#forgotten about either. if it makes sense for them to be recalling this thing that happened then they do

[infizero]

its funny how before i started rewatching adventure time i was under the impression in my head that it was mostly just episodic stuff with the occasional overarching things thrown in there, but it actually has some of the best continuity i've ever seen 😭😭

[azrielbrainrot]

Moonlit Shadows - Act I

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Description: When tasked to find the once famed Temple of the Moon Goddess, Azriel only expected to find old, forgotten ruins if anything at all. He could have never imagined that not only would he find a temple but also someone who would change his life forever.

Tropes/Tags: Star Crossed Lovers (in a way), Forbidden Romance (kinda), Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, some Angst with a Happy Ending

Warnings: a bit of angst

Word Count: 12,4k

Rating: 18+ (this part is actually kinda chill)

Notes: Just as a warning (?) reader has white hair and white silvery eyes in this story but those are the only physical descriptions I will make, they're kind of part of her magic. Also when I started writing this I totally intended on it being a one-shot but the story got away from me and I decided to split it up into 3 parts. I really hope you enjoy!

You've been pacing in front of the temple's door ever since the sun set over the mountain, the warm rays slowly being replaced with the brilliant pale moonlight. You keep wringing your hands together and smoothing down any possible wrinkle on your dress, repositioning the diadem perched on your head to make sure it sits perfectly. It's not often you get visitors up in the temple, let alone any your Goddess went out of Her way to warn you about and gave clear instructions to help in any way you could. You can't quite distinguish if the anxiety building inside you is the result of excitement or wariness - possibly a healthy dose of both.

The last time someone climbed these steps had been almost a full decade ago. It was a quite short affair as well since the visitor only needed a book long forgotten in the temple's library. You'd read it multiple times before, and offered it without hesitation, prompting the traveler to thank you and immediately start descending the mountain, going on his way all the while muttering about finally having all the knowledge he needed to achieve his goal. That small interaction served as a reminder of your purpose in this temple, filled you with a sense of accomplishment you usually felt in such situations, but you've been alone in between these walls since then.

After almost four centuries you're more than used to the quiet, to the way your steps echoe in the grand empty space. The loneliness had been a more prominent companion, but even that had come and gone throughout the years. You had no place in the world, nor family or friends waiting for you anymore. All you had left was your duty to the temple. But you're still only fae and the longing for some company catches up to you every once in a while. At times you think you only want the reminder that you're still alive.

There wasn't much to do around the temple either, it magically gave you food and kept itself clean so you didn't even need to bother with that. You could recite every book in the library at this point and you found you weren't the best artist as you tried your hand at painting and sculpting, even music and dancing. The flowers around the temple seemed to grow effortlessly, not even needing you to tend to them either. Even keeping a journal proved inefficient as there was little to write down, the monotony of your life not interesting enough for such a thing. When tasked with guarding the temple, you would never have imagined boredom would end up being your biggest problem.

You still recall the day your hair started turning white and your eyes dulling, losing their color slowly until they turned into the silver, almost white color they were now, mirroring the moonlight. At first your parents thought it could be some disease or even a curse, they were scared for your health and safety beyond measure, but when the Goddess contacted you and sent you the amulet you now wear religiously around your neck, it guided you and your parents to this very temple hidden in the mountains of the Night Court. She then told you Herself what the fates had written for you, presenting you with an oath and sharing her power with you, making you the Keeper of the Moon Temple.

Everything had seemed impossible to believe at first, the time of the Gods had passed millenia ago, it was hard to find someone who could even name any of them anymore, you certainly couldn't at the time. So when you were told what your role in life was going to be you had been completely blindsided, not even knowing what to make of your new occupation, of being trusted with such an important task when you weren't even three decades old.

Truthfully, you expected at least a few people to show up every once in a while, asking for help or guidance. You even prepared yourself for there to be some threats to the temple, but things had been mostly peaceful and quiet, so quiet. You understand why guarding the temple is important, this type of knowledge and power can't ever fall into the wrong hands, the safety of the world depends on it, but sometimes you wonder what your life could have been like if you hadn't been chosen by fate to hold such a heavy burden by yourself.

Your heart stalls in your chest when you feel a presence approaching, used to feeling them pass by unannounced as the temple remains hidden in its protective spell. When it's clear this is the visitor the Goddess had warned you about, as they entered the wards seamlessly, you take a deep calming breath, adjusting the diadem one last time, and open the heavy doors, revealing the temple to the moonlight. As the stairs come into view, you step up to the threshold and clasp your hands together behind your back, waiting to be of help as your Goddess instructed you to.

Distractedly rehearsing your greeting, unused as it was, you almost miss the dark shadows swirling up the milky steps, passing by you and escaping to all corners of the temple before you have time to react. Your head snaps back to follow them, breaking the calming character you were falling into in preparation to fulfill your duty. Some of your power drips down to your fingertips, casting a white glow under your skin, as you study these shadows intently. Not finding any ill intent in them, as strange as they were, some of the tension leaves your body. They simply lay before you, more and more of these wispy shadows gathering together as they swirled around themselves, not paling even a fraction under the bright moonlight or your powers. Strange little things indeed.

You wonder for a moment if this was the visitor the Goddess had mentioned, not knowing what to make of it or how to approach such a situation. She had not specified if the visitor was fae, though you're not so sure how you would be able to help shadows. Before you could embarrass yourself in trying to speak to these creatures, the same presence you felt earlier makes itself known, much closer than before. Looking up at the starry sky, you find strong, dark wings carrying someone directly to the temple, a glimpse of blue shining over their dark form.

This was already the most interesting visitor you've ever had. You'd never had the pleasure of meeting any winged fae before, and, given their reaction to the fae approaching, you were confident the shadows were under their command. Those were definitely even rarer than winged fae - Shadowsingers, you remember them being called.

As they fly down closer to you and the temple, slowly letting the wind guide them, you feel a strange tug on your chest, and then another, this time strong enough that it makes you look down at yourself with furrowed eyebrows. Your confusion only deepens when you notice a bright string connected to your heart, raising your hand to try and touch it. Your fingers pass right through it, as if it wasn't there in the first place, and soon after you try catching it, the string disappears from sight.

You lay a hand down over your chest, feeling your heart beating under your palm. The string was invisible now, but you could still feel it tugging incessantly, as if urging you to look up. You follow its silent command, almost gasping out loud when you find the winged fae a lot closer than you had expected, catching him as he lands with a harsh tud on top of the steps, arms bracing out to maintain his balance as if he isn't quite used to landing yet. The shadows swirling at your feet rush to him, and a bewildered expression takes over his face, likely mirroring your own, as he stares at you, mouth agape.

Wide leathery wings stand behind him, open in a somewhat awkward angle as he stands frozen in place. As the moonlight filters through them you realize they're not quite black as they appeared before, the insides actually have a beautiful crimson hue to them. Your eyes seem to have a mind of their own as they keep cataloging his entire form, taking note of every detail as if it was crucial information. He was covered from head to toe in black leathers, you recognize it as an armor of sorts. It clung to his every muscle, showcasing them as much as it protected him from harm. You find the same blue light from before twinkling in the midst of all the black, studying it closer to find it came from gems scattered across his armor, you're almost certain they hold some of his magic somehow.

Moving up his neck, you find tan skin shining under the moonlight and black hair curling into his forehead softly, locks messy and a little damp from the flight. The stranger also had striking hazel eyes, and you find yourself struggling to not get lost in them, only bringing yourself to break eye contact when you notice the glittery string once more in the corner of your eye, only this time it's connected to his chest.

Your breath catches in your throat as you follow its path slowly, careful not to lose the thin thread once more, finding it leading back to your own heart. You feel another tug, prompting you to look back up at the male in front of you. A hand falls over your heart at the implication, right where you could feel the phantom string had tied itself. Yet another tug confirming your suspicions.

How could this be?

⭒.˚ ☾⭒.˚

Azriel wasn't expecting his evening to turn out like this when he was called to Rhys' office. While he knew there was going to be a mission of sorts, he never imagined it would involve a temple no one has ever heard of or a Goddess long forgotten. Even with Amren's knowledge and the old books she found corroborating her words, Azriel was still anticipating coming back to Velaris empty handed. He's flown over these same mountains at least a million times in the five centuries he's been alive, and never once has he noticed a temple or any signs of magic.

The woods under him looked completely untouched as far as he could tell, no one choosing to live so far from the neighboring towns, isolated between the trees and steep mountains. His shadows filtered through the woods in case he missed something from his high position, even if he thought this search was in vain, it didn't mean he wasn't going to give it his best to fulfill his High Lord's order. He felt almost naked without his shadows latching onto his body though, the single companion still perched on his shoulder in order to relay him information not giving him nearly enough coverage to feel at ease when he was so far from home.

Mission and discomfort aside, the wind felt heavenly hitting his skin on this warm summer evening. It had been a while since he was able to fly for this long without dreading his destination as it usually meant he was visiting the Illyrian mountains, the Hewn City or a much more gruesome mission than the one he found himself in at the moment. It also feels good to step away from the full houses he found himself in nowadays. As much as he loved his family, Azriel had always valued his alone time and it was getting harder to find himself completely alone in the midst of missions and the ever growing inner circle.

As he was flying over the edge of the mountain, Azriel was getting ready to make the trip back and throw a very satisfying “I told you so” at his brother's face when his shadows suddenly disappeared right before his eyes. The abruptness of it made him panic for a few seconds, clapping his wings so he was hovering in the same place and was able to study the space ahead of him, trying to feel for any type of ward or shield but coming up empty. He could still feel his shadows, and knew they were alright given how calm the remaining one was as it sat on his shoulder and simply urged him forward, as if confused why he had stopped in the first place.

Azriel trusted his shadows blindly, they had never steered him wrong after all, and so he did as he was told and slowly started moving forward once again. After living for five hundred years surrounded by magic, there isn't much that can surprise the shadowsinger, but he can safely say he's never seen anything like this. He felt his body pass through some sort of gateway, one that went unnoticed by him until now, and as he did his surroundings began changing as if they had only been a mirage before.

In between the trees a path carved in white stone could now be seen, glinting under the moonlight in complete contrast to the rest of the dark woods. As his eyes followed this path, going up stairs of the same stone carved into the side of the mountain, he found a white temple sitting right at the top. It wasn't a huge building by any means, but the white eerie glow it emitted made it impossible to miss had it not been the spell covering it - one that would make the one who kept Velaris safe for centuries pale in comparison - and keeping it hidden from the world and unwanted eyes.

Amren had been right after all, something that happens more often than he would ever care to admit. The Goddess of the Moon still had at least a temple left in this world, leaving it behind when She took to the sky. Not much is known about the old Gods, but Azriel, born and raised in the Night Court, felt himself relax as he looked up at the moon shining above him, not believing this Goddess could be anything but benevolent. She had watched him fly over from Velaris after all, it almost felt like he was guided here.

The entire temple was made of white stone - it appeared to be the same type of stones used for the path and stairs leading up to it, only more polished. There were silver highlights carved into the walls and columns, these glowed with an intensity Azriel had never seen. Most of the roof was a huge skylight, likely so the moon could illuminate Her temple and Her followers could bask in Her brilliant light.

Given the color scheme of the entire building, his shadows were easy enough to spot, which would have been a big problem had he decided on a more covert operation when coming to the temple, he was more than glad he came here in peace. His little companions seemed perfectly content as they swirled around and over themselves right in front of the temple's doors, a few steps from a figure completely clad in white.

Even after finding the temple where he had only seen trees and shrubs before, he couldn't help but feel even more surprised that there was someone inside it. A sudden spark of magic has the shadowsinger moving faster, a gasp catching in his throat when he sees bright, pale light coming from the figure's palms. Even this wasn't enough to send the shadows that would be at the receiving hand of it into alarm, something curious on its own as they were usually as suspicious and careful as their master.

Azriel was already within earshot when the person in front of him decided his shadows posed no threat and the white light disappeared from her hands. At first glance she might have looked like a regular high fae female, but there was a different kind of power flowing through her, as shown by the strange way this light magic manifested itself, something Azriel had never felt before.

Upon flying down closer, his feet almost touching the top of the steps in front of the temple, he realizes she had not been wearing a white hood or veil as he initially thought but her hair was completely white. There was an unnatural element to it as each strand shone under the moonlight, almost rivaling it in its intensity. The floor length dress she wore was of the same color, made of a light, breathable fabric, almost translucent in certain areas, swishing softly in the faint breeze. She had not looked up at him yet, seemingly intrigued as she watched her own chest. Perhaps looking at the pendant she wore around her neck, the magic coming from it could almost be seen in its intensity.

Azriel took this moment to take her in, not knowing what to say since he was the one possibly trespassing. She was absolutely gorgeous, truly mesmerizing in her beauty and demeanor. It was almost impossible to believe she was real, standing right in front of him and not a Goddess walking his dreams. For a moment Azriel wonders if this is truly the Goddess, if She never left the land of the mortals as it was once believed, instead keeping herself safely hidden in these uninhabited mountains, but when she looks up from her necklace, eyes falling on him for the first time, all thoughts evaporate from his mind. White, silvery eyes meet hazel and a sudden rush of inexplicable feelings hit him right in the chest, squeezing his heart tight and taking his breath away. It felt as if the world had broken apart and put itself together, as if everything finally made sense. The only thing he could make sense of was one word, swirling around in his mind and completely taking over every cell on his body. Mate. You were his mate.

In his stupor, Azriel forgets he was still up in the air, wings freezing along with the rest of his body and sending him falling towards the ground. Thankfully, he hadn't been too high up, and was still able to land on his feet, knees only buckling under his weight slightly as he steadied himself. This had to be the most ungraceful landing he's performed since his brothers were training him between giggles and harmless teasing when he first joined the Illyrian camps. If he wasn't so surprised and his brain was able to formulate a single thought, he would be cringing at the fact that you had just witnessed it, his mate had witnessed it.

It takes several moments before he starts catching on to the situation, the ringing in his ears subsiding and the rest of the world re-emerging around you. He hadn't even noticed his shadows had returned to him, ecstatic for their master finally found his equal. Azriel tries to school his features in an attempt to keep at least some dignity, in fear of coming on too strong as well, especially since it seemed you were in the same predicament as him, a curious but stunned expression locked in your beautiful face as you studied him. His stupid Illyrian senses make him flare out his wings a little before he has the chance to fully take control of his body. When your gaze finds his once more, his heart stalls in his chest before speeding up at an alarming rate. You haven't even spoken a single word to him, but his heart already sang for yours.

⭒.˚ ☾⭒.˚

The oath you made before your Goddess rushes into your head as you study the handsome male in front of you. How could this be possible? The fates had decided your life lied within the temple long before you were born, so why give you a mate? A bond like this is extremely rare, you'd never seen one in your entire lifetime, albeit you lived isolated from the world for most of it. Still, this was something only a few were blessed with, a bond stronger than what mortal minds could even comprehend, so why waste it on you? Could the fates and the Mother be this cruel?

You can't even bring yourself to hope he didn't notice the brilliant bond forming between you - an angry twist pulling at your heartstrings when you dare to think of hiding it - considering the expression on his face and his silence, it seems he's already more than aware of it. All it took was a single glance and it had fallen into place for both of you.

In the midst of the rushing thoughts invading your brain, you try to remember what you've read about mating bonds. There was a book talking about them in the library, of this much you were sure, but its contents were evading your racing mind.

Gaze falling to the floor, trying to sober up from what you imagine to be one of the most intense occurrences anyone could go through, you almost miss the step he takes towards you. The surprise of it makes you flinch slightly, but it was enough for him to notice and take the same step back, wings coiling up tightly to his back and shadows moving to cover him almost completely, excitement wiped off his face and replaced with a hurt expression.

Your gaze falls on him once more, a self loathing feeling crawling up your throat and making you want to beg for his forgiveness on your knees at the thought that you put that expression on his face. This bond would take some getting used to, in what world would you kneel before a male you've just met. Still, you didn't want him to think he scared or even disgusted you in any way, mate or no mate, that was extremely rude.

You clear your throat softly, remembering the weight of your role in this temple and trying desperately to fall back into character, hoping the familiarity of your duties will bring your mind some peace and help you get through this moment.

“Forgive me, it isn't often that we get visitors,” his entire body tenses up even further at your words, but it relaxes as you keep speaking, “I welcome you to the last Temple of the Moon. I'm the keeper and sole habitant of this temple. I've been tasked to keep it safe from any possible threats, but also do my best to help anyone the Goddess deems worthy of being shown the way, just as you have been.”

You try not to look too long in his general direction in fear of getting lost in his eyes once more, but that's close to impossible when you're talking to him and he might be the most beautiful male you've ever encountered. Taking a step to the side, you hold out a hand towards the door, inviting him into the temple, something you should have already done.

He nods his head once after watching your outstretched arm for a moment longer, and then makes his way inside slowly. As he passes by, you can't help but breathe in his scent, it feels intoxicating and it takes every bit of strength in your body to not let your mind linger on how well it would smell mixed with yours, until you couldn't point out where one ended and the other began.

A gasp pulls you out of your betraying thoughts, a smile finding its way to your lips, knowing the sight was making him speechless. It always sparks a little pride in you when someone gazes upon the temple for the first time. Even after living here for centuries, this temple's beauty still takes your breath away. The entire floor was made of replandescent white stones, silver gems weave highlights into them, creating patterns across the entire room, maps of constellations and lunar phases, and giving it a particular glow of their own. They were illuminated by the giant skylight making up most of the ceiling, as to allow both the moon and sunlight to enter. You've tried identifying the materials used in this construction before but ended up coming up empty. It seems the precious stones and gems used no longer grew in this world, perhaps they never did.

At the far corner of the room there was an altar, one without statue or offering table, but an altar all the same. Even when She walked this world, your Goddess never accepted gifts or ever allowed anyone to replicate her image because even that could end up leaving traces of her power behind. The altar looks empty right now, and you catch yourself wishing he could be here to see it on a full moon, when the moon rays fall right over it and you can communicate with and receive any orders the Goddess might have for you. The entire room holds an even more intense glow during that night of the month as well, you're sure he would find it fascinating.

Making your way around him, careful not to step too close or accidentally touch his wings, you catch sight of his awe stricken face, tan skin glowing beautifully under the moonlight. A small, fond smile appears on his face when his gaze falls back on yours, and you almost curse the Mother for the challenge she just put in front of you. His beauty was truly otherworldly, it rivaled every shiny gem and stone in this room, maybe even the moon herself. How were you supposed to act normally knowing this was your mate?

“I've never seen anything like this before,” he admits softly, eyes never straying from yours. The sound of his voice makes you pause, it feels strangely familiar, like something you've been waiting to hear your entire life. There's a curious kind of magic around mating bonds, you don't know how it's possible for someone you've just met to already have so much power over you, even when you're trying your best to ignore him.

“I still find myself at a loss for words when gazing at this room as well,” you agree, wanting to cringe at the bashful expression you know has fallen over your face. Your plan of keeping a detached demeanor while fulfilling your duties was doomed from the start. You clasp your hands behind your back before continuing in what you hope is a professional voice. “The Goddess warned me of your arrival and left orders for me to help you in any way I can. If you tell me what you seek, I will give you what you came here for as long as it's within my abilities.”

His eyebrows furrow slightly at your words. “How did you know I was coming?”

“The Goddess knows more than us mortals will ever be able to grasp,” you explain as vaguely as possible while hopefully not raising any suspicions. There's not a single cell in your body that thinks he's untrustworthy, but they're incredibly biased, and the inner workings of your role as the Moon's keeper must be protected.

He seems satisfied enough with your answer, but there's a different kind of air about him now. As if remembering he doesn't know you, and has found himself at your mercy.

“You haven't told me what you came for,” you remind him. If you sit in silence for long your thoughts will start drifting again.

“Right,” he clears his throat, a pinkish tint covering the tips of his rounded ears. “I come on behalf of the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court.” Your eyebrows raise at this, not expecting him to be such an important person. “One of the High Lady's sisters has been turned into a seer recently, and given that she wasn't even born fae, these powers have proven extremely hard to control.”

You've heard the story of the human who saved the fae from the evil clutches of Amarantha, and her sisters who were tragically thrown in the cauldron by King Hybern and turned into fae against their will. Your Goddess had even told you one of the sisters vengefully stole her powers from the cauldron, and the other was gifted seer abilities. Given the circumstances in which this all went down, it's understandable that she has been having trouble controlling her powers. Being a seer is an exceptionally heavy burden, and she's still so young too.

“We have some books that might be able to help, both in controlling one's power and pulling an entranced fae out of any visions or dreams they've found themselves stuck in. Was that what you were hoping for?”

“Yes,” he admits, apparently relieved at having found what he was looking for, “We found texts mentioning the followers of the Moon Goddess often had prophetic dreams, and wrote entire manuals on how to navigate them. Since Elain wasn't born with these powers these books seemed perfect to help her, and so the High Lady sent me searching for them.” You nod, motioning for him to follow you as you turn and start walking to the library, already making a mental list of all the books that might help his friend.

Even lost in thought, you sense him stopping in his steps as you're walking down the corridor, overwhelmingly aware of his every move as you were. This prompts you to turn around and face him in question, only to find him watching you in amazement.

“You're breathtaking,” he blurts out before he can catch himself, making heat rush up your neck and settle over your entire face. He looks away embarrassed for a moment, one of his shadows crawling up his neck and over his ear, before looking back at you with a bashful look. “I'm sorry. I just- Is it normal for you to glow like this?”

This power has been a part of you for so long, you almost forget about the way your hair lights up in the dark, an aura surrounding you as well, giving you an overall ethereal glow. “Yes, I harness power from the moon and She glows so…” you trail off, biting your lip as he keeps studying you. “The library is right up ahead,” you add, turning your back to him once more so you can gather your thoughts for the nth time since he stepped foot into this temple.

As you navigate through the familiar rows of shelves your heart finally calms, easily picking up the pertinent books. You can't help but keep watching him out of the corner of your eye, not out of suspicion, but curiosity for his every reaction. He seems content with following after you as he watches the decorations and studies the books sitting on the shelves, not once asking you what you're giving him, simply carrying the books you hand him. It makes you wonder if he usually trusts everyone this easily or if it's something reserved for you.

When you hand him the last book, you move to the back of the room slowly, the place where you keep some important magical amulets and tools, waiting on any sign from the Goddess forbidding you from lending him any of them. He comes to stand beside you then, likely noticing your hesitation.

“There is also an artifact that I think could help your friend,” you start, picking up the bracelet in question and holding it up as you explain its power, “This can help numb one's powers.”

“Like faebane?”

You shake your head, “No, this is completely painless, but it's vital that it is only used when she's finding herself lost in her visions and you're struggling to pull her out. This is not to be used as a crutch. If she used it to suppress her powers too often, she might never be able to take control of her full powers and this bracelet could become something she can't live without.” He nods, hopefully understanding the gravity behind your words. “It's also extremely rare and dangerous so I ask that, as soon as she has a better grasp of her abilities, I would say within a few years at most, this bracelet is delivered back to the temple so it can be kept safe.”

“What happens if we don't return it?”

The question makes you tense up and close your hands around the bracelet, your voice coming out clipped as you answer him. “I'm not entirely sure as no one has ever attempted something so foolish as long as I've been here, but those types of transgressions are handled by the Goddess so I imagine you would not be able to keep it even if you tried.”

“I wasn't considering keeping it. I was merely curious,” he rushes to explain, sincerity dripping from every word and making you relax a bit.

“Curious?”

“If you would be the one to come for it,” he confessed.

A warm tingly feeling spreads through your body as you digest his words. Would he seriously consider stealing from a God just for a chance to see you again? Even if it meant being at the end of your wrath? Can you be confident the bond wouldn't drive you to such extremes as well?

“I can't leave the temple unattended,” you murmur, much too softly for your own good. Your emotions are running all over the place, it almost seems like they're fighting to see which one will take control of your body, and unfortunately, you have an inkling as to which is winning as his scent overwhelms your senses once again.

“Of course,” he says, taking a small step closer to you, shadows mostly retreating from his body, “Forgive me. I didn't mean to upset you.” Must his voice sound like a cup of hot chocolate after a day spent playing in the snow?

It doesn't help that you've been in this temple for so long that you can't even recall the last time someone touched you, not even sexually, no one has so much as held your hand or hugged you in decades, ever since your parents passed. Looking at him, you know you could get lost in his arms, your head resting against his strong chest.

It's only when you squeeze the bracelet too hard, a bit of its power zapping through you, that you're finally able to pull yourself from the beautiful hazel of his eyes, and your consuming thoughts. Clearing your throat and handing him the bracelet. He only hesitates a second, likely pulling himself out of the moment as well, before carefully taking it from your hand, conscious of not letting his skin touch yours, much to your dismay.

You can feel your eyes widen at the sight of his scarred hands before you have a chance to school your features. The armor he wears and the sword strapped between his wings tell you he's a warrior, but you can't imagine what could have happened for this injury to scar like this. Someone employed directly under the High Lord must have access to the best healers in the court. Suddenly, anger bubbles in the pit of your stomach at the thought that someone dared to hurt your mate.

This time he's the one to pull away from you abruptly, shadows returning to their master, and that infuriating string tugging at your heart as he does. It makes you want to reach out and hold his hand, reassure him somehow, but thankfully your brain catches up to the thought that might be overstepping, and so you simply nod at him and ask him to follow you back to the temple's main room once more.

The walk back is filled with a heavy atmosphere, not only considering your oversight, but also at the realization that you must send him away now, likely never to see him again. If you're lucky he will be the one to return the bracelet, and you will be able to see him in a few years. The thought makes you slow your pace.

It's only when you reach the heavy doors, that you allow yourself to turn to him, his face reflecting your feelings perfectly. You briefly consider mentioning the bond, at least to make sure he feels it too, but you fail to see what good that would bring. You still can't leave the temple and, now that he's gotten what he came for, he will not be able to return either. This will be the last time you see each other, regardless of your feelings.

He studies your face carefully, perhaps wondering the same. It seems he reaches a conclusion as he speaks up, “Can you tell me your name?” He sounded hopeful, but somehow scared of asking, as if denying him could hurt him beyond comparison.

You whisper your name hesitantly, knowing this isn't just another stranger, this was your mate. He repeats it, tasting it on his tongue as he stares at you with an intensity you almost couldn't bear, but were unable to look away from.

“My name is Azriel,” he offers willingly, like he wanted nothing more than to hear you say his name, and who were you to deny him this when you were already withholding so much? You repeat his name the same way he did yours, the impertinent little silver string connecting you and your mate reappearing as the delicious word left your lips.

You keep repeating it in your mind as he thanks you for your help and you watch him take flight, hesitation written in his entire body language as his wings slowly carry him over the clouds, looking back down multiple times as if fighting himself to keep moving. You repeat it once more out loud, when you can't see him anymore and you know he's out of earshot. This time his name is followed by a broken whisper of an apology.

