#if i get as invested in any of these as i did in mists of celeste imma need someone to talk abt it w

[zepskies]

Lost on You - Part 5

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: We’re going deeper and darker on this one, with an ending you might not expect...

Word Count: 5.5K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. TW: attempted sexual assault (not successful), violence, character death, drug use, and a twist.

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Part 5: Eminence Front

Your last conversation with your mother was on a Sunday morning, in hospice.

You sat at her bedside and held her hand. Chris and your father were downstairs in the hospital food court, ordering sandwiches. You hadn’t had much of an appetite for three days.

“I had your father call the whole family so they could watch the music video with you and Soldier Boy,” your mom said. She wore a proud, if weak smile. “He even recorded a few tapes of it. He sent one to your aunt, another to your cousins, and another to our friends Leah and Stan.”

“Pretty sure that’s illegal piracy, Mom,” you said with a laugh.

“I don’t care. You’re my daughter, and you’ve worked incredibly hard to get here,” she said. Her eyes misted over a bit in memory. “We’ve all worked hard.”

You stilled at that. You didn’t know what memories she had filtering through her head, but you were sure your perspective behind the lens was…different.

In your mind’s eye, you saw yourself at twelve years old. Chris had been pestering you all day, as big brothers were wont to do sometimes. With a slap on his arm, you’d screamed at him to leave you alone.

He didn’t speak to you for a whole month. He didn’t go to your piano recital or your choir concert, where you had the best solo. He didn’t talk to you until you touched him again, grabbing his arm, pleading with him.

"Please, whatever I did, I'm sorry. Just talk to me!"

He startled as if he’d woken up from a dream.

Your parents had shared a look, and they’d known then that their gamble had worked.

You remembered being sat down by your mother and told that they had spent their entire life’s savings to make you a hero. So you were going to spend the rest of your young life training to be one.

“We’re investing in your future, but we’re also investing in ours.”

You remembered sleepover invites rejected and summer plans canceled on your behalf. Your mother used her meager retirement fund to sign you up for vocal lessons from a former opera singer. Your high school football coach father drilled you to condition your body like an athlete.

You never had a moment that wasn’t scheduled. You were always exhausted, taking whatever “supplements” your parents gave you to keep you going. (Often it was Adderall, until it started giving you insomnia, among other delightful side effects.)

You were miserable. Then again, you’d be surprised by what you could get used to.

The end goal was always getting into Payback. It was where you’d garner the most fame and make the most money, and therefore, make the most returns on your parents’ investments.

So your father later took out a loan to get you some basic combat training from an ex-Vought employee. Your parents wanted you to be well-rounded and prepared for anything when you got onto the team—and it was always when.

If was not part of the story.

Any small commercials and modelling gigs you landed throughout middle school and high school helped pay for your family’s bills, and later for college, where you double majored in Vocal Performance and Marketing. You would learn how to become your own brand.

Through it all, you always remembered what your mom had said to you on the set of your first commercial. You were crying because the hours were long and you missed your friends, and even your brother.

“Come on, let’s wipe those tears. You don���t want to smudge your makeup,” she’d said. When you couldn’t be consoled, she guided you over to a quieter corner of the set. “Listen, sweetheart. Don’t let them see you upset. You'll get a reputation for being difficult to work with.”

“I don’t care! I don’t want to do this anymore,” you said, sniffling badly as you scrubbed at your eyes. Your mother sighed sharply.

“You’re just starting out. Of course there are going to be growing pains,” she said. “Showbusiness is a cutthroat world, and yes, you’re so young. Maybe too young.”

She wiped your face with gentler hands, then she laid them on your shoulders and made sure you met her eyes.

“But you’re going to be better prepared than most superheroes. You can literally read men. You know what’s in their hearts, and you can control them. As a woman in this world, do you know how damn powerful that is?” she said.

She squeezed your shoulders.

“That’s why you’ll be smarter than any of them, and you’ll only show the world what you want them to see.”

What you want them to see…

“We don’t have to talk about that right now,” you said at last.

Your mom nodded and stroked your hand. Her eyes fell closed in rest. She looked so small and frail in her bed.

“I’m so, so proud of you,” she said. “Always remember that.”

Your lower lip trembled, and your eyes stung. You couldn’t help but feel hollow. What was there to be proud of? You’d failed. All your hard work was meant to give your family a better life, not…this.

“You’re so beautiful and talented,” she continued. “And you’ll get your father out from under these medical bills I put on him, won’t you?”

Deep in your soul, a painful ache twinged.

You ignored it and nodded in agreement.

“I’ll take care of Dad, don’t worry.”

Your mother died the next morning. You wrote a statement about her passing to explain your absence to your fans. It went through Madelyn Stillwell and Arthur before they released the press release and even had it covered in Vought News. Then you spent the next week entrenched in funeral arrangements with your father and brother.

When you eventually returned to Vought Tower after the funeral, it felt like another part of you had chipped off.

Your room was filled with flowers and gifts from your fans, which managed to make you wide-eyed, and even tearfully touched. So this was the power of fame, then?

But there was one vase filled with beautiful scarlet roses. Attatched was a handwritten note:

Welcome home.

You thought you recognized the scrawl. A small smile graced your lips.

You gave into the desire to venture up to the penthouse floor, and knock on Ben’s door. He opened it himself. He was dressed down for once in the afternoon, in a normal sweater rolled up to his elbows and tucked into his slacks. Once he saw you, he was a little surprised.

You held up the note for his view. “Was this you?”

He smiled slightly, but he didn’t answer you. He just welcomed you inside. You followed him into the living room area and sat heavily on the couch. An album was playing on his record player. You recognized Sinatra’s smooth voice singing “My Way.”

“You want a drink?” Ben asked.

“Whiskey, neat,” you replied. He rose a brow, but he fulfilled your request.

While he was busy, you grabbed his forgotten half a blunt from the ashtray on the coffee table, and you lit up. You didn’t often partake in drugs because you didn’t like being out of your lucid mind. You preferred being in control.

Today was different. You needed a distraction. Maybe that was why you were here to begin with.

You accepted the glass he handed to you and took a generous sip, though you coughed at the burn on the way down. And you took a puff, the smoke irritating your throat even more. You practically coughed up half a lung, until he sat down beside you and reached out his hand. You passed the blunt back to him. You two traded off hits until it was more than halfway down to the roach, and he eventually put it out on the ashtray.

“My offer still stands, you know,” he said.

You turned to him. Even in your “enlightened” state, you could feel his intentions. The way he roamed your body with his eyes was unmistakable, but just then, you had a moment of clarity. You couldn’t be bothered to play this game, or hide your true thoughts for that matter. You smiled to yourself, and you stood.

Ben got up with you, trying to gauge your reaction.

“Thank you,” you said, “for finally showing me who you really are.”

His lips slowly pulled into a frown. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“My mom died,” you said. “I know you knew that, but you couldn’t even muster up a basic ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ or whatever the fuck.”

You even laughed through the spark of tears. You wiped at your face. “This place is exactly what I thought it would be.”

The man was silent while you finished the drink in one long gulp. You slammed the glass on his counter, and you left his apartment.

It wasn’t the first time Ben watched you walk away from him, but despite his outward stoicism, it was the first time he felt the sting of it.

You knew it would be difficult at Vought, but you were finding it more and more challenging to keep focused as the months went by.

On one mission, Ben threw a man out of a three-story apartment. He lived, by some miracle, but shattered almost every bone in his body.

On another, Black Noir choke-slammed an escaped convict so hard, her esophagus caved in. And it was a good day if the TNT Twins even zapped the right culprit.

You were increasingly wary of the collateral damage and violence you were being complicit in, just by being there. You had to keep reminding yourself of why you were here. You needed to take care of your father, who was still swimming in your mother’s medical bills and funeral costs. You needed to prove to yourself that you could do this, with or without Ben’s help.

Even so, a day you were called to a full team mission made you more anxious than excited.

It was a drug ring that the police had been trying to dismantle for nearly a decade: Los Reyes. They were the "kings of cocaine," and they were brutal in their retaliations, locked in a turf war with one of the Italian mafias. As Stan Edgar had explained, the police were grateful for any help that Payback could provide.

You guys were sent to a warehouse in Hell’s Kitchen. According to law enforcement intel, it was the base of the Reyes gang's operations.

Infiltrating it was the easy part. Countess blasted right through the front doors, revealing your entire team to the group of men huddled around entire tables and crates filled with product.

When a man aimed a gun at you, Ben threw his shield. It hit the man, who then crashed into a support beam and broke his back in half. Your eyes went wide in horror at seeing his lifeless ones. You gaped up at Ben.

“Was that really necessary?” you asked in alarm.

"Would you rather get shot?” he said coolly.

The others picked off a few men in the room, but the rest of the gang scattered into other rooms within the large building. Ben barked commands for who should go in which direction.

“Sirena, you’re with Swatto. Head east towards the alley and cut off any rats,” he commanded.

You wanted to take issue with being partnered with Swatto. You glanced over at him. After how you compelled him a few months ago, he still had a grudge against you as well. But you two knew better than to argue with Soldier Boy on a mission.

You and your partner ducked out the east side into the alley. Sure enough, you saw blood splatters on the wall from a handprint, and drips of blood leading down the concrete path. After sharing a nod, you and Swatto followed the line of blood.

You turned the corner into a dusty construction site, where a new skyscraper was only partially built. Some walls were up along with the foundation, but it was mostly dirt, bare concrete walls, and piles of brick.

When you turned a corner, you and Swatto stopped short as bullets rained your way.

“Oh, fuck!” Swatto shouted. He pulled out his gun and decided to fly above. You heard more shots and men screaming, and then, it was quiet. You cocked your own gun, though you hoped you didn’t have to use it. The problem with your powers was you needed to be close enough to touch someone to actually compel them, man or woman.

Your last resort was your actual siren song, a power you rarely used. Mainly because it was lethal to any man who heard it. For that reason, it had to be your in case of emergency break glass tactic.

So you crept around the corner to see what Swatto had done. You were surprised to find that he fought well. He managed to kill a few of them, but one large man was still alive. He was on his knees in the dirt with his hands folded behind his head.

“See? Ain’t so fuckin’ tough now, huh?” Swatto taunted. “Get ready to get fucked in the ass in jail, Paco.”

You grimaced in disgust. “All right, that’s enough. Just—”

Before you could realize what was happening, the man raised up from the ground and swept the gun from Swatto’s hands. It flew across the clearing and hit the wall, setting the gun off. A bullet ricocheted and grazed Swatto in the side. 

“Aw, fuck! I’m fucking hit!” he yelled in alarm. His wings expanded from his back, and he raised off the ground in flight. Your eyes widened.

“Where the hell are you going?” you shouted.

“I’m hit! I need a hospital!” His voice grew smaller as he flew away like a fucking coward.

It left you alone with a man twice your size. He seized you up with a smirk.

“Hey, baby,” he said. “You’re the new one, right?”

You raised your gun and fired, but you were too late. He evaded and grabbed the gun from your hands. You held your ground after the first punch, but the second and third made your legs shake. You were more durable than the average human, and you were well trained. Unfortunately, you didn’t have super strength like most of your teammates.

You blocked when you could and gave blows of your own, but this man was large enough that it didn’t slow him for long. He wore a sweatshirt with long sleeves, so you couldn’t easily compel him with a touch.

Okay, this warrants an emergency, you thought in alarm. When you opened your mouth to sing, he shot out a sharp blow to your throat. Maybe he thought you were going to scream for help, but it had its intended effect of choking you into silence.

He grabbed you and proceeded to beat you down, until you felt the sharp breaking of ribs and blood and dirt in your mouth. Every time you tried to slip away or get to your feet and escape, he knocked you back down. He was toying with you, and having fun with it too. You could sense his sick enjoyment.

But then, you felt his intentions shift. Darker, and more carnal. A more intense fear coiled in your stomach, rising up into your throat. A gasp got stuck there as you tried harder to crawl away.

He grabbed your ankle and dragged you back towards him. He took your wrists when you tried to claw at his eyes, or even just touch his face to try and enforce your power over his.

Just a scrap of skin. That’s all you need.

A whimper escaped you as you struggled, but you kneed him hard between the legs. That managed to stop him for a moment as he grunted and cursed. He got a hold of a meaty hand around your neck. Your eyes glowed in desperation.

Suddenly, the man’s weight lifted off you.

You panted for breath and raised yourself up on your elbow. You watched with wide eyes as Ben slammed your attacker’s face into the dirt until he couldn’t breathe. Ben glanced at you, taking in the sight of your bloody face and cut lip, your arm wrapped around your battered ribs.

His frown deepening in displeasure, he bent the man’s arm until it broke in at least two places. His howls of pain echoed into the night. Ben cut it off by twisting the man’s neck, until it released a loud crack.

He threw the body to the ground in disgust. He barely even wiped his gloves before he stood straighter. Then he went back to you.

“You all right?” he asked gruffly.

You stared up at him with tears shining in your eyes. You tried to answer, but it hurt your throat. It was also painful for you to move your body. You tasted blood in your mouth and knew it had dribbled down your chin.

With a rough exhale through his nose, Ben lowered down and slid his hands underneath your body. You cringed and cried out when he moved you, but you were grateful. You were embarrassed. And you were exhausted.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you folded your arms over your battered middle. You couldn't help but lay your head against his chest.

The rest of the team was waiting at the other end of the clearing, except for Swatto. Even Countess was quiet as she watched Ben carry you out of the construction site.

You spent a couple of days in the hospital. There you were surrounded by Vought security fielding off any journalists or tabloids, and you were accompanied by your dad and brother.

Chris especially was angry for you, not to mention worried, but you tried to hide your pain and reassure them that you would be okay. This was just par for the course when taking down the bad guys.

Yeah, that one sounded hollow, even to you.

You were grateful when you got out of the hospital and were sent back to the Tower. Even so, the doctor had you mostly on bedrest until your ribs healed up. You weren’t proud of it, but you wallowed in your embarrassment and a bit of self-pity while you watched a marathon of Cheers and ate from a box of assorted chocolates. You dug around for your favorites, but you kept getting the weird shitty filling ones.

“Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name, and they’re always glad you came,” sang the TV show theme song. “You wanna be where you can see, our troubles are all the same. You wanna be where everybody knows your name…” 

“Bullshit,” you muttered aloud. Such was your grouchiness that you had half a mind to change the channel. This godforsaken sitcom was too damn cheery, no matter how much you loved Ted Danson’s fine, rugged ass.

God. Maybe I do have a type.

That was when a knock at the door threatened to disrupt your solitude.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me.”

You’d now recognize that smooth, deep voice anywhere. Sighing, you closed the box of chocolates and hid them under your pillow before you turned off the TV.

“Come in,” you said.

Ben stepped into your apartment and soon found you in your room. It was the first time he’d ever been in here, and he took a subtle look around. He wore his suit and tactical gear.

“Just come from a mission?” you asked.

He nodded and approached your bed. He smiled slightly.

“Eating your feelings in Whitman’s, huh?” he teased, tapping his nose. He could probably smell the chocolate.

You blushed and crossed your arms on reflex, but you grimaced when the motion made your ribs twinge sharply. You made a sound of discomfort and lowered your arms back to your sides. You shifted in the bed as slowly as you could. You’d been in this position for a while.

“How’re you holding up?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m peachy,” you groused. When you looked up at him though, you realized that he hadn't needed to come visit you. He was here of his own free will…and there was something you had yet to say to him. You sighed and met him with sincerity.

“Look…thank you, for saving me,” you said.

Ben inclined his head. He lowered down and sat beside you on the edge of your bed.

“You may not like how I run things here, but this is the way of it,” he said, holding your gaze. “This is the real fucking world. If you’re going to stay here, you need to get with that program, or this place is going to chew you up and spit you out.”

That fell between you two for a moment. The more you turned his words over in your mind, the more you realized that he was right, to a point. If you stayed, this was your life. You couldn’t keep handwringing. You had to be smarter.

“I’m sorry, I’m not looking very camera ready,” you said eventually. You meant it to be joking, but your voice was heavy. “I wouldn’t blame you for averting your eyes.”

You half expected him to make a joke about your black eye and torn lip. But to your surprise, Ben picked up your hand with a kind of gentleness. He raised the back of it up to his lips for a kiss. He gave you a reserved smile.

“Rest up,” he said.

He got up and strode out of your apartment. Not for the first time, he left you feeling unbalanced…and this time warm.

It took a few weeks for you to fully heal. You agreed to do an interview with Jason Carver, the anchor of Vought News. It was a bit intimidating being in yet another studio, and this was live.

The cameras aren’t there. This is just a stage like any other. You’re just…having a conversation, you coached yourself. You sat in an uncomfortable leather chair across from Jason at his desk.

When he got the green light from the producer, he kicked off the show by introducing you as his special guest.

“Can I just say, Sirena, we’re all very glad to see you’re all right,” he said, with a very convincing note of sincerity. Your abilities allowed you to read the truth.

Only show them what you want them to see.

You gave him a grateful smile.  

“Thanks, Jason. I appreciate that. It’s just…hazards of the job description, you know?” you said. “But I’m doing much better, and I’m very thankful that my team was there to support me.”

“Yes, the rest of Payback really stepped up to not only apprehend your attacker, but round up the entire Reyes gang. Is that right?” he said.

You nodded, reading the teleprompter. You were meant to go on a mini monologue about how great your team was, and how grateful you were to be a part of it. It was a script approved by Madelyn, and even Stan Edgar.

You paused, glancing over to where Arthur and Madelyn stood in the dark with the rest of the crew. They were both looking at you encouragingly, but expectant.

You took a steadying breath, and you decided to go a bit off-script.

“Well, actually, it was Soldier Boy who saved me,” you said. Jason’s brows rose at your shift in direction, but he reacted with all due interest.

“Really?” he prodded.

“Yes, he did,” you said. The memories of that night filtered through your mind with harrowing detail, including the way Ben stepped in and brutally handled that man. “He didn’t even hesitate. He just threw himself into the fray…and when it was over, he carried me to the hospital himself.”

That part wasn’t exactly true. He’d carried you over to a Vought-owned SUV, and the director of the camera crew drove you over to the hospital. You decided to gloss over that detail, and many others.

“Wow,” Jason said. He shook his head in wonder. “He truly lives up to the legend, doesn’t he?”

You smiled. “He’s more than that. Believe it or not, Soldier Boy was the first one to take me under his wing. He knew I was new to the city, so he guided me all over New York to see the sights like a tourist. Stuff I’m sure he’s seen millions of times, like Top of the Rock and Times Square. Oh, and he was also very gracious when my nephew came to visit. Got me some major brownie points for ‘Best Aunt in the World.’”

That earned you a congenial smile from your host. Your expression faded with a kind of weight in your heart.

“Ever since I got here, he’s been the one to tell it like it is, with that deep, authoritative voice of his,” you said, laughing a little when you tried to imitate Ben’s voice. It got you a laugh, even from those in the studio. “In a way, he’s the one who’s looked out for me the most. I’m very grateful for Soldier Boy, and of course for the rest of my team.”

When you finished, Jason nodded and clapped along with everyone else in the studio.

“Well, that’s just wonderful. Well said,” he said, and he looked straight into the camera with two fingers poised at his temple. “Soldier Boy, if you’re watching, we all appreciate you. And we salute you.”

Ben watched the clip from his living room with a small, incredulous smile on his face.

He wiped the remnants of white powder from his nose and sneezed. Blinking the bleariness out of his eyes, he refocused on the screen while you talked about him. He knew you had to be playing it up for Jason and the cameras, but you also seemed so sincere.

“He’s more than that.”

After the segment was over, he enjoyed the climax of his high while sitting back on his plush sofa. He tossed up an old baseball from his collection up towards the ceiling, this one signed by Babe Ruth. He caught it when gravity pulled it back down towards his face.

That was how Donna found him when she let herself into his apartment. She was out of her suit and wearing a little red dress, one of his old favorites. She graced him with a sultry smile.

“Busy?” she asked.

“Evidently,” he said.

She pouted, almost like a little girl. She went to him and curled herself under his arm and against his chest, draping a smooth thigh over his.

“I miss you,” she purred.

He smiled wryly and turned off the TV.

“Really now?” he drawled. “Because by my calculations it’s been…what, a few months since we’ve fucked?”

Donna paused, the smile slipping from her face.

“And I’m not counting that hand job a couple weeks back. That shit was pitiful, and a little chafing,” he said.

For the past few months, he’d been wracking his brain to remember what it was that had attracted him to this woman, besides the obvious outer packaging. He knew the difference now.

In the beginning, she idolized him. Worshipped him. Loved him. These days, she only came to him when she wanted something, and he had gotten bored. Bored of her.

As if sensing his shift, Donna moved her leg off his lap and sat up with a frown.

“Well, then let me fix it,” she said, as she slid a hand up his thigh. Suddenly she was all too willing to use those red-painted lips to service him. 

Ben couldn’t help but envision those lips as yours, a sinful red, while your mouth did sinful things. He’d gotten off more than once to the thought of it alone, ever since he shot that goddamn music video with you.

So he grabbed Donna’s wandering hand and looked at her coolly.

“Look, for whatever reason, I know you’re not happy,” he said, waving dismissively with his other hand. “Neither of us are. So let’s just stop wasting time.”

Her eyes widened. “What’re you saying?”

Ben’s brows furrowed. “Am I speaking fucking English? It’s time to call it quits, sweetheart.”

Donna’s jaw worked as she fought to keep herself under control. He had a feeling she’d be angry. She always was a little spitfire.

Her body was coiled like a spring when she withdrew her hand from his and got to her feet. She gave him an icy look.

“This isn’t going to last,” she claimed, with a prideful tilt of her chin. “In a month, a week, you’ll get tired of her. And you’ll remember that I’m the one who looks best by your side.”

Ben huffed in amusement before he laid back again. He continued to toss up his baseball.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he said dismissively. 

Donna let loose an aggravated breath, but she kept most of her reaction inside. She turned on her heel, prideful as ever, and left his apartment.

When her fingers landed on the doorknob, however, she turned back for just a moment. Silence greeted her.

It wasn’t until then that her tears finally bubbled over.

Days later, a knock on your door drew your attention out of pulling on some jeans. You were intending to go on a walk through the city, take some time to get out of the Tower and just be you for a change.

That had better not be Madelyn at the door again. She had chastised you for going off-script at the studio twice already. She made the point that she and Stan had gone over those talking points for weeks, and agreed that framing your rescue as a team effort would cover Swatto as well.

He was still laid up with a broken leg, long after the scrape of the bullet had healed. He was tight-lipped about how he’d broken said leg, but you’d heard from Tommy that he’d shattered it…somehow.

Arthur had smoothed things over about your adlib though. He pointed out that talking positively about Soldier Boy helped the whole team. He was the leader, after all.

So yeah, you hoped this visit wasn’t another passive aggressive dress down from the head of PR. You sighed and went over to get the door. You were thoroughly surprised to see Ben.

And a Ben that was wearing a regular suit, for that matter. He looked like he’d stepped out of a Hugo Boss catalogue, steeped in charcoal gray with a long black coat draped over his arm. Your mouth parted in soft shock, especially when he produced a single rose from behind his back.

You took it with tentative fingers and a blush rising hotly in your cheeks.

“Okay, what—”

“Let me take you out,” he said. “One night. You’ll get to see what it’s like to be with the most famous man in the world.”

What an opening line that was. You sensed he was in full Charm City mode, complete with a suave smile. Yours was more amused, even though you twisted the flower's soft petals lightly on your chin in contemplation.

After a few seconds to think, you gave him a patient look.

“Ben, nothing’s changed for me. I told you, I–”

“Countess and I are done, for real this time,” he said.

Once again, you were taken by surprise—mostly because he was telling the truth. You felt it.

Your brows knitted together in confusion. “When did this happen?”

“Recently,” he shrugged. “But like I said, it hasn’t been working for a while. It was a mutual thing.”

You weren’t so sure about that, but… 

This is what I wanted, you reminded yourself. In fact, it had been half what you’d hoped for when you went off-script. You just couldn’t believe it had worked this well, so soon. As much as you probably shouldn’t, part of you began to feel bad for manipulating him. For lying to him.

But it’ll be good for my career.

“…Okay,” you agreed, glancing down at your plain shirt and jeans. “Just give me some time to change.”

He raised a brow. “How much time?”

You gave him a slightly cheeky smile. “An hour, and I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

He sighed, but he agreed.

“Just don’t keep me waiting all fucking day,” he said.

“Come on. What’s a little delayed gratification?” you teased. Then you gave him a more sincere smile. “I’ll see you later.”

Ben nodded, with some added charm in the look he gave you in return.

You slipped back into your apartment and shut the door. You paused there when a thought struck you.

Shit, now what am I going to wear?

AN: Did you see that one coming?

A lot of darker angst and drama in this one, sorry for that. But I think you may like what's coming up...

Next Time:

You slid your hand over his on the table. You felt him stiffen slightly, his body tensing up at your touch. You frowned when you saw the glint of wariness cross his face.

“I won’t compel you again, Ben. I promise,” you said. As long as you don’t give me a reason to.

Your hand traveled up his arm, soothing along his neck, your palm finally resting against his cheek. His green eyes stared into yours.

Soon enough, his wariness bled away into desire.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 6

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[m1d-45]

hey! not sure if ur taking requests but would love it if u cld.....my mind has been stuck on this for a while

I almost didn't get wanderer on his banner and it broke my heart. From the second I first saw to the little emo boy in the archon quest I've wanted him on my team and was so excited when they announced his banner.... I even prefarmed for him ;-;

But I lost the 50/50 (got tighnari ;-;) and calculated that I'd have only 50 pulls before his banners gone.....I've never gotten a character before 70 pulls so I got really sad and decided on a whim to build heizou since I had the teams and artifacts ready and I even started having fun with him when randomly at 23 pity guess who I get!!!

