nothing on any social media app, and at the end of the day, they mean even less here. Writers want kudos, comments, ideas, and constructive criticism. Writers want your thoughts on the work you just read. Even if it's just a simple red heart emoji or a keyboard smash, that tells us so much and gives us inspiration to write similar content for you and others to enjoy. Reblogs are even more important than comments and most definitely likes. Reblogs allow our work to reach different sides and circles of tumblr. If it's on your mutuals dash because you reblogged it, then more people will see it, read it, and hopefully enjoy it. Reblogs matter, because writers are pouring their heart, soul, pussys, and dicks into these fics and are brave enough to post them. For free. You get to read these fics for free. And the least you can do is drop a comment.

Reblog a fic to your blog if you loved it. Even better, Reblog with tags or write your comments with the reblog. We see all of it, and it makes our day. Please, you're wondering why writers for your favorite fandoms are dwindling here. It's because there is no support. If you support your favorite writers, artists, gifmakers, etcetera, then we might just stick around and continue making free content for you all.

[toodelusionalforreality]

How are we feeling for GG? I already have an idea but I want to check what you guys prefer.

Different Types of Love Confessions

Public Love Confession

Desperate Love Confession

Romantic Love Confession

Casual Love Confession

Shy Love Confession

Accidental Love Confession

Nervous Love Confession

Song Love Confession

Long-Distance Love Confession

Drunken Love Confession

Angry Love Confession

Written Love Confession

Creative Love Confession

Unexpected Love Confession

First-Date Love Confession

Sleepy Love Confession

Anonymous Love Confession

Dramatic Love Confession

Late-Night Love Confession

Spontaneous Love Confession

[toodelusionalforreality]

i wish ao3 allowed people to give kudos per each chapter. These 100k word NOVELS need more love than 200 tiny digital hearts ☹️

[toodelusionalforreality]

I came across this composition today and I knew within the first minute this was the theme for azriel x ayla. It starts slow and the intensity swells steadily and you are left with this overwhelm still carrying through the beats of silence until it is gradually eased away with the last notes. There's this sense of familiarity and calmness through it that I can't explain but it just clicked with azriel's emotional state I envisioned for this story. So check it out if you're interested!

[toodelusionalforreality]

i do write for attention, actually, because that's a normal reason to create art

[toodelusionalforreality]

I would also constantly have a headache if I was responsible for the entire state surveillance program.