⭒.˚ ☾⭒.˚

The flight back to Velaris was one of the hardest ones Azriel has ever attempted, noticeably taking him much longer than it would have under normal circumstances. He has had to fly back home on an injured body and even injured wings, carrying another with him – Cassian of all people – and he's had to fly through the most extreme weather, heavy rain, snow and the torrid desert sun. All of those things had seemed easy compared to what he was experiencing now with a well rested body.

Both Rhysand and Cassian had mentioned how the mating bond made them act differently, how it seemed like it was taking control of their body and pushing them to act a certain way, but he didn't expect it to be this bad. His every instinct was screaming at him to turn around and go back for his mate.

He even had to take a break along the way, after watching the temple disappear right before his eyes, hidden inside the spell that had kept it safe for millenia. As the sight of the brilliant building was replaced with trees and rocks, the only thing going through Azriel's mind was that he might never see his mate again, the mere thought sending his heart into disarray. He spends a good while sitting under the moonlight, looking ahead at where he knows she is, while his shadows do their best to comfort him. Trying desperately to wrap his head around everything that happened, and how much his life changed in such a short time.

If he had been given a warning, a chance to prepare himself, then maybe he would have approached things differently, but getting blindsided by a mating bond wasn't in his plans. In fact, it had been a good while since he had stopped hoping for a mate.

He had longed for one most of his life. For someone that not only was his equal, but was also able to connect to him in ways only those who have experienced such a thing can begin to comprehend. A person that would accept him no matter how wretched he was, how much blood he has had to wash off his hands for the sake of his court. Someone he would love with every breath in him, even if it ruined him completely.

So many don't truly believe in mating bonds until they see them in front of them, but Azriel always did. He'd seen the worst this world had to offer and knew that if there was such darkness, then its counterpart would be equally as strong. And what could be stronger and brighter than love?

It wasn't until his brothers found mates of their own within a year of each other that Azriel started truly wishing for one though. Before, it was nothing more than a dream, just as he had dreamt of flying when he was locked in his cell, of seeing his mother when his cruel father kept him away from her, but seeing the happiness the mating bond had brought his brothers and how amazing the connection they shared with their mates was, he couldn't help longing for the same.

That was until enough years passed, everyone around him happily mated or in loving relationships while he stood by and watched from the same dark corner of the room. Azriel had convinced himself he wasn't worthy of a mate, even now after seeing you he can't help but feel the same. You were perfect in every aspect of the word, a beacon of light even kept away in your temple, while Azriel was nothing more than a monster. The feared Spymaster of the Night Court. Always ready to drench his hands in blood for the sake of his family and his home, always covered in shadows. A lesser fae, Illyrian of all kinds.

You deserve someone better, of that much he's sure, but the Mother had decided you were equals, and Azriel didn't mind doing his best to be worthy of you even if he had to work for it for the rest of his life. He's been waiting to love someone for so long, has been saving all of that inside him, and he wants nothing more than to shower you in affection, in reverence. Except it didn't seem like he would have the chance.

For most of your interaction, Azriel was convinced you had also felt the bond forming between you two, but he couldn't be sure, not when you hadn't even mentioned it or alluded to it before showing him out. Maybe he had read too much into things, let his own feelings bleed into his analysis, or maybe you simply didn't want a mating bond, not with someone like him. It didn't seem like you knew of him, but who's to say you haven't heard of the awful things he's done, and decided you didn't want anything to do with a monster like him.

The thought had his shadows rushing to soothe him once more, whispering vehement denials of his unworthiness as they covered him. Unfortunately, they wouldn't answer any of his questions about you, claiming it wasn't their place to explain your feelings or situation. In a way they were right, but that left him with no idea of what to think.

Azriel sat on that mountain, mulling over everything that had happened until the first rays of the sun started rising over the horizon. It wasn't until Rhysand reached out to check on him, worried at his spymaster's unusual tardiness, that he resumed his trip back to Velaris, this time passing through shadows along the way to cut his time shorter, hoping his brother hadn't caught glimpse of the heartbreakingly beautiful female consuming his every thought. Trying desperately to clear his mind as the cool wind hit his face, preparing for the meeting that was waiting for him as soon as he got home.

“So the temple truly exists?” Rhysand had been as skeptical about the temple's existence as Azriel, finding it hard to believe that such a thing could be hidden in his own court without his knowledge.

Azriel nods and sets the books you've given him on the dark desk, dropping the bracelet on top of the pile carefully, trying not to be reminded of the way you had handed it to him, or focus on your scent still clinging to it faintly. Shaking himself out of it and letting the spymaster mask fall over his face, he starts explaining how he had found the temple behind a powerful spell, going into detail about the building itself, the keeper who had helped him and the books and bracelet given to him, including the warnings you gave him, making sure to stress the fact that the bracelet was to be returned as soon as Elain gained enough control of her abilities.

“You really didn't feel the wards around the temple?”

“No, if my shadows hadn't disappeared right before my eyes I wouldn't have even noticed they were there.” So much had happened that Azriel almost forgot how peculiar those wards were, in fact all the magic present in the temple and in you had felt different.

“And this keeper?” His heart speeds up treacherously, enough so that Rhys gets a curious glint in his purple eyes, undoubtedly noticing it. “Tell me about her.”

A soft scowl takes over his features, a strange possessiveness creeping up before has the chance to quell it. “She was waiting for me at the entrance. Apparently the Moon Goddess warned her there was a visitor coming.”

“She can talk to the Goddess?”

“It seems so,” Azriel hesitates for a moment, “Her magic is different from any fae I've seen. Her hair is completely white, and her eyes aren't much darker, maybe a bit more silver. There was a certain aura about her, her entire being seemed to glow beautifully under the moonlight, even more when we moved inside. She truly looked otherworldly. In that moment, she looked even more radiant than the stars and the moon combined.”

A moment of silence falls over the room as everyone digests Azriel's words, tiny gasps leaving Feyre and Elain, who had been out of it for most of the conversation as a result of yet another one of her visions, and Nesta's jaw dropping significantly as they were not used to hearing the Shadowsinger muse about someone like this. Unfortunately, the others have seen him drunk enough when he was younger, so it wasn't as much of a surprise.

“What was that, brother?” Cassian's teasing voice cuts through his thoughts, “I thought you didn't resort to poetry.”

Azriel looks up at this, heat rising to his cheeks at the amused looks shared by everyone in the room, realizing he had lost himself in his descriptions of you, unable to keep them as clinical as he normally would, especially when it came to a mission.

“I just meant her magic manifests in a way I've never seen before,” he finishes lamely, one of his shadows oh so helpfully crawling up his neck to notify him that no one seemed to believe his excuse.

“Right, her magic,” Nesta mocks, suddenly interested in hearing about the temple after focusing on the books that would be helping her sister.

Thankfully, Amren didn't care about whether he found the keeper beautiful or not, and wanted to keep the conversation on track, a bored expression on her face as she pulled the attention back to her and the topic at hand.

“You said she called herself the keeper of the temple, correct?”

Azriel nods at her while checking his mental walls just in case, lest he also let them fall in his moment of distraction, and his High Lord or Lady saw something they shouldn't. He can only guess what feelings and thoughts would be attached to your image in his mind. If they saw this he would never hear the end of it.

“I believe she not only can communicate with the Goddess but also shares some of her powers. It's hard to determine just how powerful she truly is,” the ancient one turns to Rhys and Feyre, a serious look taking over her features, “She could become a threat to us.”

“She's not a threat,” his voice cuts through the room, protecting his mate instinctively.

Rhysand raises one annoyingly perfect eyebrow at Azriel's sudden outburst. Some of the amusement still lingers around the room, but the anger behind his statement was undeniable, creating some tension and confusion between everyone. It's not often they see him so on edge, to the point of raising his voice at Amren of all people.

He tries to calm himself as much as possible, knowing this is a symptom of the mating bond and that his brothers and sister-in-laws might be able to figure that out, and tries to explain himself once again.

“I was the one who talked to her, there were no ill intentions when she guided me through the temple and gave me the books. She even added more books than we wanted or knew existed, and the bracelet. She helped us willingly.”

Amren studies him through narrowed eyes for a moment longer before finishing her earlier thought. “Even if she had any ill intentions, keepers are bound to their temples and can't physically leave, so there wouldn't be much to worry about.”

It feels like the world stops when Azriel hears these words. Every little hope he was clinging to in regards to your bond escaped him in that moment. If what Amren said was true, you couldn't leave the temple, even if you wanted to come and find him, and he couldn't find the temple unless he needed something and the Goddess showed him the way. He could very well never see you again, or only once more, when Elain got better and he had to deliver the books and bracelet back to the temple. Was that why you ignored the bond? Because you knew there was no hope for the two of you?

Azriel spends the rest of the meeting in a sort of trance, barely able to listen to what his family was talking about, or even register what they decided when it came to helping Elain use the books. It was impossible to focus on anything when it felt like his life, a dream that had barely started was crumbling right before his eyes. He only tunes back in when the meeting is over and most of the Inner Circle starts leaving, hoping he can at least go rest from his flight, take a long bath and find a quiet place to be alone and digest these life changing last few hours.

He was already on his feet, dragging his exhausted body to the door when Rhys called out his name, making him turn around in question. “There's something else we need to discuss.” His brother was always the most perceptive at the worst times. The last thing Azriel wants to do right now is discuss his miserable fate with anyone.

Everyone filters out the room then, even Feyre who drops a kiss on her mate's cheek before following her sister out - a gesture he's more than used to witnessing but bears a different weight today - leaving the two brothers alone in the quiet office. Azriel doesn't move from his spot, standing in the middle of the room with crossed arms as Rhysand studies him, daring him to start the conversation, secretly praying he simply has another mission to send him on instead of the conversation he's almost sure is about to start.

“Are you going to tell me what happened with this keeper?”

Azriel has to physically stop himself from sighing. Why couldn't the Mother let him have a moment after everything that has already happened in the last few hours?

“Nothing happened,” he sounds defensive even to himself, his mind too preoccupied to try and mask his emotions, “She gave me the books and then I left.” This much was true, unfortunately.

Rhys simply hums, always sounding irritatingly sure of himself. “So you wouldn't mind showing me your memories of last night, right? I'd like to take a good look at the temple. It seemed quite intriguing,” he pauses for a second, head tilting a fraction to the side, mouth forming into a smirk, “and so did she.”

A snarl escapes Azriel's mouth at his brother's words. Even if he knew he was being baited, controlling this damned bond was impossible right now. Rhysand's smirk only deepens, like a predator who successfully lured its prey, since his brother gives him the exact reaction he was expecting with that little comment. No wonder Azriel has to work so hard as his Spymaster, it's a miracle Rhys has lived this long.

“You look very defensive of a female you've only exchanged one simple conversation with.”

“Like I said before,” he says, that snarl not quite leaving his lips no matter how hard he tries, “She helped us without a second thought, even more than we expected. I just don't understand why everyone keeps insisting that she might be a threat.”

“I didn't say she was a threat, I simply asked you to show me what she looked like.” The High Lord taps his purple painted nails on the table, waiting for a response. When it becomes clear that Azriel isn't taking the bait, Rhys keeps going, “Can't blame me for being curious of how this keeper beautifully glows under the moonlight. She looked otherworldly, you said?”

The thought of assassinating his loving brother crosses Azriel's mind. He doesn't even know what to respond knowing those were his own words, and any reaction would be amplified by the mating bond. The High Lord had him right where he wanted him.

As he keeps staring at his brother, shadows climbing up his body until most of him is covered from those intense violet eyes, Rhysand's expression changes, a somewhat defeated look replacing the earlier amusement as he accepts that he'll have to pry the truth from his spymaster.

“Azriel, I've known you for over five centuries. I can tell when you're hiding something from me,” his face and tone turning even more serious as he continues, “I also know what a fresh mating bond feels like, the emotions it evokes in us.”

Azriel stares at his brother for another moment, before realizing there was no need to try and pretend he wasn't right, letting out a sigh before sitting down in the chair across from him defeatedly, shadows settling while his wings drooped, enough to touch the floor.

“If you already know, why are you asking me about it?”

“I didn't expect this to be your reaction,” he says, thoroughly studying Azriel's face. “I don't understand why you wouldn't be happy. I know it can be scary, but you've always wanted a mate, Az.”

“There's nothing to be happy about.”

Rhys simply rolls his eyes, “I know a bit more about mating bonds than you do. Trust me there's a lot to be happy about.”

His temper rises at this, emotions still not having settled - he's starting to wonder if they ever will. Even his shadows were becoming overstimulated, not knowing how to soothe their singer in these circumstances.

“Didn't you hear what Amren said? She can't leave the temple, she's bound to it, and I can't go back there since it's hidden under whatever spell that was,” the words almost caught in his throat, “I'm never seeing her again.”

Saying it out loud makes the whole situation unbearably real. It's not often Azriel sees himself in conversation such as these, always one to ignore his feelings for as long as possible, and then isolating himself when they become too much, but his brother knows him too well, as he said before, and was prying out everything too easily.

“I don't even know if she wanted this,” he finds himself whispering.

“Why wouldn't she?”

Azriel swallows all the self-pity, the unworthiness he felt when it came to you, or anyone else really. Diving into these feelings would lead them into a different conversation, one he wasn't sure he could handle, much less right now, and so he opts for the simpler answer.

“She didn't mention the bond once, she was ignoring it – if she even felt it at all,” he leans back and runs his hand through his hair, “my feelings were muddled the whole time I was there so I can't even know for sure.”

“You didn't tell her you were her mate either,” Rhysand reminds him.

Would things have gone a different way if he had? Or would you simply let him down as soon as he brought it up? Did it even matter? Would he be able to survive your rejection?

“She told you the temple showed itself for the people who needed it, right?” Azriel looks up at his brother, nodding. “Seems to me like you need to talk to her.”

⭒.˚ ☾⭒.˚

You're not entirely sure what one is supposed to do after finding their Mother-blessed mate, and then proceed to send them on their way, possibly to never return. Not being able to get even a wink of sleep and spending the next few hours searching your library for any information on mating bonds seems appropriate though. There wasn't anything written in these books that you didn't already know about mating bonds: extreme attraction, a connection of emotions, feelings of primal possessiveness, the possibility for a love unlike any other.

There was no mention of the silver string you'd seen tied around both of your hearts, but the bond seems to manifest itself differently for everyone, and the magic your Goddess has poured into you was peculiar to say the least. Even Azriel might not have seen or felt it manifest the same way you did, but that doesn't mean it's not there. Denying it is out of the picture at this point.

The section about rejecting mating bonds caught your eye, but it quickly soured your mood. It seems there's no way to reject a mating bond and hope for life to ever go back to normal, especially for males as they would always feel like a part of them was missing. The book didn't exactly go into depth on the topic – there can't be too many other idiots thinking of turning down a mating bond, – so it didn't mention anything about just ignoring the bond. Would it just fizzle out until you could barely feel anything, or would it end up with the same effects of a rejected bond? As much as you knew this bond was doomed from the start, you didn't want to convict Azriel to a lifetime of madness, or even worse. It was bad enough he couldn't get a mate out of you.

After your mood deflates at the bleak prospect for your future, and the sun has already replaced the moon, you decide to indulge yourself for a moment. Since your encounter had been so brief, you ended up not finding out too much about Azriel aside from his name, and, as much as there was a voice nagging at the back of your mind, warning you that trying to learn more about your mate won't help you in successfully ignoring the bond at all, you're still only fae and curiosity got the best of you. How could you not be curious about your mate?

You'd heard stories about a shadowsinger working under the High Lord of the Night Court, but you didn't know if that was him as the High Lord had changed since then. If it was though, this would make him a truly important figure for this court, country even. You can't help but feel proud at the thought.

Your search for information on Shadowsingers soon proves fruitless, not being able to find much else aside from their abilities to communicate with shadows, rare as they are, so you move onto researching winged fae instead, in hopes of finding out what kind he is. There are various kinds, this much you know, but for some reason you've always imagined them all to have feathered wings. It's at times like these that you wished you had traveled more when you were younger.

Most of the day is spent like this, tucked into your favorite sofa in the library, the temple refilling your teacup and offering you little snacks as you search for any bit of information that could help you understand who Azriel is. A tug on your silver string finally pulls you out of the moment, body immediately going into alert as you feel your mate nearing. These feelings are entirely too abstract, there's no way of knowing if he's flying over the temple or simply a bit closer than he had been an hour prior - which could still be halfway across the Night Court. You'd also found in one of the books that mates could attempt reaching out to each other through the bond, the descriptions of the resulting feeling appearing quite similar to what you were experiencing at the moment.

You try to ignore it and carry on reading your book on wings - the irony not lost on you - but the string keeps tugging incessantly, even more firmly now, and you suddenly get the feeling that he was actually close, possibly even trying to reach out at the same time or following the bond.

Had he come looking for you? You told him the temple kept itself hidden unless the visitor needed something from within these walls and the Goddess allowed them passage. He had to know that he wouldn't find anything more than trees and shrubs in this forest, the temple keeping itself out of sight even if he had been here before and knew its exact location, such were the wards around this place.

Putting away the book and sitting up on the sofa, you wonder what you should do. There's no way of communicating with him, and you won't be able to let him in, no matter how desperate you were since that decision was not your own to make. Your role was to protect the temple, but you knew he wasn't a threat either. Were you to simply stand by and watch while he looked for you, only to be met with silence? The Mother seems to have a twisted sense of humor.

As you were preparing yourself mentally for what you assumed were going to be a tough few hours, you feel the unmistakable sign of someone passing through the barrier, prompting you to stand up and winnow straight to the main hall, opening the front doors in a rush, only to find a familiar dark figure waiting for you.

If you weren't witnessing it with your own eyes, if your heart wasn't beating at that rhythm that seemed reserved solely for him, you wouldn't have believed this to be true. Your feet move of their own accord, carrying you towards your mate as he stands at the entrance to your temple, a contagiously hopeful expression on his face as he watches you move to him.

“How did you get here?” You can't help the dumb question, not being able to understand what is happening in the midst of your surprise and every other feeling that came with his presence.

“I needed to talk to you,” he explains in a breathy tone, smiling down at you like he wasn't sure if this would have worked either, if he was actually going to be able to find you.

The Goddess showed him the way, if She hadn't he wouldn't have been able to find you, even with any shadowsinger trick he might have had up his sleeve. Could She know he's your mate? She had been the one to warn you of his arrival the day before after all.

You're still trying to gather your thoughts when he continues, skipping over all the pleasantries as if he couldn't keep the words in any longer.

“You're my mate.”

Hearing the word coming from his mouth makes your heart soar, a tingling feeling spreading over your entire body as if lava was now running through your veins. This was not a confession you needed to hear, but the bond welcomed it anyway.

“I know,” you admit, a bittersweet smile overtaking your features.

“Are you unhappy with it? With me?” You quickly shake your head in denial, but he continues before you have the chance to explain, “I would understand it if you were, and if you don't want the bond, I won't force you to accept it. I promise I will never hurt you.”

Is this what has been going through his mind since he left? That you wouldn't want him? The thought makes you swallow, you've only wanted to spare him as much pain as you could, not hurt him more yourself.

“Azriel, that's not it. There's nothing wrong with you, or any reason I wouldn't want you as my mate” you assure, “but I swore my life to protecting this temple, and I can't physically leave the grounds. That's not fair to you.”

He doesn't seem to be surprised at the information, meaning he was probably already aware of your predicament and decided to come talk to you anyway, but he still takes a moment before speaking, thinking through his words as he watches you, shadows coming up to whisper in his ear.

“Did you make a vow of chastity or anything similar?” The question takes you aback for a second, heat rising to your cheeks at the implication.

“Not explicitly, no,” you clear your throat, “but it's hard to keep a relationship when you're bound to a temple hidden in the middle of nowhere. I can't even walk past the first few steps.”

Azriel looks behind him at your words. If he took a few steps down, you wouldn't be able to follow him, a different set of wards keeping you within these grounds. When he meets your eyes once again, you add carefully, “This isn't a relationship worth pursuing when we both know it won't end up working.”

“I think I would like to decide that for myself,” he says as he takes a small step closer to you, “if you'll allow me.”

“What?”

“I would like to come visit you whenever I can, and get to know you. This… I don't think we should throw away a chance like this so lightly, not without at least giving it a try.” He closes most of the distance between you, raising up his hand and holding his palm up for you to take, “Even if it never becomes a romantic relationship, or if it ends up breaking both of our hearts, I don't want to be the person who didn't fight for something so special in fear of getting hurt.”

You watch his hand as you mull over his words. It's not as if he doesn't make sense in his argument, you're more than aware how downright stupid it is to throw away a mating bond when some people spend their whole lives searching for one, but you're scared, for both of your sakes. Letting your mate into your life, even without accepting the bond, knowing that there will come a time when you will want more from it than what you're capable of having would not simply hurt you both, but change both of your lives beyond recognition – it could even kill you. And yet, staring into his hopeful eyes every little reason why you should be turning him down, walking back into the temple and closing the door behind you, seems to escape your mind.

When his hand lowers slightly, wings drooping as well, possibly taking your hesitation as denial, your hand moves to hold his instinctively, surprising the both of you. You had been kidding yourself into thinking you could fight a bond like this. The smallest sign that your mate would leave and your body moved to keep him by your side. Your decision has been made. You can only hope the Gods will have mercy on you.

“I would like to get to know you too, Azriel,” you say, squeezing his hand in yours as a blinding smile takes over his devastatingly handsome face. “As long as the Goddess shows you the way to the temple, I don't see anything wrong with… talking.”

He lets his thumb run over the back of your hand before raising it to his lips, sending your heart into disarray as he leaves a soft kiss on your skin. A flush covers the tip of his ears, and you catch a flash of the silver string connecting the both of you.

“Then I promise to come see you as often as I can.” He lets your hands fall between you two, fingers still intertwined as you stare at each other like fools. You catch yourself after a moment, thanking the Mother for living in this isolated mountain for once so no one could witness this.

“Do you want to come in? You must be tired after your flight,” you invite, letting go of his hand, missing the warmth of his skin immediately.

His gaze drops to your hand before meeting yours once again and nodding, following you inside into the main hall he had been in before. It looked different in the light of day, his hazel eyes studying it once more.

“I didn't fly all the way here,” he starts, gaze still stuck on the stone covered walls, “I can travel through shadows, similarly to how most high fae can winnow.”

“Oh.” You watch as his shadows move lazily around him, coming up his legs. “Is that one of your shadowsinger abilities?”

“Yes.” You wanted to ask more, your earlier curiosity returning, but you find a conflicted expression when he meets your eyes, you can also feel it in your chest, and so you wait for him to decide if he wants to share it with you.

“I'm not high fae,” he admits.

“Right, the wings,” you let out, much too excitedly, as your eyes fall on the huge appendages on his back, “I've never met anyone with wings, and haven't even heard of featherless wings. I searched in the library for types of winged fae, but most of our collection is a bit outdated, and the Goddess was never too interested in those sorts of things so I couldn't find anything that fit your description.” Your mind finally catches up to your words then, eyes widening before falling to your hands as you play with your fingers, and add lamely, “I have a lot of time on my hands here, and I didn't think I'd see you again so…”

You dare a look at his face when his silence drags on too long, finding him watching you with a surprised expression, wide hazel eyes staring into your white ones. His shadows had crept up his neck once again - singing to him you suppose.

Azriel finally finds his words after another moment, your eyes not straying from his for a second, “I'm Illyrian,” he starts, studying your face carefully before continuing, “As far as I know, we're the only ones whose wings have no feathers.”

“Illyrian?”

“Have you heard of it?” He seems scared somehow, but you're not exactly sure why he would be. You try to remember where you've heard the word before, only taking you a moment to remember them as people who live in the mountains up in the north, and were part of the High Lord's army.

“Yes. I know they're people who live in the mountains, and fought in the war but I didn't even know you had wings,” you gesture to them, “I didn't get much of a chance to travel before I came to the temple, so I've never met any Illyrians.”

“That's all you've heard?” You nod slowly, eyebrows furrowing at his insistence. “Illyrians have an unfavorable reputation. The males train their whole lives to fight, and the females aren't regarded as much more than a means for procreation,” he explains further, “Some have started changing their ways, slowly, but most camps insist on their traditions, no matter how cruel. They- We just don't have a good reputation.”

You start understanding where he was getting at. Some fae had trouble opening their eyes to how the world was changing around them, choosing to remain willfully ignorant to the harm it brought those who were different from them, who they deemed as lesser. He was scared that, had you heard about whatever cruelty he's seen from his peers, you would judge him for it. You feel a little offended that he would think so lowly of you, but the truth is he doesn't know you at all, or you him.

“It's hard to outlive archaic traditions when we live for centuries. I wouldn't ever dream of passing judgment on an entire group of people for the beliefs some of its members insist on clinging onto,” you clasp your hands together behind your back, shrugging as you smile up at him, “and I might be biased, or even wrong, but I think you're very kind, Azriel. You came all the way here to help your friend, with no real proof that you'd find what you were looking for, and then you came back to ask permission to visit me, even when you thought I might not accept it. Cruel is the last word I'd use to describe you. I'd rather go with sweet.”

“Sweet?” He asks, a flush rising to his cheeks and a bashful smile finally erasing that conflicted expression off his face. “You think I'm sweet?” You hum in agreement, your grin growing so large it hurts your cheeks. “I'll have to let my mother know at last someone agrees with her.”

You let out a laugh, the image of a baby Azriel getting showered in praises from his mother entering your mind. You almost have trouble imagining him as a child, but you have no doubts he was more than sweet, adorable even, with his round cheeks and small wings.

“So…” You lean back on your heels, intertwining your hands behind your back. “Do you want me to show you around the temple?”

“I would love to,” he agrees with a blinding smile on his face.

[criibibi]

Synopsis: After losing so much, Spider-woman learns to just keep moving. Only for her to end up somewhere far from home. Her first agenda is figuring out where she is, and how to get back. The only problem is that she ended up somewhere fictional (to her). Playing hero with Batman was not in her bingo cards this year. Hopefully she will be able to make it back home before she catches unwanted attention.

Masterlist: Prev; Next;

Chapter 2 - Spider Luck

Morning came quickly despite the shitty sleep you received that night. The constant tossing and turning, the constant fear and anxiety of getting caught or broken into, really you couldn’t catch a break. 

Despite that, you did get some sleep, even if the sum total was like three hours. Still, it’s not like the nightmares would have let you sleep regardless. All your failures would consume your thoughts and drown you, reminding you of your losses. 

Sure you moved on, but it’s not like you had forgotten. Uncle Ben’s wisdom, Aunt May’s lessons, and Peter Parker’s kindness. You vowed to honor and cherish those memories, but here you are, in another fucking world, with a high possibility of you breaking some laws just to get out.

Desperate people do crazy shit, and you aren’t that sane to begin with.

Luckily this motel has a shower and you plan to use it. Making sure to clean yourself with what you have (unfortunate) and pick up the necessities that you desperately need. 