So I've kinda been living in my own little daydream(delusion xD) that wanderer got jealous of me having fun with heizou and came home.... could I request a sagau drabble or hc or something similar to my insanity totally fine if you can't 🥰🥰🥰

near miss

word count: ~500

-> warnings: spoilers for wanderer lore, minor spoilers for heizou lore, author once again dances around wanderer’s name

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr

< masterlist >

for being the creator, all knowing and all present, you were missed quite often.

your wanderer sat in his banner, looking down at your party as you travelled teyvat. he’d missed your first star shower on account of giving a lecture, and by the time he’d seen the star streaking toward the forest through the window, it had been too late. news of the forest ranger stealing what was his spread quickly, something akin to resentment burning in his chest.

but not this time. he was determined not to miss you again. your attention had been on him for so long; surely you didn’t think he’d just roll over now that you’d invested in someone else? no, he’d wait.. even if it hurt watching you.

shikanoin heizou. the sharpest detective in inazuma—or even teyvat, if you were particularly inclined to praise him. you’d given heizou what you had planned to give him, and he hated it. he was right here, he was listening, he didn’t have any more lectures for the week, so why did you have to insist on keeping your stars to yourself?

(it was his fault. if only he’d paid more attention, as you had so graciously given him…)

“maybe… i’ll get lucky?”

he snapped out of his mind, aware of your presence all at once. he could feel his heart in his fingers where he pressed at the boundaries, and he searched the sky around him despite knowing he’d never see you.

(luck. ‘lucky.��� he’d make his way to you if he had to crawl. what part of that was chance?)

his hat was already discarded in his inventory, so nothing would hinder him from following your star. all he had to do was wait for you… and hope you’d send them out at all.

you wouldn’t settle for heizou, would you? he knows you were enjoying yourself, but that didn’t mean you’d forget about him… right?

a beam of light split the silence, and he pushed at the edges of his banner to reach for them. but even reaching as far as he could, he barely brushed the edge of the star.

it was warm. even that glimpse of heaven set his heart beating a little quicker, purple mist lingering around his fingers.

again. he won’t miss it this time, he swears. don’t settle for a detective when you could have…

…him. would he be enough for you?

the skies split in two, another bright purple star beginning to fall. he reached, grabbing onto the handle of a polearm. with a sharp pull, he was set free from his banner, the silver spear flung elsewhere. hopefully you wouldn’t miss that.

if he’d thought the star from before was warm, then the fall back to the earth was burning hot. your light enveloped his entire being, stealing the air in his lungs. his surroundings were whipped away, replaced with a bright feeling only describable as divine.

still, he landed on his feet. with shaky hands he placed his hat back on his head, allowing himself a proud smile.

“welcome home, wanderer.”

[sillysiluriforme]

So glad you liked the other Chloe submission, thanks for the informative and entertaining response and the kind words from the comrades!

As before no worries if not interested but I did have a couple more thoughts, though be it these one's likely relate very specifically to teen Chloe so may not be useful/interesting but still.

Oh quick aside:

Not sure how prevalent Sabrina is, but the fact we see her dad encourage her master servant dynamic with Chloe, because it fits his definition of being "Useful" to society and how... Low key unhinged Sabrina can get about her usefulness not being utilized or acknowledge (Like with Marinette) is very interesting. Her & Chloe finding each other in canon is just like two people with hilariously complimentary but deeply unhealthy ideas forming a circular relationship of mutual self destruction.

Anyway, an interesting thing to me is how while Chloe does replicate the abusive behaviors taught (Andre) or demonstrated (Audrey,, Gabriel & Emilie) to her, she had already softened them without any real moral or empathic guidance.

Andre: He explicitly taught her cheating, extortion & threats are moral goods, and she does use them to try and win at things. But she doesn't actually utilize them that often or with as much intensity.

& like her father she uses money/gifts to compensate for shitty behavior but unlike him does, ya know, do things with Sabrina & is invested in their relationship outside of Sabrina's use as a tool.

& while she did use Sabrina as a shield in Zombisu, she also protected her in Ladybug, so its at least mote mutual as I cannot envision Andre doing anything for Chloe that really risks him.

Audrey: She's been impersonating her mother for years in a bid to earn her love but it didn't work until someone else made Audrey decide it was worthwhile & even then didn't seem to amount to much.

So while like Audrey she is antagonistic, haughty and rude, Chloe did actually demonstrate the ability to feel guilt (Zombisu but others too) & when Akumatized in the early series was not terribly murderous.

Compare that to Audrey who happily mulches her husband and daughter despite AKuma usually avoiding hurting their loved one's outside of indirect harm done by their warped attempts to protect.

Gabriel & Emilie: She clearly fucking hates that Adrien is making friends with people she hates and who hate her and is possessive of the relationship.

Yet until everything goes to hell, she doesn't really do much to try and stop him or undermine said relationships either. That is to say, she's already far less possessive & controlling than Emilie of Gabriel are.

Conclusion: So yeah while definitely not good, she had seemingly without much if any guidance, already made the abusive traits she picked up less toxic than those demonstrated by the adults around her.

Note: Also I always feel compelled to note this, but it is low key creepy Andre has been rewarding Chloe for impersonating his wife.

Like even if he's just instinctively recreating the dynamic he had with Audrey; not sure on that as they do seem to argue a lot.

Or is just using Chloe as an emotional crutch/ego-soothing proxy for Audrey's approval... Its still deeply messed up & unhealthy.

you're so smart @clemnoir was right you deserve sloppy head

I love thinking about child development when it comes to fictional characters, it's so fun...Also i don't care how much the show tries i will never have empathy for andre i hope he explodes into a fine mist

[rainforestakiie]

AdamsApple Month Harvest!

Tentacle~

okayyyyy!!!!!!!!!!!

okay. i don't really know what to say about this, just that i got carried away again, like i always do when i get excited and invested in something. i'd say this isn't for the faintest of hearts. there's no angst in it, but it's horror. it's inspired by h.p. lovecraft's "the shadow over innsmouth" and cthulhu. so i do hope you like it? i've tried really hard to mimic h.p. lovecraft's writing and the spookiness of "the shadow over innsmouth."

anway, hope you all enjoy it!

@adamsappleweek

Adam had lived his entire life in Innsmouth, a town shrouded in rot and shadow, a forgotten place, left to fester by the sea. The port was more of a wound on the Massachusetts coast than a welcoming harbor, its oppressive air thick with mildew and brine, as if the ocean itself was slowly consuming the land. Outsiders rarely came, and those who did seldom stayed long—whispers of vanishing reporters and curious tourists swirled like the ever-present mist that clung to the narrow streets. The hills, jagged and unnatural, rose behind the town like a fortress wall, imprisoning Innsmouth in a constant state of decay. The ocean was no better; its waves crashed onto the beach with a sickly green hue, the water always cloudy and stained as if infected with something ancient and sinister.

The townspeople didn’t mind the isolation. In fact, they seemed to welcome it. There was something off about them, something in the way their skin always seemed damp, in the way their eyes never truly blinked. Rumors thrived in places like Innsmouth, and Adam had heard them all—the strange disappearances, the peculiar rituals that took place on foggy nights, the eerie lights that flickered over the horizon when the moon was full. But he had never paid them much mind. This was home. It had always been home.

Adam’s earliest memories were a blur, like looking at the world through dirty glass. He could barely recall his childhood, but there was one event that stood out like a beacon in the haze: the party. He was nine years old, and for reasons he didn’t understand, the entire town seemed to be celebrating. His parents were on edge, their smiles strained and unnatural, as they placed a wreath of strange flowers on his head—flowers that smelled of saltwater and decay.

The townsfolk had treated him like royalty that day, stopping him in the streets to offer gifts—slimy, twitching fish, slick with oil. His parents had been nervous, their eyes darting constantly to the skies, as if expecting something to arrive. There was a gift waiting on the doorstep that morning, and when his mother saw it, she clutched her chest in reverence. His father had wiped the sweat from his brow, muttering words Adam didn’t understand, something about the ‘Old Ones.’

The party was unlike any Adam had ever attended, with the normally lifeless townsfolk suddenly alive, their sunken faces glowing with an eerie light as they danced and laughed. It was unsettling, seeing them so animated, as if they had consumed something far more potent than mere alcohol. He had worn the flower crown all day, too confused to protest, as his parents led him through the streets, guiding him towards something they refused to name.

By evening, a new family had moved in next door, and Adam's parents were insistent that he meet them. He had wanted nothing more than to enjoy the cake—the only time such delicacies were served was at these peculiar parties—but his mother had stroked his cheek with trembling hands, her voice soft as she promised him there was something much sweeter than cake waiting for him.

When he finally met the family, the world seemed to tilt slightly on its axis. The woman was unnervingly beautiful, her hair long and fine like threads of seaweed, curling and twisting as if alive. Her eyes were impossibly large, shimmering like wet stones, and her lips stretched in a way that felt more unnatural than welcoming. Her husband was no less strange, his skin pallid and slick, his movements sluggish as though moving through water. Adam had stared, too young to truly understand why they made his skin crawl.

And then he saw the boy.

Lucifer. That’s what the boy’s name was, and in that moment, Adam was undone. He had never seen anything like him. Lucifer’s hair was golden, yet somehow wet, clinging to his face in thick strands that fanned out like fins. His skin, pale and soft, had an odd sheen to it, and his fingers, webbed ever so slightly, ended in blackened tips that looked almost burned. But it was his eyes that held Adam captive—huge, fish-like, and impossibly blue. They shimmered with an otherworldly light, and when Lucifer smiled, Adam felt a strange warmth curl through his chest, as though something unseen had tethered itself to him.

The town had watched the meeting with bated breath, as if the acceptance of this new family was the most important thing in the world. When Lucifer’s mother had finally nodded, the tension in the air evaporated like fog under the morning sun. Adam’s mother let out a shuddering breath, her grip loosening on his shoulder, while his father muttered prayers under his breath, eyes wide with relief.

Lucifer stepped forward, his hand outstretched, the webbing between his fingers flexing as he offered it to Adam. When their hands touched, something sharp and electric jolted through him. Adam had stammered, clumsy in his attempt to speak, but Lucifer merely giggled, his voice high and clear, like the tinkling of broken glass in the wind. They had sat together after that, Adam offering him cake, which Lucifer declined with a soft laugh, asking for fish instead. It hadn’t bothered Adam—nothing about Lucifer bothered him. He was bewitched, ensnared by the other boy’s presence in a way he couldn’t explain.

From that day on, they were inseparable. Wherever one went, the other followed. They ate together, played together, slept beside each other every night. And whenever Adam felt that strange sickness creep up on him—the nausea, the unbearable pain in his gut—Lucifer was always there, purring softly against his skin, his presence a balm that soothed Adam’s suffering.

But looking back, Adam realized there had been signs. There had always been signs. The way the town’s children never seemed to be alone after their ninth birthday. The way a new family with a strange, fish-like child always appeared, moving in next door, and how the townspeople waited with an almost reverent fear for their approval. It was a pattern, one so subtle that it had slipped under Adam’s notice for years.

Innsmouth wasn’t just a town. It was something much older, much darker, and its people were not entirely human. Adam had never questioned it—until Lucifer entered his life and his heart became a prisoner to something ancient, something hungry.

Adam had never truly realized how closely Lucifer trailed him, how the boy's presence was more than companionship—it was something far deeper, something more consuming. Lucifer was his shadow, his tether, always there, and without him, Adam felt incomplete, like a piece of himself had been carved away and left to rot. When Lucifer wasn’t near, Adam’s body rebelled—his stomach twisted in knots, his limbs turned weak, his skin flushed cold. It wasn’t just emotional; it was visceral, physical, an ache that gnawed at him from the inside out. He needed Lucifer as much as he needed air, and that realization terrified him.

It was the first day of the new year, but the air held no promise of renewal. The sky was a heavy, suffocating shade of grey, the kind that pressed down on Innsmouth like a shroud, never allowing the sun to break through the murky clouds. The air was damp, thick with the salty stench of the ocean, but there was something more to it today—a sourness, a tang of decay that clung to the breeze and wafted through the narrow, crooked streets of the town.

Innsmouth, with its crumbling facades and eerie silence, looked as though it had been forgotten by time. The houses were old, their wooden frames stained with rust and mildew, the roofs sagging under the weight of age. Small, dilapidated boats bobbed listlessly in the murky water, their hulls encrusted with barnacles and seaweed, as if they too were being pulled slowly into the depths by unseen hands. The townspeople, pale and silent, skulked in the shadows, their faces downturned, hiding something beneath their dull, glassy eyes.

At the centre of it all stood the old church, its spire twisted and leaning as if the very earth itself rejected it. And there, looming on the edge of the town like a sentinel of despair, was the lighthouse—a monument to something long dead, its once-proud tower now stained with the grime of countless years, its light long extinguished. Adam couldn’t recall a single night where its beacon had shone out to sea. It stood as a reminder of something lost, something dark, the windows cracked and fogged with dust, slowly disintegrating into shards of glass-like powder.

The lighthouse had haunted Adam since childhood. Even now, as an adult, the sight of it sent a shiver crawling up his spine. He had always been terrified of it, the way it loomed over the town, its silence louder than any scream. He would avert his eyes when they passed it, feeling a cold dread settle into his bones. Nightmares of that place had plagued him for as long as he could remember—dreams of standing at its base, looking up at the dark, gaping windows that seemed to watch him, to pull him in. In those dreams, the light would suddenly flicker to life, casting an unnatural, sickly glow across the sea, and he would wake up gasping, his heart pounding in his chest.

Lucifer had noticed his fear early on, as he always did. Without a word, the blonde would reach for Adam’s hand, his cool, webbed fingers intertwining with Adam’s as they passed the lighthouse. He never asked Adam why he was afraid. He didn’t need to. Lucifer seemed to know Adam better than anyone, maybe even better than Adam knew himself.

As they walked past the lighthouse now, Lucifer’s fish-like eyes glinted in the dim light, wide and curious as they drifted towards the tower. There was something unsettling about the way Lucifer looked at it, as though he didn’t share Adam’s fear, as though the place whispered something to him that Adam couldn’t hear. Lucifer’s pale lips twitched into a faint smile as his gaze lingered on the broken windows, the steps that led up to the crumbling door, each stone cracked and worn. His eyes gleamed like the ocean depths—endless, dark, and filled with secrets.

Lucifer’s fingers tightened around Adam’s, his touch gentle but unyielding, and Adam’s heartbeat slowed, though the cold dread still coiled in the pit of his stomach. The comfort of Lucifer’s presence was undeniable, but there was always something unsettling about the boy, a quiet intensity that Adam could never quite place. He couldn’t explain the way Lucifer made him feel—an intoxicating mix of love and dread, of comfort and fear. It was as if Lucifer held him in a delicate balance, keeping him from falling apart while at the same time pulling him deeper into something unknown, something dark.

They passed the lighthouse, but the unease lingered, clinging to Adam like a second skin. He glanced at Lucifer, who was still staring back at the tower, his blue eyes shimmering like glass.

"Do you ever wonder what's inside?" Lucifer’s voice was soft, almost too soft to hear, but the question sent a chill racing down Adam's spine. There was something in Lucifer's tone that made Adam shiver—a dark curiosity, a longing that Adam couldn’t understand.

Adam swallowed hard, his throat dry. "No," he whispered. "I’d rather not know."

Lucifer's smile widened, and he tilted his head, his gaze never leaving the lighthouse.

"Maybe one day," he said softly, his voice lilting with a strange, eerie sweetness, "We'll find out together."

The way he said it sent a pulse of fear through Adam's heart, but it was laced with something else too—something darker, more dangerous. The idea of discovering whatever lurked inside that lighthouse, of stepping into its shadows with Lucifer by his side, filled Adam with a strange, twisted sense of excitement. He couldn’t explain it, but as terrifying as it was, the thought of facing that darkness with Lucifer stirred something in him.

The bond between them was unlike anything Adam had ever felt, a love so fierce, so consuming, that it bordered on obsession. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing Lucifer, couldn’t imagine his life without him. And yet, somewhere deep within, in the coldest, darkest corner of his mind, he wondered if Lucifer was leading him towards something he wasn’t prepared to face. Something that had been waiting for him all along.

Both boys had grown up now, crossing the threshold into adulthood, though Adam hadn’t noticed the strange synchronicity of it all. At twenty-one, he was no longer the boy who once looked at the lighthouse in fear. Yet, as the years passed, there were things about Lucifer that remained untouched by time, hidden in the fog of Adam’s ignorance. Lucifer had never had a birthday of his own—not a single candle blown, not one song sung in his honor. Every year, when Adam grew a year older, so did Lucifer, as if his age was tethered to Adam’s, bound in some silent, unspoken pact. But Adam never noticed, not really. In truth, he didn't notice much anymore.

Innsmouth had a way of dulling the senses, of blurring the lines between reality and dream. The longer you stayed, the harder it became to remember what life had been like before its fog consumed you. Adam, like the rest of the townspeople, lived in a daze—a hazy, dreamlike state where time seemed to stretch and warp. The edges of the town felt like the edges of the world itself, and Adam could no longer remember what existed beyond the borders of Innsmouth. It was as though the town had swallowed him whole the moment Lucifer came into his life, and there was no looking back.

Now, both men were twenty-one, and though Adam felt the weight of something changing, he couldn’t put his finger on it. There was an undercurrent of tension in the air, a heaviness that clung to him like the mist that perpetually shrouded the streets. Lucifer stood beside him, his hand clasped around Adam's, his touch as cool and soothing as it had always been. Lucifer’s smile was warm, his pale lips curved gently, but there was something in his eyes—those deep, glassy blue eyes—that hinted at something more, something darker.

The two of them walked together up the familiar street, their steps synchronized in a rhythm that had become second nature over the years. The town lay quiet, as it often did, the shadows of the old buildings stretching long and thin in the fading light. The mist swirled around their feet, curling like tendrils of smoke, and the smell of the sea—briny, wet, and faintly rotten—permeated the air.

At the end of the road, both sets of parents waited outside their respective homes, their faces pale and unreadable. Adam blinked, his mind sluggish as though he were waking from a long, deep sleep. He met his parents' gaze, but the warmth that should have been there was missing. They stood stiffly, watching him and Lucifer with a strange, expectant look. Lucifer’s parents, too, stood silent, their fish-like features illuminated by the weak glow of the streetlamps, their webbed hands folded neatly in front of them. Adam’s stomach tightened with unease, though he couldn’t quite place why.

Lucifer’s grip on his hand tightened, grounding him, and when Adam turned to look at him, Lucifer smiled—a smile so calm, so reassuring, that Adam felt the tension in his shoulders ease, just a little. Yet, beneath that smile was something else, something that flickered just out of reach. Lucifer had always been able to soothe Adam’s nerves, to quiet the anxious thoughts that sometimes gnawed at him, but now, Adam felt a strange ripple of uncertainty.

Adam's parents stood before him, their expressions warm but inscrutable, faces weathered by the same salty wind that had shaped the strange, crumbling town of Innsmouth. The mist clung to the air, thick and humid, swirling languidly around their feet like some living thing. In their eyes, Adam saw an odd mix of pride and something darker, something he couldn't quite name—a glint of satisfaction, as if they'd finally completed some long-buried ritual.

Meanwhile, Lucifer's smile was calm, serene, the knowing gleam in his glassy blue eyes steady as the sea that endlessly crashed against the shore. Adam shifted uneasily, not understanding the gravity of the moment, yet feeling its weight deep in his bones.

Lucifer's mother, with her fish-like features and unnervingly smooth voice, stepped forward, her webbed fingers twitching slightly as though in anticipation.

"You’ve finally come of age," she purred, her voice resonating like an echo from the depths of the ocean. "It’s time to take the next step."

"Next step? What do you mean?" His voice felt hollow in the thick mist, as if the air itself were swallowing his words. Adam blinked, confusion tightening his chest.

His own mother answered now, her tone soft, almost too soft, like she was speaking to a child on the verge of a tantrum. "It’s time for you and Lucifer to find your independence. To... create your own space."

There was something in the way she said it, something that made Adam’s skin prickle with unease. Independence? In Innsmouth, that word carried more weight than he realized.

Adam bristled, his heart picking up pace. "Am I being kicked out?"

He glanced at Lucifer, who still wore that unshakeable smile—the one that always had the power to calm him. And yet, even that smile seemed to hold secrets now.

"Of course not, son," his father replied with a weak chuckle, but Adam could hear the strain in his voice. "We love you very much."

"Then what’s happening?" Adam's voice trembled slightly, his grip tightening on Lucifer’s webbed hand.

Lucifer made that sound again, a low, melodious hum that Adam had always heard but never truly understood. It was a sound that seemed to come from deep within, more instinctual than vocal, a sound that somehow lulled his anxiety even as it filled the air with strange tension.

"It’s time for you and Lucifer to find your own nest," Lucifer’s mother said, her strange eyes gleaming in the dim light.

"A nest?" Adam repeated, looking to Lucifer for help. The word felt strange, alien on his tongue, though it stirred something deep inside him.

Lucifer smiled, his hand tightening around Adam’s. "I have an idea of where we can go," he said, his voice soft but firm.

"Go?" Adam's brow furrowed as he looked back at his parents, a growing sense of dread pooling in his stomach. "So, you are kicking me out."

His father sighed, his shoulders slumping as though carrying the weight of something far older than Adam could understand. "No, Adam, we're not kicking you out. We’re... helping you find your way. This place will always be your home, but don’t you want to make a new one? A home with Lucifer?"

At the mention of Lucifer, something shifted inside Adam—something primal, deep, and inescapable. It was as though a veil had been lifted, and suddenly, he couldn't remember why he had been upset. The idea of living with Lucifer—of being bound to him, in every sense of the word—was no longer strange or frightening. It was... right. It was what he had always wanted, wasn't it?

Adam turned back to Lucifer, his heart swelling with warmth and affection. The blonde man gazed at him knowingly, those eerie, fish-like eyes seeming to see straight through to his soul. Adam smiled and squeezed his hand.

"Yes," he said softly. "I want to live with Lucifer."

Lucifer’s face lit up, his smile widening to reveal sharp, pearl-like teeth.

 "I want to live with you too," he replied, his voice carrying a deep satisfaction that seemed to ripple through the fog around them.

Adam’s parents sighed in relief, their faces softening as though they had been holding their breath. But when Lucifer’s father spoke, his rough voice grated against the air, sending a chill down Adam’s spine.

"We’ll purchase any building you want... to turn into your nest," he said, the words dripping with an odd finality. "From this moment on, Adam, you will become a man of Innsmouth."

The way his father-in-law said those words made something inside Adam shrivel in unease. A man of Innsmouth. The phrase felt heavy, oppressive, like chains tightening around his soul. But before he could linger on that discomfort, Lucifer’s voice cut through his thoughts, soft and sweet.

"I already know where we’ll live," Lucifer said, his webbed fingers curling tighter around Adam's hand, the faint sound he made vibrating in the air like a low hum.

Adam’s curiosity piqued, his unease momentarily forgotten. "Where?"

Lucifer's smile widened, and there was something dark and gleaming in his eyes now, something ancient. "The lighthouse."

The word hit Adam like a physical blow, and for a moment, he stared at Lucifer as though he had never truly seen him before. The lighthouse. His nightmare. That looming, decrepit tower that had haunted his dreams since childhood—the place where shadows seemed to twist unnaturally, where the wind whispered things too horrible to understand.

"You want us to move into the lighthouse?" Adam’s voice was barely a whisper, the weight of his own dread pressing down on him like a leaden cloak. His pulse quickened, his breath hitching in his throat.

Lucifer’s grip on his hand was unyielding, and when he spoke again, his voice was laced with something darker than before, something that made Adam's skin crawl even as his heart throbbed with twisted affection.

"Yes. It’s perfect, isn’t it?" Lucifer tilted his head, his webbed fingers tracing soothing circles on Adam’s palm, as if that simple touch could wash away the terror creeping up his spine. "We’ll be alone there. Just us, Adam. Away from the town, away from everyone. A place all our own, to raise our own child."

Adam wanted to protest, to say that the lighthouse terrified him, that it had always felt like a place of death, not life. But when he looked into Lucifer’s eyes, into those deep, endless pools of blue, the words caught in his throat. He couldn’t deny the pull, the overwhelming urge to be with Lucifer—no matter the cost.

"I..." Adam swallowed hard, his pulse racing.

The fear was still there, gnawing at the edges of his mind, but beneath it was something else—something far more dangerous. Love. A love so deep, so consuming, that it overpowered everything else. He wanted to be with Lucifer. He needed to be with Lucifer.

The lighthouse. Their nest.

"Yes," Adam finally said, his voice barely audible as the mist coiled tighter around them. "Yes, we’ll live there."

Lucifer's smile deepened; his eyes gleaming with triumph.

"Good," he whispered, pulling Adam closer, his breath cool against Adam's skin. "I promise, Adam, you’ll love it. We’ll make it ours."

As they stood there, the weight of Innsmouth pressing down on them, Adam felt a shiver crawl up his spine. Somewhere in the distance, the ocean roared, and the decaying lighthouse loomed, waiting for them. Waiting for the final step in a journey Adam never realized he had been on all his life.

Innsmouth was such a dismal decadent place. The oppressive gloom hung like a pall over the town, and Adam had never realized how deep the shadow truly ran, how it had seeped into every corner, every stone, and every soul that lingered there. The town, once a thriving coastal village, had withered into a hollow shell of itself—mostly abandoned now, save for the few stubborn families who clung to its shores like barnacles on a sinking ship. The buildings sagged with age, their wooden facades warped and swollen from decades of salt air and neglect. Innsmouth reeked of death and the sea, its streets saturated with the briny, nauseating stench of dead fish, a smell that seemed to cling to everything.

Adam often wondered why no one else noticed how lifeless the town had become. The people shuffled through the streets, their bodies hunched and broken, moving with a strange, shuffling gait as though they were slowly being dragged down into the depths from which their ancestors had once risen. The elders, in particular, were the most unsettling—stooped figures with narrow, misshapen heads, flat noses, and eyes that bulged unnervingly, staring unblinking from beneath heavy, sagging lids. Their stares always sent a chill down Adam's spine, as if they saw something in him that he couldn't yet see in himself.

The town was a place of secrets—dark, festering secrets that lurked just beneath the surface of every conversation, every gaze. Adam knew it instinctively, though he had never spoken it aloud. The elders never talked about what lay beyond the misty shores, and no one seemed to care. The townspeople were bound to this place, as though the sea itself had claimed them long ago. Even the newcomers who ventured into Innsmouth eventually succumbed to its quiet, suffocating grip, sinking into the town's strange rhythms like stones into water.