Taking your time (since you paid for it) you get yourself ready, making sure your mask, gloves and (stolen) wallet are secured inside the hoodie’s pockets. Suite nice and tucked underneath the turtleneck and leggings. First order of business is shoes. Maybe that should have been your first mission yesterday- oops. 

You definitely should have followed the young spiderlings example and fight crime with shoes. Well if you ever meet them again, you will…

When you meet them again. You will. You have to. No matter the cost.

And then your stomach rumbled. “Great! Time for cheap food. Wonder if that knockoff Wack-Donld place is open. 

Oh that’s a nice plan. But you forgot one thing, genius. Where is it? How would you know where it is? You can’t even map it since you also don’t have a phone. 

About to unlock the door, you realized something. It already was unlocked… “Hmm…” Well, it was good that you webbed the door then.

“Fuck.” Leaving the motel keys at the front, you skedaddled your way back into the streets, looking for either a bodega or a shoe store. In order to keep yourself somewhat sane, you start softly humming music you recall Miles shared with you.

After some time of walking around aimlessly (you avoided asking others for directions, gods know gothamites unwritten rule is to mind your fucking business), you found a thrift store.

Guess what you realized while browsing for shoes. If you buy and fight crime with shoes, and (as of right now) are your only pair, you will get found out. So crocs it is!

Black ones, because white gets dirty too damn easily.

Finding your size and other clothing necessities, face-mask, a backpack and a portable sewing kit, you were good to go and all for a cheap price! God you love thrift stores. You used to go to as many and as often as you could with Peter. Ya had a bad spending habit and Peter certainly never discouraged you. He was your terrible financial buddy.

Not now! You can’t reminisce right now, not until you found a way home. Asking the cashier for directions while also subtly declining their phone number (your excuse is that your phone got stolen) you made it to a corner store. Hurray!

Making sure to stock up on snacks, since- let’s be real, this will be your food source for a while, (no income, remember, silly) you stand in line to pay before your spider sense goes off.

Behind you. There’s a man, hoodie on, looking down, covering their face, hands buried inside their pockets. You’re betting it’s either a gun or a knife. 

“Don’t move or I’ll shoot.” Oh, it’s a gun. How original.

The cashier seemed to clock in to what is occurring and subtly reaches under his counter. Not subtle enough because the man behind you yelled, pulling out his gun and pointing at the back of your head.

What the fuck spider luck.

You quickly assess your surroundings, making note that there is only one exit, two normal people not including you but including the gunman, and the room feels tight and too small to do anything.

Conclusion? You’re fucked. 

“I said don’t move, hands up! Give me the money, all of it!” From the corner of your eyes you can see just how fidgety this man was. Probably trigger happy if you do something stupid.

“He-hey man, I don’t got much in here.” The cashier had his hands in the air, trembling and freaking out. 

“I don’t care, give me the money! Yours too, bitch. Now!”

How rude. “Alright, I’m going to get my wallet. Don’t shoot.” You made slow movements of reaching into your pocket for the wallet.

“Hurry up! Both of you!” The thug yelled impatiently. You could practically feel how sweaty and anxious this guy is.

You watched the employee open up the cashier and take the money out. The assailant motioned for you to place your wallet on the counter, which you do and step to the side, getting out of his way. Just as he goes to grab the money you quickly grab the wrist with the gun and twist it, making sure he dropped it before smashing his head onto said counter, money flying everywhere. 

Both you and the cashier watched the assailant fall to the ground, nose bleeding and out cold. “Um,” The cashier looked at you, spooked. “I panicked.”

Hey look at that, no shots fired baby! Ya still got it! You are a pro-fess-io-nal~!

“Hey man, no-um no sweat. You saved me.” He replies with a tremble in his voice.

“Cool, cool, I also didn’t want to get shot. How much for my stuff?” You asked, picking up the money on the floor, handing it back while placing your snacks on the counter..

“What stuff? I see nothing. Just go. I already called the cops.” Oh, so he wasn’t reaching for a gun (corner stores usually have one under the counters) but a buzzer or something? Nice, cool, great.

“Thanks buddy!” Hey man, free food is a blessing. Picking up your wallet and bag of snacks, you step over the knocked out guy, (pick pocketing any cash he had on him,) picking up the gun with your sweater sleeve and placing it at the counter. “Here, for the cops.”

“Thanks so much, again for everything. Hey, can I get a name? For the next time you come and…buy stuff.” He shot his shot.

“I appreciate it man, but I don’t give out my name like that. You know?”

And he missed.

“Ye-yeah…” He looked like a kicked puppy.

Just as you stepped out you heard the sound of a motorcycle nearby and your senses went off again.

“Stop right there, not another step.” A third party voice joins the fray.

What the fuck, spider luck?!

Instantly you recognize the vigilante in front of you but regardless you are not taking any chances today. 

Taking a step back inside the store, making sure to close the door on the guy. “Um, hey not to alarm you or anything but there is a guy with a mask standing outside.” Bringing your hands up (again) you back away from the entrance, snack bag swinging around with your movements. 

The employee nods pulled out the pistol from the counter (what the fuck, why would you grab that with your fingers my dude?) and aimed.

Well at least he doesn’t hold grudges for being rejected.

The door swung open and there stood a masked vigilante, but a familiar bat symbol on his chest caught the employee’s attention.

“Oh thank god it’s not another one.” Putting the pistol again he sighed in relief.

“Ah!” The yellow vigilante turned his focus onto you, (who backed up so much you tripped over the k.o.ed dude, fucking embarrassing) hands still in the air and snacks littering the floor.

Some professional you are. Fuck you spider luck.

“I didn’t steal anything, I swear.” God, you're embarrassed and stressed.

The vigilante ponders for a few seconds, taking in the scenario, glancing at the employee who nods and turns his attention back. “Sorry about that. Here.” He extends a hand out towards you and to not be suspicious you hesitantly take it, your body tenses on instinct, pulling away immediately.

“Thank you.” you mumbled silently cringing at your embarrassment over spilled snacks.

“What happened?” He still faced you but you knew that question was for the other party member. And even if it was for you, you’re silent.

“That dude tried to rob us and they knocked him out. Oh,” The cashier looked at his hands. “This is his.” And placed the pistol on the counter.

This looks like the perfect time to poof away so you do. Right after you pick up your snacks. Signal sees this and silently aids you. “You both aren’t hurt, right? Need medical assistance?”

No you fucking don’t.

Holding out the bag as Signal placed the last snack in you as you shook your head. “I’m a-okay. Thank you though.” And you walk out for the second time. You could still feel his eyes on you until the door closes.

And guess who shows up.

The men in blue.

“Hold it right there.” Bro, you just want to be left alone, is that so much to ask? This time instead of bringing your hands up (for a third time), you instead clutch your bag to your chest, mask down and point inside, making sure your voice matches your facial expression.

“In there, he stopped him there.” meek, timid, nervous.

It seems to have worked as the pair of policemen entered the store and you didn’t think twice and booked it (in a non suspicious manner- if you run, they might chase). Passing by a yellow motorcycle you take a glance back and see the vigilante stepping outside the store, looking somewhat bothered in the presence of the authorities. 

Sucks to suck, bud, you know that feeling very well, not your problem anymore.

As if feeling your eyes on him he turns his face towards you, your eyes meeting a mask. Oh fuck! You felt your hair stand up. Holding his gaze for a few seconds before turning away (any other abrupt movement would definitely make you look suspicious) you continue on your way.

Forcing yourself to not tense up and fight the urge to shiver at his cold gaze you round the corner and you feel somewhat safer again. But it’s a false sense of security, because you know you’re slowly losing your mind.

Hopefully you won’t run into him or any of the other bats.

-

Duke Thomas was patrolling his territory, the Narrows, when he got a notification.

“Signal, there’s a robbing occurring five blocks from your location. The corner store Convenience. Know it?” Oracle’s voice spoke through the comms.

“I know my way. I’m checking it out now.”

“Checking the cameras- there are only three people inside. The assailant, a civilian, and an employee.”

“Got it-”

“Oh wait. Huh, well look at that.” Disbelief could be heard through the comms.

“What is it?” Did things escalate too fast?

“The civi knocked the guy out. Basically one move.” Color Oracle impressed.

“I’m here, anything else I should know about?”

“I’m scanning what I can see of their face, but I’m coming up blank. I’ll let you know if anything.”

Duke didn’t reply, instead as he pulled up he saw someone coming out of the store. “Stop right there, not another step.”

He watched the figure (gender unidentifiable with the oversized hoodie) freeze before making eye contact with him-er his visor. Despite the hood being down, he could not see their face completely with their mask, only their eyes and hair. Just a normal civilian, who apparently knocked out a guy with a gun.

Then silence and no movement.

Until the civilian backed away, closing the store door.

Stunned for a moment, Duke could hear Oracles snort through the comms. “Think they’re scared?”

“From what, me? They took down a guy with a guy and I scared them?” 

“Careful, gun pointed straight at you inside.” warned Oracle.

He moves towards the front door, pushing it open to see the civilian from earlier backing away still, hands up before turning his attention to the employee with a gun. “Oh thank god it’s not another one.”

“Ah!” A yelp caught his attention and it seems the civi tripped on the knocked out guy he just noticed. They immediately spoke, catching his eyes,“I didn’t steal anything, I swear.” 

Duke holds in a snort before glancing at the employee who nods in confirmation before he focuses on the fallen person. He calmly walks towards them, taking note of their discomfort and reaches his hand out. “Sorry about that. Here.” 

Despite his covered eyes somewhat obscuring his vision, he couldn’t will them away from this stranger’s visible face. 

Duke watched their hesitation but placed their hands in his, and he swore he felt a spark that sent shivers down his spine. How curious. He pulled them up, noting just how light they felt in his hold.

“Thank you.” Their voice was soft, but audible.

They quickly pulled their hand away, the warmth gone. His hand held its place for a couple of seconds before he let it fall to his side. “What happened?” He still faced the civilian, both unmoving. He already knew what occurred, Oracle told him everything, but he wanted to hear them talk more.

Only the employee replied. He took note of their lack of eye contact. 

“That dude tried to rob us and they knocked him out. Oh,” Duke glanced as the cashier placed the gun on the counter. He’ll leave that for the cops to pick up if they don’t get here before he leaves. “This is his.”

His attention is once again stolen as the civilian in front of him kneels to pick up their half empty bag. Standing above them, he notes the tips of their ears are red, how cute.

“You good there, romeo? You kinda have a staring problem.” Oracle’s voice snapped him out of his trance.

Duke cleared his mind (he hoped he didn’t look weird or creepy, yikes) before leaning down as well and helped pick up the tossed chip bags.

Though he did take his time, just to squeeze a bit more time with this civilian that he has yet to identify. “You both aren’t hurt, right? Need medical assistance?” He mostly directed this question to them than the cashier behind him. He wonders if Oracle figured out this civilian's name. 

Placing the last snack inside the plastic bag he watches them straighten up before shaking their head. “I’m a-okay. Thank you though.” His eyes couldn’t seem to leave their figure as he watched them walk out the door.

“Cops outside, Signal.” Oracle once again breaks his attention. 

“Got it.” Duke turns his attention to the guy on the floor, sitting him up as two officers enter the store. One takes the guy off his hands while the other questions the employee, taking the gun.

A slight restless feeling took over him and he made his way outside, the one carrying the passed out guy following. Duke quickly takes notice of eyes watching him and he turns to see the complete unmasked civilian from earlier. 

This time, he really felt like he had a staring problem. He drinks up their appearance like water. Their nose, lips, face shape, everything. He didn’t know how to explain it, but he really couldn’t look away this time. Everything around him suddenly felt silent. He felt his body shiver.

Such a pretty face, this civilian caught his breath regardless. He’s not one to lose himself by a pretty face but it seems this one was an exception. He felt mesmerized, entranced, and tongue-tied. Something about this person had a strong lock on him, and he couldn’t help but feel somewhat excited then put off. It felt like a very tight leash, and he doesn’t mind one bit.

Three seconds. Ever since he caught their gaze, they made eye-contact (despite him wearing a mask) before she looked away and left, turning the corner. (Their features look pretty feminine so he’s going with her). 

“Anything Oracle?” He mumbled, still a bit lost.

“No dice. How strange…”

Bummer. He mounts his ride and drives off to finish the rest of his patrol. He’s tempted to drive in the direction the civilian went to, but he wills himself to not do that. God it’s like he’s down bad. Really bad.

Hopefully he gets to see you soon, it seems you’re staying in the Narrows which increases his chances to see you. As much as he curses himself internally, he hopes he can save you next time something dangerous happens again.

Something formed in the pit of his stomach, and he doesn’t know if it’s desire or obsession.

Regardless, he embraces this feeling whole heartedly.

Prev; Next;

I struggled really hard, like REALLY hard. Duke is new to me (i only learned of him because of the webtoon) Now I'm reading issues he has been in and I don't know his character well but there is a SEVERE lack of Duke fics and I made it everyone's problem. So now he's down bad.

Updates are random and spars, no update schedule and don't plan to make one. This is my hobby not my obligation.

[junosmindpalace]

can you make a scenario where saiki accidentally makes his s/o cry so now he literally panicking trying to calm her down? and then out of guilt for the next few weeks he doing all these sweet things for her?

lots of fluff please!

hi there! thank you for your request!

Last week, Saiki was caught up in an incident.

There was just a lot going through his mind, alright? His parents were on his case about errands--particularly his father, exhausting his powers for his own needs--and his friends kept finding ways to drag him along in their endeavors, and he was worn out; both physically and mentally. 

The second he thinks he gets a mental break to himself to recover, you come along and try to make conversation with that irritatingly cheerful voice he’s been having to listen to as people tear him from limb to limb trying to get him to do this and that for them.

So he accidentally comes off a little harsh when he tells you with a murderous glare to just leave him alone. 

And you know Saiki, and Saiki knows you. You know the stress he’s often under, and he knows you just want to spend some time with him. Neither of you have a problem with either of these things usually, but today, it was just a jumble of emotions and some miscommunication that made it all fall apart. 

You try to understand, and you do! But even still, you couldn’t help feeling bad for upsetting him, and are unable to prevent the stray tears that pricked at your eyes from rolling down your cheeks. You immediately wipe them away with the palm of your hand and give him an apologetic smile, but Saiki immediately panics. 

He panics a little simply recalling the incident, even a week later when you’ve practically forgotten all about your crying and getting your feelings hurt. Still, Saiki feels bad, and ever since the incident occurred, he’s been trying to dull the guilt and sense of obligation to compensate for his actions in his heart. 

But though it doesn't seem like he's doing anything unique to an outsider who may not know him very well, you can tell the small shift in his attitude toward you in the weeks following the incident.

Seeing you splayed out in distress over a desk is a sight Saiki has become accustomed to with all the time you spend studying together. Typically, a couple of "motivating" words from him telling you to just pull yourself together and break down the material is enough to get you to begrudgingly pull yourself up and work. As of late, however, he'll tells you to stop moaning about your work when it gets too difficult to understand or you’re too tired to comprehend any of the material, and to just copy off him. He words it in a way that makes it seem that it's to his benefit, but usually Saiki wasn’t the type to lend you his work, believing that you should put in effort yourself, even when you’re whining about it. 

He sacrifices life and limb to help you with your daily tasks. Mundane things he knows you can handle yourself, but now his absolute first instinct is to immediately look for ways he can help you, even if he rolls his eyes and reprimands you at first. Lost something of yours? He’s using clairvoyance to track it down. Forgot something at a certain place when you go out? He’s fighting off traffic, interrogations from his friends, and all the other absurd obstacles he often finds interfering in his everyday life just so he can bring it back to you without raising suspicions of his powers. 

And if all those things weren’t obvious enough he’s been trying to atone, he buys you sweets. All of your favorites over the past couple of weeks, paid in full by him whenever the two of you order or stop by a bakery or restaurant. Maybe one found on your desk throughout the school day. He even shares with you his own if you ask or eye them longingly. 

All of these seemingly menial acts leave you a little suspicious, especially since it had been days since the event happened, and it hadn't taken much time for you to come around from the incident and continue being yourself. You expected that his offer to listen to your rant would be the extent of his atonement. Could he really still be stuck on it?

Your speculation is pretty much confirmed that these things were all attempts at making up for his poor behavior when he finds him yet again in a similar situation, exhausted and frustrated thanks to all the nuisances in his life. And then you come skipping along happily, greeting him with news of your day. His brows furrow, his eye twitches, and he’s about to open his mouth. And then he meets your gaze and he pauses. Takes a second. Remembers what happened last time, can see a flash of that pained face you made. 

You give him a look of confusion as you observe his expression. At that point, he can only sigh and slump back. 

"Saiki?”

"Let’s just go home and talk.”

You might catch onto his drained attitude, and offer to take him to one of his favorite dessert places as a treat to refresh and an apology for not recognizing his burden sooner. He’s immediately brightened by this, of course, and you end off with a win-win situation, with Saiki being able to wind down with some treats, and you being able to spill about your day sitting across from him.

[teaboot]

While I'm happy that the word "gaslighting" is more known than it used to be, and that people at large are learning to recognize what it looks like, I feel like we need to be careful not to turn it into something soft and casual we throw around off the cuff without meaning.

Being gaslit is psychological abuse that fucks you up very badly, very slowly, at such a gradual pace that you don't usually know it's happening until it's already re-wired your brain.

If you're unfamiliar with the term, "to gaslight" is to intentionally persuade someone that they cannot trust their own perceptions of reality. It's a destabilizing form of manipulation that leaves you constantly anxious, off-balanced, confused, and dependant on others.

This is done by lying about events that have happened or about things that are happening, invalidating feelings and observations, and either denying, refusing to acknowledge, or deflecting away from hard facts.

As someone who has experienced gaslighting as a form of abuse, this is what I remember from when I didn't know anything was off:

"Oh, I must have forgotten what really happened."

"I'm just not seeing it from their point of view."

"Everyone has their ups and downs. This is normal."

"I guess I wasn't thinking about what I was doing."

"I must have been wrong."

This is what I remember from when I first started realizing something was weird:

"How come every time I'm convinced they did something wrong, they just talk to me a few minutes, and I end up asking for their forgiveness? What has me so convinced I was right in the first moment?"

"I should start writing things down when they happen, so I can go back and check later when I'm confused."

"If every relationship like ours (familial, romantic, platonic) works this way, how come I never hear about it, or read about it, or see it anywhere else?"

Getting out and adjusting to the real world is hard, too, and comes with rapid swings of unfounded guilt, shame, fear, anxiety, and self-deprication that are completely unfounded in reality.

You've been conditioned to believe that you are entirely helpless and unable to think for yourself, possibly "crazy" or otherwise fundamentally impaired, and that there is a singular source of guidance that knows exactly what is right, and all of a sudden that pillar of support has vanished.

The immediate "after" that I recall looks like:

Constant uncertainty. Because nobody is there to tell you what's real and what isn't, you approach every situation thinking at it from all angles. Every question has fifty possible answers and most of them are wrong and you don't know which. If you choose wrong, the world will end.

A sense of helplessness. You feel that nothing you do is correct, and it's easier to make no choices at all- or you make wild, reckless, impulsive choices, because you feel you have nothing to lose.

Memory loss. I don't understand this one, but it's not like memoriescare being erased, but more like... you're so used to treating your memories as dreams or imaginations that you reflexively dismiss anything you recall as fake, and you can't believe anything you recall because you don't think it was real. Your abusers voice is in your head, wiping things away and telling you that you did the wrong thing. And you believe them, because they're the only constant you can rely on.

Missing the abuser, or the abusive dynamic. Because you know now that it wasn't healthy, but at least you knew where you stood. As long as you said the right things and acted the right way, agreed and obeyed and did as they expected, you felt like thevworld made sense. Now you have to figure out which parts of you really are broken, and which parts are working fine in a really weird way, and it's like tuning a piano when you've never played one before.

The long term "after"- for which I can only speak for myself- looks like:

Having to double-check, triple-check, and continue checking hard evidence of an event before responding in an active way.

Consulting with trusted friends to verify that your observations are legitimate and that your perceptions are valid. Following up with them to see if someone is really angry at you, or if you're just projecting anger onto them because it's what makes sense to your old pattern.

Obsessive collection of "evidence"- saving pictures, writing detailed journals, making recordings and video, never deleting emails or old texts, because you still don't quite trust yourself all the way and you're afraid that someone will cause you to doubt yourself again.

Continued self-doubt and being "gullible": I have straight up seen people flip me off to my face in front of witnesses and then immediately tell me, "No, I was just waving", and my first instinct is to believe them. For a few seconds, I *really do* believe them. Your brain is so trained to latch onto what people tell you to believe that its really, really hard to hold onto information that you already have.

Learning to take ownership over your own actions. (I didn't mess up because I'm "crazy", I messed up because I'm a person and people do that.)

Instinctively seeking approval. (Takes a lot of work to remind myself that I don't exit to make people happy, and that some people suck ass, and I can tell them to piss off.)

I don't intend to invalidate anyone currently struggling with this- if you feel that something is wrong, it probably is. That's the thought that got me out. Trust that feeling that something isn't right.

I just want people who don't know what to look for to know what gaslighting *actually* looks and feels like, so they don't just roll their eyes and think, "Oh, that word doesnt apply to me- I'm not some snowflake".

('Cause we all saw what happened with "triggered", right?)

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

This is my first time requesting a fic so I hope I'm doing it right! I have this cute idea for a hazbin hotel fic that could honestly go for anyone!(Id prefer Lucifer, alastor or vox tho!)

Something where the reader's sin was killing a goldfish, hamster or something small as a small child without knowing any better and that's why they are sent to hell. It takes forever for the reader to remember that it happened and realize that's the only thing they could be in hell for and brings back a bunch of guilt. Whoever it's with is like- really pissed at heaven for counting that as a sin because the reader is literally the sweetest person anyone knows and was just a kid and either comforts them or tries to do something about it??

A/N: I loved this so I decided to write this for all three of them!! I just loved this so much so I felt like it needed all of them if that makes sense. I hope you enjoy and I loved this concept so thank you so much for your request!! happy reading!!

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!

Alastor aka RADIO DEMON

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut—an old memory, long buried and forgotten, resurfacing with a sharp pang of guilt. You had been in Hell for what felt like an eternity, surrounded by the damned and the wicked, but you had never been able to recall what sin had condemned you to this place. You weren’t like the others. You didn’t have a trail of victims or a past stained with blood. You were kind, gentle, always trying to do right by others. And yet, here you were, trapped in this eternal torment.

The memory came back slowly, piece by piece, until it all fell into place. You had been so young, just a child, maybe four or five years old. The goldfish had been a gift from your parents, a small, delicate thing that had fascinated you. You’d watched it swim in its little bowl, entranced by its shimmering scales and the way it moved through the water with such grace.

But you were a child, curious and clumsy, and you didn’t understand the fragility of life. You remembered reaching into the bowl, wanting to hold the fish, to feel its smooth scales against your skin. But when you pulled it out of the water, it had flopped in your hands, struggling for breath. You didn’t understand what was happening, didn’t realize that you were hurting it. By the time you’d put it back in the water, it was too late. The fish had floated to the surface, still and lifeless.

You’d cried, of course, but you hadn’t understood the gravity of what you’d done. You were just a child. But now, as you stood in the depths of Hell, that memory filled you with a crushing guilt. Was that it? Was that the reason you had been sent here? For something so small, so innocent, done out of ignorance and childish curiosity?

As the weight of the memory settled on you, you felt a presence behind you. The air grew thick with a sense of unease, and you knew without turning around that Alastor, the Radio Demon, was there. He had taken an interest in you from the moment you arrived in Hell, though you could never quite figure out why. Maybe it was your innocence, your kindness, that intrigued him—qualities so rare in this place.

“Ah, my dear,” Alastor’s voice purred, smooth and dripping with a dark amusement. “What is it that troubles you? You look positively distraught.”

You turned to face him, your eyes wide and filled with a deep sorrow. “I remember… I remember why I’m here,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

Alastor raised an eyebrow, his smile never faltering but his crimson eyes narrowing slightly with curiosity. “Oh? And what, pray tell, is this dreadful sin that has condemned such a sweet, innocent soul to Hell?”

You hesitated, the words sticking in your throat. It seemed so ridiculous, so absurd now that you were about to say it out loud. But the guilt gnawed at you, and you couldn’t keep it in any longer. “When I was a child… I… I killed a goldfish,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t understand. But it died because of me.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, Alastor let out a soft, almost incredulous laugh. It wasn’t the cruel, mocking laugh you had expected, but something tinged with disbelief and anger—not at you, but at the situation.

“Is that it?” he asked, his tone sharp and incredulous. “That’s why you’re here? Because of some childhood mistake? A simple, innocent act of curiosity?”

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t know… but that’s the only thing I can think of. That has to be it.”

Alastor’s expression darkened, his usually jovial demeanor replaced by a cold, simmering anger. “Heaven,” he spat, the word laced with venom. “What hypocrites. To send a child to Hell for something so trivial, so insignificant, is beyond cruel. It’s unjust.”

You looked at him, surprised by the intensity of his reaction. “But… but it was still wrong,” you said softly, the guilt still gnawing at you. “I took a life, even if it was just a goldfish. Maybe I deserve to be here.”

Alastor shook his head, his eyes flashing with a dangerous light. “No, my dear, you do not deserve this. You were just a child, and children are not held accountable for their innocent mistakes. You were condemned unfairly, and it infuriates me to see someone as pure as you suffer because of it.”

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently tilt your chin up so that you were looking into his eyes. “Listen to me,” he said, his voice low and firm. “You are not like the others here. You do not belong in this wretched place. If I could, I would march up to Heaven myself and demand that they right this wrong, that they acknowledge the cruelty of their judgment.”

You stared at him, shocked by the passion in his voice, the anger in his eyes. You had always seen Alastor as a being of pure malice, a demon who took pleasure in the suffering of others. But now, in this moment, he was different. He was angry for you, on your behalf, and it stirred something deep within you.

“Alastor…” you whispered, your voice breaking.

He sighed, his expression softening slightly as he looked at you. “But alas, there is little I can do to change your fate. The rules of Heaven and Hell are not easily bent, even by one as powerful as I. However,” he added, his voice taking on a softer, almost tender tone, “I can offer you something else. Comfort, companionship… protection. You may be in Hell, my dear, but I will not allow you to suffer alone.”

The offer took you by surprise, and you found yourself staring up at him, unsure of what to say. Alastor, the Radio Demon, offering comfort and companionship? It seemed almost too surreal to believe. And yet, there was something in his eyes, something genuine that made you believe he meant every word.

You nodded slowly, a tear slipping down your cheek. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

Alastor smiled, a smile that was still tinged with that ever-present darkness, but also with something warmer, something almost… kind. “You don’t need to say anything, my dear. Just know that you are not alone. Not anymore.”