But Lucifer... Lucifer was different. His family was different. In a town of crumbling decay, Lucifer stood out like a bright, glistening pearl in a bed of mud. Adam had always found Lucifer and his kin to be beautiful in their own eerie way, their features sharp and otherworldly, their skin pale and iridescent in the fog-drenched light. There was something mesmerizing about their unnatural stillness, the way their eyes gleamed with a strange, aquatic depth that reminded Adam of the ocean at night—deep, unfathomable, and dangerous. Even the way Lucifer's family moved was different, graceful in a way that seemed almost liquid, their bodies slipping through the shadows like waves lapping gently against the shore.

Where others in Innsmouth had begun to take on the grotesque, piscine traits of their cursed lineage, Lucifer’s beauty had only grown more intense with time. His golden hair, pale like the sun breaking through a storm, clung to his face in soft waves, his skin cold to the touch but smooth as polished stone. His eyes—those haunting, glassy blue eyes—shimmered with something dark and ancient, something that pulled Adam in deeper every time he looked at him. Adam had long since given up resisting that pull. In a town where everything reeked of decay, Lucifer was the one thing that still seemed alive.

Perhaps it was this allure that made Adam ignore what he knew, deep down, to be true. Innsmouth was rotting from the inside, a place of dread and whispers, and Lucifer, for all his beauty, was at its heart. Adam had grown up watching the slow unraveling of the town, but it was only now, as he stood on the cusp of some inevitable change, that he began to see the pieces fall into place. Lucifer wasn’t just part of Innsmouth—he was Innsmouth, its essence personified in human form. His family, too, with their strange beauty and haunting presence, seemed like avatars of something far older and darker than the town itself.

And yet, Adam couldn’t help but be drawn to him. There was something about Lucifer that made Adam’s blood run cold and hot all at once, as though he were standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down into the yawning black abyss of the sea. It terrified him, but it also thrilled him. In Lucifer’s presence, Adam felt both loved and consumed, cherished and devoured.

Adam had always thought that love was meant to save him, to pull him out of the darkness. But with Lucifer, love felt like drowning. It felt like sinking deeper and deeper into the depths of the ocean, the light above him slowly fading, until all that remained was the cold embrace of the water and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. And Adam, despite everything, wanted to be part of that darkness, part of whatever sinister force had gripped Innsmouth for so long.

Lucifer was his anchor, his light, and his abyss. And as the shadow of Innsmouth deepened around them, Adam realized that he had never truly had a choice. Lucifer had been with him all along, like a shadow, like the tide—always pulling him closer, always drawing him in.

In the end, Adam thought, perhaps that’s what love really was in Innsmouth: not salvation, but surrender.

The following weeks passed in a fevered blur, like a dream slipping away upon waking, leaving only the vague sense of something dark stirring beneath the surface. Adam found himself uprooted from the comfort of his family home and moved to the old, crumbling lighthouse that loomed over Innsmouth like a forgotten sentinel. Standing beneath its towering, decaying form, Adam felt the familiar swell of dread bubbling up from the pit of his stomach. He tried to suppress it, to hide the fear that coiled around his spine, but it was difficult when Lucifer seemed so... enamoured by the place.

Lucifer's pale, golden hair shone under the sickly grey light of the overcast sky, his glassy blue eyes gleaming with a strange and unsettling joy. Adam watched in uneasy silence as Lucifer communicated with his parents in that peculiar way he always had—those soft, rhythmic clicks and chirps, sounds that Adam had never really questioned before. Now, though, it seemed wrong. Unnatural. The small slits framing Lucifer’s cheeks fluttered open and closed like gills, their movements subtle but unmistakable. He looked so... at home here, as though the lighthouse was calling him back, welcoming him like an old friend.

But Adam was terrified. Every inch of the lighthouse seemed to hum with a sinister energy, and the faint, salty smell of rot clung to the air like a shroud. His father’s hand suddenly pressed down on his shoulder, startling him from his thoughts. Adam turned, meeting his father’s eyes—those same green eyes they shared, though now they seemed clouded, shadowed by something Adam couldn’t quite place. There was a darkness there, something ancient and grief-stricken, hidden just behind the surface, and it sent an icy chill racing down Adam's spine.

His father was trying to smile, trying to appear positive for the move, but Adam saw through it. That mask—how long had his father worn it? How often had he buried whatever horror lay beneath to protect Adam from the truth?

"Where’s Mum?" Adam asked, noticing her absence for the first time.

His father’s expression faltered, a flicker of pain twisting his features in a way that made Adam’s stomach lurch. His lips trembled slightly as he answered, his voice too soft.

"She’s not well," his father said quietly, his words heavy with something unspoken. "She’ll come visit when she’s better."

Adam’s heart tightened in his chest, but he nodded, accepting the answer even as unease gnawed at the back of his mind. He turned back toward the lighthouse, the towering structure seeming even more imposing under the dreary sky.

He whispered, almost to himself, "I wish Lucifer had chosen somewhere else."

His father sighed, the sound weary and worn, like the wind rattling through the bones of the old town.

“You’ll get used to it," he murmured, though his voice lacked conviction. Adam shook his head, the weight of the building pressing down on him.

"I don’t think I will," Adam said softly, his eyes tracing the cracks in the stone, the crumbling edges of the windows that stared out like broken eyes. "I can’t imagine living in a place like this."

There was a long, tense silence, and when Adam glanced back at his father, he noticed the man’s gaze lingering on Lucifer and his family. A shiver passed through Adam as his father whispered something under his breath.

A quiet, almost imperceptible, "I’m sorry."

Adam stiffened, turning to face him fully. "What did you say?"

But his father only shook his head, his smile stretched unnaturally wide.

"Nothing at all," he said quickly, the words too smooth. "I’m sure you’ll get used to it, Adam. This is your new home now."

The shadows seemed deeper on his father’s face, casting strange shapes across his features, and Adam felt the weight of something unspoken between them. He wanted to ask more, to press him, but instead, he just nodded, the tension tightening in his chest.

"I hope so."

It was then that Lucifer approached, gliding across the uneven ground with an eerie grace, as though he were more attuned to the sea-washed stones beneath his feet than anyone else. He moved toward Adam with a look of soft concern, as if he could sense the turmoil bubbling just beneath Adam’s skin. Lucifer’s hands, cool and damp like the ocean itself, cupped Adam’s face, pulling him close. His touch sent shivers through Adam, but not of fear—of something deeper, something darker.

Lucifer beamed, his sharp teeth gleaming as he nuzzled against Adam’s neck, his breath warm and wet, sending a thrill of unease through Adam’s body. A soft purring sound rumbled from Lucifer’s throat, like a cat satisfied with its prey.

"Are you excited?" Lucifer asked, his voice low, sultry. "We’re finally going to live together, Adam. Just you and me."

Adam swallowed, forcing himself to smile as Lucifer’s lips brushed his skin, as that strange, haunting sound—the clicking and chirping—escaped Lucifer’s lips again.

"Of course," Adam managed, his voice shaking slightly. "I’ve always wanted to live with you."

And in that moment, as Lucifer’s arms tightened around him, Adam couldn’t tell if it was the truth or a lie.

The lighthouse loomed above them, casting its long, crooked shadow over their embrace, and somewhere deep inside him, Adam felt that this was not the beginning of something new, but the end of something he couldn’t quite name. Lucifer’s fingers curled around Adam’s hand, cool and slick, as if he’d just come from the sea.

"We’re going to be so happy here," Lucifer whispered, his voice like the whispering waves. But Adam’s heart thudded heavily in his chest, and in the pit of his stomach, the fear remained—silent, cold, and growing.

Moving into the lighthouse was unsettlingly easy, as though the ancient structure had been waiting for them—waiting for him. There was no resistance, no lingering attachment to his old home, as if Innsmouth itself had tightened its grip around Adam's life. He tried to suggest fixing up the place once, a casual comment about fresh paint or patching the broken windows, but Lucifer’s reaction was swift and strange.

The blonde man’s blue, glassy eyes grew wide, almost too wide for his face, bulging in a way that made Adam’s stomach turn.

"No," Lucifer had whispered, his voice low and pleading, a hint of desperation curling around the words. "Don’t change anything. It’s perfect. Just the way it is."

Adam hadn’t understood, but he found himself nodding, as though Lucifer’s will had woven itself into his own thoughts. Lucifer’s tense expression melted into a radiant smile, and he pressed himself against Adam, his purring filling the small room like the ebbing tide. The sound was comforting at first, until Adam realized—beneath the surface of that purr, something darker lurked, something... otherworldly. The scent of salt and brine surrounded him, a faint reminder of the sea. Lucifer’s scent had always been familiar to Adam, something he once thought of as warm, like salted caramel, but now, in the closeness of the lighthouse, it revealed itself as something far more primal. The scent of the ocean, thick and fishy, clung to Lucifer like a second skin.

The first night, Adam didn’t sleep. Nor the second. Nor the third. He lay there, beside Lucifer, staring up at the cracked ceiling of the lighthouse as faint, skittering sounds whispered through the walls. He told himself it was the wind, the movement of the old wood settling, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something else—someone else—was listening. The moon never broke through the dense clouds that constantly blanketed the sky, and the room remained shrouded in darkness, the only sound the relentless crashing of waves and the occasional, distant shrill echo that gnawed at Adam’s nerves.

It was then that Adam realized—the noises in the lighthouse, those strange, high-pitched cries—they weren’t just the wind or the sea. They were too much like the sounds Lucifer made when he was speaking with his parents, those clicks and chirps that had once seemed so innocent. Now they unnerved him, pulling at some long-buried fear that he couldn’t quite name.

He found himself drawn to the window, his gaze fixating on the distant path that wound its way out of Innsmouth, leading into the world beyond. He wondered, in the stillness of the night, what it would be like to simply leave. To walk away from the shadows that had swallowed him whole, to see the world beyond the suffocating veil of Innsmouth’s decay.

As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, Lucifer shifted on top of him, lifting his head from Adam’s chest. His glassy, sea-blue eyes glowed faintly in the gloom, reflecting what little light there was, giving him an eerie, inhuman look.

"What are you doing still awake?" he asked, his voice soft, yet it carried a strange, lilting edge. A hum, like the distant pull of the ocean.

"I can’t sleep," Adam admitted, his voice hoarse from hours of silence.

Lucifer’s smile was sharp, his lips curling back over his too-white teeth. He reached behind him and pulled the thin curtains shut, cutting off Adam’s view of the outside world, of the path beyond Innsmouth.

"You need to sleep," Lucifer whispered, his tone insistent, a warning woven beneath the gentle words. "Not sleeping isn’t healthy. It’ll make your mind weak."

Adam frowned, the unease stirring in his chest. "What do you mean... too weak?"

Lucifer’s smile widened, a grin that held too many secrets. He leaned down, his webbed fingers curling around Adam’s neck as his cool lips brushed against Adam’s skin.

"The mind is fragile, Adam. A thin thread that can easily snap if pulled too hard." His voice was low, hypnotic, as if he was speaking of something much darker than mere exhaustion. "If you don’t rest, you won’t survive the pull."

The words sent a chill through Adam, but he didn’t dare ask what Lucifer truly meant. There was something dangerous in the way he spoke, something ancient and unknowable.

 Instead, Adam nodded weakly, swallowing the growing lump in his throat. "I’ll... I’ll try to sleep."

Lucifer’s grin sharpened further, a flash of satisfaction flickering in his eyes.

"You won’t try," he said softly, his voice like velvet wrapping around Adam’s thoughts. "You will sleep."

He shifted closer, his cold body pressing against Adam’s warmth, as though seeking to absorb the heat he could never produce on his own. "Close your eyes."

Adam obeyed, though every fibre of his being wanted to resist. He lay there, eyes shut, listening to the rhythmic hum of Lucifer’s breath, feeling the strange pull of his words as they echoed in his mind.

Lucifer began to hum, a soft, eerie melody that wasn’t quite human. It wasn’t singing—it was more like the strange, shrill language he and his family spoke, the inhuman clicking and chirping that sent shivers down Adam’s spine. The sound wrapped around him, tightening like a net. He wanted to open his eyes, to see what was happening, but Lucifer’s voice cut through his thoughts.

"Keep them closed," Lucifer whispered, his tone commanding, a sweetness to it that chilled Adam to his core.

Against his better judgment, Adam did as he was told, his heart pounding in his chest as Lucifer’s voice filled the room—alien, ancient, pulling him deeper into the darkness…as if he was falling deeper into the devil’s reek.

The following week was a blur of confusion and dread for Adam, as if the murky shadows of Innsmouth were finally seeping into his very soul. He stood awkwardly at the foot of the lighthouse, feeling its looming, oppressive presence behind him like a curse he couldn’t shake. His once-bright green eyes now seemed dulled, as though the vibrant colour had been drained and replaced with a fading darkness, the skin beneath them bruised and sunken. His flesh felt rubbery and twitching, as if something moved beneath the surface, just out of sight.

"Don’t worry," he whispered, his voice dripping with that strange, calming quality. Lucifer, ever watchful, only smiled.

"We won’t be parted for long." His webbed fingers gently cupped Adam’s cheek, the touch cold, but affectionate, and his glassy-blue fish eyes, eerily beautiful and alien, swept over Adam’s body.

"You look lovely," he murmured, his voice a soft purr. "The new clothes suit you."

Adam swallowed hard, his throat dry. He didn’t feel lovely. The new gear—the heavy oilskins, the boots weighed down with sea-water salt—felt cumbersome, like a layer of Innsmouth’s oppressive air had wrapped itself around him.

"It’s too heavy," Adam muttered. "I don’t know how the older men wear this all day."

Lucifer leaned in close, nuzzling against Adam’s neck with a series of those unsettling clicks and chirps that had become far too familiar. His breath was warm, smelling faintly of brine and decay, like the belly of a gutted fish.

"You’ll get used to it," he assured Adam, his voice an eerie melody in the wind. "Besides, you’re finally contributing to Innsmouth. Isn’t that exciting?"

Adam’s stomach twisted. Contributing. He’d rather spend every moment with Lucifer, in the quiet embrace of the lighthouse, far from the eyes of the town, but the weight of Innsmouth’s expectations hung over him like a storm cloud.

"I’d rather stay here with you... every day, forever," Adam mumbled, almost pleading.

"And I want that too," he whispered, pressing closer, the cool skin of his cheek rubbing against Adam’s. Lucifer’s smile widened, his sharp teeth glinting faintly in the low light.

"But we both have our parts to play... for Innsmouth." His voice took on a low, distant tone, as though he were echoing the very will of the town itself. "Don’t worry, you’ll be back by supper."

Adam gave a half-hearted hum of agreement. "What are you making for supper?"

"Clam chowder," Lucifer said with a thoughtful frown, as if testing the words on his tongue. "Maybe something special..."

His eyes glinted for a moment, something ancient and strange flickering there. The image of clams gathered from Innsmouth’s cursed, polluted waters crept into Adam’s mind—dark, bloated things pulled from the depths, their flesh tinged with unnatural hues, reeking of the blackened sea. Adam shuddered.

Lucifer’s frown deepened as he noticed. "What’s wrong? You don’t like my cooking?"

"No, no, it’s not that." Adam shook his head quickly. His heart raced. He couldn’t bear the thought of upsetting Lucifer. "I love your cooking."

Lucifer stared into Adam’s eyes, the weight of his gaze almost unbearable. "Then is it the clam chowder? Do you want something else?"

Adam hesitated, his lips twitching as if he wanted to say something, something that was caught in his throat like seaweed tangled around a struggling swimmer. But he forced it down.

"No, anything you make is perfect," he muttered, the words heavy with a weight he couldn’t understand.

Lucifer's smile returned, softer now, as he nodded.

"Good." He handed Adam a small wrapped parcel. "I packed some of Innsmouth’s famous fish stew for your lunch. With a bit of fermented seaweed. It’ll keep your strength up."

Adam accepted the lunch with a quiet, "Thank you."

His fingers brushing against Lucifer’s, cold and damp like the sea itself. He could already imagine the overpowering stench of the stew—the briny, oily flavour that clung to his mouth, unlike anything found in normal waters. Fish that swam in the darkest trenches, where the light of the sun never reached, where creatures changed into things not meant for human eyes.

Lucifer’s eyes softened as he whispered, "I love you."

Adam met his gaze, the words slipping from his mouth before he could even think. "I love you too."

Lucifer purred, his voice a low, soothing vibration as he kissed Adam’s cheek.

"Then be safe, my love," he said, stepping back and letting Adam gather his gear. "The others are waiting. Don’t be frightened if you see... anything."

His smile widened into something more feral, a flash of sharp teeth as he winked.

A chill raced down Adam’s spine. "See what?"

Lucifer only laughed, his voice a soft melody on the wind. "You’ll know. Now hurry."

Adam nodded stiffly and turned toward the door, his legs heavy as if the boots were filled with lead. He stumbled over the broken steps of the lighthouse, glancing back once to see Lucifer watching him, smiling that same too-wide smile. The wind howled, and Adam could almost swear he heard the sound of whispers—distant, deep, and full of something ancient.

Making his way toward the harbour, Adam’s steps slowed. As soon as the lighthouse was out of sight, he pulled the lunch from his pack, his fingers trembling. He opened the lid just a crack, and immediately the stench hit him—a gut-wrenching, overpowering smell of rotten fish, pungent and sickening. His stomach churned. The stew inside was dark, almost black, with a strange oily sheen to it, like the water that sloshed near the deepest parts of the docks.

He glanced around, making sure no one was watching, then quickly emptied the stew into a small rocky gap by the shore, the murky sea swallowing it without a trace. As the blackened liquid slipped into the ocean, a small voice at the back of his mind whispered that something watched from beneath the waves, something that understood what he had just discarded.

With a shudder, Adam stood and wiped his hands on his pants. He made his way to a small shop in town, where the smell of briny air was replaced by the warmth of baked goods. He bought a packet of cheese crackers and ginger wafers, something simple and comforting, before heading toward the harbour to meet the fishermen.

As he approached the boats, the wind from the sea picked up, carrying with it an eerie, almost inhuman sound that reminded him of Lucifer’s voice—those clicks, those whispers that once seemed so innocent. But now, each time he heard them, they felt less like a language and more like a summoning.

Adam hurried toward the harbour, his mind racing with confusion and an ever-growing sense of dread. He was supposed to join the fishermen, to contribute to the strange rhythms of Innsmouth as Lucifer had insisted, but something stopped him—something primal, deep within. His feet slowed; his pulse quickened. And then he saw him.

Slouched on a decrepit bench near the harbour, red-faced and bearded with a watery, unfocused gaze, was Zadok Allen, the town’s infamous nonagenarian. Zadok was a living relic, a drunken shadow who had long outlasted his time. His tales of Innsmouth—wild, disjointed, impossible—were the stuff of both ridicule and terror. Even Lucifer, whose very presence seemed tied to the secrets of Innsmouth, had warned Adam not to speak with the man, cautioning him about the dangers that lingered in the old man's ramblings. But now, with a strange, irresistible pull gnawing at his insides, Adam felt drawn to him.

The winds from the sea tugged at his clothes, sending the rank smell of salt and decay wafting through the air. Adam’s grip tightened on the packet of crackers he had bought, and his thoughts turned for a moment to offering them to Zadok.

Would he even eat something that wasn’t fish? He grimaced at the idea. Maybe I should’ve bought whiskey instead.

A creeping unease settled over Adam, making the oddities of Innsmouth more glaring than they had ever been. The dilapidated buildings, the foul-smelling sea breeze, and even Lucifer—his lover, his soulmate—seemed somehow off. The glassy-eyed beauty that once captivated Adam now made him shiver, as if something ancient and unseen lurked behind that angelic façade. As if waking from a dream where he had been lulled into complacency, Adam realized he no longer felt safe. Something in Innsmouth was terribly wrong.

Biting into a cracker, his thoughts heavy and fragmented, Adam turned toward the panelled street near the Gilman House. He glimpsed the shop he had just bought his snack from, and on a whim, he re-entered to buy a bottle of whiskey.

It’s what Zadok would want, he thought, more as an excuse to delay the inevitable—heading out to sea with the fishermen. The clerk didn’t say a word, barely even glanced at him as they rang up the bottle. No doubt they thought Adam had just come off the night shift, part of the strange rhythm that dictated life in Innsmouth.

Emerging from the shop, Adam felt the bottle’s weight in his hand, as if it were some sort of anchor to reality. He approached Zadok with it held loosely at his side, his steps slow, deliberate. To his grim satisfaction, the old man’s eyes lit up, glinting with a hungry, greedy gleam. Zadok began to shuffle after him almost immediately, his feet dragging across the cracked cobblestones like the tide retreating back to sea.

Adam felt a pang of guilt as Zadok followed, like leading a stray dog with a scrap of meat. But it was too late now. He had to know the truth, had to peel back the layers of this cursed town and its suffocating darkness. Without thinking too hard on it, Adam steered them both toward the southern waterfront, that lonely stretch of abandoned docks where no one ventured except for the occasional fisherman on the breakwater. If Adam could get Zadok there—out of sight, out of earshot—he would be free to ask his questions, free to learn of the horrors no one dared speak aloud. And, more importantly, Lucifer would not know of his defiance.

The walk felt interminable, with the old man shambling at Adam’s heels like some half-forgotten ghost. They finally arrived at the dilapidated wharf, where broken boards creaked underfoot and the smell of stagnant water clung to the air like a festering wound. Adam found two seats near the edge of the wharf, worn and splintering from disuse, and gestured for Zadok to sit. The old man’s breathing was heavy, laboured, and his rheumy eyes gleamed with a mix of eagerness and suspicion.

“Got somethin’ for me, boy?” Zadok wheezed, eyeing the bottle in Adam’s hand with a longing that bordered on desperation.

Adam wordlessly passed it over, watching as Zadok tore into the cork with shaking hands and took a long, greedy swig. For a moment, the old man seemed to revel in the burn of the whiskey, his eyes half-closing as if in a rare moment of peace. But then he looked back at Adam, his expression shifting into something more unsettling—an awareness, a recognition that made Adam’s skin crawl.

“You want somethin’,” Zadok muttered, his voice thick with the whiskey but sharp with understanding. “I seen it in yer eyes. You want to know what no one’ll tell ye. About Innsmouth. About them folk in them old houses. About what’s in the water.”

Adam swallowed, his heart pounding in his chest. He glanced around nervously, his eyes scanning the empty waterfront to make sure no one was watching.

“I—I need to know, Zadok,” Adam said, his voice trembling despite himself. “There’s something... wrong here. The way people act, the way they look... even Lucifer...”

At the mention of Lucifer’s name, Zadok’s expression darkened. He leaned in closer, his breath reeking of alcohol and something far more foul. “Lucifer, eh? So it’s him ye’re tangled up with, is it?”

He cackled, a sound like nails on glass. “Boy, ye don’t even know the half of it. Ain’t nobody in Innsmouth normal no more. Not since the old days, not since the bargain.”

Adam’s blood ran cold. “Bargain? What bargain?”

Zadok took another swig from the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s the deep ones, boy. The deep ones. They came from the sea, they did, back when Captain Obed Marsh brought ‘em here. Promised wealth, promised prosperity... but there was a price. There’s always a price.”

He looked at Adam with wild, bloodshot eyes. “Ye ever wonder why the folk in Innsmouth look the way they do? Why they smell of the sea, even when they ain’t near it? That’s the blood, boy. That’s the change. It gets into ye, bit by bit, till ye ain’t human no more. Ye’re one of them. Or yer on yer way to bein’ one.”

A chill gripped Adam’s spine as he thought of Lucifer—his glowing blue eyes, the gills that fluttered on his neck when he wasn’t paying attention, the way he moved with that eerie grace in the water. Was this what awaited him? Had Lucifer already made his choice?

“And what happens when the change is complete?” Adam asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Zadok’s grin was a rictus of madness, his teeth yellowed and sharp. “Ye don’t stay on land, that’s for sure. Ye go back to the water. Back to where ye came from. The deep ones, they call ye, and ye answer. Ye belong to them, body and soul.”

Adam stared into the murky water lapping at the wharf’s edge, a sickening realization gnawing at the edges of his mind. Lucifer had been right—he had to play his part for Innsmouth. But the part was not just for the town. It was for something older, something darker, something lurking beneath the waves. Something Adam could no longer escape.

Zadok’s voice broke through his reverie, a raspy whisper filled with both pity and warning. “It’s too late for ye, boy. Once ye’ve been marked, there ain’t no goin’ back.”

Zadok eyed the cheese crackers and ginger wafers in Adam’s hand, a glint of something dark and knowing in his watery, bloodshot eyes. Adam began to nibble on one of the crackers, hoping to stave off the nausea that had been creeping up on him since this conversation started. Zadok snickered, a low, raspy sound like something bubbling up from the depths of the sea.

"That’s how they get ye," Zadok muttered, his voice slurred but tinged with malice.

Adam blinked, momentarily confused. He hesitated, staring at the old man in bewilderment. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice barely audible, as if he was afraid of the answer.

Zadok’s grin widened, revealing teeth that were too jagged, too yellowed. "How long ye been skippin’ the meals, boy? Ain’t Lucifer been cookin’ fer ye?"

Adam’s stomach lurched as the memory of Lucifer's clam chowder—its strange consistency and metallic aftertaste—flashed in his mind. The stew he had secretly dumped into the sea still seemed to cling to his nostrils, a sour, fishy stench that lingered despite his best efforts to forget it. His green eyes widened, the sudden cold realization dawning on him.

"Y-yes," Adam stammered, "Lucifer has been cooking for me."

Zadok cackled, his laughter like the crackle of dead leaves on the wind. He took a deep gulp of whiskey, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and leaned closer, his breath reeking of decay. "That’s how it starts, ye see. How ye become one of them."

Adam squinted, the words twisting in his mind like sea serpents. "You mean... Lucifer? He’s changing, right? He doesn’t have long before he becomes like... them?"

Zadok’s laughter grew louder, more guttural, until it broke off into a wet cough. He shook his head, the wisps of his hair fluttering in the cold breeze. "Not him, ye fool. You. Lucifer’s already one of ‘em—always has been. It’s you who’s turnin’. They’ve already got their hooks in ye, boy."