With that, he pulled you into an embrace, his arms surprisingly gentle as they wrapped around you. You leaned into him, the weight of your guilt and sorrow easing just a little as you allowed yourself to be comforted. It wasn’t much, but it was enough—for now. And maybe, just maybe, with Alastor by your side, you could find a way to live with the past and the unjust fate that had brought you here.

Vox aka HEAD OF VOX TECH

You had never really understood why you were condemned to Hell. Unlike the many souls writhing in the pit, you didn’t have a string of atrocities trailing behind you. You didn’t murder, cheat, or betray. In fact, in your mortal life, you were known for being kind, caring, and overly cautious. And yet, here you were, suffering in Hell without a clue as to what had brought you here.

At first, you tried to remember, to piece together what might have happened, but every time you searched your memories, you came up empty. The only thing that ever came to mind was a stupid, childish incident—one that surely couldn’t be the reason for your damnation.

You’d been about eight years old, with a love for all things small and furry. That’s when you got your first pet, a little hamster you named Buttons. You adored Buttons, carrying him around in your hands, giving him treats, and petting his soft fur. But one day, while playing, you squeezed him a little too hard. You hadn’t meant to. You were just a child, after all, but that didn’t change what happened. Buttons stopped moving, his little body going limp in your hands. You cried for hours, not understanding what you had done, only knowing that your beloved pet was gone and that you were to blame.

You’d buried the memory, convincing yourself it was just a mistake, a tragic accident that any child might have made. But here, in Hell, it was the only thing you could think of. Could that really be it? Could you really have been damned for something so small, so innocent?

It was a thought that haunted you, gnawed at your insides until you couldn’t take it anymore. You found yourself wandering through the dark, twisted corridors of Hell, your mind lost in a storm of guilt and confusion. That’s when you felt it—eyes on you, watching, observing. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

Vox had taken an interest in you almost immediately after your arrival in Hell. It wasn’t unusual for him to be intrigued by someone new, but there was something about you that kept pulling him back. You were different from the others—gentle, kind, and most of all, innocent. That kind of innocence was a rare commodity in Hell, and Vox was drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

“Lost in thought again, aren’t we?” Vox’s voice crackled through the air, distorted slightly by the static that always seemed to surround him.

You froze, your heart skipping a beat at the sound of his voice. It wasn’t that you were afraid of him, exactly, but Vox was intimidating in a way that words couldn’t quite capture. He was larger than life, a presence that seemed to fill the room, even when he wasn’t physically there.

“I…” you started, your voice trembling slightly as you turned to face him. “I just can’t stop thinking about it. About why I’m here. I can’t remember doing anything that would deserve… this.”

Vox’s neon-lit face twisted into a smirk, though there was something darker lurking behind his glowing eyes. He tilted his head, his massive form leaning casually against a nearby wall as he continued to watch you. “You’re in Hell, darling. Everyone’s here for a reason.”

You swallowed hard, your mind racing as you tried to find the words to explain. “But that’s just it. I don’t have a reason. At least, not one that makes sense. The only thing I can think of… it’s ridiculous.”

Vox’s eyes narrowed slightly, his curiosity piqued. “Oh? Do tell. I’m all ears.”

You hesitated, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment as you forced yourself to speak. “When I was a kid… I had a hamster. I didn’t mean to hurt him, but I squeezed him too hard, and… and he died.” Your voice cracked as the memory resurfaced, filling you with a wave of guilt and shame. “That’s the only thing I can think of. I was just a kid, but what if that’s why I’m here? What if that’s what sent me to Hell?”

For a moment, Vox was silent, his glowing eyes fixed on you as if he were trying to process what you’d just said. Then, he let out a harsh, distorted laugh, his voice crackling with a mix of amusement and anger. “That’s it? That’s what you think got you sent to Hell? A childhood mistake? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You flinched at his laughter, feeling small and foolish under his gaze. “I know it sounds stupid,” you mumbled, looking down at the ground. “But I can’t think of anything else. Maybe Heaven saw it as some kind of cruelty or—”

“Bullshit,” Vox cut you off, his voice sharp and electric. He pushed off the wall, striding over to you with an intensity that made your heart race. “That’s not cruelty. That’s a mistake. A kid not knowing any better. If that’s really why you’re here, then Heaven is more fucked up than I thought.”

You looked up at him, surprise flickering in your eyes. You’d never heard him speak like this before—so angry, so protective. “But… what if that’s all it takes?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. “What if that’s enough to damn someone?”

Vox’s eyes blazed with a fierce light, his hand reaching out to grab your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Listen to me, sweetheart,” he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. “You don’t belong here. You’re not like the rest of these damned souls. You’re… different. Innocent. And if some bullshit technicality is what sent you here, then Heaven’s got a lot to answer for.”

You stared up at him, your heart pounding in your chest as his words sank in. He was right—deep down, you knew he was right. You didn’t belong in Hell. But the guilt, the overwhelming sense of responsibility for that long-ago mistake, was hard to shake.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “I can’t change the past, and I can’t go back. I’m stuck here, no matter what.”

Vox’s grip on your chin softened, his thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. “Maybe you can’t go back, but that doesn’t mean you have to suffer for it. You’re in Hell, yeah, but that doesn’t mean you have to be miserable. You’ve got me, don’t you?” His voice dropped to a lower, almost seductive tone as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’ll take care of you, sweetheart. I’ll make sure this place doesn’t break you.”

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, his proximity making your head spin. Despite the fearsome reputation he had, there was something about the way he spoke, the way he looked at you, that made you feel… safe. Like he really meant it when he said he would protect you.

“But what about Heaven?” you asked, your voice small and unsure. “What if they’re watching? What if they… try to punish me again?”

Vox’s eyes flashed with anger, his grip on you tightening slightly. “Let them try,” he hissed, his voice dripping with venom. “I’d like to see them come down here and explain themselves. If Heaven wants to play dirty, they’ll have to go through me first.”

You stared at him, stunned by the intensity of his words. No one had ever stood up for you like this before, especially not against something as powerful as Heaven itself. It was overwhelming, and yet… comforting. Maybe you couldn’t change the past, but with Vox by your side, maybe you could find a way to live with it.

Slowly, you nodded, a small, tentative smile forming on your lips. “Thank you, Vox. I… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Vox’s expression softened, his hand moving to cup your cheek as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your forehead in a surprisingly tender gesture. “You don’t have to worry about that, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me now.”

As you closed your eyes, leaning into his touch, you felt a sense of relief wash over you. The guilt was still there, but it was tempered by the knowledge that you weren’t alone. Vox was with you, and he was determined to protect you, no matter what. Maybe Hell wasn’t where you belonged, but as long as you had him by your side, you knew you’d find a way to make it through.

Lucifer aka THE KING OF HELL

You sat in Lucifer’s grand office, your fingers anxiously twisting in your lap as your thoughts swirled in confusion. You had been in Hell for a while now, and yet the reason for your damnation still eluded you. It was maddening, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t pinpoint the sin that had condemned you to this fiery realm.

Lucifer watched you closely from behind his lavish desk, his sharp eyes catching every slight movement you made. He had always found you to be an enigma—so sweet, so innocent, and yet, here you were in the depths of Hell. It didn’t make sense, and that bothered him more than he cared to admit.

“Love,” Lucifer’s voice was smooth, like silk brushing against your skin, “I can practically hear the gears turning in that pretty head of yours. What troubles you so?”

You glanced up at him, your eyes reflecting the turmoil within. “I just don’t understand, Lucifer. I’ve been thinking and thinking, and I still can’t figure out what I did to end up here. It’s like… it doesn’t add up.”

Lucifer leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he studied you. “Not all sins are remembered easily,” he mused, his tone contemplative. “Some are buried deep within, forgotten or dismissed, but still weighed heavily by those who pass judgment.”

“But that’s just it,” you insisted, your voice trembling slightly. “I’ve searched through every memory, every mistake, and nothing seems big enough, bad enough, to have damned me. I was never… evil. At least, I don’t think I was.”

A slight frown tugged at Lucifer’s lips, a rare expression of displeasure crossing his usually calm demeanor. “Tell me, my love, what are the memories that you have found? The ones you believe to be insignificant?”

You hesitated, biting your lip as you gathered the courage to speak. “There’s this one thing… I was just a kid. I didn’t know any better. I had a best friend, and we were inseparable. But one day, I got jealous—stupid, childish jealousy—and I told a lie that got them in trouble. They were punished for something they didn’t do, and I never confessed. I was too scared.”

Lucifer’s gaze softened slightly as he listened, though his eyes gleamed with something darker—resentment, perhaps, but not directed at you. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk as he fixed you with an intense stare. “And you believe that is the reason you’re here? A child’s lie?”

You nodded slowly, your heart heavy with guilt. “I know it doesn’t seem like much, but… what if that’s it? What if that’s the one thing that damned me?”

A low chuckle escaped Lucifer, his voice rich with amusement, though there was an underlying edge to it. “My love, if Heaven condemns souls to Hell for such trivialities, then they are more twisted than even I had thought.” His smile turned cold, a bitterness seeping into his tone. “It seems they are as quick to punish as they are to pretend their hands are clean.”

You looked at him, confusion and a flicker of hope warring within you. “But… what if they’re right? What if that lie was enough?”

Lucifer stood, his presence towering over you as he moved around the desk to stand by your side. He reached out, gently lifting your chin so that you were forced to look up at him. His touch was surprisingly tender, a stark contrast to the power and authority he radiated.

“They are not right,” he said firmly, his eyes boring into yours. “You were a child. A child who made a mistake. That is not evil, nor is it worthy of damnation. You do not belong here for something so minor, so human.”

His words washed over you like a balm, easing the knot of anxiety that had taken root in your chest. “Then why am I here?” you whispered, your voice filled with desperation. “What could I have done?”

Lucifer’s expression softened, and he let out a sigh, his hand moving to cup your cheek. “The truth, my love, is that sometimes the reasons for being here are not fair. Sometimes, they are born of Heaven’s need to appear just, even when they are far from it. You may be here because of a mistake, but that does not mean you deserve to suffer.”

You leaned into his touch, finding comfort in his words, even as they stirred a deep sadness within you. “It doesn’t feel fair,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I feel like I’ve been punished for something I didn’t even understand.”

Lucifer’s eyes flashed with anger, though it was clear his ire was not directed at you. “It is not fair,” he agreed, his tone laced with resentment. “Heaven is quick to cast out those who do not fit their mold, regardless of whether they deserve it. They hide behind their righteousness, but in truth, they are no less flawed than the souls they condemn.”

You looked up at him, your heart aching at the pain and anger in his voice. “You… you sound like you’ve experienced this before. Like you’ve seen how unfair it can be.”

Lucifer’s gaze darkened, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “I have seen it many times, love. More than you can imagine. Heaven is not the paradise they would have you believe. It is a place of judgment, of exclusion, and for those who do not conform, it is a place of damnation.”

He paused, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “But you do not have to face this alone. You have me, and I will ensure that Hell is not the torment they intended for you. You will find peace here, with me.”

Your breath hitched as his words sunk in, the weight of your situation lightening just a little under his promise. “Thank you, Lucifer,” you murmured, your voice trembling with emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Lucifer’s expression softened further, and for a moment, the cold, calculating ruler of Hell was replaced by someone almost… human. “You will never have to find out,” he whispered, his voice tender as he closed the distance between you, his lips brushing gently against yours.

The kiss was soft, almost hesitant, as if he were afraid of breaking you with the intensity of his emotions. But there was a warmth there, a reassurance that you weren’t alone, that you were safe with him. As he pulled back, his eyes met yours, and you could see the depth of his feelings—his resentment toward Heaven, his protectiveness over you, and something else, something deeper that he kept hidden behind his regal facade.

“Rest now, my love,” Lucifer murmured, his hand lingering on your cheek as he straightened up. “You have been through enough. Let me shoulder the burden of your past. You belong here with me, and I will not allow Heaven’s judgment to take you from me.”

You nodded, a sense of calm settling over you as you allowed yourself to trust in his words. For the first time since you arrived in Hell, you felt like you weren’t alone, like you had someone who truly understood the injustice of your situation. And as you looked up at Lucifer, you knew that, despite everything, you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[avocadorablepirate]

What Do We Call This? - 08

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Pairing: Trafalgar Law x fem!reader

Summary: On a quest to find what you've been looking for, you acquire the help of the Straw Hat pirates, who've agreed to let you temporarily join them. There are however many challenges that come along with your temporary recruitment - an alliance with a certain Trafalgar Law being one of them.

Word Count: 3.1K

Warnings: fluff, angst, kinda slow burn, swearing, the occasional OP spoiler (this chapter references/hints at events that happen after the Wano arc)

A/N: Chapter's longer than usual, but I still hope it doesn't feel rushed cause I think I could have added more....but it is what it is. Also, my memory of the older One Piece episodes isn't great, so I may have changed a few things and added my own bits. Anyway, I hope you like it!

—⁠☆✿☆—⁠

It's been four days since your argument with Law. The tension between you two is thick, and everyone onboard the Polar Tang can sense it too. Although, you're not even trying to be subtle with your decision to ignore him, so it's no surprise that people have noticed.

You could be in the middle of a meal, but would walk out the minute Law entered the room. If you were conversing with someone and he approached, you would abruptly end the conversation and walk away. In short, Law could never seem to get a moment alone with you, but even if he did, he wasn't sure what he would say. His mind is flooded with questions and things he wants to tell you, but he's uncertain where to begin. More than anything, your last words haunt him, replaying in his mind at the slightest thought of you, which is almost constantly.

Usually when Law finds himself overwhelmed by such thoughts, he confines himself to his room, his work helping as a distraction. But right now he's needed on deck since the Polar Tang had stopped at an island to refuel. However, with the way he's pacing back and forth, lost in a maze of his thoughts and emotions, he's not being of much help.

"Something bothering you Tra?" Zoro inquires, a hint of amusement lacing his words as he observes the doctor's preoccupied demeanor with a bemused expression. He leans against the railing, crossing his arms as he waits for Law's response, his curiosity piqued by the unusual display of distraction from the typically stoic pirate.

Law, however, remains oblivious to Zoro's jest, his focus shifting instead to Robin. If he was going to talk to you he needed to understand you, and since you were not speaking to him, Robin was the next logical choice for insight, as you always appeared most comfortable in her presence.

"Nico-ya, what do you know about (Y/N)'s past?"

His question surprises Robin, and she momentarily hesitates before responding , "Hmm... we're not entirely sure about what happened before she reached Fishman Island, but from what she's told us we know that at the age of five she left her island and a month later was found by a Marine agent who took her in. Now she's looking for that island."

"Why was she stuck on Fishman Island for so long?" Law asks, remembering that you had mentioned being there for nearly four years.

Robin visibly frowns, she knows the answer to that question, but she's not sure whether it's her place to tell him. However, Zoro interjects before she can contemplate further.

"She was being held captive by a Fishman named Hody."

Law recalls the name, and the story behind it. Chopper had briefly told him about the ordeal in Fishman Island. However, the reindeer had either forgotten or chosen not to mention this key piece of information.

"What would he make her do?" Law felt agitated, did he really want to know the answer to that question? Based on what he had heard, he had a vague idea already, but he hoped his suspicions were wrong.

"He would make her use her powers to torture humans, and the rest of the time she was handcuffed with sea prism cuffs."

Robin's reply has Law feeling uneasy, his grip on his katana tightening, "But that would have hurt-", he cuts himself off before he can divulge your secret.

"That's why she's so keen on helping people. She doesn't necessarily have to use her powers to hurt people anymore."

Law's thoughts raced with everything he had just heard. If you didn't approve of using your powers to hurt people why had you used them to help him in Punk Hazard? What else had you been through that he didn't know about?, and the question that gnawed at him the most: was he the reason you were alone through it all? Had he taken Corazon away from you?

Law swiftly excused himself from the group, desperate for the solace of his room. He needed to sit down. No, he needed to find you. But, you had gone out with Bepo to help restock the Polar Tang, and it was unlikely that you would willingly talk to him. Nevertheless, he had made up his mind - he would speak to you one way or another. But how?

He then recalls something. Every night, once everyone else was asleep, you would sneak your way to the infirmary. However, for Law, who stayed up well into the early hours of the next day, your tiptoeing past his room did not go unnoticed. He would intercept you during one of your midnight visits to the infirmary.

_______________________________________________

That night, Law sat by his door, patiently anticipating your arrival. Around one o'clock, he heard your footsteps as you passed by his room. Peeking through the small gap, he confirmed it was you before silently trailing behind. Upon reaching the infirmary, he found you struggling to wrap gauze around your torso while grumbling to yourself about it. Seizing the opportunity, Law stealthily entered and closed the door, which let out a loud creak, startling you. You nearly stumbled but caught yourself on the surgical bed, though your elbow collided with its metal frame.

You wince from the impact but swiftly attempt to regain your composure, desperate to save yourself from the situation as soon as possible. However, escape seemed futile with Law leaning against the door, effectively blocking your only exit. Damn it, if only I had his powers.

"Law I really don't want to talk to you right now. So, please just leave me alone."

You couldn't quite pinpoint the reason, but you felt your eyes welling up with tears. Perhaps it was the lingering pain in your elbow or the weight of suppressed emotions. Nonetheless, you do your best to hold back the tears, biting down on your lip to stop it from quivering.

Ignoring your words, Law slowly approaches you, and for a moment you think of making a run for it. But you knew even without his devil fruit all it would take was his outstretched arm to stop you.

"Sit," he says, and you find yourself complying to his command. He takes the leftover gauze from your hand, and undoes your careless bandaging. Lightly tracing the bruises as he applies an ointment, he looks up to make sure he isn't hurting you before meticulously wrapping the gauze around your torso. He doesn't say a word, and neither do you, averting your gaze, so that you wouldn't have to meet his eyes that continue to glance at you from time to time.

"It should be healed completely by the time we reach Wano," he finally says, securing the end of the bandage and fixing it in a few places before taking a step back.

"I know you don't want anyone else seeing your bruises, and you really shouldn't be changing the bandages yourself," he pauses, thinking over his next words, "So, every night, at around the same time, come here and I'll change them for you."

He doesn't give you time to respond, the blue light enveloping you and teleporting you back to your bed.

Over the next few days you fall into a routine. You go to the infirmary at around one in the morning and find Law already there, waiting for you. Once you're seated on the surgical bed, he removes the old bandages, examines your wounds, applies an ointment, and then wraps them up again. But, the routine is always accompanied by silence, and it's not a completely comfortable one. That being said, the tension between you and Law has definitely simmered down. For starters you don't immediately walk out of a room the minute he walks in.

Tonight is no different from the previous nights - except that the silence is eating at you. Ever since Law had started doing this little gesture for you, the weight of guilt from your earlier words to him has only grown heavier, and tonight it feels particularly suffocating. You know you have to address it, but you're so consumed by your thoughts that you don't even notice Law finishing up. It's the soft blue light that finally draws your attention.

"Law wait!" you yell with a sense of urgency, and his head snaps up to look at you, the dome disappearing.

"Everything alright?" he asks, looking you up and down with concern.

"Yes...well actually no. I wanted to apologise. I'm sorry about what I said, I shouldn't have. You've been through so much shit and I was so caught up in my own emotions that I didn't even think before being so fucking insensitive," you confess, nervously fiddling with your fingers. Unsure of what else to say, you continue speaking, hoping to alleviate some of the guilt weighing on you.

Law releases a heavy sigh, bringing an end to your rambling. Slowly, he approaches you, silently seeking permission to sit beside you. You give a slight nod, and he settles into the vacant space beside you.

"I was at fault too. I shouldn't have said what I said without even considering your reasons," he lets out another sigh, placing his head in his hands as he continues, "When I realised that you somehow knew Cora-san, I felt protective. Like if I let anything happen to you I would lose what's left of him, or I would lose something he was trying to protect."

Law felt vulnerable. Opening up to others was unfamiliar, something he actively avoided. It was simpler to suppress his emotions than to burden someone else with them. Yet, now he realized he wasn't alone in this sentiment. Perhaps that's why you found it easier to be vulnerable around him as well.

"It must have been hard huh?" you ask, but don't expect a response, "I was devastated when they brought his body back, but it must have been so much more worse for you," you say, inwardly cringing at your attempt to console him.

"I'm sorry. You lost him because of me."

You release a sigh at his admission, feeling frustrated that you couldn't find the right words to ease his pain. Your mind races, desperately searching for the next thing to say. You couldn't mess up again.

"I was playing in this cove when it happened. The sky changed colour, and there was this weird light coming from above. My parents who were with me quickly put me in a small boat and told me to row as fast as I could to the next island, promising to meet me there. I did as I was told, but I was so focused on getting away I didn't even see how the island just completely disappeared in seconds. The harsh current that followed knocked me out and when I woke up I was on the island my parents had told me about. While I was there nobody could afford to take me in, but they were kind enough to leave me their leftovers. Although it was pointless. I had given up. I refused to eat, or do anything for that matter." You take a deep breath as you recall the memory of the scraps of food that would lay untouched in the cold alleyway that you called 'home' for a while.

"Then, almost a month later Cora-san found me. Apparently the Donquixote family was on the same island, and he was supposed to make contact with Doflamingo for the first time after their separation. Instead, he chose to take me back to Marine Headquarters, and I was an absolute brat about it," you let out a soft chuckle, remembering how you had shoved Corazon and then attempted to run away, "I even threatened to eat a devil fruit that he had found during his mission. Obviously, he didn't think I would actually do it. Hence, the weird powers," you pause to stretch your arms out, flexing your fingers, before continuing. "But he still wouldn't abandon me. Even told Sengoku that he had accidentally dropped the fruit into the sea. Which was honestly possible considering what he was like," you add, another chuckle escaping you, accompanied by a faint laugh from beside you.

"He took care of me for the next couple of years, and he became my only reason to continue. I would eagerly wait for him to come back from a mission and recount his adventures to me." You smile fondly at the memory, remembering the little trinkets he would bring back for you every time.

"One day he came back after visiting Doflamingo and he told me about this boy who tried to kill him. I was absolutely livid, but he seemed to have found it funny," you take a break to catch your breath, taking a quick glance at Law before continuing, "He would tell me about the same boy every time he came back from meeting the Donquixote family, and it honestly made me a little jealous. I didn't want to share him with anyone." You once again look at Law, and there's a hint of a smile across his face, and you can't help but smile to yourself, "Then one day he called Sengoku and said he would be gone for a while and wanted to speak to me about it. I immediately knew it was for this other kid, and threw a huge tantrum. But all he said was that this boy needed someone to help him find his reason to live. Needed someone to free him. Save for the sniffling, my tantrum stopped after hearing his words. Because who better than Cora-san to get the job done. The same person who had given me my reason to live."

Law finally looks at you, his lips contorting into a frown while you bite down on your own to prevent a sob from escaping.

"I took him away from you. You should despise me."

"There was a point where I did. I blamed you for what Doflamingo did. Though it faded over the years. Then when I saw you at Punk Hazard I realised that I didn't hold that grudge any longer, and it's because it dawned on me that what Cora-san wanted had come true. We had both found our reasons to keep living."

You try your best to offer Law a smile. It had been ages since you had spoken to someone about Corazon, and remembering everything all at once was overwhelming. Still, Law accepted your attempt and gave you a small smile in return.

"My reason was just to get revenge," he says, tilting his head back as he lets out a sigh of frustration.

"No, I don't think so," you firmly state as you lean against the wall behind you, not taking your gaze away from him. "I know that's what I said, but I didn't mean it. I think you found other reasons - your crew, wanting to find out the meaning behind the name 'D'. Maybe they weren't your initial reasons, but along the way they became reasons too."

Law's eyes drift shut, repeating your words in his mind, his reasons. They do so much to calm him - his reasons to live....Perhaps, just perhaps, he can entertain the notion of finding another one.

The silence between you two shifts to a comfortable one, and Law finds himself savouring the moment, allowing himself to momentarily forget the weight of his burdens. As he relishes in the peace, he feels the soft fabric of something against his palm, and he opens his eyes to see what it is. It's the dark pink hood you've always worn.

"I've had it for long enough, and I think he would have wanted you to have something of his." Law gazes fondly at the pink hat in his hand, twirling the straps with the little hearts at the end around his finger, when he's reminded of something.

"Come with me," he says, sitting up straight and you're slightly confused by his words, "Where?" But he doesn't say anything else, teleporting the two of you with the flick of his fingers.

You find yourself in a bedroom, standing in front of what you assume to be Law's study table; you can't really tell with all the sheets of paper that are thrown everywhere. While Law rummages through the drawers of his table looking for something, you take a moment to survey his room. It's sparsely furnished, with a bed shoved into one corner, a bookshelf overflowing with assorted items near its base, and this table that sits against the opposite wall.

"Here," Law says, holding a brown leather pouch in front of you, urging you to take it.

"What is it?"

"Cora-san left it with me that night. I think it was meant for you."

You both sit down on opposite ends of Law's bed, and you carefully empty the contents of the pouch onto his mattress. Out falls various little trinkets, and your breath catches in a mixture of surprise and fascination.

"At the time I didn't really know why he would insist on stopping at atleast one store in every village we went to, but I guess he was collecting them for you."

You're flooded by a wave of emotions, that you don't even think before you tackle Law into a hug. The sudden movement catches him off guard, causing him to lose his balance and hit his back against the headboard. As you both settle, your head finds a resting place against his chest, his hands instinctively gripping your waist to steady you.

It takes a bit longer than expected for the realization of your proximity to sink in, but you're the first to react, pushing yourself off him and jumping to your feet. "Sorry, I must be tipsy from drinking with Zoro. I should probably head back to bed, thanks for these," you quickly say, shoving the trinkets back into the pouch before you scurry off.

"Tipsy? I don't think so. I know what tipsy you is like," Law teases, a small smirk playing on his lips.

"Huh? What do you mean?" you inquire, pausing in your retreat, eyebrows knit in confusion.

"If anything, you're more truthful when you're tipsy, and maybe a bit bold."

"How would you know?"

"How else would I have known that you knew Cora-san."

Your face flushes with embarrassment as the wheels slowly turn. You recall the party on Bartolomeo's ship, and the splitting headache you woke up with the next morning that had made you forget most of the events of the previous night.

"Um...I should go," you stammer, attempting to retreat from his room once more.

"No, stay," Law mumbles, and you wouldn't have heard him if he was any softer.

"I want to talk some more," he says, rubbing the nape of his neck while avoiding your gaze, "On-only if you want to that is."

"I would like that."

A smile threatens to spread across your face as you return to the same spot on the bed, this time with your back against the wall and your head resting on your knees. Law shifts closer, mirroring your position, his head pressed against the wall as he gazes at you fondly.

"So..."

"So..."