The words hit Adam like a slap. His heart thudded in his chest, a growing sense of horror wrapping itself around his mind like a fog.

"Me?" he whispered, as though the very idea were too absurd, too monstrous to consider. "What... what do you mean?"

Zadok’s grin spread even wider, his eyes narrowing to slits. "Aye, ye heard me. It’s ye who’s changin’. It’s ye who’s bein’ prepared. That chowder, that stew—it ain’t just food, lad. It’s somethin’ more. Somethin’ from beneath."

He leaned in even closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hiss. "Lucifer’s been groomin’ ye all along. Turnin’ ye. Before long, ye’ll both be swimmin’ down there, with the rest of ‘em—makin’ younglin’s to continue the process."

Adam’s throat tightened, a cold sweat prickling his skin. "But... Lucifer loves me," he protested, his voice weak. "He—he wouldn’t—"

"Loves ye?" Zadok interrupted, snorting with disdain. "Aye, he might love ye in his own twisted way, but that don’t change what’s comin’. Don’t ye get it, boy? Ye’re just a part of the cycle now. Just like all the others before ye. Lucifer ain’t human—never was. But ye... ye’re bein’ molded. Ye’re bein’ made ready."

Adam’s mind swirled, reeling from the old man’s words. His heart pounded against his ribs, each beat more painful than the last. "Made... ready for what?"

Zadok’s eyes gleamed with malicious glee. "Fer the child, boy. When the time’s right, ye and Lucifer’ll have ye own baby and then you’ll approve some poor human younglin’—maybe even one ye know now—and they’ll be the mate for yer own spawn. That’s how it’s done here, in this cursed town.”

“Them, us, both. One half human, one half fish. One old. One young. Blood to water, flesh to sea, mind against mind until there ain’t nothin’ left of the old ye. Ye’re part of it now. Gills’ll start growin’. Ye’ll breathe the saltwater like ye always belonged down there."

Adam recoiled, bile rising in his throat as he tried to wrap his mind around the horror. His thoughts scrambled in a frenzy, trying to connect what he had known, what he had believed about Lucifer, with the monstrous reality that now clawed at him.

Zadok leaned back, taking another swig of the whiskey with a grotesque satisfaction. "Once yer mind breaks, once ye stop resistin’ the call of the deep, it won’t matter no more. Ye’ll be one of ‘em. Forever. And ye’ll thank Lucifer for it."

Adam’s breath came in ragged gasps. "No... no, this can’t be right. Lucifer wouldn’t... I—I would know if—"

"Would ye, though?" Zadok’s grin widened even further, a sickening thing of madness. "Ye think ye can trust yer own thoughts now, do ye? Think ye’ve been in control this whole time? Boy, ye’ve been marked since ye were chosen. Ye just didn’t know it yet."

Adam’s hands trembled, his mind filled with visions of endless black depths, of cold waters closing in around him. His lungs felt tight, as if he were already submerged, choking on the saltwater. Was this what it felt like—the slow, inevitable pull into madness? The creeping change that would consume him, body and soul?

He thought of Lucifer—his warm touch, his soft words, the way he would curl around Adam at night like some strange, otherworldly creature. Was he grooming me? Preparing me for this all along? The love they shared, once so fierce and beautiful, now felt like a trap, an illusion crafted to ensnare him.

Adam swallowed hard, his mouth dry. "Is there any way to stop it?"

Zadok’s smile faltered for a moment, his gaze shifting to the dark waters beyond the wharf. He seemed to consider the question, but the answer that followed was more bitter than hopeful. "Ain’t no stoppin’ what’s already started. Ye can fight it, sure, but the sea always wins. It always pulls ye back."

The silence that followed was suffocating. The crash of the waves, once rhythmic and soothing, now sounded like the whisper of an ancient, hungry thing calling to him. Calling him home.

Adam’s eyes darted back toward the lighthouse, where Lucifer still waited, unaware of this conversation—or perhaps fully aware, watching and waiting for Adam to come back to him, to continue their part in the twisted cycle of Innsmouth.

Zadok leaned in close, his breath thick with the stench of whiskey and decay, his rheumy eyes boring into Adam's with a kind of feral intensity. "Ye felt it, haven’t ye? That pain—the sickness when ye’re apart from Lucifer? Like ye can’t breathe, like somethin’s clawing at yer soul. That’s the bond, lad. That’s how it is. Yer mind’s been shackled to his from the moment ye wore the sea crown... from the moment ye were claimed."

Adam’s breath hitched, his chest tight. A cold sweat broke out across his skin, and his whole body trembled as though something deep and primal had begun to stir inside him.

"I don’t... why? Why change us?" he stammered, his voice barely a whisper, filled with mounting dread.

Zadok chuckled—a dark, wet sound, like something rattling in his throat. "Because, boy, the sea-things can only breed with humans. The families in Innsmouth—well, some are allowed to breed and keep the blood alive. Some of ye’re chosen to join the sea-gods down below, while others... rejected, left to keep bumping out human younglings. Ye see? Ye understand now? Ye’re lucky—ye were accepted. If ye weren’t, ye’d be stuck makin’ human younglings forever, like some cattle."

Adam shook his head violently, his hands rising to rub at his face, as if trying to scrub the nightmare from his skin. "This... this is madness. How could this happen? How could this be happening?" His words broke into the still air, but there was no comfort to be found.

Zadok’s eyes gleamed, the fire of ancient knowledge burning behind his dilated pupils. "Ye wanna know, don’t ye? Ye wanna hear the truth about Innsmouth? About the old ones?"

Adam peered at him from between his trembling fingers, the fear gnawing at his heart. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but something pulled him in—a dark curiosity born from the very same depths that seemed to be calling him.

"Tell me," he breathed.

Zadok grinned, his teeth yellowed and sharp like a creature of the deep. He took another swig of whiskey and began his tale, his voice a rasp, a chant, like the wind howling over the waves. "It started with the Kanak tribe in Pohnpei, long before this town ever existed. They offered sacrifices to a race of immortal, fish-like beings—the Deep Ones. Those same Kanaks bred with the Deep Ones, creatin’ offspring that looked human enough at first. But as the years wore on, the change came. The gills... the scales... ’til they finally left the land and returned to the depths, livin’ in cities beneath the waves forever."

Adam’s stomach twisted as the images formed in his mind—Lucifer’s otherworldly beauty, the strange sound of his breathing at night, the click of his tongue against his teeth, the peculiar way he moved in the water, like he belonged there.

"When hard times came to Innsmouth," Zadok continued, "The townsfolk turned to the same practices. Sacrifices to the Deep Ones in exchange for wealth—fish hauls like ye’ve never seen, jewels from beneath the sea. But the real trade... the real exchange was in blood."

He leaned closer, his foul breath warm against Adam’s ear. "What’s happenin’ with ye and Lucifer—well, that’s what the old ones always wanted. Fresh blood for their younglin’s. A new cycle, forever and ever."

Adam felt as though the air had been sucked from his lungs. He stared out at the murky, restless ocean, his mind reeling. He could almost hear the call of the waves, beckoning him into their dark embrace.

"Who... who is the old one?"

Zadok’s grin widened, his eyes wild with manic glee.

"Ye know of him," he rasped, a crooked finger pointing toward the horizon where the sea met the sky. "Ye’ve heard of him. Only, ye thought he was just a legend, a myth. But he’s real, lad. He’s out there, sleepin’ beneath the waves. Right before ye. Right under our very feet."

A chill raced down Adam’s spine, his skin prickling with an overwhelming sense of dread. He could almost feel it—something ancient and colossal stirring far below, a presence too vast for the human mind to comprehend.

"Why?" he whispered. " What does he want?"

Zadok shrugged, his movements drunken and erratic. "Somethin’ about his bloodline, boy. Always wantin’ a way back to life. If somethin’ happens to him—if he’s killed or lost—he has a thousand ways to return. Thousands of grandchildren, thousands of vessels just waitin’ for him to slip back into this world. And ye... ye’re part of that, whether ye like it or not."

Adam’s throat tightened, the cold horror twisting inside him.

"Lucifer...?" he choked out, his voice hoarse.

Zadok nodded slowly, the grin never leaving his face. "Aye... Lucifer. He’s a vassal, just waitin’ for the old one to take him. And ye? Ye’re next in line to bear another. The future younglin’s, they’ll be carrying’ that cursed blood. And when the time’s right, ye’ll give birth another vassal, to keep it going."

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, the terror coursing through him like ice. His eyes went wide when Zadok’s gnarled hand touched his stomach, sending a sickening jolt of understanding through him. That was it—the horror, the reality that clawed at the edges of his sanity.

Zadok chuckled, his voice a grotesque sing-song mockery. "That’s right. Ye’ve already started changin’, lad. Ye and Lucifer... ye’ll be bringin’ forth the next vessel soon enough. I can see it in yer eyes, in yer skin. Yer body’s gettin’ ready for it, ye hear?"

Adam shot to his feet, stumbling back, his heart hammering in his chest. A cold, creeping sensation ran through his veins, something dark and foreign that made his skin crawl. He looked down at Zadok, the old man grinning up at him from the dirt, his drunken body slumping over, falling unconscious in a heap of ragged clothes and muttered slurs.

Adam stared down at him, his entire body shaking with revulsion and fear. The old man’s snoring filled the silence, but Adam’s mind was elsewhere spiralling into the unfathomable darkness of the sea, where ancient gods stirred in their sleep, and something inside him was beginning to awaken.

He backed away from Zadok, the distant crash of the waves echoing in his ears, the sky above darkening as storm clouds gathered over the horizon. Every part of him ached to run, to escape, but he knew there was no running from this. No matter where he went, the sea would call to him, pulling him closer with every heartbeat, with every breath.

And Lucifer... his beloved Lucifer, waiting for him at the lighthouse, smiling with those too-bright eyes and soft, otherworldly whispers.

Adam’s breath caught in his throat, a low sob threatening to escape. The old one was already within him, and there was no turning back now.

Adam walked slowly toward the lighthouse, his feet dragging as if every step carried the weight of the ocean itself. His eyes flickered nervously toward the horizon, where the sea merged with the sky in a seamless, foreboding stretch of grey. How long had he sat with old Zadok? Time had become as fluid as the tides, slipping through his fingers like sand. Now, dusk was falling, and the fishermen were returning with their hauls. His stomach twisted as he realized Lucifer would know he hadn’t gone out with the rest of them.

A wave of cold dread washed over him as he neared the lighthouse steps, eyes tracing their familiar unevenness. A few steps were missing—a hazard he had pointed out countless times. Yet Lucifer had always refused to let him repair them. It seemed trivial before, just another oddity in a sea of strangeness, but now... now Adam couldn’t shake the sense that everything about this place was wrong, fundamentally wrong.

He rubbed his clammy hands together, the chill from the ocean clinging to him like a second skin. Zadok’s words echoed relentlessly in his mind: Lucifer’s one of them... always has been.

The realization crept up on him like something lurking beneath dark waters, surfacing with a sudden, terrible clarity. It made sense, didn’t it? Lucifer—beautiful, strange Lucifer—always felt cold to the touch, his skin damp, almost slick. He hated the warmth, loathed the sun, and only ever ate things dredged from the sea. Adam remembered, with a new, sickening clarity, how Lucifer had always declined human food—cake, sweets, crackers—everything, except the fermented seaweed. Lucifer had eaten that, but only when Adam fed him by hand, sitting in his lap like some strange creature from the depths.

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, each beat resounding like the echo of distant waves crashing against the shore. He gripped the railing tightly, dragging himself up the uneven steps, his body trembling with the effort. The wooden door creaked as he pushed it open, peering into the dim, musty interior of the lighthouse—the place that had been his home for months, but now felt like a prison.

“They want to mix, like they did before,” Zadok’s voice echoed again in his mind, rasping and sinister. “Oaths upon oaths... ye’ll see.”

Inside, the air was colder—unnaturally so. Adam’s breath misted in front of him as he stepped further inside, his bones aching from the chill. A low, melodic hum drifted through the stillness, a sound that had once been comforting. Now, it sent icy tendrils of fear crawling up his spine. It was Lucifer, singing in that strange, haunting way, like the mournful song of a creature long lost at sea.

Adam shuffled forward, his eyes drawn to the kitchen doorway. Lucifer’s silhouette swayed gently, moving in time to his own eerie tune, his back turned as he prepared dinner. Adam stood there for far too long, rooted to the spot, watching him. The urge to flee surged through him, stronger than ever. He wanted to run, to escape this twisted reality, to return to his parents, to the life he knew before Innsmouth.

But deep down, he realized the truth—his parents had known.

It was why his father had been so distant, why his mother had never visited since they moved into the lighthouse. The grief in his father’s eyes, the hollow resignation, it all made sense now. They had given him to the Deep Ones, sold him to the sea, to become one of them. To bear a seedling.

Adam’s nose twitched, his wide, terrified eyes locked on Lucifer’s back. They had done it because they had no choice. Because that was the way of Innsmouth.

“Welcome home,” Lucifer’s voice suddenly broke the silence, casual and warm, as if nothing had changed. “Clam chowder will be ready in twenty minutes. Why don’t you go get changed?”

Adam blinked, his throat dry. He looked down at his clothes, still clean, untouched by the day’s work. He hadn’t gone to sea. Lucifer knew that. Of course he knew.

“Hang them up afterward,” Lucifer added, his voice a soft purr, as though nothing was amiss. “No point in washing something that doesn’t need it.”

Adam shivered, the hairs on his neck rising. He knows. He’s always known.

He nodded silently, even though Lucifer couldn’t see him. But he felt Lucifer’s eyes on him, that eerie awareness that he could sense Adam’s every move.

Turning on unsteady legs, Adam began to drag himself toward the staircase leading to their shared room. His boot hit the bottom step with a dull thud when Lucifer spoke again.

"Adam..." Lucifer’s voice was softer now, almost tender. "I love you. I really do."

Adam froze, his heart twisting painfully in his chest. His lips twitched, the familiar urge to respond rising in his throat—to say the words back. To tell him that he loved him too, despite everything. But the words wouldn’t come. They were lodged somewhere deep within him, strangled by fear, by doubt, by the chilling knowledge that Lucifer was no longer who—or what—he thought he was.

He said nothing. Instead, he climbed the stairs, each step a heavy, deliberate motion, knowing full well how much his silence hurt Lucifer. But he didn’t look back.

As he reached the top, the coldness in the air thickened, pressing against his skin like the icy touch of the ocean’s depths. Lucifer's humming continued below, the eerie song twisting in the air, but it felt different now—darker, more insidious. A lullaby from the deep, calling him back into the dark embrace of the sea, where the ancient ones waited.

Where his fate had already been sealed.

Adam’s fingers trembled as he removed the fishermen’s gear, his movements slow, deliberate, treating the worn fabric and tools as if they were relics—precious, fragile things. Each buckle, every thread seemed to anchor him to reality, as though if he let go, he might be swallowed whole by the terrifying revelations that had begun to gnaw at his mind. Once the gear was neatly hung in place, he turned toward the bed, noticing for the first time that Lucifer had left clean, neatly folded clothes for him—waiting, as if in silent anticipation.

The realization hit him like a blow. The hangers on the bed. The absence of the wash basket. Lucifer knew—he had known before Adam even stepped foot inside the lighthouse. He knew every detail, every thought. Adam’s hand shot to the side of his head as if he could feel Lucifer’s presence burrowing inside his skull. Did Lucifer know that Adam knew? The thought twisted in his gut like a writhing serpent.

Lucifer’s voice rang out from below, smooth, insistent: “Adam, supper’s ready. Please, hurry down.”

A lump formed in Adam’s throat, his gaze glued to the creaking floorboards. He knows I’m dressed... and that I’m just standing here.

With a deep, shaky breath, Adam rubbed the back of his neck, weakly turning toward the door. The steps groaned underfoot as he descended, their heavy weight dragging him down toward a confrontation he was unprepared for.

When he reached the dining room, Lucifer sat there, waiting, his back straight and poised. A single candle flickered between them, casting long, twisted shadows that danced across the walls like ghostly apparitions. Two bowls were placed on the table—one for Adam, the other for Lucifer. The faint, briny smell of clam chowder filled the air, but it carried a pungency, something darker and far more unsettling.

Lucifer’s head snapped up at Adam’s entrance, and their eyes met. Lucifer’s large, glassy-blue eyes gleamed in the candlelight, unblinking, with an almost unnatural intensity. His lips curled into a soft smile, warm, tender, full of love—too full, as if trying to say please don’t misunderstand, I won’t hurt you.

But despite the affectionate facade, Adam’s heart raced with a primal urge to flee.

“Adam,” Lucifer’s voice purred, warm as honey, though it did little to calm the dread that coiled inside Adam’s chest. “I made dinner. Aren’t you hungry?”

Adam swallowed thickly; his throat tight. He forced himself to nod, though the gesture felt hollow. His legs moved on their own accord, dragging him across the room as Lucifer’s eyes followed his every step, tracking him like a predator watching its prey.

The silence between them grew louder as Adam sat down. Lucifer’s eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, lips twitching downward in subtle disappointment. Adam usually kissed him on the cheek when they sat for meals—a small gesture of affection, routine. But tonight, for the first time, Adam didn’t. The air between them thickened with unspoken tension.

Adam’s gaze dropped to the bowl before him. The chowder had an odd, dark hue, and an unsettlingly pungent odour rose from it. Something about the herbs and spices scattered throughout the dish seemed off, alien. These weren’t ingredients Adam recognized—no, they were something... other. Something dredged from the depths, perhaps plants gathered from the underwater realm of Y’ha-nthlei. The thought twisted in his gut. It explained so much. Everything.

Lucifer’s voice broke the silence again, quieter this time, a vulnerable note hidden beneath: “Aren’t you hungry, Adam? Please, eat. I know you didn’t touch the stew I made for you earlier.”

Adam froze, his heart skipping a beat. His eyes shot up to meet Lucifer’s. “How did you know that?” His voice came out sharper than intended, cutting through the room like a knife. Lucifer flinched slightly, his soft, red lips twitching downward, hurt flickering across his face.

“I just know,” Lucifer murmured, shrugging as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Adam’s jaw clenched, suspicion gnawing at him. He wrapped his fingers around the spoon, the cold metal biting into his skin. With a clatter, he plunged it into the bowl, the sound echoing through the silence. Lucifer flinched again, his blue eyes flicking between Adam’s face and the food before him, his expression tightening.

“I didn’t poison it, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Lucifer said, his voice soft but firm. “I’d never hurt you, Adam.”

A bitter laugh escaped Adam’s lips. “Then what’s in it?”

Lucifer’s expression darkened, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Adam glared at him, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “It’s how you’ve been keeping me in line, isn’t it? You and the others—the Deep Ones. You’ve been drugging the people of Innsmouth for centuries, haven’t you? With your food.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he stared at Adam, unblinking. Then, a low, sharp hiss escaped his throat, his lips pulling back to reveal glistening, sharp fangs.

“Freaks? You think we’re freaks, is that it?” Lucifer’s voice dripped with venom, his eyes blazing with an otherworldly fury. His body tensed, the muscles in his arms tightening beneath the skin, as though he were restraining something far more dangerous. “After everything—after all we’ve shared—you think I’m a freak?”

Despite the wave of terror surging through him, Adam didn’t back down. He met Lucifer’s gaze with steely resolve, his voice steady but laced with fear. “You’re not human, are you? If you’re not a freak, then what are you?”

Lucifer’s face twisted into something darker, more monstrous. His once-soft lips now curled in displeasure, his eyes narrowing to slits.

 “Just because I’m not human doesn’t make me a freak, Adam,” he growled. “Of all the things you could call me, you chose that?”

For a moment, a flicker of hurt passed over Lucifer’s face, his glassy eyes betraying a sadness Adam had never seen before. But before he could react, Lucifer’s hand slammed against the table, the spoon rattling against the China.

“No, look at me,” he snarled, his voice trembling with rage. “Look at me and say it again.”

Adam’s eyes met his—those terrible, unblinking fish-like eyes. His lips trembled as he whispered, “What are you?”

Lucifer’s expression softened, just for a moment, before he sighed, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

 “Why does it even matter? You already know the answer.” His voice wavered, a strange mixture of frustration and affection. “I’m Lucifer. I’m your other half. Your lover. I love you, Adam—more than anything. We’re meant to be together. Forever.”

Adam’s heart clenched painfully at those words, but he forced himself to speak. “You’re... turning me into one of them, aren’t you? That’s why you’ve been feeding me these strange things from the ocean. You’re... changing me. Aren’t you?”

Lucifer’s eyes darkened, his pupils dilating as his lips curled into a cryptic smile. Before Adam could process what was happening, a sharp pain exploded at the back of his head, and the world around him began to blur. A gasp escaped him as his vision swam, the edges of the lighthouse warping and twisting like a nightmare made flesh.

Figures emerged from the shadows, cloaked and slithering—Lucifer’s parents, their forms grotesque and alien, followed by others, the fish-like inhabitants of Innsmouth. They loomed over him, their glassy eyes glinting in the dim light. Adam tried to stand, but his legs buckled beneath him, sending him crashing to his knees. His ears rang with a shrill, inhuman screech, a sound that reverberated deep into his soul.

Lucifer stood over him, his once-kind eyes now cold, calculating. He knelt before Adam, his lips brushing against Adam’s ear as he whispered, “You can’t hide anything from me, Adam. I know everything—every thought, every fear. We’re bonded, you and I. We’ve been since the moment we met.”

His fingers curled around Adam’s face, forcing him to meet his gaze. “I’ve given you the essence of Y’ha-nthlei, in every meal, in every kiss. You’re becoming one of us, my love. You and I... we will be together for eternity. Once you give in, you’ll have immortality. We can have children together—many, many children. You don’t have to carry them all. Just the first.”

Lucifer’s cold, damp lips pressed against Adam’s in a firm, possessive kiss.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice filled with an unholy devotion. “You are mine, as I am yours. We belong to the sea, to Y’ha-nthlei. We’ll go there together.”

Adam’s vision blurred, the world fading to black as Lucifer’s words echoed in his mind, the final tether to his humanity snapping. And then, darkness. His body collapsed into Lucifer’s waiting arms, surrendering to the inevitable fate that

When Adam awoke, a desolation clung to him like a wet fog, smothering his senses. He couldn’t tell how long he’d been unconscious—time had unraveled in this place, twisted and devoured by shadows. No sun, no light pierced the gloom to offer any sense of direction. His head pounded, the back of his skull tender where a swollen lump had formed, and a deep, bone-deep cold gnawed at his flesh. His skin quivered, goosebumps crawling up his arms as the damp air pressed against him like some unseen, clammy hand.

He swallowed thickly, tasting the salt that saturated the air, thick and briny like the breath of a forgotten sea. Slowly, wincing, Adam lifted his trembling fingers to probe the aching wound at the back of his head, a sharp hiss escaping his lips. His eyes clenched shut, but pain lanced through his body as though he had been lying in this cursed position for an eternity.

He forced his eyes open, lids heavy with exhaustion, blinking sluggishly as the alien surroundings came into focus. Gone was the nightmare lighthouse, with its warped corridors and stifling air. This place… was different. Alien. It was as though the world had shifted in his absence, dragging him into some monstrous dream. He wasn’t in his parents' home, either, far from the familiar comfort he had hoped for. Nothing here resembled the accursed town of Innsmouth.

The chamber around him was cold, cavernous, and slick with moisture. Water dripped steadily from the jagged stone above, pooling into shallow puddles beneath his feet. The walls were encrusted with something grotesque—barnacles and seashells embedded deep into the rock, their surfaces slimy, glistening faintly with a sickly light. Seaweed coiled around the edges of the cave like the fingers of a drowning corpse.

The air was heavy with the scent of salt and decay, tingling in his nostrils and prickling his skin. His breath came in shaky, uneven gasps, as if the very atmosphere here was wrong—tainted by something ancient and foul. He glanced down, realizing he was still dressed, though shoeless, his bare feet cold against the stone. The soft fabric of the dress pants and sweater Lucifer had once left for him clung to his shivering body, mocking him with their familiarity.

His legs buckled as he slid off the rock he'd been laid upon, the impact sending jolts of pain shooting through his stiff limbs. He winced, muscles aching as if they had forgotten how to move. How long had he been unconscious? His thoughts fumbled through the haze of pain, his surroundings bathed in a dim, eerie glow. Somewhere, faintly, there were shafts of light—blue and green—glimmering like phosphorescent algae clinging to the cave walls.

Adam shuffled forward, eyes darting, the unsettling silence pressing down on him. Where was he? More importantly, where was Lucifer? His stomach knotted at the thought, fear mingling with something darker—resentment. His mind should have been tethered to Lucifer’s, shouldn’t it? He should feel him. Sense him. But now, there was only a void where their connection once was. The silence was deafening.

He needed to escape. He needed to leave. The air in this forsaken cave was too thick, too oppressive, as if it had been waiting for him, waiting to suffocate him. His breath quickened, heart pounding against his ribs. Lucifer would know. He had to know Adam was awake, standing, moving. If he was coming, he had to be fast.

Panic seized him at the thought. Could Lucifer feel his desperation? His fear? Good. Adam clenched his jaw, feeling a bitter satisfaction at the idea of Lucifer’s pain. Let him feel it. Let him feel the same terror Adam had felt, the betrayal. He had to focus. He had to think. He couldn’t stay here, trapped like some animal.

He glanced around the cave again, his gaze catching on something in the distance—bars. Iron, rusted and ancient, like the mouth of some forgotten dungeon. A prison. Of course, they had locked him up. It made sense now, the pieces falling into place with a sickening clarity. He moved toward the bars, the cold metal biting into his skin as he leaned against them, peering through the narrow gap. Still, no one. No movement. Just the distant drip, drip, drip of water.

Calling out felt dangerous, reckless. The last thing he wanted was to alert anyone—or anything—that might be lurking in the shadows. He had to figure this out. He couldn’t let himself fall into their hands. The Deep Ones. The thought of them sent a shiver of revulsion down his spine. He couldn’t… wouldn’t… become one of them. Not even if Lucifer demanded it. Not even if it meant bearing some grotesque offspring from the depths.

No. He needed to be free.