_______________________________________________

A/N: Ended it the same way I would have ended any conversation I didn't know how to keep going ��⁠(⁠ ⁠˘⁠_⁠˘⁠)⁠┌.

taglist: @trafalgardaria @deathsmajestysworld @cottoncandyloverrrr @magnificenttaledreamland

[razzle-zazzle]

Ok but what happens next 😭😭😭 how do the show and movie ninja interact I NEED THEIR SHENANIGANS /lh

Okay okay so. basically. the movie ninja are temporarily stuck in showverse, so the show ninja just kind of (slightly awkwardly bc they weren't expecting this AT ALL) take them in for the time being while looking for a way to send them back. we get to see the similarities and differences between the show and movie ninja, we get to see both groups reacting to each others' lore/lives ("you all still go to school? ew" "you all live together like a permanent sleepover? so cool!").

But also. When Ghost possessed Movie Cole. Movie Cole got a whole bunch of Show Cole's memories. They're all jumbled up and discombobulated, though, so for all that M!Cole knows more about his counterpart than any of the other ninja it's usually expressed in Sudden Realizations as the disconnected pieces click into place. Meanwhile, Show Cole kind of has Ghost and Corpse' memories, kind of, and Ghost was pretty much present the entire time he was in movieverse even if he couldn't be seen or heard for most of it (and did have a few episodes where he couldn't see or hear either), so Show Cole also has a weird amount of insight to his counterpart that he doesn't really actively realize he has. This leads to great interactions such as:

S!Cole: i mean, i kind of remember? it's in bits and pieces S!Cole: your history essay was awful btw M!Cole: what would you know, you literally— M!Cole: wait M!Cole: YOU DROPPED OUT OF MARTY OPPENHEIMER'S?! S!Cole: i still know half-assing when i see it! M!Cole: MARTY. OPPENHEIMER'S!!! M!Cole to S!Cole:

and

S!Jay: soooo are those memories making any sense yet? M!Cole: no S!Jay, thinking about the love triangle: oh thank fsm M!Cole: you two fight a lot, huh? S!Cole: i dunno what you're talking about, we're best friends S!Jay, opening the fridge: yep! we're—COLE DID YOU TAKE MY FUCKING PUDDING CUP AGAIN S!Cole: the best of friends 😌😊🌸✨

and

M!Cole, to S!Kai: so what's "human pinata" supposed to be M!Kai: the WHAT S!Kai: ...some things are better left forgotten S!Cole, from across the bounty: HE WAS AN ENTERTAINER AT KIDS PARTIES A FEW YEARS BACK M!Cole: oh M!Kai: oh? OH???? M!Kai:

There's more that I can't recall off the top of my head rn, too. But yeah once the slightly morbid twist is resolved Cleaved gets back to regular crossover shenanigans and impromptu cross-dimensional group therapy. Of course, there's also that fact that M!Cole's indentity was revealed back home, but surely that's not going to cause any problems when they finally figure out how to reliably travel through realms...

right?

[son1c]

listen to your heart

falling stars fic masterpost

Thunder, but not from a storm. Sonic could hear it pulse in his ears, and he realized it was his heart, pounding on his rib cage like a boxer pounding on a punching bag. He was standing up, though he couldn't remember when he'd left the couch. It was at his back now, and Sonic was facing the TV, staring at his reflection in the blank black screen.

What he saw there brought his hammering heart to a standstill.

It was himself. But it was wrong. His fur was too pale, the color faded like a years-old photograph. And his eyes… They stared back at him, their gaze piercing and far too bright.

They really were glowing, like Stripes had said.

Sonic raised a hand to his face, and the stranger in the TV screen copied him.

He thought about his nightmare. But, no, that wasn't right. There was no way it was a nightmare. The thing reeked in a way that only something real could. It must've been a memory--a rotten, no good memory of something that had happened to him during his time at Scrap Brain. But why was he remembering it now? And how had he forgotten it in the first place?

Sonic recalled the enraged face of the red echidna, Knuckles. That was the last thing he'd seen before… waking up on a table back at Scrap Brain. His body was in pieces, his screen crowded with one hundred emergency alerts.

Eggman was looming over him. He wanted to know what had happened on Angel Island, and Sonic, unable to lie while giving his report, told him the truth. And when he was done, he asked Eggman one question: Who am I?

The images he'd been shown by the Master Emerald refused to leave his addled mind. He was fixated on them, because they didn't make any sense. His code was telling him that he'd always been this way, that he'd never been anything but a robot, a vanguard of the Eggman Empire. But his heart said something different, and it was compelling enough to make him doubt everything.

Eggman said he understood. He said he would help. Then, he placed a hand on Sonic's head and told the Robian not to worry, because he would remember who he was shortly, after a factory reset.

In the present, Sonic shuddered. He realized he'd forgotten about Knuckles and his trip to Angel Island because Eggman had made him forget. The realization tasted like ten jugs of curdled milk smashed together, sour and disgusting.

And it made him furious, too.

Furious to think that Eggman used to have so much control over him.

Sonic was once again faced with his reflection in the TV screen. With those eyes that stared back at him with a sickly green intensity. One thing was for sure: they were different now from how they'd been before. They weren't the eyes of a Robian, but weren't the eyes of his old self, either.

Sonic looked away from the TV, but his glowing eyes were seared into his brain, and their afterimage followed him around the room, their impressions burning holes into the back of the door when he turned toward it.

He felt the need to run. It would help clear his mind, or so he hoped. The questions that haunted him now--What have you become? Is your body your own? Are you really free?--were too much for him to bear.

He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to look at himself, to see how much he'd been changed.

Stay cool. That was what he wanted to do. Yeah, he would take this in stride, like he'd done with his broken leg. And he would remain above it--above his pain. Like he'd been after losing his memory (the first time). After being hunted by soldiers, and tricked by Mr. Ivo, and--

Sonic balled his hands into fists, and couldn't help but think his fingers felt stiff. It was the sort of stiffness that he wouldn’t be able to wring out, because it had settled deep beneath his flesh and into his bones. The temperature of his palms was equally disconcerting; the coldness should’ve meant he was dead, his paws seeming more like bits of the Antarctic than a hedgehog Mobian, even though it was warm inside the casino.

He felt like shivering. Instead, he set his jaw.

Stepping toward the door, Sonic got as far as the welcome mat before he felt a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

"It's the middle of the night," Shadow said. "Where are you going at this hour?"

Buggy hugged Shadow's leg, looking up at Sonic with its wide, unblinking eyes.

Sonic shrugged, though he wished he wasn’t having this conversation right now. “Can’t say I had someplace in mind,” he said truthfully. “Maybe the Ferris wheel? Doesn’t matter, so long as I get there fast!”

Shadow crossed his arms and glanced at the clock. It was 4-something AM. “The city will wait for you,” Shadow said. “It’s not going anywhere. Just like you should be—don’t sacrifice your sleep for a whim, Blue.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” Sonic said as he pulled open the door. “Let’s both go. That way, we can have a little friendly competition. Our last race was stacked in your favor, but this time, I’ll beat you!”

Shadow was incredulous. He could’ve said a lot about Sonic’s lack of care for his own sleep schedule, but what he said instead was, “Beat me? You must be joking. I’ve seen your speed once before, and I can outdo it.”

Buggy rubbed its claws together nervously. Suddenly, there was a current of tension running through the room, and it was felt by even the robot.

Sonic held the door open for Shadow and stepped to the side, gesturing at the hallway with one hand. “I’m a good sport,” Sonic said with a grin, “so I’ll let you have a head start.”

Through the hallway, down the stairs, and out the door to the first floor of the casino. The two hedgehogs blew past Rouge, who was just finishing turning off the lights at the bar, and she spun around like a dreidel from their combined speed. She tried to shout after them, but whatever she said was swallowed up by the sound of the front doors slamming shut.

The bottoms of Shadow's shoes were lit up. Earlier in the night, he'd attached the rings Rouge had given him to his soles, and now he was using their power to skate Heelys-style through the streets of Night Babylon. The pavement was still wet from the rain, but that was it. There were no floodwaters to wade through, only slick corners to turn as the two hedgehogs raced toward the Ferris wheel.

Streetlamps illuminated the empty roads. Parked cars sometimes stood in Sonic and Shadow's way, but they vaulted over them expertly, using the hoods of the vehicles as springboards. They touched down on the other side and kept moving, always neck-and-neck.

Until Sonic suddenly pulled ahead. After spinning around, Sonic taunted Shadow while running backwards. "Not so easy now that we're on equal footing, huh, Stripes?"

Shadow gritted his teeth. After being woken up by Sonic's motobug friend, thinking something was wrong, he couldn't help but be annoyed by the Blue Blur's cocky attitude. But then he saw it--Sonic's carefree grin. And the way his shoulders were relaxed, his hands folded behind his head in a way that reveled in the motion, cherishing the wind at his back.

After all that time spent with a broken leg, was it really a surprise that Sonic was enjoying himself right now?

Shadow smiled. He wasn't annoyed anymore. In fact, he was happy for Sonic.

"You've been looking forward to this moment, haven't you, hedgehog?" Shadow asked.

Sonic blinked. His grin faltered. He stared at Shadow's expression, at the kind smile his friend wore, so slight that it might've been just a trick of the light, but it wasn't. It was real. And it shocked him--for just a moment, before Sonic recovered and his heart soared, a warm feeling taking hold of his chest, so much nicer than those frigid feelings from earlier.

"Yeah," Sonic said, laughing a little, "I have!"

And then Sonic, still running backwards, slipped on a particularly wet patch of pavement, and tumbled into a bush on the other side of the street.

Shadow's eyes widened. He skidded to a stop in front of the bush.

Laying on his back in the twigs and flowers, Sonic rubbed his forehead. The yellow light from the streetlamp made him squint, but he wasn't hurt, just embarrassed. So much for winning the race! he thought with a sigh.

Then, Sonic saw Shadow extend a hand to him, and the blue hedgehog couldn't help but think that maybe winning didn't matter so much.

Taking Shadow's hand, Sonic said as he pulled himself up, "Haha! What a wipeout!"

Just like that, Sonic's good mood had returned, and now all he wanted to do was bask in the feeling, the warmth of Shadow's touch matching that of his own fluttering heart.

"I gotta give it to you, man," Sonic said. "You've got me beat two-to-none!"

"The rain was an unexpected ally," Shadow admitted, his smile a little wider now, "but who am I to deny my own victory?"

Sonic rolled his eyes, but his grin remained intact. "Oh, sure," he said, "rub it in. Better to live it up while you can, right? Cuz pretty soon, I'll stomp ya! Just gotta, uh… keep my eyes on the road next time. Heh."

"If nothing else," Shadow replied, "it will make for a more dignified defeat."

Then, Shadow's eyes fell to his hand--the one that Sonic was still holding. Even though they were both standing now, and there was no need for it anymore.

Sonic followed Shadow’s gaze, saw what he was looking at, and realized he should probably let go. Somehow, the thought hadn’t occurred to him until now. But he hesitated.

Sonic wasn't sure when it had happened exactly, but at some point during their adventures together, he'd become so comfortable around Shadow that it made him not want to let go of his friend's hand.

So, Sonic listened to his heart, and he laced their fingers together.

“Not bad, huh?” Sonic asked.

At first, Shadow had no reply. From his toes to his teeth, he stood, his posture as rigid as a brick wall. The sudden display of affection from Sonic confused him, and the blue hedgehog's question pierced his brain like a bullet. It brought with it a gnarled tree of feelings, feelings he scarcely recognized, and because of this, Shadow was left feeling vulnerable, and he hated that.

But there was one thing that Shadow did recognize: his friend, Sonic.

Haloed by the streetlamp, Sonic looked so confident, so content. Like holding Shadow's hand was everything he was meant to be doing in that moment, and Shadow envied him. The dark hedgehog once again found himself longing for some of Sonic's confidence.

His own sense of self was still so shaky, still second to that of his Android copy, and when Shadow focused on it for too long, it made the ground itself seem to rumble and crack beneath his feet.

And then there was Sonic. Always there to catch him when he started to fall.

Shadow curled his fingers around Sonic's hand. Finally, he relaxed. He felt steady now, here in the middle of the empty street, surrounded by parked cars and sky scrapers and a glowing Ferris wheel. Not even the blossoming emotions hanging from the branches of his heart seemed so scary anymore.

"Yes," Shadow answered softly.

Sonic beamed. Then, he pulled on Shadow's hand, and the two of them ran up the side of the Ferris wheel together.

From the top, Sonic and Shadow could see all of Night Babylon. Palm trees swayed gently in the breeze while hotels stood still, their windows mostly dark. Even this late at night, the casinos remained the center of the action, with people going in and out in a steady stream. Laughter floated up from the streets as people twirled and danced through the city.

With a clear, star-speckled sky, Night Babylon shined, so much richer than it had been on the day of the storm. Sonic and Shadow looked down at it while keeping pace with the Ferris wheel as it continued to spin. Their worries were temporarily forgotten as they watched the purple night change into a pink dawn, the sun poking over the horizon, the moments pressing onward, all while holding onto each other's hand.

[starsreminisce]

Hiii!!! I love your blog so much 😍😍😍.

I have a question for you: Do you think SJM could have Elucien reject their bond without exploring it? I feel like for Elriel to have a book, the bond would have to be rejected early on so the story can focus on Azriel and Elain and whatever plot SJM chooses, just like she did for feysand in ACOMAF. It would be weird for Elain to explore the bond and get to know Lucien while building her relationship with Az at the same time. Especially when it’s supposed to be a dual POV. If she’s dealing with both, they both should have their pov as well for it to make sense - in my humble opinion.

Hello! Thank you so much for your kind words!

Short answer: no.

This isn't just Elain's bond to Lucien; it's also Lucien's bond to Elain. As you mentioned with Feyre, she underwent a process of understanding her relationships with Tamlin and then with Rhys, eventually discerning the differences between the two.

We see a similar exploration with characters like Aelin, Rowan, Lysandra, Chaol, and, to some extent, Bryce with Connor and Ithan with Bryce.

When SJM introduces a new character as a love interest, there's typically a lightbulb moment that reveals why one person wouldn't work and then segues into why another would.

Remember Az's bonus chapter?

Personally, a rejected mating bond would have been included as part of Elain's early healing journey. We would have been introduced to this concept in ACOSAF as it sets up the trajectory for the next couple of books.

Consider the dinner scene where Elain attempted to join the conversation but faced challenges, particularly when Amren tells her she can't be human anymore. While the reasons behind Elain's inquiry may remain ambiguous (small talk, genuine interest, existential crisis, powers), Amren later confirms that Elain isn't okay. Then we have Lucien dropping off the presents. We could have been given insight into Elain's potential rejection during Feyre's confrontation, either through Feyre's speculation or Elain's hints, yet it's Mor who reassures Feyre that they just need time and things will work out. Happiness doesn't seem to be part of a rejected mating bond equation—not when it haunts her, not when it drives Lucien to madness, not even when she senses his death.

How will the story proceed with only two perspectives in the next book, considering ACOSF sets the stage for a different narrative structure? It's worth contemplating the trajectory of Elain and Lucien's journey together as they pine over different people while processing their bond. What happens next? Will the following book be a quad POV because their HEA hasn't been realized yet, or will it solely focus on Elain, leaving Lucien's fate uncertain?

I recall reading an Elriel's comment about SJM writing them into a corner. I can't relate—she made the road to Elucien pretty clear to me.

And if she had forgotten that the bond could be rejected until ACOSF, then isn't it telling that she had no plans for it at all?

[strangefellows]

Soooo. About my Limbus theory that Dante is Ayin.

Looks at the 5.5 anniversary event. Looks at the Angela announcer voicelines. I think we've got some heavy proof I'm onto something here. I've posted it into my extensive conspiracy board GDoc (linked for your perusal), but below the cut I'm gonna put what I noticed about the aforementioned things (ie voicelines/That Scene in the event). Credit to @limbus-datamines for where I found the voicelines written out, because I'm broke and have to get Angela the long way lmao. (And credit for the LobCorp screens from TeeQueue's LP of the game on LPArchive!)

Angela's voicelines -- the bolding/italics is all mine for emphasis. As you can see, she explicitly points out that this is "a manager of another spacetime" so she is aware that who she's doing this for isn't her Ayin....but she proceeds to continue to talk to them as if it is AN Ayin.

"I see. I must pre-record these encouraging lines for a manager of an unknown spacetime. Oh my. I was not aware that the recording had already started."

"Your employees' health is at a critical level. A manager must listen to and abide by my advice; you should consider me your most trusted and capable companion, after all."

"Your employees are on the verge of death. That reminds me… manager, I recall that you had access to a special function, no? Sometimes, a full reset is the most efficient solution to a disaster."

"I have identified a flat-footed enemy. Many of your predecessors have used such openings to order a killing blow."

"I have identified a deceased employee. It is but one of many minor inconveniences in your way, manager. They were all aware that such an outcome may await them when they joined our company."

"The enemies have the upper hand. And I expect that you will be the finest manager there ever was."

"I expect that the enemy will commence a powerful attack soon. It is time to face the fear."

"They have dealt a critical blow to one of your employees. However, as you well know, we will move forward and only forward. There is no need to cast your gaze upon those that cannot be recovered."

"One or more of your employees are critically wounded, but do not lose your heart over it. With every death, our company grows. After all, you once told me that… sometimes, those that are forgotten can be the more beautiful."

This one in particular sticks out to me, I've been rotating it in my head for days.

"You have dealt a fatal blow to your enemies. I have always told you that you are much more capable than you originally perceived yourself to be. And I am never wrong."

"A successful strike. It is too early to pop the champagne, but it may be a good idea to cheer for the deceased in memoriam of their noble sacrifices."

"I am Angela, your advisor and secretary. My role as an AI is to assist you in adjusting to your new workplace. It’s a pretty name for an AI, wouldn’t you say so?"

This is more or less word for word what she says at the start of every new loop in LobCorp, isn't it? Hmmmm.

And while we're aware in general that That Scene where Dante has their little meltdown and starts sounding a shitload like Carmen (and, quite frankly, Adam) is sus as hell for MULTIPLE reasons and I know it's got some people to accept/acknowledge the Dantayin Theory on Twitter...this part is what sticks out to me personally:

The only two lines of dialogue in their meltdown that weren't corrupted and halfway censored (or...distorted, you could say), the only two we could read clearly and that didn't sound too insane...are very, very, very similar in imagery and phrasing to this section of Ayin's Day 50 speech. Food for thought.

So, yeah, I'm pretty sure at this point there's nothing else that makes sense besides Dante being Ayin, or at least an Ayin, maybe one from another timeline or something. Either way though.

[decks-writing-blog]

Whatever the Fuck Benrey is: Chapter Twenty-One: Pretty Neat, Huh?

Chapter One

Previous Chapter

~

If Gordon had had doubts about his sleep-deprived conclusion on his feelings for Benrey, they were dispelled upon waking up with him. Whilst asleep, they’d shifted into a more traditional spooning position, Benrey’s back pressed to his chest. Gordon could happily lay here forever with him. … Or maybe not forever. Waking up like this every day for the rest of his life sounded pretty good though.

No nightmares either. Or if he’d had one, he didn’t recall even the feel of it. Perhaps he’d just been too tired but Benrey’s presence had certainly helped because it always did. Probably cuddling anyone at night who was into it would’ve helped but it was Benrey who chose to, had suggested the idea in the first place. When or why he’d started caring enough to do so was still a mystery but it didn’t really matter, did it? He cared and Gordon loved him for that and for so many other things.

Which didn’t mean Benrey wasn’t an annoying bastard, trolling whenever possible when they played games together even if they were supposed to be on the same team. And Gordon had eventually found the cling-wrap over the basement door. It was probably only a matter of time before he pulled another prank. But he better knew Gordon’s limits now, putting them closer to being on the same page of what went too far. He hadn’t repeated anything like the falling bucket prank.

There was still the question of if he reciprocated. Even if what they had now was more than enough to make Gordon happy, the possibility of romance was still alluring. Theoretically he could tell Benrey how he felt and ask. Probably the wisest move but… what if that ruined what they had now? So he’d think about it more later, maybe ask someone or the internet for advice. Right now he didn’t want to move or even think in general. Going back to sleep would be nice.

Except even if he was still tired, that wasn’t easy. The light coming in through the gaps in the curtains was too bright. He needed to get up to get a drink of water if nothing else. Sometimes being a human with normal animal needs sucked.

And then sealing the deal on sleep being over… “I’d have thought you’d want to get up soon as you woke up today.” Of course Benrey was awake. He didn’t need to sleep as much as Gordon did so naturally when sleeping in, he’d woken up first. And of course he knew Gordon had woken up too; he could be quite perceptive at times.

Gordon took a breath, intending to ask why he’d not want to linger in bed but… let it out in a sigh instead. The reason he was so tired and sore, they’d just returned from the Black Mesa facility with all of Benrey’s experiment related stuff. Including his records that Benrey was going to let Gordon look at.

With a groan, he forced himself to sit up and look down at Benrey, his face an unreadable blur. “Good morning.”

“It’s not morning.”

“Yeah, probably not, huh?” The light coming in through the window attested to that. Gordon slid off the bed entirely, allowing him to reach over to the nightstand for his glasses. The beside clock read 12:32pm. They’d slept for almost ten hours… or Gordon had anyway. “You look at any of your stuff yet?”

Benrey slid out of bed too. The ruffled mess of his hair and pajamas was endearingly cute. “Nope, waiting for you. We’re gonna look together, remember?”

Of course Gordon remembered. Most of yesterday was a blur but that kind of thing wasn’t easily forgotten. “You sure you’re okay with me looking?”

“Yep.”

Gordon should perhaps decline anyway out of politeness or at least tell Benrey to go through it all himself first to sort out stuff he wasn’t all right with Gordon seeing. But he was being given permission to look. All the questions he’d ever had about whatever the fuck Benrey was could finally be answered. And not the type to be constrained by social conventions – especially ones that were stupid like the whole offering something out of a sense of obligation with the understanding and hope that it’d be declined for the sake of propriety thing that people sometimes supposedly did – Benrey likely wouldn’t lie about being okay with it. What was there to be gained from such a lie? Nothing as far as Gordon could tell.

“Wanna go look now?” Benrey gestured towards the door.

As eager and curious as Gordon was… “I gotta eat something first.” And more importantly get some coffee, he could drink some water while he waited for that to brew.

~

In anticipation for playing games together once they got a proper gaming computer built – a process they hadn’t quite begun yet – they planned to eventually get two office chairs into the gamer pad. For now though, they had only the one. Gordon was going to let Benrey have it but… “Nah, you’re taller so you’d have to bend over to see the screen good.”

Gordon couldn’t argue with that. And with all of the stuff they’d brought in from the lab, there wasn’t room to comfortably pull in one of the kitchen chairs. So with a sigh, he sat down and booted up the computer.

Back at the lab they’d pulled the hard drives out of the computers salvaged from the facility to plug into the ones they already had up and running. Here though, the salvaged computers were more high-tech than the cheap temporary computer Gordon had bought solely to be able to browse the internet on. Enough so that even if it wasn’t built for gaming, it still might be able to be used for such. And so while Gordon had had ‘breakfast’, Benrey had moved their computer aside and replaced it with one of the three brought in last night.

Which meant starting it up brought up the familiar Black Mesa login screen. Promoted and having put himself in charge of sorting through the old experiment data he’d long since gotten the master login from Breen. As he typed it in – slowly but surely he was developing a one handed way of typing that wasn’t as fast as he used to be able to do but was still far better than pick-typing – he repeated it out loud to Benrey so he could log in by himself later. It was possible to change the login for this computer or set it to boot up without it but whatever, Benrey deserved to know some of Black Mesa’s secrets. If he wanted to risk sneaking into the temporary lab to log in to one of computers there to set up a prank on Breen or whoever, as long as he could do it without getting caught or landing any of the Science Team plus Darnold in trouble, it wasn’t any of Gordon’s business.

What was his business though, being the one with easiest access to the mouse and keyboard was finding the experiment data saved to the computer. The systems used across all of Black Mesa were the same, making it easy to navigate even though the experiment was of an entirely different sort than the ones he’d worked on.

After who even knew how many years Benrey had been an experiment for, there was an awful lot of stuff, taking up most of the available memory across multiple backup drives. They were in luck though as the people in charge of organizing the data had done that job well – a surprisingly uncommon trait amongst the Black Mesa scientists – making it easy to navigate. True to Benrey’s word, a lot of the files had the term ‘Subject X’, implying they were about Benrey. Possibly a roman numeral. There might be nine prior attempts at making him or maybe nine other aliens captured for study. Or the ‘X’ might be because it was the first letter of ‘Xen’. Maybe it meant nothing and had just been chosen at random or for some reason not directly related to Benrey and the experiment.

“Start with the videos.” Benrey leaned in over Gordon’s shoulder. “You scientists are always super boring when writing your research paper stuff.”

Gordon should perhaps ask one last time if Benrey was really sure he was okay with him seeing. He’d already said several times that he was though and Gordon wanted to see. So much so he’d been willing to go all the way to the Black Mesa facility for the chance to. Thus instead, he said nothing as he followed Benrey’s orders. Not how he would’ve done it but it was only fair he let Benrey call the shots here.

The earliest video file was dated at April 1st 1983 and was titled ‘SubX Success’. So they’d presumably had Benrey for about twenty-five years. Well, it had already been established that they’d had him for at least for as far back as he could remember, thus basically his whole life. Still a long time to be an experiment though. Not that there was anything that could be done about it so instead of saying anything, Gordon opened it and set it to start playing.

On screen was a man – his age indeterminate beyond being old enough that his hair was starting to go gray – in a lab coat standing behind a table in a generic looking lab. “That light means it’s recording now, correct?”

“Correct,” came an off screen voice, presumably the camera man. In typical Black Mesa fashion, the camera used to record was more advanced than what would’ve been available elsewhere at the time. Allowing for video and sound quality to be not too far below what would be considered on par for modern day technology.

“Good, good. Now,” he turned his attention into the camera, “we finally have a living specimen. If it’ll stay alive for long, we don’t know yet, especially since its not quite what we expected, but I personally have high hopes.”

As he spoke, he pulled a cart in from off screen. On it was various equipment, including a stand that held up a small metal canister about the width of a pool noddle. Grabbing it, the man pressed something on the side that cause the lid to lift before upending it onto the table in front of him. The camera zoomed in on it as he did so.

A grayish blob flowed out of the canister, looking not at all like a living thing. Not until it moved anyway, reaching out with formless tendrils as if looking for the canister as it was pulled away. Finding nothing, the blob instead reached out all around it. Not the settling motion of a non-solid but seemingly intentional reaching out for something.

Was that… Benrey? It didn’t look anything like him but there wasn’t any reason for it to considering his shape shifting. If it was Benrey though, that made it a he instead of an it. Assuming that’s how Benrey preferred to be called anyway. Gordon had never actually asked so… he paused the video and looked up at Benrey. “You go by he/him, right?”

“Yup. Why?”

“Just wandering and making sure.” He could maybe ask for more specifics later if Benrey was willing to share his thoughts on the human made concept of gender and all that. For now though… “Let’s continue.” He clicked the play button, resuming the video.