His mind flickered back to the moments before he was trapped. He should’ve run when the thought first crossed his mind. Should’ve fled from Lucifer’s suffocating grip, long before the darkness had fully settled in. Before he ignored the warnings of Old Man Zadok Allen, before he returned to Lucifer like a moth to a flame. And now, here he was—locked up, alone, with nothing but his regret.

The eerie glow of the cave flickered ominously, casting strange, shifting shadows on the walls. Adam shuffled closer to the bars, straining his eyes to see beyond the gloom. But there was nothing. No sign of life. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, every beat a countdown.

He was running out of time.

The fishy odor, a stench like rotting sea life, assailed Adam’s senses with a maddening intensity, only to be briefly abated by a phantom breeze that whispered through the cave, a cruel gift from some indifferent god. He pressed his lips tightly together, narrowing his eyes against the offensive scent, feeling as if he might buckle under its weight. Drawing closer to the bars, he strained to peer deeper into the cavern’s maw, his heart racing with the urge to flee.

As he squinted into the darkness, his eyes began to pick out details: the rough-hewn walls illuminated by enormous, bulbous lights suspended from thick, rusted wires woven like veins through the rock. Relief flooded through him at the sight of electricity in this forsaken place, a promise of life amidst the decay. But just as he began to calm, something glimmered at the edge of his vision—something key-shaped, glistening in the faint glow.

Hope flickered within him. It had to be the key to his freedom, but how in the abyss was he going to reach it? He scanned his prison, his heart sinking as he took in the dilapidated furniture scattered just beyond the bars: old tables, rickety stools, and battered boxes that seemed to whisper of forgotten lives. Perhaps he could break off a stool leg—something sturdy enough to serve his purpose.

With determination coursing through him, Adam stretched his arm through the bars, the burn in his muscles igniting his resolve. He wiggled his fingers until he finally brushed against the edge of a stool, knocking it over with a soft thud that echoed ominously in the silence. Relief surged within him as he crouched, gripping the bottom of the stool leg and dragging it back toward his prison. The wood felt rough against his fingers, and he twisted and turned until it splintered with a sharp crunch, revealing a long, crooked nail jutting out from where he had wrenched it free.

With the makeshift tool in hand, he stood tall, his heart pounding in his ears. Adam pressed his body painfully against the bars, straining to reach the key that gleamed tantalizingly out of reach. It took several agonizing moments of scraping and knocking before he managed to dislodge the key from its perch. Exhaustion settled over him like a shroud, his body swaying as he finally grasped it in his hand, sweat trickling down his brow, mixing with the oppressive humidity of the cave.

With trembling fingers, Adam fitted the key into the lock of his cell door. It turned with an ominous click, the sound echoing through the gloom. He stumbled out, nearly collapsing to his knees on the cold, damp ground. He wheezed and panted, the last morsels he had consumed—a few cheese crackers and ginger wafers—feeling like a distant memory. How long had he been trapped here, ensnared in this nightmare?

His weary eyes darted around the now-open cell, surveying the space that had confined him. In the shadows, he spotted a bundle of dark robes hanging just out of reach, their fabric whispering secrets of the inhabitants that roamed these tunnels. Stumbling toward them, he grabbed a navy-blue robe, its texture cool and smooth against his skin. He yanked the hood over his head, hoping it would help him blend into the shadows, merge with the robed figures he remembered haunting the lighthouse.

Now free, Adam steeled himself for the daunting task ahead: finding his way out of this labyrinthine cave. The oppressive atmosphere pressed down on him, the air thick with dampness and despair. As he shuffled along the path that lay before him, he felt it twist and transform into a network of tunnels, each turn echoing the uncertainty that clung to him like a spectre.

He took a deep breath, heart pounding, and made a choice—follow the flickering electric lights above him, those eerie beacons of hope, and pray they would guide him to an escape. Each step echoed in the silence, a haunting reminder of his solitude. The further he ventured into the tunnels, the more the shadows seemed to close in, coiling around him like a living entity, urging him to turn back.

But there was no turning back now. With each flicker of the lights above, he steeled his resolve, pushing onward into the darkness, toward whatever fate awaited him in the depths of this cursed cave.

Adam almost choked on the suffocating, briny air, the taste of salt and decay mingling in his throat as he dragged his feet cautiously along the damp, slick floor. Each step felt treacherous, as if the ground beneath him conspired to send him sprawling, and he barely avoided slipping several times. Behind him, he could hear the unsettling sounds of movement—an advancing mutter that slithered through the shadows of the cavernous tunnel.

When he finally emerged into a broad open space within the cavern, he caught his first glimpse of them. A cold dread settled in his bones as he beheld their grotesque forms, barely an inch away. Their faces were a nightmarish distortion of humanity, bestial and abominable, crouching in a way that echoed some primordial, feral nature. Each figure was swathed in dark, cult-like robes, yet their horrific shapes bled through the fabric. One creature moved with a simian grace, its long arms dragging along the cave floor, while another, seemingly tormented, progressed in an unsettling, almost hopping manner.

When one of them turned its gaze in Adam’s direction, he felt his breath hitch in his throat. A bone-deep fear clamped down on him, and he was transfixed, unable to look away. He had encountered variations of fish-like features before—Lucifer, his family, the townsfolk—but nothing compared to these wretched beings.

The creature’s eyes glazed over, appearing to look through him rather than at him, and he felt an unsettling kinship with the deep-sea horrors lurking in the shadows of his mind. What did it mean that he had ever felt affection for Lucifer? Did he...did he look like them? The thought sent a chill coursing through him, one that was as romantic as it was grotesque. In the depths of that cave, Adam grappled with the heart-wrenching reality of love entwined with terror.

He waited, heart racing, breath shallow, until the two creatures slunk past him, their guttural croaking echoing off the damp walls. The sound was both familiar and alien, a cacophony reminiscent of the shrill exchanges he’d witnessed between Lucifer and his family, now muddled with an otherworldly tone that chilled him to the core. It was a confirmation, stark and undeniable, of what Lucifer truly was—a creature of the abyss.

Once they disappeared into the darkened passage, Adam leaned against the clammy wall, his heart threatening to burst from his chest, the world around him becoming a blur. Tears prickled at the corners of his green eyes, and he pressed a trembling hand to his chest, desperately trying to calm himself. Before him lay four twisted tunnels, and he was certain as hell he wasn’t going to follow the two monstrous figures.

Choosing a tunnel at random to the left, he shuffled forward, anxiety tightening in his chest like a vice. The electric lights above flickered ominously, and he kept his head down, his hood obscuring his features, hoping to meld into the darkness. His fingers brushed against the damp, cool wall, anchoring him to reality, reminding him that he needed to escape—needed to run as far away as possible from Innsmouth.

His bare feet made soft, muted sounds against the slick floor, slipping and sliding as he maneuverer through the winding tunnel. He finally reached the end, emerging into a larger chamber filled with rusty metal structures. Squinting, he noticed the electric lights had ceased, leaving him on the brink of darkness once more. Gritting his teeth against the overwhelming stench of fish that assaulted his senses, he used the sleeve of his robe to shield himself as he stepped into the murky void.

The pitch blackness enveloped him, the only source of light retreating behind him. Adam’s pulse quickened as he felt his way through the dark, his fingers seeking out the leather handle of a control panel. When he found it, he gripped it tightly and pulled upward.

A deep rumble echoed from within the bowels of the factory, and suddenly, the area erupted into light. It was factory-like, with the musky scent of damp metal competing with the pervasive fish odour, a combination that sent waves of nausea coursing through him. The impression was that this place had been submerged for ages, yet it pulsed with an eerie vitality—how could it have electricity in this forsaken underworld?

Water dripped rhythmically from the ceiling, pooling around his bare feet in a thin layer of salty brine. Adam stepped forward, eyes scanning the factory for a way out. He spotted a doorway across the expansive room and hastened toward it, pausing at the threshold to listen. The silence was thick, an oppressive blanket that told him no one was near. This might be his escape.

Slipping through the doorway, he navigated the narrow corridor, pressing his body against the cool metal for balance. Adam’s throat burned from anxiety, and he let out a soft cough, waving a hand in front of himself as if to dispel the creeping dread that threatened to overwhelm him.

Time blurred as he wandered blindly through the factory-like hallways, ascending and descending staircases, until he stumbled upon another opening. This corridor, once metallic, had been ripped away, exposing ancient, damp stone pressed against the remains of the metal. The stones glimmered with gold flecks amidst the blue and green hues, seaweed intertwining like a lover’s embrace around them, water still trickling from above.

He stood transfixed by the sight, his mind racing with questions and fears. The stone felt as if it were alive, a testament to an age long past, yet vibrant with the whispers of the sea. The ocean was a lover and a monster, as familiar as it was terrifying. In that moment, Adam understood that escaping Innsmouth was not just a physical journey but an emotional one, a separation from the love that twisted like an anchor in his heart, a love that pulled him ever deeper into the abyss.

With renewed determination, he took a step forward, ready to confront whatever lay beyond the threshold of the stone and embrace whatever fate awaited him in the dark.

Adam wandered deeper into the ancient stone cavern, his steps slow and cautious as the beauty of the place began to overwhelm him. It was a haunting beauty, steeped in dark history and submerged in the weight of time. The air seemed thicker here, heavy with the secrets of a forgotten past, a past that was alive in the very stone. Each towering pillar he passed loomed over him like silent sentinels, their surfaces adorned with intricate carvings. As his gaze traced the swirling patterns, Adam’s breath caught in his throat—there were unmistakable symbols, grotesque depictions of fish-like creatures with wide, alien eyes, tentacles twisting like unnatural vines, and dark, monstrous shapes that seemed half-octopus, half-humanoid. The deeper he ventured, the more pronounced these unsettling symbols became, whispering of something ancient, powerful, and dreadful.

Here and there, old, tarnished mirrors were embedded into the stone walls, their surfaces dark and mottled with age. They appeared at sharp turns in the corridors, arranged in such a way that Adam could see around corners without stepping into the unknown. It gave him the disquieting feeling that whoever had once lived here used these mirrors to spy on those within the labyrinth, watching unseen from hidden alcoves. The mirrors aligned in complex patterns, and as Adam stood at one end of a long corridor, the reflections stretched out endlessly, offering glimpses into tunnels he hadn’t yet explored. He felt the weight of unseen eyes on him, but whether it was the lingering presence of those who built this place or something far more ancient, he could not tell.

As Adam cautiously approached another archway, a shock of movement made his heart leap. A man in tattered robes lurched out of the darkness in front of him, his gait unsteady, swaying with drunken abandon. Adam froze, his mind racing. But the man, too intoxicated to notice him, staggered clumsily through another open archway without a second glance, mumbling incoherently under his breath. How strange, Adam thought, though a morbid fascination stirred within him. This place was not as empty as it seemed.

He pressed onward, weaving through more corridors and hallways, his bare feet barely making a sound against the stone floor. The air grew heavier with each step, the oppressive atmosphere making it difficult to breathe. After what felt like hours of wandering, Adam stepped through a vast archway and found himself in the largest, most intimidating chamber he had ever seen.

His breath caught in his throat, and his heart nearly stopped as he entered the silent space. His green eyes widened with a mixture of awe and terror. The chamber was immense—colossal, in fact—its sheer scale dwarfing him entirely. The ceiling soared above him, lost in shadows, and lining the walls were rows of archways, each one short and just about his height, glowing faintly from electric lights that flickered within. Ledges crisscrossed the walls, forming thin walkways that led higher and higher, until they vanished into the darkness. There were too many archways to count, and each one seemed to lead into another tunnel, another unknown path. It was a labyrinth, endless and maddening, the sheer complexity of it making Adam feel as insignificant as an ant.

Statues filled the chamber, scattered like sentinels frozen in time. Some were small, no taller than Adam himself, while others loomed over him, towering giants that made him feel dwarfed in their presence. These were no ordinary statues—each one depicted monstrous, otherworldly beings.

Their features were grotesque, with twisted tentacles where there should have been limbs, and faces that bore a horrifying resemblance to the depictions he had seen earlier. The statues felt alive, as though they could move at any moment, and a sickening sense of dread washed over him. Some appeared to be male, others female, and there was an unmistakable sense that these creatures, these horrors, were children—perhaps younger forms of something far more ancient and powerful.

But it was the largest statue, carved into the very wall of the chamber, that stole the breath from his lungs. It was gargantuan, reaching all the way to the ceiling. Its form was an abomination—humanoid yet not, with a mass of writhing tentacles where its mouth should have been, and wings that were folded against its back, leathery and immense. Its body was monstrous, a fusion of beast and god, and its eyes—deep, hollow pits—seemed to bore into Adam's very soul.

This was no mere statue. This was a depiction of Cthulhu, the Old One, the ancient deity whose name was whispered in nightmares. Adam felt his blood run cold as he stood in the shadow of this grotesque idol. The air around it was suffocating, filled with a palpable sense of malice and unimaginable power.

At the base of the statue, three enormous archways were carved into the wall. Each one was sealed shut, but as Adam’s eyes drifted upward, he noticed names etched above each doorway. His heart pounded wildly as he read them.

On the left, the name Eve was inscribed in jagged letters. On the right, Lilith was carved, the stone worn and smooth as if countless hands had traced the name over the centuries. But it was the name in the centre that made Adam’s stomach lurch.

Lucifer.

The world tilted, and Adam’s head swam with dizziness. He reached up, pressing a trembling hand to the side of his head as the revelation sank in. Each archway was intricately carved, the designs unlike anything he had seen in the rest of the temple. Tentacles and octopus-like forms twisted across the surface of the doors, writhing and coiling in strange, hypnotic patterns, utterly different from the fish-like carvings he had encountered before. These designs spoke of something older, deeper—something that dwelled beneath the ocean's darkest depths.

Adam’s gaze fell to the stone platform before the archways, where an inscription had been chiselled into the floor. His heart hammered in his chest as he read the words:

The three children of the Old One. Two princesses and the prince of the deep.

Adam's mind reeled. Lucifer—his Lucifer—was a prince? Not just any prince, but the son of this terrible, ancient being? He stumbled back, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps as the reality of it hit him. Lucifer, the man he had loved, the man who had once held him in his arms, was not human.

He was the son of Cthulhu.

The chamber seemed to close in around him, the towering statues, the endless archways, all conspiring to trap him within this horrifying revelation. The cold, clammy air clung to his skin, and he felt an icy dread creep into his bones. He glanced up at the sealed doors once more, fear and confusion twisting inside him. What lay behind them? What dark secrets were entombed within those archways, waiting to be unleashed?

And why was Lucifer’s name carved alongside Eve and Lilith? Who even was Eve and Lilith? Lucifer had never mentioned them. Were they, his sisters?

Adam’s breath shook as he took a step back, the weight of the revelation crashing down on him. Lucifer was not just a lover, not just a man—but something far more terrible, far more dangerous than Adam could have ever imagined.

Adam glanced nervously over his shoulder, but the shadows behind him remained empty, devoid of any immediate pursuer. The ancient stone spires and decaying pillars of Innsmouth, adorned with beautiful yet grotesque carvings, shimmered with an eerie charm under the dim, yellow glow of electric bulbs, forced into the cracks and crevices of the long-abandoned walls. He could imagine how magnificent the town must have once looked, before the dark shadow of corruption and decay overtook it—before the sea claimed its inhabitants and their secrets.

His gaze swept across the vast chamber, taking in the smaller archways that lined the walls, each one painstakingly adorned with intricate carvings of tentacled horrors and fish-like deities. But something more sinister suddenly caught his attention, freezing him in place. In one of the archways—one veiled by an array of mirrors that twisted and distorted the space beyond—he saw a flicker of motion. Something undulated deep within the tunnel, a grotesque wave of movement that filled Adam with a sickening dread. The mirrors reflected nothing concrete, just shifting shadows cast along the damp walls, but their glistening, unnatural shimmer caught the light in a way that made his skin crawl.

He squinted, his breath catching in his throat. The column of moving shadows seemed to pulse with life, and the way they slithered and gleamed was unlike anything human. There was something in their motion—something too fluid, too slick—that reminded him of the creatures lurking beneath the waves. And worse, the sounds that accompanied them were even more disturbing. A low, guttural scraping, mixed with the bellowing of something bestial, echoed through the tunnels. It was a sound far more nightmarish than the mutterings of the robed figures he had encountered earlier in the cave tunnels.

Adam's mind raced. The noises conjured up memories—familiar sounds that once filled Lucifer’s home: the strange songs Lucifer and his family would hum while cooking, the odd chatter that had once seemed endearing. Now, those same melodies twisted in his mind into something demonic, an uncanny mimicry of what once was.

How many of them are there? he wondered, panic rising within him. How many of these creatures live beneath the waters?

His heart began to pound violently in his chest as the foul, fishy stench grew stronger, a thick, oppressive odour that stung his eyes and choked his breath. He could hear voices now—shocking, guttural murmurs from the darkened archways. They reverberated off the stone walls, making his head spin. The chamber, vast as it was, seemed to close in around him, his vision blurring with fear and dizziness. A new sound joined the cacophony—a terrible, wet flopping, as if something enormous and slimy were dragging itself along the stone floor. The noise filled his mind with vile images, detestable and monstrous.

He had to hide. Instinctively, Adam knew he had to conceal himself before whatever approached reached the chamber. His heart raced, and without thinking, he made a sharp turn, scrambling toward one of the many statues that littered the hall. He chose the most grotesque of them all—a towering, squid-like monstrosity with thick, stone tentacles coiling around its base. Adam squeezed himself behind it, tucking his body into the narrow crevice between the statue’s tentacles, curling up as tightly as he could. The stone was cold and damp against his skin, but it offered some shelter from the prying eyes of whatever might enter the chamber.

Darkness enveloped him as he crouched within the statue’s thick embrace, his breath shallow and rapid. From his hiding place, he could see the chamber, but he prayed that whatever was coming wouldn’t see him. The creatures would undoubtedly fill the space, and it was all too possible that one of them could peer into his shadowy alcove. He clung to the hope that the darkness, combined with the mass of stone above him, would keep him hidden. He dared not move, hardly dared to breathe, as the sounds grew louder, more visceral.

The stench of fish and rot flooded the air now, mingled with something far worse—an acrid, sulfuric scent that made his stomach churn. The noises swelled into a cacophony of croaks, screeches, and guttural barks, all devoid of anything remotely human. The sound of flopping and slithering grew unbearable, monstrous in its rhythm, as if some primordial thing were dragging its hideous bulk into the chamber.

Adam squeezed his eyes shut, unable to bear the thought of what might be responsible for those sounds. He forced himself to remain still, trembling, waiting for the horde to pass. Don’t look, he told himself, clenching his fists. Don’t look. The chamber shook with their approach, and the floor seemed to tremble beneath him as the alien rhythm of their footsteps echoed through the ancient temple.

But despite his best efforts, curiosity gnawed at him, clawing at the edges of his resolve. What could they be?

The fear of the unknown was a powerful thing, and as much as he tried to keep his eyes closed, he found himself succumbing to that terrible curiosity. Slowly, ever so slowly, he opened his eyes, peeking through the narrow gap between the statue’s tentacles.

What he saw chilled him to his very core.

Through the darkness, he glimpsed them—figures, grotesque and malformed, slithering into the chamber. They moved like a single, undulating mass, their slick, glistening bodies shimmering in the faint light. Their forms were a nightmare made flesh—amalgamations of sea and man, with elongated limbs and grotesque, fish-like faces that bore no resemblance to anything human. Tentacles writhed from their mouths, and their eyes—if they could be called eyes—were wide and empty, glowing faintly with an unnatural luminescence. They croaked and bellowed to one another in a language Adam could not understand, their voices more akin to the gurgling of water than speech.

He could barely make out their shapes, but the sight of them—what little he could see—was enough to make his blood run cold. These were no mere citizens of Innsmouth. These were the true spawn of the deep, the children of Cthulhu, and as they flopped and slithered their way through the chamber, Adam realized just how far removed they were from anything human.

His breath hitched, and he pressed a trembling hand to his mouth to stifle a gasp. He dared not move. He dared not breathe. He could only hope that they would pass him by, their alien gazes never falling on the shadowy crevice in which he hid.

But he knew, deep down, that he would never forget the sight of them. Never forget the horror of their existence.

Surging and hopping, slithering and writhing, they poured from every archway, an endless tide of abominations filling the chamber, their grotesque forms swarming the air and stone alike. Adam, huddled within the suffocating grip of the statue's cold tentacles, felt his heart hammering against his ribs as if it, too, sought to escape. He thought he had steeled himself for the worst—prepared, as any man might, given the horrors he had glimpsed. Twelve years spent with Lucifer, the Prince of the Deep, the unholy son of Cthulhu. Twelve long years by his side, and yet nothing could have prepared Adam for this. No amount of whispered warnings, no tales of half-seen things from the abyss could ever have conjured the nightmare now unfolding before him.

The others—those he had seen in the cave tunnels—had been misshapen, twisted versions of humanity, distorted but still recognizable in their monstrous form. But now, as the chamber filled with a throng of unspeakable entities, Adam realized just how naïve he had been. He hadn’t seen true horror, not yet. Now he saw it, in all its perverse glory, in this infernal procession of creatures that writhed in and out of the archways, up the balconies, crawling like insects up the very walls.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but the clamour—oh, that unbearable noise—was deafening, an otherworldly din of croaks, hisses, and wet, flopping slaps of flesh on stone. The echoes magnified the chaos, making his pulse race wildly. It was unlike anything he had imagined, even in the deepest recesses of his nightmares. Zodark Allen’s warnings, the foolish stories Adam had once dismissed, now felt like pale imitations of the truth. Could such things—such foul, malignant things—truly exist in the same world where the sun rose, and flowers bloomed? It was impossible, and yet…here they were. Real. Horribly, undeniably real.

They filled the chamber like a plague of writhing, unspeakable life—creatures spilling over the balconies, their misshapen bodies squeezing through gaps in the stone, hopping, flopping, undulating in every direction. Their movement was not human, not even close. They leaped and danced in a grotesque sarabande, a nightmarish ritual of malformed flesh, twisting and turning in a malignant parody of worship. Some slithered like serpents, others hopped awkwardly, their webbed feet slapping against the cold floor, while others—more horrendous still—dragged themselves across the stone on bellies too swollen and slick to support their weight.

And then, amidst this ocean of monstrosities, Adam’s gaze was drawn to one figure that moved differently from the others. It was robed, like many of the others, its dark navy and green vestments flowing about its twisted form, but it stood taller, more commanding. A grotesque parody of royalty. The thing that led them wore a humped black coat, hideously misshapen, and striped trousers that clung to a body that seemed to defy all natural proportions. Atop its shapeless head was perched a gleaming silver crown, as though it were some forgotten king of the abyss. Its skin, sickeningly greyish-green, glistened under the chamber’s dim light, and its belly gleamed with a pale, unsettling whiteness.

It was shiny, slick with some foul secretion, but its back was ridged with scales, sharp and unnatural, a sickening hybrid of the fish and serpent. Its bulging, frog-like eyes—prolonged and grotesque—were unblinking, their glassy surfaces reflecting the light in twisted, unnatural angles. It blinked not, it saw all, its eyes wide and all-seeing. Gills flared grotesquely at the sides of its neck, pulsing, bloated, filling the chamber with the stench of rot and brine. Its limbs, long and webbed, twitched as it moved, dragging itself forward on a combination of legs and tendrils, its movements impossibly fluid, nightmarishly alien.

Adam watched in silent horror; his breath caught in his throat. The thing croaked—no, it spoke, though its voice was more a wet, guttural hiss than language. The others responded, their voices a cacophony of croaks, whines, and hisses, their inhuman voices filled with every dark shade of expression their hideous, staring faces lacked. They communicated in ways Adam could never comprehend, their words beyond the reach of human understanding. He could only watch, trembling, as the conversation rippled through the horde like a wave, each voice more sickening and unnatural than the last.

Lucifer wanted him to become one of these? The thought stabbed through Adam’s mind with icy terror. To live among them, to be twisted into something like…this?

His skin crawled at the mere idea. He clenched his hands tighter over his mouth, desperate to keep silent, terrified that the slightest sound would give him away. The thought of turning into one of these creatures, of losing his humanity—no, it was too much to bear.

No, no, no, his mind screamed. I will not become like them. I can’t.

He felt his body begin to shake; his hands clamped tighter over his mouth as if to hold in the rising tide of terror. The sounds of the horde filled his ears, and the fetid stench of brine and rotting seaweed clogged his nose. He could taste it on his tongue, thick and oppressive.

The noise grew louder, the creatures swarming ever closer, their flopping, hissing, and croaking filling every corner of the vast chamber. Adam’s head spun as the reverberations of their movements echoed in his skull. He curled in on himself tighter, pressing his body further into the statue’s tentacles, praying the shadows would hide him.

And yet…despite everything, despite the primal terror that gripped him, a maddening curiosity gnawed at him, insidious and unrelenting. The unknown, the forbidden, beckoned. He had to see. He had to look, had to understand what Lucifer wanted him to become. Perhaps if he saw them—truly saw them—he would understand what it meant to live beneath the waves, what kind of existence awaited him.

Slowly, against his better judgment, Adam opened his eyes. He peeked through the narrow gap between the statue’s thick stone tentacles.

What he saw shattered any remaining vestige of reason. The creatures—endless, writhing, deformed—filled the chamber completely now, their bodies slick and gleaming with a sickly, wet sheen. They were not of this world. They were the spawn of something far older, something far darker, and as Adam looked upon them, he knew with chilling certainty that he had glimpsed the true face of madness.

And in that moment, he realized there was no escape.

It was difficult for Adam to discern the details of what was happening in the dim, flickering light, but his gaze was drawn, inevitably, to the front of the chamber. There, beneath the towering figure of Cthulhu, stood the three looming archways, carved into the walls like ancient scars. They marked the sealed fates of his children—Eve, Lilith, and Lucifer. The one creature, grotesquely adorned in striped trousers and a misshapen coat, slithered and hopped forward, emitting a cacophony of screeches and croaks. The sound reverberated through the massive chamber, yet almost immediately, the chaos stilled. The creatures of the deep, who moments before filled the space with their hideous clamor, hushed themselves as if a great command had been given.