The scientist’s hands came into the picture, one of them holding what looked an awful lot like a scalpel – this had only just started and it was already taking an uncomfortable turn. “As you can see, its form is a bit odd but when we cut it, it bleeds to heal itself.” He demonstrated with the scalpel, making a small cut on top of Maybe-Benrey, making him visibly flinch away. The blood was a now somewhat familiar slightly purple tinged red that did indeed seem to close up the small cut. “We’re not sure if it makes enough for us to be able to harvest it but the hope is that it’ll bigger and thus will in time.”

His other hand blocked the blobs attempt to crawl away, pushing him closer instead as he lifted the scalpel to do another cut, a bit bigger this time. “It also responds to being cut as if it feels pain. We will have to see how that develops in the future and see if it responds to other stimuli as well. For now, I don’t wish to keep it out of its simulated environment for long lest that kill it. End the recording ple--” The video ended, cutting him off.

Gordon turned in his chair a bit, letting him look up at Benrey. Before he could figure out how to ask what Benrey thought about the video…

“That ain’t me.” Benrey’s tone was just ever so slightly strained towards perhaps anger or frustration. Or maybe Gordon just expected him to be having an emotional reaction and thus was imagining it.

“Well, um… I guess we don’t know that for sure yet. The guy did say it might die. So maybe… the next one’s you or the one after that. We know it’s got something to do with you though so… you know.” There was a good chance that Benrey had looked an awful lot like the blob in the video at some point in his life. Which was interesting as that would make him a fascinating creature indeed.

“I tried the no structure thing. It sucks.”

“What does that mean exactly?”

“Last time I was doing the trying to find my true form or whatever thing, I finally like uh… dissolved all my bones or whatever. It sucked, didn’t feel right at all. If I’m really just… a dumb boring blob or whatever that was, I would’ve felt something, right?”

“I don’t know. I know less about how any of that should work than you do.” If they kept going, there was no doubt a lot more to be revealed. No bigger questions had even been answered yet. Gordon’s curiosity was stronger than ever and the answers were right here but… Benrey didn’t seem to be pleased with this little bit they had found. “You wanna stop? Or maybe take a break since we went all that way so it’d be a shame to stop now.”

“No.” Zero hesitation on that answer. “Next video.”

“How ‘bout we start from the top? The first document should have the purpose and intended method of the experiment clearly stated.”

“Fine, guess that’s easiest anyway since you wanna look at everything anyway.”

Gordon was no longer entirely sure he wanted to see everything, everything. Not if Benrey – or the prototype Benrey and eventually no doubt Benrey himself – was going to be shown being sliced and diced or anything of the sort. Science was only interesting and fun when no one was being hurt. Even if physical damage wasn’t as big a deal for someone with Benrey’s powers, that didn’t make it okay or pleasant to witness. For now though, he turned back around and scrolled up a bit to open up the earliest file on record, dated almost a full year before the first video had been taken.

“Read it out loud,” Benrey said as he leaned into the side of the chair, forcing Gordon to catch himself with his foot before it could swivel too far the right. “Make it entertaining.”

“I doubt I can do that.” His interest in the subject would make it compelling for him but his lack of experience reading things out loud would likely harm how interesting it would be to someone like Benrey. “I can try though.” That’s all that could be asked of him.

***

Benrey soon set into pacing behind the computer chair as Gordon read. As expected the file was dry, scientific, and took way more words than it really needed to, making it boring. If Gordon was indeed trying to make it entertaining, he was bad at it. Benrey hung on every word anyway. Finally it was time to get some answers.

The stated purpose of the experiment that had resulted in Benrey was to create a life form that could passively produce healing gel, negating the need to create it manually using limited resources. One of the key ingredients for which was a rare plant found on Xen that refused to cultivate in any lab scenario, creating the need for the experiment in the first place.

Benrey’s pacing slowed to a halt as Gordon read through the list of proposed materials and procedures to create this life form. This was an the answer to the question at last; Benrey had been made in the lab out of alien plants and chemicals. He was the only one of his kind. There wasn’t a group of aliens out there like him which also meant he had no family he’d been stolen from as an egg. He hadn’t even come from an egg but instead, reportedly a vat, not even a tube. And to top it all off they’d made him solely to harvest his healing juice.

That was… fine though. It didn’t matter. Nothing changed. It’s not like he’d have liked his family if he did have one. He’d have been mad at them, right? Because they’d have let him get stolen and experimented on. So this was probably the better option anyway, right? No one had let him be stolen and experimented on, he’d just been made to harvest healing gunk from and then bonus experimentation had happened along the way too. Shitty but… whatever, it didn’t matter anyway. He’d just been mildly curious. And now he knew so he could go back to not caring. He was fine with this.

Once apparently done reading – though Benrey had tuned out the last however long – Gordon turned the chair to face him. “So you were made in the lab but entirely outta alien stuff which basically means you’re like both, right? A lab grown alien. That’s pretty cool.” He would think that, wouldn’t he? “Even if uh… the reason they made you is kinda, not great. Or I guess their intentions were good but being made to have a resource harvested from you is uh… uncomfortable. But being a lab grown alien is pretty neat, huh?”

“Guess so, yeah.”

Benrey had apparently done a bad job of conveying just how much he didn’t care because Gordon’s attempt at a smile died. “You were hoping that uh… you were a just a normal alien, huh?”

He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. Don’t need a family anyway. What they made me for kinda sucks but… I already knew they were keeping me ‘round for that anyway so it’s nothing new. So… I don’t care.”

“I’m sorry.”

Benrey scoffed. “Don’t be.” Even if him caring enough to be sorry was a good sign, Benrey didn’t want to talk about it anymore. He knew now so it was time to move on. “Let’s continue. There’s a lot to get through.” So the question of how Gordon would feel about him after would finally be answered too. It’d be real nice to just be done with all this nonsense already.

“You uh… sure you wanna keep going? I mean that was… You’re allowed to be upset by it. We could take a break to process that if you want.”

“I’m not upset and I don’t need a break. It’s easier this way, don’t gotta worry about trying to find my people or whatever. I’m like uh… um… a legendary Pokemon. There’s only one of me ‘cause uh… the world couldn’t handle more. So drop it and read the next file or whatever.”

“All right, if you insist. But if um, you do ever need a break, just say so, ‘kay?” Gordon swiveled the chair to face the computer again.

Benrey had no intention of taking him up on that offer. The sooner all this was done with, the better. So he settled back into pacing as Gordon started reading the next document.

~

Next Chapter

[btr-rewatch]

Big Time Rush Season 1, Episode 4: “Big Time Bad Boy”

I originally didn't have this on my "episodes to review" list, but I changed my mind. I don't have a whole lot of memories of this one, so it'll be fun to revisit it.

Highlights: To save the band, Kendall Knight is forced to wear dark clothes, eyeliner, and cause thousands of dollars in damage to Rocque Records.

For anyone just finding these posts, I'm not planning to write up commentary/review for every episode. Mostly because I want this to be a fun experience for myself and not feel obligated to make a post for every episode in the series (especially if it's an ep I either don't really like all that much or one that I simply want to sit back and enjoy without taking notes and lots of screenshots, lol)

So..."Big Time Bad Boy." I seem to recall this one being played a lot on Nickelodeon, but my memory of it is fuzzy. What I do remember for this one consists of two things: 1. Kendall dressed all in black and 2. He pees in Gustavo's desk??

All these years, and that's what stuck. Onto the episode!

The guys are in the studio singing "The City is Ours." They sound and look great, but Gustavo isn't super impressed. Something is missing, he says, and that something happens to be A Bad Boy. Someone who will shake up their image a bit and give them an edge. He comes to a quick conclusion.

Kendall looks both surprised and horrified at this suggestion, to which I ask: why?? Need I remind you, Mr. Knight, that this path to L.A. was paved precisely BECAUSE you were exhibiting many bad boy-esque behaviors??

Have we forgotten this? This Kendall who once attacked Gustavo via an enraged 90's pop song performance, fought with security guards, and seemed to have the entirety of his self-control tied together with frayed string is now bewildered that he's being nominated for the position of Official Bad Boy??

I'm sorry, I had no idea that I would get so hung up on how Kendall was handled when I decided to rewatch this show. I don't know what's happening.

Gustavo goes on to explain more about the necessity for a bad boy in every band, and I admit that I can see why Kendall is so opposed to it. The bad boy is being framed as someone who turns his back (quite literally!) on the others, and we all know that's something Kendall could never do. This is a loyalty thing for him, so yeah, okay. Makes sense. However, the other guys quickly jump at the chance to fulfill the role once they learn it comes with lots of money, fame, and girls.

Kendall is unamused.

Over at the Palm Woods, Mrs. Knight is worried that Katie has no friends her own age, so she introduces her to someone named Molly.

Katie instantly doesn't like her, but Mama Knight says you can't judge someone before getting to know them. Mrs. Knight then wildly misinterprets a situation between Bitters and Buddha Bob, assumes Buddha Bob is an axe maniac, and runs away screaming with Katie over her shoulder.

When the guys get back to the apartment, James, Logan, and Carlos are full-swing into the bad boy act. This is no match, however, for the Mom Look.

When James, Carlos, and Logan fail to impress Gustavo at his Bad Boy Audition, he once again tags Kendall for the role. When Kendall again says no, Gustavo has some surprising news for him.

Refusing to do what he's told makes him a bad boy!

Ha! You've been bamboozled, Kendall.

When Griffin comes to take a look at the guys, he's dismayed at the very obvious lack of bad boy. "A bad boy is someone parents would never let their daughters date. And I would let my daughter date any one of these boys," he says, which is one of my favorite lines so far.

Griffin really went, "These boys are sweet and respectful, and it upsets me."

He came prepared with a ready-to-go bad boy: WayneWayne.

The boys don't like him. Gustavo doesn't care.

We return to the Palm Woods where Katie is trying to avoid having to play with Molly. She thinks there's something wrong with her. Mrs. Knight then sees what she thinks is Buddha Bob tossing bodies into a dumpster (they're mannequins).

Meanwhile, at the pool, BTR are angrily watching WayneWayne. After complaining about him, Logan says, "And that's why we're gonna get rid of him. Kendall, get rid of him."

For some odd reason, Kendall wonders why he has to do it. I dunno, Ken; maybe it's because you're the one who has to do everything, remember? Logan always looks to you to fix things. That's your JOB. You need to get rid of people who are upsetting your friends, solve every problem that comes their way, and do everything. All the time. Forever.

No pressure, though.

After a quick little pep-talk to his scaredy-cat friends, Kendall stands up to WayneWayne, which ends up backfiring immediately. There's only room in the band for four people, so somebody has to go if WayneWayne is going to be added in.

Poor Logan.

Kendall begins another impassioned speech that's interrupted by WayneWayne, who declares that it's going to be KENDALL who gets kicked out of the band. The guys all go running to Gustavo in a panic.

Including this screenshot for no other reason than Kendall's reaction in this moment cracks me up.

James says, "He wants to kick Kendall out of the band!" And Kendall just goes ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Gustavo defeatedly tells the boys that Griffin is in charge and there's nothing he can do to help. He's firmly against Kendall's insistence that they can come up with a plan and tells them just to focus on learning the lyrics to the new song they're working on.

When the day comes for Griffin to visit the studio and see the band, Kendall is suspiciously missing. When he does arrive, he's sporting a new look.

Yes, Kendall has evidently dug deep down within himself to salvage the last remaining vestiges of First Episode Kendall and channeled it all into one spectacular burst of Bad Boy Behavior.

He absolutely demolished Gustavo's office. I mean. It is entirely destroyed. I wonder how much that all cost to repair.

In one last desperate attempt to win the "bad boy off", WayneWayne kicks Griffin, which is one step too far. Griffin announces that BTR already has a bad boy—Kendall—so his services will no longer be needed. He will, however be put into a band still. WayneWayne is dragged off by security. Kendall tells Griffin that he doesn't want to wear the black clothes "all the time" and he isn't going to turn his back on his friends, which I guess is his way of officially accepting his bad boy role??

So, like. If this is establishing Kendall as the necessary Bad Boy, as per Griffin's request, does this carry on through the show (even though it's never mentioned again as far as I can remember?). Does Kendall remain BTR's bad boy for the duration of the series?? If so, that's very funny considering who Kendall turns into character-wise.

This guy? This absolute goofball is Big Time Rush's bad boy??

Reminds me of that meme with the polite cat. This one:

Wait, let me fix it

Ok, I've gotta pull it together and wrap this episode up.

Kelly finds out that Gustavo, though enraged as he did appear, was actually in on the plan the whole time. When he'd handed out the lyric sheets, he'd included a secret message for the boys.

Aww, Gustavo did some super sneaky scheming with his dogs. And hooray! The band gets to stay intact (until the next time it's threatened, of course).

Victorious, the guys head back to the Palm Woods to see how WayneWayne is doing in his new band: The Ziggle Zaggles

Need I remind you that this is still the same day. It probably hasn't been more than an hour or two since WayneWayne was dragged from Rocque Records, and he's already ON THE TELEVISION in his new band.

It this level of absolute absurd nonsense that really makes this show such a gem. Ridiculous. The Big Time Rush universe has one foot out of reality at all times, and it's great.

For an added dose of weird, the Ziggle Zaggles is interrupted by a news broadcast warning people of a police chase involving Molly, Katie's new "friend." She was actually a 20-year-old con artist the whole time. She also stole Mrs. Knight's car. The end. Cue the credits.

Decent episode overall. I skipped over most of the Mrs. Knight, Katie, Molly, and Buddha Bob storyline to avoid making this post even longer and because there wasn't much "meat" to that part of the episode anyway. I also feel like this was another episode where James, Carlos, and Logan didn't really have much to say or do? I noticed that with the first episode as well; they acted more like props or sidekicks who were only there to occasionally chime in while Kendall ran the show. I look forward to seeing them get fleshed out a bit more!

As always, thanks for reading :)

[dw-writes]

The Invasion...Chapter Twenty-One

Summary: Mad Sweeney could not recall the last true believer he had. Sure, he’d been brought over as one of the Fair Folk, but it was different. A sliver of the truth, a dim shadow of what he was really owed. The belief of someone who followed traditions, not him.

That changed when he arrived in Cairo.

That changed when he laid eyes on you and he found that one didn’t have to believe in the myth to believe in the man.

A/N: FINALLY!!! This chapter has been such a long time coming, and it’s lovely and amazing and I really love this chapter :) I hope you will, too!!! (Hopefully the length of this chapter will make up for it being so long since it updated ;;;; )

Chapters: Chapter One || Chapter Two || Chapter Three || Chapter Four  || Chapter Five || Chapter Six || Chapter Seven || Chapter Eight || Chapter Nine || Chapter Ten || Chapter Eleven || Chapter Twelve || Chapter Thirteen || Chapter Fourteen || Chapter Fourteen-ish || Chapter Fifteen || Chapter Sixteen || Chapter Seventeen || Chapter Eighteen || Chapter Nineteen || Chapter Twenty || Chapter Twenty-One || Chapter Twenty-Two Requests: Mad Sweeney and The Holidays || The Invasion and the Stressful Blows One Shots: The Invasion and That One Thankful Holiday || The Invasion and the Weight of Change || Eyes On You

The Invasion and the Spark

Seeing the ‘Welcome to Cairo’ sign didn’t bring you a sense of nostalgia like you thought it would. Relief, yes – the awkward silence would finally cease – but there wasn’t any kind of nostalgia attached to it. It wasn’t home anymore.

You followed Sweeney off the bus and away from the station, both of you not saying a word. What could you say? Well, you knew what you could say, but you weren’t sure how to. You didn’t think he’d listen, either. Not yet. Instead, you two walked.

As you both rounded a street corner, you heard a high and curious, “Mrah?” followed by an excited churr. Both were so loud that you and Sweeney looked up. A familiar lithe dark form darted down the sidewalk, her tail high in the air, her ears forward and eyes focused on your face. She jumped to you from a few feet away, and you caught her, just like she expected. Her small head butted against your chin, and you smiled.

“Hi, Bast,” you murmured. You squeezed her close, shoving your face into her warm fur, and she sprawled across your shoulder and purred.

Sweeney shifted his weight, stepping behind you, and poked the small goddess’s nose. “Troublemaker.”

She gave him a halfhearted hiss.

“I don’t have anything for you,” you whispered as you walked with her, gently scratching her back, “But I still have your pumpkin! So, um, I can give you that back?” She purred louder. “And I’ll need to give IOUs to Mr. Ibis and Mr. Jacquel. I haven’t had time to pick up their gifts yet.”

“Yer gettin’ ‘em gifts?” Sweeney grunted behind you.

You glanced up at him. “Well, yeah?” you murmured, “I mean, I owe them…for the whole…truck? Thing?” It felt weird that those were the first words you’d said to him in hours. Bast’s claws dug into your shoulder as she kneaded the skin.

Sweeney’s steps slowed. You turned around. He was frowning at the ground, brow knit together. “Forgot about that,” he whispered.

Bast lifted her head and licked your chin, trying to help with your suddenly pounding heart. The accident wasn’t even that long ago, and you’d died – almost died? – you’d gone somewhere, and he’d forgotten? You squeezed her again.

Sweeney moved around you to continue the rest of the way to the funeral parlor. He faltered as he stepped onto the porch. It felt like a thousand years since he’d last stood on it. If asked, he’d probably say he felt like a completely different person. But, if asked by someone else, he’d say that nothing had changed. He’d felt it as he sat next to you on a bus through hours of silence. He might’ve gained some kind of emotion, might’ve felt more than a few times that he’d didn’t deserve to die, but it didn’t change his fate: he was overdue, and he could feel the shadow of death seeping into his skin.

At least he knew the face of death.

He shoved open the door, holding it open with his foot to let you and Bast in.

Bast wriggled until you gently set her down. Then, you offered her the old and chewed pumpkin toy, which she took and gave a little shake. She trotted down the hall, led by the tinkling sound of a bell.

“Visitors?” came a voice from further inside.

Sweeney gently curled a hand around your hip to move you aside enough to shut the door.

“No,” he loudly called.

There was a hurried clatter of instruments being set down, punctuated by deep, amused chuckles. You recognized Mr. Ibis’s face despite never having seen him in person. You wondered how that worked. He cupped your face with warm, bare hands.

“Huh,” he whispered, “That place of yours doesn’t lie to anyone, does it?”

“Guess not,” you replied, “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Ibis.”

“Likewise, little ibis,” he said with a smile.

“Little whutnow?” grunted Sweeney.

Mr. Ibis slid a hand around your shoulders and led you through the parlor. “Come, this way, Mr. Jacquel would also like to see you.”

You twisted your hands around the straps of your bag. “I would’ve brought you both something,” you stuttered, “A thank you for what you did for me, but we didn’t stop anywhere that would have anything that could do you justice.”

“Nonsense,” said the familiar, deep voice of Mr. Jacquel, “If anyone holds a debt to us, it would be Bast.”

Mr. Ibis led you into their work room, where a body laid upon their table. You exhaled slowly, trying not to point out the obvious, when Bast jumped into the first clear space she could find on said table and shook her pumpkin at them. The men exchanged a look you could not decipher. A hand on the table slapped at Bast’s tail.

“Hey, no? Get the cat off me!” came another familiar voice.

You ducked free of Mr. Ibis’s arm and around Mr. Jacquel to find Laura’s face. She looked up at you. Her eyes were far cloudier than they’d been the last time you saw her. Still, despite the obvious decay, she grinned. “Hey, stranger.”

“Hey, yourself,” you mumbled, “What the fuck happened to you?”

“Train,” answered everyone else in the room. One voice turned you around to stare at the very familiar form of Mr. Wednesday. You tensed. You didn’t know he’d be there.

He wiggled his fingers at you. “We would’ve been out of here before you arrived, but our dearly departed is making it very difficult for our friends to do their jobs,” he mused.

‘We’ implied him and Laura, and the thought sent a chill down your spine.

“To be fair,” remarked Mr. Ibis, “It is more difficult to put together a dead body the longer it is dead. Especially when it’s been running around in the Spring weather, freezing and thawing, soaking in water for long periods of time--”

“I didn’t hold ‘er under that long,” griped Sweeney.

All eyes turned to him. You snorted in a small attempt to keep your laughter at bay, though it didn’t go unnoticed that he remembered that, but not the accident.

(A voice whisper that maybe you just weren’t that memorable after all.)

Bast’s head slid under your hand. You rubbed her ears with a small smile. With a shake of the pumpkin, she stepped over Laura’s head and down off the table, heading through an open door into an office. You trailed after her. She trotted across the floor to a desk set between two windows, turned towards the center of the office. Across from it was a massive bookshelf, spanning the room, standing all the way to the ceiling, and filled with thick books. You trailed your fingers over them, sliding behind the two chairs that faced the desk.

You stopped at one very familiar spine. You traced the old leather, hooking your fingers over the top and tugged it free. It was heavier than it was in the Library and carried the smell of ink and old paper and homemade glue. The gold leaf had been restored, as had the designs that curled across the spine from the front and back covers – they were branches, decorated with painted green leaves. The front cover was still damaged, still wasn’t the original, but it, too, had been restored to what it could have been a long time ago. Sweeney’s name looped across the front in beautiful golden swirls.

You sank into one of the chairs, staring at it. How different was it from the one you had almost memorized? Would it be different at all? Would it be missing pieces? Would you still be there?

A loud ‘thunk’ drew you from your thoughts and jolted the book in your hands. You lifted it and smiled, shaking your head at Bast as she climbed up between your legs and into your lap. You set the book aside and held her.

The two of you stayed there in the quiet, listening but not listening to the sounds in the other room – Wednesday’s voice, then Sweeney’s, then Laura’s, the Wednesday’s again. You shoved your face against Bast’s fur. She purred.

“I messed up,” you whispered, “I did something I didn’t realize wasn’t wanted and now Sweeney’s angry, and he’s starting to forget things with me and?” Your voice caught in your throat. You squeezed her harder, pulling your feet onto the deep set chair. Bast gave a slight beep. You loosened your grip. She squirmed around, sliding out of your arms to sit on the chair next to you. You scrubbed your face. “What if I messed everything up for good? What if I’m just not as important to him as I thought? What if—”

A paw, complete with claws slightly extended, smacked hard against your cheek and was quickly followed by an annoyed and loud meow in your ear. You pulled away, gasping faintly, looking over at Bast’s very annoyed and narrowed eyes. She yelled again. She stared. You stared. You sighed and brushed your fingers over her head, scratching the spots behind her ears.

“I need to apologize,” you whispered to her. She purred, headbutting your palm. “I know,” you confirmed, “I just dunno how.”

“Perhaps I could offer some advice.” The voice startled you, made you jump and twist to face the owner, who merely smiled and held a hand up in apology. “You didn’t hear me,” said Mr. Ibis with a small nod. Bast climbed across your lap and jumped down to the floor, weaving through his legs and out to the front parlor. Mr. Ibis motioned to the empty seat next to you. “May I?” he asked.

“It’s your house,” you replied.

He sat, smoothing a hand down the front of his vest, and said, “That may be, but you are a guest occupying the room. I would hate to interrupt you.”

“That’s very kind, Mr. Ibis,” you said, “What, um--” You turned in the chair, bringing a leg up so you could face him better, “What advice do you have?”

He crossed his legs at the knee, leaning an elbow on the arm of the chair as he hummed in thought. “Not every story is easy to hear,” he said after a moment, “But every story has an ear that it's meant for, despite the feelings of the owner.”

“What if he didn’t wanna know?” you whispered.

“I’ve found that Fate doesn’t care about the wants of man,” he answered, “Or anyone, for that matter.”

You smiled a little. “Awfully cryptic,” you pointed out.

He shrugged with a smile of his own. “It’s a habit,” he said, “But it’s not terrible advice.” He waded through your contemplative silence. “I am glad to see you here, in one piece,” he said.

“I’d planned to bring you something as repayment, but we didn’t stop anywhere that would’ve done you justice.,” you replied, scratching your jaw, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing to be sorry for,” he said, “We both agreed, as we told you many times – it was a debt that Bast owed.”

“Still,” you sighed, “I want to.” Then, after a moment, you added, “Repayment for your advice.”

Mr. Ibis had the grace to chuckle. “I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to that, I suppose.”

You smiled. He was much more personable than you’d thought. Maybe it was because of who he was, or maybe it was because of who he’d become. You looked down at your lap, twisting your fingers together while sorting through all the different things you wished to say to him.

Mr. Ibis stood before you got a chance. “You know,” he murmured as he rose, “Mr. Wednesday is staying a while before he leaves again.” He shrugged, the corners of his mouth turning down in a frown. “If you want to speak with him about anything.” He left, heading back to the workshop.

You waited a few more minutes, then stood and headed to the greenhouse. The door creaked when you pulled it open, protesting as you crossed the threshold. You stepped out into the room. It was warm, and sticky, oppressive even, and the weight of the air and the man in it pushed through your skin to your soul. Wednesday didn’t acknowledge you as you crossed the room to stand in the shadow of a sapling tree. He didn’t have to; he knew you were there.

(“An ash I know there stands, Yggdrasil is its name, a tall tree, showered with shining loam.”)

You stared at the branches of the growing thing and wondered if its branches could hold weight yet.

“Been a while since we talked, hasn’t it?” he asked as you approached.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, “Saw you last at that Motel America.”

“Yes, but when did we last talk, huh?” He arched an eyebrow, then looked down, pushing a large paper bag to you with his foot. “I believe I owe you quite a bit of backpay. All those weeks where we didn’t talk.”

A sour taste flooded your mouth as you took the bag. You knew it had a hefty sum inside, but you couldn’t fathom taking it. You’d put it into a bank, maybe. Tell your sister about it. “At the Rock. When I ripped into you,” you finally answered, “That was the last time we talked. Before that, it was when you offered me a job.”

“Huh. Has it really been that long?” he mused. He cocked his head to the side. “Ripped is such a strong word for what you did. I’d call it more of a light scolding.”

You scoffed. You rolled the words you wanted to say around in your mouth as you stared at the money. You knew it was stolen, it had to be. And you were worried that it didn’t bother you. “I wanna talk about Sweeney’s deal,” you finally said.

Mr. Wednesday hummed, wagging a finger. “Aren’t you two on the outs for you overstepping your bounds already?” he asked.

You shrugged and stood. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from him, it’s that if you’re already in trouble, you might as well keep digging,” you said.

“That’s terrible advice,” Wednesday countered.

“I never said it was good advice,” you said. You balled the cuffs of your shirt in your hands. You knew that he knew whose shirt it used to be. In fact, you were sure that almost everyone knew of your relationship with Sweeney. It was hard not to. Wednesday couldn’t do anything by pointing it out. “He’s done everything you asked of him. I think it’s fair if you released him from employment.”

“He’s done when I say he’s done,” Wednesday flatly replied.

“If that’s the case, then you could have him work until his death,” you huffed.

Wednesday smirked something that said, “That’s the plan.”

You shuffled your feet, frowning, trying to reorganize your argument. “You,” you started with a sigh, “You said you’d give him a war that he could die in, and, in exchange, he’d work for you.”