Out of the writhing throng of monstrosities, a figure emerged. Draped in a flowing robe of ruby red, slim and eerily human in form, the figure walked with slow, deliberate steps. Adam’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened as the figure came into view, and when the robe was untied and slid to the cold stone floor, revealing a woman standing nude beneath the pale lights, recognition struck him like a knife.

It was Sera.

Sera, the quiet, kind woman from Innsmouth. She had been an enigmatic presence in the town, her silver-purple curls cascading down her back, her eyes always gentle, though often distant. She was no stranger to books, to the quiet joys of reading, and yet now—now her glassy, unseeing eyes gazed straight ahead, void of the warmth Adam had known. Her face was blank, expressionless, as if the very soul had been drained from her. Adam felt a rising sense of dread coil within him. This was no longer the woman he knew.

Behind Sera and the grotesque creature in the striped trousers, the sealed archway bearing the name Eve began to tremble. The stone groaned as if awakening from some ancient slumber, and a crack appeared at its center. Slowly, it began to open. From the dark void beyond the threshold, enormous red tentacles slithered out, thick and glistening in the dim light. They looped around the doorframe, gleaming with a sinister mix of crimson and obsidian black, slick with an otherworldly sheen. The sight was overwhelming—an obscene intrusion of the unnatural into the world of men.

Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, hammering against his ribs as though it sought to flee his very body. He watched, frozen in horror, as a matching ruby crown was placed atop Sera’s head, its blood-red jewels glittering like cruel stars. The creature in the striped trousers croaked and screeched, hopping backward as if to grant her passage. Without a moment of hesitation, without so much as a flicker of emotion, Sera turned and walked towards the archway, her steps slow, deliberate, and utterly detached.

She disappeared into the black maw, the writhing tentacles slipping back into the dark behind her, sealing the archway once more. The chamber, as if responding to some unspeakable triumph, erupted into a chorus of guttural cheers and croaks. The twisted, malformed creatures howled in celebration, their voices rising in a grotesque symphony that made Adam’s skin crawl.

But then, as swiftly as it had begun, the noise fell away again silenced by some unseen force. Another figure was stepping forward on the opposite side of the chamber, catching Adam’s wide, trembling eyes. The striped-pants creature hurried to greet the new arrival, its malformed body hopping grotesquely as it approached. This new figure was similarly cloaked, their robe a lush shade of royal purple. There was something undeniably feminine about the figure, something slender and graceful, though the dread creeping up Adam’s spine told him there was nothing truly human here.

When the purple robe was untied and fell to the floor, Adam felt his heart lurch once more.

It was Rosie.

The kind woman who ran the Emporium, with her sharp wit and friendly demeanour. She had always been so full of life, her short dark hair framing a face that had once seemed so lively, so normal in comparison to the decaying world around them. But now, her face was as empty as Sera’s had been. Her eyes were dull, lifeless, and she stood naked and still as a silver crown was placed upon her head. It gleamed coldly in the dim light, the jewels catching the eerie glow from the chamber’s distant lamps.

The archway labelled Lilith began to tremble next, shaking with the same unnatural groan as before. And from its shadowed depths, thick, purple tentacles slithered forth, looping and twisting against the stone, pulsing with a life of their own. They glistened with a sickly sheen, alive with a dreadful energy. Like Sera, Rosie moved without hesitation, her expression blank as she stepped toward the waiting archway, disappearing into the dark abyss beyond.

Adam felt himself sinking deeper into the shadow of the statue, pressing his body into the cold stone as if he could vanish from sight entirely. He was shaking, his mind teetering on the edge of disbelief. This was beyond anything he could comprehend. How had the quiet town of Innsmouth hidden such horrors? He dared not move, dared not even breathe too loudly, lest the horrors around him turn their attention to him.

Yet, as the chamber filled with the hissing, slithering sounds of celebration, Adam’s gaze flickered towards the third archway—the one marked with Lucifer. Unlike the others, this archway remained sealed. No tentacles, no shaking. The stone was cold and unmoved, but Adam could sense something beyond it—something watching, something… waiting.

The air grew colder, and Adam felt a chill run through his bones. There was a sadness here, a deep, aching sorrow that seemed to emanate from the sealed door. It pressed down on him, like a weight on his chest, making it hard to breathe. He could almost feel Lucifer’s presence on the other side, a great pain and longing radiating from that sealed archway, a sense of loss that pierced through the madness around him.

And then, mercifully, Adam’s mind could bear no more. His vision darkened, his thoughts spiralling into an abyss of unconsciousness as the world around him faded. The last thing he felt before everything went black was the cold, ancient stone pressing against his cheek, and with that, he let himself fall into the darkness.

For now, the nightmare was over. But the terror... it was far from done.

Adam had no sense of time, no grasp of how long he had drifted in that void of unconsciousness. But when his mind stirred and his body painfully reawakened, he found the chamber around him dimly lit and cold, emptied of the writhing, monstrous congregation that had once filled it. A silence so profound that it clawed at his senses pressed down on him, filling the void where before there had been the oppressive din of inhuman croaking and slithering.

The ache in his limbs screamed as he crawled from the tight confines of the statue's stone tentacles, his muscles stiff and uncooperative. His body swayed as he stretched, joints popping and cracking, a dull pain flaring in his back and legs. With a groan, he pressed a hand to his forehead, his thoughts spinning, his skull throbbing with an unfamiliar pressure. Something was wrong—different, something had clawed its way into his mind, a dark confusion that gnawed at him relentlessly.

He raised his gaze, trembling, towards the towering statue of Cthulhu. The great, unblinking idol loomed over him like an ancient sentinel, cold and indifferent. Adam’s voice was barely more than a whisper as he muttered, “What happened? What did I see?” But the chamber remained still, eerily so. Not even the rancid stench of fish lingered in the air—it was wrong, unsettling in its absence.

Dragging his reluctant body forward, Adam’s gaze fell upon the archway marked Eve. His heart quickened as he approached, the memory of Sera standing there replaying in his mind. But as he stood before the doorway, he found it sealed tight, as though it had never opened at all. His hands trembled as he touched the cold stone, and he wondered—was she still alive? Was Sera still in there, somewhere? Had she been devoured by those writhing tentacles or become something worse?

A shuddering breath escaped him as he tore his gaze away and turned to the next archway, the one marked Lilith. Rosie’s face flashed in his mind, her lifeless eyes, her body walking forward with the same eerie calm. And yet, just like the arch of Eve, Lilith’s was sealed, closed off as though nothing had passed through its yawning maw.

The relief that Adam felt was fleeting—cut short by the chill that clawed its way up his spine. His gaze slid to the third archway, and his breath caught in his throat. Lucifer’s arch was open.

It stood ajar, a soft mist drifting in and out of the shadowed doorway. The sight of it sent ice coursing through Adam’s veins. His legs threatened to buckle beneath him as he stepped closer, feet scraping over the slimy stone floor. There was a pulse in the air, a slow, rhythmic beat emanating from the dark corridor beyond—one he hadn’t noticed before, but now it thudded in his chest, mirroring his own heartbeat.

The urge to call out gnawed at him. Was Lucifer in there? Was he waiting for him? Adam’s lips parted, the words nearly escaping, but he bit down hard on his tongue, silencing himself. He should run. He had to leave. Every part of him screamed to flee, to get away from that open archway, from whatever waited within. And yet… something stronger pulled him forward.

He took a step toward the doorway, and with it, the air thickened. The temperature shifted, growing humid and oppressive, sticking to his skin like a damp shroud. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, and he tugged at his robes, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to him. The soft whiteness of the once-faded material went unnoticed as his fingers fumbled with the ties, pulling off the garment and dropping it carelessly to the ground. Soon, he stripped off his sweater, his pants, every last piece of clothing, until he stood as bare as Sera and Rosie had been before him.

His movements felt sluggish, as though he were moving through a dream, guided by some invisible force. His feet led him into the archway, his mind helpless to stop them. The moment he crossed the threshold, the world behind him seemed to disappear. The stone sealed itself with a dull thud, cutting off any hope of retreat.

The corridor stretched long and narrow before him, its walls looming high like the ribs of some ancient beast. It descended into the depths, spiralling downward, the air thick with a faint, briny scent that curled in his lungs. At the end of the corridor, the space opened into a vast hall, gleaming white, the stones glittering like they had been carved from the bones of stars.

Pillars lined either side, towering and cold, and at the centre of the hall, a smaller statue of Cthulhu sat—its tentacles stretched out across the floor, encircling a monstrous pool of clear, salty water. The air tasted of the sea, sharp and biting. Adam’s breath came in shallow gasps as he approached the edge of the pool, the sound of water gently splashing and swirling reaching his ears.

He froze, trembling as something stirred beneath the surface of the water. His heart clenched in his chest, and he wanted to turn back, but his body betrayed him. His legs carried him closer to the water’s edge, where he collapsed to his knees, staring into the depths.

And there, rising from the shimmering depths, was Lucifer.

Not the grotesque, malformed creatures of the deep that Adam had seen in the chamber before—no. Lucifer was different. His beauty was almost impossible, unreal in its alien perfection. His skin was pale, soft, gleaming with an otherworldly glow. His round face was delicate, his mouth lined with sharp teeth that seemed more ethereal than monstrous, his large blue eyes shimmering with a strange tenderness. Fins framed his golden hair, and gills pulsed gently at his throat, but it was the tentacles—gleaming, snow-white—that mesmerized Adam. They curled and coiled beneath the water, shifting languidly as they began to snake their way toward him.

"Adam," Lucifer’s voice was a soft, lilting hum, carrying with it the cadence of a lover’s lullaby.

His hands, cool and tender, cupped Adam’s face, pulling him closer. The touch sent shivers down Adam’s spine, but not of fear—something far more intimate. Lucifer’s tentacles slithered over the stone, wrapping around Adam’s wrists, his legs, pulling him gently, lovingly, toward the water.

“I knew you’d find your way to me,” Lucifer murmured, his voice thick with affection, his lips brushing against Adam’s cheek. “We are meant to be together. You and I.”

Adam opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. His mind was a blur of emotions—fear, confusion, longing. He didn’t understand. How could he? His lips trembled as he whispered, “I don’t… understand.”

Lucifer’s lips grazed his throat, his breath warm and sweet against Adam’s skin. “You don’t need to. I know your fear, your pain. I’ve felt everything you have, seen everything you’ve seen.”

His voice was soothing, laced with an almost intoxicating tenderness. “But there is no need to be afraid. You will not become like those creatures outside. You are mine, Adam. You will be as I am.”

Adam whimpered, his hands shaking as he grasped at Lucifer’s arms.

“What will I become?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lucifer’s answer was a wordless smile, a soft press of lips against Adam’s, as he gently lured him into the water. The cool liquid lapped against Adam’s skin, enveloping him, and despite his fear, there was a strange relief in it—like the water was washing away the dryness, the ache, the confusion. Lucifer’s arms wrapped around him, his tentacles coiling tighter, drawing him deeper into the pool.

The kiss was soft, sweet—like sinking into a dream.

“Mine.” Lucifer answered quietly. “It’s time Adam.”

“Time for what?”

“For us to mate. To become one and never be apart again."

[alexanderlightweight]

You know what I rarely see? In the show after wooing Alec, Magnus is not shown as overly invested and it always appears as Alec reaching/apologizing/moving the pair along. Which was definitely a writing/directing choice. But what I’d like to prompt if it suits you, is Magnus being the one to apologize or to reassure Alec that he is important and not temporary-I’m team immortal but this convo certainly should happen. I liked the way you had Alec be angry in that prompt fill about his birthday and Magnus had to own up to that. If this isn’t your thing no big deal! Hope the weather is nice where you are and nightshade has enough pets and treats for the day!

i believe in 'no partner is perfect' and while i don't tend to write the angstier couple stuff 'i like my malec happy' i don't mind occasionally dipping my toes into partner angst (with an immortal happy ending)

this particular fic isn't about about immortality but it's about haing two people who have fundamentally different lifestyles having a miscommunication that devolves and while the argument is based on the show scene, it doesn't follow it perfectly. nor is the actual argument written. just the aftermath.

my thoughts are that magnus tries to spoil alec in season two still but it's more intimate and offscreen and he sort of in season 3a but magnus relies heavily n his magic to spoil alec and he kind of is spiraling all of season 3 tbh. they just really were sprinkling angst on malec like it was salt and they realized the show was bland.

all they did was get oversalted content which got salty fans, since they forgot to add actual herbs and spices.

it's a bloody hot day okay. i love the sun as much -nevermind apparently this is a lie-

so i don't hate the sun okay. i enjoy sunshine in specific environments. the sun is not a tyrant devoid of compassion.

anyways i live in a desert because its whats best for the people i love but give me mist and foggy days and give me winters of waist deep snow i can fall in. oceans so cold your lips go blue and rivers so deep and clear and still cold with melting ice.

if people are going to send me 8-10 feet to the bottom of the lake because they lost their electronics. it better be cold and clear. not warm and murky. (this has only happened 3 times but i have a preference).

So I made Say breakfast and nightshade breakfast and then I made @saeths breakfast a few hours later so i made an extra egg for nightshade to tempt him to eat another bowl of kibble.

so i fed nightshade twice and forgot to make any eggs for myself ^_^ so he is plenty spoiled (don't worry his egg was made without cheese and salt).

also the reason i'm awake is because he needed snuggles and after that he wanted to play in the pool and then i was too awake to bother

but that's our wednesday so far and i'm getting my work out of the way so i can focus on writing and house things.

<3 lumine

-

Magnus is ready with another quick retort when Alec’s face goes blank for a moment.

The argument fades from Magnus’ mind in an instant, because while this is the perfect moment to land another barb, the words die and his sentence stops, ending with a snide comment he doesn’t really mean.

“That’s fine Magnus.” Alec says and he’s not angry, which is worse. He sounds tired and yet professional. His manner restrained and placating in the way he does when he no longer has any fight left and he just wants to retreat and lick his wounds.

Wounds that Magnus caused.

“Alexander—” Magnus starts, because he didn’t intend to get so upset but Alexander just shakes his head.

“You’ve said your piece, Magnus. I get it.” Alexander sighs and runs a hand through his hair as he shuffles. “I messed up, again.”

Magnus winces, because he’s begun to feel more like a scolding mentor than a partner.

“I need to get to the Institute—” which makes sense, the argument started as they both got ready for their days. “I’ll—” and Alec hesitates and then shrugs, “I’ll see you tonight.”

—

Magnus waits until it’s dinner time and then portals to the Institute, already preparing words to once again explain that it’s not Alexander, it’s just not time yet.

He opens the door to the office without knocking and steps in.

“Alexander—” Magnus starts and then he hesitates.

Because for once, Alexander’s eyes don’t soften when they meet his. They remain cold, devoid of the warm ardor they normally contain but once again, without anger. Only an empty tiredness that Magnus longs to chase away.

“Do you have an appointment today, Magnus?” Alexander asks, setting down his pen and turning off his tablet with a sigh. Even upset Alexander will still give him his full attention and Magnus steps closer to the desk when Alexander continues, “because I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for a meal, or a conversation if it’s not official. So, if you don’t have an appointment, it needs to wait until I’m off.”

Alexander doesn’t mention coming home like he normally does, and Magnus suddenly misses it, with a deep lonely ache.

It also reminds Magnus that despite how often Alexander drops everything to join him, his boy is being worked to the ground and also driving himself to his limits in his pursuit of building a better Institute. Alexander is struggling to create ties between an Institute and local downworld leaders that would be revolutionary, with a sincerity that is unmatched by anything Magnus has ever seen.

Of course, he’s exhausted, and Magnus feels hollow now, remembering their fight all over again with a new clarity.

“No darling, it’s nothing official. I’ll see you tonight—” Magnus pauses, wanting to offer to summon Alec something to eat or drink, but it feels too much like an emotional bribe with how shuttered his boy is. Alexander nods and gives him the same perfunctory, polite smile he gives his siblings when he’s too exhausted to deal with them and doesn’t know what else to do.

It cuts Magnus to the heart to have that same expression directed at him, when he’s supposed to be safe for Alexander.

Magnus can’t handle the idea of reaching out only to be shied away from, so he runs from the possibility and instead summons a tiny flower to land by Alexander’s pen when the door shuts.

No one in the Institute seems to notice anything is wrong. Magnus gets a few strange looks, but he quickly realizes that it’s because everyone expected Alexander to be leaving with him, like his boy usually does.

Magnus feels cold and it’s with determination that he sends out an emergency message.

—

“I became stagnant in my old, single age.” Magnus bemoans, “I spent so long on my heartbreak that now, with a man I adore over every living being, I keep pushing him away.”

“Truth potion?” Catarina offers but Magnus shakes his head. Alexander deserves Magnus explaining this without the aid of something to help his thoughts form, even if it’s a trick Magnus has used continually and without remorse on himself.

This is different though because Magnus wants to become aware of what is wrong, not rely on a potion to figure it out.

“He wants to move in.” Magnus starts, about to launch into it when Cat laughs, interrupting him.

“What do you mean he wants to, he already has. Or did you just move him in on the sly and forget to ask him if he wanted to?”

“Cat—” Magnus says hesitantly, “he’s never moved in. He’s the one who brought it up. I told him no.”

Catarina pauses and then she sighs, and she summons her favorite, light summer beer and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Start from the beginning, Magnus. I need details.”

Magnus does, realizing things that he missed as he’s explaining so many details that he just assumed and took for granted.

“I did wonder that the Loft hasn’t changed much. It seems more like Alec’s an addition to your things rather than his own person.”

It’s that comment that drives Magnus into a frenzy the moment he’s home.

Magnus doesn’t go overboard; Alexander wouldn’t want him to. Also springing this on his boy after the prior rejection will be too much like whiplash.

So, Magnus starts very small.

He finally creates the foyer he promised himself and Alexander he would make.

Alexander’s never pushed but Magnus remembers the tightening of his shoulders and the way Alexander will be too tired for anything but cuddles — rarely even hungry — after barrages of people through the loft.

The kitchen he only summons when Alexander asks, which is rare, so he makes it a permanent fixture and makes sure to hang an apron with little angel wings up. It’s with a pained smile that he sighs and wonders when he got so old that he forgot to enjoy life, and instead spent all his time focused on the past, just like Ragnor always warned him about.

Magnus doesn’t want to regret any time with Alexander, and he finds that he already does.

Not the time spent with his boy, but the time he could have focused on him more.

Magnus has spent so long protecting himself from losing Alexander, that he hasn’t noticed that he’s pushing him away, stopping him from coming too close.

Except Magnus has also bound him tightly.

Alexander sleeps more often in Magnus’ bed than his own. He’s rerouted his own schedule so he can take the last patrol before shift change, come to Magnus’ loft, write his report there and send it in, and be in bed for Magnus to return to.

Except for work, Alexander spends the majority of his daily life either in the loft, or with Magnus.

There are signs of him, all over the loft, but Magnus can’t look at a single piece and think, “Alexander picked that out.”

It aches in way that is almost visceral, because now that Alexander isn’t here, it’s only more obvious.

Magnus is chest deep in a drawer when he becomes aware of his boy stepping slowly into the bedroom.

“Is this a bad time?” Alexander’s tired voice asks. “I noticed there was a new door and tried to knock but the door just opened.”

Magnus wants to say something except he’s furious with himself and everything and the idea that Alexander saw a new door and knocked instead of walking right in, tears something in him.

They stare at each other for a moment, Magnus with his hands still wrist deep in the dimensional dresser, sure he’ll eventually find more than the sparse offering of Alexander’s clothes that he has.

“Where are all the clothes that you leave here?” Magnus asks instead of answering because he genuinely doesn’t know, “I was cleaning, and I couldn’t find them.”

Alexander sighs and Magnus just knows that he’s gearing himself up to — once again — explain to Magnus that it’s not about the clothes, before his boy visibly gets too tired. Instead, he just shrugs and potions to the paltry pile that Magnus has found.

“You have more than that!” Magnus exclaims, frustrated because he knows Alexander does. “That green shirt I got you that you loved. And those pants, the black ones with the umber stitching. The cream sweater I adore you in! That suit I had tailored for you in Milan and the other one in Hong Kong.”

Alexander sighs and he rubs a hand over his face, the stubble he normally shaves away in Magnus— in their bathroom, shadowing his face.

“Magnus, those don’t exist anymore.” Alexander doesn’t seem upset, if anything his face softens into an almost reluctant fondness, “you tend to vanish all the clothing you get me, some way or another. Mostly before fucking me. I tried to ask you one time where they went and you waved a hand and said, ‘another dimension, nothing to worry about’.”

“Surely that’s not all I said.” Magnus protests weakly.

“Well, you proceeded to fuck me unconscious so no, it wasn’t the last thing you said. But it was the last thing you said abut clothes.”

Magnus gives a flat chuckle and then sighs, snapping his fingers to clean up the mess.

“Have you eaten?”

“I figured I could grab something from the cafeteria when I head back. It’s fine.”

It most certainly is not fine, but Magnus doesn’t think coaxing Alexander into eating is going to work this time, which means that Magnus has accidentally undone weeks of effort.

Magnus doesn’t press, doesn’t remind Alexander that he can here. Or that, if by normal standards Alexander stays until he usually leaves Magnus, it would be the early evening of the next day.

“So, you were cleaning.”

Alexander is looking around, voice faltering but face devoid of actual emotions.

“I realized some things, after this afternoon.” Magnus admits slowly, “you’re the first person I opened my heart to, Alexander. In a very long time, I’ve told you that before.”

Normally, explaining things is easier but all Magnus can think is he’s not explaining it correctly.

“I know. But Magnus, you’re the first person I’ve ever opened my heart to.” Alexander interjects and he sounds raw and broken, like he’s been torn apart. “Doesn’t that get to mean anything too, to you? Because I don’t know what I’m doing, and you told me that there was nothing wrong with that. That I had nothing to feel ashamed about but now, it doesn’t feel like that.

"It feels like I can’t do anything right and I thought, I hoped something was coming together with us but now—” Alexander gives a heavy sigh and shrugs. “Now I don’t even know what I am to you anymore. Where do I belong, in your life Magnus? If you tell me where to fit, I’ll make it work.”

And that breaks Magnus’ heart, because Alexander was never meant to feel like he had to cut off pieces of himself to ensure Magnus loves him, that he has a place in Magnus’ life.

“Oh darling, beloved.” He murmurs and Alexander flinches, like it was a knife to his side. “You belong. The entirety of you. You belong in my bed because it’s no longer just my bed. How can I say it’s my bed when I lay in it without you and can’t sleep? When I reach for you in the night and can’t find you?” Magnus moves across the room with slow, purposeful steps and then reaches out to carefully — only because Alexander allows it — cups his face.

“Alexander, I have no excuses. My heart is old, and it is scarred and it is a wonder that you love me with all the cracks you’ve seen exposed. I don’t fear men or demons or angels, Alexander. I fear my heart being torn from my body and leaving me alive, an empty hollow cavern where it should be in the shape of you.

“I’ve always been too much, Alexander. I put my own fears on you, not that you deserved any of it, sweetheart. You’re right. I am your first relationship, and you grew up and live in a shadowhunter society. The relationships you've witnessed aren't similar to ours at all.

"You trust me to guide our relationship but I’m always encouraging you to ask me for things and you rarely do. I’m sorry, that you finally trusted me enough to ask me for something and that I broke that trust.”

And Alexander breaks, his eyes filling with tears and he coughs, scrubbing over his eyes because he hates being emotional during talks like these. As if Magnus will use the crystal sorrow streaking his face against him.

“I don’t understand.” Alexander murmurs against Magnus’ shoulder, “I thought this was already my home, here with you. I don’t know what I did wrong, I’m sorry Magnus.”

“Oh sayang.” Magnus whispers, eyes stinging because his heart is lanced every time Alexander apologizes. “You did nothing wrong. My heart was too scared to admit that you already were home for us, I pushed you away because I panicked. I’m sorry, my darling.”

Magnus is as tender and sincere as he can be, because he doesn’t want Alexander internalizing anything over this. Especially not when he realized that for Alexander, the loft already was home and he just wanted permission, for it to be official.

It’s endearing and sweet and Magnus presses a kiss to Alexander’s temple, softly and then harder when Alexander pushes into the caress.

"This is already your home. Where ever I am, will be your home." Magnus promises, "that will never change, my love. This is our space, for us to grow together and live together in.

Instead, Alexander tackles him to the bed and just lays there, pinning Magnus to the comforter as he snuggles into Magnus.

"Alexander?"

There is no answer, just a soft, exhausted snuffle and Magnus wonders how upset Alexander's been, thinking he was deprived of the home Magnus gave him.

He uses magic to change their clothing. More conversations and decisions can be made after rest and well, Alexander certainly isn't going anywhere and neither is Magnus.

[emo-toaster]

AGH, my fingers hurt from all the writing!For some reason I decided to write all this in one go, so maybe that's why, but don't blame me, I myself got invested into the story ( ˶°ㅁ°) !!

Warning!: English is my second language. If you find any errors in my writing, please understand. I used autocorrect to help me with my grammar and spelling, so I'm deeply sorry if any mistakes were made. Dyslexia + writing in a second language = challenging task (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

Okay, okay, enough talking! Enjoy!!

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Beauty and The Beast

Miko is trying his best!

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Chapter 3: An invitation.

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A powerful castle, that's where the boxes had led you. You could already see your father's cart behind the huge gate that was for some reason open. Whatever was in this castle, it certainly wasn't good. Your father wouldn't just abandon you for a better life, he wasn't that type of a person. You could only hope that he was doing alright. Slowly, you approached the gate, opening it further and getting onto the courtyard. Snow was falling down from the sky, looking like pieces of soft cotton, snowflakes that were stuck together in bigger pieces hit the ground to either join the piles of snow or melt on the hard stone. You slowly stepped in further, nearing the huge building. Your geta made either a hard click against the ground or a soft crunch when it stepped on the snow. Slowly but surely, the main door was opened by your hands that were slightly reddened due to the cold temperature outside. Inside there was a lot of western furniture, the place was owned by someone wealthy, with no doubts, but admiring the place had to wait, your father was more important.

“Hello? Is anyone here?” You called out only to hear the echo of your own voice bouncing off the walls. It was so quiet in here, as if the place was abandoned and long dead. As you stepped further, quiet whispers and murmurs could be audible, or maybe it was still just an echo? Maybe your imagination, who knows?