“Exactly,” said the god with all the contempt of an upset child, “And he hasn’t fulfilled his end of the agreement.” He gestured to nowhere. “Have you met the man? It’s easier to pull teeth from a rotten mouth than to get him to do anything resembling a job.”

“Doing the job right when you ask wasn’t part of your agreement,” you argued, “Only that he do the job. And, for the time that we’ve been together, he’s completed every job you asked of him.” You slowly sank to the floor, curling your legs around the bag of money. “Whined and bitched and complained about them the whole time, but he did them.” When Wednesday said nothing, you continued, “And the deal was that he’d do those jobs if you gave him a war he could die in. The power word in that is ‘could’, and we are in the middle of a war, aren’t we?” You glanced up at him. “You made sure of that.” You unrolled the top of the bag. “If you’d said you’d give him a war he WOULD die in, that would be different – the deal would be fulfilled when he died, and he couldn’t get out of it.” You tilted your head. “Learned that, too – the fae are pretty fickle about their deals.”

“And I’m sure you’ve learned, that the fae like to handle their own dealings,” Wednesday finally said. You scowled. “You’ve learned quite a bit since I first offered you this job. I’m impressed.” His hand patted the top of your head in a condescending manner. “Almost impressed enough to do what you ask, but I digress. He’s gotta want out of his little deal, and, from what I hear, he’s been itchin’ to die lately.” His fingers fell from your head as he turned back to the door. “Wonder why.” He paused a few steps away to say, “You’re awfully trusting to believe the words of a man who couldn’t even remember that you died.”

Then, he left the greenhouse.

You stared at Yggdrasil, picking apart the brown paper bag, letting his words circle in your head like they would a drain.

Bast quietly sat next to you.

“We don’t need to tell him about this,” you whispered to her.

She headbutted your hand and rolled onto her side. You stayed sitting for a while, staring absently at the money, scratching Bast’s stomach until she was drifting off into a catnap. You only pulled your hand away to shoot a text off to the Morrigan, then returned it to her belly when she patted your arm. You would’ve stayed until the sun set, but the door behind you was shoved open by a violent hand.

“I need your opinion,” Laura demanded as she stalked towards you. You looked up, grabbing the bag as she wrapped a hand around your arm and yanked you up. “Your boyfriend is being insufferable.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” came the automatic groan as you followed her. She ignored you, dragging you through the building to the room she’d been lying in when you’d arrived, depositing you near Sweeney’s elbow. He leaned against the open window, puffing angrily on a crumpled cigarette. He glanced at you, huffing through his nose, annoyance clear in his eyes. Across from the both of you was Mr. Wednesday, looking for all the world like the cat who caught the canary.

Laura crossed her arms. “Option A,” she presented with a jerk of her head towards Wednesday, “Leave now and get my fucking humanity back, be alive again. Guaranteed.”

You wondered what caveats came with that.

She waved a hand to Sweeney. “Option B: go deal with some crazies in New Orleans that an even more crazy fuck puts his trust in who MIGHT be able to make me alive again,” she snarled.

You snapped your head up to Sweeney. “Mardis Gras Jesus?” you asked.

He snorted and something like a smile tugged up his mouth. “No,” he scoffed, muttering, “That bastard’d never flash his branch and berries for plastic beads.” His eyes flicked down to you, then the smile faded, and he looked away.

Your chest hurt. You hugged the bundle of money to your chest. “Which one do you wanna do?” you asked.

“I wanna be fucking human,” she snapped, “I wanna be fucking alive.”

You took a deep breath. “Then go with your gut, Laura. You’re not gonna listen to what I say, regardless, because what you wanna do is what you’re gonna do,” you said. She was already turning to Wednesday before you finished.

Sweeney clicked his tongue, finishing the cigarette between his fingers like he was timed, and stalked through the parlor. You took another deep breath, exhaling, staring at nothing as you tried to calm the burn that built in your chest. You needed to talk to him, and you knew there was no better time than the present. You scooped up your backpack as you walked into the office again, shoving the bundle of money inside, and carried it with you to the only shut door in the back of the building.

The handle turned when you tried it. You stepped inside and pulled it shut behind you. Somewhere beyond it, you heard Laura heading out with Mr. Wednesday, chasing a lead on her humanity. Before you, sitting on the bed you almost hoped you would share, was the option she’d spurned. He dropped one finished cigarette and brought another to his lips, puffing away while glaring at the floor. He didn’t look at you. You didn’t even think he realized you were there.

The dainty pawing through the door spurred the words to fall from your mouth, “I’m sorry.” You dropped the bag by your feet and repeated yourself, “I’m sorry.”

Sweeney finally looked up. He froze, prey caught in a crosshair, coughing on lungs full of smoke when the breath caught in his throat.

It didn’t stop the words from spilling out – just like before – you needed to learn some kind of filter to hold back the emotional word vomit. “I’m sorry for overstepping and looking into something you didn’t want to know, and then telling you, and upsetting you, and I didn’t mean to, I thought you’d want to know, want to remember, because you just looked so sad all the time when you talked about your past and I just wanted to make it better.”

He stood up while you rambled, tugging you away from the door and into his arms as he squeezed you close. You dug your fingers under his jacket and twisted them into his tank top.

“And ‘m sorry for asking if you were coming back, I dunno where it came from, I dunno why I didn’t think you would, I dunno why I asked,” you continued, the sentences slurring into one another as the emotions crested into your throat. “Please don’t be mad at me anymore, Sweeney, I know I broke something, and you don’t have to fix that just because I said ‘m sorry, but please don’t be mad anymore, I’m sorry. I thought--”

“I told you thinkin’ was dangerous, luv, and look what happened,” he mumbled. He squeezed you tighter.

You responded in kind, turning your head to shove your face into his dirty shirt. You stayed there, breathing in the smell of him, ignoring the obvious signs that he needed a shower to stay in the cloud of him. You turned your head enough to mumble, “Do you really not wanna die?”

“No,” he rasped against your hair, “I really don’t.”

You squeezed him again, then sighed. “I talked to Wednesday,” you whispered.

He tensed beneath your fingers. Carefully, Sweeney sat back on the bed, tugging you into his lap when he refused to release you. “What about?” he hesitantly asked.

“You,” you replied. You felt his head move and looked up to meet his gaze. “In my defense, you weren’t talking to me.”

“’s been a day, luv,” he pointed out.

“And, around you, that feels like years,” you argued. Your heart skipped. You hadn’t meant for the words to sound so intimate, and yet, they had. You tried to recover with, “It was about your deal.”

Sweeney released you, holding you by the arms to get a look at your face. If you weren’t so close – not physically, but in every other way that counted – you would’ve missed the glimmer of hope that shot through his gaze. “And?” he asked, voice wavering with uncertainty.

You looked down at the coin that rested above the hem of his shirt, then at your hands that sat in your lap. He squeezed your arms, then released you. You stood. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, “I thought I gave him a pretty good reason to let you out of it, but he’s gotta hard on for keeping you in his employ.”

He grunted, but didn’t say anything else. You rubbed your neck, taking the spot next to him on the bed. “What was all that, by the way? With Laura?” you asked.

“Dead Wife wants to live, obviously,” he muttered, “Grimnir gave her one option, I gave her another.”

(The voice asked why he wanted her alive so badly.)

“You really want your coin back, don’t you?” you teased.

Sweeney groaned and covered his face, flopping backwards onto the mattress. “’m tired of this shitty luck!” he swore into his palms, “Bran willin’ if I get it back in my fuckin’ lifetime!” He shoved his hands into his hair. “And fuck knows ‘m tired of ‘er!”

“What was your option?” you asked, “You didn’t give me a good description beyond something close to Mardis Gras Jesus.”

His head lolled towards you, and he grinned that slow, lazy grin of his. You kicked off your shoes and sat further up onto the bed, crossing your legs and waving for him to start. He, in turn, kicked off his boots and sprawled out next to you, spinning you a tale of the Loa in the South, all while twirling his handcrafted charm around his fingers.

His voice filled the room with his story, his words carefully weaving together a history you had barely heard of. You turned and laid next to him, staring at the darkening ceiling. He talked for hours, as though making up for the time that he wasn’t talking, that he wasn’t lost somewhere in his head while you two traveled to Cairo. His hand eventually found yours as he told you of the two that he still planned to meet – Maman Brigette, and the Baron Samedi. His thumb rubbed a circle into your skin.

“Wait, you still wanna go?” you asked as you sat up, staring down at him, tracing his features in the muted street light.

He shoved his free hand behind his head and watched you in return. “Obviously,” he said. He waved your intwined hands. “Look, Grimnir’s option’s gonna fuckin’ sink like a bag a rocks, right? And while I hate the cunt, the Dead Wife’s gonna need ‘em and I will not miss the one sure fire fuckin’ opportunity to get my fuckin’ coin back.”

You extended a finger towards his face. “I tried to give it back to you,” you pointed out.

He opened his mouth to argue, stopped, snapped his jaw shut and scrunched his face at you. “Shuddup, luv,” he grumbled.

You smiled, letting your two hands fall into your lap. Then, you whispered, “You remember it now?”

He frowned a little, squeezing your fingers. “’s fuzzy. Like it’s tryin’ to all line back up right, but backwards.”

You gave him a squeeze back. “Let’s get washed up,” you said after a long moment, “And get some sleep. Okay?”

He nodded, sighing, and sat up. “You go ahead. You look like shite, luv,” he said.

You rolled your eyes and released his hand. “Thanks.”

You took your time showering. You knew that, in reality, it hadn’t been that long since you’d showered. Hardly a day. But, you thought as you pressed the hot cloth over your face, it wasn’t just dirt and sweat you were washing off, and you knew it. Your muscles sagged beneath your skin as the hot water hit you. Maybe you’d actually sleep well.

At some point, as you forced yourself to relax beneath the water, the door open, and Sweeney grabbed your clothes, setting some clean ones on the counter while shouting, “Shit better not stink like the dead when it’s washed!”

“I promise it won’t,” replied the familiar voice of Mr. Jacquel.

The door didn’t close. You waited for him to say something, anything, as you turned off the water. Instead, he threw a towel over the curtain bar. You dried off. He threw you your clothes one article at a time, tossing them high into the air. You tried not to laugh but felt the amused giggles bubble from your lips. Once you were dressed, you shoved the curtain aside and stared at Sweeney’s wide grin.

“Whut?” he asked, leaning against the sink.

“You’re a dork,” you replied. He scrunched his nose and shrugged, fighting the genuine smile that tried to stretch across his lips. You found yourself mirroring it.

(You both thought the moment was out of time – a space for just the two of you, outside of the chaos that swirled around.)

You tossed him the damp towel as you stepped past. “Your turn.” Then, you turned and added, “I’ll make sure to throw your clothes in with the extra dead smelling ones.”

“Don’t be a fuckin’ ass,” he grunted. You pulled the door closed and listened to the shower start, counted to ten, then opened it again to collect the clothes he left on the floor. “I mean it!” he shouted after you.

“No promises!” you replied. You pulled the door shut, holding the wad of clothes to your chest, and smiled. It felt normal. You felt normal. You pushed away and followed the sounds of Mr. Ibis and Mr. Jacquel to a small closet off the parlor, where a stacked washer and dryer had been hidden behind a sliding shutter door. You handed over the clothes when Mr. Jacquel offered.

“Mr. Ibis,” you asked as the washer started. The man arched an elegant brow. “Your books--”

“Are not for casual perusal,” he cut in. However, he smiled, and added, “But a book from your library is yours to read, of course.”

“Though, many have been known to try,” added Mr. Jacquel. He gave your arm a pat as he passed. “Would you like a beer?”

“Sure,” you politely agreed.

Mr. Ibis scooped powered soap into the washer. “You want to know if I have your book,” he stated more than asked. You leaned against the shutters. “Why?”

“I wanna know if it says what’s in store,” you answered. You stuck your fingers between the slats. “If things turn out different than they’re predicted to.”

“That’s something you’re not meant to know,” he said, “Neither am I. Only prophets and fortune tellers know outside of those pesky omnipotent godheads.”

You smiled. “Maybe I’ll just find a Jesus, then,” you teased.

“He would be able to answer you, if you asked the correct way,” Mr. Ibis replied. He turned on the washer and closed the lid. “You could read your Library’s book, however. It was originally yours.”

“Maybe I will,” you sighed. You pushed away from the shuttered door. He closed the small closet. “Mr. Ibis?” you asked again.

“Yes?” he curiously replied, stopping half a turn from your elbow.

You hesitated. “Do you know who he is?” You turned to him. The twilight that fell through the room mingled with the yellowed glass lamps and turned the space into something it wasn’t. If you let your mind wander far enough, you could imagine that you stood amongst the dunes in Egypt before a god who knew anything and everything that would ever be written. “Who he really is?” you added.

“I do,” said the Ibis headed god, “Would you like to know?”

The sun disappeared behind the trees of Cairo, leaving behind the mocking glow of the lamps above your head. Mr. Ibis adjusted his glasses.

“Not yet,” you finally answered, “Not if he doesn’t really want to know. Doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

He smiled. Then, giving your arm a squeeze, he excused himself.

You wandered back to the office.

Sweeney stared at the floor of the shower, thoughts swirling down the drain he couldn’t even focus on. So many memories fought for their rightful place in his head, so many that he didn’t understand how he could’ve forgotten. He knew there were more, past the foggy images of his wife and child from centuries past, memories that sat in the gray-green space that made his mouth turn sour. He scrubbed his face and slid down the wall until he sat in the cramped bathtub, shoving his head against his arms while digging his ragged nails into his neck. He groaned, swearing at the stabbing pain that lanced through his temples, squeezing his eyes shut. He knew he should’ve brought a beer with him, or something.

“You’re awake.”

“Yes. How did you get into my apartment?”

His eyes opened. That memory was so clear – when he really saw you for the first time, heard your voice for the first time, when he knew without understanding that he could never leave your side for the first time, despite the events that immediately followed. Everything after was just as clear and grew sharper by the second the longer he lingered on the memories until he thought they were imprinted into ceramic of the bathtub. He slid his hands down his shoulders and squeezed his arms.

“You’re gonna leave me? After everything, you’re gonna just leave me?”

“No.”

He stood, scrubbing his hair and face and body to ensure he’d rinsed off, then shut off the water. He shoved the curtain open and squinted at the clean clothes that sat on the sink counter, then examined his fingers. They were pruned. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been in the shower. He dressed, shaking his head to fling the excess water free, and shuffled out. The room was empty, as was the hall when he entered, and the kitchen when he took the long way through the home. He snagged a bottle from the fridge and wandered to the front room, then the parlor, and finally the office, where he found you, curled up in a chair with a book in your lap.

You were almost halfway through it, when he bothered to look away from your face. It must’ve been good, too, as you hadn’t noticed him. He leaned against the door frame, twisting his fists around the neck and body of the bottle in his grasp. Then, he just watched you: watched your eyes dart across the pages, watched your mouth quirk with the scenes that played through your mind, watched the glow that filled your face as you enjoyed something.

Fuck, what he wouldn’t give to have you look at him like that. He pushed away from the wall.

“’s that?” Sweeney’s slurred voice surprised you, drawing your attention away from the book in your lap. He leaned back against Mr. Ibis’s desk and twisted open a bottle of the Egyptians’ red alcohol. “Been a long time since I caught you readin’,” he mumbled around the bottle.

You shrugged, closing your book, staring absently at the cover. You couldn’t remember what it was about, not really. A monster princess. A desperate prince. No plot or descriptions stuck in your mind. “Thought that, maybe, I’d be able to distract myself,” you whispered. You set the book on top of the one you’d pulled from the shelves earlier, centering them in the middle of the side table. He was staring at his book when you looked up, eyes trained on the spine, hand absently holding the bottle to his mouth.

“That mine?” he finally asked.

You nodded. “You can’t read it,” you quickly said, pushing it towards the back edge of the table when he stepped forward. He huffed. “Mr. Ibis said so.” You shook your head. “Besides, the first third of your book is empty.”

“What, you readin’ my book now?” he asked.

You tapped your fingers against it and sighed. “It’s actually the one from the Library,” you said.

He squinted. “What Library?” He stepped closer and turned around, sitting on the ground in front of you, leaning back on your legs.

You pulled them up into the chair and adjusted yourself, threading a hand into his clean hair. “I told you about it. The place that I dream of a lot. The place I ran into the Egyptians after the car crash,” you explained.

Sweeney relaxed. “Right,” he mumbled, “You told me ‘bout it at the Rock.”

At least he remembered that.

You swallowed a lump in your throat. “Right,” you murmured. You combed your fingers through his hair, disturbing the style. He tried not to move, even when he drank from the bottle still dangling from his fingers. The quiet was comforting.

Eventually, he leaned his head back to knock against your shins. Your fingers paused their ministrations. Something hung in the air, like the room knew he wanted to speak. You drew your hand back from his hair and watched him lean forward, clumsily turning around. He hooked an arm around one knee while he glanced at you, then let his eyes fall to the book beside you.

“Been thinkin’,” he mumbled.

“That’s dangerous,” you quickly cut in.

He nudged your chair, a smile creeping across his face. “Been thinkin’,” he started again, hesitated, then sighed, “Maybe I wanna know the rest of it.”

It took you a minute to piece together what he was saying. “The rest of your story?” you asked, sitting up, “The rest of your memory?” He nodded. “What made you wanna do that?”

“’memberin’ the first parts,” he rasped. He rolled forward, tucking his legs under his massive frame with ease as he grabbed your knees with both hands, pulling you to the edge of the chair. He knocked his forehead against yours. You closed your eyes, tracing your fingers over the backs of his arms. “’s all still fuzzy, like some bullshit dream or yer arm when you sleep wrong, but ‘s comin’ back,” he whispered into your space.

“And?” you breathed.

He settled between your knees, his hands following your legs back to the swell of your ass, fingers dipping beneath the hem of your shirt to graze along your back. It was different than the other times he’d touched you – slight, hesitant, like you’d grow fuzzy and vanish the way his memories once had. It wasn’t like when he’d cornered you after a shower, or the hotel when you’d sparred, or when you found him after his coin was filched, or the alley, or any other time you’d wanted to grab him by the collar and pull him in, but it wasn’t unlike them, either. His nose brushed your face, his mouth a breath away from yours, and his cheek slid against yours as he set his head on your shoulder.

You squeezed him close, praying to someone that he couldn’t feel how hard your heart pounded in your chest.

(He did, and he, in turn, hoped that you couldn’t feel how his beat in time with it.)

“Dunno how you’d do it,” he finally mumbled into your shoulder, “But you got that kinda magic to find that kinda thing.”

“That almost sounds like a favor,” you whispered.

He snorted, his arms tightening until something gave in your back, then he released you. He sat back on his heels, eyes darting across your face. “Maybe,” he replied, “’s for information, anyway.” His fingers trailed into your hands. They dangled between you both.

You shrugged. Your eyes dropped to your entwined hands, then back to his face. “What do I get out of it?”

“Oh, now, ya need somethin’ for a favor, huh?” he teased.

“That’s how it works,” you said, “Nothing’s free, right?”

“Not in this line a work.”

You snorted. Glancing up, you found him watching you again. He squeezed your fingers. “Mr. Ibis knows,” you whispered, “I asked him. We could find out now.”

You would’ve missed his widening eyes if you didn’t know him so well. He twisted his hand in yours to hold you differently, then finally looked down at them. “Maybe after Nola,” he grumbled. He brought both your hands up and kissed your knuckles. “Gotta think of how to repay ya.”

You could think of something, if he really wanted to know.

Sweeney stood and tugged you from the chair. You let him. “When are we leaving?” you asked.

He traced the line of your jaw, then released your hands with a groan. “’m ready to get all this fuckin’ over with when you are, luv,” he grumbled.

You picked up the book you’d been reading. “Then let’s go.”

Bast lifted her head as you and Sweeney entered the hall, tracking your movements back into the bedroom you both shared. She watched you pace back and forth as you repacked your backpack to make room for the money Mr. Wednesday had given you and watched again as you both exited the room as quietly as possible and slipped down the hall to the door. She followed you both to the patio, where she released a loud and obnoxious cry to gain your attention.

(“You were going to leave without saying goodbye?!”)

Sweeney snorted as you scooped the minute goddess into your arms. “Yer easy to miss.”

She hissed.

(“I will destroy you, leprechaun.”)

Bast lowered her head onto your shoulder as you started to walk. She didn’t pay attention to your conversation, choosing only to enjoy the rumble of your chest as you spoke, until she was lulled into a comfortable doze. She was particularly unhappy when Sweeney pulled her from your warm embrace and set her on the ground.

“Gotta go,” he grunted.

You knelt and pressed a kiss to her head. She preened, sitting up to headbutt your chin, and watched you board the bus with wide, loving eyes.

What a liar, she thought as you waved at her, that the leprechaun turned out to be.

You sat back as the bus rolled out of the station, setting your head on Sweeney’s shoulder with a sigh. He turned his hand over for you, and you held it loosely between both of yours as you drifted off to sleep.

Sweeney woke you up at the bus station in Jackson, Mississippi, stretching his arms over his head with a groan and a yawn. You stretched as best as you could and shuffled off the bus after him, mumbling about needing something to eat and drink so you could take your meds before the next bus. He didn’t say anything in return, only tugged you along with him through the station. You stopped at the bus schedule and map next to the closed service desk, squinting as you struggled to wake up. Sweeney kept walking, heading for the bathrooms across the station, then returning a few minutes later.

You reached out to grab the back of his jacket as he walked behind you. “Hey, serious question,” you said when he stopped, “Everything else is real – are things like werewolves real?”

“You jokin’?” he mumbled, standing behind you, “Why’re you askin’? After all this time?”

You tapped the map, finger covering Jackson multiple times. “This book I read a long time ago – a series really – had werewolves in Jackson. And vampires in Shreveport. I never gave it any thought, obviously, but now—”

He snorted. “I only know a one werewolf, and that’s ‘cause the idiot was cursed by a fuckin’ god.”

“Oh, hey, I know that one,” you said. Sweeney draped an arm around your shoulders as he stared at the map. “I did a paper on him in school. Really weird story.” You slid your fingers between his. “You think that means there’s other werewolves out there?”

“No idea,” he mumbled, “Don’t care too much.” You looked up at him, leaning your head back against his shoulder. “Gotta few hours before our next bus,” he sighed, rubbing his neck.

“You need coffee?” you murmured.

He snorted, “Or somethin’.” He looked around. “Think there’s a place nearby. Some fuckin’ coffee shop or some shit.”

“Aren’t you a ray of sunshine?” you asked. You followed him to the door, trying to give him a smile through another yawn.

“Dunno how yer so awake,” he grumbled.

You shrugged. “Dunno,” you repeated back at him, “I’ve never been one for a lot of sleep at one time. I think it’s all the depression naps – they really fuck up my sleep schedule. I’m used to it.”

Sweeney eyed you as he held the door open. “That ain’t healthy, luv,” he commented.

You snorted and waited for him to catch up to you, holding your hand out for him to take. He did, and carefully draped his arm around your shoulders, letting your arm dangle across your chest. “What’re you now, a health professional?” you grumbled.

“Know enough to know that ya gotta sleep well ta be well,” he replied, “Been around long enough to figure that one out.”

You hummed and leaned into his side as you walked. As he led the way, you asked if he’d been to Jackson before, which he told you he had. He didn’t give you details. You wondered absently if it had been a job for Mr. Wednesday, then asked it aloud. He only grunted. You wondered what the job was for, but knew he wouldn’t tell you. You knew your leprechaun well enough to know that he hated talking about his work for Wednesday.

Maybe, if you found out who he really was, you’d be able to free him from the deal he’d struck with the one-eyed bastard.

Sweeney slowed as he looked down a road, pausing for a passing car before dragging you over to the coffee shop he’d had in mind. You looked up at the sign as you approached. Full Body Brew was not what you were thinking. The name immediately called an image of a surly bar, or a strip club, or both. It definitely didn’t bring to mind a small café on the corner, with a full moon for a sign and blinking ‘open’ in the window. A bell rung as he pushed open the door for you.

“Holy fucking shit,” someone loudly swore from the front counter. Sweeney let out a tiny, annoyed groan. You looked back at him, arching an eyebrow as you shuffled into the café. He smoothed both hands over his head and down his face, as though he was trying to hide something. “Look what the cat dragged in,” came the same voice. You turned to it, as did a few other patrons sitting around the cozy, autumnal themed coffee shop.

The man that had spoken was a tall man with broad shoulders, though not at tall nor as broad as Sweeney. He had a grizzled look about him that didn’t fit with the youthful fullness of his cheeks that sat on either side of his Romanesque nose. He slapped a rag down on the sink in the back counter and patted the shoulder of a woman before he rounded the bar.

“Lou,” grunted Sweeney when he finally dropped his hands.

Lou slugged Sweeney’s arm. “Been a while,” he mused as your leprechaun rubbed the assaulted spot, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you owe me.”

“Ain’t here to square up, just here for coffee,” Sweeney grumbled in reply.

Lou’s eyes swiveled to you. They were impressive – daunting, even – and the longer you stared the more you realized just how round the irises were, how golden the brown of his eyes was, how they took up almost too much of his sclera than a normal iris would.

(“He was a wolf, but kept some vestige of his former shape. There were the same grey hairs, the same violent face, the same glittering eyes, the same savage image.”)

You almost took a step back.

“Now who’s this here?” Lou asked, “Never seen you with a travelin’ partner before.” If you listened close enough, you could almost catch an accent. It was different than you’d ever heard before, like his mouth was struggling to form the sounds of letters but not the English words themselves.

Sweeney didn’t give him your name. Instead, he pushed past the once defiant king and headed to the bar of the coffee shop.

Lou crossed his arms and leaned towards you. “He been like this a lot?”

You gave him a slight shrug. “Only when he doesn’t sleep well,” you answered.

“We ain’t payin’ for this!” Sweeney all but shouted at the man.

With a roll of his eyes, Lou headed back towards the bar. You took a seat on a long booth bench, setting your bag on top of the four top table, and waited. Sweeney eventually returned to you, holding a cup in each hand and a donut in his mouth, which he offered to you after biting a large chunk out of it. You pull bites from it with a disgusted grimace and downed your drink faster than you should have. He, in turn, took his time with his drink, lounging back in his creaking seat across from you, sprawling out in your space and you eventually into his.

You rolled a piece of fluffy cooked dough between your fingers, watching the tiny pockets of air squish into one space. “What made you decide?” you whispered. Sweeney hummed, lowering his cup from his mouth as he watched you. “You said it was remembering all the other parts that made you decide, but what,” you popped the ball into your mouth, chewed, gave yourself time to think of how you would phrase the question, swallowed, “What was it out of them that made you decide that you wanted to know everything?”