“Look, a visitor…” You could hear. Your head immediately snapped towards the source of the sound, but the place was still empty, there was only a low table with a candelabra and a clock on it. No one was there. You gulped softly, feeling shivers running down your spine. This place was definitely playing tricks on you, as if it just wanted you to go crazy. Your own thoughts started bothering you, nagging and torturing you from the inside, a weird feeling of anxiety and fear started showing itself, wanting to drive you nuts and then…you heard coughing. Your father's coughing! He was nearby, alive, that was a good sign!

“Father!” You called out, quickly trying to localize where he was. When it was finally clear, you grabbed the candelabra from the table, rushing towards the stairs that led you to the cold dungeons.

It felt as if you came back outside, the dungeon was cold to the point you could see frost in a few places. Your breath turned into mist due to the different temperatures, it really was freezing cold, and your father was locked in here?! You quickly walked alongside the dungeon, looking into each cell to spot your father, and you did it pretty quickly.

“Father! What happened? I was so worried, who locked you in here?!” You asked, quickly kneeling next to the cell, putting your hands on the cold bars and squeezing them as you looked at the old man inside. The only light source was the golden candelabra that you took from the table…at least you thought it was golden, the upper part had a reddish hue, the wax on it was also shaped in a weird way, but you paid no mind to it at the moment.

“How did you even get here—” Your father asked, clearly surprised you found this godforsaken place.

“You dropped a few boxes…” When you said that, your father perked up, understanding everything in an instant, which caused a small smile to appear on his wrinkled face.

“Well, that explains it, but you shouldn't stay here. This place is not safe, it's dangerous, very dangerous. This castle is alive!” The old merchant exclaimed, looking at you with a stern yet still worried look on his face. For a moment you wanted to touch your father's forehead to check if he wasn't having a fever. Alive? How could this castle be alive to begin with?

“What? What do you mean, explain it to me, please.” You asked, starting to worry about your dear old man. Maybe this place already got to him, causing him to get paranoid?

“There's no time, please, leave this place, leave as long as you are safe and out of his reach.” Your father answered, trying to gently push you away from his cell so you'd go away.

“What? Out of who's reach? What are you talking about, father…��� You said, immediately going back to the cell, looking at the lock. You quickly picked up a piece of brick that was lying by the wall and quickly hit the lock with it, trying to break it to your father's horror.

“What are you doing?! Stop it! Run! Y/N, I'm serious, please just listen to me!” Your father shouted, clearly panicked before a low growl came from the darkness nearby. You could see that your dad froze in one spot, paralyzed by fear. In the darkness, you saw a pair of down-turned eyes, staring daggers at you. You felt like a butterfly that was about to be devoured by a hungry mantis.

“I hate trespassers…oh, I really do…” A croaky, raspy voice stated as a tall, dark figure moved through the shadows.

“At first it was the old man, now it's you…oh, it makes me mad, so mad.” He continued, mumbling curses to himself.

“Who are you? Why did you lock my father up?! Can't you see that he's getting sick in this damn dungeon?!” You answered, quickly grabbing the candelabra from before, it actually brought you some comfort, and the fire dancing on the candles helped you fight off the cold.

“He trespassed and in the end stole from me! Just how low can he stoop, eh?! I hate trespassers and I really hate thieves. Those who dare to take from me will face severe consequences. Take from them before they take from you, that's kinda my style of life if you could say that…but I've been so gracious and let him leave my castle unharmed. How did he repay me, you may ask? Well, by stealing roses from my garden…oh, it infuriates me!” The one from the darkness answered with a wild, angry scream. You couldn't see him very well, but with a bit of focus you noticed one of his hands going up, violently scratching his neck.

“You locked him up for taking a rose?” You asked, disbelieving his words. How could he do such a thing because your father took a flower?!

“Oh, compared to my cruel fate, his is like a vacation…” The man rasped, looking away from you and your father. It sounded almost surreal, it was hard to believe it all, but you had to do something.

“Well, I asked for the rose, therefore you should lock me up instead. It's only…uh— fair.” You answered, trying to do anything to save your dear father. He can't stay in this damn dungeon, in this damn castle.

“No— you cannot—!”

“Be quiet for once…” The man in the shadows cut off his father when he tried to protest. Now, the stranger seemed more interested in the conversation.

“You, instead of him? Look at that, why haven't I thought about it sooner?! But you know, you'd have to stay here forever, eh? Still interested?” A crazed cackle left his lips. You could just stand there, feeling your heart speeding up at the sound, so wicked and cruel it made your blood run cold.

“Come into the light…” you said softly without even noticing it. The tall figure stopped laughing, turning his head towards you with a puzzled look on his face that you couldn't even see due to the darkness surrounding him.

“Hmm…? Oh, are you sure? Fine, feast your eyes then…” He crooned, slowly stepping into the lit area. You could just observe as a tall, gangly figure slowly appeared before you. His body appeared emaciated to the point of being able to see his bones. However, his arms and chest were abnormally muscular. Dark, curly hair was tied into a messy bun with dark green locks mixed in with his predominantly black hair. Black spots splattered his skin, as if it was just ink on paper His yellow eyes surrounded by dark circles gave off a menacing aura as they gazed at you with coldness. When his body moved, the tattered, blue yukata with black vertical stripes moved slightly, while the red obi with black patterns showed off his abnormally thin waist. Sharp teeth shined in his mouth as his face twisted into a snarl. Your breathing sped up immediately, as if he'd grab your neck with his strong, veiny hands, piercing it with sharp, black claws that adorned his digits instead of regular nails. This of course never happened, but you felt intimidated once his dark shadow fell onto you. His tall figure allowed him to stand tall and proud as his horns slightly blocked out the light, as if his silhouette was supposed to resemble that of the devil himself. Maybe he was in fact the devil? You weren't sure, but you couldn't let your father stay with this monster.

“You have my word. I'll stay.” You answered, only watching as the hideous being before you grinned, satisfied with your answer.

“Done. You're staying, he's out.” He hissed, walking past you towards the prison cell before his clawed hand grabbed it, opening the door and dragging your father out, ignoring his screams and cries, not moved by any of it. As you walked into the cell yourself you couldn't watch as your father was once and for all disappearing from your life. In the last moment you rushed forward, looking at him one last time.

“Please, don't hurt him…be careful, I beg you!” You called out, feeling utterly helpless. Warm tears ran down your cheeks as you weeped in the cold, lonely dungeon. It seems like you've got yourself “something more” that you so desperately wanted from life…you just didn't think it would turn out to be so horrible in the end.

.

.

.

A soft sniffle left you as you sat curled up in the corner of the cell. With your knees hugged snugly against your chest, you hid your face in them, still not being able to accept your new reality. That was…until the door opened with a loud crack. You immediately got up, preparing to have to defend yourself against the demon that took away everything you held dear.

“Ah— there we go!” A melodic voice hummed before chuckling. “I'm truly sorry about all the drama that happened before, but I hope this won't hold you back from going to your new room~!”

“But I—” You wanted to answer but couldn't, it was a lot to take in, this whole castle, it's horrible master and the loss of your beloved father.

“Ah, I get it, I get it, trust me, if he could he'd bully and mock people until they're crying like babies, but you don't have to let it get to you~” The man answered happily before adding “Trust me! I'm saying it all from my own experience, and I'm great in not listening to other's complaints.”

You slowly stepped out of the cell, holding a stool that was in its corner, when you peeked out you saw…the candelabra?! But it was moving and talking and…it had a face! You gasped, hitting the thing with the stool and looking down at it to see what happened.

“Ah…you certainly have a lot of strength, I admire that.” The candelabra groaned before getting up and dusting himself off.

“Now, if you please…you may call me Douma, the one and only.” The candelabra answered, bowing and winking at you. Something was telling you that there was a lot of sass in this little fella…

“Y/N.” You answered, still skeptical about all this.

“Wait, wait! Hold on! What do you think you're doing?” Another voice called out as a clock climbed the stairs, coming up towards Douma.

“You can't just let them out like this!” The clock shouted angrily, staring daggers at the candelabra.

“Akaza-dono…if this was a normal situation, I'd say you're right, but when was the last time we had a visitor? They're not a prisoner, but a guest, my dear friend…” Douma chimed, chuckling quietly, confident in what he was saying.

“Fine, but I'll agree to this only to have around someone who's able to shut you up properly. I quite enjoyed seeing you struck with a stool…”

Akaza smirked, which caused Douma to giggle once more.

“Ah, you must raise your defenses, Akaza-dono, either way everyone will know what makes you tick…just like I did already. Anyways, let's not waste any more time, it certainly is precious to you, isn't it?” Douma hummed, softly going down stairs, leading the way. Akaza groaned, not amused by the puns that damn candelabra threw into his statement, he definitely was aware of how irritated Akaza was due to being a clock.

The long hallways seemed to be almost endless, the whole castle was like a maze, honestly it was a miracle that Douma and Akaza could walk around without getting lost. Countless rows of fusuma doors, thin walls made you feel like the castle was infinite, but it wasn't, it couldn't be. After a long walk, finally you reached a different door, one that was beautifully decorated. Douma hopped towards it, slowly the door opened itself after a soft sound of biwa and revealed a spacious room. As you looked behind yourself, on a high point you could see a wooden figurine of a woman with a biwa, gently moving the bachi across the strings.

“Who is she?” You asked, looking towards Douma with a puzzled look.

“Oh, that's Nakime, she always sits there. At some point she became the whole castle, her biwa controls the doors and stuff…she's doing a lot here.” Douma answered, waving at Nakime before the soft sound of her biwa shut the door.

“She's not much of a talker…” Douma added with a nervous shrug before going deeper into the room.

“You all are under the rule of that…uh— you know, him.” You asked, looking at both Douma and Akaza.

“At some point, it's complicated, others are submissive because he's either stronger than them or because he's respected. It's too much to explain, but the castle had a different master before, and because he saw potential in Gyutaro, the respect still lingers.” Akaza explained. Douma just nodded along before climbing onto the western styled bed.

“Well, I wouldn't worry about that when this room is so comfy~!” He sighed before Akaza pulled him down from the bed harshly.

“It's a shame it isn't yours then, truly.” You couldn't help but smile at it, those two had an interesting chemistry, and they provided a lot of information as well. So the monster who trapped you here was called Gyutaro? You had a feeling that you're gonna hate that name with passion.

“Why did you even bring me here? I don't understand any of it.” You said, sitting down on the bed as Akaza and Douma turned their heads towards you.

“Well…Our master told us to.” Douma answered, stepping into Akaza's leg when he was about to protest. When the clock was about to punch him, Douma looked at him snugly.

“Nah, you can't, I'm ranking higher than you~” The candelabra chimed, moving away from Akaza.

Well, the fact that this monster told them to give you the room was definitely a twist, but once you got answers, there appeared more questions as well.

“What ranking? You asked, not understanding what Douma meant.

“Ah, it's kinda pointless to me, but the residents of the palace have a ranking, but it doesn't matter! The only thing that matters is that I'm higher than Akaza-dono on that ranking!” Douma claimed proudly, making Akaza groan in displeasure.

“Well, I'm sure you're tired by now. Rest a bit, we'll perhaps check on you later. Please excuse me, but I have to snuff out a certain candle—” Akaza said through gritted teeth before dragging Douma out of the room. The door soon enough slid back closed, leaving you alone in the new environment. Lost and confused…

.

.

.

“You did what…?” A low growl was audible in the room as Gyutaro's face twisted into a scowl. He peaced around the room, clearly tense and on edge.

“Hey, what's with the frown? I did the right thing, it'll be very beneficial for us!” Douma chimed, sitting down on the table as the fire on his candle hands and head danced, emitting warm, comforting light. “With a little encouragement, they'll come swooning over you in no time! I don't know if you've noticed, but they could perhaps break the curse—”

“Of course I've noticed, I'm not blind…but even before the curse I had no luck in both relationships and looks, so don't get your hopes up, you'll just end up disappointed. But if that's what you're looking for, then be my guest.” Gyutaro answered, letting out an annoyed huff. His hand violently clawed at his skin to the point in some places blood was visible.

“Well, you could try, there's still time. Look, you charm them, they fall in love with you and poof…we're not cursed anymore. It's that easy!” Douma answered, trying to be positive.

“It's not easy at all! Stop saying that! Maybe it's easy for you, but I'm…well, I'm me. With or without the curse. You can't do anything about it.” Gyutaro barked. Douma sighed softly at that statement, feeling helpless. Gyutaro was always like this; comparing himself to others, internally beating himself up for everything, even if it wasn't necessarily his fault. That was pretty depressing if you ask Douma, he still tried his best to ease the tension. He was a ‘nice guy’, so he'll try to help— even if he has to deal with Gyutaro's temper alone.

“Well, dinner dates are getting popular…” He chimed, looking suggestively at Gyutaro.

“No!” The monster answered almost immediately.

“Yes~” Doua mused back. “Sooner or later you have to do something in that direction…” Douma answered, crossing his arms against his chest.

“No, I don't. There will be no charming anyone, no dinner dates, no romance, I won't stoop that low to try and win over the child of some dirty, pitiful thief, that would be simply disgraceful.” He answered, turning his head away before Kotoha perked up. Before she was just taking care of her daily duties, pouring tea and helping around in the kitchen, but that statement made her pay attention.

“You shouldn't judge anyone for their parent's doing, even if their father did something wrong, they're still innocent.” She answered, sternly lecturing the cursed prince. “What they did today was truly sweet and admirable, and we shouldn't make it harder for them. They're innocent, treating them like a guilty prisoner isn't right…” she added shyly, not really being the one to speak out in situations like these.

“Take from them before they take from you, that's my moral codex. Sooner or later something will happen, they will be guilty. I won't lower my defenses only because they haven't done anything yet. They're their father's child, what do you think he taught them? It's easy to influence people you take care of…and their father already showed what type of an influence he is.” Gyutaro growled, sitting down on his zabuton, clawing at his skin. It seemed hard to convince him to actually do something, it required something more…

“Well, maybe you should be their influence from now on, hm?” Akaza hummed, lifting one of his eyebrows up as Gyutaro turned his head towards him. “You said it yourself, it's easy to influence people who are under your care, they're under your care now, so go on, influence them.” Akaza added as if challenging Gyutaro.

“Very well, I will, but don't blame me for anything that happens next.” He growled, slowly getting up and slowly going towards the door. “Dinner date it was, right? Fine, make the food and set the table, you'll be cooking for two today.”

All three of them; Kotoha, Akaza and Douma smiled with the feeling of triumph sparking in them. Finally something was happening, who knows, maybe the curse will be only a bad memory in a span of a few days?

.

.

.

It wasn't long before you heard a noise outside of the door. Someone was on the other side, maybe Douma or Akaza? They said they'll be checking on you later. Well, you didn't have to wait long to know who it was.

“Join me for dinner.” That damn croaky voice said in a commanding manner. You moved closer to the door as a small frown showed up on your face.

“I refuse.” You answered, turning your head away from the door, not wanting to slide it open. You could hear an angry grumble from the other side, looks like someone had troubles with their temper, Huh…

“That wasn't a request, now, open the door and come down to have dinner with me.” Gyutaro hissed as a scowl appeared on his face.

“You're seriously asking me to have dinner with you after imprisoning me and sending my father away? Are you hearing yourself right now?” You asked, genuinely angry at him for what happened before.

“I'm trying to be a good host…but you're being a difficult, ungrateful brat.” He answered, also getting angry.

“You had your chance before! I'm not interested in being in your presence.” Will this end up being a simple banter or rather a heated argument? You just wished he'd go away. It seemed like it was just your luck, no matter where you go, there's always a nasty guy nagging you, but it was easier to get rid of Kaigaku, you didn't know what it'll take to get rid of a monster.

Gyutaro meanwhile breathed in and out heavily, trying to control his temper. It infuriated him, you were clearly very brave or very stupid. At some point he wished he could just tear the door open and drag you outside. Well, technically he could, but he held himself back.

“Very well…starve yourself to death. See if I care…if you don't want to eat with me, you won't eat at all, it's as simple as that.” He cackled, slowly walking away from the door that his claws scraped in anger. Anger was bubbling up in him, but he tried to hold it in for as long as he could. To no avail tho, in mere seconds he started clawing at his own flesh. Blood ran down his neck which he scratched the most. He furiously marched towards his room, violently sliding the door closed, throwing aside everything that was in his way. With a snarl on his face he approached a small low table in the middle of the room. There's under a bell jar covered by frost was a rose, the very same rose that showed him how much time he had left. It made him sick to the stomach as he had to watch another petal falling down from the flower. He turned his head away, wanting to focus on something else, not think about this damn curse, damn time limit and damn prisoner!

His eyes slowly turned towards a painting hanging on the wall. Every time he looked at it something tugged at his heart, it brought him so much pain, but he wasn't able to destroy it, he couldn't… He lost so much already, and it truly gnawked at him. Sometimes he just felt like he was about to vomit due to all this anger and anguish that he had to hold inside himself. He was both furious and ashamed, ever since his life started going downhill he couldn't do anything but watch as everything was slowly taken away from him.

Maybe he deserved it all? Sometimes he wondered if that was the point. Gyutaro already screwed up so much, he wouldn't be surprised if all this was just a fair punishment. If that's the case, then he'll just sit there and rot, waiting for all this to end. There was simply no hope, with or without this damn curse…he'll be seen as a monster and there's no changing that.

✦————————————————————————✦

Yay! It's the end of this chapter. I tried to make it a bit longer so I hope you liked it! I'll try to post the 4th chapter soon so you won't get bored. (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

Have a nice day/night!

[lia-land]

A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas

5/5 stars

Spoilers*

I don’t think I can put into words how much I loved this book. A shorter review because I have nothing to criticise. This book is perfect.

I did go into it having seen spoilers that Feyre and Rhysand would be endgame, but I didn’t find that to negatively affect my reading experience. The build-up was amazing and I would gladly read another book entirely made up of the two of them exchanging magical flirty notes.

The twists, characters, and pacing are all so perfect and there was not one boring or slow chapter. I would especially love to see more of Tarquin and the Summer Court. I do feel bad about how Feyre, Rhys, and Amren deceived Tarquin, but it was for the greater good.

Chapter 54 and 55 are pure gold. Personally, I think the tension during the throne room chapter and the inn chapter are unmatched, but 54 and 55 were so satisfying to read after the build-up. I had the audiobook on when I got to 54 and 55 because I was getting ready to go out and I wish I had time to fully process everything. I love when a book has the power to change my mood. I’d seen spoilers for all of it, but it still had an effect, which is impressive. What I’d give to experience this book for the first time again…

I like Azriel, but I was so mad when his arrival robbed us of Rhys and Feyre going to buy lingerie together. Though, somehow, I think I preferred how that chapter ended. Something about Rhys sending her a vision of it was sexier than if it had happened, so I can’t even be mad anymore.

The cliffhanger!!! I hope we get a bonus chapter of Rhys and Feyre’s ceremony one day. It’s a need.

The only thing that would have made this book even better for me is if Rhys’ trauma from Under the Mountain was acknowledged more. It felt just slightly skimmed over. We get little glimpses through lines like ‘it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just your body reacting,’ but I think it’s an important aspect of Rhys’ recent history that should have been acknowledged. Not just in this book, but throughout the series as a whole (I’ll discuss this more in my A Court of Wings and Ruin review).

Also, the House of Wind is a bit of a plot hole because they make it clear that no one can winnow in. They can only fly in or take 10,000 stairs. If this is the case, how do all the people on Starfall get in? Surely they don’t all have an Illyrian plus one and didn’t go up the stairs in their formal attire. I’ll personally be overlooking that because the rest of the book is so good.

Importantly, I should note that the only reason I saw spoilers for everything is because I was so obsessed with Rhys and Feyre that I was reading short fanfictions about them while I was still reading ACOMAF, because I quite literally could not wait for them to finally get together and I also didn’t want the book to end too quickly. In hindsight, I don’t actually know if the plot is any good because I was far too invested in Rhys. The plot could be nonexistent and I’d still give this five stars for Rhys and his charms.

Infinite stars out of 5. This was exactly the kind of book I was expecting and more.

[puckpocketed]

sharks to kings trade !!! your beloveds are sending penpals to each other in the form of players (-puckszone)

the Grundstrom for Burroughs Trade Vibe Check

HELLO beloved jane puckszone my pink scalloped hem my midnight candy gram my mist over still waters… thank you for stopping by i LOVE waking up to trade news in my inbox i LOVE that our california girls are having playdates . 🎶you can check out any time you like, but you can never leaaaveeee 🎶 <- type beat. about the California Swing; this big road trip every team gets subjected to multiple times each season on account of proximity, it used to be MISERABLE and FOUL because at one point we had 3 good teams !! i hope we get back to that one day 🥹🤲

Carl Grundstrom. CARL GRUNDOTHY …!!!!! I am genuinely VERY happy for him 😭💙 he was pushed out of the lineup during playoffs for some unfathomable reason (rat clenching fist of rage about it) . he’ll be getting more minutes on the Sharks GOD WILLING……. did you watch him at worlds? i did…!! i really liked his, idk what to call it, spirit??? like SORRY LAK but you may have fumbled a bad bitch… ough to see him benched and playing like 2 mins a night during playoffs… god he played one 25 second shift during one of those games and meanwhile they were double shifting our beautiful boy quinton byfield WHO WAS ILL BTW… i thought the kings needed grundy’s fighting spirit out there on the ice :(((

anyway adoption papers under the cut!!

Grundy for the Sharks moots:

We call him Grundy (me and you jane puckszone + the two skeletons and four moths on kingsblr) and i think i’ve seen Jim Hiller call him Grunny? grundy sounds better to me so i use that <3

He’s a solid 4th liner i mean this in the best most complimentary way possible… he does SO well … throw him out there to rest your first line and the puck might just do good things!!! my defensively responsible little guy…!! like. i love hard workers they are so dear to me <3

Low key underrated shooter? mostly in that i don’t know if i ever saw him pass loooool but yeah no he has more goals than assists this past season like IF the puck is on his stick he WILL shoot it godbless !!

Perhaps on the Sharks he moves up the depth chart 😭👍 middle-six winger anyone…praying for his success so bad you don’t even KNOW

HITTER!! this boy is big and throws hits! Plays the body when defending, plays the body when forechecking <3. i love you grundy and so does the mike grier Size/Skill/Will agenda. with this trade we are swapping hitter for hitter, but making room on our blue line (Shakir full time NHL arc???? PLEEK)

Grundy might genuinely be a great fit for the Sharks Culture Plan because i never saw a game where he wasn’t extremely invested and intense … i liked that about him vewwy much but that might just be me and my penchant for becoming attached to random depth players 🥹

More broadly, the pattern of picking up guys who need a new opportunity marches on… dellandrea and now grundstrom. we may not have uhhh affordable housing or more than 20 wins but the one thing sj does have in spades is ice time <3

i do wonder what all this does to our guys in the AHL who’ve been very hungry to break through but ough. alas. </3 perhaps that’s a conversation best had on a podcast and not by me, i can’t be objective here!!

on the LAK side of things:

Kyle Burroughs played way too many minutes on a bare bones Sharks defense please don’t look at his uuhhh -42 rating and take it seriously 😭

he might look like a silly guy from a 2010s sitcom but he is in fact a GOON!!! the fighting majors… lordy….. also i haven’t checked the stats recently but last time i did he was right up in the leaderboards for hits.

this move from LA does puzzle me!! Clarke and Spence should be getting more priority ice time next season. the Burroughs trade would push them out of the lineup unless Burroughs is getting put in the AHL or lak get rid of another defenseman.

perhaps an omen? Matt Roy leaving? or perhaps noted gorgeous leg weight Andreas Englund? <- i’m more inclined to this as it seems Burroughs and Englund would occupy the same role!!

endeared by Kyle Burroughs’ moustache deeply <3 him and j.middleton are sisters to me as per one of my posts…

anyway i hope he gets fewer minutes and less rough deployment on the kings jskdjdkgk he truly went THRU it this past season 😭🙏

in conclusion Cali Polycule please come back from the WAR i need this place to be hell on earth again CALIFORNIA SWEEP….!!!!

[avaeeart]

well

that expansion sucked

salt and opinion incoming

i don't have a lot of thought because there was nothing to even think on about this flat expansion, but here are my thoughts - also quick apology because English is not my first langauge, plus this is my own personal opinion:

The Commander has no vital role in this. We were a mascot to the cause that we had no sentimental or important value in. Yes there are people who don't want the Commander to be the main focus, and that is a valid opinion, but we were very much just the audience to a running movie with no impacting opinion whatsoever.

A majority of the opinions I read here on Tumblr and reddit share the same view: The beginning and launch of SotO had strong foundations: A new mystery faction, a new cast of engaging cahracters of various, ancient races shrouded in mystery and an otherworldly threat. Except. Uncooked. Unseasoned, Underbaked. SotO moved on way too fast, with barely any time to get to know these people, reunion with Zojja (who, oof, gets completely forgotten despite her image being in the launcher), and of course, one of the interesting cast members gets killed.

Onto the Kryptis. ?????? They were reskinned orphans from Divinity's reach. Why were aliens from the Mist, dream demons, written like poor people who needed our help to ... get water and bandaid? Where is the worldbuilding? Where is the hostility and curiousity of demons meeting an entire different race walking into their homeland? Why is monarchy all the same in the demon realm? It is just a lazy and uncreative solution to introducing a new threat and race

Eparch, uh. What threat did he pose beside a fighting achievement under five minutes. Who was Labris again beside a fighting achievement too. Again. Major threats, major antagonists get a huge build up but once it is their time to shine in the spotlight. They get nothing but a reskinned model and five minutes of talking. As much as Labris' death had an impact on Eparch in his voice lines, there was not much ground for me to get invested in their connection.

Peitha is written incredibly flat. Her plans of ruling and usurping are as solid as soup. Yes she may throw out really cool lines, but in the whole fabric of planning a revolution, where is the consistency and foundation? The Wizards have to plan an assault and all the logistics, the other generals and Ramses doing the relocation of things, and Peitha is just. Saying things, while we protect her and do the job. She says she is caring for her people but where do we see that, beside her complementing her killing choices in 1-2 lines? Where do we see her passion for revolution, her hatred against the status quo? She quickly fell flat and cheaply written (beside her sexy baiting lines) once she got revealed. As much as the writing makes me dislike her, she deserved better.

the cannibal demons were not cannibalistic enough.

the wizards were not wizard enough.

In general, the story was nothing new, no exciting twists and the pacing is out of place (the months between those very short chapters did not help it either). it is a X formular marvel-esque movie.

from a gameplay perspective:

soto has nothing to offer.

theres the legendary armor (which i farmed for from the start), convergences, rifts - But for the casual player, who may never intend to farm for the Obsidian Armor, it brings nothing. The Rifts as fun as the gameplay may be, dont offer gold or good material (beside the essences). the Convergence has some good drops if you are lucky but again, only for essences. But hey, Skyscale fireball fun right?

What makes me frustrated is, SotO has potential, so much good foundation and build up. But such expectation of a whole new lore was never reached and the story rushed. May blame it on the new cash grabbing model. It is a bland mid expansion with too many boring moments and do X amount of events. Maps are great tho, missing Jumping puzzles though.

3/10 reused wyvern model

[terrified-spider]

To CoS DMs,

What sort of stuff do you make a point of including when changing Strahd's diary?

I've never been fond of 5e's handout, it feels far more like a lore drop than a personal diary, and while using I, Strahd would be nice, I've made too many changes to the lore to use it as is. (not to mention that my players and I are all busy, and won't have the time to read a full novel)

I've outlined the key elements that need to be included, I just need to pad it out a bit.

Thank you for any help (:

My current outline is under the cut (:

cw for canon typical depression and violence

Taking Castle Ravenloft:

Summary of the arrival at the castle, naming it after his mother, in her honor

With the death of their parents, Sergei will be coming to the keep

Introduction to Alek and Rahadin, the two working and training together

Meeting Tatyana:

Introducing our sexy lamp

Passing mention of Sergei giving up his place in the clergy for her

Focus on Tatyana's physical traits, her hair in particular. As much as the lamp thing is a joke, she isn't important to Strahd as a person, only a prize. As Strahd is really the only source of information on Tatyana for the party, she doesn't really get much in terms of development.

Alek has raised concerns once again about the assassin

Tatyana & Sergei, Wedding Prep:

Strahd moping while Sergei and Tatyana have a good time.

Mention of Alek going to the Amber Temple for research purposes, to find something that might help the situation.

Night Before the Wedding:

Strahd is starting to hear whispers

Alek and Rahadin have been patroling the castle, questioning the guards, etc.

Wedding Night Aftermath:

Quiet castle, only him and Rahadin alive.

Some sacrifices had to be made, but Alek is still alive, gifted to Rahadin, so that the two can remain brothers.

Alek died as he does in I, Strahd, but is the first Strahd brings back from the dead. He botches it though, and Alek returns as a Nosferatu, rather than a spawn. Strahd is denying the problem, shrugging off the issue as best as he can. He's good at it.

Meeting Marina:

The only section I've fully written out so far, but still up for revisions.

I returned to Castle Ravenloft late yesterday evening with no issue. Rahadin was right, the girl looks exactly like my dearest Tatyana did, with the same red hair and bright eyes. I do not think I know the entirety of what happened to her in the years since her death in the Mists, but she did not remember who she, or perhaps more importantly, Sergei or I, was.

Now, she goes by Marina, and is the adopted daughter of the burgomaster in Berez, Lazlo Berezovich, who plans to marry her in just a few years. Of course, i cannot have such things happen to Tatyana, no matter what name or face she wears now, and I have already begun to teach her of her old life. She seemed invested, though that might simply be due to the prospect of minor nobility taking romantic interest in her. Still, even with having only spent a night with her, the results seem promising. My brother will not have any influence this time, and at long last, Tatyana will finally be mine.

Rahadin also brought news of the Abbot, the “angel” having taken up residence in the old monastery in Krezk, where I had found Leo Dilisnya. While Tatyana is of the highest priority, I will have to visit Krezk soon, to finally welcome our newest guest. Even if his healing magic has been greatly exaggerated, his presence should provide at least some degree of entertainment for myself, and perhaps some assistance for Barovia’s people.

Death of Marina:

Most recent event in journal, so that it works out when Strahd leaves the diary buried under the monument to Marina. A good segment of unmarked pages are left at the end of the journal.

Cursing the men who killed Marina, description of their bodies after their deaths.

[yeah-thats-probably-it]

hi its the ring for jeeves analysis anon sorry im so illusive can't help my mysterious nature its inexplicable, quick question: have you read any psmith??? if so thoughts on them do you hold any opinions, postulations, assumptions etc. in re: queercoding, possibly even queerer coded than jeeves series??

Mysterious Ring for Jeeves anon! Just when I thought you forever borne away on the four winds, you have returned again to the masked ball to drop your calling card (three black goose feathers and a shard of mother of pearl collected from the silver sands by the light of the season's first full moon) into the hollowed-out tree stump at the edge of the garden. I receive and understand your message, and shall await your signal directly the cock crows thrice.

Now, to answer your question, Psmith had been on my "should really get around to it" list for ages, but this ask prompted me to finally download the Psmith in the City audiobook and put it on while I was packing and now I DO have thoughts! My first thought was that I had no idea working in a bank was so much like working in hospitality, but that's a post for another day.

Short answer: yes, this is queer as hell. And it isn't even the first non-Jeeves Wodehouse book I've read that felt even more queer coded than Jeeves-- the first was Ukridge (aka It's Always Sunny in London), which I'm going to go ahead and compare and contrast with Psmith, because I feel like I'm starting to uncover a pattern in Wodehouse's POV characters that I think could lend support to queer readings of a lot of his works.

For those who aren't familiar, Ukridge is ALSO the tale of an extremely blatant self-insert character inescapably captivated by the magnetic personality of an old school friend. Corky, a starving writer who's always struggling to get his articles published in magazines and is totally not Wodehouse by a different name, is deeply irritated by the get-rich-quick schemes of his freeloader friend Ukridge. He knows Ukridge is taking advantage of him, and rarely has a positive thing to say about him, yet clearly finds something about his indefatigable spirit immensely compelling: "to me this tame subsidence into companionship with a rich aunt in Wimbledon seemed somehow an indecent, almost a tragic, end to a colourful career like that of S. F. Ukridge. [...] I should have had more faith. I should have known my Ukridge better. I should have realised that a London suburb could no more imprison that great man permanently than Elba did Napoleon."

This quotation is followed by Corky finding out that Ukridge has acquired six Pekinese dogs (which will turn out to have been pinched from his aunt) that he's planning to train for show biz, and would Corky like to invest. If you wanted to know.

The queerness is rather more unilateral in Ukridge than in Psmith, but no less glaring for that. Corky really doesn't seem to like it when Ukridge is interested in a woman, and shows little to no interest in women himself, iirc. I mean, the first time he sees Ukridge in the company of a woman he sounds almost betrayed: "Never in the course of a long and intimate acquaintance having been shown any evidence to the contrary, I had always looked on Stanley Featherstonehaugh Ukridge, my boyhood chum, as a man ruggedly indifferent to the appeal of the opposite sex. I had assumed that, like so many financial giants, he had no time for dalliance with women—other and deeper matters, I supposed, keeping that great brain permanently occupied." THIS is his reaction to Ukridge announcing that he wants to get engaged: "The thing was too cataclysmal for my mind. It overwhelmed me." GIRL.

If I had no prior familiarity with Wodehouse and I read this book, I would be asking which straight boy hurt him.

Finally, one of the Ukridge stories contains this exchange between Corky and a pugilist Ukridge has decided he's going to make a star, which I would like to present here without comment before moving on:

“You ever been in love, mister?” I was thrilled and flattered. Something in my appearance, I told myself, some nebulous something that showed me a man of sentiment and sympathy, had appealed to this man, and he was about to pour out his heart in intimate confession. I said yes, I had been in love many times. I went on to speak of love as a noble emotion of which no man need be ashamed. I spoke at length and with fervour.

Skipping merrily along, let us now come back around to Psmith in the City, starting with the primary POV character and then bringing in Psmith's relationship to him.

Mike is an even more blatant self-insert than Corky. This would have been obvious even if I didn't already know that in his young adulthood Wodehouse, owing to the fact that his father could no longer afford to send him to Oxford, had worked as a clerk at the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank. The jokes are too precise to not be from personal experience. As Mike is our audience avatar, he's naturally the more normal, less distinctive character. Despite his relative nondistinctness, though, he's written in such a way that it's clear Wodehouse deeply identified with him. The sections where he's feeling emotions like homesickness or out-of-placeness or sympathy, for instance, are very vivid and evocative. You really feel what Mike is feeling.

Then there's Psmith, manic pixie dream boy and destroyer of bad managers. He handles every situation with a debonair smile on his face and breezy condescension in his voice, completely unflappable... except with regards to Mike. His feelings typically aren't described in as much detail as Mike's are, but it's obvious he adores him, to the point of slight codependence. He needs Mike near him to hear his thoughts on life, and nobody else will do. As much as he tries to maintain his air of blithe nonchalance at all times, real emotion slips through whenever the situation involves separating him from Mike or Mike being in danger.

When Mike is moved to the Cash Department, Psmith is immediately desolate. I love the way he's like, "but- but if you relocate Mike, then WHO pray tell will PAY ATTENTION TO ME?" and this is a genuine crisis for him. He resents the new guy just for not being Mike. Local annoyingly imperturbable gadfly inconsolable due to boybestfriend going to work in a different department than him, more at eight. Then, when Mike gets into the fight at Clapham Common, Psmith feels genuine fear as he prepares to intervene in the fight and tell Mike to make a run for it.

Another factor I feel makes the queer coding stronger here is that unlike Bertie and Jeeves, there isn't an obvious plausibly deniable reason for Psmith and Mike to always be together. Jeeves is Bertie's employee. He's an unreasonably devoted and loyal employee, but you expect a gentleman to be accompanied by his valet about town, and for the gentleman and valet to share accommodation.

Psmith and Mike are just like that. They live together because they like each other and want to. Psmith spends the whole book essentially treating Mike like his boyfriend and sugar baby, again, simply because he wants to. I mean, the novel literally opens with Psmith bringing Mike home to meet his parents, and Psmith's father later refers to Mike as the "youngster [Psmith] brought home last summer." Psmith invites Mike to go out on an excursion with him "hand in hand" not once, but twice. The end goal of all his scheming is for him and Mike to be together at Cambridge.

'I need you, Comrade Jackson,' he said, when Mike lodged a protest on finding himself bound for the stalls for the second night in succession. 'We must stick together. As my confidential secretary and adviser, your place is by my side. Who knows but that between the acts tonight I may not be seized with some luminous thought? Could I utter this to my next-door neighbour or the programme-girl? Stand by me, Comrade Jackson, or we are undone.' So Mike stood by him.

I find it very notable that despite one of the big themes of the book being Mike and Psmith feeling uncertain about the future and trying to figure out what they want to do in life, neither of them ever mentions or thinks about marriage as something they might want someday. From what I've seen it looks like that might change in later books, but it stuck out in this one. And it's not like they couldn't have! Mr Waller's daughter and her on-again-off-again fiance were at that extremely awkward dinner, and that could have prompted a thought about whether or not the prospect of engagement sounded personally appealing to either of the boys.

This book feels like a wish fulfillment fantasy in much the same way the Jeeves books do. Imagine you have a fascinating friend who, using his money and/or resourcefulness, can rescue you from your terrible job and terrible shitty apartment (or other, richer varieties of soup, if you're Bertie Wooster), freeing you to pursue the life you truly want. He's clever, and quotes all your favorite Shakespeare lines, and is intensely devoted to you (he's also kind of a weird stickler about clothes but you can put up with that). And all he asks for it is that you look at him with awed wonder and gratitude and tell him he's a genius a few times a day.

So! In conclusion, I think you could read this as romantic or queerplatonic according to your fancy, but there's certainly nothing straight about it. And loath as I am to speculate about the personal lives of people who were alive in recent memory, I'm kind of starting to have some questions about P. G. Wodehouse. But that's neither here nor there. I'm going to go read some fanfic. Thank you so much for the question, Mysterious Ring for Jeeves Anon!

[rubykgrant]

OOOOOOOO I LOVE THIS AU! I wonder about other characters! Could York be a son of Hermes? Wyoming related to Cronus? Felix the son of Apate? Locus the son of Honos? Kimball a child of Ares? Doyle the kid of Minerva? Temple the son of Nemesis? Also, if Carolina has no godly ancestors whatsoever, how did the Director know about all this? Was he a case of someone who could see through the Mist like Rachel Elizabeth Dare?

Haha, thanks! All those potential ancestors definitely could work for the characters! I do think York as a generational child of Hermes is pretty good (maybe a little bit of Orpheus in there), though I'd maybe lean toward connecting Wyoming with Apate (but in trying to give them more powers, he got a little bit of "comedy" from Thalia), North and South are generational Apollo kids... with some extra boosts from Ares (so in a way, they are at odds with who "stands in the sun", North feels like he's proverbially protecting his sister from "harsh light", and she feels stuck in his shadow, and they both have some Phobos/Deimos stuff going on). Maine is a generational Neptune and Cupid (believe it or not), he's got a "high tolerance" for being given the extra demigod powers, so he had a boost from Jupiter and Hades (a power-house for sure, but it put a lot of stress on him).

The Director had a vague understanding of people with unusual powers through history just from working with other people who perhaps had their own connections (unclaimed kids who grew up, trying to figure out how much of this "mythology" was true), but after his wife died, he became obsessed with ANY legend regarding the afterlife... and people returning from it. He also had to find a way to "profit" off this theory, so the experiments to give demigod kids extra powers began, promising people who invested in this that this could be a way to gain the literal powers of gods, even if it isn't in your blood (it almost sounds "motivational" the way he tries to phrase it, like making things more "equal" for people, everybody has the chance to be special! yay! oh, wait, no... he's turning children into weapons. yeah, that's... bad).

Most of the people from the Chorus groups would be unclaimed (let's imagine this is like, a big city on Earth instead of a whole other planet). They kinda have a bitter relationship about that, as most of them feel like they have been "abandoned" by any godly relatives, but have been tricked into thinking OTHER people have favors from their parents. This is eventually revealed to be a deliberate trick from Hargrove, assissted by Locus and Felix. Literally a descendant of Charon, Hargrove has a deep connection to Tartarus (the Director would have been so JEALOUS), and made a deal with Cronus; "block" all the demigod kids from being found by their parents, and he will get them to "sacrifice themselves" in a way that is actually part of a ritual to resurrect Cronus. Felix is himself a generational child of Aphrodite and Janus (in like, the WORST way; charming and MANIPULATIVE), and Locus is a generational child of Nemesis and Nyx (he thought it meant he would never be accepted by anybody). When Hargrove gets defeated, people get to figure out who they are connected to

[mylittlesecrethaven]

But How Did It Get A Show So Fast?

Seriously though, Fourth Wing got a show waaayyy too fast.

For context, Fourth Wing came out on May 2, 2023.

Iron Flame came out on October 31st, 2023.

(Which, the books being released so close together is already astounding, making me wonder if Yarros already planned a second book or if she just rushed it. (The rushed idea would be weak though, given how big the book is, even if the plotline was extremely basic))

And the earliest article I could find is from Her Campus, published on November 16, 2023, talking about an earlier post from Variety (which I couldn't find) that talks about the book becoming a movie.

Also, as I read on the article, the entire book series was already being auctioned off to production companies before the first book was even released.

It's insane how this series has gotten so much popularity.

(I'm gonna go on an opinion rant below the cut, so read at your own discretion. And don't say shit unless it's constructive.)

Holy shit there's 3 more books on the way?

Why?

Just make it a trilogy and be done my god.

Just tie up the lose ends with Xaden becoming a Venin, fix the statue, figure out the entire corrupted kingdom thing, fix it, then have a few more sex scenes cause those seem important for some reason. (And I guess fix shit with Dain?)

Y'know what's stupid?

I found this book in the fantasy section.

Not the fantasy-romance section. (which is a nice thing to have in libraries)

And for those places that don't have fantasy-romance sections, I've read plenty of fantasy world books that have romance in them in the fucking romance section.

I FOUND A COURT OF THORNS AND ROSES IN THE ROMANCE SECTION ONCE! (it was 1 library, but still)

The reason I read this series is that I've become invested. I found the first book and got the second as a gift. And the reason I don't read book in order anymore is to stop myself from becoming invested but here I fucking am I guess.

Look, the series is ok. I wouldn't read a shit book. But it's just so..... basic....

The plot points are predictable, there are several parts where it just doesn't make sense to include them or you can't understand what's really going on, and so many characters we're suppose to care about haven't been fleshed out enough to even glance at!

The romance was predictable as well. (I will say, the dragon sex leading to horny feelings was not expected though. Made me a little uncomfy, but it's whatev I guess.)

Also, and this might just be me, but people falling in love because they are being forced to have to keep tabs on each other or be close to each other or make sure the other doesn't die is just not a fun trope for me. It just makes me feel like the feelings are forced, and I don't like that. (I yet again bring up the horny dragons, cause like.... ew)

I guess the sex scenes are well written. It's strange that they take up so many pages, but if I'm in a mood, I get a well written scene I guess. (Although, I do like the writing of A Court of Mist and Fury on sex scenes because they aren't super long but they have plenty of detail. (I haven't read any of the other books in that series, so idk how the scenes are in those.))

*sigh*

It's an ok book.

And if you like it you like it.

I won't hate you for that.

But I'm gonna hate the book.

Because while it does have dragons

And fight scenes.

It's a fucking fantasy-romance, not a fantasy book.

And it can be done in 3 books.

And the series is probably gonna flop. (just an honest opinion)

Now, I've used all my energy making a rant nobody is gonna read, I'm gonna go sleep cause college stresses me out.

Have a good day.

And have a fun time reading.

[kylejsugarman]

at what point does baby get unrestricted internet access? sorry i’ve become so invested in your ocs that they are now real people to me and i want to know all the mundane aspects of their lives (disappears into the mist)

literally never be sorry for asking questions about my oc's, i could and would happily sit here answering mundane questions for the rest of my life :') for a long time, there isnt even a computer in the driscoll-ayuluk household: baby uses the computers either at her school or the public library, which have internet access but are understandably limited. once they finally get a home computer, baby has internet access but isnt allowed to go on or make any social media accounts and even though it makes jesse feel like a piece of shit, he checks her browsing history after she's been on the computer for a while just to make sure she hasn't stumbled across anything that might lead her to his real identity and what he's done (it's always just like "question for her homework" "wikipedia article for megalodon sharks" "defunctland" though). she needs her own personal laptop for college and totally unrestricted internet access comes with that, which baby largely uses in the same way as she did her home computer. she does make a few social media accounts (tumblr, eventually linkedin for her career), but shes careful about never using her real name + posting pictures just like jesse always told her. and tbh, shes really not all that interested in Posting, she just enjoys reading other people's posts and making folders of cool articles and finding playlists of good ambient music. shes the only correct internet user in the world

[gltzpzy]

Hiiii! I love your makeup sm, can we pls get a tutorial 💕

hihihi tysm sm anon !!!! i’m writing this on the bus so sorry if i’m rumbling and sound rushed 😭😭 (it ended being a lot of writing so i put a more thingy if you really want to read it LMFAO)

so before i even do my makeup i always do my skincare which is just double cleansing, witch hazel and moisturiser :) whenever i do this my base always ends up smooth (i have a lot of acne scars which always makes my makeup look cakey 😭)

i do my eyebrows first with pomade & powder, tbh brands don’t really matter in my defence cus literally all of my makeup is shein glam and shit i stole 😭😭😭😭😭.

i feel like eyebrows are what pulls together your makeup besides lashes so research what style of brows suit you!! i then carve them out bc i luv instagram 2016 brows theyre my baeeeeee, you can use whatever brand you want but because i have heavy yellow undertones i just used a colour corrector palette and make my own shade lol if anyone relates to me buy this lol. when carving under your brows use a concealer shade and for the top use ur foundation shade :) then after blend it so it looks more seamless and you barely have to use a lot of foundation on ur forehead

BASE ROUTINE IS SO CRUCIAL ILL TRY AND BE VV SPECIFIC WITH THIS!!!!!

you don’t need to invest in a really good primer, i use the elf dupe of the milk hydrogrip primer and vaseline and das it!!!! also, let your skincare sink into ur skin first or it’ll just slide everywhere bae

use whatever foundation you want, if u want recs my faves were the elf foundation in sand or the hydrating foundation on shein.. also in sand, again i don’t use any high end products bc #broke nd bc you can get a good base with cheaper products. put your foundation on the back of your hand nd then apply with you fingers since you have more control on where to put it (people say don’t do this but if you want that full glam beat look start from the perimeter of your face so it doesn’t look.. faded? idk lol) and use a DAMP beauty blender to blend, soak it under a tap so it gets very soft and then dry it so it’s damp you know 😝 and then blending inwards into your t-zone, making sure not to touch ur brows and under eyes (it’ll make it look more cakey when adding concealer on top of foundation). and after you think you’ve blended, BLEND MORE!!!!! get a setting spray or a spray bottle and mist your face then blend more just in case, plus it makes ur base more smoother no i do not know why but it works

for concealer this is where i’d recommend using a colour corrector rather than concealer imo, i use a mix of a peach and yellow colour corrector for my concealer but again if u like what u use, use it 😭. i like a bright undereye so i apply a lot but u don’t have to ofc, place it below your waterline so you can blend up. as placement goes i do tiny triangles because i’m mentally since in 2016 lol, then after let it set a little for more coverage ig. if you want a full coverage undereye i suggest blending the concealer up into your waterline as well again idk why i did it by accident once and i’ve never turned back lmfao

people say to let your makeup dry on its own before setting it but with this much product you really can’t and i crease really easily so 😭😭. i use banana powder and a mix of translucent powder and mix them together on a puff (dab a little on the back of your hand before applying) apply the powder under your eyes first, i bake but u don’t have to, then your forehead, then chin and buff the rest on the rest of your face then mist setting spray n then yay base is nearly down queen ✊✊

for the rest of your base it’s really up to how you like it, for me i’m really into browns and not so much blushy tones so i use a mauve blush since it blends really well into bronzer, be light handed and patient with your powders, it can look really muddy if you just slap it on. use very fluffy brushes, it’s easier to blend and harder to make it look muddy and sharp (unless u like that lol)

eyes r really simple all i do is use my bronzer and slap is on my eyes and place a creamy eyeshadow on the lids, tight line my lash line with a pencil liner then mascara and lashes LOL easy peasy lemon squeezy. here are the lashes i swear by (i had the blue ones in the these pics <3)

nd for lips i just wipe off any product i had on my lip and line it with a really cool toned brown lip liner (i hate warm brown lip shades…..😡) and blend the inner part into my laps and slap on clear gloss AND YUH DONE YAY!!!!!!!

so sorry for the realllllly long answer, i like to mumbo jumbo abt makeup hehehehehahhshshsa

[shiningdesignersreflections]

Chapter 4: New Year's Eve

Narrated by Vermillion.

Narrator: I decide to design an Apple-style dress for the party, going with my favorite red and white, of course.

Narrator: I rarely try my hand at Apple fashion, but since it's the new year, I want a new challenge.

Narrator: I borrow Helz's space and quickly scribble a design.

Narrator: Four hours to New Year's Day, I walk into the party in the new dress.

Narrator: When I pass through the crowd, many designers stop and examine my dress with interest.

Narrator: The sleek design highlights smooth curves, with the puffy bottom adding a girlish sweetness.

Narrator: The large diamonds fall like shooting stars around the waist, and the delicate lace is wrapped in a white tulle like a hazy morning mist.

Narrator: Long, hanging earrings accentuate the neck, while an elegant bonnet and practical handbag complement the apparel.

Narrator: Noble-red coat, snow-white hemline, fiery red handbag, soft white stockings, bright red gems, shimmering white diamonds.

Narrator: The embellishments flicker with my every step, as if a spotlight is chasing gently after me.

Narrator: I didn't apply any avant-garde ideas or particularly eye-catching elements when I designed the dress.

Narrator: But it's a statement of my love for red and white, and an expression of my feelings while attending the party.

Narrator: It's a work of my heart and soul.

Narrator: Caroline stares at my dress with mixed emotions.

Narrator: Ultimately, my design is voted as the best of the party.

Narrator: When it's time for me to give a speech, I take a deep breath and walk up to the stage.

Vermillion Snow: I was originally not qualified to attend this cocktail, but three designers helped me get here. Two of them are my friends, and I'd like to thank them.

Vermillion Snow: The third is responsible for inspiring the dress you see here tonight.

Vermillion Snow: That designer and I hold different philosophies. I don't agree with her, so I want to prove my stance through my work.

Vermillion Snow: I believe that design is an expression of your heart, through which people display their own temperament and beauty.

Vermillion Snow: Red and white are the most important colors to me. I invested my emotions fully into this dress...

Vermillion Snow: ...and I hope everyone feels the passion and determination I have for designing.

Narrator: Expressing the most genuine emotions is the reason I want to be an indie designer.

Choose "Do you know who it was?"

You: Did you find out who that third letter was from?

Narrator: It was Caroline.

Narrator: When her assistant came to thank me, I saw Caroline's signature by chance.

Narrator: It was the same handwriting as the letter, plus John Jacobs is a Mercury Brand.

Choose "Why would she want you to challenge her?"

You: Why would she want you to challenge her?

Narrator: Helz said Caroline also started at the bottom, a measly assistant. She clawed for every opportunity and climbed the rungs to become a world-famous designer.

Narrator: Maybe she wanted to give me an opportunity.

Narrator: I should thank her. I hope I didn't let her down today.

Narrator: The party goes on. I thank every one of the designers who congratulate me and exchange cards.

Narrator: Through the crowd, I see Caroline tossing a glance my way.

Narrator: I raise a glass to her, but she quickly turns away.

Narrator: And I think I see her smile.

Narrator: The bells ring off in the distance to usher in the New Year.

Choose "Happy New Year!"

You: Happy New Year, Vermillion Snow!

Narrator: Happy New Year!

Narrator: This special New Year has given me so much... I built confidence and made new friends like Sonya.

Narrator: And I feel I'm one step closer to becoming a great indie designer.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3