Sweeney should’ve known that you’d ask such a question. You were good with them, the prodding types, the ones that really dug in and forced out answers that people were never expecting to give. You’d done it ever since you’d met him, after all. Why would it have changed? He swallowed the mouthful of dreadfully delicious coffee and looked away from you, watching another couple across the small dining area as they shared a pastry between them, too. Their fingers brushed one another’s as they ate and talked and laughed.

You nudged his leg with your knee and whispered in a voice only ever meant for him, “Sweeney?”

He returned to you, as he always did.

He set his coffee down and leaned into the table, pulling your somewhat sticky hands into his. You, in turn, leaned towards him. He didn’t look at you. He wasn’t even sure if he could speak. Words tumbled up from his gut like claws and wedged into his throat and he almost thought he’d be sick. You gave his hands a squeeze, a small one that enveloped his fingers.

He pried one hand free and waved it as he spoke. It helped the claws fall back down. “When ya first told me everythin’, it was all jumbled up, like someone did one a those stupid puzzles that don’t make sense,” he murmured. He dropped his hand back to the table, next to your wrist, and tapped a nervous beat on the wood surface. “But then things got clearer. Everythin’ got clearer, not just the shite I was rememberin’, but all the shite that’s happened, all the things we—” The words swelled in his throat and clamped his mouth shut. He cleared it, leaned back, and picked up the coffee again. After another few deep gulps, he sighed and dropped the empty cup next to yours.

“Do you only wanna remember because it makes everything else easier?” you gently asked.

He covered your hands with his free one, then finally met your gaze.

Words tumbled out of this throat and onto his tongue with little grace and the weight of dull white star. “Maybe it means I can be better for ya,” he rasped, “Rememberin’ it all. So I don’t fuck it up again.”

The ambiance of the coffee bar was deafening. For you? He wanted to remember for you? What in the world did that mean? You knew what it meant, actually, but did it really mean what you thought it would or did it mean something else to him? He wanted to be better for you? How? What? Thoughts swirled in your head a mile a minute and made you wonder why you had yet to set a fucking alarm for your meds to remind you to take them every day so you wouldn’t be questioning if you had or hadn’t.

His eyes dropped away from yours and the jumble of thoughts almost straightened out. Words that had been said to you over and over again filled the spaces instead, and you squeezed his hand a second time.

“Sweeney,” you sighed. He almost pulled away. You held firm. “You shouldn’t want to remember for me,” you continued, “You should want to remember for yourself.”

“Now why would I wanna do somethin’ like that?” he asked, “Haven’t wanted to do fuck all for myself for centuries. Can’t see a reason to start now.” You opened your mouth to protest. “But, for you? I can do that easy enough. Been doin’ anythin’ for you from day one.”

The longer you thought about it, the more you saw his reasoning was far too similar to the times you told yourself that no one else would feed Bast but you, so you couldn’t really go anywhere.

You closed your mouth and let the heat flood your face. You traced the length of this fingers. “I think I can accept that,” you whispered.

He smiled, slow and beautiful and just for you, and the world was quiet for a moment.

A whistle cut through it, jolting your attention away from your leprechaun, and you looked up at the man that stood next to your table. Lou arched an eyebrow. “How about that debt, hm?” he asked.

Sweeney groaned and rolled his eyes, rising from the table. “Be right back, luv,” he murmured as he pressed a kiss against the crown of your head, “Then we’ll head off.”

You watched him leave, watched him head towards the back room with Lou, the both of them quiet beneath the din of the coffee shop. You thought about everything that had happened over the last few days, wondering if you could pinpoint when it was that he decided that he wanted to know everything, and that he wanted to know it for you. You wondered if you should tell him that it wasn’t the best thing he should do, that he shouldn’t hinge his ability to finally learn who he was on how he could be better for someone else, but knew that it wasn’t much different than what you did every day before you met him. You wondered if he would continue to heal after he’d learned everything, if he would finally accept all of the other things that he refused to see in himself and work to be better for you in those aspects, too.

Of course, it was only fair if you did the same, right? You fumbled around in your bag for your phone and pulled it out, scrolling around for the clock app to set an everyday timer for your meds. Finally, you thought, you’d be able to make sure you took them every day, and you’d know for sure that you did. It was a small step, but it was a step in the right direction, just like the kind that Sweeney was taking in accepting that he wanted to know who he was.

“C’mon,” grunted Sweeney as he wandered back. You blinked, looking up at him when he grabbed your back. You hadn’t realized how long you had been thinking, but his conversation with Lou was over, and it was time to go. You stood and shoved your phone back in your bag, thanking him for waiting for you to do so before he slung the thing onto his back. “We gotta go.”

“That was quick,” you pointed out as you followed him from the shop. You glanced back to see Lou wiping down the counter again, just like he had been when you’d walked in. It was almost as though you were never there. The door swung shut on the scene.

“Clearin’ the air,” Sweeney said, “Makin’ sure he knew I didn’t owe him shit.”

“Is that it?” you asked suspiciously.

He glanced back at the shop and pulled his hand from his pocket, twirling a set of keys around his finger. “And we’re borrowin’ his car,” he added with a smirk.

You took the keys. “Does he know we’re borrowing it?” you asked. You pressed the lock button and spun towards the chirping car.

“Not at all,” he said, “Part of borrowin’, ain’t it?”

“Certainly part of your borrowing,” you replied. You opened the door and dropped into the front seat, swinging your bag around into the back with a sigh and a crack of your back. Sweeney glanced over as he climbed in. You smiled. “So?” you asked, “Give me directions. I have no idea where we’re going.”

It didn’t take you long to get to your next destination – Baton Rouge, a few hours at most, given the stop for gas and the train the two of you got stuck behind. Sweeney suggested leaving the car at the train station so Lou would have an easier time of finding it, which surprised you until he locked the car and threw the keys into the tall grass by the building. He took your hand and pulled you down the sidewalk.

“What is with you and Lou anyway?” you asked as you walked. You eyed the sky. Thunder cracked somewhere, but the dark clouds above you hadn’t broken open just yet.

“Years of bullshit is all,” he answered with a shrug.

You narrowed your eyes. “That’s it?” you asked, “Is this just a weird prank war?” Sweeney shrugged but said nothing else. “Alright, keep your secrets,” you mumbled. He tugged you into his side. “Why’d we come to Baton Rogue anyway? New Orleans is still a good drive away.”

He tilted his head as he puffed on a cigarette. “Wanted to buy time,” he mumbled around it. You felt him shiver, his arm trembling around your shoulders with the quick shudder. “The Loa freak me out more than anythin’ else we run into,” he added.

“You sure it isn’t because you don’t wanna see any more family?” you teased.

“Shuddup,” he huffed. The thunder cracked above you again, and a few drops of water fell onto your head. You swore, looking around. Sweeney tugged you ahead. “’s different than the fucking Weird Sisters, okay?” He pulled you into an alley just as the clouds broke above.

The first dribbles of rain quickly turned into a downpour. It was warm, warmer that it would have been if you were anywhere else. Sweeney ducked closer to you and to the overhang of the roof above you with a loud, caustic swear. You laughed. He didn’t.

“I hate fuckin’ Louisiana,” Sweeney muttered. He shoved his soaked locks from his face.

You smiled. “I love it.” You looked around, following the alley. “I’ve only ever been to Shreveport, but it’s so beautiful here.”

He snorted. “You’ll love New Orleans, then.” His hand pressed into the small of your back, balled up your shirt, and pulled you back towards him. A car lumbered down the alley cross-section.

You looked up. Sweeney stared at you, let his eyes follow the curve of your nose down your face to your lips. His fingers brushed your jaw. You licked your bottom lip, mirroring him while trying to control your breathing. The rain was hot. His skin was hotter.

Fuck it, he thought.

He grasped your chin when his fingers reached it and tilted your face up as he leaned down and closed the gap between you, swallowing your anxious gasp. His mouth felt just like you thought it would – a little chapped, a little rough, but warm and desperate. His hand fell away from your chin to your throat, slipped around to the back of your head as he held you in place. You twisted your fingers into his jacket and pressed closer, as close as you could, until you felt his heart pounding in your chest. He coaxed your mouth open with his own and let his tongue wander between your lips. God, you wondered what other magic that tongue could do.

He pulled away enough to tilt his head the other way, to push your bag off your shoulder and really pin you against the wall. You took the chance to say his name, a soft moan, a whispered prayer that had him growling against your mouth.

It was delicious.

His hands dropped to your ass, gave it a squeeze, and picked you up. You squeezed your thighs against his hips and felt him settle against you, his cock growing hard as you rocked into him. You gripped his hair with both hands, smoothed your thumbs over his scalp, pulled him closer. You thought he would devour you whole with how he kissed you, stealing your breath until your head spun. He tasted like cloves and tobacco and whiskey and the deep veins of gold that were hidden in the tiniest bit of luck.

Thunder clapped overhead. You both jumped, foreheads knocking into each other. You snorted, and grinned, and took the opportunity to suck in air while Sweeney was hovering and breathing just as hard.

“’s not something for an alleyway,” you slurred, more than a little drunk on him.

“The fuck it’s not,” he rasped.

“I would rather it not be in an alleyway,” you corrected while trying not to laugh. His nose brushed past yours, his mouth hovering over your lips. “Not the kinda moment I want strangers interrupting,” you whispered.

He grunted out an answer as his mouth slanted against yours again. You didn’t stop him. You kept trying to talk – mumbling about how you couldn’t stay in the alley forever, or how you had to get to New Orleans if he wanted his coin and his memories back.

“They ain’t goin’ anywhere,” he finally huffed, leaning forehead against yours.

“Neither ‘m I,” you breathed. You trailed your fingers through his hair and down his neck. You wanted to stay there with him, to savor the moment but the brick of the building bit into your back, and the petrichor was making you sniffly, and you were uncomfortable but not emotionally, never emotionally with him.

He leaned into you more as though he was trying to melt into you. “Mean it?” he whispered.

“That I’m not going anywhere?” you asked. He nodded. “I already said you’re stuck with me, Sweeney.”

For once, his brain was ahead of his mouth, running a mile a minute to edit the words that spilled from his lips, “Can’t be stuck with someone ya want.” Except he knew it wasn’t ‘want’ that he wanted to say. It was something else entirely.

A bright flash of lightning and loud clap of thunder had you jumping all over again. You patted his arms and insisted he put you down. When he did, you asked if he knew of a place to get out of the rain. He didn’t, not off the top of his head, but it wasn’t something that his unruly charm couldn’t figure out.

He took your hand and dragged you out of the alley and into the first little store he saw. It was a local shop, one that was obviously for tourists and not meant for real practitioners unless you knew what to ask for. Besides the shopkeeper, there was only a family inside – a mother and father, and two girls who appeared to be in their late teens. They looked up when you both ducked inside, you tucked against Sweeney’s side, and their eyes lingered on your leprechaun like they had never seen a man before. The shopkeeper, though, gave him an ugly glare, and kept an eye on him as he finished answering a question from the mother.

“What is with you and grudges?” you whispered.

Sweeney held you close as he moved to another side of the shop, his mouth dipping low against your ear as he replied, “’m old, luv. It happens.”

“Not nearly as much it happens with you,” you countered, looking up at him. His other arm looped around your back, pulling you flush against him as you both lingered. “It’s kinda funny.”

“You say that now but just wait until we’re stuck in the rain without a bed or a bucket to piss in,” he replied, his eyebrow quirking up.

You inhaled slowly and sighed, “That’s disgusting.”

“I’m sorry,” came a voice you didn’t know. You looked up. One of the teen girls was peeking around the corner of the aisle, her sister close to her back. Her brown eyes were wide and a flush highlighted her nose when she noticed she was seen. “Sorry,” she repeated, stepping out from her hiding spot, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I overheard—”

“We,” corrected her sister, who stepped out behind her, “We overheard that you guys don’t have a place to stay.” She shrugged and crossed her arms. “That right?”

Sweeney’s eyes narrowed for a moment. You saw him consider how he could work the situation in his favor and pinched the first patch of skin you could reach. He winced, looking down at you with a huff.

“They’re teenagers,” you whispered.

“Teenagers have parents,” he hissed, then paused, “Sometimes.”

You rolled your eyes and turned to them with a smile. “You know, it’s not safe to talk to strangers,” you said.

“We’re not stupid,” the first one snapped, crossing her arms.

The second twin swatted her arm with a sigh. “It’s raining, and the place our parents are renting is pretty big, and they’re the “charity is a virtue and pays back tenfold” kinda people, so we’re sure you could stay for a bit,” she said.

Sweeney narrowed his eyes, squeezing you closer to him. “So, why—”

The first of the twins held up her hand, cutting him off from what he was about to say. She looked back at her sister. They both stepped closer to you. “We’re really hoping this makes sense, okay?” she said, then took a deep breath, “Isn’t that what wrath does?”

You stood straighter, a smile slowly spreading across your face. “Holy shit,” you whispered. You patted Sweeney’s arm and stepped out of his grasp, taking a hand from each of the twins. “You worship the Morrigan,” you breathed.

“So, it makes sense?” asked the second twin.

You nodded. “Yeah! Yeah, it—” You nodded, smiled, and introduced yourself, then Sweeney.

The twins shared a small smile. “I’m Alianna,” said the first twin.

“I’m Orianna,” added the second. They exchanged a look. “We have a third sister, but she’s back at the house. Didn’t wanna come out because she wasn’t feeling well. That’s Lisanna,” said Orianna.

Sweeney groaned, and whispered, “Fuckin’ triplets.”

“So, wait,” Alianna stuttered, “We really did hear from the Morrigan?”

Your smile grew. “I have a phone number to give, of a friend. He went through the same thing not too long ago,” you said.

Orianna patted her sister’s arm. “Lemme go ask mom and dad, okay? I’ll be right back!” She took off, almost tripping around a display as she went. Alianna sighed and followed her, waving a hand at you as she went.

Sweeney dropped his head towards yours. “This smart?” he mumbled.

“You were literally just thinking about taking advantage of them,” you replied.

He stepped around you, putting the display between him and the shopkeeper, and danced his fingers over the shelf. “That was before I knew they were the fuckin’ Morrigan’s little lackeys,” he grumbled. You watched him tug a small purple stone keychain off the shelf and palm it. He turned to you. You crossed your arms, arching an eyebrow. He held out his empty hands. “What?”

Someone cleared their throat behind him. He turned, and you leaned around him. Alianna bounced next to the older couple you had seen walking in. Their dad crossed his arms and stood as straight as he could, trying to look intimidating in the small space of the shop. Their mom smiled and placed a hand on his bicep. A cross sat at her throat, glittering in the sun.

“Ali and Ori said that you needed a place to stay,” murmured their mom, “Our Airbnb™ is pretty large, and we do have an extra room.”

“You’re not gonna rob us, are you?” asked their dad, eyeing Sweeney up and down.

“Sweetheart,” their mom sighed.

“It’s a good question!”

“They need help. We can help them.” Their mom smiled again, and gave her husband a squeeze. Their dad sighed, stepping away, then turned back to whisper something. His wife’s smile grew. “C’mon. We have to walk, because we didn’t drive down here, but it’s a nice walk.”

You nodded, patting Sweeney’s arm in a similar fashion of the wife, and tugged him towards the door.

“Just what the hell are you doing?” hissed the shopkeeper as you and Sweeney passed.

You slowed, turning to watch Sweeney twist around on his heel and wave at the shopkeeper. “Findin’ someone else to bother since ya look like I killed yer fuckin’ dog,” he replied.

“You cheated!”

“Can’t cheat since I can’t lie, ya know,” he shot back. He turned back to you, holding the door above your head. “Maybe I’ll come back for another round of poker later, hm?”

“Fuck you and fuck off, Sweeney,” cursed the woman.

Arianna lingered at the door as you stepped outside, leaning in to whisper, “What was that all about?”

“He’s not great at making friends,” you replied. You shrugged and fell in step next to her, feeling Sweeney walking behind you. “He actually broke into my apartment the first time we met,” you mused.

She stared at you, eyes wide, and quietly asked, “And now you’re dating him?”

“Uh,” you tilted your head, then looked back at Sweeney, “Date isn’t really the right term for it.”

“Ain’t a term for what we have, luv,” he shot back with a wink.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

Orianna pushed her way between you and Sweeney, looping her arm through yours. “Okay, so, you’ve been all over the place, right?” she asked, “Where?”

Alianna took your other arm. “Please, tell us everything.” She looked at her sister. “And then tell us again when we get to Lisanna, because we’ve never been outside of Louisiana before.”

“New Orleans is literally the most exciting place we’ve been,” said Orianna.

You snorted. The walk back to their Airbnb™ was filled with the details of your adventure, from the moment you met Sweeney, to when you met Wednesday, and to all of the other gods that you’ve met. You spun tales of near-death experiences and dead wives and cats that weren’t really cats, of faceless men and shapeshifting women and ravens that coped attitudes. Cross country cab rides. Airplanes with medical goddesses. Normal women that became witches. Transporting to a rooftop under the light of the moon. The more you spoke, the lighter you felt, as though finally putting everything you had done and accomplished into one wild story drove home the importance of your work and your connections. Of your existence.

“Hey!” called their dad, drawing you out of your cloud of memories. You looked up to see you had arrived, their sprawling temporary home looming high over you. “Sweeney, right? Give a guy a hand and get the door? These shopping bags are kinda heavy.”

Sweeney touched your back as he ducked around you, jogging ahead to the door. As he opened it a third girl rushed out, jumping down the front steps, and made a beeline for you and her sisters. She tugged on their arms and pulled you aside, around the side of the house. “Hey, so, yes, they texted me at the store, and you have to tell us everything!”

“Again?” you teased.

“A—” she glared at the girls on either side of you. “Yes. Again.”

The four of you sat outside, you telling your story again, them asking questions and sharing what little they had learned from the Morrigan. The air grew cold the longer you sat, and the sun slowly lowered to the horizon.

Sweeney wandered outside, his hands cupped around his mouth as he lit a cigarette. Your voice was a gently thrum in the air, relaxing his shoulders in a way that the smell of nature and the sound of the river couldn’t. He couldn’t see you well in the fading light, but he could find you even if he was blind. It was a pull you had, and it made his eyes trail down the bare trees along the river bank until they landed on you. He paused, smoke curling up his face as he slowly exhaled, the breath stolen from his lungs as you smiled. He’d never get tired of watching you. He kept his distance as you continued to talk to the sisters. He watched your mouth move, watched it fall open as you laughed at some comment the three sisters around you had shared. His heart raced and his palms grew damp at his sides.

He stayed out until the couple called everyone in for dinner. Their father’s voice startled him, made him jump and swear and stare at the all too human man who glanced over at him with a wicked grin. Sweeney grunted, and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jean jacket. He took two long, angry puffs on his cigarette as he watched you stand and trail after the sisters. When it was spent, he flicked it out into the grass.

You wrinkled your nose at the action, stopping almost toe to toe with him. “Hey,” you whispered. Sweeney hummed and hunched his shoulders. “What’re we gonna do after this?” you asked.

He frowned. “After what?” he asked, then sniffed, “The Loa?”

“Yeah.”

He scratched his chin, his shoulders falling away from his ears as he finally looked away from your face for the first time. “Find the Dead Wife. Get my fuckin’ coin back…” He trailed off. His eyes found yours again. “Disappear,” he rasped, voice catching in his throat.

Your heart lurched. Thousands and thousands of thoughts raced through your head too fast for you to catch but just slow enough that they made your stomach drop further and further. You hesitantly asked, “What about Wednesday?”

His fingers stilled in his beard. They lifted away, almost too slowly, and gently – nervously – traced your jaw instead. He stepped closer, tilting your chin up as he cupped your face in both of his still damp palms. “Fuck ‘im,” he murmured, “Won’t find us.”

The thoughts stilled. Your stomach clenched, the nerves fluttering around inside almost making you sick as the dread turned to excitement far too quickly. “You promise?” Your voice – your fear and worry – were swallowed by him as he kissed you for the second time. You gave his wrists a gently squeeze and prayed the two of you could vanish when the time came. The prayer sank deep into Sweeney’s chest, igniting smoldering ash into a small flame.

A throat clearing pulled the two of you apart. The woman smiled when your eyes fell on her, and she waved through the open door. “Supper’s ready,” she said, “If y’all are hungry.” She hurried back inside.

You turned your attention back to Sweeney, who tilted his head. His palms squished into the fat of your cheeks. You made an unhappy sound, and he grinned. “’m starvin’,” he mumbled.

You wiggled your fingers into his palms, freeing your face from his torment, and tugged him inside. He kicked the door shut behind him.

~*~Thanks for Reading~*~ ~*~Tag List~*~

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[nyt1ba]

     Her luminescence dims by unseen shadows,   always lurking at the corner of her eye,   ghosts of an unknown realm only she can see with such clarity,   a tear between mind and body that had often tricked her into complex illusions that seem almost within reach.   He had seen that absent look in her eyes a few times before but could never determine the source,   it wasn't the melancholy of intruding thoughts but a longing as well as terror for figures that materialize only her mind's eye.   It was a secret for her to choose whether to spill or not,   he wouldn't pressure or demand an explanation from her.   Yet,   he can't deny the worry that creeps upon him every time he pays attention to such episodes.   He isn't one for consolation,   intense   &.   depressed as he is,   he thinks he would only make matters worse.   This time however,   his flaws are ignored against his better judgment to simply sit beside her,   hesitant yet gentle as he reaches to break through delusion as his hand overtakes hers.   She nearly flinches in his grasp but calms a tad when an assuring squeeze offers a faint sense of recognition,   a quiet admission from him that he was here and not another creation of a broken mind.

       ❛❛   You know   ...   It was because of my dad that I developed an interest in engineering.   ❜❜        he says after a silence,   unsure if she's listening but knowing no other way than to follow her example when he needed a distraction from the Hive Mind.   He thinks a moment,   trying to recall a past almost forgotten,   it feels so strange for him to talk about himself,   almost uncomfortable.        ❛❛   He had a classic car   ...   I forget what it was                   the first car he ever bought and the only one he ever needed,   it was in great shape despite the years,   as he was always making improvements and replacing old parts.   He used to let me help,   and by help it meant carrying his tools and watch him work.   I wasn't allowed to touch It,   or drive it.   Well,   I got curious one day,   I wanted to look at the engine   ...   then inside It,   under It,   and the next thing I know I had it broken it down to pieces                    it was   ...   the first time I ever got grounded.   ❜❜        he smiles a tad,   remembering his father fury   &.   amazement,   he was a well-behaved kid unless it had to do with his curiosity,   he would make an easy mess out of anything if he wanted to.        ❛❛   I wish he could see the Tetrapod,   he would've liked it.   ❜❜        The thought is uttered to himself,   his thumb brushing against the back of the metal plating of her hand as he did.   He had never once forgotten how much he missed him   ...   he doesn't speak much of his parents for a reason.

     [ REST ] for one muse to rest their head against the other’s shoulder while they talk.

     Thoughts don't stray for long as an unexpected weight presses upon his shoulder,   seemingly more relaxed as she finally allowed herself some rest by leaning onto him.   While he had grown to favor her hand never being absent from his own,   closeness in itself was a concept he had to relearn all over again.   Being closed off   &.   guarded as he is,   he would never expect the gesture to be so   ...   easy,   certainly not from her either.   It wasn't unpleasant however,   it doesn't sear at skin or fill him with the usual discomfort induced by the simplest of touches,   unaware how she was slowly becoming an extension of himself in a way that her presence felt all too natural.        ❛❛   He would've liked you too   ...   ❜❜        he adds in a softer voice,   cheek pressing against the top of her head as he eased in himself.   If he could,   he would take away all her pain,   but this would do,   for now.        ❛❛   Now,   where was I ?   Ah,   right                ❜❜

@stilettaux // CRYING ABOUT THEM AS ALWAYS -

[dailycharacteroption]

Folklorist (Pathfinder Second Edition Archetype)

(art by Victor Rossi on Artstation)

 There is something integral to the human experience in storytelling. The art of creating stories to entertain, teach, and bond over is something we’ve been doing ever since we developed sapience, and we’ll continue telling stories until we finally come to an end.

That love of storytelling is why we play RPGs, and games in general. After all, a ttRPG is by nature a collaborative storytelling experience.

It only makes sense then that there would be an archetype tied to that sacred role. And while this archetype shares bones with the bard class conceptually, both can exist on their own and together as well.

While such storytellers could easily show up anywhere, this archetype is heavily associated with the Mwangi Expanse, where the art of oral storytelling is a respected profession. Indeed, such is their gift for storytelling that they can use tales to help guide the actions of others, firmly believing that just as the real world shapes stories, so too do stories shape reality.

 As part of the dedication for this archetype, these tale-weavers can spin a tale that is either about an ally or is relevant to their predicament, surrounding them with minor inspiring illusions that bolster their ability to fight a single enemy.

Before libraries or schools, stories were also the primary way to educate others, though oral tradition runs the risk of misinformation as tales or forgotten or unique circumstances that inspired a tale render it’s lesson inapplicable. As such, these storytellers learn a lot about various stories which can help them recall knowledge on almost any topic, but runs the risk of dubious information.

Just as a storyteller conveys a tale, skilled ones can convey magic, letting allied spellcasters channel their magic through them, which can be useful when cover or range is involved.

Many storytellers agree that three is an auspicious number, and the hero of a story often achieves their goal on the third attempt. As such, when inspiring an ally, that ally becomes more resistant and avoidant of their foe’s attacks on the second, and especially on the third attempt to resist the same effect.

More powerful storytellers can spin stories about whole groups of heroes, blessing many allies at once with a story rather than just one.

Interested in an archetype that adds a bit of bard flavor and knowledge to your character? This might be what you’re looking for. Naturally this works best with a character that supports allies either as their main gimmick or as a side thing to do with an action each turn. Heck, you could even double down and apply the archetype to the bard class for even more poetic and oratory support. However, any character with decent storytelling chops (especially high charisma, though that’s more for flavor than mechanical benefits) could benefit from the archetype. All in all, this is a good archetype with some tasty flavor.

 The cool thing about oral traditions and folk tales is that stuff is constantly evolving, being remixed, and changing along with the people that tell those stories. As such, going into this archetype is carte blanch to absolutely go ham on making up all kinds of stories not just for use with the mechanics, but just general roleplaying opportunities as your storyteller cites or retells a story as part of character interaction.

  Though not well-known outside of his own kind, the kitsune hermit Kogafune is well-known as a lorekeeper and teacher, one with secret knowledge forgotten by most. Reaching him for information is difficult, forcing travel through trackless mountain wilderness. But reaching the old sorcerer can only benefit those with the dedication to find him.

 As symbols of hope and goodwill, coatls, particularly the quetz coatls, often become secret patrons of storytellers to help them create stories of hope and bravery among mortals, the better to keep such feelings alight in the heart of mortals.

 The thing about stories is their message can change a lot depending on who is telling the story. To the Gula human tribes, the story of Ekesor is about a man who heroically tricked an orc chieftain into ceding territory and giving away his daughter in marriage. Meanwhile, orcs tell of how the human showed cowardice in underhanded tricks and betraying hospitality.